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svtswhorehouse · 2 months ago

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SAFETY FIRST

pairings: bad boy!soonyoung x good girl!reader genre: mdni, smut, au warnings: hoshi teaches reader the importance of a safe word, mentions of weed, inexperienced reader, experienced hoshi, reader gets head for the first time, reader is a people pleaser, pussy eating, praise if you squint, MULTIPLE orgasms (seven to be exact), crying from pleasure, overstimulation, squirting word count: 6.5k synopsis: soonyoung considers himself to be an expertise at many things — pussy eating, is one of them.

sidenote: reader is close childhood friends with ALL of seventeen. i will be writing other members with this particular oc as well. so much lore!! this is a series :) feel free to drop into my inbox and ask questions !! hoshi is in fact my bias so i did get carried away with this one. between this installment and the last one, i’ve taken two eight week literature courses so hopefully my writing has improved. my brain is working overtime right now, i just finished an essay for a class in a few hours and grinded to get this out for you guys !!

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“Do you know what a safe word is?” Soonyoung’s voice cuts through the air, taking you by surprise.

You whip your head towards him, eyebrows furrowed. “A safe word?”

“Mhm,” He hums, briefly glancing up. He sits on a desk chair, facing you as he rolls a blunt to perfection. His tongue darts out to slowly lick the paper and your thighs unconsciously press together at the sight.

“What’s that?”

Soonyoung sighs, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he sets the rolling tray aside. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, taking his time to examine you. “Do you want to find out?” He asks, voice dangerously low.

You can feel the air shift, his tone making your skin prickle. You tilt your head to the side, lips forming into a pout from confusion. “Okay,” You agree with a shrug.

Soonyoung’s lips quirk slightly. He nods his head slowly, scanning you from head to toe. Your cotton shorts rode up way too high, especially with your position on the bed, and your thin white tank top didn’t do much to hide your nipples through the fabric.

You’d opted out of wearing a bra today and needless to say — oblivious to you — all the boys had noticed.

His eyes settle back on yours and you fidget under his gaze. It was strong and intense, almost as if he was practically undressing you.

Soonyoung’s always had sharp eyes filled with intimidation, but they’ve softened over time. At least — for you.

He rolls his chair over to the edge of the bed, right in front of where you sat. Even sitting down, only a few feet apart, he still towered over your small frame.

Your heartbeat quickens, breath hitching as he leans forward. Soonyoung cocks his head to the side as he inches closer, smirking the slightest when he notices your composure beginning to crumble and fall. You were never good at holding it together, but that’s why the boys were always there — to catch you just in case you fall.

And damn, are you falling in deep right now.

His hand smooths over your arm, causing goosebumps to rise as he trails it upwards to cup the side of your face gently. His fingers thread through your hair, getting a better grip so he’s able to maneuver your head to the side. As soon as he gets you exactly where he wants you, his lips are on yours.

He doesn’t hesitate, and he certainly doesn’t take it easy on you. The kiss is heavy and urgent, with a fierce passion behind it — an intensity that sends a jolt of electricity coursing straight through your veins. His lips move with purpose, the hand on the back of your head drawing you impossibly closer to him.

You try to match his fervor, but staying true to your nature, your movements are slower and deliberate. You’re sensual where he’s demanding, your tenderness creating a perfect tension that neither of you has the will to break. Your pace grounds him, and Soonyoung can’t help but release a low groan.

Jeonghan was right.

You kiss like an angel — intoxicating.

He takes the lead as expected. You sigh softly when he traces his tongue along your bottom lip. His hand settles on your thigh, slowly sliding higher. You feel his fingertips slip just beneath the edge of your shorts, caressing the soft skin under and you can’t help but let a whimper escape quietly. Soonyoung seizes the moment, your lips parting just enough so he can deepen the kiss and dip his tongue into your mouth. His grip on your hair tightens when you tilt your head to accommodate him — your tongues dancing in perfect harmony as you explore each other's mouths.

He’s warm against your skin, anchoring you to the moment. Every brush, every tug, every calculated move that Soonyoung makes — he knows that he’s unraveling you.

Corrupting you.

Not in a way that feels chaotic or rushed. And certainly not in a way with any ill intentions whatsoever.

Soonyoung wasn’t just kissing you, but he was savoring you. He was reading every subtle cue as if a language only he understands. And with every second that passes, he pulls you deeper under until there’s nothing left but the warmth of his hands, the weight of his mouth, and the unfamiliar feeling of stickiness growing in your panties.

He pulls away with one final lingering kiss, and your lips instinctively chase his own. Your eyes flutter open, still hazy as they focus on the man in front of you.

Soonyoung leans back just enough to take you in. You were already a mess in the best way possible — lips slightly swollen, pupils dilated, and chest steadily rising as you try to catch your breath.

The weight of his gaze only intensifies, drinking in every detail of you. Your eyes avoid his, cheeks flushed from not only the kiss but from his attention on you as well.

He nods his head towards the pillows on his bed, and you take the hint. You grab one, handing it to him, only so he can place it directly behind you. Your eyes follow him as he does so, bringing your knees to your chest and hugging them close.

“Pick a word.”

Your brows knit together, “A word?”

Soonyoung hums. He disregards your confusion, standing from the chair and walking over to his desk. He grabs the blunt he’d previously forgotten about off the rolling tray, lighting it up and taking a long drag.

“Why?” You press.

“Because I told you to.”

Well, he had you there.

Now that you think about it, you don’t remember a time where you’ve ever denied Soonyoung of anything. Whatever he asked of you — you’d always deliver.

If he showed up at your house unannounced demanding you to take a break from school work, you’d follow him without a fight.

If a random guy on campus was flirting with you and Soonyoung warned you about him, you’d abide like his word was law.

If Soonyoung told you no, that meant no.

If Soonyoung asked you to do something, you did it — no questions asked.

From the time you two were kids on the playground, even till now, you’ve never disappointed him. It wasn’t because you were passive or afraid. And it wasn’t because he was demanding and mean. Soonyoung had never gotten that way with you and he never intends to. But you trusted him. Maybe too much to the point where obedience wasn’t an option, but rather an instinct. It came as naturally as breathing.

And that’s what he liked about you.

The others only ever listened in the bedroom, but you — you’d never let him down. No. You’d listen even outside of it.

“Y/n.”

Your head snaps up to look at Soonyoung. You hadn’t even realized that your thoughts had begun to stray.

“I told you to do something,” He raises an eyebrow, a silent warning.

Your eyes narrow, drifting around his room. It was a simple task, one you could decide with ease. But you took your time as if it held more meaning than it appeared to.

Your gaze wanders, landing on a stuffed animal perched on the highest shelf in his room. It was tucked in the furthest corner, collecting dust and worn from age. You had gifted it to him years ago, and it’s become a sight you look for whenever you enter his bedroom. The stuffed animal stood out amongst the rest of his things, not quite fitting his aesthetic or personality. Soonyoung nor the other boys cared for cute, sentimental things. But the small trinkets you’d either given them or left behind were never discarded. No matter how long they’d been there.

“Tiger.”

“Tiger?” Soonyoung glances at the plushie on his shelf, having completely forgotten about it. He’d debated tossing it out a few times, but he never had the heart to follow through. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was sentiment. Either way, he would never admit to it. You brought a softness into his life that he didn’t know he could carry, leaving traces of warmth in your wake.

He turns back to you, expression unreadable. He raises his brows in amusement, taking another hit of his blunt. The smoke lingers in the air as he exhales. “Okay,” He sighs, “Then that’s your safe word.”

