pairing: mark!haechan x fem. reader
genre: college au, smut, rivals to fwbs
wc: 12k+
summary: mark and haechan can't stand each other's guts, but they want the same girl... and maybe she wants them both, too.
content warnings: unprotected sex, threesome, oral (f+m receiving), semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, sex tape, jealousy, marking, hand job, fingering, multiple orgasms (like a lot!!), double penetration, a little bit of mahae action (couldn’t help myself), orgasm denial, aftercare.
a/n: all i’m gonna say is that this was completely self-indulgent. i just haven't been the same since 82+ pressin came out and this is the result. i don’t think i’ve ever written so much smut for a single fic before omg. it's rlly a lot i apologize in advance. ps: stream 82+ pressin, 1999 and the aoty aka the firstfruit.
all your life, people let you get away with things. maybe it was your soft face, your sweet smile, or the way you tilted your head when you lied. they thought you were innocent.
but anyone who actually knew you, knew better.
you were full of fire, tucked neatly into a deceptively small frame. and by fire, you meant you were horny. always had been. sex wasn’t your entire personality, you just liked it—frequently and with whoever could keep up. so when two gorgeous boys started fighting over you, you didn’t think twice. even if those boys hated each other’s guts.
you were just stepping into the cafeteria when a low whistle caught your attention. you glanced over your shoulder and saw haechan strolling in.
you rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched at the corners.
“can’t stay away from me, huh?” you said when he finally caught up, his arm sliding over your shoulders easily.
“you know i can’t, pretty” he murmured, voice close enough to your ear to make you shiver. “you coming over tonight?”
you fold your arms across your chest, purposefully pressing your cleavage together. his eyes dropped right on cue. you knew he loved this shirt. or rather... he loved your tits in this shirt.
“i was there last night, hae. i can’t play favorites, it makes the other boys in my roster jealous,” you said sweetly, brushing a kiss to his cheek and stepping ahead.
“there’s no roster,” he said with a cocky grin, catching up easily. “i know that.”
“oh, don’t be so sure.” you waved at someone in the distance. haechan’s head turned just in time to catch mark lee smiling at you from across the room.
his face soured immediately. “mark lee? really?” he scoffed. “you can do better than that idiot.”
you looked at him, catching the slight twitch in his jaw. you smirked. their little rivalry was so amusing to you.
“remind me again why you hate him so much?” you ask as you drop into your seat. haechan slid in beside you, tugging your chair closer without effort.
“because he’s a manipulative dickhead who pretends to be some righteous good guy,” he muttered, fingers playing with the strap of your tank top.
“so... like half your friends?” you arched a brow.
“why are we even talking about him? let’s talk about us” he groaned, leaning in to kiss you but you dodged, making his lips brush your neck instead.
“since when is there an us?” you laughed, pushing him off half-heartedly.
“since you let me fuck you against every surface in my dorm,” he said smugly.
“don’t think that makes you special,” you replied, patting his chest.
your hand lingered there a second longer, reminding you how toned he actually was. easy to forget with that sweet face and mouthy attitude.
“i’m definitely your favorite though,” haechan grinned, leaning in again and this time, you let him kiss you. his mouth moving slowly but greedily against yours.
across the room, mark was stabbing his lunch violently. his plastic knife bent halfway through his sandwich.
“okay, you’re scaring me,” jaemin said, side-eyeing him. “who’re you trying to murder with your eyes?”
“no one,” mark muttered, dragging his eyes away.
jaemin followed his gaze and snorted. “ohhh, is that your girl?”
“she’s not my girl,” mark grunted. “we’ve just been… talking.”
“yeah? well, looks like that’s all you’re gonna be doing,” chenle chuckled next to him, biting into his sandwich.
“fuck off” mark said, chucking a crumpled napkin at chenle’s face.
“i’m pretty sure she was with jay last semester,” jaemin added, watching mark’s reaction with barely concealed amusement.
“and wonbin,” chenle said through a mouthful of food.
mark’s jaw ticked. “what exactly are you guys trying to say?”
“relax,” chenle raised both hands, smirking. “we’re just saying she’s clearly not into exclusivity.”
“whatever,” mark muttered, pushing his chair back. “like i said, we’re just talking.”
“uh-huh, sure” jaemin said with a knowing grin. “play with fire if you want… just don’t act surprised when you get burned.”
┈─★
mark couldn’t stop thinking about what the guys had said. it wasn’t even like he wanted anything serious with you. but still, the way you clung to haechan, only to turn around and flirt with him like your eyes hadn’t just been heart-shaped for the biggest dumbass on earth… yeah, it was starting to piss him off.
he was stewing in that frustration, gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary on the way to the store, when he spotted your car on the side of the road.
he pulled up behind you without thinking.
your face lit up the second you saw him. you were sweaty and flushed from the heat, but still so damn pretty it made something sharp twist in his chest.
“mark!” you said his name with so much relief he had to glance away, suddenly shy.
“hey,” he said, climbing out of the car. “need help?”
“please… i don’t know what happened. it just died on me” you pouted, arms crossed under your chest. “i barely made it off the road."
mark blinked, trying not to focus on your lips—the same lips that had kissed all over his neck last week at that party.
“okay, let’s take a look,” he muttered, walking over to the hood you’d already popped open.
he leaned over the car and tried to focus, to remember what he even knew about engines. he wasn’t a mechanic, but he knew enough not to look stupid in front of you.
you stood beside him, your shoulder kept brushing against his arm every time you leaned in to “check” what he was doing.
“you think it’s serious?” you asked, biting your lip .
mark glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “hard to tell. your battery might’ve just died.”
“ugh, great,” you groaned dramatically, flopping against the side of the car. “this day already sucked.”
“you’re lucky i was driving by,” he said, wiping his palms on his shorts. “you could’ve been stuck here for a while.”
you smiled at him sweetly, reaching for his hair and playing with it. “thank you for rescuing me, my knight in shining armor.”
mark froze for half a second.
“don’t do that,” he said quietly, eyes still focused under the hood.
“do what?” your voice was all fake innocence, and when he finally looked at you properly, you were leaning back just enough for your shirt to ride up and show the barest strip of your waist.
“you know what” he muttered.
you tilted your head, teasing. “we’re just talking, mark.”
he exhaled sharply. “yeah, well... i’ve had enough of that.”
you blinked at him, not catching the double entendre fast enough. before you could say anything, he stepped closer. not touching you but close enough that his chest brushed yours.
“you keep looking at me like that, saying things like that and then you go and let haechan put his tongue down your throat in front of everyone,” he said, voice low and raspy. “and don’t say it doesn’t mean anything.”
you stared at him, heat curling in your stomach.
“i wasn't gonna say that”
mark gave you a dry laugh, shaking his head. “then stop playing with me.”
you smiled, slow and wicked. “maybe i want both of you.”
mark’s jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to your lips as he licked his own, and for a moment, you thought he might actually kiss you right then and there—hot, frustrated, angry.
instead, he took a step back.
“your battery’s dead,” he said, eyes still burning. “i’ll get mine and jump it.”
and just like that, he walked back to his car, leaving you breathless and grinning like a devil in the sun.
he popped the hood of his car and grabbed the jumper cables, avoiding your eyes the whole time. you watched him work with brows furrowed, arms flexing every time he connected something or reached for a clamp. he was mad.
and you loved it.
“okay, try turning it on now,” he called out, stepping aside.
you slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine coughed before finally coming back to life.
“yay!” you grinned, hopping out. “mark, you’re a lifesaver.”
“don’t mention it,” he said, closing your hood.
you stepped out and leaned against the car again. “what would i do without you?”
he walked over slowly, wiping his hands on his shorts. “probably flash your pouty lips at some other poor guy and get him to do it for you.”
you raised an eyebrow. “are you calling me manipulative?”
“if the shoe fits.”
you took a step toward him. “you didn’t seem to mind when i was kissing you last week.”
“didn’t say i minded,” he said, voice low again. “but i’m not interested in being one of your toys.”
“aw,” you pouted the way you knew he couldn't resist. “but you play so well.”
mark’s mouth twitched.
“get in your car,” he said instead, walking away again.
“got tired of me already?” you called after him, teasing.
“no. i’m telling you to leave before i do something i’ll regret.”
you didn’t move. “like what?”
mark stopped and sighed, you giggled to yourself thinking you’d successfully managed to frustrate him. but then suddenly he turned back and stopped right in front of you, so close that your back was nearly pressed against the car.
“like remind you exactly what you’d be missing if you pick haechan,” he said, eyes flickering down to your lips.
you swallowed a smirk. this was so much more interesting than you thought it’d be.
you tried to lean into him, but he immediately backed up.
“drive safe,” he said, heading to his own car without looking back.
you stood there, heart racing, staring after him and thinking how you’d get both of them alone in a room without them trying to rip each other’s throats.
┈─★
you figured if you were ever going to bring up your little fantasy to life, mark needed to be wrapped around your finger first. haechan would be easy to convince—he was practically already halfway there. one breathy moan from you and he’d be on his knees.
mark, on the other hand… he needed more work. not because he wasn’t into you, but because he had that whole gentleman with a moral compass thing going on. sweet. respectful. frustratingly hard to seduce without making it feel like you were the one being played.
in other words, you had to lock in.
so instead of texting or sliding into his dms like usual, you started showing up where you knew he’d be. but this turned out to be more difficult since the guy was literally everywhere and nowhere at once. you found out from a mutual friend that he worked two jobs, volunteered for three different campus orgs, was part of the baseball team and somehow still managed to keep a spotless GPA.
you went to every place he frequented, including the music store where he part-timed at, but he wasn’t there, “you just missed him” the other workers said.
you almost gave up for the day until something caught your eye past the chainlink fence by the baseball field. someone was pitching solo.
and there he was, mark lee in all his sweaty glory.
“hey there, slugger,” you called out, leaning your arms on the fence as he straightened up and turned around, wiping sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. it lifted just enough to show the cut of his abs.
he blinked at you in confusion for a second before recognition hit and his mouth tugged into a crooked little smile. “yo… what are you doing here?”
“you looked lonely,” you said, pushing the gate open and walking toward him, “mind if i keep you company?”
he shifted, catching the ball in his glove, clearly trying to be nonchalant but his eyes didn’t lie—they dragged over you like he hadn’t seen a girl in weeks. you were wearing a tank top you knew made your tits look phenomenal, and you were sure he noticed.
“sure,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “i’m just messing around, anyway.”
“well, i like messing around,” you replied, tone smooth as honey, letting the double meaning land.
mark chuckled nervously. he was flustered, a cute little blush spread across his cheeks and down his neck. you were definitely getting to him.
“you want a turn?” he asked, gesturing to the bat.
you raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “are we still talking baseball?”
his lips twitched. “depends… what are you talking about?”
you reached for the bat, letting your hand graze his fingers. “guess you’ll have to find out.”
“you ever even held one of these before?”
you took it, pretending to examine it seriously. “i mean, i’ve seen a league of their own like… twice.”
mark laughed, the sound bright and easy. “that’s a start.”
he showed you how to stand and the proper way to hold the bat, stepping in behind you with a respectful distance—no unnecessary touching or cheap moves. you could feel his warmth at your back, his voice in your ear as he adjusted your grip.
“okay, just swing through when the ball comes in. don’t overthink it.”
“easy for you to say, coach.” you glanced over your shoulder and caught his eyes on yours.
for a second, neither of you moved. you realized how pretty his eyes were from this close, they were round and bright looking at you.
then he stepped back and toward the pitching mound with a sheepish little smile.
“alright, give it a shot.”
your first swing was absolutely tragic.
mark laughed again, clapping once. “okay, that was adorable but we should review the basics.”
the next twenty minutes passed like that—him showing you how to swing properly, you pretending to take it seriously just to mess with him. you both ended up out of breath from laughing more than anything else. and by the end of it, you were glowing in the sun, hair a mess, tank top slightly clinging to your skin.
“okay, okay,” you finally said, wiping sweat from your brow, “i need a break.”
mark nodded, picking up the scattered balls. “dugout’s over there. i’ll grab us some water.”
you ducked into the dugout, the shade instantly soothing your sun-warmed skin. your legs were a little shaky from all the running around, but your heart wasn’t only thudding because of the exercise. you watched mark jog over to the cooler, shirt sticking to his back, his hair damp and curling at the edges. he looked so good it was unfair.
he came back with two bottles of water and handed you one, settling beside you on the bench. his thigh brushed against yours briefly before he shifted away to give you some space.
“not bad out there,” he said, twisting open his bottle. “your form’s a little weak, but you’ve got potential.”
“mm, and here i was trying to impress you,” you said, sipping. “guess i’ll have to try harder.”
he huffed a soft laugh and glanced sideways at you. “you’re doing fine, just… need a little discipline.”
“are you volunteering for the job?” you tilted your head.
mark stayed silent for a second. he was watching the field now, fingers drumming lightly on the bottle in his hand. “i know what you're doing”
you raised a brow. “oh yeah?”
“you don’t need someone messing around with your head. or your body. you deserve more than some dumb fling.”
you leaned back on your hands, letting your knees fall slightly open, enough to test him. “you ever think maybe i don’t want more?”
his jaw tensed. he didn’t look at you right away, he was trying really hard to keep his eyes anywhere but your legs. “you don’t mean that.”
“i do,” you said simply. “you think i don’t know what i want?”
he finally looked at you and the way his eyes moved over your face—it wasn’t lust. it was frustration. like he wanted to do something but had spent his whole life learning to hold back.
you leaned in, your voice softer now. “you keep talking like i’m some sweet girl who needs protecting, mark. but i don’t want that from you.”
he swallowed hard. “what do you want, then?”
you smiled, slow and a little dangerous. “i want you to stop pretending like you don’t want this too.”
he blinked, then he exhaled and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, laughing under his breath like he couldn’t believe what he was about to do.
“this is a bad idea,” he murmured.
“maybe,” you said, leaning just a little closer. “but i promise it’ll feel good”
mark didn’t answer but his eyes dropped to your mouth and stayed there. he looked like he was working through every possible reason to pull away, but none were winning.
“you should probably leave,” he said after a beat, voice rough. “before i forget how to be a good guy.”
you leaned in so your leg was now on top of his. “i’m not asking you to be a good guy, mark.”
he closed his eyes and shook his head. “don’t say that.”
“why not?”
“because if i touch you like i want to,” his eyes opened again, darker now. “i won’t be able to stop.”
“good,” you said, voice low. “i don’t want you to.”
he turned toward you, one hand gripping the bench behind you.
“you’re not making this easy,” he said.
“i know, but you can trust me”
his gaze flicked to your lips again. then your neck. then back to your eyes.
“you’re serious?”
you nodded, slow. “you think i’d be here if i wasn’t?”
mark let out a breath through his nose. “fuck.”
you watched his knuckles flex on the bench, how he was clearly using every ounce of willpower to stay still. his shoulders were angled toward you now. his jaw was tight, eyes darting like he was thinking ten steps ahead and still getting stuck on you.
you reached out, brushing your fingers over his forearm. “if you’re gonna kiss me, just do it already.”
he didn’t move right away but when he did, it was careful. one hand slid behind your neck, thumb brushing just under your ear as he leaned in. his lips touched yours softly.
but you didn’t want soft.
you pushed in, lips parting just enough to deepen the kiss, and that was when his restraint cracked. his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you into the bench. he kissed you harder this time, all that tension finally bleeding through.
you smiled against his mouth, whispering, “see? doesn’t that feel better than being good?”
his answer was a low groan against your lips, his hand slid up, fingertips grazing the bare skin where your top had ridden up. he paused there, like he was waiting for you to stop him.
you didn’t.
instead, you moved into him, straddling his lap without breaking the kiss. his breath hitched the moment your hips settled against his, and that tiny reaction was all the confirmation you needed. he wanted this as much as you did. even if part of him was still trying to talk himself out of it.
“touch me more,” you said, tilting your head to nip at his jaw.
his hands finally slid under your shirt, splaying across your back, pulling you flush against him. your body molded to his like it had always belonged there, and his lips found yours again.
your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned low in his throat. his hips bucked up before he could stop himself, and your breath caught when you felt how hard he already was under you.
his hands moved lower over your ass, gripping tight as he shifted you against him again. it was getting hotter in the dugout, clothes sticking to skin, breaths growing uneven. your lips were swollen, your thighs shaking just slightly from the tension. he kissed down your neck, tongue brushing a spot that made your spine arch.
“fuck,” he whispered, his lips ghosting along your jaw. “you drive me crazy.”
you rolled your hips again and mark’s head dropped back with a groan. his hands moved higher under your shirt, fingers brushing the band of your bra before hesitating.
you tugged your shirt up a little more for him, eyes locked on his. “you don’t have to ask.”
his gaze flicked up to yours and then he pulled your shirt off in one smooth motion, his mouth going straight to your collarbone, trailing heat down your neck. one of his hands cradled the back of your head while the other held your waist steady as you started grinding down against him again, both of you breathing harder now.
his fingers found the clasp of your bra behind you, fumbling only once before it came loose. the second it did, his mouth was on you, leaving open-mouthed kisses across your chest as your hips rolled harder.
you dipped your head, kissed the top of his ear, and whispered, “mark.”
it came out breathy, almost reverent. the sound of his name from your lips snapped whatever restraint he had left. his hands gripped your thighs, and in one quick movement, he stood—lifting you effortlessly as you clung to him, legs tightening around his waist.
your back hit the dugout wall with a soft thud, and he was on you again. teeth grazing your neck now, nipping and licking and kissing like he wanted to mark every inch of your skin.
you gasped, hips rolling against the hard press of him through his jeans. he hissed through his teeth, grinding back.
“mark, more please.” you moaned, eyes locked on his.
he growled something filthy and wrecked and then his hands were tugging at your waistband, fingers slipping beneath to palm the curve of your ass again, rougher this time. you arched into him, head tipping back as he pressed hot kisses along your throat, sucking hard enough to bruise.
your shorts ended up somewhere on the floor along with your shirt. and mark—sweet, tortured, trying-to-be-good mark—was rutting against you like he’d lost his damn mind.
“tell me what you want,” he said into your skin, breath hot and shaky.
you leaned in, lips at his ear. “everything.”
he groaned like the word punched him in the gut. his hand teased over the edge of your panties, fingers just barely brushing where you were soaked for him. he inhaled sharply, head dropping to your shoulder, and you could feel his restraint fracturing all over again.
“jesus christ,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “we shouldn't be doing this here.”
he barely registered the sound of your breathless laugh before you dropped to your knees, eyes locked on his as your hands slid up his thighs. he looked down at you like he couldn’t believe what was happening.
“let me give you what you need,” you murmured, undoing the button on his jeans with practiced ease.
“fuck,” mark breathed, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers brushed over him through the fabric of his boxers. he was so hard it looked like it hurt. you smiled seeing his reaction as you traced the outline of his cock.
he looked like he wanted to say something—some last-minute plea for control—but then you tugged his boxers down and wrapped your hand around him.
his knees nearly buckled.
you leaned in, lips brushing the flushed tip, tongue teasing just enough to make him choke on a groan. he gripped the edge of the dugout bench behind him to keep himself from falling over.
“shit—fuck, baby, please—” his voice cracked as you took him in deeper, mouth hot and wet and so fucking perfect. his hand found your hair, fingers trembling as he tried to resist the urge to thrust into your mouth.
you wanted him to lose it. wanted him unhinged.
you bobbed your head slowly at first, letting him feel every inch of your tongue, your lips, the way your throat clenched around him. when you moaned, his hips jerked and he cried out.
“jesus, i’m not—fuck, i’m not gonna last.”
you pulled off with a slick pop. “it’s okay, cum for me markie.”
before you could take him backs into your mouth again, he hauled you up, lips crashing into yours roughly. his hands found your ass again, lifting you onto the bench like you weighed nothing. your panties were gone in seconds and then he was pressed against you, panting against your mouth.
“you’re sure?” he whispered, voice shredded
you stared into his eyes, wrapped your legs around his waist, and said, “mark. fuck me already.”
not a second after, he was slamming into you with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt in one desperate thrust. the air was knocked from your lungs, nails scraping down his back as your bodies locked together in the filthiest kind of synchronicity.
his rhythm was brutal from the start, hips crashing into yours like he’d waited years for this. like every time he'd looked at you, every time he’d jerked off with your name on his lips, had been leading to this exact moment.
“you feel so fucking good,” he panted against your neck. “i can’t—I’m gonna—fuck, you’re perfect.”
you were both sweating, panting, lost in each other. the dugout echoed with obscene sounds of skin slapping skin and your moans mixing with his broken groans.
“i’m close,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked. “tell me where you want it. please, baby—tell me.”
your fingers gripped his jaw, lips brushing his. “inside. fill me up.”
he moaned your name—screamed it, even—as he came, body shaking, strong arms locked around you. he held you through every wave, and didn’t stop fucking you until you came seconds after.
when it was over, when your bodies were spent and trembling, he collapsed against you, breathing hard, mouth still pressed to your neck.
“that was fucking amazing,” he whispered, laughing breathlessly.
you kissed the side of his head and smiled, knowing that you had him exactly where you wanted him.
┈─★
the rest of your week was spent with mark, who– slowly and against his better judgment– was developing a full-blown addiction to you.
but you couldn’t neglect the other half of your fantasy.
which is why you were now outside haechan’s dorm. he’d been ignoring your messages for days, which wasnt like him at all. and you were almost sure it had to do with how often you'd been with mark lately.
you walked in without knocking and found him in front of his pc, hand stuffed into his sweats, fist working himself slow to some filthy porn on the screen.
he didn’t even notice you walking in at first due to his headphones. but he must've felt you behind him because he jolted, yanked his hand out, and scrambled to close the tab like you hadn’t already seen everything.
he spun around in his chair, cheeks flaming, trying to hide the clear tent in his pants.
“ever heard of knocking?” his voice came out annoyed but strained.
you crossed your arms, amused. “is this what you’ve been ignoring me for? gooning in your room all day?”
he didn’t answer, just looked anywhere but at you.
you stepped in closer and looped your arms around his neck.
“don’t be mad,” you whispered, brushing your lips close to his ear. “i came here because i missed you.”
“really?” he finally muttered, still not looking at you. “what happened to your new boy toy?”
“don’t tell me you’re jealous,” you said with a little smile. “mark’s not the first guy i’ve been with since our arrangement. i thought you were fine with that.”
he scoffed. “yeah, well… the other guys weren’t fucking idiots.” his eyes finally flicked to yours, dark and sharp. “plus, i doubt he makes you feel as good as i do.”
“then do something about it,” you whispered, dragging your nails along the nape of his neck. “remind me why i started fucking you in the first place.”
his hands were on you in a flash.
he grabbed your waist and hauled you onto his lap. the second you straddled him, he bit your bottom lip before kissing you deep.
“you want a reminder?” he growled “fine, but you’re gonna take what i give you”
you ground down against him and felt how hard he still was. this wasn’t some casual rebound fuck to him—this was territory. there was rage and lust and twisted affection in every move he made.
his fingers tugged your shirt up, mouth trailing fire along your neck, teeth scraping and marking.
“bet he doesn’t know how to touch you like this,” he murmured, slipping a hand under your waistband and cupping your already wet pussy. “bet he doesn’t even know what you like.”
“he’s learning,” you teased, smirking just to provoke him.
he scoffed and shoved your panties aside, pushing two fingers into you at once, hard enough to make your hips jerk.
“not like this,” he whispered darkly. “he can’t make you this wet with just his fingers, can he?”
you gasped, clutching at his shoulders as he curled his fingers deeper.
“god, you’re such a little slut for attention,” he chuckled “running to him just because he’s nice? is that what you want? a nice little boy?”
you could barely breathe now, body rocking into his hand with every word.
“you don’t want nice,” he hissed. “you want me. you want the one who knows how to break you and put you back together with a single fuck.”
your moan came out broken and sharp, your hips grinding down faster now. he was watching you fall apart, biting his lip like it was the only thing keeping him from slamming you down on the floor and reminding the entire dorm who you belonged to.
“say it,” he demanded. “say i’m the one you want. say his name doesn’t mean shit to you when you’re dripping for me like this.”
“you are,” you choked out. “you’re the only one i want, hae.”
he shoved his chair back with a grunt, stood with you still wrapped around him, and carried you to the bed. dropping you onto the mattress with a promise in his eyes, already yanking his sweats down.
“gonna fuck you so hard you forget what his voice even sounds like,” he muttered.
and from the look in his eyes—you knew he meant it.
he crawled over you, and with a quick peck to your lips, he slid his cock into you. you were so familiar with his size after so many fucks that it didn't take long for you to adjust and for him to start moving.
he switched your positions quickly, knowing how much you liked riding him. his mouth was on your chest, spit-slick and possessive, and his hips snapped up in a brutal rhythm from below you. he’d been talking the entire time— filthy words laced with jealousy and obsession.
“so fucking wet for me,” he groaned into your skin. “he could never get you like this.”
you moaned louder at that, clenching around him.
haechan reached over without breaking his rhythm, grabbing your phone from the desk behind him. you barely noticed at first, lost in the sensation of him buried so deep inside you, but then you heard the soft ding.
he pointed the camera down, letting it capture the view between your thighs, where you were split open and soaked, riding his cock like your life depended on it.
“what are you doing?” you gasped, half-laughing, half-panting.
“just making something for your little boyfriend,” haechan said with a smirk, his voice syrup-thick and mean. “he probably wants to know what you’ve been up to.”
he angled the camera to get your face, your tits, your hips grinding down as he fucked up into you. his hand slid up your stomach, fingers wrapping around your throat just enough to make your pulse jump under his thumb.
“look at the camera, baby,” he purred. “let’s show mark how you really beg.”
you bit your lip but obeyed, dragging your gaze to the lens. your expression was wrecked—eyes glassy, mouth open, cheeks flushed.
“that’s it,” he growled, snapping his hips up even harder. “show him who you belong to.”
the hand not holding the phone slid down your spine, grabbed your ass, and slammed you down onto him with a force that made the bed frame groan.
“you hear that, mark?” haechan muttered into the mic, his voice suddenly colder. “this is what your little good girl sounds like when someone actually knows how to use her.”
you whimpered shamelessly, as his cock dragged right against that spot inside you that made your vision spark white.
“she’s squeezing me like she’s never been fucked before,” haechan kept going, still holding the phone. “you ever get her like this, huh? you ever make her cum just from your cock and a few mean words?”
he thrust into you hard and deep, so deep you cried out, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders.
“oh, that’s so much better,” he grunted, pulling back and slamming in again. “bet he doesn’t hit that spot, hm? bet he doesn’t know how deep you like it.”
you moaned loudly, the sound echoing against the dorm walls. he held the phone steady with one hand and gripped your jaw with the other, turning your face to the lens.
“tell him who makes you cum.”
you gasped. “haechan—fuck—you, you do—”
he grinned like the devil.
“good girl.”
the sound of skin slapping, the way your body arched into every thrust, the sweet, broken whines he pulled out of you—it was all being captured. and he made sure of it. shifting the angle, filming your tits bouncing, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, your lips mouthing please, more without even realizing it.
“gonna send this to him,” he muttered darkly, “maybe i’ll wait ‘til he’s all alone at night, thinking about you and then—bam.” he snapped his hips harder, making you gasp. “he’ll see you stuffed full of my cock.”
you clenched around him and he hissed.
“yeah, you like that. you love being filmed, dirty little thing.”
you were shaking now, pleasure boiling up in your gut as he kept fucking into you with brutal precision. all while recording you. all while imagining mark’s face when he saw you like this.
your thighs were already trembling from how many times you’d rolled your hips over him, the coil in your lower stomach drawn so tight you could scream.
haechan’s hands gripped your waist, keeping you just barely in rhythm as you rode him, the slow drag of his cock inside you leaving you teetering at the edge. your hands braced against his chest, fingernails digging into his sweaty skin. you were so close you could taste it.
“that’s it,” he murmured, voice gone low and raspy. “fuck yourself on me. let mark see how desperate you get.”
“haechan—fuck, please—i’m gonna cum—”
suddenly, his hands snapped up to your hips and stopped you. his cock still twitching inside you but he wasn't moving anymore.
“no, you’re not,” he said, eyes dark. “not yet.”
your head fell forward, lips parted in disbelief. “what?”
he leaned in closer, lips brushing your throat. “you wanna cum?” he asked, and you nodded, hips instinctively trying to grind down again.
he didn’t let you.
“then beg for it. look into the camera and beg for me.”
you shuddered. his voice wasn’t teasing anymore. it was burning hot with jealousy and the need to have control over you.
“tell mark you’re not allowed to come unless i say so. tell him you’re mine.”
you stared at him, wide-eyed, chest heaving, and then turned your head to the camera. your voice shook as you whispered, “please… please let me come. i need it. i can’t take it, hae, i—”
his hand slid up your back, grabbing your hair and tugging gently so your neck arched. he bit along your jaw, voice low and sharp against your ear.
“say it like you mean it. say it loud. i want him to hear what a needy little slut you turn into when you don’t get what you want.”
you swallowed, lips trembling. “please…please, hae, i’ll do anything…just let me come—”
“nah,” he muttered, tightening his grip and slamming up into you once. once. just enough to make you cry out and chase the friction, but not enough to give you what you needed.
“you don’t get to cum until i say so. and i’m not saying shit until you look into that camera and tell mark whose cock you fucking love.”
your body was on fire, everything inside you begging for release, but you obeyed. because your orgasm lived in his hands now.
“it’s yours,” you gasped, eyes flicking to the lens. “it’s always been yours. not his. he can’t fuck me like you do.” you lied.
“mmm, now that’s the energy,” he grinned, hand trailing down between your legs to barely graze your clit. “feel that? you want it, don’t you?”
“yes, yes, please—i need it—”
“you’ll take every fucking inch, keep grinding that soaked little pussy on me slow, and i’ll think about letting you come.”
you did as he said. he made you ride him in slow, teasing circles. every drag was torturous, your body screaming for a release you weren’t allowed to have. tears prickled in your lashes, your mouth open in a string of whispered begs.
“look how perfect you are when you’re desperate,” he murmured, finally rubbing slow circles over your clit. “this is what he needs to see. you fucking breaking apart on my cock.”
you whimpered something incoherent, your entire body trembling when he finally granted it.
“cum for me, baby. show him what he’ll never fucking have.”
you shattered instantly, mouth open in a silent scream, grinding down on him with a rhythm you couldn’t even control anymore. and he filmed all of it. the high-pitched moans, the tears, the way you collapsed against his chest completely undone. and when his orgasm hit soon after, he captured his cum dripping out of your used cunt.
when your breathing slowed and your thighs stopped shaking, he clicked off the recording and kissed your temple.
“that should keep him up at night.”
┈─★
the next time you saw mark, it was at a party hosted by one of the student organizations. haechan was there too, for your pleasure, and you knew tonight was going to be the night you finally brought your twisted fantasy to life.
the plan was simple. get both of them to your apartment.
and it was all going well until haechan yanked you into the bathroom, and before you could even think, you were on your knees, taking him in your mouth.
by the time you left the bathroom, your makeup was a mess. the lipstick smeared across your face was a dead giveaway of what youd been doing. haechan went off to get a drink, and you quietly retreated to the living room, sitting in front of a mirror to fix your face.
mark was talking to his friends across the room, but his eyes never left you. he hadn’t spoken to you in a week after receiving the video. he was pissed, sure, but it wasn’t as though he was surprised. he knew you had some kind of relationship with haechan. but to film it and send it to him? that shit crossed a line.
what bothered him most was that he couldn’t bring himself to delete the video. every night, he ended up jerking off to it, his mind filled with the image of you begging for that jerk’s cock.
he noticed haechan walk by, nodding to a few people along the way. when their eyes met, he smirked and started walking toward him.
mark’s lip curled into a scowl as the younger boy stopped in front of him, leaning casually against the wall.
“what’s up, lee?” haechan’s voice was light, almost too fucking smug. he slapped mark’s back with exaggerated force. jaemin and chenle exchanged glances and walked off when they caught the tension.
“did you get my video?” haechan asked, his eyes still glinting behind his cup, the stupid little grin never fading.
“i did,” mark replied coldly. his voice was almost a growl, thick with disgust. “what kind of man records a lady during sex?”
haechan chuckled. “if you watched the video, you’d know she was very much into it.”
mark’s jaw clenched “whatever. you don’t fucking deserve her,” he spat, his words dripping with venom.
“and you do?” haechan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “please, she’s not into the whole gentleman act.”
mark’s smirk was all teeth now “then why does she keep coming back to me?”
haechan’s eyes narrowed, but the grin never left his face. “her lip gloss is still all over my cock, so i’d say there’s really no competition here…”
mark’s hand shot out, slapping the drink from haechan’s grip. he grabbed the younger boy by the collar, yanking him in close. everyone around them hushed and someone muttered oh shit.
that’s when you stood up and pushed your way through the crowd. when you reached them, you shoved them apart with a force that surprised even you.
“what do you two think you’re doing?”
your voice cut through the room like a whip—sharp enough to make a few of the partygoers flinch. mark’s fist was still clenched in haechan’s shirt, and haechan didn’t look even the slightest bit bothered. in fact, the smug bastard looked like he was thriving in the chaos, like he’d been waiting for this moment all goddamn week.
mark let go first, reluctantly, his eyes still locked on haechan’s. “he started it,” he muttered like a sulking schoolboy who’d just been caught throwing punches behind the gym.
“bullshit,” haechan scoffed, brushing off where mark had touched him. “he’s just mad he’s not the one you were sucking off ten minutes ago.”
you grabbed mark’s wrist before he could swing. “enough.” you looked at both of them. “you’re both acting like idiots. are we seriously doing this now? at a party?”
“he's talking about you like you’re some kind of trophy.” mark growled.
haechan scoffed. “oh, please”
you could feel the eyes of half the party watching the drama with beers in hand. you tilted your head, walking up between them.
“you two are being childish.”
mark’s eyes dipped down to your lips, shiny from the fresh coat of gloss. a hint of it still smeared down your chin as a confirmation of everything haechan just said. he hated that no matter how pissed he was, he still wanted to grab you, shove you against the wall, and remind you how good he could make you feel.
“so, how about you stop wasting time on this pathetic pissing contest…” you continued, circling behind them slowly, “and come dance with me.”
you walked straight toward the dance floor, the bass vibrating through your heels and into your spine. you didn’t even turn to see if they were behind you. you already knew they were.
you stepped into the crowd, backlit by strobes, and then turned around slowly, one hand held out toward mark. his brows knit together at first, unsure. then he stepped in, hand sliding into yours.
your other hand reached for haechan, and that cocky smile curled across his lips before he grabbed your waist instead, pulling himself flush against your side.
“what’s this, baby?” haechan murmured against your ear.
you just smiled and rolled your hips into him at the rhythm of the music.
mark stood closer now, his chest brushing yours with every beat. his hands hovered like he didn’t know where he was allowed to touch, until you guided one to your hip.
you tipped your head up and kissed him first. your fingers fisted in his shirt as your lips dragged across his—tongue sliding against his until he forgot why he was mad in the first place.
but then you pulled away and turned, grabbing haechan by the jaw and kissing him too. open-mouthed. filthy.
you felt mark tense behind you. you could almost hear his breath hitch as he watched.
but you didn’t stop.
your hand reached behind you, pulling mark closer until he was pressed against your back. your lips were still on haechan’s when your other arm looped around mark’s neck, forcing them both into your orbit.
in the chaos, in the rhythm and push and pull of bodies, your head tilted just enough to make room, and their mouths brushed.
they didn’t even realize at first. your body was between them, but it was hard to see whose hands were where, whose breath was in whose lungs. they were kissing each other before they even registered it. and when they did?
there was a second of stunned silence between them, and they both froze.
“fuck,” haechan muttered.
mark stared at him like something short-circuited behind his eyes. and then he kissed him again, rougher this time.
you looked at them with a victorious smile on your lips.
when they pulled away, lips swollen and chests heaving, you saw the look on both their faces—equal parts frustration and lust. and you knew… this was the moment you had been waiting for.
you didn’t even wait for the song to end.
your hand shot out, fingers latching onto the front of mark’s jacket, then you grabbed haechan’s wrist and tugged them both forward.
“we’re leaving,” you said, voice low but commanding.
mark looked like he wanted to argue but you didn’t give him the chance.
you turned on your heel and walked out.
and like the two moths they were, they followed the flame.
┈─★
your apartment door slammed shut behind them, the tension snapping into something feral the second the lock clicked.
“you—” mark started, but you cut him off with a kiss. filthy, fast, and impatient. his hands went straight to your waist, pressing you back against the wall as his mouth opened under yours. he tasted like alcohol and haechan.
the later boy soon stepped behind you.
his hands slid under your shirt, palms hot against your bare skin, and his mouth was right by your ear. “so you really want both of us, huh?” he whispered, “you’re that fucking greedy.”
you reached back blindly, curling your fingers into his hair as you pulled away from mark.
“i want to figure out who deserves me more.”
haechan shoved mark backward—not hard, but enough to reclaim space. and mark let it happen for a second, jaw tight, watching as haechan spun you to face him and kissed you deep, tongue fucking into your mouth.
but then mark was there again. his hands on your hips, his chest flush with your back, and this time, he kissed haechan.
really kissed him. it wasn’t an accident or in heat-of-the-moment.
mark leaned around you, lips capturing haechan’s mid-moan, his fingers curling into your waistband as their mouths crashed. it was clumsy at first and then it turned hungry.
the three of you moved together, a mess of hands and mouths and breathless gasps. clothing peeled away between kisses, bodies pressing against each other with no room left for shame. by the time you hit the couch, you were half-naked and drenched in anticipation.
you shoved mark down first, straddling his lap, grinding against him as haechan knelt beside you.
“who gets to fuck you first?” haechan asked, his voice hoarse and teasing.
you smiled, biting your lip as you looked down at mark.
mark's breath hitched beneath you, his eyes flicked up and then down to where your soaked panties were rubbing against the thick outline of his cock through his jeans.
"fuck," he muttered, head tipping back against the couch as you rolled your hips again, just to watch him squirm.
haechan had one hand running up your thigh, the other palming the bulge in mark’s jeans with a wicked little grin. his own erection poking through his boxers
"you're both hard already," you whispered, your voice sweet and venomous. you leaned forward, brushing your lips against mark's ear. "and i haven’t even gotten naked yet."
"then fucking do it," mark growled.
"ask nicer," you cooed.
haechan laughed, low and breathy. then he kissed your inner thigh, right above where the fabric was sticking to your soaked cunt, and said, "i’ll ask for him—take it off, baby."
you stood up and pulled your shirt over your head. no bra. both of their eyes dropped to your chest in an almost comical way. you hooked your thumbs into your panties and slid them down. by the time you were naked, both boys looked like they were seconds from breaking.
you dropped to your knees between them and unzipped mark’s jeans first, pulling his cock free and stroking him slowly, twisting your wrist the way you knew made his eyes roll back. he groaned, head falling forward to watch you.
then, without warning, you leaned sideways and took haechan into your mouth instead.
mark cursed under his breath. haechan let out a deep, shaky breath, hand immediately tangling in your hair. you sucked him slow, wet, deep, letting the mess coat your lips as you kept stroking mark at the same time.
you pulled off with a filthy pop, a string of spit connecting your lips to the head of his cock. "you like watching, mark?" you asked, turning your head just enough to meet his eyes as you jerked them both off side by side. "you like seeing how good i take his cock?"
mark's nostrils flared. then his hand was in your hair too, tugging you toward him, and you let him push into your mouth—let him fuck into your throat until you gagged, until your eyes watered, until his cock was slick with spit.
“jesus christ,” he muttered, voice ragged.
haechan reached over and grabbed mark’s jaw, turning his face toward him to kiss him.
their mouths crashed messily. they kissed like they hated each other for how much they wanted this.
you sat back, breathless, watching their lips collide with yours on both their cocks, and you moaned—because this was it. this was your fantasy.
they broke apart with a gasp, and you grinned.
"let’s go to my room," you said.
but you barely made it down the hall before haechan spun you around and pressed you to the wall, his mouth crashing into yours. he kissed like he wanted to bruise you. hands groping, lips biting, tongue deep and fast and hungry.
mark’s hand was already sliding up under your thigh, lifting your leg so he could step in behind you. his breath ghosted over your neck, and his voice was a low growl against your skin.
“you like letting him touch you like that?” he asked, pressing his hips into your ass so you could feel exactly what he meant. “you gonna let me fuck you after he’s had his way with you?”
you moaned, letting your head fall back onto mark’s shoulder as haechan’s hand slid down your front and cupped your pussy, two fingers slipping through the mess between your legs.
“she’s soaked,” haechan smirked. “god, you’re such a filthy little thing.”
“fucking ours,” mark said, and even haechan didn’t argue with that.
they walked you to the bed like wolves with prey between their teeth. when you climbed onto the mattress, you didn’t even get time to settle because mark grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up and spreading you wide.
haechan knelt in front of you, his cock already leaking. “open that pretty mouth again, baby.”
you did. obedient, dripping, desperate.
mark’s fingers slid into you from behind as haechan pushed into your mouth. your moan vibrated around his cock, and he cursed under his breath, thrusting deeper. mark’s pace picked up, his fingers curling just right—fucking you open, getting you ready.
"you’re gonna take us both,” mark said, and it wasn’t a question.
he lined up behind you just as haechan pulled back, breath ragged, stroking himself as he watched your ass push back toward mark instinctively. mark slid in slowly, inch by inch until you were full.
"fuck—" mark’s voice cracked. "you feel s’good."
haechan grabbed your chin to tilt your face up. “look at me while he fucks you,” he said, voice thick with lust. “wanna see your face when you cum all over his cock”
mark started thrusting harder, faster. your hands clawed at the sheets, moans falling from your lips in broken little gasps as your body rocked between them. haechan was watching every twitch of your face mesmerized.
and then he kissed you again, teeth dragging your lower lip before he shoved his cock back into your mouth.
it was obscene.
mark pounding into you, cock hitting the deepest spot inside your gummy walls, while you choked around haechan’s cock, spit dripping down your chin and onto the sheets. both of them moaning and touching you like they didn’t care if they left bruises so long as you kept begging for more.
“fuck—” haechan’s voice cracked, hips twitching as your mouth kept taking him, sloppy and hungry. “gonna cum on your tongue, baby. don’t even think about stopping. take it. take it.”
behind you, mark’s breath was a rough growl against your ear, his grip digging harshly into your hips as he drove into you desperately.
“you feel this?” he hissed, voice shaking. “tight little cunt, soaked and squeezing the fuck out of me. you like being used like this, don’t you?”
you moaned so hard it came out as a choke around haechan’s cock, spit and precum leaking from the corners of your mouth.
your orgasm ripped through you like a scream you couldn’t voice, your thighs shaking, core clenching so hard around mark he nearly lost it.
“fuckfuckfuck—” he groaned, ramming into you until his hips stuttered and he came deep inside you, cursing through gritted teeth as you milked every drop from him.
haechan didn’t stop. even after mark collapsed forward against your back, he kept thrusting into your mouth, hips slapping your cheeks as he muttered incoherently, “fucking angel like this… ruined slut… fuck—”
your eyes rolled back, drool spilling past your lips as he came with a loud moan. his cum flooded your mouth so fast you gagged on it. he didn’t even pull out right away but just held your head there, watching your throat work as you tried to swallow around the mess.
mark looked down, chest still heaving. “jesus,” he muttered, watching the cum drip off your chin, pooling under you. “she looks fucking destroyed.”
your body collapsed face-down across the sheets, arms trembling, legs still spread and twitching. your skin burned from the heat of them, from their hands, their mouths. and still—they weren’t done.
mark sat up slowly, eyes locked on the cum leaking down your thighs. he reached down without a word, dragged two fingers through it, and spread it back up into you.
“don’t waste it,” he muttered, his voice low, hoarse. “not after you begged for it.”
haechan was still in front of you, watching the whole thing with a lazy grin. he leaned in, wiped the mess from your chin with his thumb, and smeared it back across your lips. “open.”
you did.
he shoved his thumb in, and you sucked weakly.
“god, look at you,” he whispered, thumb still in your mouth. “so fucking pretty like this. dumb and dripping with our cum.”
mark pushed in two fingers next, fucking it deeper into the mess between your thighs. “she’s still clenching,” he said. “greedy even now.”
you whimpered into haechan’s hand, your thighs shaking again. the overstimulation was biting at the edges of your spine like static.
“she can take another,” haechan said. “can’t you, sweetheart?”
you didn’t reply fast enough so mark grabbed your jaw and turned your head. “you want us to stop?”
you blinked, dazed.
“…no.”
“then say it.”
“don’t stop,” you whispered. “please…”
haechan was behind you before you could think, spreading your ass with both hands like he was admiring a ruined piece of art. he bent down, spit pooling from his mouth and landing right on your hole before he dragged two fingers through the mess of mark’s cum still leaking out of you.
“look at this,” he muttered, spreading you wider, thumb rubbing slow circles. “she’s dripping with you, mark. you gonna let me fuck her like that?”
mark didn’t answer. he just sat back with his legs spread, cock half-hard and twitching back to life as he watched you squirm.
“she said not to stop,” mark said finally, voice like gravel and heat. “so don’t.”
haechan lined himself up and slid in slowly until you were choking on your own moan, fingers clawing the sheets again. your body was trembling from the overstimulation but he didn’t care. not even a little. he gripped your hips and started fucking you in hard, rough strokes that made the whole bed creak.
“every sound you make is fucking delicious,” he grunted. “i'm gonna hear you when i jack off for a week straight.”
you cried out, and mark moved toward your head, grabbing your chin and lifting it.
“open your mouth,” he said.
you did and he spit into it. it hit your tongue, thick and warm, and he didn’t even wait for you to swallow before he slid his cock between your lips.
“don’t you dare stop sucking.”
your throat was sore from taking haechan earlier and your pussy was raw from how hard you’d already been fucked—but none of that mattered. not when they were both moaning. not when mark was muttering how pretty you looked drooling around his cock. not when haechan was rutting into you like he had something to prove.
“she’s not even thinking anymore,” haechan gasped. “just moaning and crying for us—fuck, she’s perfect.”
you didn’t realize your second orgasm was coming until it hit you harder and meaner than the previous one, tearing through your overstimulated nerves until your body convulsed and your throat released a garbled cry around mark’s cock.
mark came first this time, groaning as he pulled out just in time to jerk himself off all over your face until his cum painted your cheeks, your lips, your tongue.
“look at you,” he breathed. “fuck.”
haechan came right after, buried to the hilt inside you, hips stuttering as he flooded you again. his cum mixing with mark’s cum.
you were twitching against mark’s thighs, completely fucked out.
but they didn’t even leave you alone then.
mark pulled you up so you were fully on top of his chest, and ran a thumb over your ruined lips while his other hand slid between your thighs again, fingers stroking the mess they’d made.
“you’re not done,” he whispered.
haechan leaned in from behind, kissing your neck, biting your shoulder. “we’re gonna clean you up from the inside.”
your limbs trembled, your thighs were soaked, your throat ached but your moans still came out soft and needy, like begging had become your first language.
mark’s hand moved between your legs, fingers slipping back inside you with zero mercy. your pussy twitched around him, hypersensitive, every motion making your whole body flinch—but fuck if it didn’t feel good.
“you’re gonna cum again,” he said, more command than promise. “and again. and again. until we say you’re done.”
haechan moved on top of you, curling around you like a possessive snake.
“you hear that, baby?” he whispered “you wanted both of us… this is what that means.”
his hand snuck between your thighs, meeting mark’s fingers. two sets of fingers working inside you, scissoring, curling, fucking you through the wreckage of your last orgasm and dragging you right into the next.
you were crying now, quiet tears streaming down your cheeks as your body betrayed how good it felt. your hips rocking against their hands, head thrown against mark’s shoulder.
“good fucking girl,” mark breathed, watching your face with that reverent hunger. “look at her, haechan. she’s crying and still begging for more.”
“she’s ours,” haechan said simply, dragging his tongue along your neck, tasting the salt of your tears. “no one else gets her like this.”
and then—as if coordinated—they both moved faster.
your moans cracked into a sob, and you grabbed for mark’s arms as you came again. hard. your body shaking against his, your vision going white around the edges.
“one more,” mark muttered, watching your pussy clench and flutter around his fingers. “you can give us one more, can’t you?”
“she can,” haechan said, now sucking a bruise into your shoulder. “she’s such a good little toy.”
you couldn’t even speak. just gasps, sobs, a whimper of please—though none of you were really sure if it meant please stop or please keep going.
“we’ll stop when you can’t remember your name,” mark whispered, fingers still deep inside you.
he pulled his fingers out of you with one last deep curl, just to watch the way your hips jerked from the sudden loss.
haechan crawled down, hand on your thighs, pressing you into the mattress as he dropped to his stomach in front of your core
"be still," he licked his lips and then his tongue was on you.
licking up everything—all of it—his spit mixing with their cum, slow and messy, like he was trying to taste every second of what they'd done to you. he groaned against your cunt, burying his face between your legs as you sobbed, so overstimulated you couldn’t decide whether you were moaning or crying.
mark brushed your hair out of your face with a hand that was far too gentle for how he’d just destroyed you. he leaned down, kissed your tear-slick cheek, and whispered, “you’re doing so good, baby. letting us use you like this.”
his voice dropped lower, mouth brushing your ear now. “you’re ours. you know that, right? nothing left for anyone else. ”
you nodded. your throat too raw, and lips too bruised to speak.
“she’s clenching again,” haechan called from between your thighs, laughing, breath hot against you. “she’s about to fucking cum on my tongue.”
and fuck—you did.
your whole body jolted violently, and mark had to kiss you to keep you from screaming out. you cried into his mouth, so wet, so wrecked, and still grinding back against haechan’s mouth.
“fuck,” haechan groaned, pulling back just enough to kiss the inside of your thigh. “you taste like a dream.”
“i need to fuck you again” mark said, shifting back behind you. “slow this time. deep. so you remember my cock after tonight.”
haechan didn’t argue.
he just moved, lips dragging up your thighs as mark pulled your hips back up.
he slid into you again and you whimpered.
"breathe, baby," he whispered. "you're okay. i've got you."
haechan curled up in front of you, kissing your mouth now, slow and messy. his hand found your throat and he squeezed softly.
you looked up at him, saw his gaze flicker over your shoulder to where mark was moving behind you. and fuck if that look wasn’t hungry.
"you two gonna keep pretending this isn’t about more than me?" you whispered, voice raw but daring. “you’ve been dying to touch each other. do it.”
mark froze, cock still buried deep. haechan didn’t blink.
you rolled your hips enough to make mark gasp—and then you turned your head and said it again.
“touch him.”
haechan’s hand slid down slowly, fingers ghosting over your thigh first… then lower… until he reached between your legs and brushed mark’s cock where it was buried inside you.
"fuck," mark grunted, voice cracking slightly.
haechan smirked, leaned over your shoulder and whispered in mark’s ears, “do you like it, lee?”
he curled his fingers around mark’s cock, still moving in and out of you, and started stroking him. touching you and him in the same stroke. mark groaned into your skin, grip on your hips tightening.
“don’t stop,” mark gasped, voice lower than you'd ever heard it. “fuck—don’t stop.”
you moaned too, completely overwhelmed now watching the two of them break for each other.
"who knew you were this needy?" haechan taunted.
"shut up" mark groaned, hips faltering.
haechan leaned forward again, brushing his lips against mark’s jaw.
“shut me up,” he said, soft and dangerous.
mark hesitated for a second and then their mouths crashed together.
it was brutal and desperate. they kissed over your back like they were fighting for dominance, like they were starving for it.
mark kept fucking into you as they kissed, pace getting rougher now, hips snapping with every gasp. haechan kept stroking you both, his fingers moving between your clit and mark’s cock, never giving either of you a break.
haechan broke the kiss first, panting, lips swollen. “she’s gonna come again,” he muttered, fingers rubbing harder. “fuck, she’s squeezing you so tight.”
“i’m close, too” mark groaned “i’m gonna—”
you came first, clenching around both haechan’s hand and mark’s cock. your whole body spasming as the orgasm slammed through you.
mark came soon after with a gasp, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you again. he only pulled out
haechan didn’t stop touching you. didn’t stop kissing mark. until he’d wrung every drop out of both of you.
it was quiet for a moment.
both boys still half-tangled with you, one on either side. haechan’s mouth trailed down your body, licking over bruises he’d left earlier, until he settled between your thighs again. he kissed your inner thigh, then the other, lips dragging against sensitive skin, breathing in the scent of your ruined cunt like it was perfume.
“she’s still fucking soaked,” he muttered. “how are you still this wet?”
“because she knows what’s coming,” mark said, taking your hand and guiding it to his mouth. he kissed your fingers. then your wrist. then up your arm, slow and careful.
then he sat up and lifted your upper body into his lap, turning you around and cradling you against his chest as haechan started licking long, slow strokes up your pussy again.
your legs trembled, your hands dug into mark’s thighs. you weren’t just being eaten out, you were being devoured.
“you’re gonna take us both this time,” mark grunted into your ear. “not one at a time. both.”
haechan looked up, eyes gleaming.
“ever been filled in both holes, baby?”
your breath hitched. you couldn’t speak but your body said yes.
mark shifted behind you again, this time lining himself up lower. haechan moved between your legs, stroking himself slow, teasing the head of his cock through your slick folds.
“you ready?” haechan asked, breath hot against your mouth.
you nodded.
and then they were both pushing in at the same time.
one in your pussy, one in your ass.
and fuck—you lost your mind.
your mouth dropped open in a scream you didn’t even hear. you were full in the truest, filthiest sense of the word.
they groaned in unison, both of them stilling once they were fully buried inside you.
“holy fuck,” mark gasped. “she’s so tight like this—”
but you did move. you rolled your hips, whimpering, desperate for more friction. and then they started thrusting.
together.
deep, slow, alternating, syncing like they were choreographing the destruction of your sanity.
your body jolted between them with every stroke. you were moaning, begging, babbling things you couldn’t understand. their hands were all over you—mark’s on your breasts, haechan’s on your throat, their mouths kissing every inch of you they could reach.
“this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” mark growled. “us… fucking you together.”
“she was made to take us like this.” haechan breathed, watching your eyes roll back.
you didn’t just come this time. you broke. sobbing and clenching down on both of them as your orgasm hit like a bus. they didn’t even stop, they fucked you through it, fucked you through the twitching and the tears and the oversensitive spasms until you were just a mess of yesyesyes and pleasepleaseplease.
they came together. mark first, biting your shoulder, thrusts deep and hard. then haechan, with a strangled moan, spilling inside you with one final snap of his hips.
you didn’t know how long you were out—could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours. the world felt muted. like your body had been peeled open and left raw in the best way. your limbs wouldn’t move right. your skin was still tingling. your chest rising slowly like every breath was relearned.
mark was the first to move. he didn’t speak, just rolled you onto your side gently, cradling your body lgently. he reached for the sheets, wiped between your thighs with careful strokes, even as your legs twitched and your whole body flinched at the contact.
“you alive?” mark asked softly.
you hummed. barely.
“good,” haechan said. “because imagine explaining this to the paramedics.” he kissed your shoulder, tongue dragging over the sweat there.
you laughed—more like a broken giggle—and they both chuckled too.
mark leaned in, brushed your hair back from your face. “you okay?”
you nodded, and when you whispered “yeah,” he kissed your temple.
“you need water, or—?”
“i need to feel you again,” you said.
he blinked, then smiled fondly.
haechan slid a hand up your stomach, resting between your breasts. “she’s addicted,” he whispered, and you could feel the grin in his voice. “she’s not even cleaned up and she’s already asking for more.”
you turned your head slightly. “so stop teasing me and touch me.”
mark’s fingers were already trailing back down your side. “not to fuck you again,” he said, “not yet.”
he looked at you softly, but serious. “we’re gonna clean you up.”
haechan slipped out of bed and disappeared for a second, then came back with a warm cloth. mark took it, and the two of them cleaned your body. wiping gently between your legs, kissing the insides of your knees. haechans tongue licked along your hip just because he wanted to.
“look at this mess,” he murmured, dragging the cloth through the mixture of their cum and yours. “we fucked you so good. you’re still dripping.”
you whimpered.
mark kissed your thigh. “we’ll fill you up again,” he promised. “after you rest. after we take care of you.”
“and when you wake up,” haechan added, crawling up beside you, “you’re getting marked again, so no one even thinks about touching you.”
┈─★
the first thing you felt the next morning was heat. not the kind that fades when the blankets shift. no, this was body heat. the weight of someone’s thigh tangled with yours. the press of a chest at your back. the warm exhale of breath across your neck.
your eyes blinked open slowly.
and both of them were still in your bed.
mark was behind you, arm slung over your waist, breath warm against your shoulder. haechan was in the front, legs tangled with yours and one hand resting against the underside of your breast like he’d fallen asleep mid-grope.
mark stirred first, pressing a slow kiss to the back of your shoulder. “morning,” he mumbled, voice deep and sleep-rough.
you hummed. “you stayed.”
“of course,” he said like it was obvious.
haechan groaned, stretching. his hand slid higher and squeezed your tit without even opening his eyes. “if i’d left, i would’ve had to jerk off in the dorm thinking about this,” he muttered. “no thanks.”
you laughed softly, body curling between them. “are you always this charming in the morning?”
mark chuckled. “only when we wake up next to a gorgeous girl.”
“mm,” haechan hummed, finally opening his eyes. “speaking of…”
he pushed the blanket back and looked you over like he was unwrapping a gift.
“what?” you asked, even though you knew exactly what.
mark leaned up on one elbow, gaze sweeping from your face to the marks on your neck, down to the faint bruises on your hips. his hand brushed them lightly, almost in awe.
“we did a number on you,” he murmured.
“yeah,” you said, voice light. “you gonna apologize?”
they both smirked.
“no,” haechan said, already moving to kiss down your chest. “we’re gonna do it again.”
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can i get a name for your drink? yeah, peter parker
genre: delinquent!ateez x bubble tea worker!reader, meet-cute, high school au, fluff, crack
length: 6.6k
c/w: cliche depictions of high school delinquents, mentions of smoking, drugs and clubs, boys trying to act tough, everybody has bad humour, swearing is their mother tongue
synopsis: a bubble tea shop is one of the last places you would expect for a high school delinquent to walk into during the dead of night. yet here you are, forming an unlikely friendship with not one but eight of them. they may be kind of stupid, but they also kind of grow on you.
a/n: a fic with no angst? a fic without a 40k wc?? new writer who dis. just a short and sweet fic @sorryimananti-romantic helped prod me to write
you know that you are probably shaving a couple months off your lifespan each time you work a night shift at the bubble tea shop and subsequently fuck up your entire sleep routine for the next couple of days, but it gives you a bit of extra money, there are hardly any customers, and it is quiet enough that you can squeeze in some studying at the same time.
the shop probably averages about two couples and a few odd individuals here and there per night. why a small business would even decide to stay open during ghost hours in the first place, likely making negative profit, you have no idea. but you digress–you are just here to bum around for money.
so when your average customer number suddenly spikes not just by one, two or three people, but by an entire group of eight, it is safe to say you are more than confused. they are obviously your age because you can recognise the school crest embroidered onto the front pocket of their uniform shirts; it is one of the nearby high schools in the area. except, that is where the similarity ends.
only half of them are wearing their uniform, and even then they layer it unbuttoned over bold statement t-shirts like it is a mere accessory. the others wear black tracksuits and there is not a single pair of proper school shoes to be seen. your eyes cannot help but scan their pierced ears and obviously-styled hairstyles–you are pretty sure the shortest boy has dyed his hair a lighter shade of brown too.
it is hard to take your attention off of him as he takes one last drag of the cigarette in his hand, lazily blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth before he flicks the butt onto the floor outside and steps in through the door along with the others. you idly wonder how he got his hands on a fake id to purchase cigarettes in the first place, but at least he is polite about not smoking inside your store.
the group saunters up and you startle slightly as the boy at the front slaps his hand against the counter with the matching confidence to his glorified 6 foot height to demand, “give me a double shot of espresso.” he pulls away his hand to reveal a mismatched assortment of sad coins and crumpled notes.
“we, uh–” you glance not so subtly at the wall-sized menu behind you and the LED lighting decor sprawled across the other three walls with the phrases, ‘you’re a cu-tea’, ‘you’re pearl-fect’, and ‘you’re my bo-bae’, and wonder what gave these boys the impression they could order coffee. “we don’t sell coffee,” you state.
he does not seem fazed by your words at all. “can’t you just, like, charge me for your most expensive drink and make me a coffee?” he asks his absurd question with practiced ease, which makes you think that this is not his first rodeo.
unfortunately for him though, you deadpan, “i physically can’t. we don’t have a coffee machine.”
the boy’s expression finally cracks a little and you can literally see the cogs slowing down to a stop inside his brain. “aw, fuck,” he swears, “this worked last time.”
one his friends shrugs callously and snickers, “what did i say, mingi. told you they wouldn’t have one.”
“shut up, jongho,” he gripes in response.
you gesture vaguely at the laminated menu on the counter beside the cash register. “would you like something else to drink?” you offer.
the tall boy–mingi–takes all but one look at the barrage of words before his eyes flicker back up towards you. “recommend something.”
“depends on what you’re feeling,” you hum your scripted question, pointing to the different sections of the menu. “do you want something fruity or milky?”
he looks constipated as he weighs the two options. “fruity?” he eventually settles, still sounding unsure. “what’s good?”
at the question, all of their eyes turn to look at you intently and you feel yourself wilting internally at the thought of explaining the drinks to a group of boys that look like outright delinquents, because if there is one downside to working here apart from the crippling health impacts, it is the loss of your dignity each time you have to say the stupid names of the drinks.
“well,” you clear your throat and steel yourself, “we’ve got the bubbly butterfly blues, a purple grape and blueberry fruit ade, or the mysterious mermaid magic, a mango and passionfruit green tea with rainbow pearls.” you forge on with your explanations despite the furrowed brows and open mouths of judgement on their faces, deciding to give them a recommendation for a milky drink too just in case. “the rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles is also pretty popular. it’s a strawberry milk tea with whipped cream, sprinkles and marshm–”
“i’ll take that one,” mingi interrupts, unable to stand the onslaught of words that make the world around him explode into pink glitter. he drops an additional crinkled note onto the counter for good measure and then strides away to take a seat at the table in the furthest corner of the store to wait for his cutesy drink.
half a snort escapes the back of your throat at the sight. mingi may as well hold a megaphone to his mouth and shout “i am a manly man!” to make himself feel better. what an idiot.
you shift your attention to the rest of the group. “anything i can get for you guys?” you ask.
“fuck it, why not,” the one who had been smoking shrugs immediately. “get me the same thing he’s getting.”
most of the others pass and step away to join mingi at the table as you sort out the payment for delinquent number two’s cutesy drink. when you close the cash register–you are tempted to ask them why they have so many loose coins–the last two of the boys sidle up to the other side of the counter, peering down carefully at the menu.
you frown.
these two are actually wearing their uniform properly, only the first buttons of their shirt undone, no brightly-coloured tee peeking out from underneath, ties still around their neck and shirts tucked into their pants. they are even wearing their name tags; kang yeosang and park seonghwa. also, apart from the fact that the two appear prim and proper enough to be part of the student council, they are also very pretty.
said two look up at you, catch the frown across your face, fumble a little, then give you a small smile as a peace offering. “hi,” seonghwa greets softly, “can we get two regular pearl milk teas, please? thank you.”
you physically recoil.
“blink twice if you’re being threatened,” you blurt out, the words tumbling unwisely out of your mouth before you can stop them and definitely loud enough that all eight of the boys can hear you.
blink twice seonghwa and yeosang do, but not as a confirmation that the stark difference in their appearance and demeanour to the others is a sign they are being bullied into hanging out. they blink to ask–very respectfully–what the fuck you are on about.
they blink at you. you blink at them. the other boys blink at the three of you.
“sure thing!” you vocally sweep your own words under the rug. “two regular pearl milk teas coming right up!”
you swipe yeosang’s payment out of his hands–notes and coins carefully counted out to the exact amount–and punch the number into the cashier before swiftly turning your back to them to make their drinks. if you ignore something hard enough then it never happened. and it works, because they retreat to join the rest of their friends at the furthest table without further comment.
it does not take long to make all four of their drinks, but you do take a few extra minutes to carefully swirl the whipped cream on top of the strawberry milk tea orders and artistically shower them with sprinkles and marshmallows. you want to make them as cute as you fucking possibly can just for mingi.
“two rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles and two regular pearl milk teas,” you call out.
they all stand up, likely ready to leave once they grab their drinks. mingi leads the group with his long strides and he picks up his drink with one hand. he holds it up to eye level to study it like an unknown specimen and the moment he picks it up, one of his friends–you think you overheard the others call him wooyoung–cannot help but blurt out with distaste, “that shit looks sweet as fuck.”
mingi holds his drink closer to his body with a light glare because hey, it does look sweet as fuck but it also actually looks really good. and kind of cute, he will admit. he takes a tentative sip through the straw then a small lick of the whipped cream on top, the scattered toppings simultaneously crunching and melting in his mouth to spread sweet diabetes across his tongue.
it tastes like drugs in sugar form.
and it must show on his face because the tallest of his friends leans over to do the same, taking a sip from the same straw and a lick of the whipped cream from the other side, only far more generous and daring than the drink’s owner.
“bro,” comes the tall boy’s immediate reaction, “i’d get one of these every day.”
wooyoung suddenly looks less dubious and asks, curiosity now piqued, “give me a sip of that rainbow shit.”
“no,” mingi instantly responds, still keeping his drink close to his body and literally turning away to keep it protected and out of wooyoung’s reach. “you insulted my drink. get your own.”
the latter whines and you physically jerk backwards for the second time that night at their complete disregard for following stereotypical delinquent traits. you are starting to think that they are not delinquents so much as delinquent-wannabes and they seem increasingly harmless the more they simply exist.
“hongjoong,” wooyoung suddenly sings out, appearing to change targets to his other friend who had ordered the same drink. he is determined to try a sip tonight without having to spend his own money, but alas–
hongjoong flips him off and cradles his drink out of sight too. “you insulted my drink by extension.”
–determination can only get him so far.
this time, you cannot help the proper snort of amusement that leaves your mouth. you dare to hold your gaze with a lightly teasing lilt of your lips when wooyoung whips his head around with narrowed eyes. the boy cogs turn in his head as he deduces how far he can push the boundaries with you and he must come to some sort of conclusion that you are a newfound stranger-friend because he jokes with a straight face, “i’ll rob you.”
“sure,” you answer easily, tapping in a fake order onto the register’s screen to eject the cash drawer with a comedic ding! emphasising your words.
a few of them guffaw and wooyoung’s expression lights up to actually reach over the counter to help himself to a ten dollar bill. that is, until his hand is slapped away by somebody else with quite possibly the most perfect eyebrows you have ever seen. and no. you are most definitely not jealous.
“i’ll pay for your drink,” the friend chides, digging into his back pocket to fish out his wallet.
seonghwa shakes his head and advises, “don’t enable him, san,” at the same time that wooyoung brattily decides, “nah, don’t want one.”
“god, that’s it,” jongho mutters, starting to usher the group away from the counter towards the direction of the doors. “we’re leaving. mingi’s waiting outside already.”
they let themselves be herded and a few of them even turn to wave goodbye to you at the doors, cheerfully leaving behind the words ‘we’ll be back!’ in their wake as they exit the shop. your hand remains suspended in the air mid-wave even after they have disappeared and you blink blankly at the bizarreness of your entire encounter with the group of boys.
you do not know if they truly mean it when they say they will be back, but you do know one thing; you kind of hope that they do.
“can i get that thing i got last week.”
the tone of mingi’s voice ends his sentence more like it is a demand than it is a question, but the nuance of his words is still a request and already an improvement in comparison to your first encounter with him. if you are completely honest, you are also somewhat happy to see him and the others come back, so you will take the wins where you can. baby steps.
“which one?” you clarify. “i don’t remember.”
you do remember because their group of eight is pretty hard to forget, and they are some of the only customers you ever get. plus, you have made it somewhat of a personal challenge to hear mingi say something as stupid as ‘rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles’, which means that you are going to pretend for as long as you need to.
he scratches the side of his neck. “y’know, that drink you said is good.”
“we have a couple of those. was it the, uh, mysterious mermaid magic?” your head tilts with exaggerated thoughtfulness and from behind mingi, hongjoong and wooyoung cackle while the others look on with smirks, having caught on to exactly what you are doing.
“no, the rainbow unic…” he mumbles, voice growing increasingly softer with each syllable until his mouth is simply opening and closing.
you look at him with faux apologeticness and furrow your brows, “sorry? i didn’t quite catch that.”
“say it louder, dude,” his tall friend nudges him playfully. you are going to need to find out his name somehow because his is the only one you have yet to figure out, and you have a feeling you and him would get along real good.
“the rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles,” mingi finally gets out. if he were a cartoon character, you would see the rising colour of bright red creep up from under his uniform to the tip of his ears and then to the very roots of his hair.
god forbid a manly man purchase a cutesy pick-me-up drink on a friday night.
you smile brightly and use your cheeriest customer service voice to announce, “one rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles for princess mingi coming right up.”
the boy in front of you is flattered to learn that you know and remember his name but is also twice as horrified by the nickname you have crowned him with. his brain short circuits and his eyes widen at you in panicked masculinity and he shoves his payment across the counter before retreating to the same table in the corner of the store where seonghwa is already seated. if you look closely enough, there is a little wisp of smoke coming out from the top of mingi’s head too as he malfunctions. heh.
the boy whose name you still do not know comes up to the counter next. he jerks his head backwards in the direction of mingi and orders, “could i get the same? that rainbow fairy sparkling unicorn or whatever.” the name is wrong but he gets an a+ for trying so you do not correct him, simply nodding and putting his order into the cash register instead.
then you ask for your own personal gain, “can i get a name for your drink?”
he does not appear to question your intentions nor realise he is the only one you have asked because he is too occupied grinning widely at you, unable to curb his cheeky excitement at the thought of what he is about to say. “yeah, peter parker,” comes his proud answer, quite literally naming his drink.
and that is how you find out that he has the best (read: worst) humour out of all of the boys.
it is frankly right up your alley but you refuse to let him one-up you. instead, you use it to your advantage. you nod, “p.p. for short,” dragging the abbreviated initials out for longer so that it sounds intentionally crude.
“peepee,” wooyoung repeats with unrestrained laughter, high-pitched shrieking that sets off the others as well.
and that is also how you find out that wooyoung has the easiest funny bone to tickle out of all the boys.
p.p.’s eyes glint with delight at the fact that you can both take and dish out your own freak. he leans against the countertop on his elbow, which is a sight to behold with how far he has to stoop down because of his height, and exposes you with no qualms, “it’s yunho, by the way, since you wanted to know my name so badly.” he adds a flirty wink for good measure as his friends ooh like the true teenage boys that they are.
you mirror his mannerisms and bat your eyelashes at him to say, “okay, whatever you say, peepee.”
hongjoong intervenes and shoves yunho aside before the latter can fall in love with you and your wack-ass humour or something. he shoos him away, “go sit at the table,” as if he is sending the taller into the naughty corner.
yunho concedes with his hands raised in mock surrender, walking backwards as he reassures his friend, “don’t worry. you won’t hear a peep-ee out of me.”
your facade cracks and you let out a laugh, which only grows louder when jongho takes the liberty to grab a wrapped straw from the container on your countertop to peg it at yunho’s face. it bounces perfectly off the middle of his forehead and lands on the floor, where seonghwa–bless him–bends down to pick it up. you think he might just be your favourite.
“didn’t know you were into that kind of humour,” hongjoong notes with a tone of amusement.
“oh, there’s a lot about me that you don’t know,” you respond, a hint of flirtatiousness in your words.
fuck being professional. these boys would probably be the last people on earth to ever report you for something like a coquettish comment, and god forbid you want to flirt with a couple of really hot guys. the image of hongjoong taking a lazy drag from his cigarette burns at the forefront of your mind as he stares intently into your eyes, and his seeming nonchalance to his own charm only makes him that much more attractive.
he raises an eyebrow, “is that a challenge?”
“only if you’re up for it,” you respond coyly.
san coughs and interrupts, “not to be a cockblock, but can you flirt after we order our drinks.”
the boy in front of you rolls his eyes, pairing it with a loving middle finger at his friend. however, he moves over anyway, half mumbling that he is not going to get a drink. his spot at the counter is immediately snagged by san who mimics yunho’s earlier pose leaning against the surface. “so,” he gives you an overly-smouldering gaze, “tell me something about yourself that i don’t know.”
a bubble of mirth rises from out of your chest and san drops the act utterly pleased with himself. you humour him, though only partially, by revealing, “the desserts here are actually really good. i love the cookies.”
“which one’s your favourite?”
you point to one of the cookies in the second row of the display counter. “the biscoff and peanut butter fudge.”
one of his beautiful brows raises upwards as if to ask why the cookie name is so normal. you give him a miniscule shrug. beats me. he shakes his head with a slight chuckle then requests, “i’ll have one of each cookie and one of each donut that you’ve got.” your eyes bug out of your head because that is a fuckton of cookies and donuts, but san reassures you they all have caves for stomachs.
you get started on their drinks then slide the glass doors open to pull their desserts out, only to realise that yeosang has lingered close by to watch you. he is not wearing his uniform today, instead in a tracksuit like the others but in white. he looks good in that colour and you tell him such, “your tracksuit looks good.”
“thanks,” he replies easily, “wooyoung shoplifted it for me.”
your jaw drops at his sudden confession, too taken aback to appropriately school your expression in time even if you should not really be too surprised by their shenanigans. at your obvious stupor, yeosang’s stoic face breaks immediately and he reveals, “just kidding, hehe.” despite his joke, he blushes to the very tip of his ears like rudolph but elf style and rushes away.
you are left dumbfounded in a good way. one day, you are going to teach yeosang a thing or two about confidence because his uncanny ability to keep a straight face whilst saying the most out-of-left-field thing when it is least expected then leaving the other person wondering whether he is being genuine or only joking is top-tier humour–he just needs to learn how to own it.
you are also left wondering whether there is a single sane soul in this friendship group. you still hold some hope for seonghwa and maybe san, but who knows.
when their drinks and spread of desserts are ready, you expect them all to leave like they did last week. except this time they drag two circular tables closer together in the far corner of the store that they seem hellbent on claiming as their spot, where they then lay out all of the desserts across the joint surface. you watch from behind the counter. there is both a sense of systematic order and chaotic mess to the way they take a bite out of a cookie or donut, nod enthusiastically at how good it tastes whilst shoving it into the face of somebody else, who will in turn take a bite and join in on the enthusiastic nodding and moan an affirmative that it is good.
“wait, this donut is fucking fire,” you hear, and, “this cookie is The Shit, bro.”
they are sort of really fucking cute; boys you would expect to see loitering in alleyways with cigs in their mouths and sneaking into clubs with fakes to pop pills, instead sitting hunched over on cute plastic stools around rickety circular tables sharing sweet desserts like they are at a tea party.
wooyoung catches your gaze over the top of jongho’s head and he gets up instantly to drag you out from behind your counter. all of your warbled protests go unheard as he pulls you by one of your loose apron ties–his strangely endearing way of being respectful not to actually touch you–towards their tables whilst refuting, “there’s nobody else in here but us.”
that is how you find yourself squashed between seonghwa and jongho, your shoulders and thighs touching from close proximity.
“try this blueberry lemon cookie,” seonghwa offers from beside you the moment you sit down, extending the treat for you to take a bite from.
mingi so helpfully reminds, “she literally works here.”
seonghwa shushes him, “yeah, but she probably hasn’t tried everything on the menu.”
he is not wrong. you may have the appetite, but you do not have the physical stomach to try an entire serving of each dessert available in the shop, even if you were to try one per shift. now that the opportunity has handed itself to you on a silver platter, you are not going to refuse. plus, you do not think that you could ever bring yourself to say no when seonghwa is holding the cookie out with both hands so eagerly.
he is definitely your favourite.
you take a tentative bite out of the cookie and eight pairs of shiny eyes do not leave yours until you give them an affirmative and enthusiastic nod at its taste. all flurry of activity starts up again as they continue to trade desserts with those sitting beside them and across the circle. it feels like you are suddenly back in primary school, sharing your snacks out of your lunch box and trading sandwiches with your friends. they include you easily in both taste-testing and conversation, filling your usually quiet shift with antics and laughter.
it has always been a perk that you do not get many customers, but now more so than ever, you hope that nobody comes in for the remainder of your shift–or at the very least, not until the boys leave. in just two meetings, they have all grown on you in their own ways and you kind of want this to become a regular thing. you could definitely get used to this.
despite their appearances and rough-around-the-edges personalities, they are really just a bunch of boys living their life to the fullest in the diabetic form of bubble tea, loaded cookies and glazed donut runs in the middle of a random night.
and honestly? if you had a group of friends like them, you would too.
yunho’s eyes narrow fiercely at the couple who are walking along the footpath outside the perimeter of your shop, daring them to step in through the doors. his glare is not needed though–the very sight of what is going down inside is more than enough for their eyes to widen and for the man to hastily pull his girlfriend away.
“oh look, there goes another two potential customers,” hongjoong notes with sarcastic dismay. “i wonder why people are always in such a hurry to leave.”
yunho blinks his murderous intent away and faces you with round, innocent eyes as you roll your own and cross your arms. your insides wilt at the loss of potential revenue but only by a tad, because whatever business they boys scare off, they make up for several times over. you state as a matter-of-factly, “maybe it has something to do with jongho.”
said boy currently stands about three feet away from you, his arms raised and fists clenched threateningly as the rest of the boys surround the both of you in a circle of sorts as if they are about to witness a bloody fistfight. you suppose it does not look too far from the truth–you are about to get punched in the face.
jongho shrugs dismissively, “it’s not my fault other people aren’t interested in learning how to get knocked out by a sucker punch safely.”
“i don’t think any of those words should go together in a single sentence,” you tell him honestly, unimpressed.
you cannot win against him or any of them. last week it had been learning how to pop a dislocated shoulder back into place, the week before it had been how to dislocate a shoulder, and then the week before that it had been how to reverse-jump a person if they were chasing you into an alleyway.
it has become an ingrained part of your weekly routine for the boys to rock up during your friday night shift, order half the menu, hang around for hours where you usually join them, then leave until the next week rolls around again. but these random tutorials have only just recently become a new routine within your pre-existing routine.
it all started when wooyoung snuck behind your counter one night while your back was turned to make their drinks and decided it would be hilarious to scream in your face as you turned around. you had jerked backwards so hard that you knocked over the entire stack of blender jars, which toppled over into the dirty sink one after the other like noisy dominoes. seonghwa had made wooyoung personally clean and stack them all again as punishment, but the damage had been done and hongjoong had declared that you would not survive in the real world if a little fright like that could make your butthole pucker right back up into your own intestinal system.
and so had begun your weekly crash courses on survival instincts because according to them, you had none. you had refused to submit to their antics at first, but then yeosang had pointed out, “it’s true. wooyoung was standing behind you like a creep for a full five minutes and you didn’t even notice.” san had also threatened that they would not order anything until you complied each week.
“that’s not fair,” you had complained petulantly. “i just won’t serve you guys at all then.”
san had given you a cheshire grin. “you wouldn’t. we’re like, eighty percent of the total revenue you make during your shift.”
that shuts you up real quick and san knows, so you have no choice but to give in to whatever tomfoolery they choose to teach you for that week. if it is learning to ‘get knocked out by a sucker punch safely’, then so be it.
“okay, i’m all set to be punched in the future,” you declare dryly as jongho reigns in his fist after a pretend swing at your temple, “are you guys going to order now?”
hongjoong nods like he is the little leader of this delinquent gang, but jokes on him because they follow behind you to gather in front of the counter in a single file of sorts with practiced ease, an endearingly crooked line of ducklings. you know right off the bat that it means they already know what they want to order because other times they will come together as pairs or even triplets so that they can umm and ahh over the menu together.
you do not think you can ever take them seriously as proper delinquents–if they even count as such.
as if to prove your point even further, mingi throws up double gang signs and makes a poor attempt to rap, “i want an emineminem,” and when seonghwa not-so-subtly pinches his elbow, he adds on, “please.”
you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing as your hands automatically move to input his order into the register, long past familiar with what his order truly means; mysterious mermaid magic, because the alliteration of the name ‘m and m and m’ sounds the same as the rapper’s name twice. go figure. you do not know if ‘emineminem’ is worse, or, as san calls it whilst flexing his biceps, ‘the merman’.
the boys have a shockingly terrible incapacity to remember the names on the menu correctly, but it is also partially due to the fact that they could give less than zero fucks about them. they will either say what they think the name is, or what they think the name should be.
they make the rules. you simply follow.
the first time it happened was during their third time at the store. “yo, give me a triple b,” jongho had confidently ordered.
“a fuckin’ what?” you were positive you were having a stroke.
“a triple b,” he had tried again, frowning at how you did not automatically understand him. “the big butterfly bus or somethin’.”
you could not take him seriously. “big butterfly bus? what are they gonna do after hopping on? go to fucking school?” you had jested. “also, you can’t just make up your own name and expect me to–you know what, sure.”
it sort of becomes a game. you will roll over in your grave before admitting it, but it is sort of fun to hear an absolutely rubbish string of words–or letters–come out of their mouths for you to then follow their ridiculous train of thought backwards to work out what the actual drink is. the silly boys with their silly names kind of grow on you.
and you may or may not indulge them a little too much. they are the first to try any new items on the menu, even when they are still technically not meant to be available to the general public. but when they pounce on whatever you present to them on the table like puppies and fresh kibble, it is very hard not to keep doing so. which is exactly why you bring out the batch of cupcakes you had made earlier specifically for them to taste.
they look like normal vanilla-frosted cupcakes, except when you bite into them, there is a dark chocolate cookie inside the base. it is the perfect mix of soft and chewy, and when the gooeyness is maximised by slightly warming the dessert up, it is–
“fucking fire, bro,” yunho says around a mouthful, blatantly ignoring the dirty look that seonghwa shoots him for talking with food in his mouth.
yeosang inspects the cookie at the core. “have you named it yet?”
you do not get a say in what the menu items are named and they always do in fact already have a name by the time the boys get to try them. regardless, you answer, “not yet,” because they love the power trip they get when they have creative liberty over your store’s products.
“i have an idea,” wooyoung pipes up immediately. “the frosted ultimate cookie cupcake.” then in a falsetto voice, he role-plays by himself, “hi, could i get a fucc please?”
mingi snorts himself silly and continues, “actually, could you give me two fucks?”
you oblige, “fuck you, and double fuck you,” flashing your middle finger at wooyoung first then mingi second to punctuate the fucks you are gifting them.
the boys snicker at your crudeness, absolutely delighted. not the type to let any opportunity to swear go by, the rest of them join in as san yanks you down to sit at the table with them before you can roll your eyes and walk away.
and out of all moments, it is this exact moment, when you are surrounded by the eight of them throwing out colourful words left and right with the giddy enthusiasm of toddlers, each holding a half-eaten vanilla-frosted cookie cupcake in their hands, that you realise you may actually give a few too many fucks about them…and not just in a friendly way.
well. fuck.
when you get a call on friday morning from your branch manager the following week, your immediate thought is that somebody finally chanced upon watching the store’s security footage and you have been caught making friends with delinquent customers and literally feeding them with business secrets. except when you pick up and tentatively greet him, he starts to say something that is arguably just as bad.
“i need you to swap shifts with gayoung. she can’t work this tuesday night so i need you to cover that day ‘cause there’s nobody else available,” he informs. “gayoung will cover your shift tonight instead.”
you are still trying to process his words as you repeat, “tonight?”
“yes, so you won’t need to go into work tonight.”
your heart skips a beat. for the first time in your life, you find yourself asking, “can’t i take both shifts?”
“no, you can’t. sorry,” your manager apologises but he does not sound sorry at all.
you have never voluntarily taken up extra night shifts, much less asked to take up additional shifts. yet, there is a heavy sense of disappointment that simultaneously settles itself deep inside your stomach and lodges itself in your throat, because it is friday today and friday night is for your boys. you do not even have a way of letting them know that you will not be in tonight.
you wonder if they will notice your absence and whether they will care. after all, you may just be somebody who happens to work at the bubble tea shop they frequent. but it turns out that they do and turns out you are not.
“where were you?”
those are the first words that are thrown at you the moment the boys walk through the door during your friday shift the week after you swapped nights with gayoung. they stomp up to your counter sporting furrowed brows and pressed lips, and if it were not for seonghwa’s soft smile and warm, “we missed seeing you,” you would have thought that they were angry at you.
you can only imagine how terrifying their demeanours would be if they were actually to be angry.
“my manager made me swap shifts with another coworker,” you explain and their expressions soften immediately.
jongho breaks out into a triumphant smirk as he turns to hongjoong with an upturned palm. “i told you. pay up.”
the latter sheepishly pulls out some crumpled notes as you gawk, “you bet on why i wasn’t at work?”
“don’t mind them,” wooyoung waves his hand dismissively. “hongjoong has trust issues–said that you were avoiding us.”
“i would never!” you refute at the same time that hongjoong exclaims, “i did not!”
“either way, fuck your manager. the fucking audacity to take you off our shift?” wooyoung complains.
you try to keep a straight face at the fact that wooyoung has just very casually claimed your shift–and by extension, you–as theirs. you babble the first thing that comes to mind, “the drinks are all made using the same recipe. it doesn’t matter who makes them.”
yunho’s eyes narrow with offense that you would even suggest a thing. “it’s nowhere near the same.” he is not the only one who wants to tell you that as long as it is not you it will never be the same.
their collective thoughts come out instead through mingi, “nobody understands when we order a triple b or an emineminem or a ‘horse drink’.”
“yeah, no shit sherlock,” you fire back, because apparently sarcasm is your automatic defense mechanism when you are flustered, “might help if you call them by their proper names.”
“or maybe the problem is that nobody knows us well enough like you do,” san insists with a wink and in response, yeosang reveals, “we don’t let just anybody get close to us.”
you joke before you can truly think your words through, “sounds like a you problem then.”
“you’re right,” hongjoong banters easily with smugness.
your nervous fidgeting as you tap useless buttons on the screen of your register gives you away despite your attempts to stay collected. they chuckle and it is difficult not to crumble under their unwavering gazes because it is obvious they can see right through your facade. but can anybody really blame you when you had not been expecting them to reciprocate your feelings of interest, much less admit to it so easily and straightforwardly?
in a last ditch attempt to regain some control over the conversation, you ask, “so, what do you guys want to order?”
from day one, the boys have surprised you in the most unpredictable ways–eight not-quite-delinquent delinquents with simultaneously calloused fists, pottied mouths and insatiable sweet tooth. today is no exception, and you have a feeling that you should start becoming accustomed to their antics because they are here to stay, especially after today.
“what we want to order?” they look at you with confident flirtatiousness. “your phone number and a date.”
cw: mark x reader x hyuck, threesome, very little plot, unprotected sex, a lot of mentions of cum, so much cum... this shit is filthy... npr
18+ minors do not interact !
[ 11:44pm ]
it's unclear whether the heat that radiates off of you is due to the alcohol that swims in your system or the pair of mouths that kiss and lick across your body fervently. you can't keep track of all the sensations you feel, mind blurry as you moan and pant, writhing restlessly between your two best friends.
kneeling on the mattress in front of you is mark with one hand pumping his flushed pink cock, the other squeezing your boob—the one that isn't in his mouth. his eyes are half-lidded and staring into yours, watching the way your face contorts each and every time hyuck slips a finger into your impossibly tight cunt.
the younger of the two boys who sits behind you, presses his swollen erection to your ass. meanwhile, his fingers are lost in your panties, thick digits alternating between pumping into you and rubbing your pulsing clit. your grip on his wrist tethers you, nails digging into his arm whenever something feels a little too good.
the night had started much differently: a movie night had dwindled into banter after hyuck's complaints that the movie mark picked out was awful. defeated, and knowing it was practically impossible to argue with hyuck, mark proposed that you guys get some wine and just talk instead, which was fine... until each of you were about three glasses in.
mark's fingertips began brushing your thighs, higher and higher, following the hem of your skirt that at some point, you stopped pulling down. hyuck's lips were whispering teasing comments in your ear, his arms snaking around your waist—something he usually did sober, except this time, with much less restraint.
you weren't oblivious; slightly past the point of tipsy? yes, but never oblivious. you leaned into their touches, giggled and blushed at their flirty passes, batted your eyes as your thighs pressed together...
just as you noticed the bulge in mark's pants, hyuck's wine-stained lips were on yours.
"d'you like that, baby?"
"yes," you reply so quickly that it's almost pathetic, letting your head fall forward and onto mark's shoulder. your eyelids are squeezed shut as your hips roll, grinding down into hyuck's hand and back against his dick.
he lets out a grunt, sliding his free hand all the way up your spine until it wraps around the base of your neck. he pulls you back up to him then moves to hold your throat, pressing his chest against you and attaching his mouth to your shoulder.
you whine out when he withdraws his fingers from between your legs, using your slick to rub his tip in circles. as he teases himself, he breathes hot air onto your skin where his tongue swirled just seconds before.
thankfully, you don't feel empty for long because mark scoots closer, looping his index finger on the strip of your cotton panties that covers your pussy. he moves it aside and guides himself towards you, sliding his length between your lips and coating it with your arousal.
"so wet," he mutters to himself, rubbing into you a few times.
"mark.."
he doesn't reply; instead, he guides himself side to side between your folds in order to stimulate your clit. your jaw slightly drops as you relish in the feeling.
"i need you," you whine.
"i know, i know," his reply doesn't sound convincing in the slightest. you can tell he's distracted watching the way his cock glistens from your juices, and your cheeks flush red in embarrassment as you open your mouth to protest once more.
"'need you to fill me up, baby, please," you plead in a small voice, but he only smirks and raises a brow at you.
"yeah?" he asks, "want me to stretch you out, sweet girl?"
from behind you, hyuck growls, "if you don't stick your dick in her right now, i'm going to."
unwilling to push hyuck's withering patience, mark scoffs and disappears between your folds in one smooth motion, pushing the head of his dick into your walls with almost no resistance. both of you sigh out in relief. your hands claw at his shoulders, grip tightening when he bottoms out inside of you. a moan rumbles in mark's chest and he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss.
he's so close that he's pressing his hips completely to yours, pelvis flush against your clit, the pressure so delicious on the needy bud. he swallows every last moan you feed him, only pulling back from your kiss for air.
mark takes his time finding a pace, observing how you react to each thrust. he takes note of both your expression and your clenching cunt that flutters around him when he slows down or picks up speed.
every time he pulls out, his eyes look down to where your bodies meet, obsessed with the way you suck him back in.
"fuck," he breathes, "this pussy's so good. s'tight, so warm,” he’s babbling incoherently, unable to suppress his moans when you swivel your hips. he stills for a moment, letting you pleasure yourself on his cock. you feel unreal, better than he could’ve ever imagined (and boy, did he imagine this quite a few times in the years he’s known you).
"move, please,"
"always so polite," mark teases and snaps forward. you cry out, and he does it again, quickly finding a rhythm that has your head spinning. he’s long and you’re so wet that if it wasn’t for how tight you are, there would be no push back at all. the stretch is delectable, like nothing you’ve felt before.
"you're such a good girl, taking mark so well,” hyuck sticks his thumb between your parted lips and rests it on your tongue, “i bet you love being used like this. you do, don’t you, baby?”
mark sucks in a breath when you bring your hand down, spreading your folds with your fingers, “you’re doing so good for me,” he says, eyes locked on the sight.
their praises go straight to the bundle of nerves between your legs, your orgasm building in the pit of your tummy. you can only hum around your best friends finger, head bobbing up and down in agreement with his filthy, yet nonetheless true, accusation.
the tip of mark’s dick kisses your cervix repeatedly, slipping through your sopping folds at a pace so eager that you’ve started to melt. if it wasn’t for both boys holding you up, you’d have become putty in their arms.
all of your senses have started to blend together, starting with the salty taste of hyuck’s thumb that he finally withdraws and drags down your front, rubbing your saliva around your perked up nipples until they’re coated and gleaming. his dick couldn’t possibly be any harder, standing prominently up and constantly poking at your backside. you’re pretty sure he’s been leaking pre-cum, too, because there’s a wet spot on your lower back where the draft hits slightly different.
mark’s hands that grip and squeeze the flesh of your ass to pull you to meet his thrusts, suddenly lift up to land a slap on each cheek. your eyes are locked on his glossy ones, though you can’t see very clearly through the pooling tears that gather and blur your vision.
you’re close, so fucking close that you’ve started moaning out shamelessly, rambling nonsense, “i’m gonna—it feels so—ng, fuck! mark, please don’t stop, please, please–“
mark’s head falls into the crook of your neck, lips right by your ear as he chants encouragements in low whispers, just for you.
“come for me, baby. yes, just like that." his voice strains as your pussy squeezes him, "take my dick, take it.”
you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling and tugging at his dark strands. your orgasm hurdles towards you, and it only takes a particularly deep thrust for your breath to hitch in your throat, the coil snapping in your tummy.
mark’s coming too, before he even realizes it. his lip is clamped between his teeth as he tries his absolute best to keep a steady pace, so desperately wanting to make you feel as good as he does.
he empties himself inside your walls with a raspy, dragged out groan, chest heaving in pleasure. his toes are digging into the bed, abdomen flexed and dick twitching. there are beads of sweat trickling down his chest and he swipes away at them, leaning back to watch your fucked out face as he finishes. this is one of the best orgasms he's ever had, he decides; still, his high ends before yours.
in fact, his tip is screaming with sensitivity by the time he peeks his eyes open and realizes, you’re still coming. god, it’s fucking hard to keep up, regardless of how bad he wants you help you ride it out. it's nearly impossible when your gummy walls are so warm around him and your release is gushing out, dripping down your thighs.
“shit, y/n,” hyuck moans your name out loud, fucking his fist shamelessly.
he watches as mark scrunches all his features and picks up his pace just enough to amplify the end of your climax, the sound of his skin slapping against yours a little louder. your cries are louder, too.
he finally slows down once your thighs start trying to clamp shut, and you've started shaking from overstimulation.
"holy shit, mark. i've never come like that before," you whimper, reaching between your legs as he pulls out to feel just how wet you are. mark leans back on one arm, cupping his balls in his palm.
he looks over at you and laughs softly at the way your pupils are blown wide, "me either," he agrees, cheeks and chest flushed red from effort.
"let me see," hyuck insists, huffing, "lay back,"
the moment your back hits the mattress you wince, the burning in your thighs suddenly very evident. hyuck hushes you sweetly, gently parting your legs and leaving a few open mouthed kisses on your stomach. when he pulls away, it’s to gawk at the silky white mess of cum between your legs.
“we should’ve done this long ago,” mark jokes, but there’s a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes.
you nod, propping up on your elbows to meet him halfway where he leans in giving you a slow, wet kiss. his tongue swipes at yours, the shared air growing warmer between you. there’s a few hushed noises coming from both of you, and the kiss lasts until you feel something fill you up again.
you pull away to find donghyuck, two fingers shoved into your hole, tucking away any of mark’s cum that tried to seep out.
when your eyes meet, there's a pout resting on his lips as he whines, "pay attention to me, baby… he had his turn,”
you laugh and nod, “you’re right, hyuckie. i’m sorry,”
situating himself between your thighs that rest on his own, hyuck takes a moment to steal a kiss for himself. it’s paced and sensual, and the pretty noises he makes when your fingers disappear into his hairline leave you winded.
“wanna make you feel really good,” he mumbles against your lips. there’s a warm weight that rests on your stomach as he says this, and it takes a moment for you to put two and two together.
when you look away from his soft, brown eyes, you realize his cock, thick and swollen, is resting on your tummy, sizing up how far it would be inside you.
he’s less lengthy than mark, but undoubtedly thicker, his prominent head staring back at you, dribbling pre-release on your skin. just when you didn’t think you could get any needier, he presses against you more, and his heavy balls brush right up against your clit.
“hyuck, baby,”
“tell me,” he whispers into your chest, “i’ll do anything you want, just say the word,”
you squirm against him, “wan' you to fuck me,”
swinging one of your legs up, hyuck picks up his cock from your tummy and directs it toward your entrance.
“m’gonna fuck mark’s cum deep into you, okay? then i’m gonna fill you up with mine,” then, he presses in, brow furrowing at the feeling of you enveloping him.
mark’s cum is practically serving as lube, but even then, you can fucking feel the difference in girth. he hisses, letting his head fall to the side to rest on your calf that sits on his shoulder. instinctively, your hands paw at his chest. he isn't even all the way in yet, and the stretch is already surreal. you take your lip between your teeth and hyuck cups your face, letting his thumb graze your cheek.
“i’ve got you, princess,” he soothes, flicking your clit with his other thumb, rubbing slow circles on it.
"keep doing that, please," he nods at your instruction, gazing at you through his eyebrows in search of your approval. your face says it all, eyes rolling back and puffy lips shaped into an 'o'. the back of your head digs into the pillow as he enters you fully, then he drags his dick all the way back out until only his tip is sheathed, before doing it all again.
beside him, mark's eyes are glued to your core, specifically to the white ring at the base of hyuck's cock. he identifies it as his own cum, and his balls tighten. it's a mess, but the lewdness is enough for him to get hard all over again.
hyuck maintains his slow pace, making you shudder impatiently. "hyuck," you start. he hums attentively, "faster.."
"you want me to go faster, baby? already?"
you nod yes quickly, "i want you to fuck me stupid."
in less than a second, his fingers are digging into your waist and he's rocking you up and down, drilling his cock into you just as you had asked.
you moan out and he slaps your thigh, swiping his tongue at the bit of drool that threatens to slip from his bottom lip. between his brutal pace and the attention he's paying to your bud (and how sensitive you were from having come once already), your climax starts approaching rather quickly.
hyuck can tell, too, because you've started to squirm and shake under him. your back is arching off the mattress, and the sheets are clenched between your fingers as if you'd float away by letting go.
"am i doing good? does that feel good, baby?"
"yes!" you all but sob, clasping a hand over your mouth.
you're still slightly dizzy from the wine, so when you come hard for the second time tonight, you become so light headed that dark spots burst all over your vision like some visual effect. you gasp and cry out when hyuck slaps your clit before continuing to rub it mercilessly, his fingers soaked through with juices that spill with every thrust.
the bed creaks beneath you as he refuses to let up, even when your moans have gone up in pitch to become broken whimpers.
he'd give you anything you ask for, he told you so.
as you come down, you open your eyes just in time to watch hyuck's face shift, hips bucking wildly after his own finish. it doesn't take much longer, and in seconds, he stills, burying himself deep inside of you as he pumps you full of his load.
at some point while bystanding, mark had started touching himself again, letting out a long sigh as he grips his head tight and paints your folds with his second round of seed. some of it slips onto hyuck's base, and some of it mixes with the bit hyuck's cum that had poured out the sides of you, even despite his thickness.
"what a fucking mess," mark laughs as he catches his breath, "sorry about your sheets-"
"s'fine," you grab his hand, grinning, "it was worth it,"
"remind me to buy us that bottle of wine again," hyuck mutters tiredly, making sure he brings your leg down gently as to not hurt you. he still hasn't pulled out of you, though, allowing himself to grow soft within the warmth of your pussy.
the two boys watch wide-eyed as you reach down, using your index finger dip into both of their releases (surely, yours too), and bring it up to your mouth for a taste.
"i don't think we'll need the wine next time."
⋆ ★
sidenote: this is the nastiest shit i have ever written … thank u to my babies @mingyuonthemoon and @m-arkmywords for giving me some inspo to write this
🔮 preview.“You’re Jeno’s roommate, Jeno’s my friend- I know we’ve just met, but I know things about you.” Hyuck explains. “When you were with your last girl, Jeno used to come to the bar and bitch about you never coming out- he’s been wanting you to meet the rest of the boys for a while, but never wanted to invite us over cuz your last girlfriend had some supernatural cootchie-grip hold on you or something- point is, I know you’re a serial monogamist. Two long-term girlfriends. You like the domestic shit, and I get that- but if you want domestic, it’s not our little Miss Sunshine expo girl. She can’t even sleep next to guys she’s fucked- wakes up at five am, and dips out without a word. Trust me on this, dude, you wanna stay far away from that man-eater.”
tw/cw. Unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, reader has a hard time cumming, oral (f/m receiving), Mark is a MUNCH, deep throating, fingering, masturbation, use of toys/vibrator, dirty talk, praise, Mark is a simp, sex realism, overthinking during sex, mentions of sexual favours in return for affection, a string of bad ex-lovers, breast worship, creampies, aftercare, finger sucking, drunkenness, etc… I pet names: (hers) sunshine. (his) puppy boy.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 19.4k
🍭 aus. Restaurant au, line chef!Mark, slow burn, coworkers to lovers, fuck girl who looks like sunshine meets a serial monogamist who looks like a fuckboy, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. I wanted to touch on some realism to kick off the year. Not everything is as easy during sex as it appears in fanfic/p*rn, so I wanted to make something that might be more true to the real experience of afabs who overthink and need extra help to cum- I hope maybe this fic can normalize girls who need some extra machine power to get off ;)
One:
Mark has only been working at his new restaurant for two weeks, but he’s already fallen in love with the place. Morning shifts have been good for him. With the help of his favorite expo girl - who always takes the time to explain small details and things he’s been messing up on - he’s already gotten used to the menu. Every day feels better and better.
“This tuna is looking so good, Mark,” you grin, inspecting the plate.
When he’d first been hired, the fish he’d cut had come out mangled, but after talking him through it, you’d both realized it had been a knife issue. Sharpening his blade had led to Mark perfecting his slices, and now, he eagerly awaits your praises when he puts his food up in the expo window.
Mark’s eyes follow you as you dart off toward the bar, the plate of tuna balanced perfectly in your hand. The new chef can’t help the smile that works its way onto his lips, and he leans forward, hand flat on the cutting board station in front of him.
“This tuna is looking so good, Mark,” Hyuck’s annoying voice snaps him out of his trance, and Mark turns to look at the man next to him. “God, can you two make it any more obvious that you’re into each other?”
“She’s just doing her job,” Mark assures the other line chef, but he can feel his skin heating at the idea.
“Sure she is. But she doesn’t compliment my cooking as much as she does yours.” Hyuck crosses his arms over his chest, letting out a sigh as his gaze shifts to the view through the expo line. You’re at the bar now, chatting with the man who you’ve just served. However, you’re taking longer than normal, and you’re smiling a lot too.
“No fucking way,” Hyuck breathes, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes. “That guy is hitting on her.”
“Is he?” Mark also dips his head toward the expo window, eager for a look.
“Yeah, mans just slipped her his number,” Hyuck laughs. “That’s our little Sunshine though, isn’t it? This restaurant is her playground.”
“What do you mean?” Mark asks.
“Just that she’s quite popular,” Hyuck brushes it off as you approach the expo line again. “Did you get a number, sweet thing?”
“Why, you jealous?” You grin, holding up the slip of paper with digits on it.
“You wish,” Hyuck scoffs, but Mark gets the feeling there’s something else going on between the two of you, something unspoken. He’s still getting used to the dynamic of the restaurant, and in work spaces like this, relationships aren’t uncommon. He wonders what history you have with Hyuck, wonders what chance he has with you- wonders if it’s even a good idea.
Two
“Luna never runs her own food,” Sumi notes, standing with you by the entrance to the restaurant while you watch the tall waitress lean against the expo window. “I know that our new chef is cute, but, damn.”
“She can do what she wants,” you laugh, wiping down menus. “Makes my job easier.”
“You know, it’s kind of felt like you and Mark have some sort of understanding,” Sumi grins, moving close enough that your hips touch by the host station. “He watches you a lot.”
“Does he?” Your gaze moves back to the expo line.
“Uh huh, almost as much as Hyuck does- which, by the way, you sure did a number on him.”
“Hyuck will get over it, he’s a fuck boy,” you wave your hand. “I’m great at attracting that kind of guy.”
“Do you get fuck boy vibes from Mark?” Sumi wonders, tapping her pen against the top of her Ipad thoughtfully.
“He’s definitely cute enough to be a womanizer, don’t you think?”
“Key word being cute,” Sumi points out. “I don’t know, he doesn't give me fuck boy vibes like the other line chefs do.”
“Well, he’s roommates with Jeno, isn’t he?” Your eyes move to the bar. Jeno’s a night bartender, but his close friend, Renjun is working today. “Jeno’s a fuck boy, he got Hyuck and Jaemin jobs here. They’re both fuck boys. It would make sense if Mark was that kind of guy too.”
“I’m still not convinced,” Sumi states, crossing an arm over her chest. “Speaking of men though- whatever happened to that guy who gave you his number the other day? Are you actually considering a date with him?”
“I already had a date with him,” you admit.
“Yikes, from the way you haven’t mentioned it at all, I’d guess it didn’t go so well?”
“Meh,” you shrug your shoulders. “He won’t be getting a second date.”
“How many first dates have you been on this year?” Sumi asks. “Didn’t you say it was like… a lot?”
“Too many to count,” you giggle.
“So what’s the deal with that? Like- what’s your type? I know you were seeing Hyuck for a little while, how come that didn’t work?”
“It just didn’t,” you say, looking down at the menus you’ve wiped clean. “I try not to think about my failures too much.”
“Really? But you could learn so much from them,” Sumi frowns. “I mean- look at me and Doyoung. I was never into the more serious types, always went for fuck boys and younger guys- but after some soul searching, I realized I needed someone older who had their shit together.”
“You also have a thing for guys in powerful positions, and Doyoung is literally one of our managers,” you point out.
“Well, I’m still a work in progress,” Sumi winks. “Anyways- think about it. If you look at your dating patterns, you might be surprised by what you find.”
Three
There’s nothing like the air outside after being in a hot kitchen for a few hours. The lunch rush is finally over, and after having a 20 top that ordered an insane amount of food with an even crazier amount of modifications and allergies, Mark is ready to take a massive puff from his vape pen.
He stands by the back exit to the restaurant, looking out at the cars on the street as he takes a long drag. As he inhales, the door behind Mark opens, and he turns to come face-to-face with you.
The shock of seeing you makes him choke a little, and he begins to cough out a large puff of smoke. Mark’s lungs burn, and his skin feels even hotter, enflamed by the embarrassment of you seeing him take a crappy hit when in reality, he’s a vaping veteran.
“You good?” you ask, reaching out and gently rubbing his back as you step past him.
“Yeah, I, uh-” Mark’s entire body tingles at the physical contact. “Sorry, you just surprised me.”
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” you grin, stopping in front of him. He notices the way your eyes go to his vape pen, and he immediately holds it out to you.
“Want some?”
“I mean, if you’re offering.” You reach out and accept the sleek black vape. “What’s the flavor?”
“Uh… cotton candy?” God, Mark feels like a fool, especially when you raise a brow at him. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”
“Didn’t peg you as a sweet tooth type,” you grin, bringing the refillable device to your lips. Mark watches you take a drag, focusing on your mouth and the way you look sucking on something- he starts to imagine what you’d look like sucking on something else, something substantially bigger.
As you exhale, you cough a little, and Mark wonders if you’re doing that to make him feel better about his screw-up a moment ago- or maybe you simply don’t vape often, he’s not too sure.
“Thanks,” you say, still coughing as you hand the vape back to Mark. Your fingers brush gently as he accepts it from you, and as Mark brings the device to his mouth, he’s extremely aware of the fact that your lips had just been where his now are.
He wonders if it means anything that you’d be so willing to swap spit like this, even on something as innocent as a vape pen.
“How long are you here till?” you ask, breaking him from his daze.
“Started at seven am, eight-hour shift, should be off around three when the night cross-over guys come in,” Mark explains.
“Any fun plans for tonight?” you continue to press. “It is a Friday after all.”
“No plans, will probably just go home, make some food, and watch Netflix all night… what about you?”
You sigh. “No hot dates, unfortunately. Will probably do the same as you. Do you have any good show recommendations? I’ve been looking for something new.”
“I mean, it depends, what are you into?” Mark asks, eager to hear more about your tastes, your likes and dislikes- he knows so little about you, mostly things related to work. He’s curious about what you do in your downtime, and he’s grateful he has an opportunity like this to get to know you even a little bit better.
As you part your lips to respond, the back door swings open, and Hyuck steps out, already mid-puff of his neon orange vape.
“Oh,” the line chef grins, exhaling through his nose and flashing a grin, “Am I interrupting something?”
“No,” you respond quickly, and Mark notes the shift in your energy, “I was just leaving actually.”
“See you later,” Mark offers, watching you hurry off.
“Classic her,” Hyuck sighs, coming to stand next to Mark.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s a runner, that one,” Hyuck takes another puff from his vape.
“So you two definitely used to date,” Mark states. The interaction he’s just witnessed verifies his suspicion, and since they’re technically outside of work/the kitchen, Mark feels able to actually discuss this now.
“I don’t know if I’d call it dating,” Hyuck cocks his head to the side, eyes still fixed on you where you’re crossing the street a couple hundred feet away. “Look, do you want real talk? You wanna know about your favorite expo girl?”
“Yeah, I wanna know.” Mark lifts his vape to his lips, readying himself for whatever is about to come out of Hyuck’s mouth.
“I know she looks like sugar and sunshine, but I hate to burst your bubble Mark- she’s a bit of a fuck girl, that one.”
“It takes one to know one,” Mark points out.
“Touche, but to be fair, I never claimed to be anything other than a guy who likes pussy, and little miss sunshine knew that when we started hooking up a few months ago.” Hyuck lets out another large puff of smoke into the air. “Look, I said I’d give you real talk so here it is. She’s got a lot of expectations. Girl reads those horny romance books-”
“Erotica.”
“Yeah, that’s it, erotica.” Hyuck nods to himself. “Well, she reads erotica, and her ideas about fucking are kind of hard to make real. She’s too in her head all of the time. Apparently - and don’t repeat this anywhere - but apparently no guy she’s fucked has ever made her actually cum. She has this thing where someone told her that if a guy doesn’t make you cum, he doesn’t add to your body count, so allegedly her body count is zero and she’s a virgin, but we both know it’s a lot higher than that.”
“The whole body count thing doesn’t phase me,” Mark says quietly, although the wheels in his head are spinning.
“Sure it doesn’t,” Hyuck scoffs. “Just listen, if you’re into her, it’s not going to work out. She’s not for beginners like you.”
“Beginners like me?” Mark side eyes the line chef.
“You’re Jeno’s roommate, Jeno’s my friend- I know we’ve just met, but I know things about you.” Hyuck explains. “When you were with your last girl, Jeno used to come to the bar and bitch about you never coming out- he’s been wanting you to meet the rest of the boys for a while, but never wanted to invite us over cuz your last girlfriend had some supernatural cootchie-grip hold on you or something- point is, I know you’re a serial monogamist. Two long-term girlfriends. You like the domestic shit, and I get that- but if you want domestic, it’s not our little Miss Sunshine expo girl. She can’t even sleep next to guys she’s fucked- wakes up at five am, and dips out without a word. Trust me on this, dude, you wanna stay far away from that man-eater.”
Four
“Mark?” you ask, looking at the takeout bowl in front of you.
“Yeah?” he leans forward, lips parting as he waits for your judgment.
“Didn’t they order the spicy yogurt on the side?” You push the rice bowl forward, pointing at the lines of orange tinted cream that cover the veggies.
“Shit,” Mark cusses, grabbing the chit-paper receipt and scanning it. “There were like, three other modifications, I didn’t even see the yogurt on the side.”
“It’s okay,” you assure him. “It’s takeout, and there’s pretty much no one in the restaurant, so you have time to make another… besides, I’ll just take this one as my lunch.”
One of the perks of the job is getting to take home the food that’s not correct. You’d been dreading going to the grocery store, your fridge empty of easy meals, but now you don’t have to make the trek, and you’re more than happy about it.
“You know, Mark, you’re my favorite new chef.” He’s also the only new chef, and you’ve been reaping the rewards of minor fuck ups the past two weeks.
Mark, however, doesn’t seem to note your teasing, and he offers you a genuine smile. “You’re my favorite expo girl.”
“Yeah?” you grin. “And why’s that?”
“You’re really nice about things I mess up,” Mark’s eyes shift to the dragon bowl you’re packing up. “Like, you point things out, and you turn them good. As you said, it’s an easy fix, I have the time, and now you get to eat that.”
“It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, that’s for sure,” you laugh.
“You’re also pretty happy most days, always makes me happy to come in and see our Little Miss Sunshine.”
“Jeeze, not you calling me that pet-name too,” you roll your eyes. Hyuck had taken to calling you that a few months ago, and somehow the title had stuck. Mark was the only chef using your real name, but it looks like those days might already be behind you.
“It fits,” Mark assures you. “I think it’s cute.”
“Does it fit because I’m cute?”
You notice the way Mark immediately swallows thickly, his skin turning a pretty shade of pink. “Uh- I mean, yeah,” his voice cracks, and he fiddles with his sleeves, pushing them up to his elbows, “you’re cute-”
“Oh my God-” you stare at his forearms, which are usually covered by his chef coat. “Have you always had all those tattoos?!”
“Did you really never notice these?” Mark looks down at his arms, lifting them so you can see the details.
“I have never noticed them,” you confirm, leaning forward. “Damn, how many tattoos do you have?!”
“A lot?” Mark’s tattoos are patchwork style, all black. They litter his forearms, and you wonder how high up the markings go- you wonder if his chest is covered, or his back- what about his legs?
“I need a tattoo tour,” you insist.
“I mean… I can’t show you all of them-” Mark says sheepishly.
“Start with that one,” you point at a tattoo of three letters near his inner elbow, “What’s SSG mean?”
“So uh- the first restaurant I worked in, a few of us dishwashers worked our way into the kitchen with no formal training or anything- just started at the bottom, and went up from there. One of us came up with the idea of being the Soapy Suds Gang, like- dishwashers to chefs. Was at that restaurant from the age of fifteen to twenty, and when it closed down cuz the owners just didn’t wanna be in the business anymore, me and all the others got the matching SSG tattoo.”
Mark is adorable. Like, shockingly so. It’s such a stupid yet endearing story- and for some reason, it feels so on-brand for Mark.
He begins to tell you about a few other tattoos. There’s a shotgun to commemorate his years playing Call of Duty online with friends. A cartoon puppy because apparently his mom never let him get a dog - something about him not being able to handle it if the dog ever died - so when he turned eighteen, he got a dog that could never bite the bullet, etched into his skin with black ink.
All the marks have meaning, stories that make up the groundwork of Mark’s life.
“What about that one?” you ask, noting a King of Hearts tattoo that he’d skipped over.
“Oh, uh…” Mark rubs the back of his neck shyly. “My ex-girlfriend wanted a Queen of Hearts tattoo, so I got this one, and… I mean, I don’t regret it, I was with the girl for three years- but, it’s not a tattoo I talk about too often.”
“Three years?” you ask in shock. “You were with your last girlfriend for three years?”
“Why do you sound so shocked?”
“It’s just- I mean,” you lick your lips, leaning in so Mark’s the only one who can hear you, “I hate to say it, Mark, but you look like a total fuck boy.”
“I’m really not,” Mark admits.
“Even before your last ex?”
“Even before,” the line chef confirms. “I’ve got two ex-girlfriends. The last one ended about a year ago, dated her from age twenty-two to twenty-five. Had a girlfriend from when I was sixteen to twenty-one-”
“So a three-year relationship and a five-year relationship?”
This gossip keeps getting juicier and juicier.
“Yeah. The first one moved to another country to teach English, and I’ve never been that into long distance. We tried to make it work, but we agreed the best thing was to let each other go. Then the last girl decided she wanted more from life than some line chef so…” Mark trails off and you feel your heart hurt for him. “Anyways, what about you? How many relationships have you had?”
“A lot more than you,” you answer quickly, although, that’s only if you count one-night stands, flings, and situationships, but you won’t go into those details with Mark right now. “I mean… are you looking for anything right now?”
“What do you mean?” Mark cocks his head to the side.
“You didn’t hear it from me, but… a few of the waitresses are into you,” you whisper.
“Really?” he looks past you at the restaurant, and you see him trail Luna with his eyes. “That’s nice and everything, but waitresses really aren’t my type.”
“Then what’s your type?”
“Expo girls.”
His words hit you in your chest, and you can feel your pulse quicken immediately.
“I mean-” Mark’s skin has returned to that pretty pink colour. “My first girlfriend- the five-year one, she was the expo girl when I met her- we got close cuz we spent so much time together. I didn’t mean you- I wasn’t trying to hit on you or anything- not that I don’t think you’re cute, cuz you’re definitely cute- fuck.”
You watch him, smiling and completely amused. It appears you’d read the new line chef all wrong. He’s not a fuck boy, he’s a lover boy, and you kind of adore that about him.
“I should uh- I need to remake this dragon bowl-” Mark turns away from you, and you watch him scurry off to the fridge to grab vegetables.
You’re kind of hoping to tease him so more when he returns, but before he does, Doyoung appears from the back, and he waves you over. “It’s been dead for half an hour,” your manager notes, “you’re cut. Head home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Five
Mark hasn’t been able to stop thinking about your conversation. All night, he’d had you on his mind- and he’d kind of been hoping to get to talk to you today, but you have the day shift and this is one of his first nights scheduled.
Even so, Mark arrives to work thirty minutes early just on the off chance he’ll catch you, and as he’s waiting outside the backdoor, hitting his vape, his hopes come true.
You step out of the back of the restaurant, looking down at your phone. The jacket you’re wearing today is vibrant in contrast to your all-black uniform, and the comfy sneakers you always put on after your shift in flats are beginning to look a little worn out now that winter is almost over.
“Hi,” Mark says, drawing your attention.
“Oh,” you put your phone into your pocket, offering him a smile. “Hey- you just starting?”
“In ten minutes or so,” the line chef nods. “I uh- I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”
“Apologize for what?” You cock your head to the side.
“All of it?” Mark suggests.
You laugh, and the sound does things to Mark that he’ll never be able to express. “Seriously, we’re all good,” you assure him. “I think you’re pretty cute too, so, don’t worry about any of it.”
Mark’s mouth feels dry, and it’s not just from the vaping. He fiddles with the device in his hand, working up the courage to say what’s on his mind. “I was wondering- I mean, it sounds like you’re still on the market and all- so I was thinking, maybe, if you’d like- maybe we can go out sometime, or something- but no pressure.”
Your smile widens, and you step closer to him. “What would going out with you look like?”
“Honestly…” Mark swallows thickly, “it would look more like staying in. Since we both work in a restaurant- or maybe it’s just a ‘me thing’, but I’m not super into drinks as a first date, or even food- I’m a bit of a homebody. I’d love for you to just come over, watch some netflix, talk- that sort of shit.”
You look him up and down, and Mark’s body tenses as he waits for your response.
“That actually sounds pretty nice,” you admit. “Here, give me your hand.”
Mark holds out his palm, watching you pull out a Sharpie from your pocket. You write your phone number across his skin. “Careful,” you say, as you draw the last digit, “Don’t wash this off or anything.”
“I won’t,” he assures you, already planning on taking a picture of it with his phone just in case.
“I should get going, but yeah- text me when your shift is over and we can figure something out.”
“You got it,” Mark grins, unable to hold in his excitement any longer. “Have a good night.”
“You too.”
With one final exchange of eye contact that makes Mark’s heart lurch in his chest, you walk off, the line chef’s eyes following you all the way out of sight.
As he turns to head inside, Mark bumps into Hyuck. “Don’t go in just yet,” Hyuck insists, “stay out here and vape with me for a minute.”
It’s hard for Mark to focus on anything Hyuck is saying about the afternoon rush, but he manages to nod and make sounds of affirmation while his coworker rants about some party of fifteen that walked in and only ordered appetizers.
“Mark, you’re not paying attention,” Hyuck sighs.
“Sorry, I’m just kind of-” Mark swallows the lump in his throat, “yeah, I’m distracted.”
“Got a hot date?”
“What?” Mark looks up.
“Someone wrote their digits on your hand,” Hyuck grabs at Mark’s wrist, “let’s see-”
Mark tries his best to pull away, but Hyuck’s already assessing the phone number. After a moment, the younger man lets go, his mouth forming a firm line. “I warned you about her.”
Mark’s surprised that Hyuck - who has the memory of a goldfish most days - clearly recognizes your phone number.
“I told you she’s not for beginners.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have to listen to you,” Mark insists. “And not everything is about fucking. She’s gonna come over, we’re gonna watch movies- nothing has to happen. I just want to know her better.”
“Lover boy,” Hyuck scoffs, “she’s going to eat you up, and spit you back out.”
“And if she does, then that’s my choice,” Mark says firmly. “I know she fucked you over or whatever, but that doesn’t mean anything to me, Hyuck. I’m sorry, but I really don’t care about what happened between the two of you.”
“Ouch, dude.”
“If she’s as bad as you say, then you can say you told me so when this is all over. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Six
“So this is Jeno’s famous fuck pad,” you tease, stepping into Mark’s apartment and looking around.
“Uh, he doesn’t actually bring girls here that often,” Mark says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “He likes to go to their place, makes it easier to run than kicking a girl out the next morning, you know?”
“I suppose that makes sense,” you nod… you usually fuck guys in their homes for the same reason. “It’s a nice place.”
“Thanks, my ex had a lot to do with the decor and shit.” Now that Mark mentions it, the vibe definitely doesn’t scream ‘boy’, and it especially doesn't scream ‘home of a line chef and bartender.’
The cream-colored couch in the living room has pretty sage pillows, there’s a tasteful rug under a circular coffee table. On the table are three candles varying in size, as well as a design book that you’d bet has never been opened or looked at in detail by the men who live here.
It’s a comfortable home, but you wonder what it feels like for Mark to live in a space that constantly reminds him of an ex who ditched him for not having his own shit together.
“I didn’t realize Jeno was a tidy guy,” you note, thinking back to the line of dirty cups he always allows to build up in the bar dish area.
“He’s not, but I am.” Mark enters the living room, and he takes a seat on the couch, kicking his legs up onto a small puff stool next to the coffee table. “I guess when you work on the line, you’re used to doing little clean-up jobs to keep everything smooth. I don’t mind moving two or three beer cans to the sink every day if it means there aren’t any piles building.”
So he’s a sexy line chef, with tattoos, who likes long-term relationships, and also cleans up his home? Mark really is a catch amongst flounders.
“Are you going to come sit?” Mark asks, noting the way you stand at the edge of the room. “Or, shit, should I offer you a drink first? We’ve got beer, or I could make you a cocktail or something-”
“I’m good, just… getting used to this.”
It feels kind of odd to be with Mark in a casual setting. You’ve only ever seen him in a professional manner, with an expo station between you both- now, Mark is right in front of you, and as you sit on the couch next to him, you’re hyper-aware of the way your thighs almost touch.
“So… Netflix?” you ask.
“Yeah,” Mark grabs the remote, the sleeve of his hoodie pushed up so you can see his forearms.
“You still haven’t given me a full tattoo tour,” you tease, reaching out to gently trace the puppy etched against his skin.
“Maybe that’s a date number two sort of thing,” Mark suggests, tugging the fabric down to cover his skin.
Your grin widens. “Do I make you nervous, puppy boy?”
“Definitely,” he lets out a shy laugh, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob with the effort of swallowing. “So uh… what do you wanna watch?”
You let out a sigh, relaxing back against the couch. “Surprise me.”
“Well, there’s this anime I’ve been wanting to get into-” Mark finds the show in his ‘to watch’ list.
“Let's do it.”
“Really? You’re down?”
“Uh huh, I’m not that picky,” you nod, offering him a smile.
“It can be…” he starts the first episode, “like- if you wanna keep doing this sort of thing, it could be our show.”
“That actually sounds nice,” you admit. You suppose it shouldn’t be a shock that Mark is thinking long term- you do work together after all, but when you’d been seeing Hyuck, every day was a question of longevity. Would he call? Would he not call?
Hyuck never talked in definitives. He never made promises. The only true thing you could count on was seeing him at work three of five days of the week when your schedules aligned, and he never locked himself in for any more than that.
“Should I-” Mark licks his lips, “I mean, finding a show was way easier than I thought it would be. Do you want a drink? I’ve got chips?”
“I’m okay, but if you want something, you should grab it.”
“I’m good if you’re good,” Mark mutters, leaning back against the couch. Your shoulders are touching, and you’re already finding it difficult to focus on the tv screen as the anime begins to play.
You’re aware of each breath, each slight shift of Mark’s body. “Are you comfortable?” he asks after a short while.
“I mean, we could probably find a more comfortable position than this one,” you note.
“Like… do you wanna cuddle?”
“If you want to, I’d be up for that.”
“Okay, one sec,” Mark turns, grabbing at the back cushion of the couch. He tosses it to the side. “I can big spoon you.”
In under a minute, Mark is settling behind you, pillows are adjusted, and a gentle hand finds your hip. You wiggle slightly, trying to get snug against the line chef’s chest.
“Is this good?” he asks, his breath ghosting by your ear.
“It’s nice, but let me just…” you grab his hand, threading your fingers and bringing it up to your chest, so you’re truly wrapped in his embrace. You can feel his heart against your spine, and you can hear the way his breath catches. “That’s better,” you let out a sigh of relief.
The anime is fun, but you’re much too focused on Mark. Something tells you he’s quite focused on you as well, and finally, your patience snaps. You roll onto your back, looking up at him.
“You good?” he prompts.
“Uh huh. Just thinking.”
“About?”
You shrug. “I guess maybe I’m just wondering what work is going to be like tomorrow.”
“Hopefully busy.”
You laugh at how innocent Mark can be. “I mean in terms of cuddling with you tonight, then working together in the morning.”
“I mean… how was it with Hyuck when you two were seeing each other?”
Your heart clenches. “Oh… he uh… he told you about that, huh?”
“Mentioned it once or twice.”
“All good things, I hope?”
“For the most part,” Mark nods. “But just so you know- I don’t take everything Hyuck says seriously. You two had something going on, but every relationship is different. I’m sure you have your own side to the story. I know you’re a good person - that’s what my heart tells me at least - so that’s what I’m going off of.”
You stare up at the line chef. The man you’d pegged as a fuck boy, who is turning out to be the farthest thing from a womanizer that you’ve ever met.
You can’t help but reach up and cup his face. There aren’t words that come to mind, but you hope your expression shows your gratitude for his kindness.
Mark’s gaze dips to your mouth, and you watch the way he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing on his slightly. “So no pressure or anything,” he says, voice cracking, “but uh… can I kiss you?”
“You can kiss me,” you confirm, staying still and waiting for the precious man to make his move. Part of you is scared to take control- you’re worried about scaring Mark off, like you’d scare off a wild bird with one wrong muscle twitch.
You’re still cupping his face, and Mark mirrors the act, gently cupping your cheek. He looks down at you, searching your eyes for a moment. You wonder if he’s looking for any hesitation, any sign that you regret your affirmative answer. Then he looks at your lips, and you can see some of the tension leave his body.
In fact, you see the exact moment Mark decides to give in to his desires. His lips part ever so slightly, his brown eyes shyly meeting your own as he begins to move in closer-
As his mouth presses to your own, you realize this might be the softest kiss a man has ever bestowed upon you. He’s not trying to shove his tongue down your throat- not biting at your lip and asking for entrance. It’s a simple brush of lips on lips, and it leaves you wanting more.
Your hand finds the back of his neck, and you drag him closer, letting out a small mewl. You capture his bottom lip between your own, suckling on it gently-
Mark pulls away, and your eyes open. You’re disappointed, but when you notice Mark breathing heavily, your annoyance dissipates.
“Was that okay?” you ask, worrying that maybe you’d been going too fast for the soft man.
“Yeah- better than okay,” he assures you.
“Can we… can you kiss me again?”
“Uh huh,” he nods, leaning back down to press his lips against your own. His hand finds your hip, and you play with the hair at the nape of his neck. The kiss is just as gentle as the first, but the passion begins to burn brighter with each passing second.
No one has ever kissed you like this.
You can’t explain it- but in a matter of moments, your attraction to Mark has grown tenfold.
When he breaks away from you for a second time, you’re both breathing heavily. You open your eyes to stare up at the pretty line chef, watching him swallow thickly.
“Should we uh… should we keep paying attention to the show?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you say after a moment’s hesitation. “Yeah, we should.” You roll onto your side again, and Mark settles against your back. He tucks you closer, his fingers threading through yours.
It’s impossible to focus now, and you begin to wiggle slightly, pressing your ass back against the front of his jeans.
“Are you uncomfortable?” Mark asks, letting go of your hand to grab your hip, steadying you.
“I’m fine- I’m just…” - unbelievably horny - “you’re a good kisser.”
He lets out a small laugh. “Thanks. I liked kissing you too.”
“So…” you look over your shoulder at him, “wanna kiss me again?”
Mark grins, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your lips.
As with the first two times, Mark pulls away much too fast for your liking.
Your head is spinning. You’ve never experienced a situation like this. Mark is being respectful- he’s keeping his hands in PG locations, and the kisses have involved zero tongue- does he not like you as much as you like him?
How much do you like this line chef?
Do you like him because he’s not completely fawning over you like you’re used to?
What is going on?!
“I just want you to know,” Mark says, “it sounds like you’re used to fuck boys and shit, and I uh- well, I’m not like them. There’s no pressure to get naked or anything today-” his voice hitches, “in fact, Jeno will be home soonish so it’s better if we don’t-”
“You don’t want to fuck me?”
Mark tenses behind you. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“If we move to your room, Jeno won’t walk in on us.”
“It’s not about that,” Mark assures you. “Look, I want to take my time with you. This is our first date. I want things to feel right. I want to do this right. Can you understand that?”
You think maybe you’re too horny to want to understand it.
You want to tear Mark’s clothes off. You want to push him down and ride him until he’s gasping your name and filling you with his cum. You want to feel him still dripping out of you when you go into work tomorrow morning-
No one has ever made you wait. You’re much too impatient for playing around- and your past lovers have been the same way.
Even so, you respect the boundary Mark has just expressed. “No fucking tonight,” you agree, “I get that. It’s for the better.”
However, it’s not for the better of your throbbing pussy.
Seven
God, Mark can’t take his eyes off of you. It’s been two hours since you arrived on shift, and Mark has been distracted for all of it.
You look adorable today. Your black outfit hugs your body just right, and Mark’s mind is consistently wandering to last night, when his hands had traced your hips before lacing your fingers-
When you speak, he finds his focus shifting to your lips- those pretty lips he’d kissed. The lips that had left him wanting more- the lips he’d thought about for hours after you’d gone home. He’d dreamt of kissing you, but it had fallen quite short to the real thing.
You’d sounded hurt when Mark had said you shouldn’t fuck last night, and part of Mark regrets drawing the line in the sand. But on the other hand, Mark had meant it when he said it wasn’t the right time.
He doesn’t want to bed you after watching a few episodes of anime. You deserve so much more than that.
Besides, if he had fucked you last night, Mark might have needed to take a sick day just to calm down. Even now, knowing he’s tasted your lips has his skin heating every time he looks at you.
God, you’ve got him practically bewitched.
As the lunch rush comes to an end, Mark finds time to go outside and vape. He watches the cars pass while he puffs on his device, closing his eyes and imagining your lips.
As his little break is coming to an end, the door hinges squeak behind him, and Mark turns to find you standing there.
“Oh, hi,” you grin.
“Hey.” He looks you up and down. “You leaving?”
“Doyoung cut me again, it’s been slow this week,” you nod.
Mark swallows thickly. He can’t help the way his gaze dips to your lips again.
You step forward, smiling. “You wanna kiss me again, don’t cha, Mark?”
He doesn’t even bother responding. He slips his vape into his pocket, grabbing your hips to tug you closer. As he brings his mouth down to yours, he pauses for a second, meeting your gaze. If you want to pull away, he gives you ample time, but instead, you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, closing the distance between your lips.
You take more control today than last night. You lick at his lower lip, not doing too much tongue, but providing just enough that it has Mark’s skin tingling with need. His fingers dig against your hips, pulling you tighter.
The kiss deepens, and Mark’s entire heart lurches in his chest when you let out a pleased mewling sound.
Fuck, he loves your sounds already- you sound so fucking pretty-
“Jesus.” Head Chef John’s voice makes Mark practically jump, and he tears his lips away from your own, eyes immediately finding his boss, who’s standing by the exit door. “Damn, newbie, you work fast, don’t you?”
Mark’s skin feels like it’s on fire, and he’s quick to let go of your hips, stepping away and running an awkward hand through his hair, “Chef-”
“Don’t tease him, Johnny,” you sigh. “You nearly gave Mark a heart attack sneaking up on us like that.”
“I’m shocked neither of you heard the door.”
“We were busy!” you insist, raising your voice in jest at the head chef.
Mark is shocked at the way you talk so easily with his boss. But he supposes you’ve been at the restaurant for over a year- maybe you’re closer with the tall head chef than Mark realized.
“Look, I’ll say what I said when Hyuck was trying to get with you, sunshine,” Johnny grins, reaching into his pocket to pull out a jacked-up vape pen. “As long as you use protection we’re good, I can’t have my line chefs becoming fathers and taking time off.”
“And I’ll say what I said last time you told me to wrap it: never gonna happen.”
“IUD’s aren’t a hundred percent viable,” Johnny points out, making Mark nearly choke on air.
“Mine has been so far, so stick it old man.” You turn to Mark, “Don’t mind him, he’s protective.”
“I was protective with Hyuck, because he’s a douchebag, but Mark seems okay,” Johnny laughs.
“Thanks?” Mark can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“Listen, I’ll text you okay?” You grab the front of Mark’s apron, pulling him in so you can press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Have a good rest of your shift.”
Mark watches you dart off. He’s tongue-tied, skin still flaring, heart racing in his chest.
“She’s a good one,” Johnny muses. “Best expo girl we have. Don’t fuck it up, Mark, I’ll fire you before we get rid of her.”
“Trust me,” Mark coughs, “I wasn’t planning on fucking things up any time soon.”
Eight
In the year you’ve had your solo apartment, you’ve not had any guys over. Your MO is to go to the man’s place so you can dip out whenever you get anxious or tired. Inviting a man over to your safe space woman sanctuary is new. The nervousness is manifesting physically; you’re fussing over the overswept floor and the frill on your couch blanket when Mark texts you that he’s arrived.
With one final breath, you head down to the lobby to let Mark in.
He’s in blue jeans and a black hoodie that sets off the blonde tone of his hair. You’ve been meaning to ask him about who does his bleach out, but you know men can be touchy about their physical appearance and certain body modifications, so you’ve been holding yourself back.
He looks good. That’s all that really matters.
“Hey,” Mark grins as you open the door, pulling you into a hug.
“Hey, yourself,” you smile back, pulling away from the embrace to lead Mark to the elevator. You can hear the line chef following you, and you suddenly feel self-conscious about your building.
“It’s a nice place,” Mark notes, as if he can read your mind. “New build?”
“I think it’s been here like three or four years? I moved in last winter.”
“Right,” he nods, coming to a stop next to you as you hit the button to call the elevator.
You can feel him staring at you, and it’s making you even more nervous. “What?” you ask, letting out a short laugh.
“Nothing, you just uh… you look cute.”
“I’m literally in PJ’s.” Your gaze dips to your simple fuzzy purple shorts, and the tank top you’re wearing.
“But they’re nice. I’ve only ever seen you in work outfits, and when you came over last time you were in jeans. You look cute dressed down like this.”
You’d been worried about being so casual with Mark- dressing for comfort instead of the need to impress, but it seems you’ve succeeded in both comfortability and making a good impression.
“Thank you,” you smile, your insides practically glowing from the compliment. No other man has seen you this way and called you cute- it’s one of the reasons you usually dip out from a man after sex. There’s no comfort or getting comfortable- your other relationships have always been rigid, a push pull and need to be perfect at all times in order to be deserving of attention.
You make it up to your floor, and another wave of anxiety washes over you as you let Mark into your small apartment. “It’s not much,” you sigh, “but it’s home.”
Mark slips off his sneakers by your door, looking around. “No, I like it,” he assures you. “No roommates kicking around- I bet living alone is pretty relaxing.”
“It can be, but it’s also lonely at times,” you admit.
“Well, if you get lonely here, you can always call me and I can come entertain you.”
Mark’s words give an air of longevity. He sounds certain about this, as if it’s a given that he’s part of your life now, as if he’s not going anywhere.
You’re not sure what to make of Mark. You’ve never really had steady consistency from a man- but he seems so sincere, it makes you want to be hopeful, and hope can be a dangerous thing for a girl like you.
“So uh… can I get you something to drink?” you ask. “We’re just watching anime right?”
“I’m good. If I get thirsty, I’ll let you know,” Mark assures you, taking a seat on the couch in your living room. “Should we uh… should I move some of these pillows so we can cuddle again?”
You grin, pouring yourself a cup of water. “If you want to cuddle, we can cuddle.”
“I want to cuddle,” Mark states, immediately grabbing at the cushions and rearranging your space to allow for you both to lie down.
He’s adorable. Laying down in front of him already feels kind of natural. The way he grabs your hip and tugs you close to his chest has your heart singing, and his breath against the back of your neck is as familiar as anything.
Not much needs to be said as you start your anime. You’re simply enjoying the comfortability of companionship- companionship lacking any pressures or timeframes. You’re two souls sharing your moments together.
It’s a different feeling for your mind to go blank while you’re with Mark. You’re shocked by how safe you feel in his embrace.
You talk here and there, the two of you discussing moments in the anime, but conversation doesn’t get much deeper than that. You actually kind of enjoy not having to use your brain, and you’re definitely enjoying the warmth of the man behind you.
“I’m uh, gonna take my hoodie off,” Mark tells you, shifting slightly.
“Okay.” You give him space, turning to look over your shoulder as he lifts the fabric off his body, revealing the white tshirt below. “Wait, can you give me a deeper tattoo tour now?”
“Uh…”
“You said you’d give me a proper tour on the second date,” you tease, hooking your finger in the neck of his shirt and gently pulling, giving yourself a tiny peak of marked skin along his collarbones.
“I guess I did say that, didn’t I?” Mark laughs sheepishly. “Okay,” he takes a deep breath, sitting up again and grabbing the hem of his shirt.
As Mark reveals his chest to you, you’re a little taken aback by what you see.
Generally, you’re pretty good at guessing a man’s build under his clothing, but Mark is much more toned than you thought he would be. It’s clear he works out, and the muscles you see are amplified by tasteful placement of tattoos littering his torso.
“Where do I even start?” Mark asks, looking down at himself.
“Wherever you want to.” You turn to face him, anime forgotten in the background.
He brushes his own fingers across one of the ferns decorating his collarbones. “These are my mom’s favourite plant.”
“Her favourite plant?” you grin.
“Yeah, I know, most moms have a favourite flower, but my mom kind of really likes ferns.”
“Sounds like you’re close with her,” you note.
“I’m a complete mama’s boy,” Mark admits with a laugh, which is when your gaze lands on a heart with the word ‘Mom’ tattooed on his ribs.
“I see that.” You reach out and gently brush the mark.
The line chef shivers under your touch, the muscles in his abdomen jumping deliciously. You wonder how ticklish he is.
“Then this one,” Mark touches the moth blooming out from his sternum, “was just really cool and the artist needed someone to practice on, so I said, let’s do it, fuck me up.”
You grin at his choice of words. Mark can be kind of reserved at work, it’s interesting to hear his dirty mouth now that you’re alone.
You kind of love listening to him as he continues with the tour, tracing the lined patch work. Each mark is another story or detail about the line chef you’re starting to fall for, and you commit his words to memory.
He’s done the tour of his tattoos much too fast for your liking. You trace the last of the marks, a dagger on his bicep.
Laying on your back with Mark on his side next to you, things feel very intimate, especially now that his focus has shifted away from his tattoos and is solidly fixed on you.
His hand finds your abdomen, and he gently lines the curve of your hip with his fingers.
Neither of you say anything, caught in the peaceful quiet and moments of mutual discovery.
His fingers brush by your rib cage, and you’re struck by the need for more. Gently placing your hand over his, you prompt him up higher, until his palm is placed over your breast. You sneak a glance at Mark, noticing the way he swallows thickly.
“Are you a boobs man, Mark?”
“I mean… who isn’t?”
You grin at his answer. “Should I take my shirt off? It’s only fair, right? Yours is off.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he assures you.
“I want to take my shirt off.”
“Then take your shirt off,” he says quietly.
You sit up, quickly discarding the fabric before laying back down again. Now you’re just in a bra and PJ shorts. Mark sucks in a breath, his hand finding your bare hip. Once again, you have to guide his touch up to your breast. This time, when he squeezes you, his thumb rubs over the swell of plump flesh.
You can feel your nipple hardening with interest, pressing against the cup of your bra. “We should take this off next,” you suggest, grabbing at your strap.
“Yeah?” Mark’s eyes widen as he looks at you, his lips parting as he breathes heavier.
“I mean, unless you want me to keep it on?”
“Like I said,” the line chef brushes his thumb over your skin again, “do whatever makes you most comfortable.”
You sit up again, reaching behind your back to undo the clasp. For a moment, you pause. This is a line you won't be able to uncross. You’re about to show your coworker your boobs. Your sweet, honest, adorable, line chef coworker, who gazes at you with stars in his eyes- your fuck boy look alike secret softie-
You undo your bra, throwing it off the couch before laying flat again. This time, you don’t have to prompt Mark’s hand, he gently traces his fingers up your ribs until he’s cupping your breast. He watches you tentatively, sucking his lower lip into his mouth as his thumb brushes over your hardened nipple.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispers.
“You think so?”
“I know so,” Mark says, firmly this time.
“Come here,” you reach up to cup the back of his neck, drawing his lips to yours. He kisses you like he’s afraid you might break, but when you whimper, he responds with a groan, deepening the passion as his tongue glides against your own.
His hand kneads your breast, making you moan again, pushing up toward his palm. You can feel the desire growing between your legs as he kisses you, and you reach out to trace his chest. Your touch begins to lower, fingers grazing over his abdomen-
Mark breaks the kiss, nuzzling against your jaw to prompt your face to the side so he can access your throat. He peppers your skin in soft kisses, slowly descending until he reaches your collar bones-
You realize what he’s about to do and tangle your fingers through his soft blonde hair, pushing your chest up in silent affirmation. “Mark-” you whimper, rewarded when his wet lips wrap around your nipple.
Fuck, he feels so good-
Has anyone ever felt this good?
Maybe it’s the waiting- the going slow, or maybe it’s just the fact that Mark makes you feel safe, but regardless, each touch, each brush of his lips and tongue, has you mewling. You’re pretty sure you’ve soaked through your panties at this point, your pussy practically throbbing with each flick of his wet muscle against your pebbled nipple.
“Mark?” you whisper, tightening your grip in his hair. “Are you…” you swallow thickly. “Are you going to fuck me?”
The line chef pulls away from your breast, looking up at you with dark chocolate eyes. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do-”
“What if I want this?”
“I usually don’t sleep with girls on the second date-”
“Make an exception?” you plead.
You haven’t been fucked in a few weeks, and you’re feeling desperate. You want to connect with Mark on that physical level, and sex is always the way you do that with men. You want him to feel good, to give him a reason to stick around like he says he will.
“But wait-” you feel your skin heat, “I have something I should tell you first.”
Mark cocks his head to the side, waiting for you to continue.
“I uh… I’m going to be super real with you right now.” You take a deep breath. “Look, I read a lot of smut? That’s like- I read a lot of erotica, written porn, I guess- and, in smut, and porn especially, girls always just cum so easily- and I wish I was that type of person, but I’m not. No guy has ever… you know, gotten me there. What I’m trying to say is, I can have fun even without cumming. So if I can’t get there with you, it’s not you, it’s literally me-”
“Hey,” Mark reaches up to cup your cheek, cutting off your rambling. “Thanks for telling me, but there’s no pressure. Whatever happens, happens. For some girls, you have to get more comfortable. My first girlfriend was like that too, and there’s never any judgement from me. I’m willing to wait for you to feel safe enough that your body relaxes.”
“You are?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures you. “I mean, I can’t promise that I’ll be as good as the guys in your books or in porn. Dirty talk is something I have to get used to using too, but, if we give it time, I’m sure we’ll figure each other out.”
You search his eyes, processing what he’s just said. Then you give him a small nod. “That sounds good to me.”
“Good.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. “But, if we’re going to do this, I’d like for us to go to your bedroom, if that’s okay.”
“Yeah, of course.” You sit up, getting off the couch quickly while Mark follows. As you get to the door of your bedroom, you look over your shoulder, snaking your fingers into your shorts and pulling them down.
“Fuck-” Mark groans, eyes taking in your body.
You can see a half chub pressing against the denim of his blue jeans, and your pussy throbs again. “Come on, puppy boy,” you tease.
He’s quick to catch you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his chest to your back. His lips find your neck and you giggle, moving toward your bed while dragging the line chef with you.
“You’re so pretty,” Mark groans, tracing your curves with one hand while the other reaches to grab your breast.
Turning in his arms, you press your lips to his, enjoying the way each kiss gets deeper. He’s relaxing against you, his tongue exploring you more and more.
When you make it to the bed, he gently prompts you to sit down. You look up at Mark, watching him take in your form. “How did I get this lucky?” he asks.
“You asked me out,” you remind him. “So you did this all yourself, Mark.”
“Did I?” he grins, sinking to the floor.
You’re surprised by the new position, surprised by the way he gently parts your knees, his gaze finding your hot core.
“Can I take these off?” he questions, gently tugging at your panties.
“Yeah-” you whisper.
Most guys don’t eat you out as an appetizer. In fact, you have to ask most men to go down on you- but here’s Mark, doing it all of his own accord. And he looks so needy- in the best possible way.
Mark slips your panties down your legs, and then his lips find your calf. He begins kissing up your skin, spreading your thighs to accommodate him.
“You don’t have to-” Your words are lost when he presses a kiss to your clit.
“Don’t have to what?” Mark asks, looking up at you.
“Don’t have to eat me out-”
“I want to eat you out,” he confirms. “I’ll eat you out for as long as you want me to- but, when you need more, just say something, and I’ll give you anything you want.”
“Really?”
“Uh huh,” Mark hums, immediately pressing his mouth against your core again. He licks a wet stripe of your pussy, and it makes your legs twitch on his shoulders.
You relax against the mattress, closing your eyes and focusing on the feeling of Mark pleasuring you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, keeping him where you need him. He focuses on your clit, circling it and toying with it.
It feels amazing- it does, but there’s some sort of mental block in your brain. You wish you could just cum from this, but the more you think about that, the more you distract yourself from Mark. God, you almost feel bad making him eat you out like this- he’s not getting anything-
The overthinking is something you’re used to, and try as you might to talk yourself down from the ledge of sexual issues, you can’t relax. You can’t focus on Mark, and it frustrates you to no end.
Finally, after what feels like hours of him eating you out - although it must only be a few minutes - you gently tug his hair. “Want your cock now,” you tell him.
“Yeah?” Mark wipes his hand across his mouth, looking up at you with pupils blown from lust.
“Please,” you nod.
“Should I uh- should I grab a condom?”
You’re quick to shake your head. “We’re both clean right?”
“Yeah-”
“I have an IUD, remember? I want you to cum inside of me.”
Mark draws in a shaky breath. You watch him swallow thickly, then he stands up, undoing his blue jeans. When he pushes down his pants, he moves his underwear too, and just like that, your favourite line chef is standing naked in front of you.
He’s got a pretty cock. It’s girthy, cut, and must be around seven or so inches. The tip is curved slightly to his left, and it’s leaking precum even though you’ve hardly touched him.
Did Mark really get that turned on just from eating you out?
“Come here,” you offer him a small smile, shifting up your bed until your head reaches the pillows. You open your arms for Mark, watching him press a knee onto the mattress and approach you. Your legs wrap around his hips, and you drag him into a kiss.
The kiss is passionate, but there’s a tentative energy to it as Mark’s cock presses between your pussy lips, collecting the juice and saliva that’s congregated there.
“Are you sure about this?” Mark asks, panting against your mouth.
You open your eyes to look up at him, nodding.
“I uh… I need to hear you say yes.”
“Yes, Mark, I’m sure about this,” you say, trailing your fingers through his hair. “Please, I want you.”
He searches your eyes, then, with a final nod, he kisses you again. One of his hands slides between your bodies, and you feel him line his cock up with your core. Your legs tighten around his hips, and it’s something like a united effort when his length sinks into your pussy.
You both groan against each other’s lips. The kissing stops, but you remain close enough that your noses are touching. His breath is hot against your skin, and he begins to fuck you slowly, his cock filling you perfectly.
“You feel so good,” Mark groans.
All you can do is moan in response, drawing his lips back to yours while he fucks you.
You get lost in the feeling of him, and the kissing does aid in calming down your tumultuous thoughts. You can focus on the pleasure that thrums through you with each thrust, the way his cock glides against your inner walls and stretches you out.
Mark grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers and pressing you against the bed, his hips working faster. His tongue is eager against your own, and he eats up your soft whimpers. His groans and grunts of effort make your soul sing, your heart beating quickly in your breast.
“Shit,” Mark pulls away from the kiss, looking down at you. “It’s been a minute since I’ve- since I’ve slept with anyone,” he admits. “I’m uh… pretty close.”
“Want you to cum,” you tell him.
“Yeah?”
“Please- want you to fill me up-”
Mark groans, pressing his lips against your own. You kiss him desperately, tightening your legs around his hips. He squeezes your hand, his groans muffled by your mouth.
His hips work faster and faster- then, all at once, he kind of just stops. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you, and his grip on your hand is tight as he coats your insides with his cum.
You hold him through his high, your free hand petting his hair while he brings his lips to your neck, panting desperately and kissing your skin.
He lets out a sigh of relief as he finishes. Mark pulls away from your throat, looking down at you. You can tell there’s something he wants to say, but it’s clear that he’s not able to find the right words. “I, uh…” he licks his lips. “Should I grab you a tissue or something?”
“Yes, please,” you laugh, letting go of him so he can get off the bed. You watch him look around your room, finding your tissues on the nightstand.
His legs are as covered in patchwork tattoos as the rest of him, and you’re pleased that the tour will continue another day. He hands you the tissue. “Do you want to use the bathroom first?”
“You can go for it, I just need a second,” you tell him.
Mark nods, pressing one last kiss to your lips before he leaves your bedroom.
You lay there in bed, holding the tissue between your legs to capture any of the cum beginning to leak out of you.
You’re glad Mark got to cum. You’re not surprised you hadn’t. You just hope maybe one day you will get there, and for some reason, you have a hunch Mark will be the one to achieve an orgasm for you. Or at least, you hope he will.
Nine
“So did you do it?”
“Hmm?” Mark looks up from the chicken he’s cutting.
“You had your second date with Sunshine last night, right?” Hyuck presses. “So…. did you do it? Did you make her cum, or what?”
“Why are you so obsessed with this?” Mark sighs, looking at the other side of the kitchen where John is working. “We shouldn’t be talking about this here.”
“Nah, this is the perfect place to talk about it,” Hyuck leans against the work station, his back to the head chef. “So I’m guessing you didn’t make her cum.”
“Is that all you were thinking about every time you fucked her?” Mark asks.
“Duh.”
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe that’s the kind of mentality that would make a girl overthink the situation?” Mark shakes his head. “I bet you would watch her super intently and then just ask her to cum.”
“That’s a move, Mark, it’s called having rizz.”
“But it never worked, so was it really rizz, or were you just fucking yourself over?”
Hyuck narrows his eyes. “So now you’re the expert on making girls cum?”
Over Hyuck’s shoulder, John stops what he’s doing and turns to stare at the line chefs. Mark can feel his skin heating, and he opens his mouth to rectify the situation, but Hyuck’s already speaking again.
“I bet you a hundred bucks you won’t be able to make her cum.”
“Fuck you, I’m not betting money on this shit,” Mark hisses.
“Sounds like something a pussy would say.”
“A pussy with a knife in his hand,” the line chef notes, his grip tightening on the handle. “Look, when I do make her cum, you have to stop bashing her like it’s her fault that you wouldn’t take the time to make her comfortable.”
“And when you don’t make her cum?”
“It’s not going to happen.” Mark’s not sure where his confidence is coming from, but something in his heart tells him to be firm about this. He’s going to get you there. It might take a few weeks, hell, it might take over a month- but he’s going to get you to the point where you relax enough to cum for him, or so help him God-
Ten
Mark had cum inside of you three times since arriving at seven, and at two am he had finally broached the idea of heading home. “I should probably go,” the line chef had sighed, holding you closer to his chest.
“I mean… you could always just stay over?” you’d suggested.
“Yeah?”
“It’s our third date, why not?” you’d shrugged, cuddling tighter against him.
You hadn’t planned this, it had just sort of happened, and that’s how Mark had ended up sleeping at your place for the first time.
He’d woken up half way through the night, voice raspy, hands grabby, moaning about how lucky he was to be here with you. Falling asleep again after he’d railed you had been as easy as breathing, and now, in the morning hours, you’re in the shower to wash off all the cum he’d left on and inside of you.
Neither of you have to be at work till the afternoon, and you kind of like the idea of lazing around with Mark, who’s still passed out in your bed.
You take your time with your skin care and hair, and when you finally enter your room, you’re intrigued to find the line chef still asleep. He’s quite handsome like this, all bundled up in your white duvet, blonde hair shining around him like a halo.
You try to be careful as you crawl onto the mattress next to him, but Mark immediately rolls over to pull you tight to his chest. He lets out a soft groan, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
God, why are things so domestic with this boy already?
His hands trail up and down your back, fingers stroking your skin. You’d put on his shirt, but other than that, you’re naked, and it doesn’t take long for Mark to realize that fact. His touch moves down to your hip, sliding under the shirt. His thumb draws circles against your bare skin, and he lets out another moan.
“Morning, puppy boy,” you laugh.
“Hungry,” Mark whispers.
“Hmm?”
“I said,” he leans down, pressing kisses to your throat, his lips brushing by your ear when he repeats himself; “Hungry.”
“I can make you breakfast,” you assure him.
“Don’t want food,” Mark says. “Want you.”
In one quick motion he pushes you onto your back, getting on top of you. His breath is hot against your neck, and he tugs on your shirt, pulling it up to reveal your breasts. His mouth wraps around your nipple, and he sucks on it gently, releasing sounds of pleasure.
You thread your fingers through his hair, letting out a sigh of relief. “Feels good,” you tell him.
One of his hands slips between your legs, his digits teasing your slit. “Always so wet for me,” he groans, releasing your nipple with a pop. “Can I taste?”
Mark is definitely getting more bold with you, but that’s what happens when you’ve fucked a handful of times, had three dates, and one sleep over.
“You can do anything you want to me,” you tell him.
The line chef kisses down your abdomen, pushing your legs open as he settles between them. You thread your fingers through his hair as he brings his mouth to your core, licking at your pussy lips.
Mark is really good at oral. This is the fourth time he’s eaten you out. With each time he presses his mouth to your pussy, part of you gets more and more convinced that you’ll cum this way. When he adds two fingers into your aching core, you’re pretty much sure that it will happen-
It feels so good, and the moans that escape you reflect that. Your hips buck toward his face, prompting Mark to press a palm to your lower abdomen, keeping you pinned.
But every time you think you’re close - every time you’re about to announce it to him - the feeling dissipates.
You can feel yourself getting more and more irritated with your body, and soon, you give up entirely. “Mark?”
“Hmm?” The vibrations against your clit have your thighs shaking.
“Can I just- can we just fuck? Please? I want you inside of me.”