You barely have time to react when his demeanor shifts without warning. The haze of smoke in the air seems to still, Soonyoung’s gaze on you fixed and unrelenting. His jaw tightens, both of his hands rising to cradle your face and force you to maintain eye contact. “Listen to me,” He murmurs, voice unwavering, “If you begin to feel uncomfortable with anything — and I mean anything, you say tiger. Got it?”

It should be comical. Soonyoung of all people, demanding you to say a silly word you’d playfully chosen on a whim. But his tone leaves no room for argument.

You nod hesitantly, fully alert as you’re taken aback by the gravity of the situation. The room suddenly feels smaller, charged with tension.

“I need you to use your words Y/n.”

“Yes,” You confirm, softly but surely.

“If something doesn’t feel right — if at any point you feel uncertain, uneasy, or overwhelmed — you just say the word and I’ll let up. No questions. No hesitation.”

“Is that why it’s called a safe word?” You ask.

He nods, silently answering your question.

“I don’t —,” You hesitate, chewing the inside of your cheeks, “I don’t think I’ll need it.”

Soonyoung smiles just barely. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes and it looks as if he’s holding back anger that may or may not be directed towards you.

Kwon Soonyoung was a man who hated many things. He hated when the price of cigarettes would change in every gas station he entered. He hated when a professor constantly nagged him for his shitty attendance. He hated when a flock of girls smothered him at a frat party, desperation evident with the way their hands glided over his body.

But the one thing that Soonyoung hated most, was your habit of sacrificing your own needs for others. As long as he’s known you, you’ve always been a people pleaser. The words “no” and “I can’t do it,” have never been in your vocabulary because you were sure that with a little more effort, anything was possible. You went above and beyond, going an inch for people who wouldn’t even bother to go a centimeter for you. The boys always watched you closely, ensuring no one took advantage of your kindness. But you were just too nice for your own good. It was what made you, well…you.

“Trust me baby,” His grip on your face tightens firmly, “You’ll need it.”

Your mouth opens to stubbornly protest, but the look Soonyoung gives you causes the words to die in your throat. You cower back, a chill skimming down your spine from intimidation.

“It doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong. I won’t be disappointed. I won’t be mad — I’d never be mad at you.”

Your eyes soften at his speech. The boys have never exactly been the talkative type and moments like this — honest, caring, thoughtful — are rare.

“A safe word is put in place for a reason,” Soonyoung continues, “Even if you don’t think you need it.”

“Okay,” You reply, but it comes out flat. Soonyoung sees right through it, catching your half-hearted tone. He grinds his teeth, scanning your unsure expression. His fingers dig into your jaw, not quite hurting you, but with enough pressure to demand your undivided attention.

“I’m fucking serious Y/n,” He states sternly, “Listen to your body. Don’t try and test your limits because you think you can handle it.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. Your words tumble out, too quick for you to process. “Yes sir,” You say unconsciously.

The label you had called him by isn’t calculated. It isn’t meant to provoke or please. It slipped out instinctively, a response to the kind of authority that doesn’t scare you, but steadies you instead.

Soonyoung doesn’t acknowledge it. He doesn’t smirk or tease the way he would had it been anyone else. With the others, he might’ve raised a brow. Might’ve let a smug grin spread across his face as he leaned in close just to watch them squirm and fluster. He knew how to play that part — confident, commanding, and in control.

But you — you’ve always been the exception. The only one able to break down their stone walls and thaw their icy hearts.

You see the flicker of approval flash across his features. He finally lets go of your face and you find yourself missing his touch as soon as it leaves. You’d grown accustomed to the heat of his hands and now that they're gone, it makes you realize how much comfort you found in his hold.

Soonyoung takes a step back. “Good girl,” He mutters, so softly that you barely catch it.

A whine tries to force itself from your mouth, but you urge it back down. A heat rises in your chest, the familiar feeling of warmth you’d felt with Mingyu a week ago. The praise left you feeling fuzzy — reassured.

Soonyoung closes his eyes, thoughts racking his brain. He figures that he’s too sober for this. Reaching out, he picks up his blunt yet again and goes in for another hit. The ember flares briefly in the dim lighting, and he uses the incoming feeling of a high to anchor himself.

He was good at control. He knew how to wield it with precision. But you had him in a chokehold that constantly left him breathless. If he planned to have you laid out like a meal right in front of him, he’d need a much better grasp on himself.

He knows he can’t do it on impulse. Not with you. You deserve intention — care. He needed to take his time with you. Not rush things. Keep his pace slow and calm…at least to the best of his abilities.

“Say it again.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“Your safe word,” He clarifies, “I need to make sure you remember it. That you’re not going to forget it.”

“Oh…” Your cheeks flush in embarrassment as the pieces click into place, “Right.”

Soonyoung arches a brow, eyes glittering in quiet amusement, “What did you think I was referring to?”

You glance away, clearing your throat, “Nothing,” You shake your head to dismiss him.

Soonyoung’s lips quirk and a teasing smile threatens to break across his face.

“Tiger,” You repeat the word, hoping to appease him.

He hums in acknowledgment, “And you’ll do as I say and use it when you feel like you need to?”

“Mhm…”

Soonyoung narrows his eyes at you. They scan over your figure, easily recognizing your body language. His lips press into a thin line and he struggles to contain his frustration.

“Fine.” His voice comes out clipped, sharp even.

Maybe it’s because of the endless years you’ve spent tangled in each other's lives, or maybe it’s because of the massive weak spot he’s grown for you over time — but Soonyoung knows you like the back of his hand. He’s slowly memorized every part of you. All the tells, all the signs. Your likes. Your dislikes. Even the smallest details that you haven’t figured out for yourself yet.

So when you sit before him saying all the right things and giving him the answers he expects to hear, he’s able to read between the lines.

You’ll endure it. Swallow it down and convince yourself you can handle it until you can’t. The instinct to please — to not disappoint — was practically in your blood.

He lets out a heavy sigh, turning his back to you. He runs a hand through his hair, foot tapping against the floorboard in a quiet rhythm to calm himself.

A safe word has never been just a formality to Soonyoung. Especially when it came to scenes in which his usual dominance could possibly blur the lines between pleasure and intensity. He knew exactly how mean and demanding he could be, but despite that, he wasn’t heartless. At least, not completely.

Unlike others who wielded dominance with cruel intentions, he knows what the word stop means. And he certainly knows that no means no.

So god forbid, he was trying to make sure it wasn’t your last resort. You needed to know how vital this conversation was — to know when to use it, understand your own limits, and most of all, realize that it’s okay to use it.

If you wouldn’t lean on the safety net yourself, then he would have to be the one to make sure it’s there. Not by force, never that. But with a precision that doesn’t thin the fragile line between challenge and care. The kind that gives you no room to hide even when you’re nearing that edge.

Soonyoung grumbles, taking a swig from a nearby beer bottle. It was warm and flat, having been there for a few hours untouched, but it still does the trick. He sets it on his dresser with a clink, sitting back down on his desk chair and rolling it to the foot of his bed. He reaches out, arms wrapping around your thighs to yank your body towards him with a gentle force.

You squeal in surprise, hands flying back to anchor yourself as he effortlessly drags you to the edge. The sheets bunch underneath your elbows, your pulse racing at the sudden motion. You blink at him wide-eyed, chest heaving in breathless anticipation.

His calloused hands are rough on your smooth skin, fingers grazing over your thighs with a careful tenderness. His touch provides you with a comfort you always seem to long for.