Mark pulls away from your pussy, his fingers continuing in your hole. “Are you sure? You know I enjoy playing with you like this.”
“I know- but, I just- I’m in my head again. Want your cock in my pussy.”
Mark takes his fingers out of your core, bringing them to his lips to lick clean. Then he crawls up your body, kissing you so you can taste yourself on his tongue.
“I’ll fuck you,” he says, “but don’t ever think I don’t enjoy being between your thighs like that, okay? You don’t have to cum, I know from the sounds that you make that you enjoy it, and that’s enough for me until you get there, yeah?”
You swallow thickly, nodding. “I’m still in my head.”
“I get that, Sunshine,” he kisses you gently, cupping your cheek as he lines his cock up with your wet hole. “If there’s anything I can do to stop the overthinking-”
“Just fuck me,” you insist, wrapping your legs around his hips.
Mark laughs. “You got it.”
Eleven
“Dude, is that a hickey on your neck?” Hyuck’s annoying voice makes Mark flinch, and his hand immediately flies to slap against the side of his throat.
“What? No.”
“It totally is,” Hyuck laughs. “Damn, you two must really be going at it a lot.”
“We’re having fun.”
“Fun like two times? Three?”
“Fun like five times in the past twenty four hours.”
“Jesus Christ.” Hyuck’s eyes practically bulge out of his head. “Are you serious?”
“I don’t know what you were talking about with her not being able to sleep next to you. She passed out just fine with me last night.”
Hyuck lets out a deep breath. “Fucking Hell. Maybe I underestimated you. So… did she cum?”
Mark sighs. He hates to be talking about this while at work. You’re running food, but you could be back at any second, and Mark doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea about all of this. Hyuck is the instigator of these sexual talks, and Mark doesn’t know how much to keep to himself.
“So that’s a no,” Hyuck deduces. “Big ouch.”
“I feel like we shouldn’t talk about this anymore,” Mark says finally.
“Why? Is your pride hurt?”
Mark lets out another annoyed breath. “I just think it’s disrespectful. You’re an ex fling of hers, you don’t deserve to know everything about her personal life.”
“I don't want to know about her personal life,” Hyuck rolls his eyes. “I want to know about her sex life, there’s a difference.”
“I’m done talking to you about this,” Mark insists.
“Damn, someone is starting to sound like a protective boyfriend. Jeeze, calm down.”
Mark hates that there’s some truth in what Hyuck is saying. He already feels quite protective of you. He’s got dates planned, things that can make you smile. He pays close attention to you when you speak, looking for your likes and dislikes.
Mark is falling for you faster than he’d ever care to admit, especially not to Hyuck of all people.
Twelve
“Who does a staff Christmas party in January?” Jungwoo asks as a bunch of you take the big table after the restaurant has closed.
“We were all too busy at Chirstmas time, remember?” Jaehyun says, looking at his waiter friend. “And then there was New Years, and we closed early.”
“I agree with you Woo, a mid January Christmas party feels weird,” you grin, leaning against your favourite server.
In all honesty, it feels like your managers Taeil and Doyoung just wanted to give you all some time to relax and celebrate. January can be a slow month in the restaurant business, and you’d heard Jeno mention yesterday that there are four or five bottles of wine that no one has been ordering that have to be used up.
As you begin to drink the wine, the mid January Christmas party makes more and more sense. The chefs have finished their closing tasks, with John joining you first, followed by Hyuck, and finally Mark.
With Jaehyun across from you, Jungwoo on one side, and John on the other, you’re surrounded. Mark sits at the other end of the table, offering you a small smile. You give him a gentle wave in response, giggling to yourself over the rim of your wine glass.
“Gosh, Sunshine,” Jungwoo slides closer to you. “Are you drunk already?”
“You’ve been refilling my glass,” you point out, pouting a little.
“Because you’re a cute drunk,” he grins.
“A very cute drunk,” Jaehyun agrees, eyeing you from across the table.
The thing about dating a coworker and it being new means you can’t talk about it. Until there’s a label with you and Mark, you’re keeping your lips shut. As far as Jungwoo or Jaehyun know, you’re single, and the latter of the two has been hitting on you for months.
It feels odd to have Jaehyun calling you cute while Mark is just a few seats down. Your stomach twists into drunken knots, and you wish you could move to be closer to your new secret Boo-
In the periphery of your vision, you note Mark stand up and begin to head to the bar. It feels like the perfect excuse to get some time alone with him, so you hop off of your chair.
Mark’s grabbed a glass and is beginning to pour himself a beer from the tap by the time you reach him. “Hi, puppy boy,” you grin.
“Hey, Sunshine,” he laughs, looking you up and down. “Jungwoo’s been feeding you the wine, huh?”
“Just like… a normal amount.” God, you can’t help but smile constantly at the boy who has your heart twisting into love sick knots.
“Are you tipsy?” Mark cocks his head to the side as he finishes pouring his drink.
“Maybe…”
“Can I get you some water?” he suggests.
You lean forward over the bar top, lowering your voice so only Mark can hear you. “I’m thirsty, but not for water or wine.”
It takes Mark a moment to read the innuendo of your words, but then he laughs. “I should get you some water.”
“What if I don’t drink it?”
“What if I ask you to please drink it?” he counters, already filling a cup for you.
“Okay, fine. Just for you, though.”
Mark grins as he hands you the glass.
“Why do you take care of me so much?” you ask, as the two of you head back to the table.
“Because,” Mark pulls your chair out for you, “you’re my favourite expo girl.”
“I better be,” you say, teasingly narrowing your eyes at Mark before he walks back to his own seat down the long table.
You begin to nurse your water. Mark’s right about you needing it. The tipsyness has somehow intensified- probably because Jungwoo had insisted you finish your wine glass. You feel blurry as you sit there and listen to your coworkers chat.
“I just don’t like saying chicken breast,” Jungwoo states.
“But that’s what they are!” Yuta, one of the night line chefs, insists. “They’re breasts!”
“I just tell customers that the alfredo comes with chicken, they don’t need to hear me say breast!” Jungwoo fights back. “Jaehyun agrees with me, right Jae?”
“Yeah, I just say chicken,” the man across from you nods.
“Taeyong also just says chicken,” Jungwoo continues. “So right now it’s three to one.”
“Hyuck,” Yuta calls across the table, gaining the attention of the men at the other end. “Do you call it chicken breast, or just chicken?”
“Neither,” Hyuck says confidently. “Thems some chicken boobies.”
You can’t believe the conversation you’re hearing. “I think it’s time for me to leave,” you decide.
“What? Why?” Jungwoo whines.
“I can’t be here for a discussion about chicken.”
Jungwoo slams his hand on the table. “See, she said just chicken too!”
Yuta points his finger at you like you’re on a game show. “Is that your final answer?”
You lean forward, pretending his hand is a microphone. “Chicken titties.”
“Yeah, we’re cutting you off,” Jungwoo decides. “You need to go home and sleep.”
“Someone should make sure you get back to your place okay,” Jaehyun notes, standing from his chair.
“I’ll take care of her,” comes Mark’s voice from the other end of the table.
Jaehyun turns to stare at the line chef, who also stands up.
John is next to you, and you watch a knowing expression appear on his features, grinning as he sips his beer.
“You still have half your drink left,” Jaehyun insists, “And, I’ve known our little miss Sunshine for much longer than you have. I’m sure she’s probably more comfortable with me taking her home.”
A muscle in Mark’s jaw feathers. You watch him reach down and grab his beer, downing the whole thing in three large gulps before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
Fuck, the motion reminds you of what he does whenever he eats you out, and you feel almost dizzy thinking about it.
“Who’s it gonna be, Sunshine?” Hyuck grins. “Jaehyun, or Marky boy?”
“Let’s go, Mark,” you say, offering Jaehyun a small smile. “We’ll see all you guys tomorrow.”
Jaehyun looks pretty defeated, but you can’t even bring yourself to care as Mark comes around the table to offer you his arm. At first, you think you don’t his help, but when you stumble after one step, you latch onto his bicep.
“I was hoping you’d go home with me tonight,” you whisper as the two of you exit to the parking lot, where Mark’s truck is waiting. He helps you climb inside, smiling and shaking his head.
“Sunshine, if you ever want me to go home with you, you don’t have to get drunk, just ask.”
Thirteen
“I’m really not that drunk,” you insist, making your way over to the liquor cabinet again.
Mark sighs. You’re a grown adult, he can’t keep directing you away from the booze. “Okay, I believe you. What do you want? Let me make it for you.”
“I want…” you think about it for a moment. “An espresso martini.”
“It’s late, won’t the espresso make it hard for you to sleep?” You’re definitely drunk and you both know it.
“I don’t care. Want espresso martini.”
“Okay, Sunshine, you got it.” Mark moves through your kitchen, finding the espresso machine there. He slips a pod into the device, setting up a cup.
“Can you add honey?” you ask, already moving to the cabinet to grab a bottle. Mark takes it from you, squeezing some of the honey into the bottom of the cup as hot coffee begins to pour over it. “I also want Baileys.”
Mark laughs a little, shaking his head as you stumble to grab the large Irish Cream bottle from your cupboard.
“And also ice,” you declare. “Frothed.”
“This is a whole thing, huh?” Mark watches you fill the frother with Baileys.
“I like what I like,” you insist. “We’re gonna triple froth this.”
“You’re the boss.” Mark reaches into his pocket, pulling out his vape. You’ve been letting him smoke in here, and he appreciates the reprieve as the two of you make this very complicated espresso martini.
By the time you’re done with it, Mark’s not even sure you could call it an espresso martini. With the amount of frothed foam on top, this drink is something else entirely.
He watches you lift the cup to your lips, immediately getting foam on your face. You simply giggle and wipe it off, licking your finger clean. Then you dip your digit into the froth, scooping it up and popping it in your mouth.
Mark swallows thickly while watching you do this.
“Puppy,” you groan, “this is so good.” You offer him your finger. “Try it.”
Mark can’t say no to you, so he allows you to dip your finger into his mouth. He licks you clean, watching the way your breath catches. You bite on your bottom lip, swaying a little on your feet.
“Your turn,” you say quietly, holding out the cup.
“My turn?”
“I wanna suck on your fingers.”
Mark knows you're drunk. He knows this probably isn’t the best idea for either of you, but he simply can’t say no to you. Not now, not ever.
He dips his pointer into the foam, then presents it to you.
You grab his wrist, keeping him still while you move forward to suck on his finger, releasing a small groan. Mark can already feel the blood rushing to his cock, but he ignores it as he goes for another scoop of froth.
“Tastes better on you,” you tell him, licking his digit clean again. “More. Please.”
The way you look at him each time you suck his finger tells Mark that you’re as horny as he is. When he scoops with two digits, you practically mewl as you lick.
“I wanna suck on something bigger,” you state.
“Sunshine,” Mark sighs, “I really don’t want to take advantage-”
“You’re not. Mark, you’ve eaten me out so many times, please let me return the favour?” You’re already sinking to your knees on the kitchen floor, and the sight of you makes Mark’s cock throb in his jeans. “Please, I just wanna suck you off.”
“You know I can never say no to you.”
As the words leave him your hands find his belt. In moments, you’re pushing his pants down, your grip wrapping around the base of his cock. He watches you lick your lips, your gaze meeting his as you lean forward to take him into your mouth.
Mark immediately lets out a groan. “You feel so good, sunshine.”
You whimper around his length, and the vibration has Mark’s fingers twitching. He reaches for your head, cupping your face while you suck him off. His other hand places your drink on the kitchen counter before falling to his side. The line chef’s head falls back, his eyes closing as he eats up the feeling of you.
“That’s it,” he sighs, loving the way you twirl your tongue around his shaft.
You take as much of him past your lips as possible, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You gag around him, causing Mark’s eyes to fly open. He looks down at you with concern, but you keep sucking him.
“You don’t have to deep throat me,” Mark assures you, pushing some hair away from your face.
You let out a whine, sinking onto him again, only for your throat to constrict tight around his tip.
Mark groans. “Fuck, Sunshine, I’m serious.”
The line chef could never do what you’re doing right now. Not because he’s not into cock, but because he has the worst gag reflex ever. He knows what it’s like to choke, and he doesn’t want you sputtering on his cock in the name of pleasuring him.
When you try to deep throat him a third time, Mark simply pulls you off of him. He’s struck by the view of a string of saliva keeping you connected to his cock, and the way you look up at him in a confused daze has his heart thundering in his chest.
“Enough of that,” Mark says softly. “Let me take care of you.”
He reaches down, gently taking your hands so he can help you to your feet.
“Bedroom?” he suggests.
You nod, swallowing thickly and wiping at your mouth, then you dart off. You’re awfully agile for a drunk girl, and Mark smiles to himself before following you. By the time he’s made it to the bedroom, you’ve already stripped.
You’re sitting on the bed, grinning at him with a hint of mischief in your eye.
“Take advantage of me, Mark,” you say as he pulls off his shirt.
“Jesus,” Mark whispers. “I hate to say it, but that line is not enticing at all.”
He’s still kind of questioning if this is a good idea, but at the same time, you’ve already fucked on multiple occasions. He knows you want him sober, and especially - it appears - while drunk.
“Come on, please?” You pout out your lower lip.
Mark slips out of his jeans, joining you on the bed. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss while your legs encircle his hips.
As his cock slips past your core, Mark is shocked at how wet you already are. Booze has really done a number on you, but neither of you are complaining.
“You sure you want this?” he asks.
“Don’t make me beg,” you laugh, “Cuz I will.”
“No, it’s okay,” Mark swallows the lump in his throat. “Just checking.”
Before he can reach for his cock, you beat him to it, grabbing the base and lining his tip up with your entrance. “Fuck me, Mark, I’m begging for it.”
He presses his lips hard against your own as he pushes into your wet hole, both of you groaning loudly at the feeling.
“Shit,” you whimper, breaking the kiss to look up at him, “I’m so sensitive today-”
“Alcohol does that sometimes,” Mark notes, bringing up a hand to cup your breast. When his fingers pinch your nipple, you let out a high pitched squeal, pushing your chest up toward his palm.
“Fuck, Mark-” Your pussy clenches tight around him, and the feeling makes Mark dizzy.
“You sound so good, Sunshine, and you’re gripping me so fucking hard-” Mark begins to fuck into you. Your nails claw at his arms, your head thrown back, eyes closed.
Mark reaches down to rub your clit. You shudder below him, legs tightening around his hips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-” you moan loudly. “Just like that-”
He applies more pressure to your sensitive bud, making your hips buck toward him, your core clenching him in a death grip.
“If you keep squeezing me like this, I’m not going to last long-” he warns you, tension building in the base of his cock.
“I want you to cum,” you insist, opening your eyes to look at him.
“Don’t you want to try and get there too?” he asks.
“I don’t-” you swallow thickly, “I don’t think I’ll be able to.”
“Let me fuck you a little longer, yeah?” Mark prompts. “I can wait a bit. Actually, we should switch positions.”
“To what?”
“Can you get on your knees for me?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you nod quickly. As soon as Mark pulls away, you’re flipping over, pushing your ass into the air for him.
“Fuck, what a view,” he breathes, hands smoothing across your bum.
You whimper, and the sound encourages Mark to slip himself into you again. The sigh of relief that leaves you has Mark’s skin tingling, his grip finding your hips.
“It’s so deep,” you groan, tangling your fingers in the sheets.
You’re right about that- your wet pussy is taking every inch Mark has, and each smack of his hips against your ass has you getting even wetter. He’s pretty sure you’re dripping down your thighs at this point, and his fingers dig into your skin even harder.
The sounds you’re making are like music to his ears. Your grip on his cock is insane. Mark’s pretty sure tonight is going to be the night that you cum- but as he continues fucking you, it becomes more and more clear that only one of you is going to get there- and fast.
“Fuck,” Mark grunts, his heart racing in his chest as he picks up the pace of his thrusts.
“Cum in me,” you insist, reaching behind yourself.
Mark grabs your hand, lacing your fingers and holding you against the small of your back.
“You really want me to cum?” he asks, breathless.
“Please,” you nod, squeezing his hand. “Wanna be full.”
Again, Mark can’t say no to you.
“Okay, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he whispers, fucking you even harder. “Shit-”
His orgasm hits straight on, tingling through his entire body like an electric jolt. He pushes his cock into you as deep as it can go, feeling it throb as he coats your walls in cum. Mark throws his head back, eyes closed, overcome by the pleasure that courses through him.
He’s not the type that can fuck someone through his high. When he cums, he has to stop, has to experience the feeling in full. His mind goes completely blank…
But his first thought when the words come back is that he should tell you he loves you.
Fuck. This is becoming a problem.
Every time he cums deep inside of you, his feelings grow. He’s overwhelmed with this sense that you’re meant to be, that he should just lock you down and let you know how much you mean to him.
But as always, that logical side rears its head, reminding Mark that it’s only been a few weeks of seeing each other. He needs to take things slow- for your sake. He doesn’t want to scare you away. Being a safe space for you includes watching his tongue, it means not putting pressure on you like this-
If there’s one thing that will pressure you, it’s the admittance that he’s kind of in love with you.
Instead of saying what’s on the tip of his tongue, Mark pulls out of you. He gets you a tissue for the cum that begins to drip out of your pussy, and a cup of water to make sure you’re hydrated. Once you’ve both cleaned up in the bathroom, he cuddles you close to his chest, stroking your back and listening to you breathe.
To Mark’s complete shock, you fall asleep on him within minutes.
It’s a sign that you’re truly feeling safe with him, and Mark thinks he must be going in the right direction. He’s careful not to wake you up, he simply enjoys the feeling of holding you close while you rest.
Fourteen
You wake up slowly, cuddling closer to the warmth next to you. It takes you a moment to realize that the heat is coming from Mark, and you open your eyes to stare at him.
“Morning,” Mark grins, putting down his phone to watch you. “Sleep well?”
“Shockingly well,” you grin, snuggling closer. “You?”
“I like sleeping next to you,” Mark muses, wrapping his arms around you. “You know, I was thinking I could make you breakfast or something. Neither of us have work today.”
“Breakfast?” You perk up.
“Yeah, I can cook most breakfast or brunch foods, but uh… don’t ask me to make eggs.”
“Eggs?” You raise your brows, looking at him with a laugh.
“I know, it’s stupid cuz I’m literally a line chef, but I never went to school for it, remember?” Mark grins, stroking your skin. “John tried to teach me during brunch last week but I just- don’t have the patience for eggs.”
“Poor John, hired a chef who can’t cook eggs,” you tease. “Are you sure you don’t want something else for breakfast?”
“Like what?”
“Like… me?”
Mark laughs. “As much as I’d love to fuck you today, I feel like- maybe it would be nice to not sleep together this morning... You know this isn’t just sex for me, right?”
“Yeah, but… sex is nice, isn’t it?”
Mark strokes your cheek, meeting your eyes. “Sex with you is always nice, but I think I kind of want to be domestic with you today instead, if that’s okay.”
Your heart clenches in your chest at his words. You can’t help but lean forward and kiss him gently. “That’s okay with me.”
“Good,” Mark grins. “Let's cuddle some more, and when you get hungry, I’ll take care of the food.”
As you slowly wake up next to Mark, you’re struck by how comfortable you are. Being with him like this feels natural. There’s no pressure to fuck, no need to suck dick in order to earn affection- Mark simply cares about you, and it’s clear in the way he holds you.
If you’re not careful, you could get used to this.
Fifteen
Since the ‘Christmas’ party, Mark’s been wanting to broach the subject of Jaehyun with you, but in the handful of times he’s slept over with you since then, it’s just never come up.
Today, watching Jaehyun talk with you by the bar, the question is fresh on Mark’s mind, and he only has one person he can justifiably ask about it.
“So… how close are Jae and y/n?”
“Hmm?” Hyuck looks up from the burger he’s stacking. “Oh, those two? Pretty close.”
Mark groans at the lack of detail. “Did they ever date?”
“I think she’s definitely his work crush. Pretty sure he’s asked her out a few times, but I don’t know if she realized it was a date sort of thing.” Hyuck laughs to himself. “I actually walked in on him asking her out around Halloween, but I think she thought it was a group idea. She rejected him though.”
“Looks like he hasn’t taken the hint,” Mark says, mouth forming a firm line.
“Nah, Jae has a pretty big ego. I mean, you’ve seen his face. He’s not used to rejection, it doesn’t compute for him.”
Mark doesn’t say anything, he simply goes back to the alfredo he’s cooking. But it becomes clear that Hyuck doesn’t want to let this go.
“You’re jealous, aren’t you, Marky boy?”
“No.”
“Yes, you totally are,” Hyuck grins. “How long have you and Sunshine been seeing each other now?”
“Like… three weeks? A month almost?”
“Have you talked about being exclusive or anything?”
“Not really.”
Hyuck rolls his eyes. “It’s a yes or a no, Mark. There’s no ‘not really,’ when it comes to ‘the talk.’”
“No, we haven’t talked about it,” Mark admits with a sigh.
“Sounds like something you want though, right?” Hyuck presses.
“I thought I said I wasn’t going to talk to you about this anymore.”
“You’re the one who brought up Jae,” Hyuck points out, raising his hands in mock defense.
Mark supposes Hyuck is right about that. He’s been considering defining the relationship recently- thinking about how a label could offer you safety, stability, things that are needed to help you relax.
But now, the label transcends the use for comfortability and cumming, it almost feels needed.
You’re hot. Mark knows that. He sees the way people hit on you every day while you’re working. At first, he’d been okay with it- but now, he thinks maybe he needs something more. Maybe he needs the comfort of knowing that you’re taken, by him.
He’s not the type to feel insecure, and he’s not even sure that insecurity is the right word for what he’s feeling.
All Mark knows, is that he wants to get to the next level with you, and he’s going to pull up his big boy pants to finally do it.
Sixteen
You’ve been at home for a few hours, having been cut from work early since it was a slow day, and you’re a little surprised when Mark calls you around dinner time.
“Hey you,” you grin, collapsing onto your bed to give Mark your full focus.
“Whatcha doin?” he asks.
“Just sitting here, was thinking of watching a movie. How about you? Just got off work?”
“Yeah, in a minute, just taking a vape break first. I was thinking maybe you’d let me see you when I’m off?”
“Definitely, you know my door is always open for you. But I should warn you, I have literally nothing in my fridge.”
“That’s okay, I’ll make your favourite and bring takeout,” Mark assures you. “See you in like… half an hour?”
That’s how Mark shows up on your home a short while later. You look him up and down, taking in his work outfit. “Didn’t wanna change after shift?” you grin, holding your door open for him.
“I uh, wanted to see you. Need a shower, so I figured I’d put on my fresh clothes after that.”
“Sounds good, you know that my home is your home. Go shower, I’ll put our food in bowls.” You accept the takeout from Mark, intent on turning to head to the kitchen- only for him to pull you back into an embrace.
“Hi,” he mumbles, kissing the side of your head and nuzzling against your hair.
“Hi,” you grin, turning in his arms to press your lips to his. “Go shower.”
“You got it.”
Mark goes into your bathroom, and a moment later you hear the water begin to run. You take your time in the kitchen. Mark has made himself alfredo, and he’s cooked your favourite rice bowl for you. You smile to yourself while plating the food, loving how domestic things have gotten with Mark.
Part of you is tempted to join Mark in the shower, but you’re not sure if you’re there yet, so you wait patiently for him to finish. This isn’t the first time he’s showered at your place, and you trust he’ll see his designated towel hanging on the hook behind your door.
You kind of enjoy that he’s gotten so comfortable at your home. You’ve been spending so much time with him here and at work that it feels kind of odd when he’s not around.
Soon, Mark is coming out of the bathroom. He’s in sweatpants and a tank top that shows off his tattoos. You have to actively stop yourself from drooling as you move to sit at the dinner table.
“So… did you need to talk to me about something?”
“Hmm?” Mark sits across from you.
“We didn’t have plans, you called and wanted to come over, I guess I’m just wondering if you had a specific reason.”
“Can’t I just miss you?” he grins.
Despite his words, it’s clear that there’s more to it, however you drop the issue. When Mark is ready to be real with you, he will be. You have time until then.
Mark begins to talk about work, how it had gotten busy after you’d left. You listen, happy to chat with him while you eat.
After food, the two of you move to the couch, cuddling up while Netflix starts.
You’re two seasons into your anime already, it’s funny how time flies. You can turn your brain off when Mark spoons you, his lips pressing soft kisses to your shoulder every now and again.
One episode in, Mark reaches over you for the remote, pausing your show.
“I guess there is a reason I wanted to come over,” he admits finally.
“Yeah?” You turn onto your back, looking up at him.
“I hate to say that I’ve been jealous, but uh… since the Christmas party, I’ve been a little jealous about you and Jaehyun.” Mark won’t meet your eyes, and you give him the space to continue. “I just… people are always hitting on you, and I don’t know, I think… I mean, I’m a serial monogamist according to Hyuck, and I know we haven’t been seeing each other for that long, but I only see you, in all ways, and I just… I don’t want to lock you down if you’re not looking for something serious, but I guess I wanted to know how you feel about exclusivity and that sort of thing.”
“With you? Mark… I’d love to be exclusive.” You let out a small laugh. “Don’t you realize that I have to watch girls flirt with you too? Maybe we’ve both been jealous. I think… locking each other down would be good for us.”
“Yeah?” Mark’s beaming now.
“You’re special,” you confess. “I’ve never been able to sleep next to a guy I’ve slept with, which feels like such a contradiction- but sleep has always come easy with you. I’ve never felt such a lack of pressure- such acceptance, for all of me, the good and the bad. I like you a lot Mark, and I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear.”
“It’s not that it wasn’t clear,” Mark assures you, cupping your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. “I just… I know you have that wild side, which is totally valid, I just wasn’t sure you were a settling down type.”
“I wasn’t so sure I was either, and then I met you.”
Mark kisses you instead of responding, but you can feel the emotion in the press of his lips against yours. He’s elated by what you’ve just said, and you’re close to floating to cloud nine too.
Even so, there’s something else. You can feel it in the slight tension of his shoulders when your fingers brush over his skin.
“Mark?” you break the kiss, blinking at him. “Is there something else on your mind?”
“It’s just… I know I said there’s no pressure, but I really wanna help you cum. And I’ve been thinking maybe… maybe we could use some of your toys.”
“My toys?”
“Like… some girls cum better with a vibrator, and if you have one, I’d love to use it on you.”
“Really?” You’re shocked. Lots of men think their dick is good enough, they feel emasculated to bring sex toys into the mix- but here’s Mark, being as contrarian as ever.
“Even if it doesn’t help you cum, I still think it would be fun. I’m not trying to pressure you-”
“We can use my vibrator,” you assure him, heart thundering in your rib cage at the mere thought of it.
No man has ever used a sex toy on you- it’s probably one of the reasons you’ve never cum with a lover before.
“Come on,” you sit up, heading to your bedroom while Mark follows. “I keep my toys in the closet,” you explain, bending down to find the shoe box that stores your vibrator. You pull the device out, showing it to Mark. “Is this going to work?”
“Yeah, it will work.” Mark watches you stand up, and he holds out his hand for you to pass the toy to him. “I’m uh… I’m gonna put this down so I can get you naked.”
“Okay,” you grin.
He sets the vibrator on your bed gently, turning to you. Mark grabs your face first, pulling you in for a kiss. He’s gentler than you thought he would be, but you don’t mind it. You like getting lost in the feeling of Mark, allowing him to guide you toward the bed.
When you reach your mattress, his hands slip down to the hem of your shirt. He carefully removes it, and you lift your arms to help him with the task. Mark doesn’t immediately go for your pants next, he kisses you again instead, cupping your cheek with one hand while the other grabs the small of your back.
His touch is so gentle, smoothing across your skin. It’s making you even more eager, and you find yourself removing his shirt before he begins to work on your sleep shorts. Soon, you’re just in a bra and panties, but even those get taken off.
When you’re completely bare, Mark gently pushes you down onto your bed, eyes taking in your body.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he muses.
Your skin heats at the praise, and you begin to close your thighs, only for Mark to gently prompt them open.
“Don’t hide from me, please,” Mark says softly, getting onto his knees at the foot of your bed. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your clit before he pushes his tongue into your wet hole.
You breathe a sigh of relief, threading your fingers through his hair. You adjust your thighs on his shoulders, trailing your toes against his well-defined back.
He eats you out for a little while, groaning as he goes. It’s clear to you now that Mark enjoys getting his fill of you, and it makes the experience ten times more enjoyable for you. You’ve been getting better at slowing your mind while Mark licks at your clit, better at focusing on him and not all the worrying thoughts that generally buzz around you.
You feel the bed shift, and you open your eyes to see Mark has reached for the vibrator. He turns it on, assessing the way the toy shakes on the lowest setting. “Do you wanna show me where to use this, sunshine?” he asks, holding it out to you.
With a deep breath, you nod, accepting the toy and bringing it to your clit. “I like… a good amount of pressure,” you tell him, showing him exactly where you like the vibrator to be held.
It feels kind of odd to be pleasuring yourself like this in front of Mark, but from the way his pupils are blown, eyes fixed completely on your core, you can tell that he’s enjoying the view. It makes you feel more confident, as you begin to drag the vibrator side to side, teasing yourself.
“This sort of movement is good too,” you tell him.
“Can I take over now?” he asks.
You nod, allowing him to grab the handle of the toy.
Now that you’re not the one holding it, you can focus completely on the feeling of your clit being vibrated. It feels amazing, your toes curling at the stimulus.
Mark’s free hand is on your inner thigh, smoothing against your skin, but soon, it joins the vibrator. He teases two fingers along your folds before pushing them into you, crooking them up to find the spongey spot that has you crying out.
“You make such pretty sounds,” Mark tells you, applying more pressure to your clit with the vibe. “Fuck, I could watch you like this all night.”
“Puppy-” you whimper, skin tingling at his words.
“You have no idea how good you look,” he continues. “I swear- I want you to cum, but even if you don’t, I’m not going to be able to forget about this. This view is- fuck, it’s the best view in the world. We’re going to be at work and this is all I’ll be thinking about. I won’t be able to get you out of my head.”
With each admittance, each uttered word of praise, you can feel the tension building in the pit of your stomach.
“Can you grind on this a little, sunshine? Grind on my fingers and your toy?”
“Yeah-” you whimper, hips moving as you try to follow with his prompt.
“That’s it-” Mark groans. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.”
His fingers work harder inside of you, and the added pressure makes you squeal. You can’t help the way one of your arms comes up to cover your face, muffling your sounds as your body moves on it’s own accord now. You’re grinding against his hand, grinding against the vibrator that sends tremors of pleasure through your entire form.
“I’m so fucking lucky,” Mark tells you. “So lucky that you’re mine- I could watch you like this for hours and not get bored.”
“Mark-” you groan. Usually, when you acknowledge an orgasm building, it dissipates, like some cruel trick of fate, a complete defiance of the laws of physics- but this time, when you whimper “I’m close” the feeling doesn't fade, it only builds.
“Yeah?” Mark sounds shocked. “All it took was a vibe, huh?”
“And… and your praise-”
“You like when I talk dirty to you, sunshine?” Mark asks. “Like it when I tell you how perfect and pretty you are?”
“Yes-”
“Are you going to be a good girl and cum for me? Or should I finger fuck this cute little pussy even harder?”
“Oh my God-” you whimper. Mark has truly gotten comfortable with you now- he’s not holding back with his sinful words, and they make your stomach pull into a tight knot. “Please, harder-”
Mark presses the vibrator against your clit, turning up the vibration with his thumb while his fingers continue their brutal pace inside your core.
You find yourself gasping, unable to speak as he works you closer and closer-
“Cumming-” you whisper, your orgasm slamming into you like a train.
Your breath catches, waves of pleasure surging through you. Your fists grip the sheets, your back arches, your thighs quaking around Mark. Whimpers and moans fill the room, your core pulsating around Mark’s fingers while he works you through your high.
“That’s it,” Mark groans. “That’s my good girl.”
“Puppy-” you breathe, the feeling almost becoming too much for you.
“What do you need, sunshine?”
“Your cock,” you blurt out.
“Yeah?” Mark’s fingers slow inside your pussy.
“Please, wanna cum on your cock-”
Mark lets out a breath. “Holy fuck.” He turns the vibrator off, taking his digits from your core. Mark licks them clean before he stands up, pushing down his sweatpants. “Move up the bed for me?” he suggests.
You wiggle up to the pillows, watching Mark get onto the mattress. He allows you to lock your legs around his hips, pulling him close while he crashes his lips to yours.
You tangle your fingers in his hair, kissing him deeply. He ruts his hips, allowing you to feel his cock dragging against your core.
Patience is a virtue, but you don’t have any left. You reach between your bodies, grabbing his hard length to line it up with your pussy.
Mark slides into you, and you let out an immediate sigh of relief. His fingers had been nice, but his cock is even better. It stretches you open, you can feel him deeper than ever. You gasp against his mouth, dragging him closer as he begins to thrust into you.
“You feel so good, sunshine,” Mark groans, breaking the kiss so he can press his lips to your throat.
“Puppy-” you whimper, arching your neck so he has better access to find your sweet spot.
Mark captures your hands, lacing your fingers and pressing you into the bed while he fucks you.
You can feel him everywhere. You’re completely bewitched by Mark Lee. Your core is practically dripping, each thrust made easy by the wet that exudes out of you.
Then Mark is reaching for your vibrator. He sits up slightly, looking down at you. “Missionary? Or maybe doggy would be better?”
“I wanna see you when I cum again,” you tell him, accepting the vibrator he holds out to you. “Want you to see me cum with your cock in my pussy.”
Mark lets out a low groan, pressing his lips to yours as you turn on the toy, adjusting it onto your clit.
“If you can’t cum, that’s okay-”
“I think I’ll cum,” you assure him. “Just fuck me hard, and I’ll get there.”
“I can do that,” Mark grins, immediately picking up his pace and adding more power to his thrusts.
“And… tell me I’m pretty again?”
“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Mark groans. “I’m so fucking lucky- how did I ever get this lucky?”
“Puppy-”
“You have no idea how into you I am- I love your sounds, love your voice- love the face you make when you feel good- love your smile-”
Each admittance has your heart buzzing in your chest. It’s crazy how easy it is for him to praise you- it almost feels like all these things were built up inside, like he’s a dam that’s just been released, and God, you love the flood.
You press the vibrator harder against your clit, entire body surging with energy.
“You’re squeezing me so well, baby,” Mark groans, and the sound has your pussy throbbing. “Want you to cum with me so bad, do you think you can cum with me?”
“Yeah, just- kiss me?” you suggest.
Mark presses his lips to yours immediately, cupping your face with one hand. His tongue glides against your own. You eat up each other's sounds, getting completely lost in each other.
In no time at all, another orgasm is building in the pit of your stomach.
“I’m gonna-” you whimper against his lips.
Mark fucks you even harder in response, and the motion is dizzying.
“Please, sunshine, cum with me- fuck, I can’t hold it, cum with me-”
His words are your last straw as you explode on his cock. Your core clamps down hard, gasps of extacy escaping you.
To Mark’s credit, he holds off his own high long enough to fuck you through yours, and the moment you begin to be oversitmulated, he cums too. You can feel his cock throbbing in your pussy, his load spilling along your insides and coating your walls.
You kiss him deeply, enjoying his whimpers of pleasure.
You’ve never cum with someone balls deep inside of you before, and there’s a voice in the back of your mind itching for you to tell Mark that you love him- but you bite your tongue. You simply kiss him, holding him close while he finishes.
Finally, Mark lets out a small gasp, pulling away from your lips. His forehead presses against yours, and you’re both breathing heavily.
You’ve never felt this connected to someone in your entire life.
“Are you going to get us tissues?” you ask after a moment, letting out a small laugh.
Mark chuckles, pressing his lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “I just wanna enjoy you a second longer.”
“Puppy, you have literally all the time in the world.”
☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! I really wanted to kick the year off with something more realistic. I wanted to write about a reader who over thinks, who doesn’t cum super easily like we usually see in fanfic. I wanted to touch on the realism of relationships, the use of sex toys, things discussed in the bonus like whiskey dick, domestic showers together and troubles sleeping next to someone new- I really hope you guys liked this even though it’s not as classic fanfic as I usually write :)
🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!
🔮 preview. “I drank too much,” Mark admits. “Hyuck kept egging me on- I’m pretty sure he wanted to get me blackout so I couldn’t fuck you tonight- But I swear- whisky dick won’t last all night,” Mark tells you. “And, I mean, you know I love using your toys so it doesn’t even matter.” He’s adorable. Of course Hyuck wouldn’t take into account that sometimes Mark is perfectly happy making you cum with your toys and not fucking you at all. Mark truly is a man built for your pleasure, and you’re not surprised that ‘whiskey dick’ hasn’t phased him.
cw/ tw. drunk!Mark, shower shenanigans, fingering, pussy eating, use of toys/g spot stimulator, Mark has ‘whiskey dick’ and can’t get hard at first, unprotected sex, praise, dirty talk, munch!Mark, creampie/fullness kink, etc… I petnames. (hers) sunshine. (his) puppy.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 250
🌙 starring. Mark x afab!Reader
bonus
“Puppy?” You sit up in bed, holding your phone close. Mark’s at some boys night thing, and you really hadn’t expected to hear from him, but here he is, calling you at midnight.
“Hi, Sunshine.”
“Hi Sunshine!” Someone else screams in the background.
“Oh my god, fuck off, Hyuck!” Mark yells back. “Not you, baby, I’m talking to Hyuck.”
“Yeah,” you laughed, “I gathered that.”
You’ve also gathered that your boyfriend is drunk. You can hear it in his voice, and when he begins to hiccup, it’s even more evident.
“So uh, I wanna see you.”
“You can see me tomorrow, we have dinner plans, right?”
“No, I wanna see you tonight and tomorrow,” Mark insists.
“You do, huh?” God, he’s adorable.
“Yes, please.”
“Don’t you want to finish boys night?” you prompt, not wanting to get in the way of his time with friends. You know Jeno would get mad about Mark spending time with his ex instead of his boys, and you don’t want to be that girlfriend who restricts her lover from his bros.
“Nah, fuck this,” Mark says. “Jeno went home with a girl, it’s just me and Hyuck and Renjun and Chenle and Jaemin and Jisung-” Sweet Jesus, he’s listing half of your work staff. “But I wanna be with you. I can call a cab and be at your place in like, fifteen minutes?”
“Whatever you want, puppy,” you grin. “I’ll be here.”
☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.3k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here
👹 or check out what else is on my patreon here
🔮if nothing strikes your fancy, check out my m.list
WORD COUNT. 28.8k (i’m not apologizing and you can’t make me)
CONTENTS. weed consumption, haechan favoritism (it’s me. what did you expect), explicit smut (slightest of dubcon, chasing kink (? y’all idk), quite a bit of edging/orgasm denial (giving), dry humping, handjobs, blowjobs, cunnilingus, finger sucking, bit of spit kink, unprotected sex, creampie, double penetration, anal, rimming (receiving), overstimulation (receiving), praise kink, some slight degradation, bratty switch!reader, bratty switch!haechan, needy switch!mark, haechan really likes calling you “puppy,” i think that’s it)
NOTES. hi :3 thank you to my love @ncteez (hon) for beta reading this for me! i’m on my mark & haechan monster cock agenda thank you very much :)
PLAYLIST. video games - sun // seduce - russ // pth - emanuel
Sunday, November 1st.
“As usual, I think you’re full of it.” Lia sizes up Haechan, her scrutinizing stare so chilling that it affects you as an innocent bystander simply sitting next to Haechan.
“I’m not,” Haechan fiercely defends himself, jabbing his thumb into his chest emphatically. “I totally did take three edibles and, yes, I did see God! She was not pleased with me,” Haechan finishes in a mumble, scratching the back of his neck anxiously.
“What makes you think you saw God and not, like, her secretary angel or something?” Jaemin asks with a brow raised, and Haechan grimaces.
“What, am I not important or special enough to meet Miss God herself? I got some divine being several rungs down the holy corporate ladder?” Haechan counters, and the silence that falls over your table is deafening. “Wow.”
“Sorry,” Yeji says, shrugging. “It’s not personal.”
“Yeah, well, it sure feels personal,” Haechan grouches. Turning to you, he shakes your arm and whines loudly, saying, “You think I’m important and special, right?”
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popular college boy!mark + not-so-popular college!reader :) - fluff + smut (mdni pls!!)
wc - 9.5k ~ warnings under the cut <3
summary - yn had a crush on mark- but he didn’t know. mark had a crush on yn- but she didn’t know. all it takes is a chemistry project for everything to change.
contents - fem reader, reader is a little insecure about her popularity, mark is a popular soccer player, dorky mark, reader goes in between confidence and not so much confidence, moves a bit fast but it’s all built up overtime!!!, desperate needy mark, kissing, reader is a bit unsure of it all, oral (f and m), fingering, possessive mark, piv (unprotected pls don’t come for me i don’t advise this😣), nipple play, mark calls reader many petnames (baby, pretty, sweetheart, etc), shy reader at times, slight hair pulling (f and m), aftercare, so many confessions, very fluffy ending
꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱
you always knew there was no chance of mark even sparing you a glance, yet you still went to bed every night hoping and wishing something would change.
mark was popular; you were not. you thought all of this popularity bullshit ended in high school but quickly realized otherwise when you saw just how aware people were about their status. it made you roll your eyes every time a girl smiled and waved at him and he reciprocated, not understanding why that wasn’t you. therefore, you wanted to make a change.
you purposely lingered in the areas he frequented. you watched him grab a protein shake from the dining hall with all his soccer teammates. going as far as taking the stairs to your class on the 6th floor because you knew that’s what he always did. yet somehow, mark still never noticed you.
it was hard to understand why you liked him, considering you’d never even spoken to the man. except every time you saw him, these thoughts quickly disappeared. you were reminded of his unspoken charm, handsome face and toned body, and ability to be bright and social while remaining reserved and mysterious. he was the man of your dreams, but it seemed you only ever had nightmares.
as the semester flew by, you began to lose hope. no matter how much you crossed paths or stared daggers into the back of his head, he still never recognized you. you thought it could be your style, maybe the fact that you only have two friends and they even have more status than you, or maybe it was because you were nowhere near as athletic as he was. your dream of calling him yours slowly faded, finally accepting that maybe he wasn’t your dream after all.
that was until the second semester came around.
your schedule was semi-fucked- ending up with mostly pre-requisite classes filled with idiots and jocks due to the high-demand classes offered in your major.
you wanted to cry when you walked into your chemistry class. not only was it filled to the brim with frat and sports guys, but the other girls could be described as no less than intimidating. their hair is always perfect, makeup unflawed, and outfits complete with all the new trends. you accepted that as always, you’d be the black sheep of the class. with this, you opted to sit in the front so at least your focus could remain on the class. as seats filled, the one next to you remained empty, until 5 minutes after class had already started.
you slowly glance at the figure breathlessly apologizing at the door, heart dropping to what felt as far down as your ankles when you realized who it was.
mark lee.
of course, he was late for the first class and used that stupid, boyish grin and dorky, sweet voice to apologize for his tardiness. many of the boys in the class greeted him, dapping him up and laughing as they realized the only spot mark could sit at was next to you.
it really did feel like high school again.
“uh, you mind if i sit here?” he asked, interrupting your dehumanizing thoughts.
“sure.” you lightly smiled, your hands shaking and your brain screaming as you moved your things off his side of the table.
as the class continued, you could not help but be distracted by the man sitting next to you. he smelt better than you could have imagined; a mix of freshness and something almost cinnamon-like. his hair was perfectly styled and his clothes were crisp and clean. he listened so well to what the professor was saying and sat politely, not even shocking to you considering his status.
“and so, with all of that said, i will now be assigning the first project to you all. you and the person next to you will be collaborating on a project that explains your interest in science, whether chemistry-related or not. it’s all up to you guys! take these last few minutes to plan it out!” your professor rambled, and you caught none of it.
he turns to you, “i’m mark, by the way. sorry for not introducing myself earlier, it was just kind of awkward timing.”
he laughed. that adorable giggle that you were lucky to hear if you walked past him with his friends at just the right time.
you didn’t notice you were staring until he waved his hand in your face, laughing again.
“sorry, i didn't get that much sleep last night… i’m yn.” you said, voice just above a whisper.
under the table, your leg was shaking repeatedly. you hoped he didn't notice the anxiety you were having, but it seemed like he did once his demeanor softened.
“if it’s easier, let’s plan this outside of class? it is early so i’m pretty tired too. i can give you my number?” he questioned, looking at you with a slight arch in his brow.
somehow, he managed to make your anxiety even worse. the idea of having his number in your phone didn’t even seem real, to the point you had to pinch your thigh to knock out of it.
“sure, that works for me.” you quietly mumble. you wanted to crawl into a ball and hide, the embarrassment taking over you. it made you cringe thinking he likely was being so nice because he felt bad for you- being the last one in class with no one to sit next to and now being forced to socialize with mr. popularity himself.
“cool! it’s xxx-xxx-xxxx. just text me whenever and we can figure it out, it was nice meeting you.” he spoke, handing you the paper with his number and giving a soft smile before getting up and meeting with his friends at the doorway.
you let out a deep exhale once he left, pressing your hands into your head and replaying the awkwardness of your interaction over and over again. how could i be so stupid?
the rest of the day haunted you. that phone number on the piece of paper haunted you even more. you didn’t even know what to say to him, constantly writing different things and deleting them out of frustration.
hey mark, this is yn! nope.
hey, it’s yn, want to plan now? what even is this?
you screamed into your pillow, completely over this project and stupid mark before it could even happen.
until you realized that this project is not only contributing to both of your grades but also that failing this class would mean taking it again, which was not going to happen. you mustered up all the courage you had, coming up with a simple message to just get it over with.
hey mark, it's yn from chemistry. are there any ideas you have for the project?
you were shocked at how fast he read the message, blushing to yourself at his urgency. except, you didn’t let this last long. you promised yourself that the one-sided crush on mark was over and done with, especially now that there’s a grade at stake.
hi :)! honestly, not really. i’m down for whatever. should we meet somewhere to plan?”
you gulped at the message, your face already flushed at the thought of being alone with him. god, he was so cute using a smiley face and being so flexible.
you hated it- how he could be so perfect and desirable. how on earth were you meant to remain casual with a man like this in your presence? having some form of attraction to him won’t kill you. your deal is off- this project could be the opportunity of a lifetime.
suddenly, your confidence creeps out and you agree to meet at the library, even going as far as reserving a study room to ensure you’d be alone with him. it sounds strange, and to some, it may be, but you just wanted one moment to get to know him a little more and hopefully, allow him to get to know you.
mark pov:
“fuck, dude. what do i even wear?” mark whined, face-planting into his bed.
“i don’t know, maybe exactly what you have on right now?” jeno said, rolling his eyes at mark. “what’s even so crazy about this girl anyway?”
“she’s just different.”
“you don’t even know her.” jeno questions.
“that’s the point, dude. i know like 90% of the people here, maybe even more. but i know nothing about her and i like that. i see her all the time but i never know what to say.”
“well, now is your chance then. so stop being a baby and just go. worst case she’s not feeling it, and even then, you have plenty of other options.” jeno smirks, giving his friend a pat on the back.
mark groans, “you’re the worst.”
it took you nearly two hours to stop sweating profusely and avoid coming up with some excuse. it was a lot considering you had been waiting for this moment for months. you wore something cute and casual, your favorite hoodie and some shorts. you hoped he didn’t pay too much attention to your outfit considering you could have dressed up way more.
by the time you reached the study room, he was already there. you stood away for a second, just barely able to see him through the small window. he looked cute, biting his lip and holding his hand tight in his hair. he seemed to be anxiously scrolling on his phone, assumingly waiting for your arrival. once your admiring period was over, you carefully knocked on the door. he jumped a bit in his seat, making you giggle as you slipped through the door.
“sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you.” you squeaked, clearing your throat shortly after you realized how embarrassing you sounded.
“haha, all good. i get spooked easily.”
your perfume filled the air the second you walked in, putting him in a daze already.
you nervously laughed, putting your things down and waiting for him to say something. instead of doing that, he scanned you up and down. he likely didn’t notice you watching him, but you caught all that he did. his eyes stayed locked to your thighs as you sat on the chair, watching him lick his lips as you crossed your legs. you cleared your throat once more, making him jump a bit again.
“sorry, i keep zoning out lately.” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes squeezed shut. he looked cute when he was flustered, it was bringing some confidence out of you. “uhh, anyways. what should we do? maybe a presentation?”
“yea, that works for me, mark. what kind of topic?” you say, giving him a soft smile.
he gulps at the use of his name falling from your lips, feeling dizzy from your presence alone. he couldn’t ignore how badly he wanted to touch you. you were still a stranger to him, yet he still felt a strong urge to feel your soft skin or glossy lips. he just wanted to sit there and stare, watching you simply exist to fuel his attraction to you even more.
“um, maybe like, the human body?” he questions, making you and himself giggle.
“okay, we can do that.” you say, laughing at his zoned-out expression. “are you sure you’re good to start today?”
you didn’t know where the sudden confidence came from, but you began to feel like this whole project was in your control, including what mark was willing to do. of course, he chose the human body, his staring was not unnoticed by you. the way he’d lock his eyes on your lips when he was thinking, or when you responded to him, and his eyes would trail back to your thighs as you waited for his thoughts to come out.
mark snaps his eyes shut and shakes his head quickly, “yea, of course. i just had a long practice earlier so i’m kind of out of it…” he claims, hoping you’ll accept his bullshit excuse.
“ahh, i see. makes sense. we could go somewhere else if it helps.” you suggest, hoping he agrees so you can experience him less tensely.
he nearly combusts at your suggestion, wishing his best friend was here to tell him what to do. he thought of a cafe or a restaurant, but it was 7 at night so all cafes were closed and all restaurants would be too busy.
“do you just wanna come back to mine?” he blurted out, barely thinking before he spoke. despite his anxiety, he hopes you say yes. his room was clean and his roommates were gone for the night, so there really wouldn’t be an issue.
“yea, we can do that.” you nod, smiling at him. he lets out a sigh of relief, quickly packing up his things.
the walk to his apartment was quiet. you sort of trailed behind him, sparing him the embarrassment of being seen with you.
“yo, why are you so far back?” he turned his head around, laughing that same dorky laugh you always hoped you could get out of him.
“i don’t know…” you mutter and he stops in his tracks, waiting for you to catch up.
“i won’t bite. if you don’t want to go to my apartment we can go somewhere else.”
you spark up at that, “no! no! it’s okay, i do. i do.”
he laughs at your reaction, slowing himself to walk at your pace.
it was hard for you to understand why he was being so awkward considering who he is but also why he was treating you so nicely. it wasn’t often that people were this considerate, especially when it seemed like he was nervous too. you accepted it, but it still felt strange.
once you arrived, you were shocked at how nice and clean his apartment was. before you went in, he told you his two roommates, jeno and jaemin, tended to be messy. the apartment showed the exact opposite of that, which was shocking for three college boys.
“they’ll both be coming back soon, do you want to just come to my room?” he hoped he didn’t sound like a creep, but the last thing he wanted was for jaemin to come in and make god knows what kind of jokes about you and him.
you agreed, mark showing you the way to his room before grabbing something to drink for the both of you. he texted jaemin and jeno,
mark: absolutely no one can come into my room. even if you are on fire, i do not care.
jeno: how the hell is she already in your bed?
jaemin: who is ‘she’
jeno: some girl named yn.
jaemin: ohhh. have fun mark!
jeno: how the hell do you know who she is and i don’t?
mark rolls his eyes at the texts and puts his phone on silent. before heading to his room, he takes a second to pull himself together. never in a million years would he think the girl he’d kept an eye on for over a year would be in his bed. meanwhile, you’re imagining how many girls he’s had in this room. it’s spotless, his bed is perfectly made, and he lacks decor but there are some picture frames of what you assume are him and his friends along with some soccer trophies. it smells nice, just like him but a bit more lived in.
“you know you can sit on the bed right?” he says, scaring you to the point of you yelping.
you clutch your shirt, “jesus, you scared me! i didn’t want to mess it up…” you mutter and he shrugs, handing you a drink.
you had no idea, but he watched you through the door before coming inside. he thought you looked so cute scanning the room and humming to yourself. there was no way he wouldn’t take a second to soak in your presence in his bedroom.
“soo, should we start?” he asks, smiling at your nod before pulling out his laptop.
you spend the next hour brainstorming and putting together a draft, both of you pushing aside the nerves and attractions to focus on the project. mark decides to wrap things up once he sees you yawn for the third time now.
“wanna be done?” he asks. you nod, rubbing your eyes and stretching out a bit on his bed. he smiles, watching you and thinking to himself how cute you look sitting on his bed like that. he can tell you’re much more relaxed than before, shoulders slumped a bit with your legs crossed and settled into his comforter.
“yes, please,” he blushes at your words. “your bed is really comfy, you know.”
“yea, i get that a lot.” he says. your face scrunches up at his comment, wanting to think of anything but the bed reviews girls have left him.
he reads your face, quickly redeeming himself: “no, no! not like that! my friends fight over who gets to sleep in my bed when we have sleepovers.”
you laugh, “men in college have sleepovers?” he groans at your question, slapping his palm on his forehead.
“yes..” he mutters in embarrassment, making you laugh again.
“that’s really cute, mark.”
his face shoots up to yours, looking at you like you told him you have 6 eyes. he tries to play it off, but he can already feel his ears warming at the comment and hearing you say his name.
“not really… can we stop talking about me sleeping with my friends now.”
you laugh again, his stupid grin creeping through his hand that covers his face. god, he was so cute it almost made you mad. you didn’t know how to make a move, or if he would even want you to. yet, you couldn't forget all the glances and the small remarks he made to you. it seemed to be reciprocated, but that was too good to be true.
a few weeks passed and your project with mark was due by the end of the week. things in class stayed the same, he sat next to you but you never really spoke. he’d smile at you and sometimes a “hey” before sitting down or he’d wave at you in the halls if he saw you. it felt nice to be acknowledged by him, your attraction still lingering, but you didn’t allow yourself to let it move past that. he tried many times whenever you’d hang out and “work on the project.” typically, you’d work on the project for 20 minutes and then talk for two hours straight.
you kept it strictly friendly, though. mark was too liked by everyone around him, there was no way he would try with you despite how nice he was. at least that’s what you always told yourself.
mark was about to walk into class before a girl stopped him, giving him a harsh look and rolling her eyes. you watched as he talked to her, talking loudly with his body and seemingly irritated. the girl scoffed at him, rolled her eyes again, and gave him the middle finger before walking off. mark watched as she walked away, looking down at his feet and jerking his neck in disappointment. you looked away before he turned around in hopes that he didn’t notice your staring.
“hey mark.” you say softly, curious about what happened, but not wanting to ask. you assumed it was some girl he fucked over or something stupid that would hurt your feelings regardless of the context.
“yo.” he said dryly, pulling his phone out and paying no attention to you.
“so… do you want to meet today and finish the project or…”
he sighs, muttering a ‘shit’ under his breath.
“yea, of course, yn. i’m sorry i haven’t been working on it, just been busy.”
“well, is everything okay?” you ask, voice laced with concern.
he wanted to melt and die right then and there. he hated that you were so sweet and he was so cowardly. he didn’t even hate that about you, he loved it. he just hated that he didn’t have the guts to tell you how sweet you are. to show you how much he loves your sweetness.
“i guess. just a lot of pressure with the season and stupid friend shit.” he mumbles.
“oh like the friends you sleep with?” you joked, satisfied at the way his lips cracked into a small smile.
“yea, i guess those ones.”
“well, let’s finish the project today and then we can talk about it?” you asked, picking at your fingers to try to soothe your nerves. it was a bold move to make considering how terrified you were of him. it wasn’t even him as a person that was scary, just how everyone looked at him. he was so perfect in every way and you felt so the opposite of that.
“yea, that’d be good, yn. thank you.” he says softly, finally looking at you and giving you a subtle wink. you look away quickly, too flustered by his flirty action.
after class, you organized to meet at your apartment instead of his. it made you nervous to think of him being in your space. you never had guys over, let alone one like mark. you spent the whole afternoon making it spotless in hopes of impressing him. after all, he had the cleanest-looking room you’ve seen a guy live in.
a few hours passed by until mark finally showed up. you opened the door and let him in, taking notice of the pretty pink shopping bag he was holding.
“i got us something, i should’ve asked if you liked it, but-“ he reaches the bag out to you, his demeanor so soft and shy it makes your heart thump.
“oh, mark, you didn’t have to do that. they look so good!” you say, peering into the bag at the box of cupcakes.
“well, i just wanted to say thank you and also that i’m sorry. i should’ve been more present with the project and not waited until last minute.” he says, looking at you with hopeful puppy eyes. you pout at his cuteness, it was inevitable.
little did you know, mark’s blatant project ghosting was all due to his fears. fears of not being enough for someone as perfect as you, maybe not as smart or diligent. he knew you thought he was all that and more, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you he didn’t feel like that at all. he resorted to something sweet, just like you. how badly he wanted to say that when he handed the bag over was beyond him.
“markie… you don’t have to apologi-“
he suddenly pushes himself towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist and putting his face into the crook of your neck. he didn’t think before doing it, it was almost instinct for him.
your breath hitched and he instantly pulled back.
“shit, my bad. i don’t know why i just did that.” he said, backing away in embarrassment. he knew why- it was the nickname. no one has ever called him that and it showed your sweetness once again, making his insides crumble and his need to touch you even worse.
“come here, mark. it’s okay. i don’t mind hugging you.” you say, holding your hand out to him.
with what’s happening, you’d expect to be shaking and panicking, but something in you is saying that mark needs this. he needs to feel you, needs to be in your hold or he’ll crumble into nothing without it.
he keeps his head low as he pushes himself into you again, sighing when he feels you reciprocate and wrap your arms around him. his head nuzzles your shoulder and it feels like your heart has shattered into a million pieces.
you bring a hand up to his head and scratch into his hair, blushing at the whine he lets out. it’s all so intimate- almost too intimate.
“just so stressed.” he whispers, hugging you tighter.
“i understand, markie. i’m here for you.”
“fuck, you can’t say that.” he whines, looking up at you now. his pupils are blown out and his lips are parted, his tongue slowly sticking out to lick over them.
“hm? say what?” it’s fun to play this game with him- pretending like you don’t know what’s going through his head. it’s been obvious that mark is attracted to you, but it’s shocking and hard to believe, so you leave it in the back of your mind. you’ll be there for him now, but god is it distracting when he looks and acts like this.
“that name, or anything you say ever.” he whispers.
“i’m not sure what you mean, mark.” you question, as it is becoming confusing now. there seems to be something he’s not telling you, but you can’t pick up on it.
“are you really gonna make me say it, yn?”
“you are being so confusing,” you giggle, pulling away from the hug to get a better look at him. he pouts at the loss of contact, bringing a hand to the back of his neck and looking at the ground. “my eyes are up here, markie. just talk to me.”
and that was the last straw for him.
his head shoots up and his hands meet your face, all of a sudden and all at once his lips are now crashing against yours. as if by instinct, your lips slot right into his perfectly. he’s warm, he tastes sweet, one hand rests on your cheek while the other hugs your waist. he pulls away, noting the way you try to chase his lips.
“fuck, im sorry, yn. i should’ve asked.” he rubs his eyes with his hand, picking his bag back up to suggest leaving.
“no, i wanted it.” you mutter, wrapping your hand around his wrist to keep him from turning around. it almost makes you laugh seeing how lost he is, his eyes squint at you as he tries to process the words that came out of your mouth.
“what?” he questions, as if nothing in the world is real at this very moment.
“i wanted it. i’ve always wanted it, mark. you just didn’t know.”
he stands there, mouth agape and bag now dropped on the floor again. he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, processing all that is happening and being said.
“why didn’t you say anything?” his breath hitched in his throat when he looked at you, seeing your eyes becoming teary.
“because, look at you, mark. you’re so perfect it’s annoying. i still don't even fully know you, but from what i do know, you’re all that anyone could ever want,” he shakes his head at your words, eyes squeezing shut again. “you have no idea. everyone adores you, how could i not want someone like you?” a single tear falls down your face, and once again, as if it’s an instinct, mark’s hand comes to your face to wipe it away.
“none of that is remotely true,” he mutters. “i should’ve said something earlier…”
“what do you mean?”
“i liked you before you even noticed me. we had a class together in the first semester of freshman year but you didn’t look at me once. since then, i always hoped to see you. and then last semester when i noticed you around more often, i just realized how badly i wanted to actually know you… but i never could say anything. words just didn’t form.”
you were taken aback by this, completely unaware he even knew who you were before this class.
“well, what changed? why were you so confident on the first day of class?”
he sighed, his face turning red in embarrassment at the thought of his answer.
“i didn’t want you to know this, but i can’t keep it from you. i saw you talking to haechan and i got jealous. i don’t even know why, i don’t even know you. i just want to be the only one who knows you. i guess…” he admits, finally bringing his head up to meet with yours. you pout at him, sniffling a bit at his sudden confession.
“you don’t even know how perfect you are.” he says, now reaching for your hand.
“mark,” you say, squeezing his hand. “please kiss me again.” he looks at you in disbelief, and you watch as the gears turn in his head before he grabs your hips and pulls you towards him.
“wanted to feel your lips since forever.” he whispers against you before laying his plush lips onto yours. you whine against him, pushing your body closer to his and reveling in how warm and right it all feels.
you break away from the kiss, “me too. come to my room, please.”
he looks at you with concern, “you want to work on the project now?” he asks.
you laugh, “no, you idiot. i want you in my bed. so is it a yes or a no.”
his jaw tightens and his eyes squeeze shut, you notice how cute of a habit it is.
“fuck, yes yn.”
you lead him to your bedroom, him trailing behind you like an eager puppy. you lightly push him onto your bed, straddling him and bringing yourself back down to his face to kiss him.
“i can’t believe this is real.” he whispers, you smile softly. he is more of a dork than expected. “can’t believe you’re real. i wanted you for so long.”
his words are nothing less than a shock to you. if present you could tell first semester you that this was your scenario, she wouldn’t believe it for a second. mark was so considerate, so pliable, so needy, and filled with want.
“you’re so cute like this, markie.” you tell him, making him blush. his demeanor was bringing something out of you, a dominant confidence you’d never felt in your life. you were so used to being the outcast or feeling like a nobody, but mark was making you feel like a goddess.
“yn, let me show you how much i want this. please?” he begs, his puppy eyes accentuated by how blown out his pupils are.
you nod, pulling yourself off his lap and moving to his side. you brush his hair from his face, placing a kiss on his cheek. “wanted this for a long time too. i can’t wait even if i really wanted to.” he smiles, moving his body to hover over you.
he kisses you again. this time deeper, more passionate, and almost loving. he kisses you like it’s the last kiss he’ll ever have. his lips trail across your jaw and down your neck, licking up the sides and pressing open-mouth kisses on the sweet spot that makes you gasp.
“you’re so pretty, yn. this doesn’t feel real.” he whispers against you, trailing his kisses to the top of your tank top. “love your cute outfits.”
you giggle at his compliments, “really, markie?”
“fuck, yes. you have no idea what you do to me. how hard it was for me to hold back in class and not claim you as mine in front of all those douchebags.” he says, almost getting mad at the thought of other men looking at you.
“i thought you were friends with them?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair as he continued kissing along your chest and neck.
“not anymore. i don’t like when people talk about what’s mine.”
“oh, so i’m yours now?” you laugh, pulling his hair slightly, making him hiss.
he looks up at you, “you’ve always been mine. you just didn’t know it yet.”
his comment makes you think back at all the times you tried to talk to someone new at your university. it was a big enough place to find variation and there were guys other than mark who sparked your attention- like haechan. who you now know was probably scared away by mark. you can’t fight the arousal pooling in your stomach at the possessiveness suddenly coming from mark. his soft personality makes it seem like he wouldn’t even know what being possessive is, but clearly, you’d been mistaken this whole time.
he interrupts your thoughts, “can i take this off, pretty?” he bites the strap of your tank top, slowly pulling it down with his teeth after he gets your approval. his finger pulls the other strap down before he tugs the fabric down with his teeth, revealing your favorite bra- thin pink and white stripes with a lace trim across the top.
his kisses trail across the top and middle of your breasts, looking up at you for permission to continue. you nod, slightly arching your back to push your chest closer to his face. his teeth pull the fabric down, exposing your nipple to his hot tongue. he licks over it, watching your head fall back as you gasp. he sucks into his mouth, humming around it causing you to arch even more into him.
“so needy, baby.” he says, kissing across your breast to the other where he repeats the same action.
“fuck- i should make you wait,” you whine, grabbing his hair with your fingers again and lightly tugging. “but this feels so good.”
“i’ve waited longer than you, baby. consider this my way of saying thank you.” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your lips while his free hand pushes your tank top down your body.
“want more, markie.”
“oh, really?” he asks genuinely, showing his dorky side once again. he’s so easy to admire.
“yes, please. i really want you,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, “show me that i’m yours.”
he groans at this, nodding and pressing another kiss to your lips before moving down your body. he pulls your shorts down, revealing the underwear that matches your bra.
“did you wear this on purpose, baby?”
you shake your head no and he almost dies at that. “so you are always dressed up, huh?” you just nod your head, pushing your hips up in hopes that he’ll remove the rest of the clothing.
“if i’m going to make you feel good, you gotta use your words, baby.” he says, kissing over your stomach.
“but that’s embarrassing…” you pout and he chuckles at you, bringing himself back to your level. he sits there staring at you for a good 30 seconds, lightly stroking your cheek.
“i promise you have nothing to be embarrassed of, yn. if you want to stop at all just tell me.” he whispers, kissing you so softly it hurts your heart. you start to tear up at how tender he’s being, overwhelmed in the previous conversation, and how good he’s making you feel.
“hey, hey. no tears, baby. what’s wrong?”
his sweetness never goes away, making it all feel so much more intense.
“i just- i didn’t think this would ever happen and i always thought you’d never notice me and now- now that i know you liked me for so long i’m so mad i never said anything.”
he pouts at your confession, moving to your side and holding your face in his hand. his other hand grabs yours, giving it a tight squeeze.
“you didn’t know, yn. but you know now, so let’s just focus on that. i’m not gonna let you go. you can ask any of my friends, i’ve always wanted you. before you even knew i existed. let that be the reason you trust me, please?”
you nod at him, but it still feels off.
“i just didn’t expect this. are we going too fast?” you say, anxiously staring at him.
“we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay? i won’t force anything on you. it’s all at your pace, pretty.” he says, cooing at your pout.
“i want you, mark. just be soft with me?” you ask, he practically melts at your fingertips rubbing against his arms.
“wasn’t planning on anything otherwise. if you want to stop just tell me, okay?”
“okay.” you say, pressing a kiss to his lips.
he’s cautious as he takes off your bra and underwear, touching you as if you were made of glass. his breath hitches at the sight of you and he nearly cried when you closed your legs out of shyness. part of him wishes he waited, while the other part of him is so eager to please you he’d probably punch himself if he walked out.
“i got you, baby.” he mutters against your stomach. he liked calling you that, it made him feel like he was protecting you. keeping all that sweetness for himself and no one else.
his kisses trail down to where you need him the most- suddenly the smell of you becomes even more addicting than before. he’s overwhelmed with all that’s going on, feeling like he could cum in his pants on the spot.
he pries your thighs open, gasping at the sight of your wetness that’s there all because of him.
“you’re this wet, princess? i shouldn’t have kept you waiting so long.”
you hide your face at his words and he tuts at you, “nuh uh- no hiding, yn. wanna see that beautiful face of yours.”
you roll your eyes at him, resting a hand on your side and the other back in his hair. it still feels strange having him like this and it was nowhere near what you planned the night to be like. despite the nerves and slight uncertainty, it still all felt so right. you cared more about his impression of you rather than the action of hooking up with him right then and there. what made it all worse was that you both wanted this for so long, so many months of pent-up attraction. now knowing that it’s even been weeks of pent-up want.
you noticed the change in mark once he started asking more personal questions, like what your schedule was or what you did with your free time. you noticed he suddenly frequented the places your classes were, seeming to scan the hall and rest areas until he saw your face. his eyes would light up before his mouth formed a soft smile, sometimes giving you a little nod or slight wave. even if he was mid-conversation, he still made an effort to acknowledge you- like you wanted all along.
your thoughts are cut short when he presses a light kiss to your clit, instantly looking up at you to see your reaction. you gasp, breaking eye contact when you feel his stare meet yours.
“can i?” he asks, rubbing your thigh in anticipation. he kicked his hips against the bed when you nodded, already so eager to please you. he had to fight the urge to tell you about all the times he fantasized about this. he felt ashamed every time, but couldn't help himself after he spent two hours alone in a room with you every week. your voice alone drove him crazy, it was all he needed sometimes to fulfill his needs.
“wait, mark. can you take off your shirt? maybe..” you ask, face flushing in embarrassment. he just nods, kissing your clit again and smiling at your shocked reaction. you can’t help but gasp when he reveals his toned chest and stomach, removing his shorts so you can just barely see the outline of his cock.
your mouth waters from the sight in front of you, reaching out to feel his stomach.
“okay, i think i really need you now.” you whine, pulling his body back to yours. he chuckles before moving right back where he left off.
“so cute.” he mumbles into you before licking a stripe from your hole and up, loving the feeling of your thighs tightening around his arms.
he pulls your legs up to hang over his broad shoulders, wincing at the feeling of you squeezing around his head. he’s only just started and he already feels pussy drunk, desperate to pull an orgasm out of you. his finger comes from your thigh to pry at your entrance, watching your head fall back as he slowly inserts his ring and pointer fingers into you. he’s slow but deep, tongue still skillfully licking at wherever it can reach.
“tastes so sweet, just like i thought.” he whispers and you moan at his words, pushing his head into your core. he continues his work, wet sounds filling the room that string him on even more. he grinds his hips on the mattress absentmindedly, needing some form of friction before he explodes right then and there.
“you’re so good, mark. i’m so close.” you whine, arching your back into him.
this makes him work even harder to get you to cum on his tongue, it’s all he’s ever wanted when he lays in his bed at night, mind full of thoughts of you spread out for him just like this.
he nearly cums in his boxers when you start chanting his name, your voice getting breathier and words sounding higher in pitch. he licks you and fingers you like his life depends on it, fingers almost slipping out due to your overwhelming wetness. you clamp down on him once you feel him moaning against you, the vibrations making it all too much at once. your orgasm washes over you in a way you’ve never felt before- likely because you have fantasized about this just as much as mark has.
“don’t wanna stop,” he mutters, still lapping at your wetness making you squirm in sensitivity. “that felt so good, baby.”
you struggle to form words, chest heaving and breath practically knocked out of you, “need more.” you manage to squeak out.
mark is quick to tug down his boxers, sighing when his hard, leaking cock is finally pushed out of its confinements.
you gulp at the sight of it- long and thick but in just the right ways. he’s a little above average in length, but still thick in girth which has you nearly drooling over yourself. your hand moves to his tip, sticky with precum that you can’t help but taste what is smeared onto your fingers. he groans at the lewd action, bucking his hips into your hand when it meets his length again. you watch his face as you play with him, blushing at how handsome he looks like this.
he already looked ruined: pupils were still blown, his lips red and shiny with your slick and his spit, his breathing hard and his hair messed up. he watches your hand trail up and down his length before placing his hand over yours, allowing you to squeeze around him even harder. his moan is sweet and drawn out, unable to draw his eyes away from what you’re doing to him. you get up from your spot on the bed and crawl towards him, placing kisses on his thighs as he sits on his hunches, waiting for you to do exactly what he wishes.
and you do.
you kiss up to his length, licking from the bottom to the top and pulling your lips around his tip. his breaths are similar to what they sound like when he’s done with practice- panting and whining from how overwhelmed he feels. except this time it’s a good overwhelming feeling. your hot mouth and wet tongue practically worshiping his cock, making a mental note in his head to add this image to his spank bank. your mouth sinks on him, taking as much as you can until his tip hits the back of your throat.
“oh fuck-“ he whines, a hand coming to grab the back of your head by the hair on your scalp. he lightly tugs it, making you moan around him in delight.
“you like it when i pull your hair, baby?” he asks breathlessly, smirking at your nod. he almost cums when your eyes drag up his body to meet his, batting your lashes at him while you bob up and down his length.
“fuck, you look so good like this.”
his praise strings you on, determined to pull an orgasm out of him and feel his hot ropes of cum coating the inside of your throat. you move faster, squeezing what can’t fit with your hand.
“i can’t cum like this, need to fuck you… please.” he gasps, not wanting to pull you off but needing to or else he’ll be spent for the night.
you pout when the force of his hand in your hair pulls you off of him, “but wanted you to cum in my mouth, markie.” you whine and his knees nearly give out below him, eyes squeezing shut like they always do when he’s flustered.
“you’re addicting, yn. you know that?”
you shake your head at him, laying back down in hopes he’ll finally sink himself into you. his face quickly meets you, forehead pressed against yours,
“want me to fuck you, princess? show you how much i want you?” you nod again, his words making you wetter by the second.
his lips trail to your neck again, this time lightly biting on your sweet spot and making you gasp out. his tongue glides up to your ear, biting the lobe before whispering, “gonna show you how only i can fuck you this good. only my name comes out of that pretty mouth. no one else.”
his words making you moan, “yea, mark. only you. just you.” he smiles at your desperation, reveling in the feeling of your hands clawing at his back. his hard cock rubs against your thigh and you move to the side to allow it to press on your core. mark hisses at this, looking at you with a playful grin,
“you want it that bad, baby?”
you nod and he tuts at you,
“not going to until i hear that sweet voice, baby.”
“want it, please?” you whine, bringing his head down to yours to place a kiss on his lips. he whispers into your lips,
“say my name, yn. wanna hear you beg for it.”
“please fuck me, mark. i need to feel you. i waited so long- please?” you beg, looking at him with tears in your eyes. the waiting was frustrating, subconsciously grinding your hips into his, making him hiss in return.
“sounds so pretty when you say my name.” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he positions his tip to your hole.
“go slow, markie. it’s been a while.”
he groans at that, head lolling back and a shudder falling down his spine.
“you really are all mine.” he whispers, lacing a hand with yours and using the other to grip your hip before lightly pushing in. you both gasp at the sudden sensation, your warm walls welcoming him in with no issue due to how turned on you are. his eyes switch from your face to watching the way you so gently suck him in, letting out sweet cries and whines as he fills you.
“feels good, baby. you’re so good.” you say, making him moan.
“call me that again.”
“love how full you’re making me feel, baby.” you seduce him with your words, and he groans again.
“you’re so addicting,” he whines, now fully pushed in you. “wanna be in this sweet pussy forever.”
“you can’t say that, mark!” you gasp, pressing your face into the side of the pillow.
“i can say so much worse, princess. you have no idea.” he rasps, pulling your face back to him and squishing your cheeks in his hands. “so fucking cute.”
“please just move, markie. i need it. need your fat cock and all your cum.” he’s taken aback by your confident words, feeling how they make the pool of arousal in his stomach swirl even more.
as if that didn’t string him on enough, he notices the way you’re gripped around him as he slowly grinds in and out of you. he takes a second to collect himself, convinced he’ll bust in seconds if he doesn’t control himself.
“needed this for so long. couldn’t fuck anyone if it wasn’t you.”
his words catch you off guard, deciding to leave that comment for another conversation. you can’t lie that you’d be beyond flattered if that was truly the case. the famous, lovely mark goes all of college with no pussy because one girl caught his eye and stayed there for well over a year.
as if a curse of pleasure washed over him, he gets desperate. desperate to please you, make you cum, make you need him, make you his. his thrusts speed up, not too much but just the right amount that your tits are bouncing in his face. he adds another mental note to his long list of things he thinks about when he’s alone at night. he’s hitting all the right spots, deep into your pulsing core, and still eager to feel you fall apart on his cock.
“gotta fill you, you look so pretty like this.” he says, now bringing his hands to yours and pulling them over your head. his face meets yours, licking his tongue into your mouth as he strokes inside of you. if the image of love filled someone’s eyes, it would look like this. you try not to think too much of it, but it’s so hard when he’s right there. filling you up just how you needed and wanted, making you feel so pretty and desired.
“so perfect and tight. i knew you were made for me. my sweet girl.” he says, smiling at how you tighten around him.
“you are my sweet girl, yea? only sweet with me. i see it all, baby. you can't keep it from me.”
you mewl into his mouth, “yea, markie. only sweet for you… you’re so pretty.” he chuckles at you, clearly fucked out and holding onto the pleasure you so badly want to release. “you’re fucking me so good, mark. i don’t want it to stop.”
“will never stop unless you ask me, pretty. you gonna cum for me soon?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your forehead. his sweet words and actions contrasting with the perfection of his strokes play a game with your mind. it’s confusing how well he knows you and your body already, your pleasure feeling more like his than your own with how fucked out you are. you nod at his words, spreading your legs to give him more leverage.
his fingers trail down your body, stopping at your breasts to grope them. he spits on them, fingers rubbing the liquid onto your nipples, smirking as he watches them harden and hears your cries for him. he drags his finger tip down to your clit, softly rubbing the sensitive spot and shuddering when he hears you cry out his name.
“fuck, mark. feels so good, don’t stop.” you cry, pushing your hips up to meet his thrusts. his thrusts pick up as he continues rubbing your clit, fingers almost slipping from the wetness leaking out. he watches you intently, feeling himself get closer to his orgasm. he plays the mind game of where to put his release- having a hard time fighting the urge to cum inside you.
“where can i cum, baby?” he asks sweetly. you’re unable to respond, too focused on how good he’s making you feel and how close you are.
“please, baby. you need to tell me before i get closer.” mark whines, bringing the hand on your hip up to your face, dragging his thumb over your lip. he melts when you push it into your mouth, sucking around it and whining against it.