One minute he’s talking to you — engaging in a casual conversation, or as much conversation as you’ll get from one of the boys; they weren’t much talkers. But the next, your shorts are suddenly discarded, thrown carelessly on the ground. Without even realizing, your body had responded — hips lifting unconsciously and making it easier for Soonyoung to pull off. His words served as a distraction and he’d made sure your focus was trained on him the entire time.

You didn’t think much of it. You’ve occasionally walked around the house wearing far too little in search of a comfy hoodie or a pair of pants fresh out the dryer. Sometimes — even to make sure that your cookies didn’t burn, and that’s exactly how you ended up squirting all over Jeonghan’s lap last time.

But usually, the boys never spared you a glance. And if they did, they never allowed their minds to wander anywhere inappropriate.

You weren’t anywhere near the typical girls (sluts as they would prefer to be called) they hooked up with.

No — you were you.

There was always that unspoken line written in your friendship. One in which they never dared to cross. But with how men have turned into dogs over time, they’d rather it be them than anyone else.

Soonyoung rests his hand on the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your covered cunt. Immediately, your body stiffens. His thumb rubs soothing circles on your skin, but you can’t seem to concentrate on it as his breath ghosts over your neck. Your heart rate increases just as he lays a gentle kiss to your pulse point and it leaves you wondering whether he can feel the thumping on his lips.

He presses soft kisses to your skin, trailing upwards towards your jaw. Your lids flutter, breath hitching as his mouth moves deliberately slow. A whimper almost escapes when one of his fingers swipe directly over your slit. The action causes moisture to spread in your panties; thin, white, and nearly sheer from sticking to your skin due to your arousal.

“Relax,” Soonyoung mutters, noticing the quick rise and fall of your chest, “You’re too tense.”

You nod obediently, granting him further access by unconsciously tilting your head. He sucks on the skin directly under your jaw and as he takes his time marking your flesh with his mouth, your pussy throbs in response.

Soonyoung’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of your underwear. He lets his touch linger, toying with the material. It’s only when his lips find yours again, that he tugs it down. You lift yourself partially off the bed, too distracted to care as he deepens the kiss. It helps him remove the garment completely, tucking it into his back pocket.

You whine as he breaks contact, pulling away. Soonyoung disregards you, instead pushing you down with a firm hand on your shoulder. Your back meets the mattress, legs clamped shut. Soonyoung clicks his tongue in disapproval. He shoots you a stern look, tapping at the side of your thigh.

“Open.”

You don’t listen, a small voice in the back of your head warning you that your dignity is fading even more so after your escapades with Jeonghan and Mingyu.

“Y/n,” Soonyoung says, voice strict, “Open your legs.”

His tone causes you to whimper, your tummy turning nervously. You gaze up at him with wide puppy dog eyes — soft, pleading, and silently hoping it’ll melt the merciless wall he’s putting up.

Soonyoung sighs, demeanor faltering. His eyes soften as they meet yours and he realizes that maybe he should be a little nicer. Your trust in him was currently at an all-time high and he would be damned to scare you away.

“Come on baby,” He tries again. This time, he pries your knees apart for you. He keeps his eyes trained on yours the entire time, ignoring the pretty view between your thighs to save you from your nervousness of being on display. “Let me make you feel good, yeah?”

Your cheeks flush at his words, embarrassment flooding your senses. You squirm under his stare, holding it to the best of your ability. Coyly, you tilt your head in agreement.

Soonyoung subtly perks up. “Yeah?” He asks again. “You want that?”

“Yeah,” You whisper lightly.

His lips quirk into a smile, dropping as fast as it flashes across his face. His line of vision trails down to your neck, lingering over your tits, to your stomach, then finally settling on the prize.

You were soaked, essence dripping onto the comforter below you.

Soonyoung has to muffle a groan, his cock pulsing at the sight. He lays a delicate peck on your knee, unable to tear his eyes away.

Out of all the girls he’s fucked — bent over, underneath, on top — your body was home to the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen.

Soonyoung bites his tongue, a degrading term threatening to roll off. He was meant to humiliate, to tease; but he could never do that to you. His respect for you outweighed his usual dominance by a landslide.

His hand smooths over your pelvis and you flinch at the unexpectedness of his touch. You watch him between your legs as he kisses the inside of your left thigh, gradually moving downwards. You tense as he nears dangerous territory, but his fingers dig into your skin, massaging your muscles and loosening them.

Both of his hands travel to the underside of your thighs near your ass. Gently, he rests them there, pushing upwards and further spreading you apart for him. Your mind screams at you to have a little more shame, but your body denies the request as your cunt gushes in excitement.

Soonyoung focuses on your skin, laying pecks all around. He avoids your pussy, wanting to make you more comfortable before diving in. You feel his lips graze just below your belly button, moving south.

A shiver rolls down your spine when you finally feel him place a kiss directly on your clit. A sound of satisfaction leaves your mouth and it gives Soonyoung the green light he needs.

Leisurely, he licks a stripe from your dripping hole to your bud. The action draws a whimper from you, a spike of pleasure easily spreading. He continues, keeping the same pace as he repeats the movement. Your lids flutter shut as you bask in the feeling. It dwells, enough to keep you content, but not enough to send you over the edge.

Your wetness gathers on his tongue and Soonyoung figures that if he could have one meal for the rest of his life, it would be you.

The taste of your cunt is addicting, even more so as he dips his tongue into your entrance. You whimper, legs spreading further apart.

A choked moan slips out as he speeds up. His tongue moves rapidly and he bobs his head to add stimulation. You pant, chest visibly heaving as he looks up at you. Your head is thrown back against his bed, fingers gripping tightly at the duvet. He’s able to see the swell of your breasts from his line of vision and he reaches an arm up your stomach to fondle one under your shirt.

His touch ignites a spark within you, his thumb grazing over your nipple and causing it to harden. He rolls the bud expertly, pinching it between two fingers and tugging slightly. You mewl in delight, hips bucking to grind against Soonyoung’s face. He chuckles into your cunt at your reaction, the vibration sending rippling waves of pleasure coursing through you.

Your hand wraps around Soonyoung’s wrist, holding his arm there as his fingers play with your tit. You shut your eyes and he has half the right mind to scold you. He wants you entirely focused on him, but he decides that he should let you have this one — to be present in your pleasure instead of attentive to him.

He shakes his head, the sudden movement causing your body to jerk. His tongue flattens against your clit, rough and wet as he quickly laps at the bundle of nerves. Your mouth opens, a string of whines escaping as your stomach muscles tighten.

“Soonie,” You gasp, cut off by the sound of another whine escaping your lips.

Soonyoung only hums. He pinches your nipple gently and you grind your pussy against his tongue again. He can sense your eagerness and it leaves him unfamiliar with the feeling of wanting to give in — to let you cum without begging or crying.

So he does.

He keeps the same tempo, refusing to change rhythm even just the slightest. His tongue flicks viciously at your clit, hands locking your thighs into place to ensure you don’t move. You try to thrash, but he keeps you grounded, unable to run away from him.

You pull at the comforter, using it as your personal stress ball. It bunches in your grip but does nothing to put out the fire growing within your body.

You’re hot — too hot. Your skin is tingling and ears are starting to hear a ring as Soonyoung transports you into a world of ecstasy.

“Soonie, please.” You don’t know what you’re pleading for, but you can still decipher the desperation in your voice. The feeling is all too familiar to the one you’d felt with Jeonghan and you realize that you’d do anything to experience it again.

Soonyoung hears you loud and clear despite your words coming out hurried and hushed. He uses his thumbs, spreading your pussy and giving him further access directly to your clit. You can feel everything a little better when he does and just as his thumb grazes through your wet slit, the coil snaps.

Over the years, Soonyoung has seen you in a million different ways in a million different instances. But this — coming undone on his tongue, endless loud whines leaving your mouth, and legs spread far apart as he devours your pretty pussy — takes the cake.

“Soonie!” You can do nothing but say his name, hole clenching around nothing. Your cunt gushes a fluid that you can feel drenching the sheets below you and Soonyoung lifts his head to admire. He replaces his tongue with his hand, fingers rubbing figure eights over your clit to help you ride out your orgasm.

In a world full of sex, featuring Kwon Soonyoung — you’re either a creamer or a squirter.

In Soonyoung’s case, he just so happened to adore squirters. The messier, the better.

“There we go,” He praises, “That’s a good girl.”

Your legs threaten to close but he holds them open, fingers working expertly to prolong your orgasm. You can hear the audible sounds of your slick as he runs his finger through your folds and it only adds to the filth you’re experiencing.

The pleasurable rush feels like it lasts for ages, but eventually, you come down from the high. Your mouth falls open as you try and catch your breath, endless pants falling from your lips.

Your chest rises and falls, heart still racing as if trying to catch up. You blink slowly, trying to center yourself. You feel Soonyoung’s hand on your inner thigh, ghosting over your cunt as his other hand massages your trembling legs. You find strength within yourself to prop your upper half up, using your elbows as leverage.

Soonyoung was nicer than usual, giving you at least a few minutes to rest before he attempted to thrust you toward the edge yet again. One minute, you’re staring into his eyes from between your legs, and the next, your back hits the mattress from the sheer hostility of his mouth.

He greedily slurps up your arousal, tongue lapping through your folds. His lips hover directly above your clit, closing around the bud and sucking harshly. The action causes your back to arch, a cry emitting loudly throughout the room. Your hole clenches around nothing, excess fluid dripping onto the comforter.

Soonyoung pokes his head up, mouth shining from your juices. “You're making a mess, sweetheart.” His thumb replaces his mouth, rubbing over your clit slowly.

“M’ sorry,” You whimper softly, “Can’t help it.”

Soonyoung hums, faux sympathy lacing his features. “Feels too good, doesn’t it?”

You nod with lidded eyes, hips bucking against his hand, “So good Soonie.”

He chuckles, head dipping low to dart out his tongue yet again.

Amongst the many rumors circling the grounds of your university, today, you’ve debunked one: Kwon Soonyoung lives up to his title of being a munch.

You try and count how many seconds pass by before your skin starts to tingle. Soonyoung shifts his focus solely on your clit, opting to suck instead of lick. The suction leaves you fidgeting from overstimulation, sensitivity from your last orgasm still fresh as you barrel towards another one.

It washes over you faster than before — much stronger. Soonyoung doesn’t adjust his pace to accommodate your thrashing. Instead, he holds your hips down on the bed, lips attached to your clit. Your essence paints the lower half of his face, pussy leaking messily of wetness.

An endless string of pitiful whines escape from you, but it does little for Soonyoung to show mercy. His mouth stays glued to your pussy, even despite the fight you put up.

“T-too much,” You whimper, feeling somewhat overstimulated. You shuffle around on the mattress, trying to escape. It only grants you a short minute of relief as his lips detach from you, but it doesn’t last long. His hands grip your legs, pulling you back to him.

“You know your safe word,” His hands settle on the back of your thighs to hold you open for him, “Use it.”

You let out a choked sob when you feel him again, flinching as the tip of his tongue pokes at your entrance. It threatens to push further, but instead, he swipes it through your folds. It feels rigid against your clit, alternating between tracing circles and flicking.

You try not to get too loud, embarrassed that the other boys might hear you through the walls of his bedroom. But as the pleasure builds in your lower abdomen, your dignity fades away slowly, but surely.

When you cum for the third time, you start to get antsy. Your thighs twitch involuntarily, attempting to pry themselves from Soonyoung’s grasp. They tremble when he urges them farther apart, addicted to the taste of your cunt.

The fourth spirals into you out of thin air, only seconds apart from the last. Your hand darts out, tangling in Soonyoung’s hair. You nudge him away subtly, fighting the urge to pull him closer and grind your pussy against his tongue. He slows his pace until you calm down, but picks up not long after.

Each time Soonyoung swears it's the last — but he was on an agenda to hear your safe word from your mouth. You could only last so long; and with the way he was wearing you thin, Soonyoung knew that you were nearing that brink.

“C’mon Y/n,” He encourages, “Just say it.”

“No,” You whine softly, “I can take it.”

You can feel his annoyance through his fingertips digging into your skin.

“I don’t think you can, baby.”

“Soonyoung,” Your voice is a cry — desperate. “More please.”

He sighs, eyes skirting over you. He blinks fast, visibly irritated, but nods. His tongue flattens against your pussy, getting to work once again.

You can feel your muscles loosening, unable to control them as your fifth orgasm takes over. Your thighs spasm, legs flailing as you kick. Soonyoung’s arms wrap firmly around them, anchoring you. His hands rest on your stomach, pushing your hips down to stay still. He watches you like a hawk, tongue moving diligently.

By the time your sixth orgasm rolls around, you’re a mess. Your mind is hazy, vision blurry from the tears filling your eyes. You mutter incoherent babbles, words jumbling together. The only thing you can find yourself being aware of is Soonyoung’s mouth latched to your cunt and the bliss that surges through your body. You can mildly feel yourself squirting, soaking the sheets beneath your lower half.

Your seventh orgasm is when the word finally tumbles from your lips. It comes out rushed, with a loud cry. Tears drip down the sides of your face, unbearable pleasure ripping through you. It borders on the edge of painful, but the familiar feeling of euphoria along with it, keeps you at bay.

“Tiger, tiger, tiger.” You repeat, although you didn’t have to. As soon as your safe word met his ears, Soonyoung let up.

Your body feels like mush, sinking deeper into the mattress. Your pussy throbs, yearning for more but you clench your thighs shut, thankful for mercy instead. Your palms cover your face, wiping at your wet eyes.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Soonyoung watches as you hide your face behind your hands. He rubs his own along the side of your leg, helping coax you into a calmer state.

You respond with a short whimper, barely audible. You feel messy and in desperate need of a cold shower. You whine this time, suddenly aware and shy of your current predicament.

Soonyoung’s touch leaves for a short minute. You have the urge to peek through your fingers, seeking out his comfort again, but he returns quickly. He pries your hands away from your face, nudging you to sit up. You do so reluctantly, curling your chest into your knees when you do. Your body is heavy and threatens to fall against the plush mattress again, but Soonyoung keeps you stable with a grip on your shoulder.

He holds something to your mouth. The plastic material nudges against your lips, and you furrow your brows.

“Drink.”

You hesitantly sip the water he’s offering. It’s only then that you realize exactly how dry your throat felt. It makes you wonder how loud you were actually being.

You try to pull away after a few gulps, but Soonyoung hums with disapproval. “Nuh-uh.” He holds the straw steady in your mouth, refusing to budge, “Drink more, you need to stay hydrated.”

Grumbling, you gulp down a bit more to appease him. You sip slowly, leaning into his touch as he pets the wild strands of your hair down.

“You did good,” He praises, “I’m proud of you.”