“fuck, you’re incredible,” he says, head shaking at how overwhelmed he is. “but you need to tell me where i can cum. hm, sweetheart?”
the nickname is all it takes for the knot in your stomach to snap, back arching off the bed and chest now pressed against his as your orgasm washes over you. you moan his name over and over again, high-pitched whines and cries ringing in his ears,
“cum in me, mark. right now! please, i need it so bad-“ you order, and he obliges.
practically cumming on the spot, mark moans into you, biting your shoulder as he releases his hot cum into you. you both ride out your highs until he’s wincing in overstimulation, the clamping of your cunt on his hot cock making him melt for the umpteenth time.
he pulls out, rolling his body next to yours and instantly pulling your body into his. your head tucks under his chin, heavily breathing onto his chest, making him squirm again.
“so sensitive…” you barely squeak, making him smile. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, cradling your body in his arms.
“i’ve never felt like that in my whole life.” he admits, rolling his eyes at how stupid he probably sounded to you.
“me neither,” you squeak, pressing kiss after kiss all over his chest. “you’re perfect, mark. inside and out.”
you feel him shiver against you at the praise, quickly shaking his head once he realizes what you mean.
“that’s all you, baby. thought i almost died for a second.”
you laughed, “when?”
“the whole time. obviously.” he said, squeezing you tightly.
you lay there in silence for a while, taking in his warmth, listening to the soothing sound of his heartbeat. it didn’t last as long as you wanted before mark sat up, pulling you onto his lap and pressing a kiss on your lips.
“not to ruin the moment, but i should probably clean you up. where is the bathroom?”
you laugh at his dork-ish personality coming out once again, telling him you can take care of it, but he insists anyway. he throws his boxers on, laughing at the pout you put on knowing you could no longer ogle over his beautiful body.
when he finishes cleaning you off, he pulls you back into him. you lay your head on his chest, eyes closed as you replay all that happened. it wasn’t your plan for the night, or your plan for where things would go with mark at all, but you weren’t complaining.
“thank you.” you mutter.
“hm?” he questions, brushing the hair out of your face and using his finger under your chin to gently push your face towards his.
“it’s embarrassing…” he looks at you with furrowed brows, waiting for you to continue.
“just, thank you for acknowledging me and being so sweet.”
he follows his familiar habit, of squeezing his eyes shut and processing what you said.
“don’t thank me for something like that, yn. i acknowledged you way before. you’ve always been perfect to me. even before i actually knew you.” he whispers, stroking your cheek with his thumb. you nod at his words, closing your eyes and drifting off to the sound of his heartbeat.
many hours passed before you were woken up by the bright stream of sunlight sneaking through your bedroom window. you attempt to shield your eyes by further sinking into the figure that held you, eventually giving up to look up at him, soon realizing he was awake.
“you look really cute when you sleep,” he whispers, making you roll your eyes and hide your face in embarrassment. “like, really cute.”
his grip on you is still as tight as the night before, his hair is messy and his lips are swollen, looking so soft and kind. you’re quickly reminded of the night that led to him being in your bed, groaning into his chest.
“what’s wrong?” he looks scared, he’s terrified that you’ll tell him this was all a mistake and that you never want to see him again. that’s why he was up before you, tossing and turning all morning with anxiety.
“sore,” you whine, nuzzling into his chest. he sighs a breath of relief, making your head shoot up. “your fault.”
he chuckles, “i know, i’m sorry,” he kisses your forehead. “and i know you just woke up, but, can you just tell me where this is going?”
you take a minute to think, breathing suddenly more calmed as you think of properly being his. the possessiveness he showed made you yearn for him more, made you want to be his even more than before. you assumed he still didn’t understand the hold he has had on you for so long, his wording making it seem like he thought it was just a one-night stand for you.
while it may require much more thinking than one night of intimacy, you did want to be his. you wanted to fall asleep and wake up with him next to you every night. you wanted to hear his dorky comments and see his cute eye squeeze all the time. he made it impossible to not yearn for him, for all that you could have with him.
“m’ yours, markie. all yours.” you whisper, cuddling into him and smiling at the little gasp he lets out.
꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱
note - hi hiiiii, this is my first nct fic >_<. i also haven’t written in at least a year so pls bare w me if it’s not perfect <3. i rly enjoyed writing this fic- it was actually inspired by a recent dream i had with mark in it lolllll. pls lmk if you like it!! likes and reblogs are always appreciated <3
and if it stops snowing? then count the stars in the sky
genre: poly doctors!ateez x doctor fem!reader, hospital romance, established relationship, slow burn, fluff, angst
length: 39.7k
c/w: slow burn in reverse, work/life burnout, heavy medical themes (death, cancer) and mentions of medical procedures (medication, needles, chemotherapy, surgery), grief and crying, brief mentions of self-harm (hitting, pinching), mental breakdowns, workplace misogyny and nepotism, profanity, kissing, non-sexual nudity, m x m interactions
synopsis: after transferring during the last year of your residency program, you work alongside your eight boyfriends at kq hospital. it becomes harder to keep your relationship the same as it used to be as you all navigate the respective challenges of being doctors and nurses. you come to experience love and loss in both warmth and coldness, but only one of them will keep your relationship alive.
a/n: please read the tags carefully as this is probably my heaviest fic in terms of the themes and struggles being explored. mandatory shoutout @sorryimananti-romantic for putting up with my snail-pace writing speed the last five months :)
nobody talks about how ironic it feels to work in the hospital during the holidays, particularly christmas.
in any other establishment that is open, be it a restaurant, cafe, retail store or convenience mart, employees are greeted kindly with festive cheer–warm wishes and sincere smiles from one stranger to another. but nobody walks into the hospital on christmas with laughter and gratitude for the assistance of the doctors and nurses, because nobody wants to be at the hospital.
nobody plans to spend the day there, either.
where white embodies the nature of christmas itself–joy, celebration, festivity, snow–it changes the moment you step through the sliding glass doors of the hospital’s entrance. white is the sterile and detached appearance of the tiled floors and coated walls. it is the bedsheets and linen of the ward beds which fall short of mimicking home. it is the authoritative coats of the doctors who are the arbiters between life and death; the very same coat that jongho currently wears over his scrubs.
you are reminded of this dystopian juxtaposition as you and five others gather around your phone from the brightness of the cosy living room in your shared apartment, talking to jongho over facetime while he hides in a storage room for five minutes of respite.
in the background of your video, the fairy lights blink rhythmically on the christmas tree and reflect off the glossy wrappers of the presents placed underneath its bottom branches. behind jongho, there are shelves of medication that you can recognise as the anaesthetics and anticoagulants solely from the colours of their labels, even in the hazy darkness of the storage room.
“you won’t fucking believe the number of grannies i’ve had to explain to today that no, they cannot go home for christmas because they literally just came out of open-heart surgery ten hours ago,” jongho rubs his temples.
yeosang laughs quietly from beside you, amusement poorly concealed behind his hands. you fondly admonish him with a light slap to his thigh but cannot deny the smile that tugs at your lips too.
rushing in for damage control, seonghwa asks, “how’s mingi?”
“tired as fuuuck,” jongho snickers whilst dragging out his words smugly, as if his own eye bags do not reach the middle of his cheeks. the way he lacks the self-control to police his language is also evidence of his utter exhaustion. “last i heard, he was dealing with a couple who had gotten a bauble ornament stuck up the dude’s ass because they wanted to try something ‘festive’ or some shit like that.”
the stories you hear from the emergency department never fail to amaze you with what the human mind can think of doing. it is natural selection at its finest–exhibit a, b, all the way to fucking z. wooyoung gets an absolute kick out of it every single time though, so there is that.
“plain stupidity,” hongjoong rolls his eyes in exasperation. “people need to stop adding to our caseload.”
you chuckle with agreement. “what about yunho? did you get to see him?”
“he’s in surgery,” jongho shakes his head. “not sure what for, but i haven’t heard from him all day so it must be a pretty complicated one.”
the conversation is cut short when his pager goes off. jongho curses, downing the last of his coffee in one large gulp and grimacing from the stale and grainy taste. he crumples the empty paper cup before he apologises, “i have to go. sorry we couldn’t spend christmas together.”
from over the phone, you and your boys refute him with comforting utterances of “don’t be”s, followed by warm exchanges of “merry christmas”s.
“i love you all,” jongho murmurs shyly, the end of a call the only time other than whispered confessions in the safety of a bed where he is comfortable enough to express himself so intimately.
you respond giddily, “love you too,” at the same time your other boyfriends also return the same spoken sentiments. then the youngest ends the call, rushing to attend to an abnormal ECG reading for a patient.
san lets out a sad little sigh as the screen of your phone turns off. his fingers continue to absentmindedly tousle the back of yours and yeosang’s heads whilst wondering, “when will we get to celebrate christmas together? i don’t think all nine of us have ever been free on the same day since we started dating.”
“most of you finish your residency in just over a year, and jongho in two,” seonghwa fondly pinches san’s cheeks, a bittersweet smile adorning his own face, “so maybe the year after that?”
piping up from your other side, wooyoung suggests to the oldest, “or, hear me out–you and hongjoong work while the rest of us stay at home.”
“and do what,” hongjoong narrows his eyes.
“look pretty,” you say in unison with wooyoung, twin grins of mischief flashing at the only registered doctor and clinical nurse specialist in your relationship.
seonghwa laughs endearingly as hongjoong pretends he is not. the rounds of your cheeks settle with warmth when seonghwa leans down to place a sweet kiss against the corner of your mouth in between a teasing, “i wouldn’t mind that.”
it draws out a girlish giggle from you, forever unable to curb the feeling of butterflies in your stomach whenever you are with your boys, even more so with the intoxication of christmas itself–the season of love. wooyoung tilts his cheek out expectantly for his own kiss at the same time hongjoong scruffs the oldest by the neck with a playful chide, “they’re going to actually drop out from the residency program at this rate, hwa.”
but hongjoong is smitten, as you all are for one another, and contrary to his words there is adoration dripping from his gaze…only for it to immediately disappear when wooyoung punches his forearm.
“kiss me, peasant!” wooyoung demands.
“that’s it,” hongjoong snaps and the younger screeches as his neck becomes wrapped in a headlock. in retaliation, wooyoung bites the skin that is within reach, setting off a high-pitched yelp.
yeosang stands up so you take it as your cue to do the same, both of you tucking your chairs under the dining table as san and seonghwa step back from the commotion. you grab your phone then walk away with the three of them to the continued sound of petty slaps and childish bickering.
just another normal day.
“should we sleep in the main bedroom tonight?”
at your suggestion, san wraps his arms around you from behind. his voice rumbles with enthusiasm that you can feel against your back and you sink into his embrace as he agrees, “good idea, love.”
the main bedroom is quite literally a bed room. it consists of numerous platform beds pushed together to make–for lack of better description–an XXXXXXXXL bed. there is nothing else in the room, any and all visible space taken up by the beds as it is the only way to create a surface size comfortable for all nine of you to sleep together.
there are only double or twin beds in the remaining normal bedrooms because frankly, you all need quality sleep for your jobs. between all of your on-call shifts, leaving the house and arriving home at random hours of the day, it is just easier to sleep separately on most nights. plus, despite the fact that you are all earning more than the average salary already, there is still a fuckload of student debt to pay off and mattresses are fucking expensive. hence, you make do with the one room where you splurged your money.
“i’ll let the others know,” yeosang states. he pulls out his phone to send a text to the group chat. mingi and jongho were unlucky enough to have drawn the short end of the stick with a 24-hour shift, and yunho had apparently been placed on surgery. so although it is not the ideal nine of you, you have long learnt to accept that there will almost always be at least two absent at any one time.
seonghwa has already made himself comfortable in the centre of the mattresses when you walk into the bedroom. he lifts the edge of the blanket, arms beckoning for you to cuddle him. you toe off your slippers and crawl into his arms, slotting yourself perfectly against his chest as he tucks you under his chin and covers you with the blanket that is warm from his body heat.
the bed dips again from the weight of somebody else slipping in behind you. he curls around you, a sturdy arm gently cradling your waist with a comforting weight. you can immediately tell that it is san simply from the way his body feels against yours–you would be able to tell any of them apart simply from the way they held you, even if you were to lose your sense of sight.
slowly tracing a finger along the prominent veins on san’s forearm, the bed suddenly rocks with a gleeful shout before the three of you are crushed under an energetic mass. “wooyoung!” you gasp between exasperated fondness and he giggles whilst squirming to make himself space within the cuddle pile.
san moves over so the younger can slot in beside you whilst extending an arm out to his side. it wraps around yeosang to tuck him into the group, and hongjoong settles in last behind seonghwa on the outside edge. there is a bit of further wriggling as you all adjust yourselves comfortably, but eventually your arms and legs twist together snugly. with seonghwa’s fingers languidly combing through your hair, fingertips grazing your scalp with each repetitive motion, you drift off to the boys’ low whispers and enter a dreamy haze of cackling fire and fluttering snow.
it is well into the early hours of the next morning when one of the trio comes home. the soft click of the front door wakes you up, your body used to sleeping lightly from years of on-call shifts. your ears slowly drag you back into the realms of consciousness as you listen.
there is a dull thud and a muffled “ow” that tells you it is yunho, the only one who has somehow made it a habit of his to bump his head on the cabinet every time he bends down to put his sneakers away. as his soft footsteps pad down the hallway, you track his path mentally in your head; to the open dining room to place his messenger bag down on one of the chairs, to the bathroom to wash his face and his hands, then finally to the main bedroom.
to see his lovers.
yunho nudges the door open with bated breath in hopes that he does not wake anybody up. a smile immediately spreads across his face, unable to contain his fondness at the sight that greets him as his eyes adjust to the darkness. within the hands of slumber, you and the boys have slowly spread yourselves out across the mattresses. still, you somehow manage to find each other through the tangle of blankets–seonghwa’s fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist; the tip of wooyoung’s nose nudging your forearm–unwilling to completely separate even in your unconsciousness.
your body dips with the mattress under yunho’s weight when he carefully inches towards you. his sturdy arms hold his frame over your smaller one and you pretend to be asleep just to feel the protective tenderness with which he dips his head slowly to press the softest of kisses against your temple. his warm lips worship your skin with the reverence a butterfly would land upon the prettiest of flowers.
in the magical remnants of an enchanted pre-dawn, yunho whispers bittersweetly, “sorry i’m late, y/n. merry christmas.” then he tucks the blanket more snugly around you, cocooning you in both warmth and love before he pushes himself back off the bed to leave.
as much as he wants to hold you and his boys, yunho has not yet showered. he is exhausted to his very core, unable to bring himself to the arduous task of showering when he can barely keep his eyes open. so he retires himself to one of the other bedrooms instead even though it is the last thing any of you want.
but all of you are used to it. none of you are strangers to coming home in the ghostly hours of night, fighting off debilitating weariness long enough only to check on the others briefly before falling against a mattress away from the clean warmth of somebody's arms.
it is the career and life that you have all chosen. it is just another normal day.
and it is this exact self-sacrificial nature within the medical field that is easily forgotten and overlooked. you and your boys sacrifice your holidays with loved ones to ensure other people get to go back to their loved ones for the holidays. it comes with the price of time, freedom and memories.
but what can also happen is that sometimes…you end up sacrificing the relationships themselves.
for every rapid shuffle you make throughout the house, gathering your things to haphazardly shove into your backpack, mingi trails behind you easily with languid strides of his own.
“i can drive,” you reason half-heartedly as you focus on the stubborn front zipper. “you can be my passenger princess.”
his scandalised look that you would even suggest a thing goes unnoticed even as he protests, “or you be my passenger princess.”
“okay, and how will i get home? your shift doesn’t even end at the same time as mine.” you throw the door of the fridge open to grab your packed lunch, cramming it into the large compartment of your bag.
“yun’s shift does, so he can give you a ride home unless he gets called in for surgery again.”
“and if he does?”
mingi looks at the whiteboard calendar that is mounted on the wall beside him, squinting at the mass of colour-coded letters that are scribbled into the box marking today’s date. “then wait for hwa. his shift ends at five.”
“no,” you roll your eyes good-naturedly, “you know how often he picks up extra hours because he can’t bear to leave his PICU babies. i’ll just take the bus home.”
“no,” mingi mimics you as he holds out your coat for you to shrug on, “the correct answer is to then wait for hongjoong or call one of us. between the eight of your boyfriends, there’ll always be someone who is just ending their shift or is free to pick you up.”
you look up from your shoes to level him with a blank stare, “you know that isn’t feasible every single day, right?” despite your words, you do nothing to stop him from stealing your car keys out of your pocket.
mingi’s doggedness–all of their doggedness–in ensuring one of them will always be accompanying you to and from work is endearing, but the truth is that it is not feasible. there is a reason why you had been commuting by yourself the last three years of your residency, and along with the fact that the nine of you have different shifts that change each week, the logistics of it all will drive you insane, if not them.
“that’s besides the point. it’s your first day of work today so i’m doing my baby a favour,” mingi coos teasingly, pinching your cheeks because he knows it gets a rise out of you.
you swat his hands away with a grunt, jabbing his side for good measure in retaliation to his smug grin. “you talk as if we aren’t both fourth-year residents. and it’s not a favour if you have to go there anyway since, you know, we work at the same hospital.”
“it’s your first day at this hospital, so technically you’re still fresh meat,” mingi argues as he pulls the front door open. while you lock it behind you–everybody else already at the hospital–he continues, “plus, my shift doesn’t start until tonight so i’m sacrificing my sleep for you.”
you give him a little curtsy with exaggerated gratitude then hurry after him when he swivels on his heel, head held high like a noble king with you as his court lady. except, the roles reverse the moment you reach the car and he opens the passenger door for you with a bow.
“m’lady,” he beckons inside.
you snort but settle yourself into the seat, patiently waiting for mingi to get in from the other side of the car. as he starts the fifteen-minute drive to the hospital, you suddenly look at him with suspicious clarity, head now clearing enough to wonder why the most rational of your boyfriends is being irrational.
“you’re trying to get on my good side for something, aren’t you? did you spill coffee on seonghwa’s scrubs again?” you narrow your eyes at him.
“what?” mingi’s head whips towards you before he looks back at the road, chuckling nervously. “no? of course not. why would you think that?”
at your lack of response, he crumbles with a confession. “it was hongjoong’s idea! he said i should drop you off so i can size up whoever might try and chat you up on your first day.”
“god, you’re all hopeless,” you burst out into laughter.
prior to today, you and the boys had discussed how public you were all going to be at the hospital about your relationship. it had been decided that you would not deny it if questions arose, but at the same time, you were not going to go out of your way to make your relationship with one another general knowledge.
not everybody is going to be accepting of your polyamorous dynamic and neither do you need people questioning whether you successfully transferred into the residency program at this hospital through…favours. because despite the fact that it is the twenty-first century, it remains the harsh reality that the doctoral field is still predominantly male-oriented, with females automatically assumed to be the nurses–lesser in hierarchy, knowledge and skill.
a rumour as such might not affect the boys but it would be enough to tarnish your career.
as mingi pulls into the underground parking lot for employees, you rest a hand on his forearm to stop him from turning off the ignition. “mingi, i’ll be fine,” you reassure. “go home and get some sleep.”
“but hongjoong–”
“–will just have to stop being a big baby. we’re in our mid-twenties,” you chuckle, “not fresh eighteen-year-olds discovering the opposite gender for the first time. everyone’s going to be too busy on their first day to care about flirting.”
you lean over the console of the car and mingi relaxes easily under your hand that caresses his jawline. he melts once you press a soft kiss against his cheek, conceding, “alright.”
“i’ll see you at home before your shift.”
he nods and watches as you get out of the car. from out of the open window, he gives you a cute little wave, waiting for you to walk through the sliding doors before he leaves. you walk to the elevator doors to press the up arrow, fidgeting with your scrubs and hair with nervous restlessness until the sounding of a soft ding followed by the low groan of parting doors. you take a deep breath, then you walk in.
into kq hospital.
boasting over one hundred different core and specialised departments and home to some of the few fields in advanced medicine, kq hospital is the largest and most renowned hospital in seoul. your years of clinical experience in other hospitals and past visits to your boys during their shifts provide you with a sense of familiarity with the place, but it is still easy to feel overwhelmed by its formidable size and bustling urgency.
seeing the fresh interns and second-year residents gathered in the auditorium as you join them for the morning orientation reminds you of your own four years ago. never did you think you would have to undergo orientation again during your residency, yet here you are, having transferred to kq hospital in your final year for the clinical exposure and opportunities in career advancement that it has to offer.
you sit towards the back of the auditorium, a few seats away from a girl who has the nerves of an intern. you give her a polite smile then face the front, not exactly ready to make small talk unless you have to. yunho always jokes that as an introvert you really picked the wrong job–you have no defence as you pull out your phone and pretend to be occupied.
somebody slides into the seat next to yours a few minutes later. however, your saving grace comes in the form of several people walking across the front of the stage, so you do not have to do much more than dip your head in courteous greeting before everybody settles into silence.
a woman in thin-rimmed glasses steps up to the podium. “welcome, interns and residents. my name is doctor heo and i’m the program director of the paediatric residency program here at kq hospital.”
the hours of the morning quickly blur together into a multitude of faces, names and information. you and a few of the other senior residents had only been required to attend half of the general welcome talk, your orientation much faster and tailored to your pre-existing experience. by the time you have gone through the policies, patient populations and workflows of the paediatric department, your head is reeling to digest it all.
only at twelve do you converge with the interns again, this time at the cafeteria. there is a generous spread of catering of finger food and drinks before the joint lunch you will have with the other faculty members from your department.
“this will be a good opportunity for all of you to meet the residents, doctors, nurses and department heads. get to know your colleagues because they will be the ones you are learning from,” dr. heo advises.
your ears perk up, wondering whether you will be able to see some of your boyfriends. san is already a fourth-year resident in the paediatric department, wooyoung one of the nurses, and even though seonghwa works mainly in the paediatric ICU, his position as a clinical nurse specialist likely makes him important enough to at least show his face.
everybody starts to make their way over to the tables to fill their plates as they mingle and chat amongst one another. you have always had a sensitive stomach that often disagrees with food–the very reason why wooyoung makes your lunch most days, which currently still sits inside your bag–but you do not want to appear ungrateful or picky. so you head to the drinks to at least keep your hands filled.
just as you grab a small glass of orange juice, a voice startles you. “it’s you! hi.”
you turn to find a man maybe a few years younger than you with a bright smile on his face. “hi?” you hesitantly answer, unsure why he is acting so familiar with you.
he frowns slightly, “you don’t remember me?”
you could honestly give less than a flying fuck who he is, but you suppose the whole point of this break is to give those fucks, so you apologise instead, “sorry, i’m not great with faces.”
“i sat next to you during orientation this morning,” he laughs like you have just cracked the funniest joke. he extends his hand out for a handshake, “i’m doctor baek, but you can call me cheolmin.”
“nice to meet you, doctor baek,” you return the handshake, setting your boundaries with your response. “doctor l/n.”
he quirks a brow amusedly. unprompted, he reveals, “my sister’s boyfriend’s aunt’s friend knows the director of this hospital,” as if he thinks you would be impressed. you are willing to bet the seventy-two dollars in your savings account that the director of the hospital does not have a clue who this dr. baek is.
as you struggle to come up with a professional response that is not a sarcastic ‘cool’, you suddenly make eye contact with somebody from over his shoulder. they are looking at you with nonchalant amusement, lips tugged up smugly and their hands in the pockets of their coat.
you hurry to wrap up the conversation and make a move to step around dr. baek. “that’s great, nice to meet you. i’m going to go and introduce myself to–”
“are you doing anything after work today?” he cuts you off, stepping slightly in front of you. “it would be nice for us to get to know each other better, considering we’ll be colleagues from now on.”
“uh…” you trail off, distracted when you make eye contact again with the person and they cock their eyebrow, asking for your permission to play knight. you give the subtlest of nods before dr. baek adjusts himself into your line of vision.
“doctor l/n, don’t play hard to g–”
“y/n,” the dependable voice of hongjoong interrupts dr. baek. your expression relaxes into a smile as your boyfriend sidles up to you, presence steadfast and unwavering. “i didn’t catch you this morning–how are you getting home?”
dr. baek’s eyes narrow even further at the implication of hongjoong’s question than when he realises you two are on first-name basis.
“mingi dropped me off so i can’t drive,” you shrug.
“i finish at five-thirty. i’ll take you home,” hongjoong says, absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. “make sure to put on your jacket while you wait for me. it’s meant to snow later so it’ll be cold.”
you laugh softly at his attentiveness, “okay, hongjoong.”
unable to watch any longer, dr. baek pivots on his heel and stalks away. your boyfriend cannot resist pulling you closer by the sleeve of your scrubs as he haughtily huffs, “i knew people would hit on you.”
“is that why you told mingi to take me to work today?” you tease. hongjoong is also from the neurology department–definitely not meant to be here right now–but you will save that ammunition for another time.
“oh, look,” hongjoong pretends not to hear you as he ushers you away from the tables. “san and wooyoung are over there. let’s go and talk to people who actually matter.”
the laugh you let out this time is unrestrained, letting yourself be led through the interspersed groups of people towards your other boyfriends–the only people who actually matter. san and wooyoung’s faces break out into the most tender of smiles the moment they lay their eyes upon you and hongjoong, and the remaining nerves and tension in your body completely melt away when you feel their subtle embraces around you.
it may be winter and the road ahead to acclimatise with your new job may be demanding, but you know that you will be shielded from the cold of the world by the warmth that your boys will always bring to you.
“patient history and current status?”
selecting the seventh floor, you press the close button to the elevator doors once your team of four have settled inside. you turn back slightly to look at your interns in wait for a response to your question.
dr. son glances at dr. yang before answering, “the patient is kim seolhee, currently six years and three months old. she was initially diagnosed with T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukaemia at two years, eight months. she was admitted into hospital one month ago due to a relapse and is currently undergoing re-induction therapy. she received a chemotherapy dose this morning, so we are monitoring for any potential side effects from the treatment.”
“and how is she responding to the treatment?” you probe.
“slow response–the leukaemia cells are not clearing as expected so second-line chemotherapy is likely to be recommended.”
you nod at the information as the elevator doors open to the paediatric oncology ward. walking out, you ask, “why is the patient not responding to first-line treatment?”
the following silence permeates with flusteredness that shows neither intern has considered this question. “doctor lee?” you cue instead.
the junior resident takes over with ease. “seolhee’s initial treatment when she was first diagnosed required aggressive chemotherapy due to resistant leukaemia. treatment lasted for two and a half years and she achieved remission at five years, four months. however, she relapsed one month ago due to minimal residual disease in the bone marrow.
“from her history, we know that her leukaemia was resistant to initial treatment and there is the persistence of residual cancer cells at the time of relapse. plus, her diagnosis is T-cell, not B-cell, which tends to present with greater quantities of leukaemia cells and thus requires more intensive therapy. all of these risk factors combined makes it difficult for remission to be achieved through first-line re-induction therapy.”
“well done, doctor lee,” you acknowledge as he beams, “all of that and the fact that her relapse is early–merely nine months after remission–correlates to a higher likelihood of treatment resistance.” you address your interns, “it is easy to focus on the patient’s immediate presentation, but it is just as important–if not more–to look at it in the context of their prior admissions and treatment responses. that was a good attempt though, doctor yang.” reaching the door to the room you are about to enter, you quickly wrap up the conversation and head in.
seolhee looks at you curiously, a new face being one of the only interesting things that change up her repetitive days in the hospital. her sickly pallor and sunken cheeks are a morbid juxtaposition against her rounded eyes and braided pigtails. as you walk closer, you can see that her hair has been plaited loosely with care so as not to strain her already-thinning hair.
you lower yourself to the side of her bed with a bright smile as you compliment, “i love your hair! who did it for you?”
immediately, she beams, any prior apprehension clearing as she tells you, “my favourite nurse! he's been braiding my hair for years!”
“has he now?” you gaze at her fondly as she happily shows you the ribbons tied to the ends too.
“are you talking about me?”
seolhee’s eyes instantly light up in response to the voice that enters the room. she exclaims, “nurse hwa!”
“hello, my snowflake.”
you turn just in time to see seonghwa walking in with endearment enveloping his entire face. you let out a small chuckle, your own eyes melting with honey at the sight of him. of course he would be the favourite nurse.
when seolhee questions why he is making his rounds earlier than usual, he leans in conspiratorially, yet in a whisper loud enough for you to hear, “a little birdie told me that your new doctor is very pretty, so i had to come see for myself.”
he winks at you and you shake your head with an exasperated smile. so much for keeping lowkey and professional. clearing your throat, you play along, “ah, are you the favourite nurse who braided her hair, nurse hwa?” you find it absolutely hilarious that six-year-olds are using the same pet name that you use for your boyfriend.
seonghwa nods, “my girlfriend taught me.”
“she must be quite the amazing girlfriend, then,” you joke.
“she is,” he smiles, gazing softly at you.
for a six-year-old, seolhee is frighteningly perceptive as she looks back and forth between the two of you before blurting out, “is she the pretty girlfriend you always talk about?”
you fluster with a bright blush that you try to conceal behind a cough, only to make eye contact with dr. son and dr. lee giving you the most delightful shit-eating grins on their faces from beside you. seonghwa simply laughs, brightly and joyfully like the festive chime of bells. his affirmative nod in response is just as childishly proud as the one adorning seolhee’s face at having guessed correctly. she decides right there and then that you are her favourite doctor, because you are pretty.
“let me give you something,” she beckons with a small wave, little fingers calling for you to look closely.
seolhee pulls a little booklet out of the bedside table’s top drawer. the cover and edges are well-loved and from the way the top of the little booklet is nearly falling apart, you can tell that she has used it often. she flicks through the empty pages one by one until she finds what she is looking for. fiddling for a few more seconds, she holds out her hand to present you with–
“a sticker?” you ask.
“for doing a good job,” she giggles.
you take the circular sticker from her extended fingers. when you look down, you realise it is a little snowflake with a smiley face on it. the corners of your own mouth tug upwards involuntarily and your cheeks round out until they start to feel sore. never did you think a mere sticker would bring you such glee as an adult, but you are going to wear it proudly.
you tug the breast pocket of your scrubs outwards so that you can stick it onto your name badge, right next to the small twinkling star that is the signature additional design on all of the paediatric departments’ name badges. at your response, seolhee beams with pride.
“where’s mine?” seonghwa childishly quips.
“you haven’t done anything yet,” seolhee wags her little finger at him as he swallows the urge to retort that neither have you. “have you drawn my blood yet? inserted an eye-vee line or a…pick line?”
“no,” he chortles in defeat, “no IV or PICC lines today. maybe a blood test later.”
“so no sticker for you,” she reprimands him rightfully.
the conversation draws a laugh out of you, yet leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. a child like seolhee should be talking about the colour of her doll’s dress and the name of her plush teddy, not medical procedures that draw her line between life and death.
seonghwa eyes your sticker mischievously. “i might have to steal her sticker then.”
seolhee glares at him like a ferocious kitten, easily deciding that you are now her favourite out of all the doctors and nurses. “don’t you dare,” she pouts before turning to you with full solemnity and seriousness to pledge, “if he steals it, come back and i’ll give you another one.”
you send him a smug wink and seonghwa finally concedes, arms raised in mock surrender. “i’ll go back to my morning rounds then. see you later, snowflake,” he gives her a wave before bidding you goodbye with playful professionalism, “see you later, doctor l/n.”
on his way out, seonghwa exchanges brief but warm pleasantries with a middle-aged woman who is simultaneously entering the room. it is easy to presume that she is seolhee’s visitor, considering she is not wearing scrubs. just as you are about to introduce yourself, the woman's eyes skim right past yours to land on the taller of the interns behind you.
"hi, you must be seolhee's new doctor," she greets. "i'm her mother."
dr. yang shifts uncomfortably on his feet and glances at you, unsure how to correct the older woman that whilst he is a doctor, he is not the most senior one. with grace, you extend a warm hand out with an even warmer smile.
"lovely to meet you, mrs kim. i'm doctor l/n, and this is my intern, doctor yang," you introduce, before gesturing behind to your left. "this is my other intern, doctor son, and this is doctor lee, my second-year resident."
seolhee's mother rushes to shake your hand as she trails off, "sorry, i assumed he was the doctor because..."
"i know, i get that often. don't worry about it," you pat her hand placatingly.
she responds, "well, it's going to be nice having a female face around."
from the flush on her face and the overcompensatory laugh that leaves her lips, you know she does not mean it as much as she is trying to cover up her embarrassment. the woman before you is not the first person to have dismissed you as a nurse or an intern solely based on your gender, and she will definitely not be the last. so you pretend not to notice, redirecting with a laugh of your own and the question, “how has seolhee been feeling since her dose this morning?”
mrs kim easily jumps on the change in conversation and the attention shifts to the little girl in bed. you listen intently to any side effects of concern, long having learnt to ignore the layered feelings of fatigue, frustration and disappointment in your chest whenever somebody undermines your capabilities, even if it is never ill-intentioned.
because as with any job, there are sacrifices to be made, and putting other people’s comfort before your own is just one of the many.
you do not want to jinx it, but you think that you may not mind night shifts after all.
“what are you thinking about?”
yeosang fills your entire vision, his brown orbs blinking at you curiously with a mellow dusting of blossom pink speckled across his cheeks from your close proximity. you have often been pulled away into a hidden corner or spare room somewhere within the labyrinth of the hospital by one of your boyfriends for a few minutes of company, but this is the first time yeosang has initiated it. his shy nature is endearing though, and it is a much-needed break during your second consecutive night shift.
you tease, "it's a secret," before pressing an innocent kiss against the corner of his lips right where it quirks up bashfully whenever he is around you. yeosang carefully rests his hands on the dips of your hips and brings you in a little closer towards him as you ask, "what about you? what's on your mind?"
“wondering how long we can stay in this storage room for before one of us gets paged.”
his answer stuns you for a second but then you both break out into giggles at the absurdity of his answer. “jongho has rubbed off on you too much," you adoringly flick the bottom of his chin with the tip of your finger. not many people know, but yeosang is just as bad of an influence as all your other boyfriends when he wants to be.
"we could try," he suggests with a grin. "none of my team was rostered on for a night shift with me."
your laugh easily fills the small space, "neither was my team."
“so nobody would come looking for us, unless–”
a discrete tap sounds against the door from right next to where you and yeosang are pressed up against one another. you both fall silent and motionless, pupils wide and breaths held, hoping you have either misheard or whoever is outside will leave soon. but then you hear another tap and it does not stop. the tapping is incessant, obviously trying to gain the attention of you two. yeosang ducks down as you raise the blinds of the small window on the door and you peer out to find–
–fucking wooyoung squashed right up against the glass pane with a cheshire grin. you finish yeosang’s sentence for him, “unless one of our boyfriends do.”
wooyoung perks up immediately at the word 'boyfriends' as if that is his cue. "hi," he announces, "are you guys making out? i heard yeosang."
you sputter while yeosang pops up beside you with a horrified expression at the younger’s uncouth question. said person beams cheekily, “can i join?”
wooyoung’s breath fogs up the glass with every word he says but he is unfazed. your boyfriend simply rubs the glass with the sleeve of his coat, presses his face up against the window again and continues to look at you both with a dazzling, expectant smile. when neither of you respond, he winks for good measure.
wooyoung flinches and shrieks when you tap the glass right between his eyes. he jerks back enough for you to push the door open and step out through the gap with mirth bubbling in your chest. you playfully drag your fingers across his chest, then tease with faux coyness, “break time is over, sorry.”
the indignant whine you receive in response is more than enough for the amusement to spill out of your chest as you walk away. you will make it up to him with triple the amount of kisses once both of you are home. for now, you walk back to your department, pleased that yeosang’s oncology ward is not far from yours.
even during the late hours of a night shift, the hospital is never completely quiet. the rhythmic sounds of beeping machines interspersed by footsteps and closing doors follow you down the corridors of the paediatric ward. what truly sobers you out of the lighthearted moment you just had, though, are the occasional whimpers; of discomfort, of pain, of nightmares.
you enter seolhee’s room alone–your interns and junior resident scheduled only for the day shift–to find the little girl also by herself. her parents must have decided to go home, having already spent countless consecutive nights by her side since she commenced second-line chemotherapy last week.
seolhee received a dose of nelarabine just this morning so you need to keep a close eye on her. a quick flick through the chart on her rolling cart shows that the nurse on night shift had taken her vitals just two hours ago with no abnormalities.
“doctor snowflake?”
you startle at the quiet murmur. turning to look at the bed, seolhee is looking at you with slow, blinking eyes and a tiny smile. your own eyes soften as you lower yourself down towards her, “why are you still awake?”
“couldn’t sleep,” she mutters.
you scan her face with concern, “are you feeling pain anywhere? feeling sick?”
seolhee shakes her head in reassurance. then in a small voice, she answers, “just lonely.”
the tension in your shoulders releases only slightly. the little girl before you may be feeling all right physically…but at what cost? your chest tightens with humbling clarity–you may sacrifice a lot as a doctor, but your patients sacrifice so much more. neither is it a choice for them.
it is a relatively quiet night; you can spend time with her. and even if you did not have time, you can make time for her.
you pull a chair closer to sit down, gesturing for her consent to lift up her blankets to check her skin for signs of bruising or infection. she nods and you ask, “why doctor snowflake?” to keep her mind occupied.
seolhee glances at your name badge. “because you still have the snowflake sticker and snowflakes are pretty, just like you.”
the line insertion site on her chest is free of discharge and irritation and you fix the front of her hospital gown. “that must also be why nurse hwa calls you a snowflake,” you fondly tap the tip of her nose as she giggles.
“my name means snow,” she tells you proudly. “my parents named me seolhee because i was born on the first day of snow.”
“they named you well, seolhee. you really are a special gift, a precious snowflake.” in the muffled quiet of the hospital ward, you let go of your professionalism for a brief moment to make a hushed promise, “one day, you will be able to join all the other snowflakes outside–free to flutter and land wherever you want.”
not confined to the hospital nor your sickness.
seolhee returns a promise of her own, “and when i’m all better, i’ll come back to visit you.” she beckons for you to lean in before she whispers into your ear, “because you’re my favourite.”
you are technically not meant to play favourites, but it is hard when she is far ahead of the others in the unofficial competition. so you whisper back scandalously, like two teenage girl friends gossiping together, not a doctor with her patient in hospital, “you’re my favourite, too.”
the pager in your pocket goes off and seolhee’s face falls with disappointment. one of her hands involuntarily reaches out in your direction, seeking comfort and companionship in a place where people succumb to grief and isolation every day.
seolhee is only a child. she should be sleeping in her own bed at home, the faint glow from her phosphorescent star stickers across her bedroom ceiling guiding her into whimsical dreams. instead, it is the washed out moonlight filtering through the drawn curtains in her hospital room, shadows of snowfall outside drifting gently across her face, that surrounds seolhee’s fragile body in a romanticised nightmare.
“how about this,” you suggest, “if you go to sleep now, i’ll come again tomorrow night and i’ll tell you the story of how nurse hwa and i met.”
her eyes light up. “you promise?”
christmas has passed, but it does not mean that the season of miracles has to come to an end with it. you nod, “i promise.”
this time, when you make a move to stand up, seolhee does not reach out for you. she does not need you to stay; she has your gift of a promise to hold onto instead.
“goodnight, my little snowflake,” you tuck her blanket around her shoulders. affectionately, you brush her thinning hair off her forehead, “love you.”
you almost miss her sleepy response, a mumbled sentence just as you reach the threshold of the door to her room–words from a little girl whose heart is too big for the world to ever truly contain.
“i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”
like the heavy snowfall that comes with the arrival of mid-winter, work quickly starts to pile upon itself into layers that do not melt away easily.
you are not the only one nearly thigh-deep in the snow. besides yourself, yunho, yeosang and san are also residents in your final year juggling demanding caseloads and increasing responsibilities as the seniors. hongjoong has been slaving away in preparation for the annual meeting of the korean neurological association, and seonghwa has recently been tasked with revising the departmental policies and procedures for sepsis protocols.
all of that on top of the nine of you studying for specialty board exams, pouring over journal articles to stay up to date and partaking in research projects, it almost becomes a game of never-ending tag in the house with the small increments of time that are lucky enough to overlap with somebody else.
unable to see one another as often, much less spend time together, you and the boys have to make do whenever you can, wherever you can, however you can. it comes in varying forms; a shared smile in brief passing through the wards, an extra chocolate in your packed lunch, a quick reminder to wrap your scarf snugly.
this morning, it comes in the form of an inconspicuous-looking disposable cup waiting for you in your assigned cubby. you almost miss it and knock it over with the bag you hastily push into the space, but the stark contrast of a black scribble against the whiteness of the cup’s surface catches your eye right before you give your bag a final shove.
it is a cup of takeaway coffee from the cafe downstairs–the one you never buy coffee from because the wait for your order can take up to ten minutes, and that is ten minutes of time every single day that you cannot afford to give up. but for you, there is someone willing to sacrifice those ten minutes of their day.
your eyes soften and eyebrows upturn as you immediately deduce who the coffee is from. if the coffee itself is not a dead giveaway, then the cute, artistic doodle of rudolph surrounded by little hearts around his antlers and the accompanying phrase, ‘you’re my rein-dear’, is.
jongho.
for a brief moment of respite from the unceasing rapidity of the hospital, you are warmed from your very core all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes by your boyfriend’s gesture. one hand starts to reach for your phone to send a text of appreciation when the call of your name jerks you out of the comfort you had been encased in. the cup is set down without finding its sweet home against a pair of lips.
“doctor nam is looking for you.”
you wince. dr. nam, the head of the paediatric department, has never really seemed to take a fancy to you for some reason. you are quite certain you have not done anything to provoke his unwarranted scrutiny, but apparently you can never be too sure.
as you hurry to dr. nam’s office, your legs work on autopilot through the corridors and doorways. your mind bombards itself with a barrage of thoughts, guessing what the meeting may be for, estimating how long it might take, and calculating how far behind you will fall with the onslaught of other tasks you are meant to complete before you are joined by your juniors for your morning rounds.
you do not have time for this, and you most certainly do not have time to–
“–take on an extra intern?”
your eyes blink themselves into a carefully schooled expression of neutrality despite the voiced incredulity in the question you have just asked. dr. nam has summoned you to his office to notify you of an additional intern commencing in the paediatric department and you are to be their assigned senior. what a fucking splendid way to start the day.
it is completely normal for a senior resident to have four juniors to teach, but interns have less experience and confidence, requiring significantly more time and effort–time and effort that you do not know if you have. the thought of another intern in addition to your existing two and second-year resident is enough to make you want to enter hibernation for the rest of your life.
what you also know though is that dr. yoon, another fourth-year resident, only has two juniors under him–both second-years at that. respectfully yet firmly, you bring up such and suggest, “it may be in the best interest of all parties for doctor yoon or somebody else, even doctor ha, to take on the new intern. this can ensure all of our junior doctors are receiving as much one-on-one support and guidance as possible.”
the department head raises an eyebrow, eyes dull and mouth pressed together thinly as he stares back at you dryly. “both doctor yoon and doctor ha are promising candidates to become chief residents. they do not have time to spare to teach interns.”
‘promising candidates’. you are not saying that that is bullshit…but that is bullshit. this is the first time anybody has praised them as such and the only thing that would make them both supposedly more qualified than all the other senior residents is their direct acquaintance with dr. nam himself.
fuck nepotism.
gritting your teeth and taking a deep but restrained breath in what you know is just a losing fight, you yield, “when does the intern start?”
the right corner of dr. nam’s lips raises smugly as he answers, “today. doctor lim will be waiting for you in the resident lounge near my office. orientate him to the department.”
and down the drain goes all thoughts of ending on time tonight. when you stalk over stiffly to the lounge, dr. lim is leaning against the edge of a desk, legs extended and crossed at the ankles in front of him not dissimilar to how his arms are over his chest. one foot taps disinterestedly as he waits. you have a bad feeling you already know what kind of intern he is going to be.
“doctor lim,” you call out.
“you’re doctor l/n?” the intern looks at you snobbishly, very obviously sizing you up and down.
“yes.”
dr. lim takes a lazy glance at the clock on the wall. “you’re kinda late.”
and you’re kinda a fucking asshole, you want to retort. but you have not survived this long without learning how to reel in the burst of flames that erupts inside your chest, so instead you look at him placatingly. “you were not originally part of my planned day. doctor nam asked for a very last minute favour.”
not so much a favour as an outright demand, but he does not need to know.
“i’ll show you around the hospital before our morning rounds,” you state. at his audible sigh whilst pushing himself heavily off the table, you cannot help but get at least one jab in, “an inconvenience for the both of us, but do bear with me.”
after a sarcastic smile, you turn around without waiting to see if he follows. the first place you take him to is where all the personal lockers and cubbies are just to retrieve your forgotten coffee and take a long sip. it spites him as desired, a nose wrinkled in your direction. nevermind the fact that it has long cooled to room temperature–your coffee has never tasted sweeter.
the rest of your day, unfortunately, runs in bitter discord. straight after dr. lim’s orientation, you run yourself dry with morning rounds, acute care and consultations with other paediatric departments, all the while trying to catch dr. lim up to the expected competency for interns. the end of the day does not appear to get any closer within reach and yet, you have no idea where all your time is going.
you end up throwing in the towel exactly seven hours and twenty-three minutes into your shift, when you are trying to teach the very basics of the hospital’s electronic medical record system for the umpteenth time. there are only so many ways you can explain the five steps required to start drafting a progress note for a patient–the very five steps that do not change. if you have to repeat yourself one more fucking time you are going to shoot somebody, doctor’s oath or not, and that somebody has a last name that starts with ‘l’ and rhymes with ‘dim’.
dr. son and dr. yang are sent as the scapegoats to teach the new intern how to navigate the system. with all three of your interns now occupied, you also send dr. lee off to adjust the medication for a few of the patients whose daily lab results had come back this morning with minor fluctuations in numbers.
your body almost crashes the moment your juniors disperse and only then do you tune in to your senses. contrary to the grumbling cavern in your stomach, there is a heavy pressure in your bladder and parchedness in your throat. jongho’s coffee was the last of anything you had consumed today–the lunch wooyoung had packed for you remains untouched in your bag–and you have been unable to step away even briefly to use the bathroom. trudging heavily through the paediatric oncology ward, the one thing that keeps you upright on your feet is that you are not scheduled for an on-call shift tonight.
“y/n.”
the sweet and low timbre of the voice that sounds from ahead of you immediately turns the one into two things. it takes the remainder of your willpower not to bury yourself straight into san’s arms as he gives you a cute dimpled smile.
your eyes reflect the sparkle of happiness in his once you are close enough, neither of you having planned to run into one another. san is currently in his paediatric haematology rotation and whilst your departments are closely related, it is not very often that your caseloads align for patient consultation directly between the two of you.
“what are you doing here?” you ask, unable to hide the pleasant surprise in your words.
san steps in a little, naturally inclined to be physically close to you and answers, “going to check up on seolhee. have you gotten around to seeing her today?”
seolhee was one of the patients you were planning on fitting into your day. one of the nurses had documented nausea and reduced appetite at lunch time, so you were going to review her current antiemetic regimen and decide if it needed adjusting. but then she had ultimately been pushed back as a medium priority on your list with everything else you had to complete first.
when you shake your head, san proposes, “want to join me then?”
your lips quirk upwards at his suggestion. it is sort of piteous that your time walking together through the ward to see a shared patient is the closest to a date you have had with san in the last few weeks. but as he gives you a playful nudge to your side and you back to him like you are strolling along the snowy streets instead of sterile corridors, you are grateful for at least these short moments of interaction.
seolhee’s voice is spirited when she greets you despite the increasingly dark shadows silhouetting her face. you smile, “hi, snowflake. i brought a friend with me this time.”
when san’s gaze is not focused on you, he looks at the little girl with the same softness and deep affection; you like his moon, his patients like his stars. you are unable to imagine san ever working in a career that does not involve children.
“i’m doctor choi,” he introduces himself gently. “i heard you’ve been feeling a bit tired and didn’t really eat lunch today, so i’m here to see what i can do to help you feel better.”
as you bend down slightly to adjust the corner of seolhee’s blanket, san steps behind you to reach for her chart. he unconsciously places his left hand on the nape of your neck and tenderly squeezes out of loving habit. immediately, san feels the tight knots under his fingertips that only surface whenever you are stressed or overworked.
his eyebrows furrow and he dips his head down slightly to softly murmur, “hey, rough day today?”
“just a little,” you admit, looking upwards whilst placing your own hand atop his in reassurance. “don’t worry.”
there is a giggle to the side. seolhee’s eyes flicker back and forth between the two of you before she cryptically asks, “doctor choi, do you know who nurse hwa is?”
“i do…” san answers, puzzled by the random question.
seolhee looks at you and giggles again with a very directed comment, “i see.”
you have said this before and you will say this again: seolhee is frighteningly perceptive. if she were two decades older, you just know she would be that friend of yours who you are unable to hide any secrets from. leaning in, you whisper, “there are six more of us.”
her eyes widen with curiosity. “do i know any of them?”
of the remaining boys, wooyoung is the only other one who is specialising in paediatrics and likely to have come across seolhee before. “nurse wooyoung,” you divulge.
she sinks back into her pillow at the revelation and nods approvingly as if she is your mother. “good choices,” she supports, san letting out a bright laugh from beside you now having caught on to what the conversation is about.
the rest of the bedside evaluation continues as such. seolhee badgers you both with questions about the rest of your boyfriends–which department they are in, what their names are and most importantly, what they look like so she can keep an eye out for them.
you indulge her with answers, far longer than you should, but it is an easy decision when it comes to anything involving your favourite patient and your boyfriends. you have long learnt that any amount of time that you give to somebody else even at your own expense will always be worth lifetimes more to them than the luxury of a punctual meal or longer shower that you would gain from the time instead.
so when your shift for the day ends and you still have not completed all of your work, you end up staying overtime and it is only then, during the evening, that you are finally able to sit. your stomach no longer growls, body running solely on cortisol, the caffeine from jongho’s coffee having long depleted. you turn on your hospital-issued tablet and pull out a stack of jotted notes. with mid-rotation feedback for your juniors in two days, you have their paperwork to complete before you can even start to scrape away at your actual paperwork.
you do not realise how stiff your neck and shoulders have become from hunching over for a prolonged period until there is a knock at the door of the resident lounge and a timid, “um, doctor l/n?”
“yes?” a soft wince escapes your lips when the movement from looking up sends a brief stab of pain down your back.
the intern standing at the doorway comes scurrying in. “i’m here to give you the report on the pathology results.”
“pathology results?” you repeat, mind blank of patients who had needed a biopsy or tumour excision.
“from doctor jeong? from general surgery?” the intern’s voice trails off, face blanching at the creeping possibility that he has found the wrong resident.
“doctor j–oh,” you suppress the sudden tug at the corners of your lips to reassure, “yes, my apologies, i forgot. thank you.”
you have certainly not forgotten about an entire pathology report you have requested–this is simply yunho being your boyfriend. waiting until the intern has scurried off, you flick the clipboard open to find exactly what you had been expecting: anything but a report.
there is a sole sticky note, neon green, that grins right up at you with another of yunho's scrawled jokes. 'are you a snowman? cause i wanna stick my carrot into your mou–'
the clipboard slams shut with a resounding clap in the emptiness of the lounge. back ramrod straight, your eyes dart around scandalously even though you are the only person in the room to witness the contents of the flirtatious message.
"oh my fucking god," you guffaw. "jeong yunho!"
(from somewhere within the general surgery department three floors down, somebody lets out a delighted giggle of glee at the thought of a certain message having been received.)
your laugh eventually fades out with a poignant sigh as you peel the sticky note off the clipboard and stare at it in your hands. the start of this year has already been the toughest year in your residency thus far and it is no easy feat for nine people in the same or similar situation to balance a romantic relationship simultaneously.
you must give, and give, and give, but like you have experienced today, you also receive. it is never anything huge; a coffee, some food, a note, a conversation. yet for now, that is enough to keep moving forward even if your feet are buried deep under the snow.
however, you will soon come to realise that the issue does not lie in whether you are receiving enough or not, but in the fact that you can unknowingly give away too much of yourself without even realising.
you give the little boy and his family who are in front of you a smile that conveys both appreciation and apologeticness. if you were in their position, surrounded by inexperienced interns learning to properly insert a central line, you would be on edge too.
dr. yang and dr. son stand off to the side, hands clasped together in front of themselves with concealed nervousness for dr. lim. said man is anything but nervous, when really, he is the only intern who should be nervous out of the three of them. ever since he started, dr. lim has consistently performed with a shocking lack of care and willingness to learn. but you had learnt the hard way the first time you tried to bring up this issue that dr. lim is not somebody you can touch because of his connections, so you have no choice but to tolerate his incompetence.
you beckon for dr. lim to come closer so that you can show him the proper angle of needle entry. he does, at least smart enough to know he needs to maintain some level of professionalism in front of actual patients lest the hospital be sued.
“for an internal jugular vein catheterisation while the head is in the neutral position, what is the angle of needle entry?” you question.
dr. lim guesses, “twenty?”
“thirty to forty-five, and the angle adjusts based on the ultrasound image,” you correct, not having expected him to remember despite the numerous times you have already taught him on physical phantoms. your gloved fingers trace over the patient’s clavicle towards the sternum as you continue explaining, “locate both the sternal and clavicular heads of the sternocleidomastoid muscle. this forms the triangle where your IVJ lies beneath. the needle should aim towards the ipsilateral nipple.”
positioning the tip of the needle at the apex of the triangle for a few seconds, you then pass it to dr. lim with the instruction, “show me the positioning and angle of the needle only.”
the intern takes the needle from your hand, his other hand roughly probing the sternocleidomastoid muscle before angling the needle perpendicular to the young boy’s neck like he is a fucking hostage. your voice is curt as you rush to correct dr. lim, adjusting his hands with verbal prompts, before you slip the needle out of his hands to fully take over the procedure now.
“you’re not ready yet,” you assert when he glares at you, further reiterating, “when you can independently position and angle the needle, and you can demonstrate to me that you can use the correct pressure when inserting the needle in a mannequin, then you are ready.” you do not care if he has connections with dr. nam. you make it clear to your intern that he cannot fuck around with his theoretical knowledge and phantom training and still expect you to let him practice on real people.
outside the room, wooyoung winces in sympathy for you as he passes by and catches the end of your firm reprimand. you have come home far too many times with pent-up frustration for him–and all your boyfriends–not to know about your notorious intern. wooyoung hands over the central line kit he is returning to the ward’s nursing station then dawdles by the desk.
he waits in hopes of catching your eye and giving you a smile to equip you with the patience he knows must be needed to deal with dr. lim. your boyfriend’s face softens unconsciously as he watches your expression, now concentrated with furrowed brows as you steadily insert the needle whilst monitoring the ultrasound, because wooyoung thinks you look the most charismatic when you are working. when a nurse calls out for wooyoung, he takes one last glance at you before walking away.
you straighten up and step away for dr. lee to take over the rest of the procedure, just in time to see the back of your boyfriend’s figure darting away with purpose. his long unruly hair flies around with mirrored chaos that you could recognise anywhere. and as you explain to the patient’s parents the remainder of the catheterisation procedure, the smile on your face is much more genuine than it would have been mere seconds ago.
it continues to linger subconsciously long after the brief glimpse you get of your boyfriend. for wooyoung, too, it is the same. working together at the hospital means that you can still be a source of light for one another even if only from a far distance and that is always what gets you through to the end of your shift.
when five o’clock finally rolls around, you head to your locker whilst checking your phone. there are no notifications from hongjoong, so you type a quick message to let him know you are clocking off and going to his department first. it is one of those rare days where you two have managed to organise a date–just a quick and simple dinner before heading home since your shifts end at the same time, but a date nonetheless.
“good thing i caught you before you left. doctor nam wants to talk to you.”
you look up to see dr. lee already changed into a puffer jacket and his backpack on, a cheeky grin on his face as he delivers the message and adds, “bet you’re in trouble.”
scoffing playfully, you quip back, “probably for something you did wrong.”
he shrugs exaggeratedly and sing-songs, “who knows,” before darting away with a goodbye.
you sigh and delete your drafted text to hongjoong, alerting him that you will be going to the department head’s office and for him to meet you outside if he finishes. then with heavy steps, you go to find dr. nam. with your stroke of luck, dr. lee is probably right about you being in trouble for something.
and he is right.
“did you tell one of your interns that he wasn’t ready for a clinical task in front of your patients?”
dr. nam’s direct question the moment you step into his office is enough to stun your mind into blankness at how a situation could be wrongfully warped like so. blinking distractedly you start to explain, “doctor lim was tasked with simulating the correct needle placement against the skin–nothing more and nothing less. i had to reiterate those expectations when he–”
“so he was not allowed to insert the central line, correct?” dr. nam interrupts.
you frown involuntarily and parrot, “allowed? it was not a subjective decision to–”
“doctor l/n, you only need to answer the question that i ask. was doctor lim allowed to insert the central line or not?” he interjects yet again.
you barely manage to swallow the rising heat in your chest to answer, “no.”
“you said he was not ready in front of the patient, yes or no?”
“yes.”
dr. nam leans back in his chair. “have your other interns inserted the needle before?”
despite his position as your department head, you keep your mouth shut in defiance because dr. nam is simply fishing for the answer he wants to hear regardless of context. he does not need to hear that dr. lim is a shit intern–all he wants to hear is that you are treating your juniors differently.
as expected, without waiting for your response, dr. nam states, “there have been some…concerns raised that you are not giving your interns equal opportunities.”
“is that what doctor lim told you?” you raise an eyebrow.
“you do not need to know,” he dismisses thoughtlessly, “the point is, there seems to be a bias in the amount of support and guidance you are providing doctor lim. perhaps it is your lack of teaching and provision of learning opportunities that is hindering his full potential.”
struggling to keep your voice polite as frustration quickens your breaths, you defend, “i have taught him the theory numerous times, allowed him to observe, provided him with supervised mannequin practice and step-by-step grading on actual patients, and my experience as a senior resident and his direct supervisor tells me that he does not yet have the competency to insert a central line.”
dr. nam hums as if he is considering your words but the way he distractedly brushes the dust off the surface of his table tells you otherwise. “i see there are differing opinions. this all comes down to miscommunication and lack of clear expectations set from the both of you. i suggest you take some time to sit down and talk to doctor lim about what opportunities he will have moving forward.”
from behind your back, your hands clench together, muscles quivering from how hard your fingers dig into your palms. yet you do not say anything–you cannot say anything, not when dr. nam simply dismisses you with, “i expect there to be no further issues in the future.”
and just like that, the one-sided discussion is over.
your feet drag against the floor as you trudge listlessly back to your locker, body heavy as if you are caught in the very midst of a snowstorm. your shoulders cave even further in on themselves when you check your phone to see no reply from hongjoong.
you want nothing more than to bury yourself in your boyfriend’s arms, nose pressed against the soothing rumble of his chest as he listens to you complain about your day. it will not change anything about the situation with dr. lim and dr. nam but at least you will be able to release the hot steam that has built up from the bubbling pit of lava in your chest.
if hongjoong is still working, perhaps you can sit in his office and wait on his couch. his presence will be enough to keep you grounded.
some of the nurses in the neurology ward greet you cordially as you exit the elevator and you return their smiles before sitting on a bench further down the corridor to avoid being in anybody’s way. you test your chances and call hongjoong’s number, only to hear the line ring until it sends you to his voicemail. when another attempt ten minutes later yields the same result, you send a text telling him to call you when he is finished.
you resign yourself to the bench with a passive sigh and wait, all the while a tempest swirling inside of you. eventually, one of the junior residents tilts her head at the sight of you still sitting on the bench, having passed by you almost twenty minutes ago in the same position. she calls out, “doctor l/n?”
you jerk up from where you are fiddling with your phone. recognising her as hongjoong’s colleague, you ask, “i’m just waiting for doctor kim. do you happen to know where he is?”
“doctor kim?” she furrows her brows, “he left already. he actually left early today.”
“oh.”
the heat in your chest suddenly dissipates, immediately replaced by a frigid hollowness that makes your mind go blank instead. horrified, you feel your eyes involuntarily start to prickle with tears no matter how hard you will for them to disappear.
“do you want me to pass a message on for you?” the resident looks at you with a twinge of concern, but mostly curiosity.
you shake your head and mumble, “no, that’s okay, thanks,” then rush away to avoid embarrassing yourself any further. deciding against asking one of your other boyfriends to drive you home, you forgo catching the bus too in favour of walking through the streets.
it’s not even a big deal. we’ve all forgotten about dates before and hongjoong would never deliberately blow you off.
you know that. you know this is not something you need to be upset over and you know that your boyfriend must have a reason. yet knowing does nothing to stop the trembling of your lips as you swipe furiously at your dripping tears with the back of your hand. on top of everything that has piled up today, hongjoong forgetting about your date is enough to topple it over completely.
the light snowfall from earlier has already stopped but the temperature remains just as low. as you tread through the chalky streets home, thoughts creeping through your mind like the fractal branches of a snowflake–fragile and delicate–you welcome the numbing chill around you instead and let it paralyse your emotions like an anaesthetic.
by the time you reach the front door, you have collected yourself enough. the rims of your eyes and the tip of your nose still have a slight redness to them but your appearance can easily be dismissed by the biting cold outside. you unlock the door and walk in.
you are met with immediate warmth; from the residual heat of shared dinner, from the streaming glow of lights, from the peals of low laughter. walking through the corridor almost feels like walking through a warped tunnel of dissociation–so familiar yet so foreign at the same time.
san sits on the couch, languidly scrolling on his phone with an arm wrapped around yeosang’s shoulders, who is flicking through a thin booklet of paper. sitting cross-legged at the coffee table in front of them in a stark contrast of mess is hongjoong–hongjoong who is hunched over his own booklet with a newly-made carpet and tablecloth of thesis and journal articles, textbooks and tablets.
you are so caught up by the hurricane of a scene that you do not realise you are about to step on the corner of a textbook until hongjoong’s head snaps up to look at you.
“be careful!” his warning cry is sharp with alarm.
your body jolts and you step backwards. “sorry.”
despite san and yeosang’s chirpy greetings, you remain frozen to the spot. the two of them clamber up to pull you into an excited hug, only to pause when they realise there is no way to navigate the landmine of paper scattered around the room, so they settle back into the cushions instead.
“don’t mind the mess,” yeosang giggles, unaware of the sudden onset of unease that courses through your body. “even seonghwa has given the okay for him to do this.”
your words come out thick and sticky as you ask, “what is hongjoong doing?”
san’s voice is sympathetic, “there was a last-minute change to his presentation that he’s doing at that annual neurological association meeting. his department head wants him to do a different topic.”
“he could’ve told me, i don’t know, five fucking months ago,” hongjoong curses fiercely at his tablet, “but he just had to wait until my presentation was basically done to let me know.”
you have had a bad day…but so has hongjoong.
the door opens behind you. fumbling for a moment, you try to make yourself smaller against the wall to make room for whoever of your boyfriends has returned. it is mingi back from his shift which tells you just how long you had waited for hongjoong, considering mingi’s shift ended almost two hours after yours did.
“y/n?” mingi’s eyes widen slightly as he smiles, the sight of you a pleasant surprise. he asks, “did you and hongjoong come back from your date already?”
you wince at the bomb he has unwittingly dropped; the very one you yourself were still unsure how to navigate.
“shit,” hongjoong’s head snaps towards you again but for an entirely different reason this time. “holy fuck. oh my fucking god.” his hands flutter as he upturns the scattered notes around him in search of his phone, face draining of all colour as it dawns on him he had silenced his notifications. “the date–i forgot. fuck, i am so fucking sorry, y/n.”
your boyfriends on the couch watch with darting eyes and mingi glances at you cautiously. in some twisted reality, you almost feel immobilised by guilt as hongjoong stumbles to his feet, grasping the phone he has finally found from where it had been tossed under the table.
nothing changes the fact that he forgot nor the fact that you have had a rough day. but just as you had realised, hongjoong has also had a rough day, if not worse than yours. and as with any relationship, one will always have to yield under pressure lest both people break.
swallowing thickly, you manage to force out, “that’s okay. i forgot too.”
a white lie, but a white lie has never hurt anybody.
mingi catches the slight twist of your fingers in the side of your jacket. he murmurs, “let’s go inside,” then tugs you by the elbow. he steps you carefully through the landmines further into the living room, gingerly toeing papers inches aside to reveal the floorboards underneath for the both of you to step on. hongjoong is still looking at you remorsefully as you near, his hands itching to reach out but afraid they will not be met with forgiving ones.
“it’s okay, joong, really,” you extend your fingers in his direction and gently squeeze his hand. “sorry to hear about your presentation. i know how hard you’ve worked on it the past few months.”
sadness still lingers in your boyfriend’s eyes at having made such a careless mistake despite the grateful smile he gives you. “i’ll make it up to you after the presentation is finished,” he vows. “i’ll take you out for a nice dinner and i promise i won’t forget this time.”
you chuckle softly with a reassuring nod, “okay.”
“what about you? how was your day?” hongjoong asks.
an hour ago you wanted nothing more than the comfort he could offer while you vented about your day and you are almost certain fatigue and frustration are smeared across your face right now. yet you simply answer, “it was a long day but it was good.”
another white lie.
before your boyfriends can probe any further, you state, “i’m going to take a shower first. might head to sleep early today.” you lean forward to give hongjoong a chaste kiss, who easily relaxes into it with relief. you turn to rise onto your tiptoes to give mingi one too before meeting yeosang and san halfway from where they kneel on the couch to also kiss you goodnight.
then you turn and retreat to your room. it is not all too bad, you reconcile with yourself. alone time would be good after today’s events.
a third white lie.
but again, that is fine, because a white lie never hurt anybody…nobody except for yourself.
winter passes and spring arrives, but contrary to the pulsating liveliness that awakens with the season, things start to dull with repetition and roboticism.
your rotation in the paediatric oncology ward comes to an end and you commence your next rotation in paediatric haematology. whilst your acquaintanceship with your new junior team is nowhere near as close as you had gotten to dr. lee, son and yang, there is also no more dr. lim to deal with. still, unlike the snow that has now long melted away, your workload does not cease nor diminish.
you wake up and you go to work; you manage your patients, teach your juniors and have on-call shifts; you go home, you eat, you shower; you squeeze time to see your boyfriends, you sleep for a few hours; you wake up and you go to work. the cycle repeats itself, neither you nor your boyfriends able to escape from its grip.
seolhee, too, suffers from the torment of her own cycle. second-line therapy had eventually been deemed ineffective against her leukemic cells, requiring her to undergo salvage chemotherapy and putting her at increased risk of myelosuppression. because of this, she is one of the few patients who have remained on your caseload despite the rotation change.
the most unsettling change that the toll of fatigue can have on a person is not the change in their demeanour but in their eyes. and as you complete a routine check-up on seolhee, her eyes watching you with a slight dullness to them that is not due to the late hours of midnight, you do not realise that your own pupils look the same.
you give seolhee a soft smile as you tell her, “i’ll get nurse hwa to check on you in the morning. how does that sound, snowflake?”
“he’s busy?” she asks quietly.
you shake your head. “he’s at home. both him and nurse woo are working day shifts this week.”
“what about doctor choi?”
“he finished his haematology rotation,” you sigh regretfully. “he’s in the NICU now.”
seolhee mulls over the information with her eyes downcast, then murmurs, “are you busy? can you teach me how to braid your hair?” she absent-mindedly touches the nape of her neck where her fingertips meet the smooth skin of her bare scalp. “that way i can braid my own hair when it grows back.”
you still have notes from today to write and tomorrow’s chemotherapy doses to confirm with the pharmacy and platelet orders to put through before you can chance an hour or two of sleep. but what difference does the amount of sleep make when you wake up from both with the same bone-deep exhaustion anyway?
seolhee’s eyes brighten the slightest when you pull a chair up beside her bed and it solidifies your decision to answer, “of course,” because as a doctor, time is not for yourself but for other people. you have to make time out of nothing.
you tug on the elastic around your ponytail and shake your hair out, sectioning off the right side to work with. from your experience teaching all of your boyfriends, it had quickly become clear that braiding was easiest learnt with less hair to work with. splitting the sectioned hair into three locks, you lace them through your fingers to keep them separate as you talk seolhee through the steps.
“take the right strand and bring it over into the middle like this,” you teach, moving your fingers deftly but slowly. “then take the left strand and bring it over into the middle. then we repeat it again–right into the middle, left into the middle.”
your fingers continue weaving the locks of hair over and under, the motions familiar and the memory of teaching somebody else even more so. when you have braided almost to the ends of your hair, you release the braid then tuck your chair closer to the bed so that seolhee can reach easily.
“here, you try.”
at your encouragement, the little girl does as she remembers and starts to section off three locks of hair. her fingers accidentally tug too hard when she encounters a knot and you both rush to apologise.
“sorry, my hair is kind of tangled,” you chuckle lowly as heat rushes to the tip of your ears. “i haven’t used conditioner in a long time.”
“that’s okay. me neither,” seolhee jokes, giggling at her own words before asking you, “why not?”
you distractedly run your fingers through the hair that is not in seolhee’s hands as you slowly answer, “it saves me five minutes each time. it doesn’t sound like a lot, but…”
“...in the hospital it’s a lot,” seolhee finishes solemnly.
you nod. “five minutes can be a long hug before someone leaves forever. it can be somebody’s last confession or last promise. five minutes can be the difference between life and death.”
hush settles over her room while she eases the knot apart, six-year-old fingers gentle with the understanding of an adult several times her age. after a few minutes, she changes the topic. “who was the fastest learner out of your boyfriends? was it nurse hwa?”
“it was actually doctor jeong,” you reveal.
“from general surgery?”
you laugh at seolhee’s memory, “yes, doctor jeong from general surgery. he has the steadiest and most skillful hands.”
“are his braids also the prettiest, then?”
“they are very pretty, but i think doctor choi–the younger choi–does the prettiest braids.”
seolhee’s fingers pause so she can admire the beginnings of her handiwork. “do they still braid your hair?” she asks.
“not anymore,” you give a miniscule shrug. “there isn’t as much time to do things like this and certain things just lose their novelty over time.”
she looks at you curiously. “what does novelty mean?”
“something new and unfamiliar…in a sense, special.”
“why do things lose their novelty then?” seolhee frowns.
you hum, unsure how to answer such a simple yet riveting question when you yourself have never thought about it. you deliberate over your words, “i guess when we see, do and say things that were originally different over and over again, they can simply become habits and part of our routines. we do things just for the sake of doing them and eventually they lose their meaning. when that happens, sometimes you just end up not doing them anymore.”
wistful nostalgia fills you as seolhee continues braiding your hair, the ticklish intimacy sending your mind adrift to a time when your boys would do the same–back to a time when your hair was smooth and knot-free because you still used conditioner. but change is inevitable and you have no time to dwell on what used to be. so after seolhee finishes her braid, you return to your cycle of work, home and sleep.
by the time you get home in the afternoon, most of your boyfriends have long left for their shifts save for san, who was also on-call, and yunho, who is still not back from an emergency trauma surgery. you are barely able to keep your eyes open when you stumble into the bathroom for a quick shower. this time, you completely forgo both conditioner and shampoo, simply wetting your hair as you roughly scrub your face and the rest of your body. you do not bother to dry your hair either, keeping it wrapped in a towel before you sink into bed.
you have no recollection of falling asleep when the soft click of the front door opening and closing wakes you up. eyes still closed, you drowsily listen to yunho’s soft thuds and murmurs as he treads his usual path through the house upon returning. your boyfriend pads softly to the dining room, to the bathroom…then he goes straight to his own bedroom.
no longer do you stay within the clutches of rest. yunho has always, no matter how exhausted, taken time to give you and the others a kiss before he heads to sleep. it is his habit, his routine. you lay awake for a long time, coming up with excuses as to why he has broken his cycle today, waiting to see if yunho will get up again and come into your room.
he does not and you eventually fall asleep again in restless fitfulness.
this will soon become the new norm; yunho will not take an extra five minutes to go into your bedrooms and give you tender kisses. in due time, your heart will no longer clench in disappointment nor will you lay awake in false hope whenever he returns from his shift.
you will simply drift back into the realms of unconsciousness seconds after hearing the click of the front door open, succumbing into peaceful sleep again before the door has even closed shut. after all, things lose their novelty over time.
you do not normally watch dramas or tv shows, or anything that requires a recurring time commitment, really. for one, that is hours upon hours of time that could be used elsewhere, and two, the scattered time you can find here and there is so sparse you often forget the events of the last episode by the time you watch the next.
but your fingers currently hover over the first episode of an airing drama, one too many clips of this particular show having appeared on your feed for you not to crack, so you decide to give it a go. you can watch maybe half an episode before you should head to sleep since your shift starts early tomorrow, but maybe, just maybe, tonight you will spoil yourself with the entire episode.
keeping the volume low on your phone since you are in the living room with a few of your boyfriends, you tuck your feet closer towards yourself on the couch and play the first episode. jongho’s ears perk up at the starting sounds of the introduction from where he is in the kitchen reheating some leftovers and he comments, “it’s been a while since you last watched something.”
you nod just as jongho’s words catch the attention of wooyoung walking past. “you’re starting a drama?” he asks, peering at your phone with a slight snicker. “damn, you’re going to spend even less time with us now.”
it is an off-handed joke with no ill intentions, yet it digs itself uncomfortably inside your chest, even more so when a few of the others also chuckle. your finger twitches to stop your episode. the couch sinks beside you under the weight of mingi, who has moved from his position on the floor to your right with quiet comfort and veiled protectiveness.
“we’ve all been spending less time with one another,” he vaguely points out.
hongjoong looks up from the systematic review he is reading on gene replacement therapy, still rushing to complete his presentation. “you’re right. that’s funny,” he remarks, “i can’t remember the last time we went out on dates, even when just any two of us.”
wooyoung shrugs, “we’ve all been tired.”
your mouth opens before you can stop yourself from snapping, “so why was i the only one who was the butt of the joke?”
“woah, sorry,” hongjoong winces slightly, “we didn’t know it would make you feel upset or anything.”
it is not sadness so much as guilt that pricks at your conscience, because there is slight truth to the situation–you haven’t been making as much effort, but neither has anyone. you are not the one drifting away from the others. you are all drifting apart in your own directions.
jongho steps in to smoothen the situation with a blanket statement, “we’ve all been tired and busy. nobody’s pointing fingers at anybody. drop it.” the microwave sounds and he turns to take his food out.
something is pressed into your hand and you glance down to see mingi wordlessly handing you a set of earphones. he gives you a small smile, nudging your hand with the earphones and a beckon of his brows. you return his smile and place one in your ear before offering him the other. mingi puts it in whilst reaching over to hold your phone in your stead, then taps his own shoulder with his free hand for you to rest your head against.
your boyfriend adjusts the volume higher as he murmurs, “it’s a bit hard to hear,” but you know better. mingi does not care for dramas and the volume is already plenty loud. sometimes, additional noise is just needed to drown out other noise.
the drama continues to play but you heed no attention to it. wooyoung has walked back into his room to finish the lecture he is watching, jongho now sits at the dining table to eat, and hongjoong is working on his presentation again.
the conversation with your boyfriends has ended with the conclusion that there have been no dates recently. yet, there is no extension of the conversation to make a date happen. it would be a lie to say that you have not noticed their absence, but after the first couple of times they had to be postponed or called off entirely, they just started slipping from your mind completely.
you wonder when you had all stopped making the intentional effort to go on dates, but most of all, you wonder when you had all stopped caring.
you only watch half an episode that night. you do not pick it back up again either.
she is alive.
there is a webbing of tubes and wires encasing her entire body–blood transfusions, vasopressors, monitoring lines of all sorts–but she is alive. kim seolhee is still alive.
only at the physical sight of her chest moving up and down does the reassurance unlock the tautness in your joints, the strained muscles in your body almost failing to hold your weight upright as you lean subtly against the threshold of the door.
you had headed straight for seolhee’s room before everything else the moment you had arrived for your shift. the usual fifteen-minute drive to the hospital had been shortened to half its time when mingi had arrived home from his shift just as you were getting ready to leave for yours with the news that seolhee had been readmitted into the ED with sepsis and was now in the paediatric intensive care unit. you had driven on autopilot the entire way swallowing the thick surge of panic that kept rising up your throat despite mingi’s repeated reassurances that she was stable; she just needed further monitoring.
“i thought i was going to die.”
those are the first words that faintly leave her lips when she sees you, her face mercifully free of a ventilator and oxygen mask, which is always a good sign. you weakly breathe out, tone as light as you can make it, “well, thank god you’re alive.”
“missed you too much, doctor snowflake,” seolhee’s hand twitches in your direction with attempted cheekiness as you walk closer. “i came back to follow you to your next rotation.”
despite the situation, you break out into a small bout of giggles at her morbid humour. you had sated seolhee’s curiosity by telling her your entire year of scheduled rotations and by some twist of fate, your PICU rotation had commenced two weeks ago. with a fond tap of her nose that conceals the clenching sadness inside your heart, you joke, “you just like riding in the ambulance, don’t you?”
“maybe,” she grins innocently. “the sirens are pretty cool.”
despite the snort of amusement that leaves you, her answer is what truly makes your throat constrict and voice waver. your words are hardly audible–afraid to break down fully in front of your patient, in front of sweet seolhee–when you respond, “i knew it.”
but she is ever perceptive as she comforts, “don’t cry.”
“i’m not,” you shamelessly counter, even as heat starts to pool around your eyes, and the both of you laugh at your absurdity. but in certain situations if you do not laugh, the only other option will be to cry and you cannot have that because that would be unprofessional–neither would you be able to stop–so you will wait until you are only in the presence of your boyfriends to let yourself go.
sleep starts to take over seolhee again and she drowsily blinks at you, energy depleted from her infection, cancer and the numerous drugs pumping throughout her battered body. she sinks herself a little deeper into her crinkly mattress and fights off her closing eyelids just long enough to tell you once more, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”
it is already nearing the end of summer now despite the unchanging pristine whiteness of winter within the hospital walls. yet, you cannot bear to point that out, not when you were so close to losing her phrase of affection forever.
her eyes close and you watch the steady rhythm of her chest rising and falling. thank god she is alive.
your prayer comes from y/n, but the bitter resentment at the irony of those five words comes from doctor l/n. your entire life is dedicated to saving the lives of others, yet time and time again you are forced to wonder just how much power you truly have as a doctor in the face of fate and the gods above; where it makes you wonder whether your efforts and sacrifices will always be in vain if your patient is somebody whose time on earth has just simply run out.
and it appears that you are not the only person weighed down by the harsh insecurities of your career today. yeosang’s knees are drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them as he sits on the floor against the wall of the storage room you two are hiding in, mere hours later after your turbulent morning with seolhee.
“he was our age,” yeosang finally murmurs after a few minutes of silence. “he was admitted for a suspected brain tumour only because a sudden headache caused him to lose consciousness.”
whereas seolhee had been a case of could have–she could have died–there are cases like yeosang’s patient. the would have lived; the what if and the if only.
yeosang’s chest shudders as he exhales, “he had had consistent migraines for months but he never did anything about them. he would’ve lived, otherwise. turns out it was a brain tumour all along and it ended up rupturing because it was left untreated…he didn’t survive the surgery.”
your boyfriend rarely cries and today is no exception either. yet the way he leans into your side for both physical and emotional support shows just how much his heart is hurting for this death. death is something you all learn to become accustomed to in the medical field, but desensitisation does not equate to immunity. there will always be ones that hit harder than others.
it is a harrowing death when the patient is close in age because it makes you think of yourself–of your friends, of your lovers–and it hurts that much more to think that it could have been any of those people. this morning has already left your emotions strung tight and heart vulnerable, and very quickly you can feel the same swell of tears threatening to demolish the walls you had hastily built to keep yourself collected.
you want to cry but then that would be taking away from yeosang’s hurt, so you will wait until you are home instead. for now, you tug yeosang into your arms, holding him steady against your chest as if that will support your own walls and keep them from crumbling.
by the time you get home after your shift, you are no more than a mere husk of yourself. you have drained every single reservoir of yours that holds your love, care and courage for your patients. all that is left are the fragile remnants waiting to break at the slightest touch. you trudge down the corridor to your room, muddled mind trying to recall whether san is home tonight to hold you in your sleep, when you walk past the partially-closed door to seonghwa’s bedroom.
instinctively, you glance inside. he lays listlessly on his bed, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, and you immediately know.
where there are the could haves and the would haves, there are also the should haves; the unjust, the young deaths. those that should not even be an existing phenomenon in the world no matter how cruel the devil may be–those who should have lived.
seonghwa, who wears his entire heart on his sleeve, has lost a PICU baby at work today.
for a split second, there is a shameful thought that suddenly infiltrates your mind–to continue walking past as if you had not seen him until you reach the confines of your own room. but you could never do that to any of your boyfriends, much less seonghwa. seonghwa, who treats each and every baby like his own, who hides in the bathroom to cry after he sees the parents hurting, whose love and empathy is a never-ending fountain of supply.
you knock softly on the door so as not to startle him then gently call out his name. it takes the door opening a little wider for him to realise you are stepping into his room and he immediately sits up, a small smile gracing his face at the sight of you despite the blotchiness of his skin.
“sorry, love. i didn’t notice you standing there,” he apologises.
you shake your head, heart clenching at the sight of him pretending to be okay. you walk closer to him until you can smooth down the back of his hair with kind hands. “do you want to talk?” you tenderly ask.
the tension releases in seonghwa’s shoulders and back as he sags, no longer keeping up his facade at the knowledge that you can see right through him. he looks up at you tiredly with his swollen eyes, “do you have time to talk?”
time you can always make. perhaps the question that should be asked is whether you have the capacity to talk…the emotional capacity. frankly, you do not. you yourself need to cry, whether for seolhee or out of mental exhaustion itself it does not matter anymore. but saying no would be putting your needs before his, and putting your needs after everybody else’s is all that you have known as a doctor, so you will wait until you are alone in the darkness under your bed covers to finally let yourself go.
for now, you rest seonghwa’s head in your lap and brush away his tears, soaking up the pain of his words into your own heart instead. only when his breathing evens out and he no longer stirs under your fingers do you finally ease yourself to lie down next to him, barely hanging on to the edges of your own consciousness. you fall asleep before your tears can even begin to gather underneath your closed eyelids.
that night, you dream of drowning–stifling lungs and gasping mouthfuls–until you eventually suffocate in silence and become swallowed by the black depths of the water. the pillow underneath your cheek is damp when you jolt awake, but whether it is from cold sweat or tears you do not know.
you are convinced dr nam’s job description includes making your life hell. no matter where your rotation takes place, the department head always manages to find fault in something you do…or do not do.
“do you know what our hospital prides itself in?” dr. nam asks rhetorically. “we are not simply a hospital–we are a family. we help each other out in times of need.”
there is a rising snort in your throat that threatens to reveal your cynicism, knowing that when the phrase ‘family’ comes from somebody of higher authority, it is just a cover-up of mock care for the employees. dr. nam continues to smile, not unkindly, but with obvious artificiality that makes it look dangerous as he asks, “so how come you are not helping out in the NICU? i know that the attending has asked you for help.”
overnight on-call shifts already have fewer staff rostered on than usual, but with one of the junior residents having called in sick, the NICU is currently understaffed. the attending physician had paged you earlier asking if you could help out with some of the routine admissions and write up the patient histories and physicals, but you had apologised and declined. for one, you are assigned to the PICU, two, you are the most senior resident on that shift and three, you have endless tasks with far higher priority to complete instead.
you struggle to keep the exasperation out of your voice, sick of being flagged for ridiculous reasons and much less when you are seventeen hours into your shift, “most of the NICU admissions were stable and did not require urgent attention. their H&Ps can be completed later when the juniors are back.”
“ah,” dr. nam nods his head condescendingly, “doctor l/n, you stick by the rules too much. where is your sense of comradeship for this family that we have at kq–if not the entire hospital, then at least within our own department? if i remember correctly, there was a similar incident with one of your past interns.”
it is absolutely ridiculous that even months later you are still being faulted for the central line incident with dr. lim. you stay silent, expression dark and jaw grinding no matter how hard you try not to let your frustration show.
“go help out in the NICU for an hour or two. i’m sure your own unit is relatively quiet right now,” he instructs. “remember, we’re a family that helps one another.” dr. nam’s grin grows wider, words dripping with saccharine honey that makes it impossible to refute.
“yes, doctor nam,” you respond through gritted teeth. double-checking you have your pager on you so that your actual ward can still reach you for emergencies, you take the elevator down to the NICU.
the next few hours are spent stretching yourself thin over both units as you run back and forth managing patients, answering questions, and most irritatingly, completing tasks that should really be allocated to juniors. it is not until you dazedly mistype the same word four times into the EMR that it registers in your groggy mind that it is already early in the morning, past the quiet time that is your usual window for a brief hour of sleep.
you inhale slowly until your chest is full then let out the longest sigh, your head tilted upwards, eyes closed and shoulders slouching as the world’s worth of resignation weighs down on you. it is 5:30AM, only five more hours–or three if you are lucky–left until the end of your shift. keeping your eyes shut for another few seconds, you recollect yourself to make it through the morning.
a resident appears in front of you, seemingly chipper as he stretches his arms above his head and jokes to a passing nurse that he had an amazing nap in the call room. the brief composure you had gathered immediately dissipates when you hear him. not only have you sacrificed your own sleep to help a unit that is not your own, but there are NICU residents who have taken the liberty to nap instead.
that’s it. you have done multitudes more than your duty requires you to do so. greeting the well-rested resident with a passive-aggressive smile, even if you are aware he is not at fault, you bid your farewell with the instruction, “tell your attending that doctor l/n has gone back to her own unit now.”
you punch the elevator’s number to your floor a little harder than intended, grateful that there is nobody else inside to hear your loud exhale of weariness and defeat. the floor display slowly flickers with higher numbers. maybe being back in the PICU will give you peace of mind.
the elevator doors open to directly reveal a ruckus beside the nursing station. “fucking hell,” you mutter to yourself, finally letting a curse slip through. “what now?”
“what do you mean you’re not a doctor?” a shrill voice cuts through the noise of the small huddle of people as you walk closer.
“i am a nurse, mrs ryeo, not a doctor,” somebody answers.
you could recognise his voice anywhere–it is wooyoung. your exasperation quickly turns into concern and you ease yourself through a few nurses so that you can reach your boyfriend.
mrs ryeo states, “but you’re a man.”
“that is an excellent observation, but unfortunately, that does not change my job qualifications.” despite wooyoung’s innate cheek, it does not usually appear when he is dealing with parents or the occasional adult patient, which tells you that this woman is either a repeating offender or has been kicking up a fuss for some time now.
“hello, mrs ryeo,” you intercept, stepping over to wooyoung’s side. “how can i help you?”
the middle-aged lady scans you up and down with disdain before scoffing, “i don’t want a nurse; i want a doctor.”
your patience has long been running on thin ice and if you did not care about your career, you would turn around, walk two steps away, then twirl around with a curtsey whilst introducing yourself as doctor l/n just to fuck with her. at least wooyoung would laugh.
unfortunately, you do care about your career so you can only explain with a placating smile on your face that you are a doctor–a fourth-year resident at that. mrs ryeo ignores you in favour of rudely pointing and beckoning behind you. “hey, you,” she demands, “see my child.”
a glance over your shoulder reveals that she has pointed to one of your male interns. he does not make a move to step forward, warily gesturing back towards you as he explains, “she’s the senior resident on call right now.”
“i don’t want a fucking resident. i want a real doctor,” she opposes.
“mrs ryeo,” you grit your teeth, “he is my intern. i am a doctor–the most senior doctor currently on shift–”
“bullshit you’re the most senior doctor. i refuse to let you treat my child. i want a male doctor.”
your fingers flutter out to grasp the side of wooyoung’s scrubs, partially to ground yourself, but also because you know that he will not stand there and let you be disrespected. however, there is absolutely no way any of you will be able to talk some sense into her, so it is better to just save your breaths. “dr. ahn will not be in until this afternoon,” you simply state.
“then i’ll wait,” she snaps stubbornly.
you nod, “as you wish. i’ll let him know.” you walk away and the nurses take that as their cue to disperse and continue with their duties now that the situation has been somewhat diffused.
wooyoung follows you aside to where there are less people. “you okay?” he asks, searching your eyes.
with a dismissive shrug you answer, “you get used to it,” then change the topic to gently remind, “document it on the EMR that she refused to be seen and then fill out an incident report.”
wooyoung nods but continues to look at you unconvinced. “do you finish at seven today? i’ll wait for you,” he offers.
“no,” you grimace, “i probably have to wait until the morning rounds are over. you go home first.” a soft laugh escapes from you when your boyfriend’s eyebrows knit together and you reassure, “i’m fine, really. i should get back to work. i’ll see you at home, woo.”
you turn around before his expression or any further questions can weaken your resolve. from somewhere near the nursing station, you know that mrs ryeo is still staring at you scathingly. breaking down now in any shape or form would only serve to fuel her misogynistic prejudices. so you hold your head up high, pretend that this is just any other day, then continue with the remainder of your shift telling yourself that nothing can make you break.
it is nearing eleven in the morning by the time you get home. your feet mechanically take you to your doorstep and your hands slide the cover of the keypad lock upwards to tap in the number code, mind dissociated from your heart and the rest of your body. like water and hot oil, you keep them separated, otherwise dwelling on how they feel together will inevitably lead to a sudden outburst of emotion.
you feel yourself being dragged back to your senses, automatically tuning in to the rowdiness that increases in volume when you open the door. it is one of those rare sundays where more than half of you are home together. there are shouts of teasing banter, cabinets closing shut and the clink of glassware being washed. vaguely, you can also hear a passionate squabble between two of your boyfriends over something trivial.
whereas before, coming home to your boys would have cooled down your bubbling oil, today they feel like the water you are trying to keep away.
“i swear it wasn’t me,” you hear.
san’s voice is slightly muffled as he teases back, “yeah, whatever you say, yunho.”
you slowly walk into the open living room from where you can also see the kitchen. the countertop surface is covered with plastic bags, groceries for nine spilling out from them as jongho systematically pulls the cold items out to hand them over to san. said boyfriend has his body halfway inside the fridge whilst yunho holds the door open by leaning on it with his weight.
“it’s true! i didn’t drink any this week,” yunho defends himself. “y/n didn’t buy them!”
you falter at the mention of your name. without the context of the conversation, you are suddenly left wondering whether you had messed something up.
“speak of the devil,” yeosang announces, spotting you as he returns from the bathroom. he comes up and gives you quick squeeze in greeting.
yunho perks up at the sight of you. “perfect! let me prove it to you,” he tells san. determined to attest his supposed innocence over something that you still do not know what, your tallest boyfriend turns to face you and asks, “did you restock our protein shakes last week?”
you frown with an unintelligent stutter as you try to recall the sudden information. last week, you had gone out to get some fresh groceries but had suddenly been called in for a shift, so you had had to give up on everything you did not deem as essential. san and yunho’s shakes, unfortunately, did not make the cut.
“no, i–”
“see!” yunho exclaims, whipping around to face san again before you can finish the rest of your sentence. his tone is triumphant as he reiterates, “i told you it was y/n who was the culprit, not me!”
san chuckles with fondness at the other, “okay, you’re forgiven.”
a bitter taste immediately spreads throughout your mouth along with the flaming heat that now covers your cheeks. you cannot tell whether it is anger or embarrassment–perhaps both–but it feels as though the water you have been holding off has suddenly been poured over you.
“why didn’t you go buy them yourself, then, if you knew i didn’t,” you question yunho curtly.
he looks at you with a grin, “because you were meant to buy them and then i didn’t have time to go.” his words are stated as a matter-of-factly with absolutely no intentions to insinuate anything apart from his reasons as to why he did not buy the protein shakes himself.
but you do not hear yunho and his playfulness that you normally indulge in–you hear dr. nam instead belittling your time and you also hear mrs ryeo with her condescending contempt, and now that you are no longer at work, you fail to reign yourself in. you snap before you even realise how heated your words are, “yeah, and i have all the time in the world.” you throw out sarcastically, “next time, why don’t i also mix your shakes, wait on my knees and hold the straw up to your lips while you drink them during your workouts.”
your boyfriends stare at you with wide eyes, silence deafening after the near-shout your voice had risen to by the end of your sentence. you let out a shaky exhale, suddenly sober. you no longer bubble and boil inside, emotions down to a simmer now, but still they remain unsteady and suddenly leave you with overwhelming exhaustion.
“sorry,” you mutter under your breath, “forget i said anything.”
pivoting on the balls of your feet, you escape to your own bedroom, ignoring the concern on wooyoung’s face from where he has woken up and stuck his head out of his own room at the commotion. you shut your door and then sit heavily on the edge of your bed, elbows resting on your knees and head buried in your hands.
“fuck,” you hiss, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes to stop yourself from crying. you are so frustrated–at everything that has happened today, at how you reacted, at the fact that you cannot seem to understand what you are feeling or what you want anymore.
you are going to have to talk to your boyfriends and apologise later, but for now, you just need to be alone.
only a few minutes pass before there is a soft knock on your bedroom door. you make no move to acknowledge the sound. neither do you make a noise of rejection though, so the boyfriend outside your door takes it as his cue to walk in.
“y/n?” he calls out hesitantly.
at the sound of his voice, you immediately look up. it is yunho looking like a kicked puppy, unable to bear any sort of conflict between any of you no matter how big or small the matter. you stand up but stay close to your bed. your heart wants to tug you closer towards your boyfriend yet your feet stay glued to their spot.
“y/n…” he starts again, “i–sorry, i didn’t mean for you to feel as though i was blaming you.”
you shake your head, “it’s fine, i know you didn’t.”
“that still doesn’t change the fact that i hurt you,” yunho expresses, taking a step closer towards you.
“no, i should be the one apologising–sorry. what i said to you was completely uncalled for,” you admit.
“hey, no. i didn’t come for an apology,” he looks at you with rounded eyes, now close enough to grasp you gently by your arms. yunho’s voice is soft as he says, “i’m worried about you. you don’t normally lash out like that…what’s wrong?”
everything.
“nothing,” you answer, avoiding his gaze.
he continues to probe, “are you sure? is it something to do with work?” when you remain quiet, he starts to guess, “...or is it us–”
“it’s work,” you cut him off before he can turn his words into a real question. “work has been tiring. i just–give me a bit of time.” you pat yunho’s hand placatingly, subtly easing your arms out of his grasp at the same time. you do not deserve his affection right now.
he fumbles awkwardly, unease stringing his body tight as his eyes scan yours. “we’ll talk later then?” he eventually concludes, verbally reaching out one more time to see if you want to take it.
“later,” you confirm softly, a small smile gracing your lips that does not reach the rest of your face. “i’m going to catch up on some sleep now.”
“ah, right. you were on call. sleep well then,” yunho concedes. he walks out of your room, gingerly closing the door behind him.
you have barely grabbed a fresh set of pajamas and underwear to quickly rinse yourself in the shower when there is another knock on your door. it takes a lot of energy not to sigh but to open the door instead where you discover san and jongho standing in the corridor with twin expressions of concern.
“did yunho talk things out with you?” san asks as jongho simultaneously says, “how are you feeling?”
you know that they have good intentions checking up on you, but you really just want to be left alone. your own thoughts and emotions are already equivalent to a crowd themselves. “yeah, yunho and i are fine. i’m fine, just tired. thanks for asking and sorry for shouting earlier,” you apologise, because you owe them that much at the very least. then you try and dismiss them before they can ask anything else, “a shower and some sleep will do me good.”
they glance down when you lift up your hand and they see the clothes you hold. jongho knows better than to push, so he places his own hand on san’s back in silent meaning whilst answering on their behalf, “you’re right. we’ll let you sleep. do you want us to wake you up for dinner?”
you smile a little more genuinely but still shake your head. “i’ll eat something before i leave for work tomorrow.”
although san has a lot to say to that, he holds his tongue and lets himself be guided back to the kitchen with jongho’s hand still on him. “let her have some time alone first. she’ll eat if she’s hungry,” the younger reassures him and san can only nod and hope that rest is all that you need. he cannot shake off the feeling that there is much more to it than you are letting on.
you hop into the shower, rinse and dry off and brush your teeth within ten minutes. sleep is your only reprieve now–the only time you do not need to think or feel–and you rush through your routine before you can start coming to conclusions about the whats and whys to the problems in your life. finishing up in the bathroom you go back to your own room, startling when you open the door and are greeted by the sight of wooyoung waiting on your bed.
“you okay?” he asks as soon as he sees you.
annoyance starts to grind your gears no matter how hard you try to remind yourself that your boyfriends are purely looking out for you. but concern has its limits before it starts to become overbearing and when they keep asking one after the other, you are unable to appreciate their efforts.
“i’m fine,” you respond tersely, words no longer genuine after how many times you have repeated them to questions you have heard on loop.
“are you sure? i know you had a rough day at work with mrs ryeo and–”
“wooyoung,” you finally interrupt, “just drop it. please.”
his expression falls and you immediately regret your words. but what’s done is done and the list of people you are hurting today only seems capable of growing–what is one more person on the list? wooyoung stands up and leaves your room with a quiet, sorry, and you do nothing to stop him.
hearing the door shut behind you, you walk over to where the curtains are pulled aside to let the afternoon sunlight of autumn filter in. all the curtains in the bedrooms are blackout curtains, the first additions to the apartment from day one of your careers. you draw them closed, shutting out the sunlight and plunging your room into darkness.
at last, you slide into bed. the screen of your phone lights up as you plug it into your charger and you find a text from yeosang and one from seonghwa just a few minutes ago, but you do not open them. you clear your notifications before you can even read the previews and put your phone on ‘do not disturb’. making sure your alarm is set for tomorrow’s shift, you switch the screen off and shove it under your pillow.
you close your eyes. you have a long list of people to work things out with before you can truly say that you are fine. but there is one thing you fail to realise as you finally fall asleep. the name at the very top of the list is not one of your boyfriends’–
it is your own.
the incident ends up being swept under the rug. you wake up that next morning an hour before your first alarm goes off, lying in the muted hours of dawn before the world starts to stir with the shadows on the ceiling of your bedroom twisting and warping like creatures.
your entire body is filled with an inexplicable sense of dread at the thought of the day ahead. it is not solely due to what happened yesterday between you and your boyfriends. there are a multitude of contributing factors but frankly, you fear dwelling on them and finding out just what percentage of your anxiety stems from the boys. unable to fall asleep and not entirely ready to face anybody yet, you decide to leave for your shift early.
the drive to the hospital feels particularly dystopian today. no matter what season the streets transition into over the year–regardless of the brilliant vibrance of autumn that has blanketed the ground for the last two months–it unfailingly turns back into the perpetual state of sterile winter once you are inside the hospital. it has never been something that you have dwelled on, but now it seems to be the truest reflection of your current self–a mere utopian facade hiding what is inside your walls.
you return nurse aeri’s enthusiastic greeting upon walking into the PICU with chirpiness that your weekend was great. you gasp with animated reactions at the story little siwoo tells you when you reach his room during your morning rounds. you comfort mr and mrs chae with graceful compassion and warm smiles when you tell them their daughter can finally be discharged. not a single person would look at you and think that something is wrong, and yet, you feel like you are simply a ghost of your emotions, detached and distant from your own words and actions. not even the news of seolhee stabilising enough to be transferred out of the PICU back to the paediatric oncology ward gives you the same genuine spike in emotions you would have felt a week ago.
the brief encounters with seonghwa around the unit and the brief glimpses of san and wooyoung around the department do nothing to alleviate your blanket of anxiety because they are a visual and physical reminder of the cavernous pit in your stomach. you end up going home after your shift with a tightness in your chest that has gradually become suffocating at the thought of being confined in the same space as your boyfriends, wondering if they are expecting you to talk to them; the conversation you had brushed off yesterday.
you are not ready yet and you do not want to talk, so instead you do what you do best–walk through the threshold of your front door with a plastered expression of neutrality as though nothing has happened the day before. but to your surprise–whether pleasant or bitter, however contradictory that may be, you cannot tell–they too appear to skirt around the issue.
there is a restless buzz in the air as yunho portions dinner out into separate bowls for those who are at home. hongjoong is hunched over his laptop with concentration at the dining table as usual, zeroed in on his presentation even amongst the bustle of yeosang and jongho setting the cutlery around him, but the jitters in his legs tell you differently. when he spots you walking closer, he shuts his laptop and places it to the side to greet you.
“seonghwa made ramen bulgogi for us before he left,” he tells you while you wash your hands at the sink and peer into the pot yunho is holding.
you gingerly slide into the seat across from hongjoong, watching yeosang dawdling in the kitchen as if he is trying to find something to keep himself busy with. “i thought he wasn’t rostered on for night shift today,” you absentmindedly comment.
jongho places your bowl of ramen in front of you and sits to your right as he answers, “he had to cover for one of the other nurses.”
you nod, waiting for the two in the kitchen. yunho comes to sit on your other side at the head of the table and yeosang beside hongjoong, their bowls placed down with a clunk that leads to silence in conversation.
“how’s your presentation going?” yunho vaguely asks hongjoong after a few minutes.
the older picks at his meat in his bowl, “it’s going alright. i only have the limitations and future directions for neurological gene therapies left to research.”
there is another lull in conversation before jongho asks, “did your surgeries go smoothly today?”
yunho nods, “i led a couple of trauma surgeries today. only one of them ended up going overtime.”
“you’re going to surpass the other doctors soon, doctor jeong from general surgery,” you tease slightly.
the boys share a few chuckles before the table falls silent once more and you can only hear the occasional slurp of noodles or clatter of chopsticks against the bowl. you glance at hongjoong, who is scratching the back of his neck, then at yeosang, whose gaze you can see darting around his bowl like he is avoiding eye contact. shifting your weight slightly in your chair, you suddenly start to realise why they are all acting so awkwardly.
it is not that your boyfriends are trying to skirt around yesterday’s fallout–if you can call it that–like you are. instead, they are waiting for you to be the one initiating the conversation so that they know for sure you are ready to have the conversation. the sentiment is appreciated but it does nothing to stop your muscles from clamming up even further.
the thought of talking and even just thinking about why you are feeling the way you are is enough to overwhelm you entirely again. it is much easier to simply pretend you are okay than to face the problems head on, because then you have to actually acknowledge that something is wrong. but you know that it is not just one issue but several things exacerbating one another, and just that awareness in itself already makes your insides lurch and clench dangerously.
there is one sole advantage to your boyfriends’ approach to handling this situation. the timeline of when to talk is left up to you, so you choose the one option they had failed to preempt–not to talk at all. you finish your ramen in silence pretending you do not see the shared glances between the boys, get up to place your dishes into the sink ignoring the gazes that linger on your back, then retreat to your bedroom whilst shoving your emotions into the deepest corners in the back of your mind.
they gave you a choice. you simply made one.
the weeks pass by. you change through another rotation and the beginning of winter arrives once more. the only thing that stays the same is the elephant in the room that remains unaddressed and your lonely fight to keep it that way.
restlessness seeps into every interaction that the boys share with you. it follows you to work, jongho and yunho making excuses to go to your ward just to see what you are doing even though their own wards are on the other side of the hospital. it is in the way san tries to swap himself onto night shifts the days he knows you are working one as well, and in how seonghwa liaises with your colleagues under the guise of his role as the CNS, simply to probe whether you are overexerting yourself or not.
it follows you home too, a constant breathing down your neck in the form of mingi carefully scanning your expression the moment you walk through the door after your shift, and in yeosang hovering within five feet regardless of where you are. wooyoung checks the fridge first thing after coming home, counting the boxes of meal prep to make sure you had taken one to work that day, and hongjoong asks how your day was with the intention of probing further to ask how you are coping. he is not the only one who tries to check and your answer never changes–work was good, you are fine.
gradually, you find yourself trying to avoid their line of sight, ducking behind colleagues on the wards or back into your own bedroom at home. it is easier to pretend that you are okay than to admit that you are not, and when that does not work, to just stay away from your boyfriends completely. you are well aware that avoiding them is not healthy, but smokers too know very clearly the health risks of tobacco yet continue to smoke. just how many things are there in the world that we know are unhealthy for ourselves–physically, mentally, socially–and we still choose to make that decision?
but as with any unhealthy choices, they eventually lead to detrimental consequences. unbeknownst to you, each denial of help causes the string inside of you to wind up tighter and tighter until it becomes taut enough to snap at any moment.
and that is what ends up happening on a wednesday night.
seonghwa and wooyoung are both still at the hospital. by the time they get home after their shifts, it will already nearly be time for dinner, so with everybody’s first preferences for cooks still working, you are the next in line. hongjoong had originally offered to order takeout instead since you had been on call last night, but you had been unable to fall asleep despite how exhausted you felt and you hated being stuck in the limbo state of idleness between rest and non-rest.
“are you sure you don’t want us to just order takeout today?”
“it’s fine, hongjoong,” you respond shortly, “i’ve already started cooking.”
yeosang sits at the countertop separating the kitchen from the open living room and dining area, watching as you make a simple soup and stir-fried dish. you try to ignore his intent staring but it is difficult when his gaze quite literally follows you from cupboard to sink to stove. it is only when he hesitantly asks, “are you okay?” that you realise you have left your expression unschooled, dark frown covering your face.
you force your features to relax and nod, trying not to throw a question back at him asking what he is doing just staring at you. his question catches the attention of san sitting on the couch, who calls out to check up on you, “is something wrong?”
“nothing’s wrong,” you sigh, turning around as if that will help to block them out, aware that your patience for them–for anybody–has started running thin. you idly hum at san’s reminder to ask them for help if you need it despite knowing fully well that having an extra person in the kitchen space would only serve to have the opposite effect to its intended purpose.
jongho passes by behind you to fill up a cup of water at the sink. as he waits, he glances at you stirring the pot before double taking at your expression. he tentatively questions, “you alright? do you want me to help?”
“why do you keep asking me that?” you reply, only half-jokingly. you drive him out with an irritated wave of your hand, “just sit and wait.”
your boyfriends are at least tactful enough to understand they are not to step foot into the kitchen until dinner is cooked, but it does nothing to alleviate the sensation of holes being drilled into the back of your head. you are so focused on ignoring them that you do not realise when seonghwa and wooyoung come home from their shifts.
“hey, love,” seonghwa sidles up to you in the kitchen as you slice some extra spring onions. “how’s your day been?”
as he asks you, he comes up from behind and slides a hand around your hip to rest on it. his touch is habitual–something he always does to you and the boys–but you are tense and on edge. you jerk in surprise, accidentally slicing your finger with the knife. it is only a small cut and absolutely unintentional on your boyfriend’s part, but your fuse finally runs out and you drop the knife with a clatter, whirling around angrily to face him.
“can you fucking stop doing that?” you snap, tone clipped and unkind.
seonghwa flusters, trying to apologise and look at your injury whilst simultaneously jerking backwards in confusion at your hostility. he stutters, “i–y/n, are you okay? i didn’t mean to surprise you–”
“no, that’s not it,” you interrupt, blind to the stinging in your finger. “i mean your fucking questions, and not just from you. all of you.” you lash out at the other boys too who have now stood up and are varying distances from the kitchen. “every single fucking day you ask me if i’m okay. can you please stop that?”
san slowly walks closer until he reaches the countertop that separates the both of you. “y/n,” he calls out to you sadly, your sudden anger uncharacteristic, “we’re just worried about you. we want to make sure that you’re okay.”
“i know you do,” you cry out with exasperation, heat starting to gather behind your eyes, “and i’m trying to be okay, alright? i’m trying for everybody’s sake. but you make it so fucking hard when each and every single one of you keep asking me how i’m feeling as if you want me to fucking break down.”
“that’s not what we’re trying to do,” hongjoong tries to reason with you, but you are unable to rationalise anything in the spur of the moment.
you desperately blink back tears. “i’ve tried to pretend that everything is okay–pushed everything to the back of my mind so that i don’t think about it and hope that it resolves itself…but it’s not working.” you take a shaky breath, lips quivering and voice quieting with every word, “i’m just one person at home and i’m just one person at work. i am so fucking tired all the time.”
“but you aren’t just one person. you can tell us and we can help you.”
you do not even register who says that, because your eyes blur with wetness and your voice increases with frustration, “no, i can’t. when you’re tired, when you’re exhausted, you don’t have the time or the energy to ask for help, much less to fight for yourself. you think i haven’t thought about complaining to you guys and letting myself cry in your arms? or escalating whatever happens at work to the higher-ups? i know what i should do, but it’s all useless.
“when you are about to be caught in an avalanche and buried alive, do you remember to ignore your instincts and run horizontally instead of attempting to outrun it? do you remember to keep your mouth shut to stop yourself from choking on snow? or to use your arms and legs to create air pockets for yourself, or to spit and use its trajectory to work out which way is up and down after you’re disorientated? no, you fucking don’t, because in the moment you can only focus on surviving. there is no time to do anything but that.”
your boyfriends are stunned into silence, not only by the bitter resentment that coats your loud voice and mars your face with furrowed eyebrows, but by the raw confession that tumbles out of your lips. they had known you were tired recently, just not the extent of it.
the tone of your words soften with exhaustion and heartache as you look them in the eyes one by one, “just think about ourselves…things aren’t the same between us anymore, don’t try to deny it. we don’t love each other like we used to. things have changed between us this year–it’s just that nobody has brought it up.” the tears that have pooled around your eyes finally slip down your cheeks. “and you know why? it’s because we’re all just trying to survive now. we don’t have the time or the luxury to do anything but survive.”
there is no thought that can be formulated in response to your words. seonghwa opens his mouth but then shuts it again because he knows you are right. it is ugly, but it is the truth.
having been in a relationship together for over four years now, not even including the turbulent years prior to becoming official when you were all navigating the hardships of medical school, your bonds are built upon the foundation of comfort and understanding. but what happens when that comfort turns into complacency, and understanding turns into indifference? what happens when time runs its course and wears down a relationship?
you avert your eyes downwards, the lines of the kitchen tiles blurry underneath your feet as your vision mists over, afraid to look at the sad gazes of your boyfriends any longer. there is a sudden thump of body colliding against the wall and a muffled curse that draws everybody’s attention, including yours, towards the corridor. mingi’s head snaps upwards with guilty eyes from where he had been trying to slink his way in from the front door unnoticed before accidentally stubbing his toe.
your body makes a split-second decision with the diversion. you push past seonghwa in the kitchen, past san and yeosang at the countertop and mingi by the wall, and past the rest of your boyfriends just standing there, back into the safety of your bedroom. it is from years of muscle memory navigating the apartment that you do not walk head-first into anything despite your vulnerable state, although your boyfriends also step out of your way in stunned stupor.
fumbling for the edge of the door behind you with your hand the moment you walk past the threshold to your bedroom, you step backwards until you are able to push it closed. it shuts with a loud click and then finally, you are alone.
you slowly sink forward to the ground, legs useless as your hands reach out towards the floor to hold yourself up. the world around you continues to blur with wetness, a stinging heat behind your eyes and nose, yet the tears do not fall and you do not cry. your gaze remains unfocused on the spot right beside the leg of your bed, frozen in your own stupor of tangled thoughts and emotions.
time, fucking time. you despise that word with your entire soul. in this world, the ones who are truly rich are not those with endless wealth to spare–the ones who are truly rich are those with endless time to spare.
when was the last time you drank freshly-brewed coffee at a cafe instead of guzzling down the grainy staleness of a rushed instant coffee that has not even been mixed properly? when was the last time you sat down for a knife-and-fork meal with warm food instead of popping a mint into your mouth to stave off your hunger pains for a little longer? when was the last time you went shopping for a pretty dress and a cute pair of matching heels instead of sniffing your scrubs at the end of a shift wondering whether you can postpone the laundry for one more day? when was the last time you used shampoo and conditioner when washing your hair instead of simply rinsing it under the water before your eyes closed on themselves?
they are such simple tasks of everyday life, yet they have now become unattainable luxuries in the face of insufficient time. you deliberately sacrifice the quality of your life to save a few extra minutes here, a few extra minutes there. but no matter how much time you are able to scrape out of thin air, it slips through the cracks of your fingers like fine sand and disappears amongst the people around you. even one spare minute, if you have any leftover after prioritising your patients, must be somehow split between the eight of your boyfriends.
you can save however much time you can, but it will never be enough. you are not enough.
the knotted twist of anxiety that has been distorting your insides for the past few weeks suddenly unravels with shattering clarity as your fears suddenly weigh you down with crushing exhaustion. you cannot even take care of yourself anymore–how can you take care of your boyfriends, much less eight of them? you want everything to just stop, but what exactly ‘everything’ entails, you have no idea.
there is a soft hand on your shoulder squeezing tenderly. it is warm, you idly think to yourself. they murmur, “y/n,” and only when they squeeze you again do you dazedly look up, blinking to clear your vision. mingi’s round eyes gaze at you and you find him kneeling beside your crumpled form on the floor of your bedroom. you have no energy to acknowledge him further than another blink and prolonged eye contact.
he stares at you for a few seconds, eyes full of words that he holds back, before simply asking, “have you showered yet?”
you do not answer, but he had not questioned you with the intention of receiving an answer. he responds for you, “probably, but i doubt you washed your hair. come,” his hand slowly travels down from your shoulder to your smaller hand, “take a shower with me.”
mingi’s gaze does not waver despite the slight narrowing of your eyes that tells him you are tired and unamused. “i stink and i want your company,” he states. then he makes the decision for you and tugs you upwards with him. despite his strength, mingi’s hands are gentle as he holds you, leading you out of your bedroom and into the bathroom instead.
you stand there and let him guide your arms through your jumper so that he can take it off your head. he does the same with your shirt, your pants and with your undergarments, his touch intimate and loving not with sexual desires but with devoted care as if he is afraid you will crack under the slightest of pressures. his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps where they brush against your skin and your eyes close with the softest of sighs, letting yourself relax under your boyfriend’s careful movements.
the bathroom begins to steam up from the spray of hot water and mingi steps you into the shower with him. quietly, he wets your hair and lathers his shampoo into it, sturdy hands massaging the tension out of your scalp and the nape of your neck. you watch the concentration in his creased brows and the water that drips down from his chin falls between your chests. not once does he look at you–only focuses on properly shampooing your hair.
it is only when mingi is rinsing your hair and you are no longer facing him do you pluck up the courage to speak delicately, “why aren’t you asking me if i’m okay?”
he is silent for a few seconds and you feel the slight pause in his hands against your scalp before he continues to run his fingers through your hair. “do you want me to ask?”
once again, you do not answer, but that is an answer in itself.
“plus,” mingi softly murmurs, hands leaving your hair, the click of a bottle cap opening resounding in the echo of the bathroom louder than his voice, “you’ll just say that you’re okay…even though you’re not.”
then the touch of his fingers returns as he teases something cold into your hair from its roots to its ends. almost immediately, you choke up and your expression crumples, lips trembling downwards as your eyebrows furrow, because mingi is putting conditioner in your hair. it is embarrassing that this of all things is what finally marks your breakdown, but mingi does not comment when your shoulders shudder with shaky exhales nor when you fail to hold in a stuttering sob. he lets you cry out your sorrows, pain and fatigue and he simply continues to massage the conditioner into your hair.
mingi simply continues to love you in the way that you did not love yourself.
when your hair is rinsed, only then does he turn you around to face him. under the showerhead with only the comforting tranquility of water pattering against the tiles around the both of you, he softly tilts your chin upwards to capture your lips in a kiss. it is a slow but simple kiss, lips pressed against yours with a thousand utterances of comfort and reassurances dancing across them.
he gives you one kiss, then another, and another, each one sweeter than the previous despite the salty tracks that run down your cheeks. your hands find their way onto his chest and the steady beat of his heart thrums underneath your palm. mingi rests your foreheads together, your tears falling in solitude with the water and with the tears that fall from inside his heart.
finally, he asks, “is it work?”
you shake your head slightly. “i don’t know.”
“is it us?”
the tears that had slowed down reappear with a strangled sob as you answer truthfully, your fears emerging at least, “i don’t know.”
“that’s okay, you don’t have to know,” he whispers, “and you don’t have to be okay.” he pulls away a little so that he can cradle your jaw with his hands and look into your eyes. “take the day off tomorrow, y/n.”
you do nothing to stop the tears that continue spilling over the bottom of your eyes as you shakily answer, “i don’t have time. my patients need me.”
“you do have time,” mingi counters, thumbing your tears away. “you just haven’t been spending that time on yourself. even doctors get sick, you know.”
“i’m not sick,” you deny.
your boyfriend pulls you into his chest and encases you in a protective embrace. “physically, maybe not. but your mental health is just as important, and sometimes the things that you can’t see inflict more suffering than the things that you can see.”
it is something that you all know and understand, but when you are trapped in a workplace where the mentality revolves entirely around a medical model of physical health, the disparity in value you place between your physical and mental health becomes so deeply ingrained it is almost impossible to change.
“mingi, what if…” you trail off. your boyfriend nuzzles the top of your head with his chin before brushing his lips over the crown of your forehead in encouragement. you swallow thickly to continue, “what if i need time alone?”
mingi pulls away from you once more, slowly so as not to further upset your already-scattered emotions. he looks at you earnestly, considering your words and their meaning–whether he is understanding your undertone correctly and whether this is a genuine request for respite or a spur-of-the-moment cry for reassurance. he watches your eyes flicker back and forth between his own.
“if that’s what you need,” he finally whispers, wrapping you closer in his arms again, “then i’ll support you no matter what.”
he feels your small puff of surprise against his chest and it pierces through his heart like a sword. how he wishes that you would realise that he and any of your other boys would pluck all the stars in the universe’s galaxies if you were to ask for them. but instead, you are asking him in a small and timid voice, “you’re not upset? the others won’t be upset?”
mingi chooses his next words carefully, aware that they could easily be misunderstood but also unwilling to treat you like a child where the world is only full of happy endings. not that you believe that anymore, anyway. “we will be upset,” he gently breaks to you, “but only at the situation that we're in because things have ended up like this before we could even really do anything for you. y/n, we will never be upset at you in this situation, much less upset at the decisions you choose to make. if time is what you need, then take however much time you need.”
you do not have the courage to lift up your head to meet his eyes, shame starting to creep through your veins because what if this decision is simply a decision to run away yet again? but then mingi senses your doubts and draws you in for another kiss. he captures your lips between his, pressing against you a little harder when you both start to run out of breath. he draws it out for longer until the kiss becomes dizzyingly and intoxicatingly blissful and fills your mind with thoughts of him and him only.
when you can finally inhale, the air swirls with a mix of his scent and the shampoo he had used. here, under the warm spray of water within the safe confines of the shower and mingi's arms, it may only be momentary but you are okay.
“can you tell the boys for me?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper. “i don't think i can tell them myself.”
mingi nods and the corners of his lips rise bittersweetly. “of course.”
so for the first time in four years since moving in with your boys, on a night that snows lightly but unceasingly, you pack a small bag of clothes and essential belongings…
and move out.
“good evening, doctor jeong from general surgery.”
the running joke between himself and the little girl in front never fails to draw a laugh of amusement out of yunho, who pretends to bow in formal greeting as he returns the acknowledgement, “good evening, kim seolhee from the paediatric ward.” when she giggles, he comments, “you look like you’re having a good day.”
seolhee grins and nods with excitement. not only does her expression look livelier, there is a slight healthy glow to her skin as well. “i was just telling doctor snowflake that they’re letting me go home for christmas next week before my next round of treatments start.”
at her words, there is no way to avoid eye contact with your boyfriend as his gaze automatically flicks over to where you are sitting beside her bed. ever since you moved out a few days ago into a friend’s rented apartment with a spare couch, your encounters with your boyfriends around the hospital have been…different.
a shift in dynamics was always going to be inevitable because it was–is–an action of request for space to think and just breathe, even though neither parties are truly mad or upset at one another. just as mingi had reassured you in the shower, it is simply the circumstances that have piled up and led to a consequence like so, and if you need time away from a contributing factor to sort your emotions out, there are absolutely no hard feelings. despite all this, your boyfriends cannot help but yearn to reach out and bring you back into their arms–to bring you back home.
yunho’s eyes soften the moment they lay upon you and he savours the sight of you today, unsure of when he will next see you around the hospital. “that’s so good to hear,” he says earnestly, “and i’m sure that news has made doctor snowflake’s entire week.”
he smiles at you warmly and this time you find yourself mirroring his expression, awkwardness taking a backseat because you know he is genuinely happy for both seolhee and you. the level of fondness and love you have for seolhee has long blurred past the usual level of care you would show to a patient on your caseload. she has spent more christmas’ in hospital than out, so to be able to spend these holidays at home is the greatest gift seolhee could receive and the greatest gift you could witness.
your boyfriend lingers around for a little longer, pushing his visit as long as he can without it being obvious that he does not actually have a reason to stay. eventually he says, “i better get back to work. enjoy your christmas at home, seolhee.”
she nods happily and then he looks at you. “i’ll see you–” yunho cuts himself off, holding back from finishing the sentence with ‘at home’. he corrects, “i’ll see you around.”
“see you,” you respond amiably, fingers fiddling with the hem of your scrubs as he walks out.
yunho only makes it a couple of steps away before he bumps into wooyoung making his evening rounds. they exchange brief conversation and you quickly avert your gaze when you see the taller of the two gesturing back into seolhee’s room. seolhee’s eyes dart between yours and the view outside her room before she points out, “it’s nurse woo!”
“really?” you lie, pretending you had not noticed. yunho has already walked off by the time you look back, so only wooyoung is looking at you. he makes no move to come into seolhee’s room. instead, he gives you a little wave with a hopeful smile. a small exhale of fondness leaves you as you return his gesture through the room’s window with a similar amount of restraint. however, it is enough to make your boyfriend break out into a beam, and then he goes running off.
seolhee is already staring at you when you turn to face her again. she raises an eyebrow. “are you and your boyfriends fighting?” she immediately asks.
her question makes you flinch with a sheepish smile, knowing that she would catch a whiff of it sooner or later–just not this fast. are you and your boys fighting? it is technically not a proper argument nor a proper break from the relationship, but there is the need to take a step back and rethink what certain things mean to you–to the boys–and what you want your life to look like.
you are not about to unload all of this onto the now seven-year-old girl with an ‘it’s complicated’ as your answer, so you opt for a simple, “yeah, kind of.”
seolhee shrugs and comments casually, “my parents used to fight all the time.”
you are reminded of her mother, mrs kim, who you have seen several times during visiting hours after that first meeting with her. you are also reminded of mr kim, her father who drops by whenever he can when he is not at work. they have been nothing but strong and supportive parents during seolhee’s battle with her cancer and you cannot reconcile that image of them with the image of constant arguing.
“what changed?” you probe curiously.
despite the smile on her face, the glimmer in seolhee’s eyes fade slightly. “i got diagnosed and then they realised that in the grand scheme of the universe, life is just too short not to spend every moment loving each other.” she turns to look outside the window on the other side of her bed. “we learnt a lot–love isn’t just about expensive outings and fancy gestures and impressive words because there are a lot of things that i can’t do that other normal kids and families can…we learnt that love is all about the small things too and those small moments in life are the things we truly end up cherishing, especially during the tough times.
“mum helps me pick out the colour of my bandanna when i want to wear one, and dad helps me hold the bucket up when i’m feeling sick. i pretend to hide my parents behind the curtains to see if the nurses will let us have an extra five minutes past visiting hours, and they will always smile and give us ten. we don’t always love each other the same way as other families do, but those are the things that we’ll remember the most.”
you look out the window with seolhee as you listen to her words. the snow has fallen lightly the entire day and now under the streetlights, the growing layer of snow glows brightly amongst the dimness of the winter night. you think back to your boys–the lack of dates and diminishing displays of love; how that had been one of the first indicators that something had changed in the relationship dynamics. then you also think back to those small gestures they had done for you; the silly notes, the coffees, the brief conversations, the meals, the break room hugs.
“it’s kind of like snow,” you murmur to neither yourself nor seolhee in particular. “you don’t notice it at first, and only when it starts to form a layer on the ground over time do you start to realise how much it has actually snowed.”
the moment those words leave your lips, you are suddenly reminded of how even those small gestures had gradually disappeared–how that too played a part in the shift in your romantic relationships. your tone is wistful, “then the snow melts and it's gone, just like that.”
seolhee looks back at you, considering your words thoughtfully. she hums for a moment before putting forward, “it melts, but does that change the fact that it snowed in the first place?”
the snowflakes continue to drift softly outside like butterfly wings. as beautiful as they are, there will come a time when they melt away, but the reality before your eyes right now is that they exist–they are there. it is snowing.
“no,” you reply, “it doesn’t.”
“then maybe it's up to us to remember that it snowed until it does snow again,” she smiles triumphantly, the innocence of her radiating beam so strikingly different to the clarifying wisdom she has suddenly dropped even if she does not know the true extent of the meaning her words hold to you. seolhee points at your name badge to drive her point home, “it's just like your badge. my sticker is gone now but that doesn't change the fact that it used to be there.”
your head flicks down immediately and you tilt your badge upwards so that you can get a good look it at. disappointment washes over you when you find that her words are true and her sticker is gone, so worn and loved that it has fallen off somewhere within the hospital. you have no idea when that occurred but it must have been today, because it was still there this morning when you touched it for comfort on your drive here. now, only the faint outline of its shape remains.
it should not hold as much sentimental value as it does, but the realisation that seolhee’s sticker is no longer with you makes you ask, like you the child and seolhee the adult, “can i have another one?”
her voice takes a rare tone of complaint as she grumbles, “i lost the sticker book when i moved back to this ward.”
“that’s a shame” you remark, as genuinely upset as the little girl beside you.
she lets out an endearing little sigh, then pats the back of her hand with her own. “that’s okay, you can look outside whenever you miss me. remember,” seolhee blinks at you earnestly, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”
you place your other hand over hers with a hint of a challenging smile. “and if it stops snowing?” you ask, testing the seemingly boundless wisdom that is hidden inside of her.
seolhee beams, answer so clear and obvious. “then count the stars in the sky.”
for the first time in his life, jongho is late.
his, san’s and yeosang’s mornings had all started off a little rough after the latter had rushed past the open door to the bedroom the other two were sleeping in together, dressed in his scrubs and puffer jacket ready to leave, only to double take at the sight of them still in bed. they had been woken up by yeosang’s frantic question, “jongho? don’t you have work today?”
san had groggily lifted his upper body off the bed as jongho jolted into a sitting position, trying to pull himself together. “what?” jongho’s brain had remained foggy no matter how alert he appeared in panic. “what time is it? what day is it today?”
“it’s six thirty,” yeosang had responded, san’s grunts of confirmation affirming the same. alarm had suddenly run through yeosang as doubt creeped into his own mind. “and it’s monday…isn’t it?”
“yeah,” san had confirmed again, voice thick with sleep.
jongho had been certain he did not have work. “i checked the whiteboard last night. my name’s not down for a shift,” he had stated, only to break out into cold sweat immediately afterwards with realisation. you are the only one who goes to all the effort to note down everybody’s shifts for the fortnight on the whiteboard–the very same one that has not been changed since you moved out.
“oh, shit,” jongho had cursed. “i do have work.”
and so for the first time in his life, jongho is late. he knows he only has himself to blame for relying on somebody else for something as important as when he has to show up for work, but for years that is how it has been. not once have you ever made a mistake with the erasable calendar, always taking meticulous care to check that all the shifts for each day are correct because it is the easiest way to help you all keep track of where everybody is for the day.
nobody asks you to update the whiteboard. you just do.
hongjoong realises the same thing in the wake of jongho’s rush to leave the house. he stands in front of the bathroom sink, his eyes half-closed as he brings his toothbrush up to his mouth, only to get a gross mouthful of plain bristles. it is still too early in the morning to swear so he sighs in resignation instead, “not again.”
he pulls the head of the toothbrush back out of his mouth to squeeze a glob of toothpaste on top. it is the third morning in a row that he has done this, still unaccustomed to your absence in the house. on the mornings you leave for work earlier than him–which is most days–you have always pre-squeezed his toothpaste for him, simply because you know it takes a little longer for the cogs in his head to start turning in comparison to your other boys.
hongjoong does not ask you to squeeze his toothpaste for him. you just do.
it is second nature to you, just as it is to hang wooyoung’s keys on the jacket hook by the front door so that he does not upturn the entire house looking for them like he has been for the past fifteen minutes. seonghwa follows hot on the younger’s heels flipping cushions back onto their spots on the couch, shifting trinkets on the kitchen counter back where they belong and closing all the cabinet doors that are swung open haphazardly.
“i never understand why you don’t just put your keys back onto the same hook whenever you get home,” seonghwa exhales.
wooyoung pointedly chooses not to respond to that, instead firmly stating, “i’m telling you, they were on the couch just last night."
“and why would you put them on the couch in the first place?”
“that’s besides the point,” the younger waves his words away carelessly, going back to the couch once more and sliding his hands along the cracks in case they slipped inside.
“how does y/n always manage to find your keys,” seonghwa runs his fingers through his hair.
“i don’t know,” wooyoung suddenly dampens, hands coming to a stop in the middle of the couch as he thinks of you knowing exactly where his keys are in the chaos of the house. “she just…does.”
and there are a lot of other things that you just do. when mingi saunters into the kitchen after dinner, feeling peckish but not for something unhealthy considering it is already close to bedtime, he pokes his nose into the fridge as san washes the dishes. the latter glances over his shoulder.
“you want me to cut you an apple later?” san offers.
mingi nods happily and requests, “without the skin?”
the older laughs, repeating his words, “without the skin.”
when mingi is handed a plate of neat apple slices ten minutes later, he finds himself subconsciously comparing them to the ones you will silently place into his hands after dinner before he even asks for them. san’s slices are the same in appearance–skinned and uniform–except he cuts them into thicker wedges than you do.
mingi takes a bite into one. the apple tastes sweet and tart across his tongue and yet he cannot help but think that the apples taste better when you cut them. whereas san cuts them into six slices, you cut them into nine; just something that you do.
later that night, yunho is again the last one to arrive home after his surgeries run overtime, save for seonghwa and yeosang on night shift. it is pitch black when he enters, bumping not only into the shoe cabinet but also an untucked dining chair as he fumbles his way in with his hands outstretched.
the night light that is usually plugged into the wall of the living room is not on to greet him in the dark hours past midnight today. the light was something you had insisted he buy, absolutely not because the design of the glowing mushroom cap was cute, but because you did not want anybody–read yunho–tripping flat onto their face coming home from a late shift. you are always the one to turn it on if you know one of them will be late, but this time there is no light…because there is no you.
yunho does not ask you to turn the light on for him. you just do. nobody asks you to do any of those small things for them, yet you just do, because that is your way of showing you see, your way of showing you care, and your way of showing you love.
a wave of longing washes over yunho, the sands of his heart already long damp from the moment you moved out. how he wishes he could just walk into your room right now and shelter your peacefully-sleeping form from the shadows of the night with a tender kiss, just like he used to.
but he cannot, not anymore, and he regrets more than anything not doing it while he could.
nurse yejin, the head of the paediatric emergency department, is just about to greet you as you walk up to the nursing station when she takes all but one look at you and points out, “you’re looking like shit this morning.”
from anybody else, that statement would have been insulting despite it being the truth. but nurse yejin has always been frank and blunt, not one to beat around the bush with the intent of getting to the root of problems as efficiently and effectively as possible. ‘head nurse things’, she had told you early on in your rotation.
you let out a laugh in response, although it probably looks like a grimace more than anything. “woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” you joke.
it is only true to a certain extent since you have not been sleeping on a bed but on a couch for the past six days, now counting seven. but ever since you moved out, you have woken up every morning feeling out of routine, standing in the middle of the unfamiliar living room disorientated and wondering whether you usually brush your teeth before changing into your scrubs or after, and whether you usually grab your socks before you pack your bag or right before you leave for work. you do not realise how mentally ingrained into your system your morning routine is, down to the number of steps your feet can take on autopilot and the exact placement of the items your hands can grab without looking, until your environment changes entirely.
the drive to the hospital is also different. it is only ten minutes longer than your usual commute and the streets all look similar under the covering of snow, yet it still throws you off, setting the tone as such for the remainder of the day.
this morning had been no exception–arguably worse–when you realised with frustration that you had no more clean scrubs to change into. you had forgotten to run a load of laundry the day before, leaving you with no choice but to borrow your friend’s clothes that were presentable enough for you to wear to work until you could change into a set of the hospital’s spare scrubs.
forgetting to do your laundry is no rare occurrence but it has never been an issue. how many times had you opened your wardrobe, uncertain whether you would find a set of wearable scrubs, only to be surprised by an ironed and neatly-hung set waiting for you? it has never been an issue until now, as realisation dawns upon you that one of your boyfriends has always looked out for you by ensuring you always had clean scrubs for work.
“you better snap out of it quick then, doctor l/n,” nurse yejin advises, words pulling you back to the present. “we have a thirteen-year-old male arriving in a few minutes with a first-time generalised tonic-clonic seizure. episode lasted for six minutes, now postictal but stable.”
your mind immediately shifts, focus zeroing in on the length of the seizure as the head nurse continues to provide you a handover of the paramedic’s call. you instruct, “notify the fellow or resident currently on call in paediatric neurology. tell them to be ready for immediate assessment.”
nurse yejin nods and reaches for the phone as you walk off briskly to prepare for the patient’s arrival. from behind, she watches you with a slight smirk of pride because there you are; fire lit up in your eyes once again. only, it is nowhere near as intense as it used to be.
for fire, too, has a life of its own. it is able to burn and burn and burn, engulfing whatever it can within its vicinity in order to keep itself alive and bright. but even the strongest of fires will eventually burn out into nothing but a wither of smoke if it does receive enough fuel to keep it sustained, whether sourced by itself or provided by those around it.
“you’re not eating?” your intern asks you, hours later.
you turn your head slightly towards her to show she has your attention, but you keep your eyes glued to the screen as you rapidly type up the notes for the seizure patient from this morning. “you go have lunch first,” you respond distractedly, not having realised it was already past one thirty. “i’ll eat in a bit.”
only, when it comes to three o’clock, a wrench having been thrown into the works by a sudden code blue, you realise you do not have a lunch to eat. “fuck,” you curse at yourself, hands digging into your bag once more in hopes of finding a stray protein bar. you knew you should have thrown in a couple of them last night while it was on your mind.
just like your scrubs, your lunch has never been an issue for you until now. once more, realisation is forced upon you as you wonder why not; san has always had an uncanny sixth sense that somehow alerts him each time you forget to stuff your lunchbox into your bag so that he can do it in your stead. on the days you forget and he leaves earlier than you, hongjoong is there to take it to work, personally finding you on the wards to deliver it to you.
sometimes, your lunch will be packed in a different container. when wooyoung makes a heavily-spiced or greasier dish, he portions some to cook with less chilli or seasoning specifically for you to take to work the next day because he knows your stomach is sensitive, especially when you are stressed or fatigued. today though, you have no choice but to grab something from the cafeteria.
even the instant coffee you quickly brew for yourself tastes particularly unpalatable and sand-like, a tricky feat considering how rock-bottom the standard already is. jongho has always somehow managed to make it taste bearable if he does not have time to order freshly-brewed coffee from the cafe. you think that maybe it is because he takes the extra minute that you do not to properly pre-dissolve the powder in some boiling water before diluting the coffee with the rest of the water. and jongho does do that, except the reality is that it tastes better simply because he is making it for you.
you find your mind incessantly churning as your day continues in a similar manner–sudden awareness of all the different ways your boyfriends have been looking out for you. it shadows you from the hospital back to your friend’s apartment, which is pitch black when you get back after your shift. your friend had texted you earlier that she would be out drinking with friends and unlikely to return before the morning, so when you unlock the door, you are greeted by nothing but deafening silence and apocalyptic stillness.
using the display of your lockscreen to illuminate a path, you toe off your shoes and sluggishly trudge into the living room. you have never come home to complete blackness before–one of your boyfriends, usually yunho, has always made sure to keep a night light on for you. but this time, the lonely gloom of your friend’s apartment beckons to you in a way that is hauntingly comforting. so instead of turning its lights on, you sit down heavily on the couch in the darkness.
the night seems colder than usual.
you lean back onto the cushions of the couch and stare blankly at the ceiling above. the display on your phone dims before turning off from idleness. as if your body takes it as a cue to do the same, you close your eyes and slowly exhale, muscles deflating into the couch as the silence spreads over your body like the gradual creep of water freezing.
just what exactly are you doing? what is it that you need?
did you simply need an opportunity to just be yourself, away from those who you felt the need to always be a perfectly happy and positive y/n around? or did you need space to reconsider the state of your relationship with the boys? maybe it was never even about the relationships in the first place, but that you had no way of isolating yourself from work so you chose the next best option to cut yourself off from.
perhaps, you really just wanted to continue running away and hiding from a greater problem that you do not want to acknowledge.
a wetness builds up behind your eyelids, confused and overwhelmed by the fact itself that you still cannot make sense of your emotions. maybe it is because there is no one answer but that all of them are answers, because no matter what you try to do or where you try to run, you cannot seem to rid the bone-deep exhaustion that continues to crush and constrict your soul.
however, there is one thing you are certain of after today. having spent so many days away from the boys and your normal routine, only now do you realise just how many subtle routines there are that intertwine you all together. some you only notice because of the change it has brought upon this week; others long known because they ceased to occur.
but seolhee’s words resonate within you. yes, some of those routines had disappeared, but like the snow, it does not change the fact that they existed in the first place. the commonality that all of the routines share–whether it be those you had previously been so hung up about dwindling or those you are only just becoming conscious of–is that they are all routines of love.
and like the golden warmth of the sun during the frigid bitterness of winter, you do not learn to truly appreciate something until it becomes absent from your life.
sometimes, you wonder what the end of the world will be like.
you wonder how it happens; whether it would be instantaneous, one second everybody going about their everyday life then the next second everything gone, people’s last moments still in blissful ignorance as to what has become of them and the world; or whether it would be gradual, an agonisingly slow and painful wait as inevitable doom creeps closer, no better than mercifully taking your own life.
you wonder what you would feel; fear for what will be or resignation for what is to be? regret for what had been or grief for what will not be? you wonder how you would realise, where you would be the moment it happens, who would come to mind first, why the world would be ending.
you have wondered so much and yet, you would have never expected to experience a part of your world ending through a phone call, your ringtone jarring and eerie in the late hours past midnight, jolting you awake on an unfamiliar couch to the sight of an equally unfamiliar ceiling. it takes you a few seconds to process the sound, disoriented from having accidentally fallen asleep still in your scrubs with no recollection of the last few hours.
by the time your fingers fumble across your phone, it has already stopped ringing. squinting, you turn the screen on. there are fresh notifications at the top of your screen showing two missed calls, but before you can process who they are from, the silent living room is disturbed by the piercing sound of your ringtone once again.
it is only seonghwa who is calling but an unsettling shift in the air abruptly makes the hair along your skin rise. something is wrong. you pick up.
“...hwa?”
“hey, love,” your boyfriend responds carefully. “where–are you at your friend’s place right now?”
you sit up on the couch and adjust the phone closer towards your ear with both hands. “yeah…i am.”
you can hear seonghwa take a shaky exhale before answering, “i think you might want to come to the hospital.”
blood rushes to your ears and your breath hitches. “why?” you whisper out, voice barely audible as your clutch on your phone tightens.
he does not answer you immediately. it is not until you choke out your question once more, voice urgent and desperate, that he breaks. seonghwa's tone is solemn, hesitance to speak louder than a waterfall, and never would you have thought that it would only take something as simple as his next two words for you to experience what feels like the end of the world.
“it’s seolhee.”
the room spins around from under your feet. you suddenly find yourself blindly groping the surface of the kitchen countertop, having stumbled your way across the dark living room. the phone call has ended–you cannot recall whether you hung up on seonghwa or whether he hung up on you, or whether it is actually still ongoing, his concerned shouts of your name simply falling upon deaf ears.
your breathing becomes increasingly shallow but you do not start crying. your expression remains stonily frozen as you frantically feel and search the countertop with your hands, uncaring of the ruckus and mess you are making. you are looking for something. what are you looking for? you need something. you need to bring something, but what? keys. you need to bring your keys. you need keys. you need your car keys. car keys, so you can drive to the hospital. you need to drive to the hospital because seolhee is there. you need to get to the hospital and you need to drive and you need your keys, where are your keys? you need your keys.
something cold brushes against the side of your pinky and immediately you snatch it up. you rush to the front door, toeing on the first thing that feels like a pair of shoes, then yank the door open before they are properly on your feet. you have no time. your leg jitters and your finger repeatedly jabs the elevator button as you watch the display numbers of the floor slowly move upwards towards yours. please, you beg to whichever higher entity is willing to listen to you, please, i have no time.
the moment the doors start to crack open, you force your way into the elevator. the doors cannot close fast enough and you pace in restless circles in the enclosed space while it takes you down to the underground carpark. your feet have already exited the threshold of the elevator before the doors even fully open again and your frantic steps reverberate loudly in the echo of the parking lot as you sprint for your car.
“y/n!”
you almost miss the yell of your name in your distraught, but your steps falter at the last moment, slowing down only slightly to turn in the direction of the sound. there is no time to question what you see. mingi is there, rapidly closing the distance between the two of you.
he stands in front of you within seconds and his chest heaves with effort and adrenaline. you feel your face crumpling as you instinctively and automatically reach out for him. mingi catches your hands, letting you squeeze his own in panic even if your nails dig into his skin.
“mingi, seonghwa–seolhee, she–the hospital–”
“i know,” mingi nods quickly, gently shushing your unintelligible blabber, “i know. let’s get you to the hospital.”
he envelops your hand in his and tugs you along behind him towards his car. you want to urge him to run, but he maintains a steady pace until he can pull the car door open and guide you into the seat. mingi can feel your anxiety rolling off in waves as he rounds the front of the car to the driver’s seat and he knows how desperate you are for him to hurry up and floor the pedal, but he also knows that feeding into your panic with his own will only make things worse.
mingi drives as fast as he can without speeding too dangerously, although he cuts it close with a few red lights. the two of you sit in loud silence the entire ride. your boyfriend glances over at you every now and then, brows furrowed with concern, but you remain motionless with your eyes fixed to the road in front despite the erratic rhythm of your heartbeat.
“y/n–” your boyfriend cuts himself off upon arriving at the hospital, where you tumble out of the car the moment it jerks to a stop. he is not quick enough to grab you as he puts the car into park and he fumbles to undo his own seatbelt whilst you are already weaving your way towards the sliding doors to the elevator.
you run. never before in your life have you ever run with such sheer desperation. one after the other, the soles of your shoes strike against the ceramic tiles of the lobby before they become thuds against the vinyl flooring of the wards.
the past month, you have walked this exact path almost every single day; you have seen stretchers being rushed in, and parents and family members forcibly pulled away from the side of their loved ones to make way for immediate medical assistance from doctors like you. but today, you are on the other side–you are the one rushing into the paediatric ED dishevelled and crazed, uncaring of how you look to the rest of the world.
“seolhee,” you mutter to yourself, pace slowing to an unsteady stumble as you twist and turn to find her familiar smile. “seolhee, where are you?”
nurse yejin spots you and rushes up to grasp you by the elbow. “doctor l/n,” she urges with wide eyes, “she came in as a code blue. she's in the resus bay but she–”
your blood runs cold and the rest of nurse yejin's words become a muffled fuzz in your ear along with the surrounding clamour of the ED, replaced instead by a high-pitched ringing that reverberates throughout your entire skull. gaze unfocused, you sway as your feet slowly pivot in the direction of the resus bay. nurse yejin’s outstretched hand falls to her side and she watches you helplessly, your shoes shuffling with contradictory urgency and hesitancy towards the sliding glass doors.
around you, the commotion of the ward blurs away, your vision narrowing into a pinprick tunnel the closer you get. seonghwa tries to reach for you when you pass by him and some of your colleagues near the doors, but you continue shambling forward as if you are possessed, mind and body completely blind to his presence and touch. you do not stop until you reach the doors. slowly, you bring your hands up to rest on the cool surface as you press yourself closer and look inside.
it’s a code blue, you think to yourself in a state of trance and stupored confusion at the scene that unfolds before your eyes, but why is nobody resuscitating seolhee? why is nobody helping her? why isn’t anybody doing anything?
“seolhee,” you whisper vaguely, right hand weakly hitting the glass. then again, you call out her name, this time with more urgency. “seolhee.”
you hit the glass once more, then a third time but harder yet. “seolhee!” you shout, both hands now fisted and pounding against the glass in distress. “seolhee! somebody save her!”
hands start to pull you back but you do not register any of them nor are they strong enough to draw you away from the doors. the anguished cries of your name are left unheard, but despite the wildness of your crazed desperation, your mind vaguely registers the few words that somehow manage to break through. the sounds are warped and distorted as if you are continuously being thrust underwater then hauled upwards over and over again, but it is enough for you to piece them together.
“cardiac arrest…multi-organ failure–” “–terminal lucidity–” “–time of death–”
your body nearly topples over as you freeze under the resistance of those around you, jostling around limply in the crowd of limbs. all of a sudden, you are wrenched out of the water and your chest convulses trying to gasp for air. the noise of the ED and the shouts around you flood back into your ears like a tsunami, except it comes from every direction imaginable with force that has multiplied infinitely and pulverises your entire soul.
you cannot stay here any longer. you run.
you run wherever your feet take you and you do not stop, even when your lungs and your legs begin to sear at the same intensity as the inferno that currently incinerates your heart. lurching up stairs after stairs after stairs, you run and run and run until you burst through the doors to the rooftop of the hospital where your chest takes in a heaving inhale. the piercing temperature of the air leaves your system shocked and breathless and you stumble over to the ground.
there is nothing to break your fall in every sense, so there, on your hands and knees at your absolute lowest in the stinging cold of the hospital rooftop, you finally shatter into smithereens. it starts off as a tremble of your lips and a quiver of your chin, a choked stutter of breath as your eyebrows crumple and your eyes blink back the growing heat behind them. but then a small cry of pain leaves you and you lean back heavily onto your feet before your hands fist the material of your scrubs. your skin turns white as you clench and rock yourself back and forth, breathing erratic and sobs increasing in volume until they are long, soulful wails.
your entire body convulses uncontrollably with each gut-wrenching cry that leaves you. the world around you blurs away from the tears that fall down your face and your head pounds with lightheadedness. you hit your chest with an agonised fist, again and again, harder and harder, because you would rather feel any physical pain than the shattering crevice in your heart.
you are suddenly jostled by a strong pair of arms wrapping around your upper body. they tuck you firmly into their chest, a hand wrapping around your wrist to stop you from hurting yourself any further and the other pressing your head against the warmth of their neck.
they shush you repetitively with soothing rocks back and forth. as they comfort you, their own voice cracks from their constricted throat, “i’ve got you, y/n. just cry.” only then do you hazily register it as seonghwa’s voice. seonghwa, who was just as close to seolhee as you, understands the pain that is breaking you apart and is here to hold you through it.
you cannot rid the image of seolhee’s last smile out of your head–her excitement to go home for christmas, her cheery confession of how much she loves you. you fist the front of seonghwa’s scrubs and weep, “it hurts, seonghwa. why does it hurt so much?”
he rests his cheek against the top of your head, his own tears falling freely and dripping down to join yours on the snowy floor in bittersweet harmony. as doctors and nurses, grieving for patients is a luxury that cannot be afforded for every single life that is lost. grief is a weakness in the medical field because you cannot look back–you can only look forward and do your best to make sure there are no more lives that are lost.
but you forget that grief is not a weakness as a person, and you are human first and foremost before you are doctors and nurses. sometimes, it becomes a necessity to grieve before you can keep moving forward.
“i know, love,” seonghwa brushes his hand over your hair as he tries to keep his voice from breaking. “grief is the price you pay for loving somebody.”
because unfortunately, life comes with transactions and between two people, there will always be one person who must pay the price of love.
you close your eyes, gritting your teeth when your face crumples again and a fresh bout of sobs escapes through your lips. seonghwa presses his lips to the crown of your forehead, resting them there while you shake in his arms. eventually, he murmurs into your hair, “you want to know what seolhee’s mother told me once?”
your answer is in the form of more anguished cries but you hang onto every word that comes out of your boyfriend’s mouth like they are your lifeline. the corners of seonghwa’s lips tug upwards with mournful nostalgia as he tells you, “she’s always wanted to thank you for loving her daughter as if she is your own…so it’s okay–it’s normal for you to hurt so badly, because you love seolhee and the more you love somebody, the greater the price you pay.”
seonghwa’s unconscious choice of phrasing–that you love her, not that you loved her–simultaneously cradles and crushes your heart. it is an exact reflection of the last conversation you had with seolhee. snow may melt, but it does not change the fact that snowflakes flutter down from the sky. seolhee may be gone, but it does not change the fact that you love and remember her.
“seolhee’s last wish was fulfilled,” seonghwa softly murmurs, pulling out his phone from his pocket to turn the screen on. the light hurts your sensitive eyes when you try to make out the display through your fuzzy vision and you can just barely make out what looks to be the time on his lockscreen. he explains, “it’s four thirty am…that makes it christmas already. not only was she able to spend some time at home with her family again, but now she gets to spend the rest of her christmas back where she came from–”
your boyfriend pulls away slightly and tilts your head up tenderly with his fingers. you see him properly for the first time tonight. his eyes are just as red and swollen as yours are, cheeks wet and glistening despite the small smile he gives you when you finally look at him. he finishes, “–the sky, with all the other beautiful angels just like her.”
you slowly follow his gaze upwards. once more, a wounded cry breaks free at the sight that greets you. it no longer snows, the thin blanket of snowflakes covering the ground and the rooftop the only traces left and already steadily melting away. but that is not what makes you sob even harder.
the skies above you are filled with an endless expanse of stars, shining and gleaming no matter where your eyes look. there are thousands upon millions of stars, too many to begin counting even if you were to stand on the rooftop for numerous lifetimes.
the heavens cried in the form of the first snow when seolhee was born, for they lost her to the world. but tonight they rejoice, for their precious angel has returned soaring through the starry skies. and even amidst her joy of freedom–from the shackles of pain and suffering–seolhee remembers to tell you that she loves you more than you can fathom.
more than you can count the stars in the sky.
you jolt awake confused and disorientated for the second day in a row. only, this time it is not a jerk-induced reaction to your ringtone but a sudden thrust into consciousness by the feeling that you have overslept.
shit, what time is it? i have work.
the rising flood of panic in your chest is immediately quelled when you spot a scrap of paper on your bedside table, handwriting printed neatly in the centre.
hongjoong took sick leave for you today. don’t worry about work and go back to sleep after you take the painkillers.
that is when you register the fucking terrible headache you are sporting and you let out an involuntary groan as you press a hand to your temple. your other hand grabs the two tablets and you down them with the glass of water beside the paper.
groggily, you pat the mattress around you in search of your phone to look at the time. apart from the dim glow of your bedside lamp, the curtains to your left are drawn shut in your room, making it impossible to discern whether it is the morning, afternoon or night. the numbers blink back at you when you turn the screen on and you find that you have slept past lunchtime. confusion swirls inside of you with an unusual mix of something else. taking the day off work is not the only thing that is off.
wait.
your head jerks to the left, then to the right, then down at your bedding–the blue-grey colour familiar and soft to the touch. you are in your room–your room room, back at your place with the boys. you turn your phone on again and check the date. it is christmas.
and then it hits you.
it is still christmas. it is still the same day as what now feels like a vivid fever dream. you can only recall bits and pieces, so hazy and yet so evocative at the same time. it is like trying to make sense of an optical illusion; it disappears when you think about it too directly, but the moment you take your mind off it even slightly, it is right there in your peripheral vision, begging for your attention.
you remember being woken up by seonghwa’s phone call and your desperation to get to the hospital. you remember mingi driving you there and then sprinting towards the ED. you remember breaking down on the hospital’s rooftop after finding out that seolhee had…
your fingers pinch the inside of your left wrist to stop yourself from finishing the memory. with an unsteady exhale, all tension is lost from your body and you fall back to slump against the headboard. grief starts to take over you once more, vice tightening its grasp around your heart but simultaneously leaving a cavernous hollowness and numbness in your chest.
that is how wooyoung finds you an hour later, still staring blankly at the bedroom wall across from you and swimming in muddy water. he had only tentatively knocked twice on your door before entering, half-expecting you to still be asleep and making a soft noise of surprise when he finds that you are not. in the back of your mind, you vaguely feel a twinge of guilt at not having the energy to do something as simple as greet him as he sits carefully on the edge of your bed.
but wooyoung is a persistent soul and an even more persistent lover. he has learnt from experience that sometimes, asking anything but what he truly wants to ask is what you actually need. wooyoung catches himself from gazing sadly at you, putting on a small smile instead as he lays a hand over your thigh. his touch is warm through the blanket.
“should i bring in some food for you? there’s dumpling soup,” he tells you. “or do you want to go to the living room? we can put on a movie.”
it is hard to find the words to answer him–hard to even hum or nod or shake your head in response. your fingers twitch slightly in the direction of wooyoung’s hand still on your thigh and he immediately moves it to place over yours. the rhythmic touch of his thumb brushing back and forth over your skin is soothing.
“we don’t have to talk. we can just sit for a bit,” he offers.
the room settles into silence for a while as he gives you time to decide. finally, you ask, voice quiet, “who’s home?”
wooyoung wriggles a little closer with restrained excitement at your response. “all of us are.” when you blink at him in reaction, he understands your question immediately because none of you can remember the last time the nine of you had a day off together, much less on a christmas. he explains, “we all took whatever personal leave we could.”
“the hospital let?” you frown slightly, the tone of disbelief the most amount of emotion you have shown so far.
wooyoung mirrors the minute increase in animation with cheek in his vague shrug, “they can’t afford to fire any of us. plus…i think we’ve all realised that some things are more important than work.”
you are more important than work; ‘us’ is more important than work.
something tugs at your heartstrings and you sit up a little straighter. looking at wooyoung, a slight spark of resolve lighting up in your eyes, you slowly suggest, “can we…have a talk?”
he is taken aback with pleasant surprise as he answers, “of course we can. we don’t have to do it today though.”
“no,” you shake your head, “let’s talk now.”
while we still can. before it becomes too late. plus, who knows when the next time all of you are together like this will be.
so you follow wooyoung out of your bed and then out of your room, his fingers intertwined between yours as he walks the both of you into the living room. it is a lie to say that it is not awkward seeing everybody’s heads turn towards you in simultaneity and your knee-jerk response is to dismiss their poorly-concealed concern with a wave of your hand and an, ‘i’m fine’. but you think you have had enough of that–enough of pretending and enough of pushing them away.
yunho opens his arms from his seat on the couch, eyes hopeful. you push away any second thoughts and bury yourself against him. your boyfriend pulls you right into his chest whilst tucking your legs off the ground over his thighs and he murmurs against your temple, “you sleep okay?”
you nod into his neck as jongho asks, “did you take the painkillers?” and seonghwa questions, “do you want dumplings?”
a small puff of amusement comes out of your chest because just mere weeks ago, perhaps even one, questions like these would have fanned an inexplicable inferno inside of you. now, it all seems so long ago, but it does not change the fact that you are apologetic about it–apologetic about a lot of things.
“i took them, thanks jongho. and maybe later, hwa,” you respond softly. “come sit?”
the boys heed to your words immediately and the oldest of your boyfriends crosses the living room in three large strides to take your other side on the couch, the rest of them settling on the adjacent couch or on the floor. the shared warmth from being sandwiched between seonghwa and yunho immediately envelops you in comfort and safety and your body relaxes into the shape of theirs.
you do not know where to start, much less what you even want to say to the boys now that you are here with them. there are masses of things to unpack and each one seems like such a colossal mountain to climb. some you do not know the route up, others you know the route up but not the way back down, and the rest you cannot even see the mountaintop. so you choose to start easy: at the very bottom of the trail where it is safe.