You stare up at him with doe-eyes, throat bobbing the more you drink. You acknowledge his words with the squint of your eyes, but your brain barely comprehends them in your fucked out state.

Soonyoung removes the straw when he’s satisfied with your water intake, setting the bottle down. Your legs swing over the side of the bed when he’s turned away to get up, but a rush of dizziness consumes you when you start to stand. Your limbs feel like jelly and Soonyoung has to dart forward to catch you before you fall.

“Not so fast baby,” His hands are firm on your hips, stabilizing you. Your palms rest on his shoulders, holding on tightly for support as he lowers you to sit on the bed. “I’ll get you all cleaned up. Just rest for a bit.”

You want to protest, but Soonyoung’s tone leaves no room for argument. He crouches down in front of you, staring up into your eyes. They’re softer than usual, unlike the sharp gaze that tears through you whenever you glance into them. Your head tilts to the side when he cups your face, thumb gently ghosting over your cheek.

“Tired Soonie,” You say softly. Your lids flutter, wanting to close but you keep them open to the best of your ability. The sleepiness stems out of nowhere, but now that Soonyoung is making you take a breather, it hits you full force.

“You’re tired?” His eyebrows perk up, attentive to your growing sluggishness.

You nod, leaning further against his hand cupping your face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You confirm.

“Take a nap then,” He gestures his head to the pillows before standing up and towering over you.

“But —,” You try to rebuttal, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“I’ll clean you up, don’t worry. Just sleep baby,” He ruffles your hair, urging you to crawl back against the bed, “I got you.”

An argument sits at the tip of your tongue, but it vanishes as soon as your head hits his soft, fluffy pillow. His familiar scent of sandalwood and light musk fills your senses, providing you with a comfort that eases you into a peaceful sleep.

Soonyoung disappears to retrieve a towel from his bathroom, but when he gets back, you’re already fast asleep. He almost chuckles at how quickly you’d managed to drift off, but he shakes his head instead, gently patting the towel against your skin.

Your thighs were still drenched and pussy dripping, but he can’t find it within himself to care — he’s going to have to change his sheets anyway.

Most days he’s prepared for this, already having a towel laid down and bedsheets stripped before indulging in anything sexual. He knows that things can get messy when it comes to him, so he’s always one step ahead.

But this is different — this is you. And you’ve always been the only exception.

817 notes · View notes

svtiddiess · 1 month ago

Text

Be My Tigress?

Synopsis: After moving halfway across the world to Korea, you landed a job as an Assistant Manager at Carat Company, a media company known for television production, music management, and digital content creation. Your boss, Soonyoung—though he insists everyone call him Hoshi—turned out to be an absolute whirlwind of chaos. From tiger-themed stationery and tiger-themed office décor to a full-on tiger fursuit, his relentless dedication to his so-called "tiger agenda" has left you questioning your sanity on more than one occasion. (Seriously, what even is a horanghae??) As you adjust to your new life and career, one question keeps nagging at you: how has he not been fired yet? No, really—why hasn't anyone reported this insane man to HR?

Pairing: marketing manager!Hoshi x assistant manager!afab!reader ft. marketing intern!Jun and human resources manager!Woozi

Genre: crack, fluff, slightest of angst, smut, office romance, office! au

Rating: mature

Word count: 6.6k (for this part)

Warnings: tiger agenda is strong in this one, Hoshi is very unserious (and a diva), unrealistic workplace environment, mentions of alcohol, HR pls don't fire Hoshi

Smut Warnings: penetrative sex, protected sex (we cheered!), body worship, big dick!Hoshi, aftercare, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: This is part of the 'That's Showbiz Baby!' collab! Check out the masterlist here! Be sure to check out all the other amazing fics in the collab!

Thank you so, so much @studioeisa and @chugging-antiseptic-dye for helping me beta and giving me motivation to get through the fic! This fic wouldn't have escaped the vault without them!

HUGE thank you to my twin @tomodachiii for helping me with the amazing banner!!

PART 1 | PART 2 (soon! ...hopefully)

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

Deep breaths. In and out.

A shaky breath escapes your lips as you try to steady the nerves crawling up your spine. New city, new people, new job—it's all a bit much. But new beginnings are good, change is good…or at least, that's what you keep telling yourself.

With one final breath, you shake off the jitters and step into your new workplace—Carat Company.

Smoothing out your skirt, you walk onto your assigned floor. The receptionist greeted you so warmly that it sparked a small comfort in your chest, easing your nerves just a little. Fidgeting with your freshly issued ID tag, you glance around in search of your new boss—

Kwon Soonyoung.

When you told the receptionist you were the new assistant marketing manager, she gave you a pitying smile and muttered, "Good luck, you're going to need it—especially if you're working with him." You still have no idea what that means. Is your boss a tyrant? A slave-driver? Whatever the case, you're determined to prove you're not someone who backs down from a challenge.

Your eyes scan the floor—and then stop on something…strange. Someone's wearing what looks like a tiger fur coat? Okay, bold fashion choice. Their back is turned, but you can tell it's a man. Blonde hair—very unnatural.

Then he turns.

You blink. Sunglasses. Indoors. Coupled with the tiger coat and the flashy hair, he looks like the walking embodiment of a diva.

Must be a client, you think, attempting to ignore him and continue your boss hunt. You wander the floor, eyes peeled for any signs of the marketing manager.

Suddenly, a gasp—and footsteps. You turn around, startled, as the man in the tiger coat bolts toward you.

"Are you the new hire?!" he exclaims, eyes shining.

"I—uh—yes?" you answer, unsure and slightly alarmed.

He gasps again, practically vibrating. "Oh my god! A new horangdan!" he squeals.

A what? Did he just…call you a slur?

"I'm Hoshi! The marketing manager!" he beams.

Hoshi? Marketing manager? Did this man break out of the asylum and assume the role of your boss? That must be it, he must be an insane person who broke into here and just started to call himself the manager. That's the only explanation. There's no way this is the person you're supposed to report to.

"Hoshi?" you repeat, uncertain.

"Well, my government name is Soonyoung, but I prefer Hoshi!" he chirps.

Oh. So…this is the Soonyoung you were looking for.

"You're Kwon Soonyoung?" you ask, still trying to reconcile the name with the image before you.

"Yup! That's me!" he grins. "Oh! I have to initiate you into the Horanghae Club!" he gasps and dashes off before you can react.

You stand frozen, dumbfounded. Did you just join a cult? Is it too late to back out? You glance toward the elevator, calculating how fast you could make a run for it and disappear from this fever dream of a first day.

Before you can act on your escape plan, Soonyoung—Hoshi?—returns.

"Here!" he says cheerfully, handing you a tiger-themed pen.

You take it cautiously and give it a once-over. Despite the ridiculous design, the pen is surprisingly high quality.

"I give one to every horangdan when they join. It's official now!" he says proudly.

You nod slowly, offering the most forced smile in your entire life.

"Oh! And we have to take a horanghae selfie!" he gasps again.

"A what?" you ask, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Just follow my lead!" he instructs, holding up his hand and curling his fingers into a tiger-like claw. You hesitate, then mimic the pose. His smile only widens as he pulls out his phone and snaps a selfie. You stare blankly at the camera, still trying to make sense of everything.

"Perfect! You're officially part of the team! I'll send you the photo on Teams and get it framed too!" he says enthusiastically. "And hey—if you ever need help, don't hesitate to call me!"

With that, he flashes a final grin and heads off toward what must be his office.