“i miss having clean scrubs,” you blurt out, “and i miss the lunches that wooyoung cooks and the coffees that jongho makes.”
from beside you, yunho’s body rumbles with low laughter at your unexpected conversation starter and he glances down at you fondly. his voice is soothing in your ear as he says, “we miss seeing your night light greet us whenever we come home.”
“and the changes you make on our whiteboard calendar,” yeosang adds.
“we struggled to remember our shifts without you keeping track of them,” jongho divulges sheepishly.
yeosang tattles with a giggle, “he was late for work for the first time.”
“yeah,” you smile, “i heard.”
jongho huffs out before quipping, “at least i still knew how to squeeze my own toothpaste and find my own car keys.”
both hongjoong and wooyoung curse indignantly at the uncalled-for betrayal of the youngest as he pointedly ignores them and continues, “some of us have realised we have non-existent survival skills without you.”
“oh, speak for yourself,” san nudges him endearingly.
but you are more than grateful for the lightening of the mood because you do not think you would have the courage to otherwise abruptly apologise, “i’m sorry that i took so many things for granted.”
“what? no,” san counters, the first of many others to parrot the same thing. “we’re sorry about that too. when you moved out, we also realised just how many things you do for us without our appreciation. you raised a valid concern because our relationship with one another is something we have all become too complacent about.”
yunho squeezes you a little tighter with the arm he has around your shoulders. he muses, “it’s easy for a long-term relationship to become less ‘exciting’, but we forget that part of the reason is because we simply become so attuned to one another’s likes and dislikes, preferences and habits that it becomes our own second nature to do those things naturally. it isn’t that we love each other less, it’s just that we become so used to the way we love and are loved that we stop noticing it.”
your mind drifts slightly to a sweet, little girl with a bright smile, telling you that relationships are not always about the grand gestures, but rather the small things. she always did know better than you.
“in saying that though,” hongjoong brings up, “as important as it is for us to start appreciating all of those things again, i think it’s just as important for us to put in the conscious effort to go out of our way to have quality time and conversations with one another, like going on dates.”
wooyoung cackles, “that’s a bit rich coming from you, mister sorry-i-forgot-about-our-date,” and a snort comes out of you despite yourself.
the older flips him off. on both hands.
now occupied with his handsy insults, seonghwa takes over the conversation instead, “no relationship is perfect. they all need mutual effort to maintain and it definitely won’t be easy, especially since so many of you are nearing the end of your residency. it’ll be a busy few months preparing for the board exam and there’ll be plenty of hurdles to jump over in the future too, but things will work out because we’ve got each other’s backs now.”
the boys all smile affectionately at one another and at you. seonghwa presses a loving kiss against your temple and you bathe in the brief feeling of everything being okay before you remind yourself that it still is not. “on that note,” you start cautiously, “i owe you all another apology.”
you catch the gaze of mingi’s soft expression from opposite you, who gives you a small nod and a minute smile of encouragement. with an exhale, you admit, “the way i handled everything–not just moving out but everything leading up to that–i know you were all trying to look out for me and i shouldn’t have pushed you all away the way that i did. i just–everything was so overwhelming and confusing and tiring, and i wanted to work things out by myself because all of you had enough things to deal with, and i…”
once more, you are unsure of what you want to communicate. you are sick of not knowing and not understanding and your eyes start to water with frustration.
at your sentence trailing off, mingi finally speaks up, “life isn’t meant to be smooth sailing, y/n. yes, they’re your feelings, but that doesn’t mean that they have to make sense to you.”
and it is as if that is the validation you have needed all along, because the vice around your chest finally loosens its grip. you can breathe again and the rush of oxygen into your lungs without a heavy weight crushing you inwards is liberating.
“as healthcare workers, we become accustomed to seeing other people in the most painful moments of their lives.” mingi gently shrugs his shoulders, “we become accustomed to invalidating our own feelings. it doesn’t matter if we’re having a bad day; there will always be somebody else having the worst day of their lives. but we forget that pain is not relative–just because somebody else is hurting ‘more’, it doesn’t make our own hurt hurt less.
“and yeah, work is always going to be shitty and we’re always going to run ourselves ragged chasing after time, and then coming home from work to eight of us is going to be tiring too,” he chuckles softly. “but y/n…i think part of the reason why it’s been so hard for you is because you never let yourself have time for yourself. you never let yourself be tired or be hurt.”
you swallow your objections–the voice inside of you that says you shouldn’t and the voice that says you can’t–because you know mingi is right. you just needed to hear that you should and that you can.
he continues, “we all need quiet time away from other people and that’s okay. we spend all day showing our patients, their families and our colleagues the best side of ourselves, which means that a lot of the times we only have the…” mingi scratches the side of his head as he finds a way to express his thoughts without saying ‘the ugly side’, because that is far from what it is. “we only have the side of ourselves that we do not like as much because it isn’t what we view as ‘perfect’. but it simply holds our realest emotions–fatigue, stress, worry, frustration, impatience. it is not just you who has that side–we all do and we understand better than anybody how guilty it can feel when that is the only side that is left by the time we get home.”
there is a brief pause in the conversation as he lets the words sink in. around you, heads and gazes lower alike to the floor because that guilt is something that resounds with everybody in the room. you continue to look at mingi, though, unable to avert your eyes as his solace finally stirs the cathartic release of tears flowing freely from your heart to your eyes.
“like i said, it’s okay to take time away from us; in your room or out with your friends or somewhere else. but at the same time, i want you to know that it doesn’t make us love you any less if you don’t come home happy. you don’t love us any less when we’re unable to leave our baggage at work, because you have the same struggles. in fact, you are often the first to offer to share the load.
“as doctors and nurses, we have signed up for a lifetime of baggage and sacrifice. and that is exactly why it is that much more important for you to know that home is your safe space.” mingi gazes at you with all the earnesty in his heart. “we are your safe space where you can share your baggage. we might not be able to take it off you, but we sure as hell can curse or laugh or cry together over it, and sometimes, just that is already enough to help you keep carrying its weight over whatever mountain you are facing.”
from beside mingi, san watches you with a clenching heart. in an ideal world, san would rather you have no baggage at all and he be your only mountain–the one who shields you from the harsh elements of the world and is your unwavering presence from sunrise till sunset and yet again till the following sunrise. he sees the way you finally lower your head and let months of repressed tears fall in front of them, soft sobs in yunho and seonghwa’s comforting arms and the rest of your boyfriends within reach.
but san knows your tears are no longer ones of pain or fatigue, so for now, that is enough. he scooches closer across the floor until he is at your feet, peering up at you from between the strands of hair that have fallen in front of your face. tenderly, he asks, “y/n, will you move back in with us?”
a warm hand brushes over your cheeks. it could be san, it could be seonghwa, it could be yunho or it could be any of them. but it does not really matter. what matters is this: in order to love others, you must first love yourself–
“yeah,” you slowly nod, “i will.”
–and part of loving yourself is letting others love you. there is no place like home, much less a place like where your boys are. snow melts, but it will always fall again. without fail.
as your boyfriends all shuffle closer and envelop you in the middle of an embrace that is long overdue, loving warmth dizzying to the touch, outside the windows the first snowflake of many others flutters its graceful path down from the sky. soon, snow will cover the streets as far as the eye can see.
nobody talks about how ironic it feels to work in the hospital during the holidays, particularly christmas.
in any other establishment that is open, be it a restaurant, cafe, retail store or convenience mart, employees are greeted kindly with festive cheer–warm wishes and sincere smiles from one stranger to another. but nobody walks into the hospital on christmas with laughter and gratitude for the assistance of the doctors and nurses, because nobody wants to be at the hospital.
nobody plans to spend the day there, either.
but that is exactly why it is ironic. the hospital is a symbol of misery, the white colour of its interior the embodiment of sterility and detachment all year round–all except for a few days. on christmas eve, christmas itself and perhaps even the rest of the week leading up to the new year, the corridors are adorned with never-ending lengths of glittering tinsel, the wards are filled with the low hum of christmas carols on a looping playlist, and the staff all wear silly scrubs with rudolph faces and dancing santas on them.
there is an underlying hum of excitement and festive cheer that overrides the usual despondency of the hospital as everybody pretends it does not exist, even if just for a few days. the electric buzz thrums not just in the air at work but outside of work too, filling households with a hustle and bustle of liveliness–yours included.
“hongjoong!” you yell as you knock on the bathroom door, “we’re leaving in a few minutes!”
you press yourself flat against the door as yunho races past you with several pairs of socks in both hands despite the ones he already has on his own feet. he skids to a wobbly stop and shuffles backwards two steps to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek.
“gross,” you laugh, pretending to wipe it off your face, but yunho is already skedaddling off again back towards his destination of the living room, on a mission to deliver the socks to your other boyfriends.
ever since you, yunho, yeosang and san all passed the board exam and became fully licensed doctors like hongjoong, your shifts have been significantly more consistent. it is much easier for you and your boyfriends to drive to work together in fewer cars, making the mornings before work significantly more chaotic. your wake-up times and subsequent bathroom usage is no longer as staggered as it was with different start times and several more night shifts, but it is a good chaotic–a bright and lively chaotic.
hongjoong yells back at you, “my hair gel isn’t hair gel-ing!” and you nearly topple onto him when he suddenly pulls the bathroom door open.
his hair is swept up neatly away from his forehead and there is not a single strand that is out of place. you chuckle and tell him as such, “your hair looks perfect, joong,” but you know his nerves are due to something completely different. you cup his jaw and gently pull him towards you for a kiss before you encourage, “you’ll do great today. you already presented at the korean neurological association earlier this year–what’s a seminar to the hospital staff in comparison?”
your boyfriend groans, “i know these people though. they’re all my colleagues.”
“and all of these colleagues will be wearing their ugly christmas sweaters or have stupid antler headbands with glowing lights on top of their heads. trust me, you’ll do amazing,” you reassure, pressing another chaste kiss against his lips to quieten his worries.
“y/n! hongjoong!” yeosang hollers.
“coming!”
you pull hongjoong out of the bathroom with you hand in hand, only letting go when you both fumble to catch the socks that yunho chucks through the air in your directions. within the next few minutes, there are playful elbows, harmless shoves and childish curses as you all cram yourselves in the corridor to put on your shoes and walk out the door to the car.
as you squish into the backseat with hongjoong and yeosang, yunho in the driver’s seat and san beside him, the latter wonders what you should all do after work. by some christmas miracle, neither you nor any of your boys have been scheduled for a night shift today, which means that if there are no hiccups at work, the nine of you will be able to spend christmas together once more.
you like to think that your guardian angel is still looking out for you, even an entire year later.
“should we try to make a reservation for a nice restaurant?” san suggests. “or should we stay up and watch a movie together?”
hongjoong proposes, “i have a friend who works at a pretty decent french restaurant if we want to go there.”
voicing your opinion without prefacing it with an apology is still something you are working on, but you have gotten much better at communicating over the year. you pipe up, “i’d prefer to stay at home tonight, but the movie sounds like a good idea. maybe we can go to your friend’s restaurant for new year’s?”
“yeah, i don’t really fancy going out tonight either,” yeosang agrees. “but new year’s, definitely.”
san nods enthusiastically. “i’ll let the rest of the boys know,” he says, then sends a question for movie recommendations for tonight into the group chat.
it is not long after that yunho pulls into the hospital’s car park where you all pile out and wait obediently by a nearby pillar as he backs the car into a particularly tight space. when he has turned the ignition off and carefully squeezed himself out without slamming the door into the car beside him, it is his turn to wait obediently as you all thank him with a quick hug or peck on the cheek.
you grasp the collar of his coat and pull him down to give him a teasing kiss on the forehead but he tiptoes instead to make it harder for you. in retaliation, you quickly jab his side and he immediately keels over enough for you to plant a triumphant kiss on his face. the boys chuckle around you, yunho pretending to nurse his wounds as he stumbles after all of you into the elevator.
the doors close and he straightens to offhandedly comment, “you guys thank me for driving every single time.”
yeosang shoots back with the same nonchalance, “because we’re thankful every single time.”
yunho claps his hand over his mouth and looks at the younger out of the corner of his eyes, but it is clear that he is hiding a bashful grin behind his fingers. the expression is not lost to any of you, your displays of gratefulness always done with the intention of making one another feel appreciated for even the smallest of things, because you have all learnt that a simple thank you goes a long way.
“see you all after work,” hongjoong says, stepping out into the lobby with the rest of you following him to let those waiting for the elevator get in.
just as you all turn to walk off your separate ways to your respective departments, he calls out as an afterthought, uncaring of the people around, “merry christmas, babes!”
you reciprocate his words with a laugh, a tinkling, cheery sound that makes san reach out for your hand and intertwine your fingers together to pull you in for a quick kiss of endearment. “choi san!” you giggle, slapping him lightly and looking around to see if anybody noticed.
if there is one thing that has changed the most over the year, it is how daring your boyfriends have become with public displays of affection. but, just as wooyoung has made it a point to remind you all of his newfound motto, what is the hospital going to do? fire all nine of you?
highly unlikely.
“alright, babes,” san tugs you along teasingly, “let’s get to work.” pinkies intertwined and swinging gently between your bodies, the two of you walk towards the same department, letting go only at the last moment to lead your morning rounds.
there is a running joke that it does not matter if you end up having enough children to make an entire soccer team because almost half of you are now fully licensed to work with children; you and san as doctors, seonghwa and wooyoung as nurses. there is no need to worry about ageing either, not when the other five are each in charge of their own specialties too.
you and your boys do not work at a hospital–you and your boys are the hospital. and it certainly feels that way when there is almost always at least one of them watching over you, regardless of wherever you are in the paediatric department.
it is later that day as you are attending to a three-week-old baby in the NICU when a second-year resident walks up to you, addressing you carelessly. immediately, you feel wooyoung’s ears perk up and watchful eyes zero in on the offending resident as the both of you recognise the younger.
“good to see you’ve stuck with paediatrics, doctor lim,” you greet neutrally. it is anything but good to see him still in the medical program at all, but you digress.
your past intern ignores your comment, confidence through the roof not only because he has somebody backing him up but because he is now a second-year resident. he shortly says, “doctor nam wants you taking over the shift for the NICU attending tonight.”
the department head has more or so left you alone for the last few months, but you guess he suddenly felt a christmas urge to scratch an itch that never existed in the first place. your expression remains impartial as you ask, “for what reason?”
dr. lim is unable to hide the brief flash of surprise across his face, not having expected you to put up a fight. he quickly scowls, “do as you’re told.”
you will not, in fact, ‘do as you’re told’, not when dr. nam is blatantly abusing his power to assign you a shift without a proper justification or notice–and through dr. lim at that too. you sure hope wooyoung can hear you as you respond sarcastically, “tell doctor nam to notify me of this change in schedule through an email from the chief resident. i’m sure he’s familiar with the proper procedure that i’m referring to.”
“i’ll make sure to tell him,” dr. lim scorns and you snort as he retreats.
“merry fuckin’ christmas to you,” you mutter at his back. you hope he slips on ice on his way home tonight.
you jump in surprise when you turn around and find wooyoung right there, an absolutely shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. he cackles as he quotes, “‘merry fuckin’ christmas to you.’ the boys are going to love it when i tell them what just happened.”
the shove you give him only serves to make him laugh even harder but you cannot deny that a sense of pride rushes through your body. force doctor nam to leave written evidence that can be used against him, jongho had advised you to do one day, and you feel a surge in confidence that this might actually work.
wooyoung certainly thinks that it will, gathering himself enough to give you an attractive smirk as he leans closer to whisper into your ear, “that’s our girl.” pleasant shivers run down your spine at his deep voice and it leaves you on cloud nine long after he stalks off absolutely preening at the response he has elicited from you.
you do not hear from dr. lim or dr. nam again nor do you receive an email regarding the extra shift tonight, so you begin to safely assume that the request is no more–that is, until the end of your shift when you are in the team workroom finishing off a referral letter.
“doctor y/n,” dr. bang grabs your attention from the table opposite you with a cryptic tone of amusement. “i think you’re wanted.”
you blink at the slight smugness on her face with confusion until she beckons her head behind you in the direction of the office door. you glance back, suddenly expecting dr. nam to be standing there fuming and ready to give you a harsh reprimand for your snarky response. except it is not him.
of all people, you did not expect it to be mingi, pressed up against the little window that looks through the door into the room. but then you realise he is not the only one peeping in–there is another pair of mischievous eyes in the corner of the window that you recognise as yunho’s, and another face pressed up against the large window along the wall, and oh–
they are all gathered around the workroom peering in with varying expressions of cheekiness as they enthusiastically wave at you. it is hard to tell whether you are the monkey in the zoo or if they are the monkeys staring out through their enclosure. you guffaw, half in embarrassment and half in exasperated fondness, then scramble to save your work and log off for the night before your boyfriends garner even more attention than they already have.
with unrestrained eagerness, your boys drag you off after exchanging rushed but warm wishes of “merry christmas”s with your and san’s colleagues. seonghwa pivots around from where he has been walking at the front of the group, “should we walk home today?”
“in the snow?”
he nods excitedly, so obviously the youngest in his family despite being the oldest in your relationship. “we can finally experience a hallmark christmas.”
“what about our cars?” yunho asks, although he is not at all opposed to the idea.
seonghwa suggests, “how about you and i drive the cars home and then we’ll start walking back here. we can meet up along the way and walk the rest home together.”
the two of them share a look for a few seconds before they immediately take off in unison in the direction of the lifts to the car park, yunho hollering over his shoulder, “walk slowly!” within seconds, they disappear from sight around a corner and the rest of you blink at the fast exchange that has just occurred.
“fuck it, we ball,” wooyoung grins, earning himself a scandalised look from hongjoong as a reminder he is still in the hospital. “come on, gramps,” he snickers, then loops an arm around the older’s shoulders and starts to drag him towards the main entrance, the rest of you falling into step beside them as he devises, “let’s think about how we can attack the two with snowballs once they get back.”
only, he really should have known who he was going to be up against.
you and your boyfriends are about halfway home, cutting through a small field of what is now covered in a decent layer of fresh snow, when a snowball suddenly whizzes past your face and explodes against the side of wooyoung’s head in a detonation of white crumbs. he whirls around with a shriek absolutely ready to risk it all in the name of your dared treachery, only to see yeosang getting pummelled in a similar fashion and then jongho following victim immediately after.
“snowball fight!” comes seonghwa and yunho’s combined battlecries from thin air before a hail of pre-made snowballs is unleashed upon your group.
hongjoong’s screams fill the air until he is abruptly cut off by a mouthful of snow and wooyoung runs around like a headless chicken as three snowballs hit their mark in quick succession. you laugh loudly, running to hide behind jongho who has escaped several feet away from the danger zone. san, too, starts to retreat a distance, but only to shovel snowballs together without the risk of anybody stepping on them.
a shower of residual snow sprinkles over you as yunho switches targets and pitches his snowballs in your direction. however, you rapidly realise his eyes are only fixated on jongho. your shield now a danger hazard, you make a split decision and run as fast as you can through the snow towards your tallest boyfriend. call yourself fickle or whatever, you are simply a survivor.
“traitor!” mingi yells out and points a finger at you. “y/n has switched sides!”
the boys echo with a roar, “traitor!” and you squeal with adrenalised glee as you leap the final stride towards yunho, who stretches out a hand to pull you behind him. seonghwa immediately rushes to defend you both, throwing snowball after snowball with scary precision and strength. you can only hear the solid thump of snow hitting against thick clothing and the splutters of indignation as a result of the eldest’s lobs because your eyes are closed from how hard you are now laughing.
with equally-as-scary unity, hongjoong and your five youngest boyfriends charge in simultaneity towards you and yunho. neither of you have time to brace yourselves before you are tackled into the snow, limbs tangling together as seonghwa also jumps on top.
you cannot tell who is who, but you can tell exactly whose laugh is whose–each one so distinct and playing out as different melodies in your ears. your own laughter is radiant and effervescent and the sound makes every one of your boys break out into a joyous smile. yunho starts to push the others’ weights off of himself and you, and they begin to roll off the pile into the snow around you.
one by one they join you on their backs, your bodies leaving the memory of your merriness deep in the white softness of the ground. you are all a little breathless; from the physical exertion and adrenaline of the childlike fight, from the windedness of being tackled into a dog-pile, from the chill slowly seeping in through your clothes from the snow, from the soul-stirring view of the night sky above.
you all lay there in silence, hush broken only by the scattered puffs of visible air as you catch your breaths under the whispering snowfall.
it is amazing how much can change in one year. you still fatigue from juggling your time, down to the last second. you still burn out from the sacrifices you make as a doctor, no matter your years of experience. you still grieve over the loss of seolhee, particularly on this day. but you are finally at peace with yourself, with your life and with the love you deserve, and you realise that you are also breathless from the overwhelming feeling of how lucky, content and happy you are.
in a burst of gratification and fulfillment, you are unable to stay silent. you confess, heartfelt words that you keep close to your soul every day, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling right now.”
your boys turn to look at you, gazes softening impossibly at the tranquil smile that adorns your face. seonghwa feels a heat gathering behind his eyes, knowing better than any of them the weight behind your confession.
he prompts, softly, tenderly, “and if it stops snowing?”
you smile wider, because you have been taught the answer by a forever-seven-year-old-girl who received all the bad things in the world yet chose to only see the good; who taught you not to focus on what has melted away, but rather what you remember; who taught you that the purest reflection of love is something that is hard to see but will always be looking over you.
genre — angst, smut, fluff, strangers to lovers, forbidden love
synopsis — mark lee goes from being the quiet kid at the river court to the star basketball player on campus, reigniting old tensions with his brother, jeno. as jeno’s girlfriend, you’re pulled into the rivalry, but it’s mark who captivates you. his touch, his presence—he stirs something deep inside you that you can’t shake. as the tension between the brothers grows, so does your forbidden connection with mark, forcing you to confront where your heart—and body—truly belong.
chapter contents/warnings — college au, small town vibes, 2000s teen show vibes, this fic is heavily based on one tree hill, reader is in a relationship with jeno but it’s far from healthy or loving, depictions of lust and physical connection rather than emotional intimacy, slow burn with emotional (and sexual) tension between reader and mark, basketball is a heavy theme, mark being a key player, reader uses drugs and drinks to avoid facing her emotions, struggles with communication and vulnerability, messy dynamics with themes of abandonment and insecurity, escapism, toxic sibling rivalry between jeno and mark, oooh guys jeno is a jerk! bad boyfriend jeno, explicit sexual content involving rough and emotionally detached interactions with jeno, reader makes out with mark, soft mark, emo boy mark, confident mark, understated and hot mark, references to drug and alcohol use as coping mechanisms, swearing, explicit language and competitive sports tension.
[fic ml]
ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN
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The air in the room is thick and hazy, the low-hanging smoke curling in lazy spirals above your heads, seeping into the fabric of your clothes and the sheets. The bedside table is cluttered with half-empty bottles—beers, vodka mixers—and a vape pen with a fading light. The faint scent of weed lingers, clinging to the mess of discarded clothes on the floor. It should feel comforting, familiar, but it doesn’t. Everything feels muted, dulled, like you’re watching your life from a distance, the numbness settling deeper with each passing second.
Jeno lies beside you, shirtless, his body warm against yours. Your head rests on his chest, where his heartbeat thuds unevenly, just as it always has—never steady enough to soothe you, never grounding like you wanted it to be. Tonight, it feels even more erratic, like something inside him is pulling further away. Your fingers trace lazy circles over his skin, the motion slow, almost mechanical. It’s a routine now—this closeness that never truly feels close.
He’s quiet, too quiet, and it irritates you more than it should. You inhale sharply, the vape pen slipping between your lips before you exhale through your nose. Shifting closer, you press a kiss against his neck, letting your lips linger longer than usual, hoping he’ll respond. But there’s nothing—not a sigh, not a flicker of acknowledgment. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest, his mind somewhere far beyond the room. You pull away, frustrated, the weight of the past hour pressing down on you.
“Jeno,” you murmur, your voice catching slightly, as if the words are stuck in your throat. Your lips linger near his jaw, hoping for a reaction, for something to pull him back to you. But all you feel is the faint twitch of his hand on your waist, a gesture that once held desire but now feels empty, mechanical. It’s not what you’re looking for, not tonight.
You move again, this time more insistent, straddling his waist, your hands pressing against his chest, trying to ground yourself—or maybe trying to ground him. You tilt his chin toward you, forcing his eyes to meet yours, but they’re glassy, distant, reflecting the dull light of the lamp more than any real emotion. “Are you even here?” you ask, half-joking, but the frustration behind your words cuts through the haze in the air.
“Yeah,” he mutters, but there’s no conviction in his voice. His eyes flicker to the ceiling again, avoiding yours, like he’s searching for an answer there that he can’t find in you.
You let out a sharp breath, your fingers tightening on his chest as you lean down, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that’s supposed to feel familiar, intimate. But even then, his response is slow, almost hesitant, like he’s going through the motions, doing what’s expected but feeling none of it.
Your heart sinks a little, and you pull back just enough to study his face, the way his jaw tenses and his gaze remains distant. The dim light casts long shadows across his features, making him look older, more worn down than he should. Something is eating at him, gnawing at the edges of whatever you have left between you.
“What’s wrong with you?” The words come out more accusatory than you intend, but the irritation bubbling inside you won’t let it rest. You both know what this is—it’s been like this for months now. Physical, surface-level. No connection. No real emotion. But tonight, it feels worse. Heavier.
He finally shifts beneath you, his fingers brushing against your hip, but there’s no spark in the touch, no warmth. “It’s nothing,” he says, his voice thin, barely more than a whisper.
“You always say that,” you mutter, the words bitter as they leave your mouth. You push yourself off of him, sitting at the edge of the bed, your hands in your lap as you glance over at the cluttered mess around you. Bottles, smoke, scattered clothes. It’s all a blur. “Is this really what we are now? Me trying, and you always somewhere else?”
You run a hand through your hair, glancing over your shoulder at him. Jeno doesn’t answer right away. He just rubs his face with his hand, his other arm falling limp beside him, like even the effort of responding is too much. “It’s just the game tomorrow,” he mumbles, but his words lack conviction.
“The game?” You repeat, incredulous. You turn to face him fully now, your frustration spilling over. “You’re thinking about basketball right now? We’re here, and all you care about is some stupid game?”
Jeno sits up, finally breaking the contact between you. His hands are tight, clenched in the sheets as he avoids your gaze. “It’s not just the game,” he snaps, his voice sharper now, the edge of something deeper cutting through. “It’s Mark.”
The name lands heavier than you expect. Mark Lee. Jeno’s half-brother. The one he rarely mentions, the one who has always been at the edges of your awareness but you’ve never had a reason to think about him. You’ve seen him around but only from a distance. He was never at the parties, never a part of the crowd Jeno ran with, always separate. always… distant. Mark’s never really mattered to you. Until now.
“What about him?” You ask, your voice slower, more careful.
Jeno lets out a short, bitter laugh. “He’s back,” he says, the frustration creeping into his voice.
“Back how?” You mumble, feeling the tension building. Mark had been around since you and Jeno were children but he had always been a part of the background, you never expected that to change.
Jeno shifts beside you, you watch his jaw clench, his fists tightening on the sheets. “Back into my life. Out of nowhere. He’s on the team now—just showed up like he had something to prove, and Coach didn’t waste a second. Benched me, gave him my spot.” The words are clipped, tight with barely concealed anger.
You sit there, trying to process it. You’ve seen him before, alone at the river court after hours, earbuds in, completely disconnected from the world you and Jeno are a part of. Calm, composed, like nothing touches him. It strikes you how different he is — how he’s always stood apart from Jeno’s chaos.
He pauses, jaw clenched, and you can feel the anger bubbling underneath, the years of resentment suddenly in the open. “My dad’s losing it. He never wanted Mark around. Hated him from the beginning—he’s always seen him as the mistake, the one thing he can’t stand to face. But now Mark’s back, and it’s like this unspoken challenge. Like Mark’s here to prove he’s better, or he can take everything that’s mine.”
You shift uncomfortably, unsure how to respond to the intensity of his words. “Jeno… I’m sure it’s not that deep. It’s literally just basketball.”
His gaze snaps to you, deadpan. Anger flickers in his expression, a tightness in his jaw that hadn’t been there moments before. You’ve said the wrong thing. You can feel it. He looks at you like you don’t get it—like you don’t understand him at all.
There’s something wild in his eyes now, something untamed. “It’s never just been basketball,” he says, voice sharp, frustration lacing every word. “He’s always wanted everything I have. He’s always been there, lurking. And now he’s coming for everything—my spot, my life.” He pauses, his voice dropping lower, quieter, almost as if he’s afraid to say it out loud. “And you.”
The words hang heavy in the air, sinking into the silence that stretches between you. You stare at him, stunned, trying to process what he’s just said. And you. A chill runs through you. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond, how to make sense of what he’s implying.
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Jeno pulls up to the river court erratically, tires skidding on the gravel as he parks. The way he moves—quick, aggressive—mirrors the tension that’s been building between him and Mark for days. You’d rather be anywhere but here, surrounded by the weight of this impending showdown, but for Jeno, this is his element. He thrives in moments like these, where all eyes are on him, where the crowd fuels his need for attention and validation. Every glance, every whispered conversation from the sidelines—Jeno drinks it all in, the girls batting their eyes at him only adding to his confidence.
You feel the stares too. You and Jeno aren’t just well-known—you’re desired. The kind of couple everyone talks about, whispers about behind your backs. People want to be you or be with you. You’ve seen the way their eyes follow you both, lingering a little too long, filled with envy and something darker. It’s intoxicating, usually. But tonight, the attention feels heavier, more suffocating, like it’s pressing down on you, trapping you in this moment where everything feels like it’s about to break.
The river court itself is buzzing, the atmosphere charged with anticipation. The sky is a muted purple as dusk settles in, casting a hazy glow over the court. The river runs just beyond, the sound of water rushing in the background, a soft but constant reminder of the tension flowing through this moment. The court is cracked, worn from years of use, but it has a certain rawness to it—gritty, real. The streetlights flicker to life as people gather along the edges, their shadows long and looming over the pavement. There’s a strange energy in the air, a mix of excitement and unease, as more people file in. Jeno’s supporters are far bigger, louder, their voices filling the space. They want a show, and Jeno is ready to give it to them.
“Welcome to the river court showdown!” Lee Donghyuck’s voice cuts through the murmurs, playful and dramatic as he addresses the growing crowd. You don’t know him well—he’s Mark’s best friend, always lingering in the background. His narration carries a light-hearted tone, but the way his eyes flick between Mark and Jeno makes it clear: this is personal. “Ladies and gentlemen, the stakes are high, and you can feel the intensity in the air. We’ve got a battle of the brothers tonight. Mark Lee, our underdog, taking on the one and only Jeno Lee.”
Your gaze shifts to Jeno as he steps onto the court, confidence radiating from him as he bounces the basketball in his hands, his eyes scanning the crowd like a predator surveying his territory. Across from him, Mark stands still, calm. He doesn’t thrive on the attention like Jeno does—he doesn’t even seem to notice the crowd. His focus is entirely on the game, his eyes sharp, determined.
Donghyuck’s voice carries on, “In one corner, we have Jeno—star player, campus legend. And in the other, Mark—cool, calm, and collected, with everything to lose.” There’s a hint of admiration in his tone when he talks about Mark, and you catch yourself paying closer attention to him too. You’ve never really noticed Mark before, but now, as he steps forward, there’s something about the way he carries himself that draws you in. The quiet confidence, the determination in his eyes… it’s hard not to watch him.
The game starts fast. Jeno wastes no time, dribbling aggressively, his body coiled with energy, every movement sharp, intentional. Mark, on the other hand, is methodical, almost serene in the way he moves, his eyes never leaving the ball. Jeno talks trash as they play, his voice loud enough for the crowd to hear. “You don’t belong here, Mark. This isn’t your world.”
Mark doesn’t respond, his focus unwavering. You can see it—the way his eyes track the ball, his calm under pressure. He’s not here to prove anything to Jeno; he’s here for himself. Every shot Mark takes is calculated, precise. He moves with a fluidity that surprises you, and you catch yourself watching more intently than you expected, noticing the subtle shift in his posture, the way his eyes sharpen when he finds an opening. There’s something intimate in the way he plays, an art to his determination that makes it impossible not to be drawn in.
“And Mark with the shot—boom! Nothing but net!” Donghyuck’s voice is filled with excitement, and the crowd reacts with gasps. You can hear the surprise rippling through them. Jeno wasn’t expecting this, and neither were they. “He’s got game, ladies and gentlemen. Jeno might have his work cut out for him.”
Jeno’s frustration grows with each point Mark scores. You can see it in the way his movements become more frantic, more desperate to overpower Mark. But Mark doesn’t falter. He doesn’t need to respond to Jeno’s taunts, and doesn't need to engage in the mind games. His eyes are always on the prize, his determination unshakable.
As the game continues, it’s clear that Jeno underestimated his brother. Mark isn’t just holding his own—he’s thriving. Each basket he makes feels like a step out of the shadow Jeno has cast over him for so long. For Jeno, this is about dominance, about keeping Mark out of his world. But for Mark, it’s about more than that. It’s about carving out his own place, about proving he can hold his own.
Jeno dribbles back, eyes narrowing as he pulls up from way beyond the three-point line, his body coiling with the kind of confidence that comes from years of dominance on the court. His movements are fluid, almost graceful as he rises to take the shot, the ball leaving his fingertips in a perfect arc. For a second, it looks like it’s going in—like he’s about to remind everyone why he’s the best. But just as the ball reaches its peak, Mark appears out of nowhere, launching himself into the air, his arm extending at just the right angle to block it.
Donghyuck's voice bursts out in excitement, “Jeno shoots… and misses!” he pauses, eyes wide with amazement, “holy crap, did you see that? Someday men will write stories about that block, children will be named after that block and Argentinian women will weep for it!”
The sound of the ball slapping against his hand echoes through the court, followed by the stunned gasps from the crowd. Jeno stumbles back, shock and disbelief flickering across his face as the ball ricochets away, the confidence he’d had only moments ago shattered.
“Mark with the rebound. He’s fast. He’s focused.” Donghyuck’s playful tone turns serious as the game nears its end. The tension in the crowd is palpable, and you can’t help but feel it too. But more than that, you’re watching Mark now—really watching him. The way he doesn’t let anything distract him, the quiet intensity in his eyes as he takes his final shot. There’s something about him in this moment that feels… different. It’s not an attraction, not yet, but a subtle curiosity. The way he moves, the determination etched into every step—it draws you in, and you can’t help but wonder what else lies beneath that calm exterior.
“And that’s it! Mark Lee wins!” Donghyuck shouts as the crowd erupts, the shock clear on everyone’s faces. Mark’s friends swarm the court, cheering loudly, their celebration unrestrained. You watch them from the sidelines, a small, subtle smile pulling at your lips. You don’t know why, but seeing Mark win… it makes you happy. There’s something about it that feels right, like you’ve been waiting for this moment without even realising it. You haven’t smiled like this in so long.
Jeno walks toward you, his face twisted in frustration and defeat. “It’s not a big deal,” you say quietly, trying to diffuse the tension.
Jeno laughs, though it’s not a sound filled with humour. “He’s not gonna quit the team now. I lost the bet.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You bet on it?”
Jeno’s face hardens, and the way he looks at you makes your heart skip a beat, but not in a good way. His silence is unsettling, and you can feel the shift in the air between you. “What did he bet if he won?” you ask, your voice quieter now, a sinking feeling creeping into your chest.
Jeno looks at you, his jaw tight. “You. He bet that he gets you.”
The words hit you like a slap, the weight of them sinking in slowly. You’re stunned, unsure how to feel. Part of you is angry at Jeno, furious that he would treat you like an object in some stupid rivalry. But another part of you—the part that watched Mark play tonight, the part that saw something different in him—can’t shake the way you felt watching him on that court.
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The drive back to Jeno’s house is suffocating, the silence hanging heavy in the air like a storm about to break. You’ve tried speaking, tried breaking through the wall he’s built around himself, but he just stares straight out of the window, his jaw clenched tight as if he’s grinding through every word he doesn’t want to say. His silence grates on you, each passing second tightening the coil of frustration in your chest.
Finally, you snap, your voice cutting through the tense atmosphere like a blade. “Why the fuck would you agree to let me get involved in any type of bet? Aren’t you my boyfriend? Aren’t you supposed to protect me?”
Jeno doesn’t answer, doesn’t even turn to look at you. His expression remains stony, detached, like you’re not even there. It’s as if every emotion between you is locked behind that clenched jaw. The frustration inside you bubbles over, boiling under your skin as he pulls up to his apartment, the car jerking to a stop. Before you can say anything more, he throws the door open, slams it shut, and storms toward the house, leaving you sitting there, stunned.
You follow him, heart pounding, already knowing what you’re about to walk into. But it still hits harder than you expect when you push through the front door: another one of his fucking parties.
The bass from the music vibrates through the floor, the walls practically shaking from the force of it. The air inside is thick—sweat, alcohol, smoke—all mingling into a nauseating fog that clings to everything. Half the campus seems to be packed into the house, bodies pressed together, laughing, shouting, grinding. It’s chaos. It’s chaotic, a celebration party that was meant to mark Jeno’s victory but he lost. He didn’t expect to lose so now he’s throwing himself into this mess, trying to forget how Mark beat him.
Jeno doesn’t even glance your way as he strides straight into the centre of the party. The second he steps inside, the energy shifts. All eyes are on him. Girls bat their eyelashes, offering coy smiles and glances, waiting for him to notice. The guys are quick to slap him on the back, giving him their usual praise, eager to bask in the glow of his attention. He soaks it up, drinks it in like it’s the only thing keeping him afloat.
Without a second thought, he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd. You stand there, invisible, feeling like an afterthought. You watch as Jeno gravitates toward a group of girls, the kind you’ve seen around before—the ones who always seem to be in his orbit, looking for a chance to get close. They laugh at something he says, their hands grazing his arm, their gazes hungry. And Jeno, your supposed boyfriend, leans into it.
You watch as one of the girls, dressed in a tight, glittering dress, dances close to him, her body pressed against his as they move to the beat. Jeno’s hands rest on her waist for just a second—nothing more than a passing touch, but it’s enough to sting. Enough to make your stomach twist. She leans in to whisper something in his ear, and he smirks. It’s a look you’ve seen before—not necessarily malicious, just confident, like he’s always known how to handle this kind of attention. His eyes are a bit hazy, a mix of alcohol and the mood of the night, and he doesn’t even glance in your direction.
The other girls join in, dancing around him, their bodies brushing against his as the music pulses through the room. Jeno doesn’t move away, doesn’t stop them, but he’s not exactly encouraging it either. He lets it happen, lets them touch him, lets the night sweep him up. You know it’s not about forgetting you, not about pushing boundaries—Jeno’s always had this natural pull, the kind that draws people in without him even trying. But tonight, it feels different, harder to shake off, like he’s just letting the moment take him, unaware of how much it’s affecting you.
Your chest tightens, and you stand there, rooted in place. It’s not like this is the first time—Jeno’s always been the guy who draws attention effortlessly, always the one people gravitate toward. But tonight, there’s something sharper about it, something that feels a little too close. You know he loves you, but watching him in the middle of it all, surrounded by all these girls, it feels like you’re invisible for a moment. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s forgotten how much he means to you. But deep down, you know it’s just him getting caught up in the night, not in them.
You make your way upstairs, needing space, needing to breathe. The noise below feels like a weight pressing down on your chest, suffocating you. Jeno’s room is as much of a mess as the party downstairs, but it’s quieter at least. You go straight to his drawers, pulling out bottles of whatever alcohol you can find, downing shots without caring about the burn in your throat. Then it’s the drugs—whatever pills and powders he’s stashed away. You don’t think, you just take them. Anything to numb the anger, the frustration, the feeling of being trapped and ignored.
You grab your laptop from the desk and plug your phone into the speaker, blasting your own music. The party music below is lame, anyway. With the alcohol and drugs starting to take effect, you focus on your screen, your fingers flying across the keys as you work on your art assignment. You pull up the digital image you’ve been editing for days, your eyes scanning the lines and colours as you tweak the lighting, adjust the shadows—anything to keep your mind off Jeno, off the party, off everything.
An hour passes before Jeno stumbles into the room, high out of his mind. He’s still reeking of sweat and alcohol, his shirt half-untucked, his eyes bloodshot. He glances at your screen, scoffing.
“What are you wasting your time on now?”
You bite your tongue, not wanting to start another fight, but the irritation flares up anyway. You keep your eyes on the screen, editing a tiny detail on the photo, hoping he’ll leave. But he doesn’t. Instead, he walks over and turns off the speaker, his smirk testing you.
“You know nobody listens to this crap,” he says, challenging you with his gaze.
“Why the fuck did you allow me to be bet on?” you snap, unable to hold back any longer. The question is sharp, bitter.
Jeno rolls his eyes and shrugs, as if it’s not worth discussing, as if it doesn’t matter. His casual dismissal makes your blood boil.
“Don’t fucking roll your eyes at me,” you seethe, standing up from the bed. “Don’t give me attitude. You’re the one throwing your lame parties and celebrating what? That your brother beat your lame ass today?”
Jeno shakes his head, irritated. “That’s why I came here now,” he mutters, his words slurring slightly. “To ask you if you wanna come party with us.”
“‘Us’?” you ask, folding your arms. “So that means the guys and the girls you’re fucking around with? The ones you let grind all over you like you don’t have a girlfriend standing right there?”
Jeno’s expression tightens, his jaw clenching as the accusation hits him. His eyes flash with frustration, but for a moment, you catch a flicker of guilt before he quickly masks it. His lips press into a thin line, his nostrils flaring slightly, as if he’s holding back from snapping. He sighs, exasperated. “And me.”
“And the guys,” you repeat, rolling your eyes.
“You know what, Y/N,” he says, his tone shifting to frustration. “I’m getting really tired of this. I came here to spend time with you.” He points at you accusingly, his words biting.
“Yeah, me and half the campus,” you shoot back, referring to the party downstairs.
He throws his hands up in defeat. “Whatever. You wanna be a bitch, that’s cool. Just sit here and listen to your loser rock and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Your heart pounds in your chest as you glare at him, your voice sharp as a knife. “How about you don’t see me tomorrow?”
Jeno’s face falters for a moment, and he looks at you, something softer trying to break through the haze of alcohol and frustration. “Look… I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice low. It’s an apology, but it feels half-hearted, like he’s saying it because he knows he should, not because he means it.
You shake your head, ignoring him as you push past. The anger burns too hot, and his apology barely registers. You brush yourself past him, the touch brief but cold, leaving him standing there in the doorway, stunned and alone.
You breathe heavily, trying to calm the anger still simmering in your chest. Each inhale feels shaky, your body betraying just how rattled you are. Jeno’s words, his actions downstairs, the careless way he allowed those girls to hang on to him like you didn’t matter—it all echoes in your mind. You need to escape, to get away from the suffocating weight of it all. With nothing else to do, you make your way downstairs, the pounding bass and shrill laughter filling the space like a cloud of smoke you can’t shake.
You’re halfway to the kitchen when a few of your friends spot you. Their faces light up, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. They pull you into a conversation, their voices high-pitched and bubbly as they compliment your dress, touching your arm and admiring the way the tight black fabric clings to your curves.
“Oh my god, that dress is insane on you!” one of them gushes, her eyes wide with admiration. “Jeno is so lucky…”
You smile, the kind of smile you’ve perfected—wide and warm, just enough to convince them you’re engaged. “Thanks,” you reply, your voice light, pretending to match their energy. It’s easy to slip into this act, to fake the excitement, the warmth. You’ve done it before. But inside, everything feels hollow, like there’s a wall between you and the rest of the world.
As they chatter on about the party, about boys, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror. The dress is tight, black, hugging every inch of your body. The neckline plunges just enough to catch attention, the fabric pulling at all the right places. Your makeup is flawless—lips painted a deep, sultry red, eyeshadow smoked out in a way that makes your eyes pop. To everyone else, you look like the life of the party, someone who belongs here. But looking at your own reflection, you feel detached, like you’re watching yourself from outside your body.
You’re about to respond to one of your friends when something catches your eye—someone. Your breath catches in your throat as you notice Mark Lee standing across the room. You freeze. Your friends’ voices fade into the background, the party around you slipping away as your focus zeroes in on him. What the hell is he doing here?
Mark doesn’t belong at parties like this. It’s obvious in the way he stands, surrounded by people yet somehow separate, distant. He’s smiling, his lips curved upward, but there’s a casual awkwardness in the way he holds himself. His shoulders are tense, and he fidgets with his hands as if he’s not entirely comfortable with the attention.
You watch as a few girls, practically draped over him, giggle and bat their eyelashes, clearly trying to catch his eye. Mark’s friends are laughing, slapping him on the back like they’re celebrating something. You can tell his status is rising after his win today, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at how quickly people are flocking to him. It’s almost comical. Yet, unlike Jeno, Mark doesn’t seem to bask in it. He’s not soaking up the attention or feeding off it. Instead, he shifts awkwardly under their gazes, like the weight of it all makes him uneasy.
There’s something… different about him.
You find yourself studying the way his body language contrasts with the energy around him. Where Jeno would be centre stage, loving every second of the spotlight, Mark seems almost out of place, as if he’s trying to navigate a world that doesn’t quite fit him. It’s… endearing. His discomfort, the way he’s clearly not used to being the centre of attention—it draws you in, makes you curious in a way you hadn’t expected.
A small, quiet laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it. You can’t help but find it amusing, how different he is from everyone else in the room. And just as quickly as you let yourself slip into that moment, his eyes meet yours.
For a split second, your heart stutters, and your breath catches. His gaze holds yours, steady and intense. You can’t look away, even though every part of you wants to. It’s as if the rest of the room melts away, the noise, the people, the party—it all blurs into the background. There’s only him.
Mark’s eyes are dark, deeper than you’d expect, and the tension between you feels thick, almost suffocating. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something behind his stare—something that sends a jolt through you. It’s unsettling how deep it cuts, like he’s seeing straight through you, into a place you didn’t want anyone to go.
Your stomach twists, the feeling both terrifying and magnetic. You should look away, but you don’t. You hold his gaze for longer than you should, and the tension between you builds with every second that passes. His stare is steady, unblinking, as if he’s waiting for something, as if he’s testing you. And the longer it goes on, the more you feel like something has shifted—something subtle, something dangerous.
Finally, you tear your eyes away, your heart racing in your chest. You turn, your movements quick and sharp, almost desperate to break the connection. But the weight of his gaze lingers on you, even after you walk away, the tension hanging in the air long after the moment has passed. Something has shifted, and you can feel it deep in your bones.
You don’t know what it is, but you’re certain of one thing: you’re not ready to face it yet.
You storm off, your heart pounding with a mix of frustration and betrayal, the thoughts of Jeno’s reckless behaviour and the bet swirling in your mind. Every step feels heavier, like the weight of everything that’s happened is pressing down on your chest. The muffled noise of the party below fades into the background as you climb the stairs, heading straight for Jeno’s room. The air feels thick, the kind of tension that wraps around you and makes it hard to breathe.
He bet on you.
The thought keeps ringing in your mind, making your stomach churn. It’s a hollow realisation, but one you can’t shake—like every guy in your life somehow views you as a prize, something to win or lose. Your chest tightens with anger, but it’s not just aimed at Jeno. It’s aimed at Mark too. He was part of it. Part of the game, the manipulation.
You reach Jeno’s room and shove the door open, needing the space, needing to breathe. The familiar smell of his cologne mixed with weed hits you. The room is a mess, clothes and empty bottles scattered everywhere, a chaotic reflection of everything wrong between you and him. You step inside, your hands trembling slightly as you try to make sense of everything swirling in your mind.
But before you can take a breath, you hear footsteps behind you.
Your heart skips, the sudden sound catching you off guard. You whip around, expecting Jeno, but instead, it’s Mark standing in the doorway. His expression unreadable, his hands tucked into his pockets like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.
“Hey,” Mark says, his voice soft but carrying through the tension in the room.
You stand in shock, your eyes narrowing in on him. The last person you want to see right now is Mark Lee, of all people. “What do you want? Why are you following me?” Your voice comes out harsher than you intend, but you don’t care. The anger flares up, twisting in your chest. “Why are you even in Jeno’s room? Do you want me to call him?”
Mark’s expression shifts, his lips curling into a half-smirk that makes your blood boil. “Yeah, you won’t do that.” he says, voice calm but biting. “Bit of a weird relationship you guys have, huh? You’re his girlfriend, but he spends the night flirting and touching other girls?”
His words hit harder than you expect, cutting deep. You swallow, trying to hold back the frustration bubbling inside you, but it spills over anyway. “You’re not allowed to talk about my relationship,” you snap, stepping closer, the distance between you narrowing. “How dare you… how dare you tell Jeno that you wanted me if you won the game earlier?”
Mark chuckles, the sound low and dry. “Just when I think Jeno couldn’t be more of a jerk,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I changed my mind, alright? I agreed that if I won, I’d quit the team. Did he bother telling you that, or did he just let you believe the worst?”
You freeze, stunned. The weight of his words hangs heavy between you. “Why would you… why would you want to quit the team?”
Mark’s expression softens for a moment, the tension easing slightly from his posture. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because I’m tired of this,” he says, his voice quieter now, more genuine. “I don’t want to be in Jeno’s world anymore, competing with him over every little thing. Basketball used to be fun for me, but not when it’s all about one-upping him. It’s exhausting.”
You stare at him, processing the weight of what he’s just said. He’s not just tired of the rivalry—he’s tired of everything that comes with it, the constant competition, the games, the need to prove something. It’s so different from the way Jeno sees things.
You truthfully had no idea how intertwined Mark and Jeno’s lives had become recently. It feels strange, realising you’ve been standing on the outside of something so tangled. You’re meant to be Jeno’s girlfriend, yet you’ve never seen this side of his life—not until today when he mentioned Mark while getting ready for their showdown at the river court. That was the first time he had ever really talked about his half-brother with you, and even then, it was brief, distant, like he was giving you only the surface.
And now here you are, standing with Mark, getting a glimpse into the mess that you’ve somehow been pulled into without fully understanding it. It’s like you’ve been involved in their rivalry without even realising it, and yet you can see the toll it’s taken on Mark. The weariness in his voice, the way he talks about Jeno—it’s clear he’s already fed up. He’s exhausted, but from your perspective, you’ve only been witnessing it from the outside, catching pieces of a story you were never let into.
You’re confused, not truly understanding the dynamics between Mark and Jeno or the tension in their family. You’ve met Jeno’s dad before, and it didn’t take long to realise he’s an asshole. Controlling, dismissive, and always pushing Jeno toward something—whether it’s basketball or his own toxic expectations. Now, hearing Mark’s side of things, it makes sense why he wouldn’t want to be associated with their dad or get sucked into Jeno’s world. You’re not surprised Mark is tired of it all.
You notice the sadness lingering in his eyes, the exhaustion etched into his features, and it makes something twist in your chest. It’s clear he’s been carrying the weight of this rivalry far longer than you realised. You don’t fully understand the complexities between them, and a part of you wonders if you ever will.
You change the subject, not wanting to push him further into a conversation that clearly brings up so much for him.
“So… you did bet on me at first,” you murmur, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. “Why?”
Mark steps closer, and suddenly the air in the room feels different, heavier with a tension that has nothing to do with anger. His eyes lock on yours, and for a moment, you feel like he’s seeing right through you. “Because I’ve always noticed you,” he says, his voice lower, more intimate. “The way you laugh when you think no one’s watching. The way you bite your lip when you’re lost in your own thoughts. The way you don’t let anyone in, but you have so much more to give than what people see.”
The words send a jolt through you, leaving you speechless, flushed. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. The room feels smaller, the tension between you thick and suffocating.
Just as quickly as he’s drawn you in, Mark shifts the conversation, breaking the intensity of the moment. His gaze drifts to the bedside table, where a stack of vinyl records sits. He curled an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. “No way Jeno listens to music this good,” he comments, his fingers brushing over the edge of a record. “Oasis?”
You blink, the sudden change in tone catching you off guard. “He doesn’t,” you mumble, glancing at the records. “They’re mine.”
Mark’s smile widens, genuine and warm. “Didn’t think Jeno had that kind of taste. But you… this makes sense. You’ve got good taste.”
You shake your head slightly, still processing the shift in the conversation. Jeno always made fun of your music, always complained about how outdated and boring it was. But Mark… Mark seems to appreciate it.
He looks around the room again and spots your laptop, the digital art project you’ve been working on still open on the screen. He steps closer, leaning over to get a better look. “This… this is good,” he says, sounding almost impressed. “Really good.”
You brush off the compliment, shrugging. “It’s nothing, just something I mess around with.”
“No,” Mark says firmly, turning to face you, his eyes serious. “You’re talented. You need to take this seriously. Be proud of yourself for once.”
You blink, the unexpected praise catching you off guard. Jeno never really cared about your art. Whenever you’d show him a new project, he’d glance at it, offer a half-hearted “cool,” and move on to whatever was on his mind. But hearing it from Mark—someone who’s not even in your life—feels different. It feels real.
You turn away slightly, suddenly feeling exposed. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble, trying to dismiss it, but Mark doesn’t let it go.
“It is a big deal,” he insists, his voice soft but firm. “Look, I know I’m a complete nobody to you, and I don’t know everything about you, but I can tell that this… this is something you care about. You’re good, really good, and you shouldn’t brush that off.”
You swallow hard, his words sinking deeper than you expected. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, like he sees more than what you’re used to showing people. Like he’s seeing the side of you that even Jeno never bothered to notice.
The tension between you shifts again, but this time it’s softer, quieter. You feel yourself calming down, the anger that had burned so hot before now fading into something else—something you can’t quite put your finger on. It feels like Mark is seeing you, really seeing you, and that makes your chest tighten in a way that’s hard to ignore.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. The question slips out before you can stop it, and you feel vulnerable, like you’re revealing more than you want to.
Mark’s gaze softens, and he steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe because someone should be,” he says quietly. “Someone should tell you how good you are. How much you matter. How much you deserve more than what you’re settling for.”
The words hit you hard, and you find yourself struggling to breathe. Mark’s standing so close now, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, and for a moment, you forget everything else. You forget about the party downstairs, the chaos with Jeno, the bet. All you can focus on is the way Mark is looking at you, the sincerity in his eyes.
You want to say something, anything, but the words are stuck in your throat. There’s a strange electricity in the air between you, like you’re standing on the edge of something dangerous and exciting all at once. Your mind is telling you to stop, to pull back, but your body doesn’t move.
And then, before you can fully process what’s happening, Mark reaches out, his fingers gently brushing against your arm. The touch is soft, tentative, but it sends a jolt through you.
“Mark…” you murmur, unsure of what you’re even trying to say.
But he’s already pulling his hand back, stepping away just enough to give you space, the intensity of the moment easing. He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a small laugh, but it’s not out of amusement—it’s out of the tension that’s still lingering between you both.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just… I don’t know, I felt like you needed to hear that.”
You stand there, your heart racing, and for a second, you don’t know how to respond. Everything feels charged, like you’re balancing on a knife’s edge. You know you shouldn’t feel anything like this. He’s Jeno’s brother, after all, and this is already messy enough. But the way Mark looks at you, the way he speaks to you—it feels different. Different from Jeno. Different from anyone.
“I should go,” you finally say, the words shaky and unconvincing.
But before you can make a move, Mark stops you again, his voice soft but commanding. “Wait.”
You turn back, meeting his eyes again, and the tension that had briefly eased floods back, stronger than ever. He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes are full of something you can’t quite place.
“Why are you with him?” Mark asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
The question catches you off guard. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. Because deep down, you’re not sure you know the answer anymore. The connection you once had with Jeno feels distant, hollow, like it’s slipping through your fingers the more you try to hold on.
Mark takes a step closer, and you feel your breath hitch in your throat. His presence is overwhelming, and for the first time tonight, you feel truly seen. Not as Jeno’s girlfriend, not as someone who’s part of the chaos—but as yourself.
“Because,” you start, your voice shaky. “It’s easier than admitting that maybe we’re not right for each other. It’s easier than dealing with everything that’s falling apart.”
Mark’s eyes soften, and for a moment, he looks like he understands you in a way no one else has. He doesn’t push you for more, doesn’t make you feel guilty for your honesty. He just listens, and that feels like something you’ve been missing for a long time.
There’s a long silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy, charged with all the things you’re both not saying, but also filled with a strange sense of calm.
And then, Mark’s voice breaks through the quiet.
“You deserve better than ‘easy,’” he says softly, and his words sink deep into your chest, stirring something you’ve been trying to ignore for too long.
The room feels smaller, the air between you buzzing with something electric. For the first time, you wonder if maybe Mark’s right. Maybe you do deserve better. Maybe ‘easy’ isn’t enough anymore.
And just like that, everything between you shifts again.
───────────────────────────────
The next morning is a blur of regret and a pounding headache, the hangover hitting you harder than usual. You drag yourself out of bed, thoughts of last night swirling in your mind. Mark. You can’t stop thinking about him, the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you. It’s unsettling how much it affected you, how easily he got under your skin. You’d never noticed him before, never cared to, but now… now it’s different.
He looked right into you, saw things no one else had ever bothered to. That scared you. How could he do that in just one conversation? It’s unsettling how easily he got under your skin. You’d always been in control of how people saw you—polished, popular, the girl everyone wanted to be. But Mark… he saw past all of that. And you hated that. You couldn’t allow it.
As you walk through campus, your usual routine kicks in. The stares, the whispers—they follow you like they always do. You’re well-known, well-liked, and that’s how it’s supposed to be. You slip back into that role easily, the confident girl everyone looks up to, the one they envy or want to be. But today, it feels different, like something’s off. Like you are off. The mask you wear is starting to slip.
You push open the heavy doors to the stadium, the noise of squeaking sneakers and the thud of basketballs filling the air. The gym is mostly empty except for the cheer squad and the basketball team, both deep into practice for the big away game this weekend. The space is vast, the polished wood floor stretching out in front of you, the high ceilings making the place feel both overwhelming and hollow.
Karina, your best friend, is standing in the middle of the court, already in full drill-sergeant mode. She’s wearing the same cheer outfit as you—tiny, sultry, and sexy. The short skirt clings to her hips, barely covering her thighs, and the tight top shows off just enough skin to turn heads. Her long black hair is tied back into a sleek ponytail, and her dark eyes flash with intensity as she barks orders at the other girls. Karina’s passionate, sometimes too much so, running practices like boot camp. You’ve known her forever, and while she thrives on drama, partying, and popularity, she’s a good person underneath all that chaos. She’s just someone who loves living on the edge and always ends up in trouble.
“You’re late,” Karina snaps when she sees you, her voice sharp. She rolls her eyes dramatically and gestures for you to start warming up. “If you’re not gonna take this seriously, don’t even bother showing up.”
You give her a half-hearted shrug, too hungover and distracted to care. “I overslept,” you mutter, pulling your hair into a ponytail and adjusting the skirt of your cheer uniform. The fabric clings to your skin, the skirt short enough to leave little to the imagination. You stretch, trying to ignore the lingering headache and the thoughts of Mark that refuse to leave your mind.
Karina goes back to yelling at the other girls, demanding perfection in the routine, and you start practising alongside them. The others around you are gossiping, their voices filled with excitement as they gush over the basketball players—how hot they look in their uniforms, who hooked up with who, and which guy is the best in bed. You block them out, going through the motions of the routine as if on autopilot.
But then, you feel it again. That familiar, heavy gaze. You lift your head, and your heart skips when you see him.
Mark.
He’s across the court, dribbling a basketball with effortless ease, but his eyes are on you. He’s wearing the team’s uniform tank top, his last name, ‘Lee,’ boldly printed on the back. The sleeveless jersey hugs his broad shoulders, showing off his muscular arms, the definition of his biceps catching your eye. It fits him well—too well. The fabric clings to his torso, outlining the muscles beneath, and you curse yourself for noticing.
What a fucking liar. Didn’t he say he was quitting the team? So why was he here now, practising like nothing had changed?
Mark dribbles closer, and as he moves past you, you can’t stop yourself from striking up the question that’s been bugging you. “I thought you quit,” you say, your voice sharp with accusation.
He pauses, turning to you, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I did,” he replies smoothly. “But I realised something this morning—this court is where I belong. No one’s gonna stop me from being here. Not Jeno. Not anyone.”
His words are like a challenge, and it makes something in your chest tighten. He stands there, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to say something more. You narrow your gaze, trying to keep the frustration from bubbling over. His presence was throwing you off balance, making you question things you didn’t want to face.
Mark doesn’t seem fazed by your silence. In fact, he starts talking again, asking about cheer practice, making small talk like nothing’s wrong. But you can’t let yourself engage. You give him blunt, clipped responses, barely meeting his gaze. You can’t afford to let him break through your walls again. Not in front of Karina and the other girls.
He huffs, his voice carrying a teasing edge. “Why the hell are you a cheerleader anyway? You’re the least cheery person I know.”
Before you can answer, you notice the other cheerleaders staring, their eyes flicking between you and Mark. Some of them—the same girls who were flirting with him at the party—are watching closely, whispering to each other, their expressions curious. You feel exposed under their gaze, like they can see right through you, like they know something’s happened between you and Mark even though that was far from the reality.
You force yourself to act indifferent, cold. You put up the walls you’re so good at building, the ones that keep people from seeing the real you. But Mark’s not fooled. He sees through it, and it only makes him more determined. His gaze lingers, and you can feel the weight of it even as you turn away, trying to focus on the routine.
The tension between you is subtle, a quiet current that hums beneath the surface. You don’t know him well enough for it to be anything more, but there’s something about the way Mark watches you—calm, measured, like he’s trying to figure you out. It’s unsettling how easily he manages to chip away at the front you’ve put up, the one you use to keep everyone at a distance. He doesn’t push, doesn’t challenge you outright, but his presence is enough to make you feel exposed in a way you’re not used to.
What bothers you the most is how Mark seems to notice things others don’t, like he’s already picking up on pieces of you that you barely acknowledge yourself. He doesn’t say much, but the way he looks at you—steady, unflinching—feels like he’s seeing past the version of you that everyone else accepts without question. It’s not that he’s right, exactly, but the fact that he might be makes you uneasy.
Mark catches you stealing small glances at him as the practice goes on. You falter in your movements just enough for him to notice, and each time you feel his eyes on you, your skin prickles with awareness. It’s infuriating, really—the way he’s always watching, like he’s waiting for you to crack. And what’s worse, you can’t stop yourself from glancing back.
You refocus, forcing your attention on Karina, who’s still barking orders at the squad, her long black hair swaying with every step. She’s relentless, her intensity dialled up to eleven. “Come on, Y/N,” she snaps, clapping her hands. “You’re half-assing it today. Get your head in the game!”
Karina’s passion for cheer is unmatched. She runs these practices like military drills, pushing everyone to their limits. It’s part of why she’s cheer captain, part of why the girls respect her, but it’s also why they gossip about how extra she is behind her back. But you know that her heart is in the right place. She loves this life. The drama, the popularity, the excitement of being at the centre of it all.
The cheer team lines up for the final drill, a complicated pyramid. As you climb into position, you catch Mark watching again, this time closer than before. He’s dribbling lazily nearby, as if he’s waiting for an excuse to talk to you. Your stomach twists, frustration and something else swirling in your gut. You turn away, focusing on the balance, ignoring him.
But as practice winds down, and you’re stretching by the edge of the court, you feel his shadow fall over you. He’s closer now, leaning against the wall, the basketball spinning lazily in his hand. You can’t ignore him any longer.
“I thought you were serious about quitting,” you mutter, not looking at him, your fingers digging into your muscles as you stretch.
Mark doesn’t answer right away, his silence speaking volumes. When he finally does, his voice is low, laced with that teasing tone he always seems to have around you. “I was. But sometimes plans change.” His eyes are locked on yours, and you hate how steady his gaze is, how it makes you feel like he’s peeling away your defences one layer at a time.
You scoff, rolling your shoulders back as you stand. “You and Jeno are going to kill each other. What’s the point?”
Mark’s eyes flicker, his jaw tightening for a brief second before his usual calm mask returns. “Maybe. Or maybe this is the only way to settle things between us.”
You’re taken aback by the intensity in his voice, but you don’t show it. Instead, you shrug, grabbing your water bottle and taking a long drink. “Whatever. Just don’t drag me into it.”
Mark steps closer, and you freeze, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. “You’re already in it,” he says, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Whether you want to be or not.”
You blink, trying to process what Mark means. Of course, you’re involved—you’re Jeno’s girlfriend, after all. But there’s something in the way Mark says it, something that feels deeper than just the rivalry between him and his brother. He’s looking at you like he knows something you don’t, like he sees the storm brewing before you even realise it’s there.
You open your mouth to respond, but before you can say anything, the doors to the court open with a loud bang, the sound echoing across the gym.
All eyes instinctively glance toward the entrance as Jeno strides in, exuding the kind of confidence that makes it seem like he owns the place. There’s an effortless swagger in his step, the kind that turns heads, drawing attention without even trying.
He’s late, but he doesn’t look like someone who’s been through a rough night. His hair, though slightly tousled, is styled in that perfect, careless way that still manages to look deliberate. His basketball jersey clings to his broad shoulders, the material showcasing the lean muscles of his arms as it moves with every step he takes. His name ‘Lee,’ is plastered boldly across his back. His skin glows with a faint sheen, his body radiating a kind of heat that makes you—despite everything—take notice.
Coach Suh’s voice booms across the court, cutting through the tension. “Lee Jeno! You’re late! Get your ass over here—this isn’t a damn joke.”
Jeno just shakes his head, a smirk pulling at his lips as he runs a hand through his messy hair. The sound of his laugh echoes through the gym, but it’s empty, lacking its usual charm. Instead of walking toward the rest of the team, he strides toward you and Mark, his gaze flicking between the two of you.
His expression is tight, frustration radiating off him, but it’s not just about being late. The way his eyes fix on Mark makes your stomach clench—this wouldn’t end well.
“So,” Jeno drawls, his voice low and laced with bitterness, “not only do you want my life, my spot on the team, but you also want my girl?”
The words hang heavy in the air, his accusation sharp. Mark doesn’t move, his eyes narrowing as he watches Jeno, his calm exterior refusing to crack.
Your heart pounds in your chest, panic rising as you feel the tension between them ramping up like a ticking time bomb about to explode. You can see it in Jeno’s posture—the way his fists clench, the way he’s getting ready to square up and the way his jaw tightens—he’s not going to let this go easily.
You step in quickly, hoping to defuse the situation before it spirals out of control. “Jeno, let’s just go, yeah?” you say softly, stepping closer to him. You put your arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you, hoping your touch will calm him down. “We’ll skip practice and hang out like we used to before. Please, let’s just leave.”
For a moment, Jeno doesn’t move, his gaze still locked on Mark, but then he turns to you, his features softening just slightly. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Baby, I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have done that.”
You swallow, the tension in the air heavy, but you nod, wanting to end this. “It’s okay,” you whisper back. “Let’s just move on, okay?”
Jeno pulls back, his smirk returning as he glances at Mark one last time before turning fully to you. He speaks loud enough for Mark to hear, completely ignoring his brother’s presence. “I’ll pick you up later, yeah? We haven’t fucked in so long. I’ll make sure you have a better time than last night.”
You freeze, his words making your skin prickle. It’s meant to sound playful, teasing, but there’s an edge to it—something bitter and insecure. You can sense it in the way he’s trying too hard, covering his unease with cocky charm.
But you’re horny, above everything else, you really want cock. His cock.
“Okay,” you smile, leaning up to kiss Jeno softly, the warmth of his lips against yours a temporary distraction. Still, you can’t shake the feeling of Mark’s eyes burning into you from across the court, watching the whole interaction unfold.
───────────────────────────────
The gym was alive with the roaring of the crowd, the heavy pounding of feet against the polished hardwood echoing through the space. It was the big away game, the one everyone had been talking about for weeks. You stood with the rest of the cheer team, pom-poms in hand, cheering and supporting the boys. The energy was electric, the entire stadium buzzing with anticipation. You could feel the excitement coursing through the air, a mix of tension and adrenaline that had everyone on edge.
The crowd was packed, faces blurred together, and their cheers were deafening. The thud of basketballs against the court, the squeak of sneakers, You glanced around, spotting Karina, who was already screaming her head off, hyping up the team and the crowd, her long black hair bouncing with every movement. She was intense, as always. The bright cheer uniforms only added to the energy, and despite the tension in the air, you couldn’t deny how it all came together. You loved being part of the noise, even if you felt disconnected at times.
Your eyes were naturally drawn to the court, where the basketball players were in full motion. Mark was everywhere—sprinting down the court, dribbling the ball, his focus intense. He was confident, fully immersed in the game, his movements fluid and controlled. It was hard not to notice how good he was, how easily he fit into the rhythm of the team despite everything that had happened. He belonged there, and it was becoming more obvious with every passing second. The crowd roared when he made another shot, and you could see the respect from his teammates growing, even from the coach, who’d been unsure about Mark’s return at first.
You’ve crossed paths with Mark more than ever lately. Now that he’s back on the team, it’s like you can’t escape him. Every practice, every game, he’s there. At first, you tried not to think much of it. You were with Jeno, after all. But there’s something about Mark that draws your attention, whether you want to admit it or not. Something in the way he moves on the court, the quiet confidence he carries with him, a calmness that contrasts with Jeno’s intensity.
The tension between them is palpable. Jeno had always been the star of the team, the one everyone looked to. But ever since Mark returned, that’s been changing. Mark was gaining attention—not just from the coach but from the teammates too. He was good. Really good. And every time Mark made a clean shot, a perfect pass, it only seemed to stoke the frustration in Jeno’s eyes.
Jeno was playing tonight, just not in his usual position. And it was clear that something was off. Every time he had the ball, he hesitated, glancing toward Mark before passing to someone else. He was purposefully ignoring his brother, and you could see the frustration building. Mark was calling for the ball, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Come on, man! Pass the ball!” Mark shouted, motioning for the pass.
Jeno ignores him, pushing forward and taking the shot himself. It’s a miss, and the other team grabs the rebound. Mark’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes locked on Jeno, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
The tension keeps building, and you feel it, feel it in the way Jeno glares at Mark during the timeout, feel it in the way Mark brushes past him, his shoulders stiff with barely contained anger. It’s only a matter of time before something snaps.
And then it does.
In the final quarter, with the clock winding down, Jeno gets the ball again. He dribbles down the court, and Mark is wide open, calling for it. The crowd yells for Jeno to pass, but he doesn’t. Instead, he goes for a three-pointer, and the ball bounces off the rim. Mark’s face tightens in frustration, and as soon as the play stops, he storms over to Jeno.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mark demands, shoving Jeno’s shoulder. “You had to prove something by missing a shot you knew you couldn’t make?”
Jeno’s eyes flash with anger as he pushes Mark back, his jaw clenched tight. “You think I’m gonna let you take my place? You don’t get it, Mark. This was my team before you showed up, and it’ll be my team long after you leave.”
Mark doesn’t back down. He steps closer, his voice calm but cold. “You don’t own this team, Jeno. Stop acting like I’m here to take everything from you.”
Jeno scoffs, his voice rising, the frustration boiling over. “That’s exactly what you’re doing! You want everything I have—my spot on the court, my life, my girl—” He stops short, his eyes darting to you for a split second before he looks back at Mark. “You want what’s mine, and you’re not getting it.”
Mark’s jaw clenches, and before anyone can react, Jeno takes a swing. The punch catches Mark in the chest, but Mark doesn’t fall back. Instead, he lunges forward, shoving Jeno hard enough to send him stumbling back. The crowd gasps as the tension explodes, and the game halts as the two brothers start throwing punches.
It’s chaos. They’re grappling, shoving each other, fists flying as they tumble to the ground. Teammates rush in to pull them apart, but the damage is done. The anger, the resentment—it’s all out in the open now.
“Is that what this is about?” Mark growls, his voice low as he’s dragged back by a teammate. “You’re scared I’ll take everything you think is yours?”
Jeno spits, his eyes burning with rage as he shrugs off the hands holding him back. “You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? Just because you walked back into my life and everyone suddenly loves you. But you’re nothing, Mark. You’ve always been nothing.”
The words sting, and you can see it in Mark’s eyes. There’s hurt beneath the anger, hurt that Jeno’s words have dug up, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he straightens, his chest heaving with effort as he holds Jeno’s gaze. “I never wanted to take anything from you, Jeno,” Mark says quietly, but the weight behind his words hits hard. “I just wanted a chance to be something without having to live in your shadow.”
Jeno doesn’t respond. He just glares, his fists still clenched, and it’s clear that, despite everything, he’s not ready to let go of his anger.
You watch from the sidelines, your heart racing. The fight, the words they’re throwing at each other—it’s like you’re watching years of tension unfold right in front of you. And though you know you should be on Jeno’s side, your heart twists when you see the way Mark looks, the way he’s trying to hold himself together while everything falls apart around him.
Jeno looks at you, expecting you to come to his side, to back him up like you always have. But you can’t. Not this time. Not when you can see the pain in Mark’s eyes, the vulnerability he’s trying so hard to hide. You hesitate, your mind racing with everything that’s happened, torn between the loyalty you owe to Jeno and the empathy you feel for Mark.
Before you can think too much, you find yourself stepping forward, your voice soft but clear. “Jeno… maybe it’s time to let this go.”
Jeno’s eyes snap to you, his expression shifting from anger to disbelief. “What? You’re taking his side now?”
“I’m not taking sides,” you say quietly, but the look in Jeno’s eyes tells you he doesn’t believe that. “I just think this has gone too far. Both of you need to stop before it gets worse.”
Mark stands there, silent but watching you, his gaze steady, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do next. And for a moment, you catch the flicker of something in his eyes—gratitude, maybe, or understanding. It’s brief, but it’s there.
Jeno lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Of course. Of course, you’d side with him.”
You swallow hard, feeling the weight of Jeno’s words, but before you can respond, the coach steps in, finally ending the fight and calling off the game.
As the crowd disperses and the players start to leave the court, you find yourself standing in the middle of it all, your heart heavy with everything that’s happened. Jeno storms off without another word, and Mark lingers for a moment, his eyes meeting yours once more before he turns and walks away. Jeno’s jaw was clenched, fists still balled as he stormed off the court. He didn’t look at you, not even once. Not after the fight started and not when he walked away, the tension radiating off him in waves.
You waited outside the locker room, hoping things would cool off, but Jeno was waiting for you. The moment your eyes met his, you knew this wasn’t going to be just another argument. There was something different in his gaze—something deeper, angrier.
“You let him get to you,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration as you stood before him, trying to keep your own emotions in check.
Jeno’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You think this is just about him getting on my nerves?” His voice was sharp, filled with a bitterness that made your stomach twist. “It’s never been that simple. He keeps trying to edge me out. First, he steps onto the court, taking my place there, and now…”
He paused, the weight of his words heavy in the air. When his eyes finally met yours, there was something raw in his gaze, something that made your chest tighten.
“And now it feels like he’s trying to take you too,” Jeno muttered, the accusation hanging between you like a loaded gun.
The shock hit you like a wave, leaving you speechless for a moment. “What? What are you even saying?” you stammered, though the crack in your voice betrayed the strength you were trying to summon. Your heart raced, and your hands trembled slightly at your sides.
Jeno’s frustration boiled over as he stepped closer, the intensity in his eyes almost too much to bear. “I’m not blind, Y/N. I see it. The way things have changed between us… The way you look at him when you think no one’s watching. You’ve been different, distant. You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice was laced with something that felt like betrayal, something that cut deep even before you could fully process what he was accusing you of.
“You’re wrong,” you whispered, but even as the words left your mouth, they felt hollow.
“Am I?” He scoffed, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between you.
The lump in your throat made it hard to speak, the tears already threatening to spill over. “I’ve been trying, Jeno. I—”
“Trying?” he cut you off, his voice harsh and biting. “This is you trying? Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re slipping away from me. You’re slipping away, Y/N, and it’s because of him. Admit it.”
The tears finally broke free, sliding down your cheeks before you could stop them. It was too much—the accusations, the anger, the way he looked at you like he didn’t recognize you anymore. “I can’t do this,” you murmured, shaking your head, your voice barely holding together. “I’m trying, but you—”
Without waiting for his response, you turned and bolted, your feet moving before your mind could catch up. The sounds of the gym—shouts, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor, the dull thud of the basketball—faded behind you as you disappeared into the dimly lit hallways. The air was colder here, the emptiness wrapping around you like a shroud. But it couldn’t stop the sobs from rising in your throat, harsh and relentless, each one cutting deeper than the last.
You couldn’t remember the last time you cried. Not like this. Not the kind of tears that felt like they were tearing you apart from the inside out, like they’d been building for years, waiting for this very moment to break free.
Your chest heaved, your breaths ragged and uneven as you stumbled into a dark corner, sliding down against the cool wall. The hallway was silent, save for the sound of your sobs echoing back at you. You felt so raw, so exposed, like every layer of protection you’d built over the years had been stripped away in an instant. Vulnerability wasn’t something you allowed yourself to feel often—maybe ever—but here you were, unable to stop it.
Tears blurred your vision, and you pressed your hands to your face, trying to muffle the sound of your cries. But it was no use. The emotions had taken hold, refusing to let go. The anger, the hurt, the fear of everything unraveling—it was too much.
For so long, you had kept it all together, every crack patched up with a smile or a dismissive shrug. But this time… this time you couldn’t. You couldn’t stop the flood. And it terrified you because you didn’t know what came next. What was left when all the masks came off, when the facade you’d worked so hard to maintain finally crumbled?
You don’t know how long you’d been sitting there, curled up on the cold bench in one of the quieter hallways, your face buried in your hands as sobs wracked your body. Time felt like it had lost meaning, and you were too exhausted to care.
But when you heard soft footsteps approaching, you didn’t move. You didn’t have the energy. A familiar presence settled next to you. You felt it before you saw him, the warmth of his body close to yours, the quiet concern that radiated from him.
“Y/N,” Mark’s voice was soft, almost tentative. He crouched in front of you, his face level with yours, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay?”
The question felt absurd, considering the mess you were in, but something about the way he asked it—so gently, so genuinely—caught you off guard. He wasn’t demanding answers, wasn’t prying. He just wanted to be there.
“I’m fine,” you mumbled, trying to brush him off, but your voice cracked, betraying you. Your hands trembled as you wiped at your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but it was no use. You couldn’t hold it in anymore.
Mark didn’t push. Instead, he quietly sat beside you, the weight of his presence comforting in its simplicity. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty words. He just stayed there, his quiet strength offering more support than you’d realized you needed.
And then, before you knew it, you were crying again. Harder this time. The tears came in waves, overwhelming and unstoppable, and you felt yourself crumbling under the weight of everything you’d been holding in.
Without a word, Mark wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest in a gesture so simple, yet so needed. He held you close, one hand gently rubbing your back as the other rested on your shoulder. It wasn’t forceful or overwhelming—it was soft, steady, like he was offering you a safe space to break down.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soothing, steady. “You don’t have to hold it in.”
His words were like a lifeline, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to let go. To stop pretending, stop fighting. You buried your face in his shoulder, your sobs muffled against his chest as the tears flowed freely.
Mark held you through it all, his presence grounding you, making you feel like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t alone in this. He didn’t say much—just whispered reassurances when the sobs became too much, his hand continuing its slow, comforting motion on your back.
When your sobs finally began to subside, you pulled back slightly, your eyes puffy and red, your breath still shaky. You met his gaze, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to hide.
He wasn’t judging you. He wasn’t expecting you to be strong or put together. He just… saw you. The real you. The vulnerable, broken, messy you.
“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, thick with emotion.
Mark’s gaze softened, his hand still resting gently on your back. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to go through anything alone. You deserve better”
His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. There was something in his voice, something in the way he looked at you, that made you believe him. Made you feel like, for the first time in a long time, someone saw you for who you really were—and didn’t turn away.
You nodded, your throat tight, and Mark gave you a small, understanding smile, his hand lingering for just a moment longer before he pulled back, giving you space to breathe.
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The next few weeks passed in a blur of practices, games, and strained silence. You and Jeno had settled into a routine of avoidance—every fight left more scars, and neither of you seemed to know how to bridge the growing gap. Every interaction felt heavy, filled with unspoken words and bubbling frustration that neither of you could release. Even the once-effortless sexual connection between you had started to lose its spark, leaving behind a dull ache in its place.
But the only constant, ironically, was Mark.
But you tried to hide it because Jeno was beginning to suspect something. You denied all accusations. Maybe you were just acting petty, trying to make a point and prove Jeno that he was wrong even though you knew he was right. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because you were scared—scared to open up to Mark, scared to admit that the feelings stirring inside you weren’t as simple as you wanted them to be.
You told yourself it didn’t mean anything—that your stolen glances, the way you lingered a bit longer than you should during practices, was just harmless. But deep down, you knew better. Something was growing between you two, an unspoken pull that had you circling each other in quiet tension.
Today, it all came to a head during practice.
You moved through the stretches with fluid precision, your body bending and arching with every calculated motion. The gym lights flickered overhead, casting a golden hue on your skin as you twisted and turned, giving the cheerleaders around you a preview of the sultry moves you had perfected. Each stretch felt like a deliberate invitation, especially when you bent low, ass pushing out, skirt rising just high enough to leave little to the imagination. The hem of your cheerleading skirt barely brushed the tops of your thighs, teasing the smooth expanse of your skin as you moved.
Your body felt alive, the beat of the music in the background fueling the slow, rhythmic sway of your hips. You could feel the stretch in your thighs, the way the muscles tensed and released as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other, the fabric of your skirt rising dangerously high with each movement. Your arms lifted above your head, drawing attention to the curve of your waist, the way the tight cheer top clung to your chest, accentuating every dip and curve.
You knew eyes were on you. You felt it.
But one set of eyes burned hotter than the rest.
Mark’s gaze was a constant, heavy presence, dragging over every inch of your body as you moved. He wasn’t trying to hide it. No, he wasn’t even subtle. Every time you bent low or did a quick flip of your hair, his eyes were right there, drinking in the sight of your ass, the bare stretch of your thighs. His gaze was intense, following the rise and fall of your body as though he was committing every detail to memory.
Your skirt rose a little higher as you shifted into a new move, a slut drop, your thighs tightening as you lowered your body, giving him an even better view. You felt the air against your skin, the way the heat of the gym mingled with the cool brush of fabric as it rode up higher with each deliberate movement. It made you feel powerful. Sexy. You were showing off, and you knew it.
Mark’s reaction was immediate. His jaw tightened as he watched, his fingers gripping the basketball tighter than necessary, veins bulging along his forearm. The way his eyes roamed over you, dark with want, made a shiver run down your spine. He didn’t blink, didn’t even bother pretending to focus on the practice drills.
Instead, he was laser-focused on you.
You caught his gaze as you straightened up, standing tall with a cocky smirk tugging at your lips. His eyes stayed glued to you, a hungry look darkening his features. You felt a thrill rush through you, knowing you had his full attention, knowing he was checking you out in front of everyone. Your body burned under the weight of his stare, heat pooling low in your belly. It was addictive, the way he looked at you like he wanted to devour you right there in the middle of the gym.
You could feel Jeno’s eyes on you too, burning with barely concealed jealousy as he watched the unspoken tension pass between you and Mark. But you didn’t stop. You didn’t care. The power you felt from knowing Mark couldn’t keep his eyes off you only fueled you more. The harder Jeno stared, the deeper you sank into your movements, stretching further, leaning into the seductive rhythm of the routine.
And then it happened—Mark, distracted, let the basketball slip from his grip. The sound of it bouncing toward you pulled you from your trance just in time to see it come flying in your direction. You barely had time to react, the ball missing you by mere inches, the whoosh of air sending your hair flying.
The entire gym fell silent.
All eyes were on you now, the attention turning from curious whispers to outright gawking. The cheerleaders stopped mid-practice, their gazes shifting from you to Mark, wondering what the hell was going on. The basketball team paused, a few muttered chuckles floating through the air as the ball rolled to a stop at your feet.
Mark was still staring, his eyes now filled with something darker, more heated than before. The moment felt charged, the tension between you two palpable, hanging thick in the air. You could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze, their confusion, their curiosity. But none of that mattered. All you could think about was the way Mark was looking at you—like he was undressing you with his eyes, like he couldn’t get enough.
You huffed, breaking the silence with a sarcastic snort. “Nice arms,” you quipped, crossing your arms over your chest as you tried to shake off the tension.
Mark didn’t smile, didn’t laugh. Instead, he leaned closer, his voice dropping low enough that only you could hear it, his gaze burning into yours with a quiet intensity. “Nice ass,” he murmured, his voice dripping with something dangerous, something that sent a pulse of heat straight to your core.
Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the air between you two thickening with a different kind of tension. You could feel the flush rising in your cheeks, the way your body responded to the boldness of his statement, to the low rasp of his voice. Your throat tightened, and for a split second, you forgot where you were, forgot that the entire gym was watching, that Jeno’s eyes were on you, burning with fury.
You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, you stood there, locked in Mark’s gaze, the heat between you almost suffocating. It was subtle, so subtle that no one else in the gym could pick up on the charged moment passing between you two. But you felt it. You knew it. And from the way Mark’s eyes stayed on yours, dark and hungry, you knew he felt it too.
The whispers around you grew louder, and you could feel the cheerleaders and basketball players glancing at each other, sensing the tension but not quite understanding it. But the look on Jeno’s face said it all. His jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed with a mix of anger and suspicion as he watched the two of you, his body tense with barely concealed rage.
You could feel the weight of Jeno’s stare as he marched toward you, his presence heavy and commanding. “Let’s go,” he snapped, grabbing your arm, his grip firm as he pulled you toward him, his frustration barely hidden beneath the surface. He didn’t even glance at Mark, but you could feel the seething anger radiating off him in waves.
Mark’s eyes didn’t waver. He watched as Jeno led you away, his gaze steady, like he was daring you to say something, to do something. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The air between you and Mark was thick with tension, the kind that lingered even as you walked away, Jeno’s grip tightening on your arm as if to remind you of where you were supposed to be.
──────────────────────────────
It’s late, and your apartment smells faintly of the popcorn Karina had insisted on making. Your legs are lazily draped across her lap as she scrolls through her phone. A few of the other girls are scattered around the room—Winter, Ryujin, and Ningning—chatting animatedly, their voices buzzing like static. You’re not particularly invested in the conversation, but you’re here anyway. You couldn’t avoid it. It’s part of the routine.
The girls gossip about the usual—boys, parties, and who’s been hooking up with whom. But tonight, there’s a different energy in the room. They all have questions about what had happened earlier, and you can feel their curious stares burning into you.
“What was that about?” Winter is the first to ask, raising an eyebrow in your direction.
You shrug, feigning nonchalance. You know exactly what she’s referring to, but you don’t really know how to answer. To you, it was nothing. Of course, Mark would make a comment like that. You looked hot today, and he’d noticed. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less.
Winter presses on, unwilling to let it go. “You can’t tell me it was nothing, especially after seeing how Jeno dragged you out? I wonder what happened after that.”
You glance at her and sigh, deciding to give her the raw, unfiltered truth. “Nothing,” you start, watching their eyes light up in anticipation. “At first, Jeno was mad, pissed even. But then I sucked his cock, and he fucked me against one of the lockers in the guys’ changing rooms.” You pause for effect, wiggling your eyebrows as you finish, “He’s definitely forgiven me.”
The girls burst into giggles, some of them clapping like you’ve just given them a piece of juicy gossip they’d been dying to hear. They choose to ignore the toxicity of it all, the fact that you and Jeno had been using sex as a band-aid for your issues for weeks now. You and Jeno barely talked anymore. Every argument, every moment of tension, was resolved with a quick fuck rather than any real conversation. But you don’t say that part. You leave that truth buried beneath the surface.
“So… Y/N, would it annoy you if I made a move on Mark?” Karina’s voice cuts through the laughter, sharp and filled with a hint of vindication as she looks at you from the corner of her eye.
You can’t help the way your face tightens, annoyance flashing across your expression before you can force it back down. You plaster on a smile, lying through gritted teeth. “No, why would it?”
Karina leans back, raising a perfectly arched brow as if she doesn’t believe you for a second. “Just seems like there’s something going on between you and Mark. He’s been staring at you non-stop lately.”
“Just seems like you and Mark have nothing in common,” you bite back, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I don’t know why you’re suddenly interested in him now. Is it because he’s gotten more popular?”
Karina doesn’t flinch at your retort. Instead, she gives you a slow, deliberate smile. “Maybe,” she says, her voice cool, like she’s playing a game she knows she’ll win. “Or maybe it’s because I think he’s cute. And honestly? I’d love to take his virginity.”
Your chest tightens, a wave of something uncomfortable rippling through you. You weren’t expecting that. “Take his virginity?” you repeat, trying to keep your voice steady, but you can’t hide the slight edge in your tone.
Karina doesn’t miss it. She leans in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. You know, how fun it’d be to corrupt him. Break him in a little. He’s so… quiet. I bet he’s just waiting for someone to show him how it’s done.” Her voice dips lower, more seductive. “Imagine his hands on you, not knowing what to do at first, but learning… fast.”
The other girls are eating it up, hanging onto every word Karina says. They laugh and nod along, and Winter even adds a low whistle.
“Girls…” Winter chimes in, her tone playful. “I don’t think he’s a virgin. It’s always the quiet ones with the big cocks who know exactly what they’re doing.” She sighs dramatically, leaning back into the couch, adding a moan for effect. “I bet he knows how to use it too.”
You roll your eyes. “No, he’s definitely a virgin. I can tell.”
The room fills with chatter as the girls go back and forth, arguing over whether Mark is as inexperienced as you claim or secretly a sex god in disguise. The conversation takes on a life of its own, filled with explicit fantasies and wild speculation.
“Honestly, there’s a rumor going around that he’s fucking Giselle,” Ryujin adds, her tone more serious, like she’s spilling some kind of secret.
“Giselle?” Ningning scoffs. “Please. She’ll fuck anyone with a cock.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s been so chill lately,” Winter says, laughing. “He’s getting laid!”
The conversation feels like it’s spiraling, the air heavy with innuendo and teasing, and you can’t help but feel a flicker of irritation beneath the surface. You’re trying to laugh along with them, trying to ignore the way your stomach twists at the thought of Mark with someone else.
But the truth is, you don’t really know what to feel. You’ve been keeping your distance from Mark, trying to navigate your mess of a relationship with Jeno, but there’s something undeniable growing between you and Mark. Something you can’t quite put your finger on.
Karina leans in closer, her voice low. “Come on, Y/N,” she says, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. About what it’d be like with him.”
You glance around the room, the girls all watching you expectantly, and for a moment, you feel cornered. The weight of their expectations pressing down on you.
You shrug, trying to play it off. “Like I said, he’s probably a virgin. Nothing to think about.”
“Virgin or not,” she says, her lips curling into a smirk, “he’s still hot. And honestly, I think the quiet ones are always the best in bed. All that pent-up energy…” She trails off, her voice laced with suggestion as she winks at Winter, who giggles.
You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the sudden heat rising in your chest. The last thing you want is to picture Mark like that—especially not with Karina talking about him like he’s some kind of conquest. But the image creeps in, unbidden, and you quickly push it away.
“Anyways, I heard Jeno’s gonna invite him to his party this weekend,” Karina continues, her voice light and casual, but you can hear the underlying excitement. “I think I’ll make my move then.”
You groan, slapping your hand against your forehead. “Why is he inviting him?” you mutter under your breath. This wouldn’t end well—you could already see it.
Karina shrugs, her smirk widening as she leans back against the couch. “Shouldn’t you know? Aren’t you his girlfriend?” There’s a teasing edge to her voice, and it grates on your nerves, making your blood simmer just beneath the surface.
You clench your jaw, shaking your head as you try to ignore her, but the annoyance is creeping in, settling deep in your bones. You don’t want to think about Jeno, about Mark, about whatever mess you were tangled up in between them. And you definitely don’t want to think about Karina making a move on Mark at Jeno’s party.
“Yeah, well,” you mutter, standing up from the couch, “I’ve got bigger things to worry about than your little plan.” You cross the room and grab your phone from the coffee table, feeling the girls’ eyes on you the entire time.
Winter giggles softly behind you, her voice sing-song as she chimes in, “Come on, Y/N. We’re just messing with you. No need to get all worked up.”
You turn, giving them a forced smile, but the tension in your body refuses to dissipate. “I’m not worked up. Just… tired.”
Karina’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, her smirk still in place. “Sure,” she says slowly, like she knows more than she’s letting on. “Tired. Right.”
You let out a small sigh, knowing there’s no point in arguing with her. She thrives on this—the drama, the teasing, the tension. She always has. But right now, all you want is some space to clear your head.
You head toward the door, your phone clutched tightly in your hand. “I’ll catch you guys later,” you call over your shoulder, already halfway out the door.
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The music thumped through the walls of the house as you stood at the front door, adjusting your mini black skirt that barely covered anything. It was tight, short, and see-through, leaving little to the imagination. The lace thong you wore underneath was clearly visible if someone looked hard enough, and you had no doubt that people would be looking tonight. Paired with heels, your favorite jewelry, and a form-fitting top that highlighted every curve, you were dressed to kill.
Jeno opened the door, his expression softening into a smile as he took you in. His eyes roamed over your body, lingering on the skirt, and you felt the heat already building between you two. He pulled you in for a kiss, his lips warm against yours as his hand slid down to rest on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin. The promise of what would happen later was clear in his touch.
“Hey, baby,” he murmured against your lips before pulling away to greet Karina and Winter behind you with a hug and a quick nod.
His eyes were back on you immediately, dark and filled with lust as they traced the lines of your daring outfit. You smiled giddily at him, excited for the night ahead. You already knew how the night would end—tangled in sheets with his body on top of yours, all heat and passion. It was the one thing you both were still good at, even when everything else seemed to be falling apart.
The party was already in full swing, the bass vibrating through the floors as the scent of alcohol and smoke filled the air. The lights were low, casting the room in a warm, golden glow, with people sprawled across the couches and dancing in the center of the living room. Laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses created a chaotic but comfortable atmosphere. You could feel the buzz of energy around you as you stepped further into the house, bodies pressed together as the night unfolded. You were already excited for the night, already anticipating the way things would go later with Jeno. The fire in his eyes told you everything you needed to know—tonight would be intense.
But then you noticed Mark.
He was across the room, dressed casually in jeans and a simple white t-shirt, but somehow he stood out more than anyone else. His presence seemed to fill the space around him, and your eyes found his before you even realized it. He wasn’t hiding the way he was looking at you either. His gaze trailed over your body, lingering on your legs, your hips, the tight skirt that hugged your every curve. There was something deliberate in the way he looked at you, and it made your heart skip a beat.
You huffed, quickly looking away, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened. What were you doing? You were here with Jeno, after all. But when you turned back, you saw Jeno walking toward Mark, and your heart sank. You were ready for things to blow up, expecting another confrontation, but to your surprise, Jeno greeted him with a nod and an indifferent expression. At least they weren’t killing each other.
Just as you were about to relax, you saw that Mark wasn’t alone. A girl stood beside him—someone you didn’t recognize. She was quiet, her eyes wide as she glanced nervously around the room, like she wasn’t used to this kind of environment. There was something shy about her, something that made you uneasy for reasons you couldn’t explain.
Jeno greeted her too, his smile a bit too bright as he introduced himself. “I’m Jeno, nice to meet you.”
The girl smiled shyly and introduced herself, but there was something else—a quick, knowing look exchanged between her and Jeno. It was subtle, but you caught it, and it sent a strange jolt of unease through you. What was that about?
Shaking your head, you turned toward the kitchen, needing a drink to calm your nerves. You grabbed a bottle of vodka, pouring yourself a shot and knocking it back quickly. Then another. You didn’t stop until the burn settled into your veins, dulling the edge of whatever was eating away at you.
Just as you set the bottle down, you felt the air shift—the unmistakable presence of Mark sliding in beside you, close enough that the warmth of his body brushed against yours. His voice cut through the noise, low and teasing, carrying that familiar edge that always seemed to pull your attention.
“Taking it a bit far tonight, aren’t we?” You turned your head slightly, catching the smirk playing at the corner of his lips. His eyes, dark and sharp, flickered between the empty shot glasses and then back to your face.
You rolled your eyes, feeling a familiar mix of irritation and something else—something that made your heart beat a little faster. “What do you care?” you shot back, but there was no bite in your voice. The warmth from the alcohol was already settling into your veins, and maybe that was why you felt more relaxed around him. Or maybe it was just him.
Mark leaned in closer, his arm brushing against yours as he rested his hand on the counter beside you. His scent—clean, warm, with a hint of something that made you want to lean in—filled the small space between you. “Just looking out for you,” he said, his voice casual, but the glint in his eyes told you there was more to it, lingering for a beat longer than necessary before returning to your eyes. It was subtle, but enough to send a small shiver down your spine. You swallowed, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest as you glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow.
“Looking out for me?” you echoed, your voice carrying a hint of sarcasm, masking the way his presence was making you feel things you weren’t ready to admit. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Why don’t you look out for your date?” you shot back, your voice betraying more jealousy than you intended.
Mark chuckled, the sound low and smooth, his attention fully on you. “She’s not my date,” he said, his voice casual but his eyes locked on yours.
You swallowed hard, caught off guard by how disarming he could be. “Who is she, anyway?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent, though the question lodged itself in your throat.
Mark glanced over his shoulder, nodding toward the girl he’d walked in with. “My best friend.”
You blinked, surprised by how easily he said it. You had assumed… well, something else entirely. “Oh,” you murmured, unsure how to respond.
Mark grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction. “What? Did you think I’d bring a date to a party knowing you’d be here?”
You felt the heat creeping up your neck, but you quickly masked it with a small smile. “I didn’t think about it that much.”
“Sure you didn’t,” Mark said, his voice dipping lower as his gaze flicked down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, sending a shiver through you.
The air between you felt charged, every unspoken word and lingering glance thick with an intensity neither of you was willing to name. The tension simmered quietly beneath the surface, weaving itself into the playful banter, the stolen glances. You both danced around it, staying in this delicate balance, where each smile, each teasing remark was a way to keep things light—yet everything about the moment felt intimate, personal. Neither of you dared to break the fragile line between what was said and what was truly felt.
But before you could say anything else, you felt a hand on your waist—Jeno.
You gasped softly, your mouth widening in surprise as you realized he had been watching you and Mark the whole time. His eyes were calm, surprisingly calm, but there was something underneath it—something you couldn’t quite place. You smiled brightly at Jeno, hoping to diffuse whatever tension was building. “Hey, baby. Do you want to dance?” you asked, your voice laced with forced cheer.
He shook his head, his expression soft yet serious. “Y/N, can we talk?”
You blinked, caught off guard by how gentle he was being. Jeno wasn’t usually like this—calm, collected. This was new. Maybe this was it, the turning point you’d been waiting for.
“Yeah, sure,” you said, following him as he led you upstairs to his room. Your heart pounded in your chest as Mark watched you go, his gaze heavy, but you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t.
Once inside Jeno’s room, you wasted no time, slipping your top over your head, your mind already racing toward what usually came next. You turned to him, expecting to see him ready to go, but instead, he sat at the edge of the bed, head lowered, fingers gripping his knees. His expression wasn’t what you were used to—stormy, tense. He wasn’t undressing. He wasn’t even looking at you.
Confused, you moved closer, kneeling in front of him. Your hands reached for his belt instinctively, trying to pull him out of his mood the way you always did. “Jeno, come on,” you murmured softly. “Let me suck you off. I’ll make you forget whatever’s on your mind.”
But instead of the usual eager response, his hand gently covered yours, stopping you. He shook his head, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “Y/N, not tonight.”
You paused, your hands frozen mid-movement. “Jeno?”
He looked up at you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite decipher. “Sit down, Y/N.” His voice was soft, but firm as he gently pushed your hands away, motioning for you to sit beside him. “We need to talk.”
Jeno ran his hand through his hair again, the tension in his posture evident. His gaze softened as he looked at you, the weight of his words settling between you both. “We need to stop, Y/N. Stop pretending we’re a compatible couple.”
You froze, your breath catching in your throat. “What are you talking about?” you whispered, though deep down, you knew exactly what he meant.
Jeno sighed, his voice thick with emotion. “You know it’s not working anymore. You feel it just as much as I do.” His eyes met yours, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the depth of his sadness. “We’ve been together for so long, but it’s not enough. It hasn’t been for a while.”
Tears immediately welled in your eyes as you shook your head, refusing to accept it. “But we’ve been together forever. We’re supposed to be together, Jeno. What do you mean it’s not enough?”
Jeno’s expression was full of regret, but his resolve didn’t waver. “I know it feels that way, but think about it. How many days have we really been happy lately? It’s just fights, making up through sex, and pretending everything’s fine. But it’s not. We both know that.”
You swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. You didn’t want to admit he was right. “I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I can’t. I don’t know how to… I don’t know how to be without you.”
Jeno leaned forward, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re not going to lose me,” he said softly. “You still have me, okay? I still love you, and I always will. But we both deserve more than this. We deserve to be with someone who makes us happy, not just someone we’ve been with because it’s comfortable.”
The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and you let out a shaky breath, your chest tightening. You hated how much his words resonated with you. You hated that he was right. But what scared you more was facing the truth, admitting that your relationship with Jeno was broken, that it had been for a while.
“I can’t do this,” you choked out, your voice thick with emotion. “I’d rather just… I’d rather keep pretending. I can’t face the truth, Jeno. I don’t know how.”
His eyes softened even more, filled with understanding. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. You don’t have to lie to yourself, Y/N. It’s okay to admit that things are messed up. It’s okay to be scared.”
But that was the problem. You weren’t good at facing the truth, at being vulnerable. Emotional intimacy terrified you, and you’d spent so long hiding behind the idea that everything was fine, that you could just patch things up with sex and avoid the hard conversations. Being honest, being real—that was something you’d never been good at. You’d rather live in the illusion than face the mess underneath.
Jeno seemed to sense your hesitation, your fear. He gently pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you as the sobs finally wracked your body. “I’m here,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m not leaving you. You’ll always have me, but this… this relationship, it’s not good for either of us. And it hasn’t been for a long time.”
You clung to him, your fingers gripping his shirt as if he was the only thing keeping you afloat. The thought of not being with him terrified you more than you could admit. “I don’t want to be alone,” you whispered, the words broken between sobs. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“You’re not alone,” he murmured into your hair. “I’ll always be here for you. But we can’t keep doing this, pretending we’re happy when we’re not. It’s not fair to either of us.”
His words were like a dagger to your heart, twisting painfully because deep down, you knew he was right. But the truth was too heavy, too overwhelming. You’d spent so long avoiding it, pretending that everything was okay, that hearing it now felt like your world was crumbling.
“I still love you,” Jeno said, his voice steady despite the emotion in it. “I love you, but we need to stop hurting each other like this.”
You pulled back slightly, your tear-filled eyes meeting his. The sincerity in his gaze made it hurt even more. “But what do I do without you?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t know who I am without you, Jeno.”
He reached up, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. “You’ll figure it out. And I’ll still be here, even if we’re not together like we used to be. You’re stronger than you think.”
You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you leaned back into him, unable to fully let go. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to admit that everything was falling apart. But Jeno was right—you were holding on to something that had died a long time ago, and the thought of letting go felt like losing a part of yourself.
For a long time, he just held you as you cried, his arms the only comfort you had left. But eventually, even that had to end. Jeno stood up, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before stepping back.
“I’m gonna go,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Take some time for yourself. You’ll be okay, Y/N.”
You didn’t say anything, your throat too tight with the weight of everything. You just nodded, tears still falling as you watched him leave the room, his presence fading with each step. And as the door closed behind him, you felt the crushing weight of reality settle in, the silence echoing in your chest where your heart had been breaking all along.
You were alone. And for the first time, you couldn’t hide from the truth anymore.
Later that night, Mark finds you huddled on the ground, your knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, trying to hold it all in, but you’re failing. Your body shakes with sobs that you can’t control, and when you hear footsteps approaching, you tense up.
“Mark, now is not the time, please go away.” Your voice cracks as you cry out, lips trembling. You cover your face with your hands, not wanting him to see you like this, broken and vulnerable.
But Mark doesn’t leave. He doesn’t even hesitate. He gets closer, kneeling down beside you. The quiet rustle of fabric is the only sound, and you shiver as he drapes his jacket around your shoulders. It’s warm, and it smells like him—fresh and clean, grounding you in a way you didn’t expect.
“Jeno told me to come,” he explains softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
You look up, confusion flooding your tear-streaked face. “What?” The question falls out, barely coherent, as you swipe at your face, painfully aware of how horrible you must look—mascara smudged, makeup streaked, and eyes puffy.
Mark doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he moves even closer, and before you know it, he’s pulling you into him, gently guiding you onto his lap. You don’t resist. His arms wrap around you, and you straddle him, your body sinking into his warmth as if it’s the only safe place you can find.
The sobs come harder now, uncontrollable, and you bury your face in his shoulder, clutching onto him like a lifeline. He holds you tight, one hand smoothing down your back, the other resting against your hair, cradling you like something fragile. His soft whispers, the way he gently hushes you, the quiet “it’s okay, I’m here,” all create this bubble around the two of you, making the world fade away for a moment.
Mark’s presence doesn’t fix anything, but it makes you feel less alone. There’s no judgment in his touch, no expectation. He lets you cry, lets you fall apart in his arms, and that’s what breaks you even more. You’ve been holding it in for so long, pretending everything was fine, pretending you were fine.
You don’t know how long you’ve been like this, pressed close to him, when he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “What happened?”
You suck in a breath, pulling back just slightly, though your forehead still rests against his. Your voice is small, fragile. “He broke up with me.”
Mark’s expression softens, his lips parting as he lets out a quiet “Oh.” There’s no surprise in his voice, only understanding, only compassion. He doesn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless words. Instead, his hand finds its way into your hair, gently smoothing it down, his touch so careful, as if he’s afraid to hurt you more than you already are.
He doesn’t ask for details, doesn’t push you to talk more. He just holds you, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath you, offering you a calm in the midst of your storm. His fingers stroke through your hair, and his other arm is firm around your waist, keeping you anchored to him as you cry quietly into his neck.
And somehow, in the quiet of his embrace, with his soft breaths brushing against your skin, the weight of everything doesn’t feel quite as suffocating. The pain is still there, sharp and unrelenting, but Mark’s presence makes it bearable. He makes you feel seen, heard, like it’s okay to not have it all together.
For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself feel. You let yourself break. And Mark is there to catch every piece of you, holding you together when you can’t do it yourself.
The silence between you feels intimate, not awkward. It’s comforting, the kind of silence that says more than words ever could. His arms stay wrapped around you, and for now, that’s all you need. You just let him hold you.
“Mark,” you whisper, your voice shaky, barely audible as you shift closer to him. Your thighs press against his, caging him in. You bite your bottom lip, feeling the tension crackle between you, and notice his subtle groan as his hips press up slightly.
“Yeah?” he responds casually, though his voice is rougher, his restraint evident.
“You’re hard,” you mumble, your tone matching his, casual, as though stating a simple fact. The firmness presses against you, unyielding, hot even through the layers of fabric between you. The heat of him radiates into your skin, the outline unmistakable as it pushes against your thigh. Your words hang in the air, blending with the warmth that rises between you, making the closeness more intimate than it should be, despite the simplicity of the moment. The feeling is undeniable, solid and real, as though the space between you is shrinking with every breath.
Mark shifts slightly under you, groaning low in his throat. He doesn’t try to deny it. “Yeah, I am,” he says, his voice deeper now, gravelly. He lets out a slow breath before adding, “It’s because you’re—”
But before he can finish, you crash your lips against his, silencing him with a kiss so intense it feels like you’ve both been waiting for this moment forever. Already straddling his lap, you press yourself closer, your thighs locking around him tighter, your body molding against his. Your fingers curl into his hair, pulling him into you as if you’re afraid to let go.
Mark responds instantly, his mouth moving against yours with a passion that catches you off guard. His hands slide down to your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you even closer. The kiss is messy, intense—tongues tangling, soft moans escaping between your lips as the heat between you grows unbearable.
Your hips move of their own accord, grinding down on him, and you feel the hardness pressing against your core, making your breath hitch. His hands roam up your thighs, sliding under your skirt, pushing the flimsy fabric up higher until it’s barely covering you. He grabs your ass, squeezing hard as you rock your hips, the friction between you igniting every nerve in your body.
You moan softly into his mouth, the heat between you both growing unbearable. When Mark’s hand moves down to smack your ass, the sound is sharp and commanding, making your body jolt in response. “Mark,” you gasp, the name slipping out in a breathless moan. His name was a broken plea on your lips as his hands continue to roam, guiding your movements as you grind harder against him, feeling the friction build between your bodies.
His hands are everywhere—palming your ass, guiding your movements, pressing you harder against him as you grind down. The heat, the friction, the way he kisses you with an intensity and desperation—it all sends your mind spinning. You feel his desire in every touch, every grip on your skin, and you want more.
You arch your back, pressing your chest against his, the kiss growing even more desperate, your tongues tangling, breaths mingling as soft moans escape between your lips. His hands pull you closer, as if he can’t get enough of you, the tension building with every second, every movement.
Mark stands, lifting you effortlessly, his strong hands gripping your thighs as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. You can feel the heat of his body through his clothes, every hard muscle pressing against you. Before you even register what’s happening, he tosses you onto the bed, Jeno’s bed—and the realization of where you are only adds to the illicit thrill running through you.
You watch him through half-lidded eyes as he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the chiseled muscles beneath. His chest is broad, his arms flexing with every movement, each line of his body carved like stone. Your gaze traces over the defined ridges of his abs, the muscles contracting with every deep breath he takes, and your heart races, pulse pounding in your ears.
Then your eyes drop lower, and you can’t help but stare at the bulge straining against his jeans. The thick, undeniable outline is impossible to ignore, and the sight makes your breath hitch, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as your anticipation skyrockets. The raw need between your legs intensifies, and you press your thighs together instinctively, biting your lip as you imagine what’s coming next.
Mark moves closer, his hands reaching down to undo his belt, the metal clinking as he loosens it. But just as his fingers graze the zipper, you catch the flicker of doubt in his eyes. It’s subtle, just a brief hesitation, but it’s enough to shift the atmosphere. The dangerous, primal intensity in his gaze softens, and for a moment, he looks at you—not with the hunger you’ve seen, but with something deeper, more conflicted.
You don’t say anything, but you feel the weight of the moment hanging between you. His hand pauses at his waistband, and he swallows hard, his jaw clenching. The air thickens with the tension of everything unspoken, and for the first time, you both hesitate, the thrill of the moment colliding with the reality of where you are—of who you are.
Mark leans over you, his hand brushing against your cheek, the gentleness of his touch a stark contrast to the heat that had been building just moments before. His thumb runs over your lower lip, lingering there as if he’s warring with himself, battling between desire and restraint.
“We can’t,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost regretful.
You blink, still lost in the heat of the moment, your body screaming for more even as his words register in your mind. “What do you mean?” you ask, your voice breathless. You reach for him again, your fingers already working on the button of his jeans. “Come on, Mark… we don’t need to stop. I’m on the pill so you can cum inside of me, I don’t mind.”
His groan is deep, almost pained, as he steps back. One hand drags down his face, his frustration clear as he shakes his head. “It’s not that,” he mutters, his gaze conflicted. “You just broke up with Jeno—he’s my brother. And we’re in his room. You really want this to happen here? You want me to fuck you on his bed?”
Your response is immediate, unwavering. “Yes.”
He stares at you, huffing out a breath of disbelief. “Y/N…” he starts, voice softer now, laced with something between guilt and restraint. “No. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. Not like this.”
For a moment, everything pauses. The weight of his words crashes over you, bringing with it a wave of reality you’ve been avoiding. The intensity of what almost happened—the way you nearly crossed a line that, once crossed, couldn’t be undone. Embarrassment starts to creep in, settling in your chest like a heavy stone.
You sit up, hurriedly pulling your clothes back on, avoiding his eyes as the thrill of the moment fades, replaced by a deep ache you didn’t expect. The tension between you feels different now—charged, yes, but laced with something more painful. Something you can’t quite name.
Mark doesn’t say anything as he watches you, his chest still rising and falling heavily, the conflict clear in his eyes. You know he wants you, you felt it, but there’s a line he won’t cross. Not like this. And you hate that it makes sense. You hate that he’s right.
As you stand, buttoning your skirt, you bite your lip, fighting the urge to cry. You weren’t ready for all of this to stop so abruptly. You didn’t want to face the truth of the situation or the complicated mess your feelings had become. And more than anything, you didn’t want to be alone tonight.
“Do you want to come to mine?” you ask, the words shaky, but you force them out. There’s a part of you that fears he’ll refuse, that this will be the moment everything falls apart completely. But you can’t help but hope he’ll still want you, even if not here. Not like this.
For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. His expression is unreadable, his eyes searching yours for something you’re not sure you can give. The silence stretches, your heart pounding in your chest, the fear of rejection threatening to overwhelm you.
Then, finally, he nods, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His hand reaches out, offering to help you up, and for the first time since this whole mess started, there’s a flicker of tenderness in his gaze.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice soft, yet sure. “Let’s go.”
Relief washes over you as you take his hand, the touch of his fingers grounding you, soothing the frayed edges of your emotions. As he helps you stand, the tension between you shifts again—not gone, but different. The heat is still there, simmering under the surface, but it’s mixed with something softer now, something that feels more real.
──────────────────────────────
Back at your apartment, the quiet felt almost surreal after the chaos of the night. The familiar warmth of your space wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, a stark contrast to the lingering tension still buzzing between you and Mark. You felt the shift in the air the moment you stepped through the door—the atmosphere was softer, quieter, more intimate, and the reality that it was just the two of you sank in.
Mark followed you inside, his eyes taking in your surroundings with quiet interest. The apartment was all yours for the night, a small comfort in itself, and you were already beginning to sober up. Mark, as if reading your mind, immediately took care of you, handing you a bottle of water. “You need this,” he said softly, his tone gentle, but there was an undercurrent of care in his voice that made your chest tighten.
You took small sips, the cool water refreshing as it slid down your throat, grounding you back to the present. Meanwhile, Mark wandered around your room, and you couldn’t help but watch him, feeling something shift between the two of you.
Your space was a reflection of you—a safe haven filled with little pieces of your world. The fairy lights you’d strung up glowed softly, casting a warm, golden hue over everything. The air smelled faintly of lavender, the scent of your candles lingering in the air. Your walls were lined with your art, pieces of yourself you rarely shared with anyone else. There were posters of abstract designs, dreamy landscapes, and sketches that felt like fragments of your soul on display.
Unique and delicate things decorated your shelves—a crystal lamp you had found at a flea market, a few small plants in pots you had painted yourself, and a collection of books you loved but hadn’t read in ages. The room felt like a mix of creativity and chaos, an organized mess that somehow made sense only to you.
Mark’s eyes moved from one corner to the next, a small smile tugging at his lips as he took everything in. He seemed fascinated by the art on your walls, lingering over certain pieces as if trying to figure out the stories behind them. You could see the admiration in his gaze, the way he appreciated your space without needing to say much.
“You really made this place your own,” he commented softly, running a hand over one of the posters, careful not to disturb it. “It’s beautiful..”
A warm flush crept up your neck at his words. You weren’t used to someone appreciating your space like this, not in such a genuine, heartfelt way. Mark wasn’t just complimenting the decor—he was complimenting you, the person who had created this world.
“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling shy all of a sudden. “It’s nothing special.”
Mark shook his head, still gazing around. “It’s special because it’s yours.” His voice was soft, sincere, and it made your heart do a strange, fluttery thing in your chest.
“Can you help me get my necklace off?” You ask, smiling as he’s already making his way over to you.
Mark’s fingers worked gently at the clasp of your necklace, his touch soft and deliberate. You tilted your head slightly, giving him better access as he carefully unhooked the delicate chain from around your neck. The warmth of his fingers brushing against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, but it wasn’t from the cold—it was the softness of the moment.
He moved slowly, taking the necklace and walking over to your jewellery stand. You watched as he placed it neatly on one of the hooks, his movements calm and precise, as if he had done this a hundred times before. There was something almost tender in the way he handled your things, treating them with care, as if they were an extension of you.
Mark turned back to you, his eyes soft as he reached for your earrings next. His fingers grazed your earlobe, and you held your breath, feeling the closeness between you both. The quiet of the room wrapped around the two of you, making the moment feel even more intimate. One by one, he removed each earring, placing them in their designated spot, never once rushing or making you feel hurried.
The silence was filled with unspoken words, a shared understanding that neither of you dared to voice. When he was done, he looked back at you with a small, almost shy smile. “There,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
You needed to clear your head, to shake off the growing feelings you had for him, so you excused yourself to take a shower. As you stood under the warm spray, washing away the remnants of the night, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way Mark had looked at you. The way his presence had shifted from something casual and playful to something deeper, more intimate. The thought scared you, but it also made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.
When you finally stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a soft bathrobe, you found Mark sitting on your bed, strumming a gentle tune on a guitar. You paused, tilting your head in confusion. Where did he get that from? You didn’t remember him carrying a guitar around at the party or on the way home. Had you really been that out of it?
“Where did you get a guitar from?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you watched him hum and play a melody, his fingers dancing over the strings with ease.
He looked up at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I always carry it around.”
You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms as you leaned against the doorframe. “I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed if you brought a guitar with you to the party.”
Mark chuckled, his laughter soft and infectious. “Maybe you weren’t paying attention.”
You rolled your eyes, crossing the room to sit beside him on the bed. “So, you play basketball and the guitar?” you teased, feeling more relaxed now, the tension easing into something more playful.
He nodded, plucking a few more notes before setting the guitar down. “My major is music.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, Troy Bolton.”
He chuckled along with you, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “It’s way past midnight,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, more serious. “You should get some sleep. Don’t you have lectures tomorrow?”
You shrugged, already feeling the weight of the day catching up to you. “I’m not going.”
Mark gave you a pointed look. “Don’t say that. Yes, you are.”
You sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. Instead, you moved to the other side of the bed, pulling back the covers and sinking into the soft sheets. The warmth of the bed, combined with the softness of the moment, made your eyelids heavy with exhaustion.
As you began to drift off, you noticed Mark standing up, throwing a blanket onto the chair in the corner. You frowned, sitting up slightly. “You don’t need to sleep there,” you whispered, your voice soft and almost shy. “Come here. There’s so much space in my bed.”
He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a small smile. “It’s literally a single bed.”
You rolled your eyes, patting the space beside you. “I just want someone to hold me so I can sleep.”
For a moment, Mark hesitated, his eyes searching yours. But then he sighed, his expression softening as he crossed the room and slipped under the covers beside you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close in a way that made your heart race, but also made you feel safe.
Mark held you tightly, his arms pulling you closer, enveloping you in his warmth. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the soothing rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a sense of comfort you hadn’t felt in so long. His breath was warm against your forehead, gentle, almost protective, as he leaned in and whispered, “Sleep well, Y/N.”
The sound of his voice, low and intimate, sent a soft shiver down your spine. His words weren’t just a wish; they felt like a promise, like he was going to hold you through the night and keep you safe.
His hand, large and warm, rested softly on your waist, fingers brushing against the bare skin under your shirt with the lightest of touches. It was a subtle, almost unconscious gesture, but the intimacy of it sent your heart fluttering. He didn’t pull away; he stayed close, his body pressed gently against yours, grounding you in the moment. Every small shift of his body, every breath he took, seemed to ease the tension that had been weighing on you for so long.
You let your hand rest on top of his, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. His fingers instinctively intertwined with yours, the touch delicate yet reassuring. It was more than just physical contact—it was the silent understanding that you weren’t alone anymore, that he was here, holding you through it all.
His lips brushed lightly against your forehead, a featherlight kiss that made your heart swell. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, but the sincerity in his tone wrapped around you like a blanket.
With a soft sigh, you let yourself relax completely, your body melting into his. You could feel the last remnants of stress slipping away, replaced by the steady, calming presence of Mark beside you. His embrace was warm, solid, and it made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t in what felt like forever.
As your eyes fluttered closed, you let yourself fall into a deep, peaceful sleep, your mind finally quiet, the weight of the world finally slipping away, knowing he would be there when you woke.
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authors note — surprise!! i’ve been teasing this one for a while and just wanted to drop it without any prior warning :) this is gonna be a long ride and have many more parts so comment if you want to be on the tag list :) send an ask through telling me what you thought or interact !! thank you
SUMMARY: When your father moves you overseas for his job, you are determined to hate it until you discover the illegal street races happening after nightfall. Boys are quick to vie for your attention, but none catch your eye like Mark, who takes you on the ride of a lifetime.
WARNINGS: strong language; mild alcohol use; explicit sexual content
NOTES: 21k words; listening to flipside by lana del rey
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—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.
—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader
—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut
—word count: 6.6k
—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, changes are happening??, namjoon again to the rescue, a bit of distant san 😔, a bit of yearning san ❤️🩹, alcohol consumption & intoxication, a very small kiss that was accidental and meant absolutely nothing, these two just 😞 over each other, some crying
—on rotation: next to you - bryson tiller | i'll be alright (tonight) - mura masa
Two months have passed, closer to 3, and you've been busy working your ass off in Namjoon's lab. You've brainstormed and came up with a project that Namjoon approved, giving you all the resources and space you needed to get started. You've also been working alongside a few people in the lab since their project was relatable to yours, finding guidance and a little bit of training and support to carry your project forward. It's been busy, and it's been a good busy.
It's been good enough to keep your mind off of San.
For the most part.
You could only avoid him so many times, and it's not like the ache you felt deep in your chest, your stomach, went away. It still lingers, and it still hits you from time to time.
And it doesn't make it any easier when you get reminders.
Like meeting San's eyes across campus— only for him to break loose and shift his attention elsewhere.
The shift is a harsh, cold reminder that this may actually be over for good.
—FLASHBACK
"Hey." Sunwoo says, gently nudging you. "You okay? Haven't seen you in awhile?" You nod, half smiling before looking down at your laptop.
"Was busy." You chuckle a bit. "Was working on the fine details of my rotation presentation, along with all the data analysis we worked on." You give him a small smile. "I came to clean out the last bits of my stuff."
"It'll all blow over." He says with a reassuring smile. "For the record, I don't think it really matters but I know Professor Kim is just trying to keep everything together before it all blows up again."
"Guessing the whole world knows now?" He shrugs.
"Maybe, maybe not. I haven't heard much lately, but you know me, I don't like to meddle in things like that in general. I keep outta that shit."
"People must think greatly of me." He chuckles.
"It doesn't matter what they think. In any case, you are a good person, you're super sweet and super smart. If they choose to fix on that, that's their issue."
"Thanks, Sunwoo." You look at him. "I'm sorry I won't be able to help you after this."
"That's okay. We'll still hang out and I'm sure we'll cross paths more before I finish up here. Plus, I love Professor Choi but having Professor Kim take you under his wing is fucking sick." You laugh, playfully shoving him.
"I don't know where this will take me, but I hope it works out."
"Are you two.. still a thing? Secret's safe with me. For real."
"I know. But, no."
"I don't know the ins and outs of what happened between you and Professor Choi, but I'm sure he did it for good reason. To also protect you."
"Yeah, maybe. Who knows anymore." You sigh. "Anyway. Gotta head out to do my rotation presentation."
"Goodluck. It'll be all good." Sunwoo gives you a small smile. "Text or call me? Let's get lunch on a weekly basis or something to catch up."
"Yeah, I will. Thanks for everything, Sunwoo."
"Nah, thank you. You really helped my ass out." You laugh and playfully ruffle his hair.
"I'll see you around." You gather your things and let out a shaky sigh as you head out. You're hauling your main bag, and another tote bag that has the rest of your things from your desk. You head over to the small auditorium that Namjoon booked for your rotation presentation, giving yourself some wiggle room to set up and get situated before the three would arrive.
Too bad someone else also had the same plan.
You waltz into the room and head straight for the podium, setting your things down onto a chair in the front row. You grab your laptop and settle at the front, eyes shooting up at the door when you hear footsteps approach the entrance.
And of course it would be San.
He slowly trails in with Namjoon next to him; except, Namjoon turns to speak with a student that stopped him right by the entrance. San is in his black dress pants, white shirt and a black leather jacket. His boots are leaving sounds with every step he takes, watch gleaming on his wrist. He meets your eyes and you instantly freeze— shifting your attention back to your laptop because you don't know what the hell else to do. He doesn't say anything as he heads down the aisle and to the front row, his greeting almost sounding dull.
Forced, even.
"Y/N."
"Professor Choi." The awkwardness and the tension fills the room, and you can't help but notice how awfully clammy your hands are getting. How nervous you feel yourself getting. "How are you?"
"Good." Is all he says before plopping into seat in front while you continue to work with the AV system to get your presentation up on the screen.
"That's good." You reply without looking at him. He feels cold and so standoff-ish— it's hard to tell if he's doing this because he has to or because he actually means it. Was he really done with you? "Hope the presentation's okay." You mumble lightly. San catches on, but he continues to scroll through his phone to distract himself until Namjoon finally walks in.
"Sure you'll be fine." And it sucks. Maybe he does mean it. He doesn't say anything else, and he doesn't reassure you the way he usually does. For San, it's a front. He has to distance himself or else he'll cave. For you, it hurts nonetheless.
"Sorry! Got caught up. The dean's on his way." Namjoon pops in and sits next to San in the front row. "All good, Y/N? Do you need help with setting anything else up?"
"No, I think I got it. Thank you." You smile at him and he nods.
"Course."
"Alright, let's get this going. Sorry for the small wait." The dean comes in last, taking a seat by the two. "Hi Y/N, hope you're doing okay."
"Think so." You chuckle a bit. "Well, I'll get started if there aren't any objections?" They shake their heads. "Great." You nervously respond while Namjoon and the dean give you a small smile.
San doesn't even maintain eye contact with you.
But, it's only because it's the hardest thing to suppress his feelings for you whenever you're in front of him and he can't exactly have you like he used to.
—END
"Yo!" Jiung waves, shifting your attention towards him across the lawn. You give him a small smile, stopping in your motions to wait for him to cross over. To your left is San, patiently waiting for Zara to walk over to him. You can't help but watch; the two only a couple of feet away, their voices slightly echoing around the courtyard.
His hand hovering the small of her back as they enter the Harvey Building together.
To this day, you can still feel your heart physically drop to your gut. You're not sure when it'll pass, but you hope it's soon. You're so tired of feeling this way.
So, so tired.
"Hey." You give Jiung a tiny smile as you hug your books against your chest.
"Whattup?" It took awhile for you and Jiung to get back to normal. You always knew you would, but you needed a little more time to understand his side of things. For awhile, you were angry and hurt. All you could see was red. All you could see was Jiung openly going behind your back to talk to Professor Kim about something he didn't know anything about.
You saw the surface level.
But, as time went on, and as your hurt continued to settle into something you just needed to accept, you understood Jiung a little more. You knew he had always cared about you and you knew he was always protective of you. You knew there wasn't any ill intention behind his actions. And when you two finally came together to talk about it more maturely, you've seen that Jiung had been more understanding of your side, too. He apologized for having gotten in the middle, but he did everything out of care for you and protection. It's clearer now that the relationship you had with San wasn't just any relationship— he saw you cry, and cry, and cry. Wondering where you went wrong or what you could've done to be more careful, to prevent this from happening. He saw the look in your eyes, the way your body physically called and yearned for San's touch and love; he knew this wasn't any of those cases of power imbalance or a one-sided relationship. He felt stupid having needed time to marinate on the whole thing when he should've known you better. But, he could truly say he acted in fear and felt better to err on the side of caution.
He just wished it didn't have to end like this; with you, sad and alone. Feeling like all of it was just too good to be true, a fleeting moment.
A quick chapter in your book.
He gets that now.
When he sees San walking around, he almost feels the same energy, aura, that he feels when he sees you. It's just too bad he can't help. Even if he did, he finds it better to no longer meddle.
Maybe it'll bring you two back together again. When the time is right.
"Nothing. I just need to get some stuff together before I meet with Professor Kim in a bit."
"Nervous?"
"No, not really." You shake your head. "Things have been going well for the most part, minus little hiccups. He wanted to talk about other programs and opportunities he found fitting for me."
"Huh." Jiung cocks a brow up. "More collaborations he wants you involved in, I'm assuming." You shrug.
"If it is, I'm for it. Just hope it doesn't take up my entire schedule completely." You chuckle.
"It'll be good either way!"
"Yeah, I know. It's been good. I have no complaints." You shiver from the breeze that's picking up, digging your face deeper into the scarf you have on.
"Did you hear? There's supposed to be a random storm coming soon. Spring weather, amirite?"
"I heard."
"Are you gonna head home? You should try and head home if you can. Who knows what it'll bring here."
"I don't know. I do need to catch up on some data analysis or else I'll be behind." You pause. "Dunno if I trust myself to work productively at home. We have backup generators, right?"
"I mean, yeah. But, what if it goes out? Then, what?"
"Yeah, I don't know. Let's hope that's not one of these cases." You stop in front of the Panama Building and turn to Jiung.
"Lunch later?" You nod.
"Might be a little late. I'll text you when I'm wrapping up?"
"Sounds good. We'll wait for you."
"See you later." You wave before heading inside the building, shimmying off the cold once you step inside and try to warm yourself up. You head down to the lab, setting your things down on your desk before immediately getting started on your work for the day. You try to pace yourself and plan out your tasks well so that you're able to step out for your meeting with Professor Kim and grab lunch with your friends in a few hours.
It's busy, and time flies. Busy is good. At least your mind is occupied with other pressing matters.
Time slips by so quickly you're almost running late to your meeting with Professor Kim. You put a pause in your current run for behavior, grabbing your laptop and a notebook before darting up to Professor Kim's office. You power-walk down the familiar hallway before finally reaching his open door, finding him occupied at his desk.
"Hey!" Namjoon smiles when you walk into his office and plop down in the chair. "Give me a second, just finishing up this email."
"All good." You chuckle. "Sorry I'm a few minutes late. Was running behavior."
"No worries, I figured. Get comfortable." You plop onto the seat in front of his desk, watching as his fingers move swiftly on the keyboard before he navigates to the mouse and clears his throat. "Okay! All good." He laughs a bit. "How's it going?"
"Good! Pretty busy per usual."
"Good busy, I suppose?"
"Yes, good busy. It's been productive. Days are going by quick. I've got some really promising data for this cohort and I think you might be happy with it."
"I'm happy with any progress." You laugh. "That sounds great! Any other ideas? Any other plans at the moment?"
"Well, I'm not sure yet. As long as I'm on the right path, I think there are other avenues I can explore if the results continue to trend upwards."
"Then, let's explore when we get there. I know you'll continue to do great work, and the results look promising. It all looks promising."
"Thank you, Professor Kim."
"There is something else I wanted to talk to you about." You cock a brow up and tilt your head to the side.
"Sure. I'm all ears."
"Professor Qi from the Mirae Biomedical Institute contacted me the other day. She was really impressed by your symposium presentation and the work you've done in Professor Choi's lab and mine. She thinks you'd be a great asset in their program, especially since she's starting a new clinical research study that I also agree you'd contribute well to. It's a study examining neural activity and behavioral patterns in individuals with conditions like bipolar disorder, anxiety, and OCD, etc. You get the gist. A lot of your work is relatable and can be used to push this study forward."
"Oh my god, wow." You respond in disbelief, shock, even. You didn't think anyone was really paying attention to your work like that, especially with what has happened. You kinda felt like a lost cause even though nothing entirely catastrophic has happened. "I was not expecting that."
"Why not?" Namjoon laughs. "You deserve the credit. What do you think about it?"
"I'm really honored, truly. I think it's a great opportunity."
"It is. Not a lot of people get recruited this way, especially with a research assistant position included in the package." You nod silently, still trying to take it in. "Now, if you do want to move forward, it does mean we'll have to get your transfer application in ASAP. They do offer housing assistance should you need it, and they're willing to help cover any other expenses until you settle."
"Right, transferring." You look down at your palms. Truthfully, Mirae wasn't that far from here; it'd be about 2 hours out, but you could easily get there by a drive down the less busier highway or the bullet train.
You'd have to make that effort to see your friends, meet halfway.
San comes into your head.
"I know it's a bit scary, you've already gotten accustomed to things here even if it's just been your first year. But, luckily, it's not that far away and you can always meet your friends halfway. The train can connect you to campus and back." He tries to reassure you because he really wants you to take this. Of course, he can't force you, but he knows this would be beneficial to your growth.
"Yeah, I know. It's not that bad."
"It's not. Plus, you guys all drive, right?" You nod.
"When do I have to get my transfer application in?" Namjoon pulls up the information on his desktop and lets out a small sigh.
"In two weeks. We can get that done. I can write up a letter of recommendation for you and have Professors Choi and Bahng do one each." He looks at you. "Do you feel comfortable asking Professor Jeong for one since you TA'd for him? It's not entirely necessary, but wanted to see how you felt."
"Um, to be honest, not really." He nods.
"That's fine. We don't need it. Us three should be more than enough." He gives you a tiny smile. "Think you can get a personal statement and everything else together by then?"
"Yeah, I think so. Shouldn't be too much of a hassle."
"I can help with official transcripts, too."
"That sounds great." Your expression is blank and Namjoon tilts his head to try and get a read from you.
"Why the face?"
"I truthfully didn't think I was qualified or that anyone was really paying attention." Namjoon chuckles a bit.
"Listen, your grades are fantastic. The work you do is incredible. I fully think you are capable of handling all the ins and outs of this transfer and transitioning over." Namjoon smiles. "The program isn't too different from ours, but it will definitely offer you a lot of different options and pathways with the clinical study picking up."
"It's alot, and I'm grateful you believe in me. I just don't know if I can handle it. The changes."
"Don't second-guess yourself, okay? You are more than capable. It won't be much different from what you're already doing. Just a 'lil more umph. More seasoning, if you will."
"You think so?" He nods.
"You'll still focus on research, but you'll be split between classes and eventually, the hospital. Unfortunately, that does probably mean there is some weekend work in store for you." You let out a breath, eyes still on Professor Kim. He lets out another laugh [of endearment] and nods, clasping his hands together. "I know that look. I've been there before, but trust me. You'll do amazing, and you'll excel, no doubt. You shouldn't restrict yourself just because you assume you won't do well. Your work and ethic has proved otherwise."
"Thank you, Professor Kim. I think I do wanna move forward with this."
"Cool, then we can work together and get you set up. I'll loop you into an email with her so we can all chat and finalize this. Hopefully before the week ends." You nod.
"And I mean it, by the way." You pause. "Thank you for everything. For supporting me and pushing me forward regardless of everything that's happened."
"You're welcome. I would never let that define you." You give him a small smile, fiddling with your laptop sleeve— dying to ask him about the one person that has been occupying your mind the most. "You okay otherwise?"
"Yeah, I think so. Just thought about some things, but nothing important."
"He's doing okay." Namjoon gives you a tiny smile.
"I— huh? How'd you know I was—"
"Because I just do. He asks about you, too."
"Oh." Is all you say, swallowing the thick lump forming in your throat. "Well, I'm glad he's okay."
"Him and Professor Choi #2 received approval for their joint program, so they'll be getting the real estate they wanted in the new building."
"That's amazing. I'm glad it all worked out." Namjoon nods.
"Anything else I can do for you in the meantime?"
"No, that's it. For now. I'm sure more things will come up when we meet next."
"Sounds good. Well, you let me know if anything comes up or if I can do anything else for you."
"Thanks, Professor Kim." You give him one last smile before grabbing your things and heading out the door.
And the rest of your day is pretty eventful, but not as eventful as San's turns out to be.
While you busy yourself with your new classes, lab work and hanging out with your friends, San is having to force himself to go out with his own group. For awhile, he kinda sulked. Stayed home, did his own thing. Kept quiet. But, it got old to Jongho [and the rest of them] quick— hence, now he's being forced to leave the comfort of his home.
He guesses he could use the fresh air, the night out. It is Mingi's birthday, so he doesn't think he could've said no otherwise.
"Ayo!" Jongho calls out as he enters San's house, twirling the key around his finger as he waits for San's response.
"I told you I'd be fine driving." San slowly comes down his steps, dressed in a simple tee, jeans and a bomber jacket.
"Okay, miss attitude." Jongho laughs. "I'm trying to make it easier so you don't have to worry about parking and what not." San sighs.
"Thanks." He shrugs. "Do I look okay? Not that it matters."
"Can you at least try to be somewhat happy? Especially when we see Mingi later?"
"I'm sorry, I really am trying. Just kinda hard to."
"I know, and I truly think you could use this night to get your mind off of things. It's been some time, give yourself a little break." Jongho nudges him.
"Yeah, yeah. You're right." San gives him a small smile.
"Things will get better, but you gotta stop sulking about it or else you'll just keep enforcing this negativity to come for you."
"Wow, that's the deepest shit I've ever heard from you."
"And it won't come again, so fucking take it or leave it." San laughs a bit and shakes his head.
"Can we go? Before I change my mind and tell Mingi I'm sick or something."
"Hell no." Jongho starts power-walking to his car, making San take his time as he checks around the living room and kitchen once more before locking up and slipping into the passenger's seat. San slouches in his seat while Jongho drives off towards the busy downtown area, scrolling through the new group chat created for Mingi's birthday to catch up.
"They're all there already."
"Yeah, well. They wanted a head start."
"I thought Zara wasn't coming."
"She wasn't, but I think her initial plans ended up getting canceled."
"I see." San sighs and rests his head back against the head rest. The bar is ways away from campus, thankfully. It's a new bar that just opened a month ago, and Mingi's birthday was the perfect excuse for everyone to get together for a night and relieve some stress. When Jongho arrives at their destination, he's having to park down the block due to how crazy busy the area is tonight. It's a chilly night, and San has to tuck his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket to try and keep himself warm on the walk. When they enter, they see familiar faces near the back wall of the bar, Mingi's loud voice radiating towards the entrance.
"My fucking boys!" He says, already intoxicated. He pulls San and Jongho into a hug before the two start greeting the group properly.
"Hey. I didn't think you were coming." San says, pulling Zara into a hug. She's got on a jeans, high heeled boots and an off-the shoulder sweater on. She's got a bit more makeup on tonight— she's gone for the natural blush kinda look. San is not gonna lie, she looks good.
But, she will never be you.
"Yeah, plans got canceled and I was already dressed so, figured I'd make use of the outfit somehow." San chuckles a bit.
"Glad you were able to." He gives her a small smile before greeting the rest of the crew that was there, including Namjoon.
The night starts off pretty chill for San. He's taken a few shots to try and keep up with Mingi, no longer wanting to hear him complain about how no one wanted to take shots for his birthday. After the third, he tries to slow it down and cashes in for a small can of beer while Mingi continues on with spreading the love throughout the group by passing out more shots. The music is right up everyone's ally, making most of their group bounce along to the beats and sing along loudly. San's got himself next to Zara at the booth— both of them sipping on their poison for the rest of the night.
"So, San." She turns to him, her chin resting on the palm of her hand. "How's everything going?" San looks at her and despite the blush she's wearing, he can tell her cheeks are naturally flushing red at the question, at being tipsy. At the fact that she has him alone.
Because you aren't around.
"Good. Super busy, but good." San is pretty drunk, not gonna lie. He doesn't normally drink like this, but he figured he'd just enjoy himself while around his bestfriends. The beer obviously isn't helping his case, but he believes he'll be fine. He doesn't think anything will come out of this anyway. "Heard you've secured some new funding and you've got three more grad students."
"I did, yeah."
"Congrats." San smiles at her before gently tapping his beer can against her cocktail glass.
"What's new with you? We haven't been able to catch up for a bit."
"Yeah, sorry. It's just— it's been a rollercoaster."
"I bet." Zara sips on her drink. There's a slight pause before she's tracing the rim of her glass, then speaking up again. "I'm sorry about everything that's happened." San looks at her. They're sitting in close proximity; enough for San to feel her arm rub against him whenever she moves, her body heat.
"You don't have to be sorry for anything." He gives her a small smile. "It is what it is. Things are pretty stable now."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"So, are you not seeing her anymore?" San takes a big gulp of his beer while keeping his eyes trained on the crowd in front of him. Her.
You always come back in the picture.
"No."
"I'm sorry."
"All good. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be." Zara looks up at him and they meet eyes for a moment. To her, the tension feels thick. But to San, he's just going with the motions. He's drunk, she's pretty, he's chillin'. Nothing more to it. But, she looks at him in a certain way and it has him slightly furrowing his brows when he tilts his head to look at her a little more, a little deeper.
"I'm sure it hasn't been easy." Her eyes are moving down to his nose, to his lips. San is following her gaze and he knows all too well where this could lead. He should've known to break contact, but before he could even think about it, Zara is the first to lean in and make her move— lips pressing against San's that he's instantly in shock and can't process right away.
But, what he does know is that this doesn't feel right, and his body is already rejecting the action because it isn't you.
"Zara—" San gently pushes Zara back with a frown on his face. "Zara, I can't. I— this can't happen. I'm sorry if I ever misled you, but—"
"Oh." She almost looks confused. "No, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, how embarrassing." She shies away. "I should've known."
"I'm sorry—" He tries to repeat again, but she's shaking her head and walking off towards the bathroom. "Fuck." He runs his hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. He feels terrible that it happened. One, it shouldn't have happened. Two, he didn't mean to hurt his friend.
Three, it wasn't you.
It sounds so fucked up, but even after all of that, his mind still takes him to you and he can't help but drunkly panic as if you were around to see it. It should've never happened, it should've never happened.
He didn't want that to happen.
They had been hanging out for awhile, but the last thing he wanted was to lead her on unintentionally. And he doesn't think he did, knowing she had feelings for him from the get-go. He was there for her and enjoyed her company, but kept enough distance to make sure it didn't cross any boundaries.
He didn't want that to happen.
He pushes his way through the crowd and finds his way outside, letting the cool air hit his skin. If he hadn't made his way out of the bar, he might've [quite frankly] yacked from the slight nausea and anxiety he's feeling. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket, quickly scrolling through his call log to find your name.
You don't answer when he calls.
So, he texts.
san: i'm sorry
san: i miss you so badly
san: i miss us
san: zara kissed me and you're probably gonna hate me for it
san: i'm so sorry baby, pls come back to me i miss you. i don't fucking care anymore, i just need you.
you: san stop
you: get home safely okay?
san: no i want you with me though
you: san, please stop making this harder than it already is.
And then he calls again. Because for some reason, he feels like you already hate him and want nothing to do with him over a dumb 'lil mistake that he had no intention of making.
He calls again.
And again. Even when he's got his back pressed against the wall, crouching near the ground until he can hear your voice clearly on the other line. Zara steps out to get a breather, but she sees that he's already on the phone and it must be with you. She doesn't know why she expected anything out of that stupid, silly little kiss.
He was always gonna run back to you.
It was always gonna be you.
You finally answer, but it's because you think something's wrong and you don't want anything to happen to San.
You don't even know if you can stomach hearing him right now.
"Baby." He drunkly murmurs on the phone and it causes you to swallow the lump forming in your throat— shut your eyes to prevent any more tears from falling. "Sweetheart, you there?"
"San, stop this. That's all I'm asking from you." You shakily respond.
"Why?"
"What do you mean why? You shouldn't be calling ne as if things are okay."
"But, they can be, angel. We can make it okay again."
"Please don't call me that." You barely say above a whisper, tears sting your eyes, throat aching. "If you need a ride, I can call you a cab."
"No. Mm'fine. I just wanted to hear your voice because I miss you so damn much."
"You're making this way too hard. Please just go home and get sleep, okay?"
"You're gonna hate me more than you already do."
"I don't hate you. But, whatever your business is with her, is your business with her. None of this pertains to me."
"I don't have business with her. I want you. I just want you. It's always you." You purse your lips tightly when you remember his text— of course Zara would take the opportunity, and now he's confessing his love to you.
All of this was so fucked up.
"I love you."
"San."
"You don't feel the same anymore?" You feel the burn in your throat when you take a moment to pause.
"Can you just put Jongho on the phone, please?"
"Why?" He whines.
"Because I need to make sure you get home safely." He clicks his teeth.
"Fine." He whines some more before he's calling out to Jongho and telling him his girl would like to have a word. "Think my girl is mad. C-can you tell her we can work this out? I-I don't want her mad anymore." In which Jongho follows with a quick 'yeah, ok' before snatching up his phone.
"Hello?"
"Hi. I'm sorry to trouble you with this, but can you please make sure he gets home in one piece? I think it's best he stops calling me, too."
"Of course. I'll stay with him."
"Thank you, Professor—"
"Jongho."
"Thank you, Jongho." You hang up the call and instantly toss your phone to the side before your tears start overflowing. You let the sheets swallow you whole before you cry.
And you just.. cry.
Until you tire yourself and fall asleep, even though you tried to stay up to make sure nothing else came in from San.
Nothing does, anyway.
Jongho throws San into the car and tells him to chill while he says his final goodbyes to everyone. Mingi, Yeosang and the rest of the group are laughing it off, assuming San is just drunk and slumped for the night. And he kinda is, but he's sad. He's completely heartbroken. He doesn't wanna be alone for the night, and Jongho says he'll take the guest room so he doesn't have to wallow in his drunkenness alone.
Yet, he still feels like he is.
When he gets home, he lazily kicks off his shoes and runs a quick shower. The world is still spinning more than he'd like, so he downs a whole water bottle before finishing up his routine and slipping under the sheets. Jongho has left him to his peace, also getting ready for bed in the guest bathroom and bedroom.
San can barely get comfortable because he can't even close his eyes and feel still for a second. He lies on his tummy, sprawled out across his bed since there's no use in leaving space for two.
He wishes he could.
Your side remains empty.
"You good?" Jongho pokes his head in to see a shirtless San facing the opposite way.
"Mhm." He mumbles. "Thanks."
"Yeah. Well, you know where to find me if you need anything." San stays silent, making Jongho shut his door gently before retreating to the bedroom.
San does know what he needs, though.
It's unfortunate your side remains empty.
Monday comes, and San is hoping he doesn't run into you.
He's hoping he doesn't run into you because he's not sure how to explain himself, and it's not like he can, anyway. But, it'll also make everything real for him— too real for his liking.
It'll be too real that he drunk texted you and called you, confessing his love after an incident that should've never happened in the first place.
It'll be too real that you aren't his.
It'll be too real that you never came to be by his side and that your side of the bed remains empty.
San sighs to himself as he quickly rushes into the Harvey Building, hurrying down to the basement and unlocking his office door. He sets his bags down and plops onto his chair, getting settled for the day. He couldn't sleep last night, so he decided to get up before the sun rose to workout in the faculty gym. He might've pushed himself a little harder than usual, his arms already feeling the soreness from the upper body workout he did. He'll be extra tired today, but at least his day will fly by with the shit he has to do.
He just hopes he doesn't run into you.
Because somehow, when he sees you, time stops and he feels frozen.
He lets out a sigh and starts working on a few progress reports that are literally due tomorrow. He's gotten through most of it and thankfully, just needs to add a few more details before sending it off. He also just got word that he won an award, and the foundation has been asking for a bunch of material to get ready for the award ceremony in a few months.
He hopes he can still share that news with you at some point.
Until then, he'll gather some childhood and school photos, candids he has from being in the classroom and doing lectures, other award photos; you know the deal. He's gotta write an acceptance speech that's 500-600 words and lasts about 2-3 minutes, plus answer a bunch of questions on a sheet they sent him.
It takes up a good chunk of his early morning that he's grabbing coffee right before his meeting with Namjoon and Jongho about the new program and real estate. He mutters a quick 'oh shit' to himself when he looks down at his watch, wrapping up his last thoughts before switching his desktop computer to sleep mode and gathering his phone and badge. When he slips out of his office, he finds the basement office more packed than usual. Lots of his lab members are meeting with people from other labs to collaborate or get guidance on a project. Sunwoo is busying himself with the data on his computer, working on his next data presentation for the lab meeting next week. He's noticed that him and Belle don't talk anymore, and he wonders why; he has an inkling it has to do with you, but he won't pry unless he hears about it somehow.
They all toss their 'hello's' his way while he rushes out to grab his coffee before making his way to the electrical engineering building.
Luckily, the walk is quiet.
San sips on his coffee and makes his way into a room that Jongho booked for their meeting. He's not here yet, but Namjoon isn't either, so San sits at the table by himself— mindlessly scrolling through his phone. He hasn't deleted your text thread [call him crazy], and he still has all your photos in his album. He hasn't changed the 'Baby 💕' listed as your contact name, he hasn't changed his home wallpaper that consists of a shot from behind you looking out at the beach view.
It's all equally tearing him apart and getting him by at the same time.
He can't seem to get his mind off of you and it makes him think that the universe is playing some kind of sick, twisted game with him.
Or, maybe it's a sign that he just has to accept his feelings for you. That you were always gonna be the one for him no matter how hard he tried to convince himself it couldn't work—
"Ayo." Namjoon pulls him out of his thoughts when he walks in and plops down on a seat next to him.
"Sup."
"I see Jongho's running a bit late." San checks his texts to see the unread 'running a few mins late - be there soon' text from the man himself.
"Yeah. I almost forgot myself. Was too busy getting the award materials together." Namjoon smiles.
"That's a big one. Definitely deserved."
"Thanks, boss."
"How's everything else?"
"Good, I guess." But Namjoon can see it's deeper than that, and San isn't all that great at hiding his true feelings.
"You guess?"
"Yeah, why?" He looks at Namjoon.
"She's doing great."
"Is she?"
"Yeah, really."
"That's good to hear."
"Qi Jaemi from Mirae reached out and is recruiting Y/N into their program. She started a clinical study not too long ago that's moving fast, and the work that Y/N has done in our labs is incredibly beneficial and relates well to what she's focused on. She offered to support her and give her a research assistant position while she's studying for extra financial support." Namjoon meets San's eyes. "I think she'd flourish and do amazing in it. Can't let her talents go to waste."
"I agree." San shifts in his seat. "So, she'll be transferring?"
"Yeah, sounds like. It's promising and I told her she has my support. I think she's gonna take it and not backtrack."
"T-that's great. I hope she does." San says.
"I'll need your help with writing a rec letter for her transfer application. If that's okay."
"Yeah, of course. Anything." He is truly happy for you and thinks it's the best move, especially for a very well known professor like Professor Qi. After everything, he's glad your work is still being recognized and that you're opening new doors to different opportunities.
He hopes you do move forward with it.
Selfishly enough, he hopes you take it and this will eventually lead you two back together. To a time where you don't have to hide your relationship and be loved undercover.
To a time where you two could just be happy without any outside noise.
"You miss her?"
"I do." San barely responds. "I really do, and I don't know how I'm supposed to get past this. I tried, Joon. I can't let her go." He sighs.
"Listen, I can't tell you what to do anymore. My job doesn't include policing you down to the T. Things have settled and brushed over, but it doesn't mean the dean isn't watching you or her. Luckily, if she takes this, it won't be as big of a deal as it is now while she's a student here. He'd still wanna make sure you aren't getting distracted, though."
"Okay.. but that's great, right? Things have settled for the both of us." Namjoon sighs. "If she takes the opportunity, it changes everything."
"Yes, which is why.. whatever you do, please just remember not to mess this up for her or you. The both of you are on great paths right now."
"It was never my intention to do so in the first place. I wanna add value to her life, not take away from it."
「synopsis」 : you were on vacation, taking the time to get away from your chaotic city life and enjoy the tranquility of the beach. it was supposed to be an easy laid back few weeks yet you weren't expecting to catch the eye of a lifeguard who just couldn't seem to keep his eyes off of you.
「genre」 : smut, lil bit of fluff, lifegurard!san, summer fling au
「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, flirting, unprotected sex, biting/marking, messy makeout, rough sex, slight clit play, dirty talk, teasing, dom!san x sub!reader, overstimulation, pet names (princess, baby, pretty, pretty girl...), multiple orgasms, slight buldge kink, creampie, dumbification, slight manhandling, praising, breeding, lmk if I missed anything!!
「notes」 : this has been sitting in my drive half finished for at least a month now and I can't believe that I'm just now getting back to it 😭, but lifeguard san was the first thought that came to mind when I saw the crazy ass video he posted 🥴. special shout out to @kitten4sannie for listening to insaneness and letting me share my crazy ideas, this ones for you babes! also, HAPPY NEW YEARS!! 🥂
The sun was shining brightly in the sky, warming you to the core as you walked along the beach. The book in your hand is long forgotten as you soak in the warm rays, enjoying the sea salt air. It was refreshing to finally have a place that didn’t have you running around like a chicken with its head cut off or a manager that would yell at you for every little thing that you did wrong and even the aches in your body due to overtime were melting away the longer you stood in the summer breeze.
Moving your hand up, you shielded your eyes from the bright sun as you looked around, you saw only a few families on the beach, parents lounging around on their towels under large umbrellas while the kids were off playing in the water or giggling with one another as they attempted to build sandcastles a little too close to the water. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched the three kids jump to their feet with squeals as a wave crashed over their newly built sandcastle, completely demolishing it.
This was the life that you had longed for, and you would give anything to be able to call this your ‘every day,’ but you knew that it would never be true. You couldn’t leave your life in the city behind; as much as you would love to, there was just too much at stake.
Letting out a conflicted sigh, you turned back to the ocean and watched the waves roll calmly on the surface. The gentleness of it all lured you in like a siren's call, tugging at every fiber of your being, and you took a step forward, allowing the cool water to wash over your bare feet, the temperature causing a chill to run down your spine.
After a few moments, you could feel the burning gaze of someone’s eyes, the hairs on the back of your neck standing tall. Peeking over your shoulder, you met the eyes of one of the lifeguards; he was perched on top of the watch-out chair. Heat flushed your cheeks as you took in his appearance, his shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes, but it didn’t hide the intensity of the look he was giving you. Your eyes took in more of his appearance, and you felt like your face was going to burst into flames at any moment. His honey skin was on perfect display. The only thing he was wearing was the bright red swim trunks that all of the lifeguards were wearing.
Swallowing thickly, you raised your hand, sending him a small wave, and your heart nearly stopped when he smiled, waving back. A smile of your own spread on your lips as you turned back around to look out at the ocean once more.
San’s eyes stayed glued to you even after you turned back around; something about you intrigued him. He’s never seen you around town before, and he knows almost everyone. The town doesn’t have very many tourists, so he was curious. It was like there was an invisible string tethering him to you, and he felt a pull, one that wouldn’t go away until he learned more. So he leaned over the other side of the lookout chair, searching for someone.
“Hey, Jongho!” He called out to the other male, who turned around a pair of dark sunglasses adorning his features. “Can you cover for me for a few minutes?” San asked, causing the younger to cock an eyebrow.
“What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll buy your lunch for the rest of the week.” San bargained, and Jongho thought about it for a second before ultimately nodding and agreeing.
“But don’t think I won’t throw your ass under the bus if boss shows up,” Jongho told him pointedly, and San chuckled before patting his shoulder.
“Thanks!” San then turned and jogged over to where you were standing while Jongho climbed up the ladder, drink in hand, as he leaned back in the seat.