Your hand slowly drops from the claw pose as you attempt to process what just happened. One thing's for sure: you'll definitely, definitely hesitate to call him.

Is it too soon to quit?

You think to yourself as you blankly stare at the monitor in front of you. You were prepared to take on anything—prepared day and night for the possible work they might throw at you, learned the latest marketing trends, heck, even braced yourself for the possibility of a boss straight out of a corporate nightmare. But this? This, you did not see coming.

Kwon Soonyoung is in love—no, scratch that—obsessed with tigers. You're convinced that if a genie popped up and offered him three wishes, he'd use every single one to become a tiger.

Somehow, he's also made it his personal mission to transform your desk into a shrine to tiger-kind. The tiger-striped pen was only the beginning. Now you've got a matching mug, keyboard mat, and coaster. Even your desktop wallpaper is tiger-themed—and for some reason, you can't seem to change it. A grinning cartoon tiger stares back at you, almost like it's mocking you. You've never wanted to punch a screen more in your life, but seeing as you'd rather not owe the company for damages, you've restrained yourself.

You lean back in your chair with a resigned sigh, already thinking about quitting—and it's not even lunchtime yet. A boisterous laugh snaps you out of your thoughts, and you look over to see Soonyoung approaching you.

Shit.

You quickly sit up straight and pretend to look busy, hoping that he'll leave you alone if he sees you're busy. But unfortunately, he doesn't.

"Hey Y/N! How's everything going so far?" he beams, adjusting his fur coat and slipping off his sunglasses like he's stepping onto a runway instead of into the office.

"Uh—yeah, it's going fine. Just slowly getting the hang of things," you reply with an awkward smile.

"Did you see your wallpaper?!" he asks, practically bouncing. "I personally begged the IT team to set everyone's desktop to adorable tigers!"

"It's…cute?" you manage to say.

"I knew you'd love it!" he beams, proud of himself.

Then, he gasps like he's just witnessed a crime, clutching his chest with theatrical flair. "Wait—don't tell me—you don't have your custom keyboard and mouse yet?!"

"My what now?" you blink at him, completely lost.

"I made a special request—a custom tiger-themed keyboard and mouse just for you! Only the best for my assistant manager!" he beams proudly. Then he pouts. "But they're not here. I think IT might've ignored my request."

Thank god, you think.

"It's no problem, Soonyoung. I'm more than happy with what I have," you say with a polite smile, hoping to end this tiger crusade.

"No! Absolutely not! My assistant manager does not use cheap equipment!" he declares with righteous conviction. "I'll make sure you get them—I promise!"

"I-it's really okay, Soonyoung—" you try to reassure him, desperation creeping in.

"Nonsense!" he grins, throwing you a wink. "Only the best for my assistant manager."

"Wow…how generous of you," you say through gritted teeth.

"I'm heading to IT right now!" he announces before dramatically striding off.

You stare after him, completely defeated. With a deep breath, you rise from your seat and let out a long, weary exhale.

You're going to HR.

You can't do this anymore. You don't even know what you're going to say, but you'll figure it out when you get there. All you know is that something has to be done about this lunatic. And so, you march. Straight to HR.

[…]

You let out a slow exhale and knock twice before stepping into the HR manager's office. Inside, a man is furiously typing away at his keyboard, too engrossed to notice your presence. You glance at the nameplate on his desk—Lee Jihoon; Human Resources Manager.

You take a cautious few steps in, but he doesn't even flinch. Still typing. Still scowling. You clear your throat.

He finally looks up and raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to file a complaint," you say, shifting awkwardly.

"Is it a Hoshi-related complaint?" he asks with a resigned sigh.

Your eyebrows shoot up, and your mouth parts slightly. How did he know?

"Uh—yes?"

He exhales again, shaking his head as he mutters something under his breath that you're pretty sure was "not again".

"Put it in that box," he says, pointing to the corner of the room before returning to his screen.

You follow his gesture and turn to look, and your jaw practically hits the floor. A cardboard box, overflowing with paper. It's stuffed so full that several complaints have spilt out and are lying abandoned on the floor around it.

How is this man still employed? You wonder, genuinely baffled.

Staring at the box, you come to a decision. It's not worth it. Filing a complaint won't make a dent in the madness that is Kwon Soonyoung.

With your soul dispirited, you accept your fate and drag yourself back to your desk in defeat.

Taking another long sip of your coffee, you step onto your floor, hoping that the caffeine would give you enough fuel to get through the day. You went home completely exhausted yesterday despite having been given very little work; you suspect it has something to do with your tiger-obsessed boss.

Speaking of your tiger-obsessed boss, you spot him chatting with someone, his back facing you, and you do a full double-take. He's wearing a normal shirt. No stripes, no tiger prints, nothing. Just…normal. For a second, you wonder if your eyes are playing tricks on you, but that unmistakable bleach-blonde hair confirms it—it's definitely him.

"Huh, maybe I misjudged him too quickly," you mutter to yourself as you take in his office-appropriate outfit.

Just as the last words leave your mouth, Soonyoung turns around, revealing a tiger print tie.

"Never mind," you sigh. You can't believe you actually had hope for this man.

His face lights up the moment he sees you, and he jogs over, grinning from ear to ear.

"Good morning, Y/N!" he greets you with his horanghae pose.

"…Good morning, Soonyoung," you mutter, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

"I told you to call me Hoshi," he pouts, his shoulders drooping like a scolded kid instead of a grown marketing manager.

"…I've got work to do, so I'll be heading to my desk now," you say, keeping the forced smile plastered on your face.

"Good luck with work!" Soonyoung cheers as you walk away.

You reach your desk and sink into your chair with a sigh. That's when you notice something new—something that definitely wasn't there yesterday. Sitting proudly on your desk is a picture frame…with the selfie you took with Soonyoung yesterday. You pick it up, scoffing in disbelief. He actually framed it.

Your expression in the photo is pure confusion, while Hoshi's is pure joy. The contrast is almost comedic—almost.

Grumbling, you shove the frame into the nearest drawer, silently vowing never to look at it again. You boot up your desktop, only to be greeted by that same infuriating tiger wallpaper, grinning back at you like it knows exactly what it's doing.

You let out a heavy sigh and rub your temples, trying to ground yourself. It's only the second day, you remind yourself. Taking one last deep breath, you open your email and dive into work.

[…]

A notification blinks on your screen, snapping you out of your work-induced daze. Team meeting in 20 minutes. Deciding that a quick snack might help you survive whatever chaos awaits, you head toward the break room.

As you step inside, you spot Soonyoung already there, happily making himself a cup of coffee. You inwardly groan—talking to him was the last thing you wanted. Still, you figure it wouldn’t hurt to gather a little intel about the upcoming meeting.

"Hello, Soonyoung," you greet, but he doesn't react—he simply carries on making his coffee.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion; did he not hear you? You clear your throat and greet him again, louder. But once again, his focus is only on the coffee in his hand.

Worry etches onto your face. Is he upset with you? Did you do something to offend him? Does he hate you? Oh god—

Wait.

"…Hoshi?" you murmur.

Soonyoung turns to look at you, a bright smile on his face.

"Yes?" he chirps.

Your shoulders slump, and your expression says it all—you're done. With an audible sigh, you drag a hand down your face, trying to gather whatever scraps of patience you have left.

"We have a meeting soon, do you think you could brief me about it before we attend?" you mutter.

"Oh, right! Tuesdays are meeting days!" he remarks.

"We don't have meetings on other days?" you ask, tilting your head in confusion.