You were crouched down, your book in your lap, as you combed through the sand to find any seashells. The sound of footsteps nearing you tore your attention away, and you pulled your hand from the water. Looking over, you found the lifeguard from earlier making his way towards you, so you shook your hand, trying to dry any of the leftover water before standing to your feet once more. Your heart fluttered when he got closer, and you were able to see his dimpled smile and his teeth peeking out from behind his lips.
“Hi.” He greeted you as soon as he got close enough, stopping just a few feet away from you.
You turned to face him, returning his smile as your fingers curled around the spine of your book, “hi.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around town before.” He tilted his head a little bit, causing some of his hair to fall further into his eyes, but he didn’t seem to mind.
The only thing that came to your mind as you watched him look at you curiously was that he was cute. His soft brown eyes drew you in like a freshly made batch of brownies, and his sweet smile left you wanting more.
You laughed softly at his statement before nodding your head, “That would be because I’m new around here.” You told him before quickly adding on, “Only for the summer though, then I’ve gotta go back home.”
San didn’t miss the solemn look that crossed your face when you mentioned going back home, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for you. However, hearing that you were going to be here for the summer gave him an idea, albeit possibly a horrible idea, but an idea nonetheless.
“Would you care for a tour of the town? I can show you all the best places around.” He gave you a cheeky smile, and you felt your stomach flutter.
The last thing you expected was for someone to offer to show you around the foreign town, let alone someone who was like a godsent. You thought it over for a few moments before ultimately deciding that it wouldn’t be a bad idea, seeing as you were going to be in this town for at least another three months, so you nodded your head with a smile of your own.
“I’d love that.” You told him before you heard shouting from behind him causing both of you to turn only to find an older man marching down the beach.
Chuckling nervously, the boy turned back to you, rubbing the back of his neck, “That would be my boss, I should probably get back. Do you know where the ice cream parlor is?” He asked, and you nodded, recalling seeing it as you were on your way to the beach. “Awesome, I get off at six. Meet me there?”
“San!” You heard someone shout causing the male in front of you to look over his shoulder, seeing the older man now standing next to the lifeguard post with Jongho.
“You should probably go,” You laugh softly. You would hate to see him get into any more trouble for staying and talking to you.
“Probably…” He sighed, turning back towards you, “I’m San, by the way.”
“I’m y/n.” You smiled up at him, and San felt his stomach swirl at the sight, but the moment was ruined when his boss once again yelled at him to get back to his post, causing the poor boy to let out a defeated sigh.
“I’ll see you later y/n.” He waved at you softly before turning and started jogging towards the lifeguard stand but stopped short when he remembered something, “Oh, y/n?” You looked at him at the sound of your name with a hum, “Make sure to wear your bathing suit.”
You nodded softly before watching as he walked back over to the lifeguard stand where his boss started giving him an earful as the boy who was sitting on the chair watched, a straw in his mouth. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. This might just be the best summer you’ve had yet.
Just like San said he would, he showed up at the ice cream parlor a little after six. He found you sitting in a booth off to the side with an empty cup in front of you as you scrolled through your phone. Walking over, he stopped just short of the table with a small smile tugging on his lips.
“Is this seat taken?” He asked, causing you to lift your head, and as soon as you saw him, your face lit up, a smile spreading across your glossed lips. You shook your head before telling him to sit down, to which he happily obliged, sitting across from you and propping his arms on the tabletop.
“So, where are you taking me first?” You asked, taking a sip from your watered-down soda only to grimace slightly due to the bland taste, causing San to chuckle, ‘cute,’ he thought, watching you push the cup away with a small pout forming on your lips.
“Well, I was thinking we would just make our way back down to the beach.” He told you, and you looked at him with scrunched eyebrows. Weren’t you guys just at the beach? Noticing your confusion, he added, “There is a cavern just slightly off the beach that glows at night.”
Your eyes widened at the thought, you have heard of them before but you never thought that you would actually be able to go and see one in person. It would also make sense why he told you to keep your bathing suit on. However, a sudden unease starts to settle in the pit of your stomach at the thought of the sea life that normally comes out after dark.
“What about sharks and whatnot?”
“We won’t have to swim to get inside, plus the underwater entrance is too small for anything big to get in,” San reassured you, and your unease died down as you took in the sincerity that gleamed in his eyes. “If you’re ready, we can start heading that way.”
You nodded with a bright smile before standing from your seat and turning to grab your trash, but San was quicker. He walked over to the trash can, throwing it away as you followed behind him closely.
“You didn’t have to do that.” You pouted slightly, not used to people doing anything like that for you.
San just offered you a smile, walking to the door and opening it for you, “after you.”
–
About an hour and a half later, you walked side by side with San down the beach, your sandals in your hand as you talked. He had shown you so many small shops that had all kinds of things that you couldn’t find in the bigger cities and even took you to the small animal shelter where he volunteers from time to time. It was refreshing to see, and you wished that you could make it your everyday life, but alas, you couldn’t.
“The entrance is just over here.” San pointed off to the side of the cliff, the flashlight in his hand illuminating the ground underneath your feet. You followed after him until you made it to more rocky ground, so you stopped to put your shoes back on.
You had managed to put one on without too much struggle, but as you were putting the other on, you lost your balance, toppling over. However, instead of crashing on the ground, you felt arms wrapped around your midsection, keeping you upright. Looking up, your breath hitched in your throat as you noticed just how close San was. Stammering out an apology, you pushed away with a flustered face, and San watched in amusement as you avoided his eyes.
After your shoes were on, San led you to the entrance, “it's just through here.” He pointed the flashlight at the small entrance, glancing back at you. You followed after him, making sure to stay close so you don’t get separated. Then, finally, you broke through the entrance with a deep breath; the air smelled heavily of sea salt.
A small gasp fell from your lips when you looked up as San turned the flashlight off. The whole cavern was illuminated in an oceanic blue. The reflection of the water from the ceiling made it feel like you were underwater.
“It’s beautiful.” You spoke quietly as you stepped forward, and San looked over at you with a silly smile on his lips.
Heat flushed his face as he took in your appearance. The lights from the algae made your skin glow. You were breathtaking, and every fiber in his body was yearning to reach out to touch you, but when you looked over, catching him staring, he decided against it.
“C’mon, let’s get in the water.” He quickly spoke before you had a chance to even question why he was staring and jogged over to the edge of the water.
You stood there in confusion for a moment before looking back over at the taller male as he kicked his shoes off and pulled his shirt over his head. Your mouth watered slightly at the sight of his bare skin, watching the muscles in his back ripple as he threw his shirt off to the side.
Heat crept up your neck as he looked back at you with a small smile, but there was a gleam in his eyes that made your stomach flip. Swallowing thickly you walked over to the water’s edge as San dove in and kicked your sandals off once more.
“This is safe, right?” You asked, your voice coming out shaky as you took in San’s appearance after coming out from under the water.
“I’ve been swimming here since I was a kid. I promise it’s safe.” He offered you a reassuring smile, and you nodded before reaching for the hem of your shirt.
San couldn’t tear his gaze away from your body as you pulled your shirt over your head, revealing the bikini top that you were wearing underneath. He could feel his whole body start to burn as you pulled your shorts down your legs before tossing both items over with his discarded shirt.
You could feel his eyes burning into you as you threaded through the water, which was surprisingly warmer than you expected it to be. When you got close enough to him, he swallowed down the lump in his throat, but then you got a mischievous idea.
Cupping your hands together, you splashed water at him, drenching his face and hair. You broke down into a fit of giggles at the shock on his face after he wiped his eyes.
“Oh, you’re playin’ a dangerous game.” He chuckled deeply, and you felt a shiver run down your spine at the noise, heat pooling in your gut, but you tried to ignore it as he sprayed water right back at you.
A squeal fell from your lips as he rushed at you, and you ran from him, the whole cavern filling with the sounds of your guy's laughter.
You tried to get away from San’s outstretched hands after splashing him once again, but your foot slipped, and he managed to grab your arm. He pulled you towards him, your body almost weightless in the water.
“Got you.” He huffed, looking down at you as your hand fell to his chest to keep your balance.
The air around you grew still; the only sound was your heavy breathing. San’s eyes were glued to your face, and you could feel your body growing warmer by the second. He started to lean down, his lips ghosting over yours, and your eyes fluttered closed as he closed the space between your bodies.
San’s lips were soft against yours; the kiss was sweet, but it didn’t take long before it started to fill with need. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip, groaning at the taste, a mixture of sea salt and your strawberry lip gloss. The sound was enough to leave your core dripping as you parted your lips, allowing him to invade your mouth.
A small whine fell from your lips as he bit down on your bottom lip gently before trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck. You rolled your head to the side, giving him more space to leave wet, open-mouth kisses along your skin.
“San…” You let out a breathy moan as he nipped at your skin, his hands wandering your body while yours squeezed his shoulders to try and ground yourself. Your breath hitched in your throat when his hand cupped your boob over your bikini top.
“You sound so pretty, moaning my name.” He groaned against your skin, his senses going haywire as he kissed back up to your lips. He just couldn’t seem to get enough. He wanted more.
A small yelp fell from your lips when he picked you up effortlessly, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you out of the water. His lips then found yours, capturing them in a heated kiss.
Not a word was spoken as he laid you down on the smooth floor of the cavern, fingers dancing across your skin. Every fiber of your being felt like it had been set aflame as his hand crept down your stomach, tracing the hem of your bottoms.
He pulled away from your lips, taking in your disheveled appearance and your swollen lips glistening under the light. The sight made his dick swell in his trunks, the material straining, causing him to groan. Pulling back a little more, he curled his fingers around the fabric of your bottoms and looked back at you with a questioning gaze. After giving him the green light, San wasted no time in discarding you of your bottoms, leaving your dripping core on full display.
You felt small under his gaze, and you started to close your legs in embarrassment. However, San was quick to stop you. Grabbing your knees, he spread your legs once more, his cock twitching at the sight of your glistening pussy.
“Fuck.” He cursed, mouth yearning to latch on to your clit, but his aching cock was telling him that there was no time. So he prayed to the gods that he would get another chance to eat you out before the summer was over.
“San–” You were cut off by a choked moan when he pressed down on your clit suddenly, groaning at how wet you were. He leaned back over your body, caging you under his as he looked at your lust-filled eyes.
“Shit princess, you’re so fucking wet.” His head leaned down, his hot breath fanning over your ear as he continued to toy with your clit.
“San, please!” You whined, back arching off the ground when he added more pressure to your clit. Your body felt like it was on fire, and your core ached, begging to be filled. The growing desire becomes insatiable.
“Please, what, pretty girl?” He cooed, raising up to look at you with a teasing smirk, and that’s when you noticed the chain dangling from his neck.
Biting back another moan, you reached up and wrapped your fingers around the cool metal before pulling him down until his lips brushed over yours, “stop teasing and fuck me.”
San chuckled before removing his hand from your little bundle of nerves, “so demanding.”
You were about to retort, but all words died on your tongue as he leaned up to pull his trunks down just enough to let his weeping cock pop out. Noticing the shocked look in your eyes, he smirked before leaning over you again, lips brushing over your ear.
“You were the one demanding that I fuck you, so take it like a good girl, hmm?” His voice was deep, causing you to clench around nothing, a small whine falling from your lips.
Your whole body jolted when you felt his tip running over your slit before bumping into your clit. Then he started pushing into you without so much as a warning, causing you to choke out a broken moan of his name.
“San!” You cried out, nails clawing at his back, nearly breaking skin, and tears brimmed in your eyes. “‘S too much.”
“But you wanted this baby.” He cooed, thumb brushing under your eyes as tears started to fall, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find his forcefulness hot. Your walls squeezed around his aching cock, sucking him further in and he groaned, “plus you’re sucking me in, your pretty little cunt is just begging to be filled.”
Your eyes rolled back when he finally bottomed out, your mind fuzzing over from the full feeling. San watched you intently as you pulled at his body, wanting him close to you, a pathetic whimper falling from your swollen lips.
“Sannie!” You cried out, and his cock twitched at the whiny tone in your voice. The pressure was overwhelming, and you felt like you were about to combust if nothing was done about it soon. Your hips rolled up against San’s, and a choked gasp fell from your lips when his tip brushed over your sweet spot. “M-Move, please. San, please.” You spewed pleas like a mantra, and San’s lips curled into a smirk as he took your hips in his hands.
He pulled out until just the tip was left before pushing back in with enough force to make your tits bounce. A strangled cry tore from your lungs, and your hands flew to his forearm. His pace was slow but deep, hitting all of the right spots and turning you into a blubbering mess.
“Look at you taking me so well,” He cooed, pistoning his hips into yours until his tip hit your cervix.
Stars danced across your vision when his pace picked up, his grip so tight on your hips that you were sure that it would leave bruises the next day. However, all thoughts melted from your brain when his hand pressed down on your lower stomach, making you feel him even more.
“S-San– fuck! You feel so good, oh my god!” You cried out, back arching off of the ground when his thumb made contact with your clit. Your legs trembled around San’s waist as he brought you closer to your climax, your velvet walls squeezing around his throbbing cock like a vice.
“Shit, if you keep squeezing me like that, I’m gonna cum.” San groaned, his body leaning over yours to litter your chest with sloppy kisses. “Is that what you want, pretty girl? Me to cum in this sweet pussy of yours? To claim you as mine, is that it?” He growled against your skin, and it felt like your brain turned to mush at the thought of him cumming in you, and you tightened around him once more, giving away exactly what you wanted.
With just a few more thrusts, he sent you toppling over the edge, a string of broken moans falling from your lips as he fucked you through your high. Detaching his lips from your collarbone, he leaned over you, chain hanging just in your peripheral. Without so much as a second thought, you grabbed the jewelry and pulled him down, slotting your lips over his.
The kiss was anything but neat; he kissed you with a bruising force, and a mixture of spit covered both of your chins. Any sound you made from his relentless pounding was swallowed by his lips. Tears of overstimulation clouded your vision as you tried to tell him to slow down, but all that left your lips were incoherent babbles.
“Fuck! I’m sorry, pretty, just hold on a little bit more; you can do that, can’t you?” He grunted through gritted teeth as he sat back up, using his hold on your hips to plow you into oblivion. Your nails dug into his forearm, threatening to break skin as he pushed you closer to another climax.
“S-San!” You choked out a moan as he brushed over your sweet spot, causing stars to cloud your vision.
“Shit.” San groaned as he felt his own high right on the tip of his tongue. His hand then moved from your hip, trailing up your body until he caught your chin between his fingers. “Look at me pretty girl, I want you to watch as I fill your womb with my cum.”
His words were enough to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your body trembling as another high washed over your body. Your pussy spasmed around his cock as you continued to gush out your own cum. An incoherent mixture of his name and curses spewed from your lips as he continued to fuck you through another high until his own thrusts became sloppy.
“Eyes on me, princess.” He tapped your cheek, watching in amusement as you tried your best to focus your attention on him despite all of the pleasure your body was receiving. “F-Fucking–” His voice cracked as his climax hit him like a freight train, his warm seed spilling deep into your walls.
“Sannie!” You whine at the sudden feeling, back arching off of the ground once more when he stilled inside of you.
“You did so good for me, baby.” He huffed, leaning over to pull your lips into a gentle kiss, and your shaky arms wrapped around his neck, wanting to keep him as close as possible.
The two of you stayed like that for a few moments more until San pulled away, causing you to whine at the sudden loss of contact. With a chuckle, he slipped out of your spent hole, watching as a mixture of his and your cum pooled on the ground beneath you. Swallowing thickly, he tore his eyes away, afraid that he would get hard again, and instead pulled his trunks back up before helping you back into your clothes.
“C’mon, we can go back to mine and watch a movie or something.” He smiled sweetly at you as he helped you pull your shorts over your hips, and you felt your face flush.
“Throw in some snacks, and I’ll be yours.” You teased, and he chuckled before grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers.
“I can make that happen.” He then pulled you back towards the entrance of the cavern and back to the beach before the both of you headed back to his place for the rest of the night.
You couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, if you kissed your city life goodbye, you could be happy here. The thought of having to leave San at the end of the summer after what just happened left an ache deep in your heart. So that’s all it took, was another flash of San’s dimpled smile to call your boss and tell him that you were going to quit.
@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work
pairing. bf!ateez x reader
cw. suggestive themes, park seonghwa's solo (should actually have its own cw category)
notes. wowowo pfw this year was wild so i had to include some hall of fame moments.
also, just a quick psa: this is fanfiction, please suspend your disbelief!! not everything here aligns with canon or reality!! so don't take it seriously i beg.
that's all! reblogs and comments are appreciated. see you in the next post~~
with an accidental package swap with your neighbor, jeong yunho, the one who keeps you up at night with his constant yelling. when an opportunity to make a big check comes your way yunho somehow is the only person who can help, luckily for him he finds you hot, and who is he to pass up the chance to sleep with you.
𐀔𓂃 kais note: this is most definitely gonna have another part .. i wrote too much to fit it in here .. but don’t worry it will be out soon!
is either the most frustrating thing ever or one of your favourite things in your relationship
it all really depends on how pissed off and how serious the topic of argument is (which to be fair holds true for most if not all couples)
you can never start a play argument with him, forget play fighting
you had searched long and lost for something amiss in the house that you could use to have a fake argument with him. you had planned on recording it, put it on tiktok maybe, be one of those couples.
but jongho, this fucker, is such an ideal boyfriend. it's annoying.
laundry? done. the dishes you told him to do because you were tired? done. he'd even rescheduled playing football with his friends because you'd called him over, unaware of his previous plans. in short? perfect. boyfriend.
but fortunately for you and your devious plan, men were men. and their tendency to leave the toilet seat up was unavoidable. and so starts your plan.
"choi jongho!" you scream from the upstairs bathroom, knowing you'd garner his attention from where he's lounging in the living room. you hear the prompt "yes, baby?" from him. "come here, right now!" your no nonsense tone has him up in your bedroom in seconds.
when he gets up there you hear him shuffle in the bedroom before the door to the bathroom finally opens. he surveys you with furrowed brows. when the urgency in his eyes fades, he looks around the bathroom. "spider? insect that i need to kill?"
you cross your arms, glaring at your poor boyfriend. you point at the toilet seat, brow raised as you ask, "how many times do i have to tell you to put the seat down?" he chuckles. oh, the audacity. but also, the sassy laugh has you folding. sort of. he makes a half apology, reaching past you to put the seat down, then heads to the sink to wash his hands. you watch him do all that with a heated glare.
"this is turning into a repeated thing, jongho." mentally, you run through the few sentences you'd prepared. "it's like my opinion and preferences are not valued in this house. is that so?" you cock a brow at him, and he matches your face perfectly. "do my words just enter through one year and leave through the oth—" you had started trailing off mid sentence and you cut yourself off abruptly when jongho grabs your leg and slings you over his shoulders.
you try to argue still, but he shushes you. "shh. if you want to be angry do it somewhere else. the bathroom is bad feng shui." you blink. and then you kick at his side to get him to put you down.
when he doesn't, you run through your lines, screaming them in his ear. your plan was failing! the perfectly set-up and hidden camera in the bathroom wasn't of use! "shush, baby. come watch something with me, hm?"
you frown. "can we watch reruns of big bang theory?" he nods. anything to get you to shut up. "anything you want baby, anything you want."
a/n: the lack of jongho fics/drabbles on here is insane!? you must create what you seek, and i took it seriously. jongho the man you are 😩. that one compilation of jongho picking up yeosang over his shoulder got me giggling n shit. like is this a safe space to talk about how he'll throw his gf over his shoulders when she's throwing a tantrum or when theyre play fighting and carries her to the bedroom like that like... do we see the vision??? working on three different works simultaneously rn teehee. a han jisung oneshot(?), a yangyang oneshot and a mark lee fic. wonder which one i'll end up posting first but heh. requests are open!
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—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.
—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader
—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut
—word count: 5.5k
—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, mostly focused on namjoon again in his stressed with no rest era, oc tells her friends about everything, jiung x oc fighting, crying :(, oc has a pretty good talk with namjoon, things are just shifting/changing
—a/n: the next fic coming up after wildfire has been posted here! also if you haven't taken my poll, pls do so! hehe <33 i appreciate u
You lay back against the arm of the couch with your blanket sprawled on top, typing away the last bits of info into your presentation. You're a slide away from creating your acknowledgements slide and wrapping up the entire rotation update. You had gotten an email from both San and Namjoon stating that your rotation in San's lab was ending due to a change in your timeline and that you needed to present your rotation update to the both of them, along with the dean, in the following week. It scared you at first— and it still does now— but it's starting to make more sense as to why San did what he did. Namjoon sent you a side email asking if you could meet today because he wanted to discuss what was going on. He kept it vague. Short.
Maybe he was holding off until the meeting.
It's obvious who started all of this. It's not hard to tell.
But, you agreed to meet after TAing for Yunho— letting Namjoon know you'd be there as soon as class was over. He agreed to the time and sent you a reassuring message towards the end, telling you all would be well and that he'd help you figure things out no matter what.
It was reassuring, but it doesn't mean you weren't scared.
Anxious.
Nervous.
Doesn't mean any if this it hurt any less. Doesn't mean you weren't angry, upset, sad. You still needed to feel it out, especially being alone and going through this without anyone else to talk to about it.
You had Eunchae, Jurin and Felix. But, you wished you had Jiung to talk to. You wished you didn't feel hurt about him, too.
—FLASHBACK
"So, you two are seeing each other?" Jurin asks while she sits in front of you and holds onto your knee to give it a gentle rub. Eunchae sits next to you with her arm over your shoulder, also giving you a gentle caress, squeeze. Felix sits next to Jurin and he's got a look of concern, but sadness. You had finally opened up about everything between you and San; from how things started, the conferences, staying at his house, being with him—
To not.
Jiung keeps himself posted near your window because he doesn't really wanna hear more about it but he needs to— to understand the full story. Part of him also feels guilty for what he did hearing your cries and how awfully torn up you are over Professor Choi.
San.
He's gotta get used to you calling him San like that.
"Were." You shake your head and press the tissue against your nose to pat it dry. "It's done with now."
"But, why? Couldn't you guys just play it off?"
"I'm sure he wanted to be safe, though." Felix adds softly. "I think I kinda see where he's coming from." He looks at you. "I don't think he meant to hurt you, but he's probably trying to protect you and keep everything safe in the meantime. Once this blows over—"
"I doubt we'd get back together."
"Don't say that. You never know, Y/N. I agree with Lix. He's probably just trying to do what's best for now even if it hurts him to. I'm sure he cares a lot about you. I mean heck, he almost fucked up Hae-jin in front of everyone." You sigh and look down at your hands, the feeling of sadness and emptiness all consuming.
"He does." Eunchae adds to Jurin's reassurance. "I don't know why Professor Lee and Professor Jeong think it's their business, though. Haven't they done enough damage?"
"Awful. People literally can't mind their business, especially when it has nothing to do with them."
"I get the power dynamics but Professor Choi doesn't seem like the type. So, honestly, it's not like anyone was getting hurt in the process." Jiung silently fiddles with his hoodie string as Felix goes on.
"And people clearly don't know you if they assume you're the one throwing yourself on him." Jurin adds.
"Damn. Two people can't just be together?" Felix shakes his head. "Anyway, you got us, and this will pass. I'm sure Professor Kim will do everything to help and figure things out, too." You dig your face into your hands, trying to wipe away the remaining tears before you nod and smile at Lix in appreciation for his support, too.
Still, you can't help but notice how Jiung has remained quiet this entire time— barely able to maintain eye contact with you.
"Should we go to dinner? Get some food in you?" Eunchae gives you a small smile and giggle. You nod and stand with them, quickly checking your appearance in the mirror while the three start making their way out of your door.
"Can we talk for a second?"
"About?"
"I just have to tell you something. Probably shouldn't wait until after dinner."
"Um, okay?" You look at him, hands crossed over your chest in a vulnerable manner, doe-eyes peeking up at him as he lets out a hefty sigh. "What's on your mind?"
"Y/N, I'm sorry. I just wanna say I'm sorry and I hope you understand where I'm coming from. But—" He lets out another sigh before shaking his head, almost as if he were shaking his feelings off. Trying to tell himself he needs to say it. "I-I went to Professor Kim and told him about you and Professor Choi. I told him I thought you were being taken advantage of and that I was worried."
"What?" You can barely get out. "W-why would you do that?"
"I was really just worried and I wasn't sure how else to get to you. I-I thought Professor Kim would be able to help—"
"Jiung." You call his name and step back, not wanting to be in close proximity to him. You knew he was worried about you, but you didn't think he'd go off and talk to Namjoon about it right away. "Why would you do that? Why couldn't we just keep talking about it— why did you have to go and blow this up even more?!"
"I'm sorry, can you blame me?!—"
"You didn't have to go behind my fucking back and tell Professor Kim! I already told you it wasn't like that and you still told him it was?! What the actual hell, Jiung?"
"I was just worried about you! I was being your fucking bestfriend, trying to make sure you weren't hurt or anything."
"And then you made things worse. Are you happy?" You scoff. "Those assumptions could have really fucked up Professor Choi."
"What about you, Y/N? Why do you keep disregarding yourself?! Is that even healthy—"
"Healthy?! I'm telling you the truth!" You scoff. "And you don't know shit about me and him, so quit acting like you do." You throw your hands up in defeat because he'll never get it. "Forget it, okay? You'll never understand and I don't need you to."
"Hey, what's going on?" Felix pops his head in, confused at the ruckus going on behind doors. Truthfully, he heard everything just as he was approaching the door to check up on you, and he's not sure how to feel. It's hard. He feels like he's in the middle because he sees Jiung, he sees you.
"You guys can go off to dinner together, but I'll probably just stay behind."
"But, Y/N—" Jiung adds in defeat.
"Why don't you and the girls go? We'll catch up later." Felix tugs him by the sleeve and gives him a look. "Give her some space." He mutters lowly just as he gets in close distance.
—END
Your alarm blares on the coffee table, a harsh reminder that you haven't really slept much. It was time to wrap up and get ready for Yunho's class— something you weren't entirely ready to tackle today either.
But, you get up anyway.
You sigh and put on your brave face.
You throw on a simple sweater, jeans and your Sambas— dabbing a bit of mascara, brow gel and lip gloss to fix yourself up a tiny bit for the day. You were tired of feeling sad and dressing the part; the least you could do was finally get some fresh air and look decent enough for the world while coming out of your slump. You grab your things and pack up your bag, heading out of the door with your keys in hand.
Kinda sucks you won't be returning to San's lab.
Kinda sucks you won't be returning to San.
You let out a sigh and quietly walk over to the classroom in peace, keeping your head down for a majority of the time.
Avoiding eye contact, avoiding anything having to do with the outside world in meantime.
"Hey!" Yunho says in his usual fashion. You give him a small smile, although you're not really sure why he's joining class yet again today. He had been joining your class in particular recently, and you knew why.
He just wanted to get under your skin.
"Hi." You respond, getting your laptop together. Yunho continues to watch you from where you're standing, noting the sadness that envelopes your entire body. The way you're avoiding him. The way it's so blatantly obvious that you know that he knows.
That Iseul is the reason why you're sad.
You don't say anything otherwise; keeping your head down and away from Yunho even while the class walks in. You continue to carry on with the last journal club of the class before giving everyone time to work on their final proposals before it's due at the end of the evening. A few people linger at the end of class to speak with you and Yunho to get your guidance on the last remaining bits of their proposals before they thank you for all your help and head out for the day.
You still haven't said a word to Yunho, and he can't help but ask:
"Is something wrong?" Yunho asks nonchalantly after class, looking at your figure even though you are avoiding eye contact with him while packing up your things.
"No."
"You don't have to lie to me."
"I don't know why you're asking if something is wrong when you know what it is already. Don't you?" You look at him plainly from the side before gathering the rest of your things.
"Whatever's been happening between you and San is between you and San—"
"So, was it you who told Professor Kim? Or was it Professor Lee?" You cut him off. Yunho stares at you, and he doesn't respond. Of course he won't, of course he won't throw Iseul under the bus even though you know she was behind it.
"It was for the best."
"Quite frankly, I don't think you can speak on what's best for me or him. Especially him." You look at Yunho directly in the eye. "Are you both that determined to bring San down? Is that what this?" He furrows his brows.
"Reel it in, Y/N." He says, sternly. "Do you not understand how damaging this could be for both you and him? If anything, it was done to protect you both."
"What makes you think we weren't capable of doing so?" Yunho lets out a pathetic chuckle before he steps forward and leans towards your ear, a small smirk on his lips.
"I think snuggling up on campus and sneaking into his office is enough of a reason." He pulls back, licking his lips before dipping his hands into his pocket.
"And I think you need to learn how to mind your own business and let San handle his own." You scoff. "In any case, Yunho." You look him in the eye. "You and Iseul already ruined him from the beginning and you can't come to terms with it." You tilt your head to the side. "You both were never deserving of San, and that is sad. No wonder you two are miserable and are still keeping tabs on him." Yunho's mouth slightly drops, but he doesn't respond to your statement. "I'll help out with finals if needed. Otherwise, please consider my TA assignment with you done."
You almost run into Iseul as you stomp out of the classroom, leaving her to knit her brows at you in response.
"Nice talk." Iseul pops in, her husband biting his cheek.
"We should have never gotten involved with that, Iseul." He says lowly as he gathers his things together.
"Oh, so just let them—"
"That's exactly it, just let them be." He cuts her off and looks at her. "It didn't have to be us. We could've just let them be and let anyone else do the talking. Let them learn on their own." His jaw ticks.
"We did the right thing." She crosses her arms.
"Still doesn't change the fact that you're taking the opportunity to destroy San and running with it. It didn't have to be us." He repeats, slinging his bag onto his shoulder.
"Yunho." She says. "You're not actually taking Y/N seriously, are you? She's delusional if she thinks all of this is okay and would've slipped."
"Don't call her delusional, Iseul. You have no say in their relationship or what they're about. You had no right. They knew what they were getting into. You just lead them into the trap for your own benefit." Yunho scoffs. "You wanted to see this unfold, didn't you? You wanted this to unfold in a specific way."
"What is going on, Yunho?"
"We're not meddling in this anymore. If you're not ready to stop, count me out of it. I'm not doing this, I'm not picking at their business anymore." He grabs his things and takes the lead out of the room. Iseul scoffs and shakes her head, slowly trailing behind him.
As for you, you feel cold. You feel isolated. You feel empty. You walk out and find a hidden table behind the building and set yourself down to get yourself together. You let out a couple of breaths to ease your feelings, promising yourself you wouldn't cry over this anymore.
But, it hurts to hold it in.
It hurts.
You feel the dullness, the heavy ache, in the center of your chest, and it hurts.
You have to move on.
"Fuck." You sigh, hand over your chest to give it a few gentle rubs before you're back on your feet and checking the time. You need to see Professor Kim just like your promised.
Of course, as you're on your way to Professor Kim's office, you find San passing by with Yeosang and Jongho. His eyes land on you and you immediately break first, feeling the tears ready to well up in your eyes. He sees the way your head drops and how you turn away— he can't help but slightly turn over his shoulder to keep his eyes on you.
To lock eyes with you once more.
To feel.
But, it doesn't happen. And it fucks San up more than he expects because he doesn't know even know what Jongho and Yeosang are talking about anymore after that brief interception.
"Yo, you good?" Jongho taps his chest with a small chuckle, bringing San back to reality.
"Yeah. Sorry." He tries to play it off quickly but Jongho quickly turns over his shoulder to see you walking in the opposite direction.
"All good." He returns to San and gives his shoulder a small squeeze. "I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about." San gives him a toothless smile. "Anyway, did you guys figure out where we're going before we make laps around campus?" Yeosang and Jongho share a quick look before they follow behind San and pick the conversation back up to prevent any of San's sadness from creeping up.
Meanwhile, you continue your way to Professor Kim's office, wiping away the stragglers that manage to escape your eyes and streak your cheeks. You weren't gonna let this get to you, so you quickly try to brush it off and get yourself together especially when you walk down the hallway and into Professor Kim's office. He's in his chair, typing away on his computer— glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.
"Hey Y/N, come sit and make yourself comfortable." He smiles at you and you return the gesture, sitting down on the chair posted in front of his desk.
"Thanks for meeting with me today, Professor Kim."
"No, thank you." He chuckles and finally shifts his full attention towards you. "How are you today?"
"Uh, could be better but not complaining."
"Yeah? How was class with Professor Jeong?"
"Hm, okay." You hum before shifting in your seat nervously.
"Just okay?" You nod. "Well, as long as there aren't any complaints or anything you wanna tell me." Namjoon knows you probably aren't having a great time in Yunho's class right now and he doesn't blame you.
"No." You force a smile. "Anyway, I see that I have to do my rotation presentation next week?"
"Yeah. I'm sorry, Y/N. You do understand why this is all happening, right?" You slowly nod. "I know you and San have been seeing each other, and I know he ended things the other day. I'm really sorry, but I just need to protect you both. Word is getting around fast and the dean isn't having it. I can't have him fire San, I can't have him kick you out of the grad program. Please just understand why things have to be this way. I just need it to settle."
"I do." You respond weakly before looking down at your hands. "I'm sorry for causing so much trouble, Professor Kim. I didn't mean— we didn't mean for this to blow up. I-I know we shouldn't have been so sloppy and reckless, and I'm sorry—"
"Hey, hey." He shakes his head with a sympathetic look. "No need to be sorry. I promise all is fine, and that's why I'm here to help and protect you both." You look at him with a sad nod, and you aren't sure why that's the tipping point for you but you suddenly start to break down in front of Professor Kim. He feels his heart breaks because he knows there wasn't any power play in this; he knows San as a person, and he's familiar with you as a student and the work you do. There was no way either of you used any power or position for your advantage. He knew this had been a genuine, real relationship— it's just truly unfortunate it had to unfold this way.
If word hadn't gotten around, maybe Namjoon wouldn't care at all.
But, he has to now, and that's what makes everything hard about his role.
"I promise everything is going to be okay." He says softly.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" Namjoon shakes his heas, watching the way you cry into your hands.
"Y/N, it's okay. You can let it out if you need to." He passes you the tissue box. "Can I ask you something? And be honest. I've already figured out your plan for school so you don't have to hold back." Namjoon says. "Do you care about him?" You nod as you continue to cry, the ache in your chest making it hard for you to breathe.
You miss San.
"But, it doesn't matter because he ended it. It's over with."
"He only did so because of my guidance, and I'm sorry about that. I told him this too, but it's not something I wanted to do. Trust me. As his friend, it's the first time I've seen him genuinely and truly happy. It's all I wanted after the things he's gone through. But, I just can't risk it right now. San is beginning to reach new heights with his career and getting more real estate to do things he's been wanting to do with Jongho. You're also just getting into the groove of things. I don't want either of your hard work to get snatched away over something like this."
"No, I know Professor Kim. I do understand and I'm grateful. It just sucks. I don't know how else we would've gotten away with it, I guess." You sniff. "Maybe it had to happen."
"Look, I told him this, too. But, I can't police every detail and tell you who you can and can't date. If San is someone you care about, then so be it, but the only thing I ask of you is to keep it off campus. I cannot have you two interacting on campus or else he's out. Not by my choice, but the committee."
"I don't want anything to happen to him."
"I know, and he said the same thing about you. He cares just as much, so don't think that he doesn't." You dab your face with the napkin and nod.
"Jiung confessed and told me he came to you about it." Namjoon nods.
"I think he was just worried as your friend. Rightfully so. But, I think he also shouldn't have jumped to those conclusions right away."
"I told him that."
"If I hadn't known San so well, I probably would've believed Jiung." He sighs. "It's alright, he didn't know and he was worried. Are you two okay?"
"Not really, but I think we just need time. I'm trying to see his side of things, but I also didn't think he'd do that so it caught me off guard."
"I see. Well. Give yourself some time and grace, okay? I'm sorry it had to be this way for now." You give him a tiny, toothless smile. Eyes still shiny and watery from the crying you've just done.
I'm sorry it had to be this way for now.
It repeats in your head over and over again because why does it feel like this is just how it's gonna be? Despite Namjoon reassuring you, despite San's explanation. Why does it just feel like a fleeting moment? A chapter in your book— a part that was never really supposed to last.
"Thank you." He gives you a smile.
"So, shifting to the program. I was thinking I could pull you into my lab and we can figure out things as time goes on? Explore other options if there's anything else you'd wanna explore." You nod. "You know there's other paths we can look into, or if you're totally fine with where you're at in my lab, then we can just stick with that plan."
"That sounds good. Thank you, Professor Kim."
"Unfortunately, like I mentioned, I can't have you interacting with Professor Choi. I'll have to make sure you don't take any of his classes or end up in any collaboration projects with him." You nod.
"Okay. I understand."
"You'll have to halt all your work in his lab immediately. You can grab your things when you feel ready to, but I'll have you in my lab starting next week. I know it'll be a bit crazy with your rotation presentation, but I promise to make it a smooth transition."
"Okay." You purse your lips. "I'm almost finished with my rotation presentation."
"That's great!"
"It'll just be us three?"
"Yeah, I'm sorry. It's not the usual format but I need the dean to see all the good work you do."
"Thank you. I appreciate your support."
"Do you have any questions so far? Any other concerns?" You think for a second before shaking your head.
"No."
"I'll send you some onboarding info and give you the contacts to some key people in my lab to help you get started. We can figure out your project and goals in a little more depth next week. Let's aim for a Monday morning meeting? 9am?"
"Good with me."
"Thanks, Y/N. And please trust me when I say all is gonna be well."
"Thank you."
"See you next week? Be sure to keep an eye out for my emails." You nod as you stand and tuck your bag closely to you.
"I will." You give him another smile before heading out of the door. Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose and plops back down onto his chair, picking up his direct line to ring the dean's office phone. It rings for a few minutes before the dean is answering on the other end.
"Namjoon."
"Hey. Can we meet today to talk about what's been going on? I can be over in the next 15 minutes."
"I'm free, but I have a hard cut off in 45 minutes."
"That's plenty of time. I'll be there soon."
"See you." Joon hangs up and gathers his things, loosening his tie to get himself together for this meeting. He doesn't necessarily wanna do this, nor does he think he's ready for whatever the dean could unleash on him.
On you, on San.
But, he has a job to do and he'll make damn sure he gets his point across. He'll make damn sure he controls this well, and he'll make sure nothing happens to the both of you.
When he gets into the building and heads straight for the dean's office, he's greeted by the front desk and his executive assistant. The dean's assistant knocks on his door and pops her head in to give him a heads up about Namjoon's visit. It isn't long before she's gesturing for him to come into his office, stepping out and slowly shutting the door behind her once Namjoon's settled in the seat in front of him.
"Namjoon."
"Dean Louie." Namjoon clears his throat. "Can we discuss what's been going on? I've got a chance to review this more in depth."
"Great. So, tell me. What's with the anonymous tip? Is there truth behind San and his student's relationship?"
"No." The dean looks at him with his head cocked to the side. "Not at all."
"Namjoon. This isn't the time to play games."
"Who said I was?" Joon asks. "This is purely a rumor and there is nothing going on between the two of them. To keep things safe, I'll make sure they don't cross paths and interact on campus, and I'll make sure to work closely with her and keep her under my wing." Namjoon says.
"A rumor? That blew up around campus? What about Iseul and Yunho? Iseul told me about the happy hour event with San. All of this seems too good to be true, and if you're covering for them—" Namjoon cuts him off.
"Since when did Iseul and Yunho have their best interest in San? All I know is that they've always been the driving issue, not San." Namjoon looks at the dean confused. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, but a rumor is a rumor and I've gotten to the bottom of it. I talked to the both of them and they denied it through and through. The only reason why San got caught up in the whole happy hour business was because a postdoc was crossing the line and being really disrespectful to her. Any one of us would've done it had we caught it right away like San did." Namjoon continues to furrow his brows. "Now, please. I'd appreciate if we can move on." The dean sits back and lets out a hefty sigh.
"Go on."
"As stated in my email, she will do her rotation presentation in front of myself, you and San. After that, she will be removed from his lab and will be placed in mine. We'll have weekly check-ins, and I'll work with her to move her classes around and realign her priorities so that she and San don't cross paths in this program again."
"And what about this real estate in the building? I'm not going to give it over if this is what San plans to do—"
"I'm sorry, but this shouldn't define San and his work." Namjoon pauses. "He's not, alright? I already confirmed it was a rumor and there is nothing going on. No reason for you to pull back on that real estate deal especially when Jongho had nothing to do with this either and San has already explained his side and agreed to comply regardless. She'll be out of his lab." The dean gives Namjoon a stern look.
"You better make damn sure this doesn't happen again, Namjoon. No rumors, no slip ups. And you make sure those three stop causing trouble on campus. Iseul, Yunho and San. I don't care who did what and who is blaming who, I need this to stop. Now. We can't have childish, petty issues running amuck on this campus."
"You have my word."
"If I hear San and Y/N in the same sentence again, I can't promise it will be the same outcome."
"With all due respect, I need you to understand that whatever they do, whatever happens off campus, doesn't concern me and shouldn't concern you either. I cannot police their behavior and make them act a certain way off grounds. They are both grown, mature adults that can make decisions on their own, and you know that's unfair and very unrealistic." The dean doesn't say much. He mutters a few things under his breath before he's returning his attention to Namjoon.
"Not a damn word about them ever again, Namjoon. I mean it." The dean warns him again before settling into his seat and returning his attention to his desktop computer. Namjoon does a quick, silent bow before walking out, sighing loudly to himself as he's finally gotten that over with.
Still doesn't make it any easier knowing he had his friend make a very difficult decision that he did not wanna do.
He hopes in time, this could blow over and San could be happy again. Despite this hurdle, he's betting on it. On you and him.
Maybe when you come back together, circumstances will be different enough that it won't make the relationship seem as bad as it does right now.
"Shit." Namjoon clicks his teeth when he finally gets out of the building and breathes in the fresh air. He is exhausted, but his day isn't about to be over, no. On his way back to his office, he finds Yunho speaking to a few colleagues in the courtyard. He must have gotten out of a meeting and was walking his visitors out.
And Namjoon doesn't give a fuck. That visit is ending now.
"Professor Kim! It's an honor to see you in the flesh!" Namjoon smiles at his guests before returning the favor.
"Hi there." Namjoon does a curt bow. "Hope you've enjoyed your visit."
"Completely. We had a great collaboration meeting with Professor Jeong here, and he gave us a tour around."
"That's great, yeah." Namjoon smiles before looking at Yunho. "Can we talk in my office?" Namjoon says near Yunho's ear. "Now?"
"Sure." Yunho bids his last farewell before excusing himself and following Namjoon straight to his office. No words being spoken or shared. Namjoon shuts the door and sighs, looking at Yunho with his hand on his hip. "What's going on, Joon?"
"I'm just trying to understand why you and Iseul are trying so hard to ruin that man's reputation. The dean told me Iseul went over there to give him more of her little intel on San."
"I don't know what she said or did—"
"You still knew about it, didn't you?" Namjoon looks at him. "You knew this whole time Iseul was trying to raise hell about this and you let her."
"How is this not wrong?"
"No one said it wasn't wrong, Yunho!" Namjoon raises his tone. "There were just better ways to go about it than throwing San's name out there the way you two did. Just throwing him out there to the wolves without even knowing the full story. That's the problem!"
"I'm sorry, it doesn't seem like it now, but we were looking out for him and everyone else potentially involved."
"Except me. If you knew better, you both would've let me handle this accordingly. This doesn't just affect him, Yunho. It affects you both. It affects me. It affects Y/N, Jongho, everyone. Because you both didn't know how to be discreet about your plans to bring San down."
"It was never like that!"
"Then, what was it like? Tell me. As his colleague, as someone who acted purely for their own benefit, what was it like? As San's ex-bestfriend, what was it like?" Yunho doesn't respond. "This isn't high school, Yunho. I'm sorry, but the both of you need to grow up."
"We just tried to do the right thing and I don't take any of it back. If you fail to see that, then that's on you—"
"Oh, so approaching the dean to give him more talk in his ear with your so-called evidence before coming to me is doing the right thing?" Namjoon looks at him. "What was the goal here? What did this plan look like to you and Iseul?” He shakes his head. “No, actually, I don't wanna hear it, she already came into my office to talk my ear off about this. That should've been enough to let me handle it." Namjoon furrows his brows at him.
"We just thought we were helping everyone—"
"Helping? Yourself or Iseul?" Namjoon shakes his head. "You know what, this is done. The damage is done. So, thank you and Iseul for your generous help." Yunho sighs. "Now that you've done all the talking, it's my turn." Joon steps closer to him. "As long as I'm around, I'll continue to keep the peace in this department, and that means I don't want you and Iseul meddling in San's personal matters ever again." Namjoon's jaw ticks as he and Yunho stare at each other in the brief pause that falls between them. "I don't want you meddling in Y/N's personal matters, I don't want you two doing anything on this campus besides running your labs and minding your own goddamn business. Do you understand me?" Namjoon places his hands on his hips while he and Yunho maintain eye contact. Yunho swallows thickly before nodding, digging his hands in his pockets.
"Yes sir."
"The next time you and Iseul wanna act like I don't know how to do my job, I promise I'll be good with reminding you."
* 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤: 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐲.
The first time you met Yunho, you knew he was going to be part of the biggest tragedy of your life: the loss of your freedom, of your free will. You didn't know why back then but what you did figure out is that you and Jeong Yunho were going to, eventually and very publicly, date each other at some point. Is that reason enough to hate his guts? Well, of course! Now, when the time comes to fulfill the prophecy, how the hell are you going to pull it off? And, most importantly, what do you need to do to not fall in love with him in the process?
PAIRING: rich!yunho x afab!rich!reader.
GENRE: enemies to friends to lovers.
WORD COUNT: 7.08k
WARNINGS & TAGS: attempt !!! at comedy, dual pov (both yunho's and reader's), use of fem pronouns for reader, the morning after and the day after that. reader and yunho are very in love is lowkey kind of gross everyone, kissing, fluff, dream-talk, yeosang talk too! a little bit of angst if you squint, decision making and finally standing up for yourself is hard and reader is doing their best, soohyun being a good brother and making reader cry, gyuri being a little shit, wooyoung being a little shit, seonghwa being a good friend, happy endings let's goooo.
NOTES: hi everyone! here's the epilogue i promised! like i've said in a few asks that i've gotten, there's a little bit of the next story here, just something so you all have context of it before going in. i don't know when that one is going to be up (i'm not really far along with it) but either way i want to thank all of you for the patience and the wait! i really loved writing mbc:'). this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3
masterlist - part one - part two. part three. part four.
When Yunho wakes up, rested and naked, the room is dark.
He turns to the side and the curtains are, of course, down but the thing is that he doesn’t remember closing them the night before.
When he turns to where you’re supposed to be, the bed is made on your side and you’re not there.
Strangely enough, he doesn’t panic. He is sure of what you both have, he trusts you enough to know you didn’t run away from him, from you two, again.
Also, he can smell a mix of coffee and the turpentine-like smell of paint as he gets dressed with his boxers and the slacks he was wearing the night before after picking them up off the floor and going to the bathroom to wash his face.
He pokes his face out to the living space and there’s a make-shift tarp on the floor, the furniture is moved around to make space for you and an easel. You’re sitting down on a wooden stool, painting away and he wonders if he just missed that last night or if he genuinely just passed out and didn't notice this much change.
He clears his throat “Good morning, princess.”
You jump a little, turning your head to look at him and there’s paint on your face and your hand when you wave at him.
“Hi, Jeong.”
“Seriously?”
“What?”
He chuckles “No cute nickname? Just Jeong?”
“Well, that is your name, isn’t it?” You turn back and he catches that you’re pretending to focus on your painting, but you’re repassing the same painstrokes as before.
“We’re going to have to work on it,” he lets out a sigh that turns into a yawn. “Sorry that I slept in on you. What time is it?”
“Around three.”
“In the afternoon?!” Yunho looks around for his phone but he locates the clock in the wall first and he confirms your words. “Princess, why didn’t you wake me up? We could’ve spent the day together…”
“I rather you rest,” you shrug and he takes a few steps until he’s behind you, his hands immediately reaching out to touch you. He can’t help it, he wants to physically fuse into you but he compromises with nature and just massages your shoulders. “You have sectionals in two weeks, right?”
He frowns at the reminder, a tiny smile on his lips a second later.
“How do you know that?”
You stop the brush on the canvas and then look at him again, eyelashes batting with fake innocence.
“I kind of bribed my assistant so she could bribe yours and now your general schedule is on my phone…”
He fakes a gasp and he marvels in the pout he gets in return.
“I needed to know when you were leaving the dorm this week!”
“So you could drop the gift?”
“Mhm,” you say, puckering your lips to ask for a kiss. He pretends to go for it and he truly pats his back for having a little of self-restraint when he dodges you to pretend he just thought about something.
“Oh! That reminds me…”
You huff in annoyance and interrupt whatever he’s about to say.
“How did you know my room number and who let you in?”
“I paid the receptionist and showed him proof that we were together,” he explains like it’s nothing and you huff again, amused this time. “Told him I wanted to surprise you.”
“That’s so irresponsible.”
Yunho reaches the box he left on the coffee table last night, opens it and pulls the polaroids out.
“You dropped this off without any explanation! What are these?”
When he turns around, you’re already painting again and he gets a five second look in his direction before you return your attention to your art.
“Oh.” there’s a smile on your lips Yunho loves, although he’s not sure if it’s because you’re doing what you love or if you got reminded of something. “I was hoping you asked me about it. I, um, stayed at a resort during New Years, in Gangwondo.”
“Is this the first time we spent Chrismtas and New Years away from each other?”
“Not the first time,” you muse and then shrug, “but definitely the first time in a long time, huh?”
“I didn't like it.”
“Why?” You look at him again and he sits on his knees on the couch like a neglected child, looking your way. You seem to find it endearing, because you laugh. “Because you didn't have anyone to kick under the table this year?”
“That has never happened.”
“Liar. Anyway, they have this winter festival that goes all the way until mid January and they have this… Traditional and modern fusion media dance performance that made me think of you. So I took some pictures of the dancers.”
“So you just put them in the box because you took them while thinking of me?”
There’s shyness painting your tone when you reply “Yeah.”
His heart thumps happily inside his chest and he gets off the couch.
“I love you.”
You laugh again “I love you too, Yunho,” and, as you shake your head a little, you look in the kitchenette direction with your lips pointed at it. “I ordered some breakfast that you can heat up or you can give me… Twenty minutes and I can change and we can—”
Yunho revels in the squeak of surprise you let out when he closes the distance, leans in and catches your lips in a short but firm kiss.
“We can stay in all day if you want to.” He says and you kiss his lips one more time.
“Okay,” you seem happy to have that option so he sees the moment you make the decision to not push going out at all. “There’s some clothes for you in the walk-in closet. I ordered them when I ordered all of this,” you point at the mess on the tarp and the floor, “I figured you might need them.”
“Thank you, my love.” He whispers and he pecks your lips before reaching for your nearly empty coffee cup.
“There’s also one for you in the—”
“I want this one,” he says, a sly smile on his lips and one of his hands returns to your shoulders to massage them.
He takes a look at the canvas for once and he notices that, what he thought was a solid background color and some structure, has actually started to look like the view in front of you both, with the Namsan Tower in the back.
“What about the CD?”
“Hm?”
“Your gift,” he reminds you, “there’s also a CD.”
“A mixtape, with songs that make me think of us.”
Yunho blows some air and he doesn’t have to look down to see you’re frowning at the sound “You’re a romantic.”
“Do you want to die?”
He laughs but doesn’t address the threat at all. Instead, the focus is on your art “The painting of us and the kids is beautiful,” he can feel your skin under his palm heat up at the compliment and it makes him smile. “This one is too.”
“It all just flows so much smoothly when I don’t have to think about work or being home,” you admit, your body relaxing into his when he takes a sip of the cup and brings it around for you to do the same. “I want to stay here, with you, forever.”
“And we can,” he murmurs into your head, leaving a kiss on your temple a second later. “If that’s what you want.”
“I want to move out,” you say, your tone full of wishfulness and Yunho takes in a breath at what that could mean for you, “I want to quit my job.”
“And what do you want to do for work, then?” He asks, already supporting the decision. “You want to paint?”
You shake your head, looking up at him, a wishful glint in your eye “I want to be an art teacher.”
“Oh?”
“Do you want to work for your father?”
“Not in a million years, I— Princess, don’t get mad for what I’m about to tell you, okay?”
You turn in the stool, looking up at him with an inquisitorial brow until he crouches down on the floor to meet your eye.
“My plan has always been to pretend to work and go along with him until I graduate college. Then, I want to move away. I want to… I don’t know, get disowned?”
Eyes widening, you take in a sharp breath and then cough into your hand.
He offers you the cup so you can take the final sip out of it.
“It’s part of why I went along with the PR relationship in the first place.”
You nod and he gulps, staring as you get lost in thought for a second.
“Why would I be mad?”
“Because I sort of planned to use you?”
“Not really, though. You wanted to use the relationship they threw us into?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s understandable, then. I… I understand.” This time, you’re the one gulping and he opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. “I, um, I’m not sure if I actually can go against my parents wishes and never see my brother again, Yun.”
He shakes his head. “If you think for a second that Soohyun is going to give a fuck about your parents feelings, you’re wrong. I… Me and Gunho are not as close as I want us to be, you know? But we talk about things.”
“Yeah?”
“Sometimes,” his laugh lasts a few seconds only and then he clears his throat. “If there’s something I'm sure of, princess, is that your brother loves you with all his heart. If you want to step away from the family business, from your parents, he… He’ll understand.”
You nod again.
“And I’m not saying any of this because I want you to do the same things I want to do but I—”
You interrupt him “What do you want to do?”
“Huh?”
“Do you want to work as an engineer?”
“Yes,” he breathes out and you smile, “but I also want to dance. Have an academy, maybe, but I need money and experience and a name.”
“You already have a name.”
“I need to make a name for myself, princess,” he explains and you nod like you already knew, because you probably did. “Get a stage name, maybe.”
“Ha!” you laugh and he raises his eyebrows, amused by your reaction. “Maybe… Yunho the rakehell? Yunho… Oh! Yunho the bitchl—”
“Stop that!”
It seems like that joke is never to die down and he’s glad, he’s glad that he doesn’t take genuine offense in it anymore and he’s glad it makes you laugh in a way he wants to record and play on repeat forever.
Grabbing his face, your thumbs brush against his cheeks and he can swear he has never felt so at ease until now. This, waking up and going out of the room to find you doing what you love. You, looking at him with some much love, it's hard to believe it took you both so long to leave your pride behind and work it out.
“You are worth it, Yunho,” you whisper and he knows right away you’re referring to the fight you both had at the office, “and I have no idea how we’re going to make it, but we are. Of that I’m sure, my love. I trust you,” you brush his hair back and off his forehead, “I trust us.”
He holds your face as well, the pad of his finger passing over the dry paint on your cheek.
“I trust us, too.”
Before he can react, you’re smooching his lips again and he melts into the encounter, the passion of last night bleeding into his movements once again and painting him red when he gets on his knees and pulls you into his lap in a smooth motion. You yelp and laugh and then you moan into his mouth when his hands find your ass and his fingers dig into it through the jeans you’re wearing.
Huh.
You’re wearing jeans.
They look so natural and good on you that he didn’t even notice it’s the first time he seeing you in jeans.
“Again?” You ask, already winded and clinging onto him for dear life in a way that makes him laugh. He pulls back and finds you shyly smiling at him but it doesn’t really help your care that he can see right through the act.
“Can you blame me?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Y/N…”
“It was a joke,” you grab his shoulders to shake him to no avail and then before getting up you lean in to kiss his cheek in a manner so sweet that makes him all giddy, like a fool in love. Maybe because that’s what he is. “Take a shower.”
“Take it with me.” He says, without thinking about it but one hundred percent meaning it.
“I already showered.”
He makes sure to scrunch his nose and make a funny face “Did you really?”
It’s not really a surprise when you turn around from your painting and swipe your brush across his mouth.
“I smell amazing and you smell like shit. Go and shower, Jeong.”
He enjoys ticking you off a bit too much. Either way he laughs, the taste of paint on his tongue when he does and, when he gets up and goes to the bathroom, he hears the soft sound of your giggle and his heart feels full.
And then you get him back like ten minutes later, by turning off the light in the bathroom and almost giving him a heart attack at the sudden loss of it. He breathes out an exaggerated sigh and, when you turn them back on, he turns around and watches you through the glass divider.
Unfortunately for you, the glass is frosted from his chest down, but you lean against the marble counter and eye him suggestively nonetheless. He continues with his shower as if this is the most normal scenario ever for the two of you.
It feels like it, anyway.
“Can I help you, princess?”
“Tomorrow I’ll go home,” you start, not a question or a request, but a fact. “I’ll go home and I'm going to sit with them all at dinner and let them hear what I’m going to do from now on. They don’t need to know that I’m going to take classes—”
“You are?”
Humming, you nod once and then twice after a second of looking at the floor, determination in your stare when you look up at him again. “I’m going to get a bachelor’s in art education, maybe just art first. It’ll take time but…” You shrug.
“But you’ll be doing what makes you happy.” He finishes for you.
“Yeah,” you return softly, “and I'll be detached from my family’s hip eventually.”
“One will argue,” he says, closing his eyes to avoid shampoo to get into them, “that you’re already pretty independent.”
“While doing my work and my brother’s work, sure,” you smile, “but not when it comes to living on my own.”
An idea crosses his mind and colors his cheeks, so he hums “You’ll be lonely.”
“I already feel that way at home… But I do love the idea of having a space all for myself.”
He hums again and then wipes the water from his eyes to send you a look.
“How much do you love it?”
“Jeong,” you say, laughing when you finally get what he’s suggesting, “we’re not moving in together.”
He pouts.
“Yet.”
He smiles at you again.
“Besides,” turning around, you let out a tired sigh when you catch the paint on your face and then you open the faucet to clean it off, “then Yeosang would miss you too much and he’ll blame me. I don’t want your friend to hate me.”
“He would never—”
You don’t let him dismantle your excuses “What is he up to with that documentary, anyway?”
He closes the shower and reaches for a towel the next second, not even bothering fully covering himself up when he gets out and you send him a look through the mirror, one he can’t decide if it’s in reproach or if it’s charged with something else. Probably both.
But he plays coy and tries his best to answer your question as he secures the towel around his hips.
“He’s doing this documentary about dance, he’s been working on it for a while. Obviously I’m the star of it,” he watches you roll your eyes and he bumps your arm with his in retaliation. “But my co-stars are taking all of his attention now. It’s kind of annoying.”
“And he finds them— your co-stars I mean,” your eyes roll again, “at the club?”
Yunho barely helps the laugh that spills out of his lips.
“No, um, that’s a completely different story. He keeps saying that he needs to film this one girl for the documentary but we all stopped believing him when he almost got beat up for filming her,” he explains, his hands brushing his wet hair back, “and he went back to do it again anyway.”
Your hip connects to the countertop again, your back to the mirror “So he’s in love?”
“I don’t think so. I think he’s… Intrigued.”
“Is she an exotic dancer or something?”
“What?”
“What?” you return, shrugging, “nothing wrong with stripping for a living.”
“I know, that’s not what I meant—”
“Do you have something against strippers, Yunho?” Your eyes narrow at him.
“N-no, of course I—”
“Oh, you don’t?”
“Princess…” He breathes out another laugh, a nervous chuckle this time. “Stop teasing me.”
Your frown slowly breaks into a smile and he shakes his head in disbelief.
“But you look so cute when you’re flustered!”
He stops messing with his hair to grab your hips and make sure you have nowhere to go, trapped between his body and the cold marble behind you.
“I’m not cute,” he says, low, almost in a whisper, “and I showered.”
“Yunho… Are you not hungry at all? You have to eat something.”
He wants to laugh again but he stops himself, his hands roaming your front and slipping to your legs when he kneels a little “Hm, I’m starving.”
Gasping when he kisses your middle through your shirt, you push him away with feign distress written all over your expression.
“Jeong!”
He gets back up again “What?”
“Are you going to be this much of a troublemaker when we live together? I have things to do!”
He stops, his hands holding your hips still and then you gasp again when he tugs and presses you against his body.
“You said when.”
You gulp “I know what I said.”
“You’re making plans for the future and I’m in them.”
“Well,” you titter with a nervous glint in your eye, but your chin is up the next second, “you know what? Yeah. Yes, I am, because I love—”
He presses his lips against yours before you finish your sentence and when he pulls away you push on his chest again.
“Annoying.” You say but you don’t mean it and he laughs, his arms going around you before you melt into his embrace fully.
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Mhm.”
You think about it, he can feel you thinking as he rocks you both from side to side “No,” you finally say, in a whisper and then your next words come out firmer. “No, I need to do this on my own. I would love to see you later tomorrow night, though.”
“Hm, I have practice and then I promised to help Gyuri move in with Wooyoung but I can tell them that I’m in love and busy.”
“No, no,” you pull back, smiling a little, “Can I… I mean, I can help.”
He smiles as well “You want to?”
You nod.
“She has a bunch of shit but San is moving most of the stuff because, partially, it’s his fault she has to move, so.”
“Hm, how so?”
“Gyuri and his girlfriend live together, for years now, and now they want to move in with each other so Gyuri is forced to live with the embodiment of mischief while she finds an apartment she can afford.”
You laugh “I don’t think it bothers her that much.”
“Why?” He frowns and, at his question, you give him an incredulous look. “Why?”
“Baby, oh my God.”
He lets you go and you push him away fully, getting out of the bathroom.
“Do you know something I don’t?”
“Figure it out, dummy!”
He’s truly, genuinely and utterly confused, but the smile on his face hardly goes down as he watches you sit down in front of your painting again, from the bathroom door’s threshold.
And his heart aches for the pain you’re probably going to endure the next day.
When you enter the code to your front door, bag in hand, it’s almost lunch time. You didn’t let them know you’ll be returning today but you’re sure the way your suitcase falls at the dining room’s entrance is enough to alert them. Soohyun jumps a little, your mother lets out a scream and your father looks up from his phone slowly, gives you a look, and then looks back down.
“Oh, great, you’re back. Y/N, next time would you please let me know when you’re showing up so I can schedule your appointments accordingly— Kim Y/N!”
Your mother's scandalized scream is not what surprises you. What surprises you is the hug Soohyun gets up to give you, a tight squeeze that you smile into and then make a face at when he pulls away.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers to just you. “Don’t let her tell you otherwise.”
Nodding, you finally face your mother whose jaw is almost hitting the floor by now. Your father, as usual, is unbothered and tapping his fingers against the glass of the table, impatiently waiting for his food.
“Why do you mutilate yourself like this? And without notifying your team, nonetheless! We’ll have to… Get you some hair extensions for the shoot that you have—”
“No.”
She pauses, her jaw ticking and her eyebrow raising in warning. A few months ago, the mere thought of upsetting her would’ve sent you into a panic attack. Now, you stand your ground and curve your lips with pride, lift your chin up with courage and hold the handle of your suitcase a little tighter because you need it, because your hands tremble a little.
“Excuse me?”
“I said no,” you repeat yourself and your tone gains you your father's attention. “I’m sure the public can survive a haircut, mom. Can you?”
“Kim Y/N do not talk to me like that!”
She steps your way and your brother steps a side, giving you a wide eyed look that can only mean a here she goes again and you purse your lips to stop yourself from nervously laughing at it.
“You cut your hair, you leave for three months and come back all… All chubby,” oh, my god, “and you dare to speak to me that way?!”
The mention of your weight does send a little panic cruising through you. It has your father huffing from his seat and your brother snapping his head rapidly in your mother’s direction, a frown creasing his eyebrows and you can tell he’s about to say something but you stop him with a shake of your head.
And then you laugh.
You taste something bitter in your mouth and you can see the exact moment she notices her words are not affecting you the way they usually do.
“I think it’s time I move out,” you start, with a tiny, sardonic smile on your lips, “and I also think it is also time you think about the way you speak to me, mother. And I think you,” you turn to your father, “need to think about all the times you allowed her to talk to me that way.”
Your dad looks up, raises his eyebrows, hums and then looks back down again.
“Sure thing.” He says.
“What is happening right now?” your mother asks, a nervous chuckle coming out of her and after that she moves her hand, dismissing your point and turning to go to her seat again. “You’re talking nonsense. Go upstairs and wash. You’re obviously not having dinner, I hope.”
She’s always doing it on purpose, bringing you down like that on purpose, but right now? Right now she craves vengeance. You notice it in the way she looks for your reaction when she looks up.
“I am having dinner. Not here, not with you, not anymore.”
Your mother sighs, rubs her forehead with her thumb and her index “Kim Y/N, I beg, stop terrorizing me and—”
“She’s moving in with me.”
You turn to Soohyun, he gives you a look to signal you to follow his lead.
“She’s a little bit too grown up and independent to live under your roof still, mom. Dad?” He asks and your father looks up. “Don’t you agree?”
“Well,” your father cleans his throat, his back hitting the back of his chair as he thinks it over, “she is capable of being on her own. Besides, her room can make a wonderful office for you, dear.”
“Her room is staying hers because she’s not going anywhere!” Your mom stands up again, voice dark and tone painted over with something you’ve never even heard before. Not coming from her, at least: Fear. “Why do you suddenly want to move out? Is there…” She closes her mouth and then gulps, breathing out a laugh the next second. “Are you running away with someone, Y/N? Is that it? Did you fall in love on your little trip? You’re promised to someone!”
“Promised? I am not promised because we’re in the twenty-first century, mom!”
“To Yunho, Y/N! Don’t be stupid and tell your little fling to get lost!”
“Mom…” Soohyun warns but she laughs again, indignant.
“What? She knows this already. How would the Jeong’s feel if—”
“I don’t care what they feel!”
Your voice resonates in the room, it shuts everyone up, it makes your mom take a step back and your father blocks his phone, finally interested in what’s going on.
“I am with Yunho.”
Your mother smiles a second too late at what you said and opens her mouth, but you interrupt whatever nonsense she’s about to spew out.
“I am with him but not because you or his mother planned it. I’m not trying to fullfill your little fucked up fantasy—”
“Y/N!” She gasps at the cursing but you continue nonetheless.
“I am with him because I love him. I love him and he loves me and we are together because, against all odds, we ended up bonding and finding comfort and solace in each other. We made the choice, we did,” you insist on it, to let her know that it doesn’t matter if you two being together is exactly what she wanted, the final say is on you and Yunho alone. “I have something you two could never have and that’s companionship and true understanding that’s not rutted in power or in money. He… He made me realize we’re so much more than this.” You move your hands in the space between you and the rest of the room and your father hums a bitter sound in return.
“This,” your father gets up from his seat, hands going in the pockets of his dress pants and eyebrows raised with a sardonic edge to them that pisses you off, “is your family.”
“I know and that makes it worse,” you nod and the slow anger showing in his expressions grows just a tad bit more, so you go on before anyone else can interrupt you again. “Here’s what’s going to happen from now on, dad; If you want me to, I’ll keep working at the company, but Soohyun's responsibilities are solely his from now on,” you turn to your brother and he gives a fake pout but then he nods. “My job is simple, my job should allow me to focus on what I really want and, once I get what I really want, I'll make sure to find someone who can fit my spot so seemingly you won't even notice I'm gone.”
“I thought that what you wanted was to work for this company, Y/N.” Your father says.
“I thought so too,” you murmur back to him before shrugging, “but now I’m not so sure.”
A bit of pregnant silence passes. The air feels thick now that you told them your terms, your plan or what you allowed them to hear of it anyways. Like you told your boyfriend, there’s no need for them to know that you want to take classes or teach.
You’ll just do it. No need for their approval.
But your mother still grasps at the control she had on you three months ago. She holds on to it, desperately and, if you were someone else and the situation was any different, you would probably admire the strength it takes to stay this egotistical and delusional until the end.
She doesn’t seem to understand that her only daughter is running away from her. You’re not sure she cares, either and it hurts because, deep down, you expected to walk off with redemption on her side.
Sometimes, there’s no redemption at all from the people who hurt you.
And that’s also okay.
“Are you done?” She asks, looking around. “Are you all done with this nonsense?”
Taking in a breath, you try to tell her that what you said it’s what’s going to happen but she is not having it.
“No,” her finger is up and you raise your eyebrow at it, which gains you a raise on hers in return. “No. You’re not looking for a replacement and no you’re not moving out. That’s insane, Kim Y/N, that’s—”
“What’s my favorite color?” You interrupt to ask her and she stops, opening and closing her mouth while searching for an answer. “What’s my favorite sweet?”
“You don’t have one.”
“I do, I actually have two. What’s my favorite book? Movie? Song?” You turn to your dad this time. “What’s my favorite marketing strategy? Do you even know that one?”
Silence.
“You don’t know me enough to want to keep me here. I understand why you might think you do, but you don’t. Because, guess what? I’m an adult.”
Your mother opens her mouth and closes it again when you shake your head.
And although you’re not speaking to her anymore, you keep looking at your mother straight in the eye and you’re able to catch the exact moment she realizes she lost.
She lost.
“I’m an adult with a paying job and savings you didn’t need to know anything about. So you either take it or leave it. Dad?”
“You want me to decide now?”
You let out a bitter laugh “You can do whatever you want. Just know that I’m not settling for anything else but what I told you. I can either train someone or you can fire me and I can look for a new job,” you explain, “but either way I’m out of here.”
Your mother sighs and then mutters under her breath, but you catch it “What is everyone going to say?”
“I don’t care,” you tell her again and at the response she looks up, startled, like she didn’t expect you to keep going. “Now, I hope you have a lovely lunchr.”
You’re positively shaking when you step into the hallway and through the front door again, with your suitcase in your hand still and no actual plan on where you want to go. Maybe back to the hotel?
Mind reeling, it finally registers the fact that your mother turned to your father and pleaded him to do something for the sake of the family's image just before you stepped foot outside of the house. It was a screech of don't let her go, do something! laced with clear selfish concern.
You feel panic rising, closing your throat up and you feel lost, lost in what you just did, lost in what it actually means for you.
“Hey, hey.” Soohyun catches up to you quickly, his keys in his hands, his breath jagged like he escaped your mother’s claws because that’s probably what happened. “Sell out! You needed to signal me when you wanted to leave, dumbass!”
His eyes linger on your trembling hands when he takes the suitcase from you and you do your best to steady them.
“You didn’t have anything to eat.”
“I know. Where are you going?”
“To… I don’t really know. Yunho’s dorm?”
Soohyun laughs.
“You have a house, you know.”
“I think I’m very much homeless right now. I’m getting trapped and probably thrown in a cell if I go back inside.” You swallow tightly as the realization washes over you. “She’s so mad.”
“My house,” he clarifies, rolling his eyes. “I told them you’re moving in with me, didn’t I?”
“Soohyun…”
“I meant it,” there’s something soft in his eyes before he turns to open the main gate so you can both walk up to his car. “You can stay with me. Like you said, you’re grown and I won't have to look after you anymore.”
“Pfft,” that brings out a genuine laugh out of you, “anymore.”
“I remember running behind you in the garden because you couldn't keep still the second you learned how to walk!”
You look at him with a pout as he opens the trunk, throwing your bag in it without any care in the world.
Like an older brother would.
If your eyes turn watery, you make sure to swallow back the emotion before he can figure out why.
“Can I have my own room?”
“You have a room there already,” he admits, shrugging. “I mean, I thought about you when buying the apartment. Guhno usually stays there but I’m sure he can take the couch when he comes over and— Aw, Y/N!”
By the time he closes the trunk, you’re already crying. A little, enough for him to notice it.
“I don’t want to hear it. Open the door.”
“I’m so telling Yunho you cried!”
“Leave him out of it!” You push his shoulder, quickly getting into the car when he unblocks the doors and he does the same. “He’s staying over whenever he wants, by the way.”
Soohyun laughs, his eyes wide when he turns to you “Not a chance in hell, Kim Y/N.”
“Okay, then your boyfriend is not staying over either!”
“I don’t have a boyfriend!”
You muse, trying not to laugh “I’m telling Gunho oppa you’re denying your love to my face.”
Your brother lets out a sigh and then you squeak when he pulls your hair, playfully, before looking at you with the most sincere stare Kim Soohyun has probably given anyone ever.
“I’m really proud of you, kid.”
Pouting again, you look away and through the window as he pulls out of the curb and into the streets, the house you grew up in quickly fading into the background and your heart thumping hard against your ribs.
“Are you crying again?”
“Ugh,” you turn to him, tears running down your cheeks and a smile pulling at your lips, “you’re so annoying.”
Your clothes are now in your room at Soohyun’s (and yours) apartment, in the walk-in closet. Your brother's taste is nothing short of luxurious and obnoxious and the room is decorated in a way you would never think of decorating it but he swears he has someone who can fix it for me if he wants to.
He forgets that you already know Seonghwa but it's okay, because when you show up at Gyuri’s old apartment, you make sure to find him to tell him just that.
“I've literally told him that we both know Yunho and each other. Wasn't he the one who gave you my number?” Seonghwa asks, mouth hanging open a bit in surprise.
“He did, yes.”
Seonghwa huffs in amusement and you shrug a little “Well, do you want me to work in your room?” He asks after a few seconds and you smile, considering.
“I think I’m going to do it myself, Hwa.”
At the nickname, his smile widens and he nods. You think he’s about to say something else, however your attention drifts from your newfound friend and your eyes search for Yunho in the middle of the room, on the floor, as he takes a piece of furniture apart.
He’s wearing a dark grey crewneck that makes him look so deliciously good you can’t barely help your staring. There’s not one ounce of shame on your body and you’re sure it shows on your face because Seonghwa laughs besides you.
“So I didn’t paint over the tree,” he says and you frown, turning to him, “but I take you reconsidered my point anyway?”
“Oh, shut up.”
“It’s not going to happen,” the mockery in his tone while he tries to make an impression of you doesn’t offend you because you can see the intention behind it and it makes you laugh, roll your eyes and close your arms over your chest, like a child who just got caught. “It’s not going to happen, my ass. Look at you!”
“So I was wrong, who cares?”
“I do, I love being right.”
“He does,” Wooyoung comes into view from the kitchen, a drop of sweet doing his temple and into his cheek that Seonghwa wipes away like it’s nothing. “But I can say I called it first, remember? I’m never wrong.”
“You most certainly are,” Hwa says and you laugh at the expression Wooyoung makes to his friend, offended. Seonghwa turns to you. “He’s wrong most of the time.”
“Okay, that’s it, you’re helping me with the weird spice rack she insists on taking.” Wooyoung takes his elder arm and pulls, making you laugh and Seonghwa gasps.
“You’ve been working on that all afternoon!”
“She installed it herself so it’s all wonky, Hwa.”
Gyuri screams from behind a pile of clothes. You can't even see her even though you know she's standing up. “It is not wonky, Jung Wooyoung!”
Pursing your lips so you don't laugh at her predicament, you watch as Wooyoung silently communicates to Seonghwa that the space rack is, in fact, wonky and then you jump a little when arms close around you from behind.
“Stop complaining, Woo, you're going to have the pleasure to install it however you want later.” Yunho's voice is close to your ear and you hug the arms that hold you, melting into the embrace.
Gyuri laughs sharply when she registers what he said and Wooyoung makes a face at your boyfriend “I hate it here.”
“Sure you do, Wooyoung.” You nod at him, joking even though you don’t know him that well, and Seonghwa joins the tiny laugh you let out at the face Wooyoung gives you.
“I truly did not need a new addition to the group if I was going to get bullied by them as well.”
You fake offense, laughing a second later and Yunho swats a hand on his friend’s shoulder as he passes by you both and into the kitchen again. Seonghwa rolls his eyes before following Wooyoung into the kitchen as well.
Yunho breathes out, his lips finding your cheek “How are you feeling?”
Turning to him, you smile a little. You know he’s asking about what went a little earlier today.
“I’m good, baby,” you whisper back, leaning in a little and kissing him tenderly on the lips. He reciprocates but when you pull away you can see the concern in his eyes. “I promise. I already knew how she was going to react.”
“Me too but that doesn’t make it any less fucked up, Princess.”
“I know,” letting out a sigh, you turn to the living room again and the corners of your lips lift at the mess. “But I’m out of the house and I’m alright now.”
“My mom texted me to congratulate us.”
“Oh?” You don’t turn to him again but your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Did you answer?”
“No,” he breathes out a laugh, “but I should.”
“We can’t run from them forever, Yun,” you feel him nod against you and, finally, you turn around completely to face him. His hands find your waist, his lips curve as he watches you over and you do the same. “Also, you’re banned from my house.”
His smile drops.
“Huh?”
“Soohyun doesn’t want you sleeping over.”
“What did I do?”
You hear someone laughing behind you and Gyuri comes into view a second later “You’re the official boyfriend now, Yunho, you lost your sleeping over privileges.”
“I never had them to begin with!”
“Well—” The sound of glass breaking stops her in her tracks and she goes a little pale at what it means. “Call the police, I’m committing a murder and then turning myself in.”
And then she disappears into the kitchen as well. Faintly, you can hear Seonghwa laughing. You hold onto Yunho, fingers threading softly into the strands of hair on his neck.
“They’re not helping us when we move in together.”
Yunho laughs.
“When we move in together we’re going to hire professionals.”
“Exactly.”
“And Seonghwa can do the interior design of the main part of the house but we can handle our room and studios by ourselves.”
“Mhm.”
There’s that slight glint of concern that crosses his expression again when you take in a deep breath, but you shake your head so he can let go of it.
“We’ll be okay, Yun. We are okay.”
You watch him swallow tightly but then he nods. There’s a lot you both should be concerned about right now but, as you hear Wooyoung scream from the kitchen and a loud smack against the wall nearest to you, you both silently decide to be in the moment.
It doesn’t really matter what hardships you go through, as long as you’re together.
“Against all odds,” you insist, “we’ll be alright.”
I love them and I'm so sad to let them go but hey! that's life! If you read all the way down hear, thank you so, so much. Don't be afraid to go into my askbox to make comments, suggestions, etc! I will take everything into account for my other stories. Thank you!