"Well, I don't anyway," he shrugs.

"Oh," you mutter, confused as to why he only has meetings on Tuesdays—but you don't think too much about it.

"It's just an introduction meeting about the new campaign we'll be carrying out to promote an upcoming show. Don't worry too much about it!" he reassures you. You nod, feeling slightly relieved at his words.

You glance at the time and immediately panic—only five minutes left until the meeting. Without wasting a second, you make a beeline for the meeting room. Well, you speed walk like your life depends on it, while Soonyoung strolls behind you at a leisurely pace.

You slip into your seat next to Jun, the intern you've chatted with a few times. You exchange a polite smile before turning your attention to setting up your things. Moments later, Soonyoung bursts in, grinning from ear to ear, practically glowing with energy.

"Hello, everyone!" he chirps. "Horanghae!" he grins, throwing up that cursed horanghae gesture you've grown to resent with every fibre of your being.

You give him a look of pure disbelief, quickly glancing around the room in hopes that someone—anyone—might share your pain. But no. One by one, every single person in the room mimics the gesture and echoes, "Horanghae!" Even Jun, who you thought was normal.

Your eyes widen, and your jaw nearly hits the floor. Is everyone in this company actually insane?

Soonyoung turns to you, eyes full of hope. Then you realise—everyone is staring at you, waiting. Expecting. You freeze, panic flashing across your face. With no escape in sight, you force it out, "…horanghae?"

Soonyoung beams like you just gave him the greatest gift in the world, then launches into the meeting.

You sit there, staring blankly at your laptop screen, questioning every life choice that led you to this moment.

The meeting finally wraps up, and to your genuine surprise, everything went…smoothly. No unexpected tiger trivia, no random bursts of energy—Soonyoung actually acted professionally. And not just that—he was good. A competent, clear, and oddly charismatic leader. If he weren't so obsessively in love with tigers, you might actually respect him as your boss.

As the final remarks are made, Soonyoung closes out the meeting, thanking everyone for their hard work.

"Good job, Horangdans!" he grins, throwing up the horanghae gesture with far too much enthusiasm. And of course, like some sort of cult ritual, everyone mirrors the gesture—except you.

And once again, every single head turns in your direction, all eyes locked on you, waiting.

With the weight of a hundred stares on your shoulders, you give in, raising your hand in defeat. "…horanghae," you sigh, dead inside.

"Great! Meeting dismissed!" Soonyoung chirps, already bouncing out the door.

You stare after him, unmoving, lost in thought.

Should you start drafting your two weeks' notice?

Heavy footsteps echo in the office as you trudge to your desk; you haven't had your morning coffee yet, and the despair radiating off of you makes that very obvious.

Plopping your stuff on the desk, you trudge your way over to the break room to get your fix. As you try and drag your feet along the office floor, a bright orange figure grabs your attention from the corner of your eye. You do a double-take and see that there's a…tiger? In the middle of the office?

You rub your eyes, making sure you're not hallucinating from the lack of caffeine, but to your dismay, there really is a giant tiger fursuit roaming around the office.

To your horror, the tiger fursuit turns around and looks at you—it's looking directly at you. You let out a shriek in panic when it starts running towards you. You turn around and prepare to run away, but stop when you hear a familiar voice speaking through the fursuit.

"Good morning Y/N!"

You face the tiger fursuit, pure bewilderment etched onto your face.

"…Soonyoung?" you manage to choke out through your shock.

"Horanghae!" he chirps, holding up his hand (paw?).

"Soonyoung, why the hell are you in a fursuit?!" you shriek.

"Cause it's Wednesday!" he casually responds, as if he hadn't just reduced your lifespan by half. You simply stare at him, too perplexed to form a sentence.

"I'm just gonna…go now," you state, too baffled to even come up with an excuse.

"Okay! Have a great day!" he says cheerfully before skipping away to god knows where.

Plopping down at your desk, you bury your face in your hands, your mind spinning from everything you just endured. A troubling thought creeps in.

Is your boss a…FURRY?!?!!

"Hey, uh, you okay?"

You peek through your fingers to see Jun standing beside you, a concerned look on his face. You glance over at Soonyoung—now scaring another poor employee in his fursuit—then back at Jun.

"Is this…normal?" you ask, voice low and laced with disbelief.

Jun follows your gaze, then looks back at you with a shrug.

"Yeah, pretty much. Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

"Oh…" you mumble, slumping further into your chair.

Determination blazing in your eyes, you storm into Jihoon's office. He's at his desk, eyes glued to his computer, unbothered even as your heavy footsteps approach him. He doesn't even flinch when you slam your hand on the table.

"You need to fire Soonyoung," you demand.

"I'm afraid we can't do that without proper reason," he states, eyes still focused on the screen.

"He is a furry! That should be a good enough reason!" you blurt, hands waving around wildly.

Jihoon lets out a long, weary sigh before turning to you, an unmistakable look of annoyance written across his face. "Unfortunately, that is not a good enough reason to fire him. Once you have a good enough reason, please do hesitate to come see me."

He shoots you a sarcastic smile before turning back to his computer, clearly unbothered. A defeated sigh slips from your lips as your shoulders sag. With a permanent pout etched onto your face, you begrudgingly trudge back to your desk, defeated once again by none other than Kwon Soonyoung.

It's a new day; a fresh start.

You chant the words in your head like a mantra as you make your way to your desk. But the moment you arrive, you stop dead in your tracks. Something new catches your eye—bright orange with unmistakable black stripes.

No way.

He actually did it.

Kwon Soonyoung actually got you a custom keyboard and mouse. Both tiger-themed.

You run your fingers across the keyboard, pressing a few keys. You hate how satisfying they feel—each press giving a perfect thock under your fingertips. The mouse is just as bad: sleek, ergonomic, dangerously comfortable. It's the kind of setup your wrists would write a thank-you letter for.

God, you hate it. You hate how high-quality it is. You want to throw it across the room, never touch it again—but you can't. It's too good. Way too good.

With great reluctance, you've decided to keep the tiger keyboard and mouse.

"Good morning, Y/N! How do you like your new keyboard and mouse?!"

You yelp, startled, and look up—only to see Soonyoung standing there in a…tiger onesie.

At this point, you're not even surprised anymore. And this is definitely one of the more tamer outfits you've seen him in.

"Good morning Soonyoung. The keyboard and mouse are definitely…more of a higher quality than I expected," you admit, begrudgingly.

"Of course! Only the best for my assistant manager!" he grins, beaming with pride. "I made a super special request just for you!"

Your fingers trail across the keys again. If it weren't for the obnoxious design, you'd almost be touched. You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. You know you won't get a logical answer, but you have to ask:

"Soonyoung, why're you in a onesie?"

"Cause it's Thursday, duh!" he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"…of course," you sigh.

"Would you like a tiger onesie? I have plenty of new ones! I would gladly give you one!" he chirps.

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm good, Soonyoung," you reply with a tight-lipped smile.

"Aw, okay." He pouts, shoulders drooping—and for some reason, your heart skips a beat. You weren't expecting him to look that cute. The way his bottom lip sticks out and his cheeks puff slightly made you feel some type of way. You quickly shake the thought away and clear your throat.

"I have work to do, so if you'll excuse me," you mumble, praying he doesn't notice the blush creeping up your cheeks.

"Oh, okay! Have a nice day, Y/N!" he says cheerfully before heading off to his office.

You watch him leave, and before you realise it, a small smile finds its way onto your lips.

You step into the office, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, humming a tune that's been stuck in your head all morning, ready to seize the day. It's Friday, after all—just need to survive one more day before the sweet release of the weekend.

As you make your way to your desk, you pause.

Something's…off.

Half the office is empty. The usual buzz of chatter and clacking keyboards is nowhere to be found. You glance around, double-checking. Nope—definitely not your imagination. It's eerily quiet.

You spot Jun at his desk, the only familiar face in the sea of emptiness, and decide to ask him what's going on.

"Good morning, Jun! Where is everyone?" you ask, tilting your head in confusion.

"Oh, good morning, Y/N!" he replies cheerfully. "We don't really work on Fridays."

"Huh? Why not?"

"Hoshi lets people leave early or take the day off if they want. Says we all deserve a long weekend," he states.

You nod, slowly starting to connect the dots as to why Soonyoung hasn't been fired yet. Maybe…maybe he's not such a terrible boss after all.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch movement. You turn your head, and instantly regret it.

Soonyoung is approaching. Not just any Soonyoung, no. This Soonyoung is dressed in a blinding, tiger-striped three-piece suit. Your eyes sting just from looking at it. You're convinced that if you stare any longer, you'll lose your vision permanently.

"Good morning, guys! Happy Friday!" he beams as he struts over.

You mumble a half-hearted greeting while Jun responds with matching enthusiasm.

"Do you like my Friday suit, Y/N?" He grins as he twirls around, showing off the god awful suit.

Before you can answer, Jun subtly nudges your side and whispers, "Just say yes."

"Uh…yes?" you begrudgingly say, and Soonyoung's eyes light up. It's as if your single yes made his whole day.

"Thank you! I had it custom-made!" he says proudly, practically glowing. "Oh—and if you two don't have any urgent work, feel free to head out early!"

He throws you a wink before skipping off to his office.

You're left blinking in disbelief.

Jun turns to you, voice light. "It's better to just accept him for who he is than try to fight it."

You raise an eyebrow.

"If you can't beat him, join him, or at least tolerate him. Life's easier that way," he shrugs.

You glance toward Soonyoung's office as Jun’s words sink in. And, somehow, you know he's right. Fighting the cosmic chaos that is Kwon Soonyoung will only lead to your mental decline. It's best to accept it.

Accept that he's a furry.

Accept that he owns more than one tiger suit.

Accept that, somehow, this man is your boss.

And with that, you make peace with your fate.

Smiling to yourself, you hit the print button, finally wrapping up the report you've been working on for weeks. Several weeks have passed since you accepted your fate, and honestly, it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Soonyoung has gone from insufferable to…tolerable—a massive achievement for him. Grabbing the freshly printed report, you do a final read-through before heading toward his office to get it signed.

You pause in front of his office door, a bit nervous. This is your first time stepping into his office, and you have no idea what to expect. Taking a deep breath, you knock and wait.

"Come in," Soonyoung's muffled voice answers.

Exhaling slowly, you open the door—and instantly freeze.

Your jaw, along with the report in your hand, drops at the sight before you. A life-sized tiger statue stands near the entrance, so realistic you swear its glass eyes are following you. Dominating the back wall is a massive tiger painting, looming over the entire room.

"Y/N!" Soonyoung yelps when he sees you, quickly hurrying over, eyes scanning you with concern. "Are you okay?!"

"H-Huh?" Your focus snaps back to him. "Uh, yeah…I'm fine," you mumble.

"Soonyoung, why in the world is there a giant tiger statue in your office?!" you blurt out, wildly gesturing at the intimidating figure.

He glances over at the statue, then back at you. "Oh! That's Hochi! I somehow managed to convince the finance department it was essential for marketing a film once," he grins proudly.

"I—how?!" you exclaim, exasperated.

He simply shrugs. "I don't know. They kind of just told me I can do whatever I want with the budget as long as I leave them alone."

"Oh…" you trail off, still processing.

Soonyoung bends down to pick up the report you dropped, handing it back to you.

"Here's your paperwork. You're really okay, though?" he asks again, his voice soft with concern.

You take the documents, and as your fingers brush, a spark shoots up your spine, making your breath hitch.

"Y-Yeah," you stammer, quickly retracting your hand. "I just need you to sign this report."

"Oh, yeah! Sure thing!" he smiles and heads over to his desk to sign. While he scribbles his signature, you take the chance to steady your breathing and rub your trembling hands together.

Once done, Soonyoung hands the report back to you. And again, as you grab it, your fingers graze each other—and once again, your heart skips a beat.

You snatch your hand back, mumble a quick thank you, and make a speedy exit, silently praying he didn't notice the blush on your cheeks.

You plop down at your desk, head in your hands, brain on overdrive. Your heart won't stop racing, and the worst part is—you know exactly why.

Why the hell are you feeling like this around your boss?

Your eyes drift to your drawer. Hesitating for a beat, you reach out and pull it open. Inside, right where you left it, is the picture frame you had shoved out of sight weeks ago. The photo stares back at you—Soonyoung smiling so brightly, you almost want to return the smile. Almost.

You slam the drawer shut with a groan.

"Get your shit together, Y/N," you mutter, rubbing your face. "You cannot be catching feelings for the furry."

You inhale deeply, trying to collect yourself, only for your eyes to flick toward his office door. The memories creep back in, uninvited—the way your heart stuttered when his fingers brushed against yours.

Your heart skips again at the thought.

You groan and slam your forehead onto the desk.

Jun, who just happens to be walking by, pauses. He leans over your desk slowly, staring at you with a mix of confusion and concern.

"Uh…bestie, you good?" he asks, cautiously.

"Yup. Just peachy," you mumble, voice muffled by the desk and soaked in obvious, soul-crushing denial.

Jun blinks. "…okay then," he says slowly, backing away and deciding it was best to leave you alone.

You let out a long, suffering sigh.

Damn you Kwon Soonyoung.

Friday night—you should be home, sprawled on your couch, eating junk food and binge-watching your favourite shows to unwind from the workweek. Instead, you're here at a restaurant with your entire team, all thanks to Soonyoung's spontaneous company dinner announcement that landed in everyone's inbox earlier this week.

And of course, by some cruel twist of fate, you've ended up sitting right next to Soonyoung. The random butterflies you've been getting around him lately haven't exactly gone away, and being this close isn't doing anything to help your steadily growing crush.

Staring at the shot glass in your hand, you sigh and down it in one swift motion, silently hoping the alcohol will help calm your nerves. You glance over at Soonyoung, who's tossing back his own shots like they're water.

It doesn't take long for the alcohol to work its magic. When you glance back at him again, his cheeks are flushed, his usual high energy somehow even more amplified.

"Y/N! Take a shot with me!" he shouts enthusiastically, sliding another shot your way. You glance at the glass, then back at his bright, flushed face and figure: why not? With your buzzed state already clouding your better judgment, you knock it back. And another. And another.

Before you know it, you're just as drunk as he is—if not worse.

The alcohol makes you bold. Too bold. Before you even realise what you're doing, you're straight up flirting with Soonyoung. And what's worse? He’s flirting right back.

You lean in—close, dangerously close. The noise of the restaurant, the chatter of your coworkers, the clinking of glasses—all of it fades into nothing. Right now, it's just the two of you suspended in this charged moment.

You can feel his breath against your lips, warm and inviting, as his eyes search yours, wide and glimmering with a mixture of surprise and anticipation.

With a boldness only liquid courage can provide, you whisper, voice soft and sultry, "Wanna bring me back to your place?"

The two of you stumble into the apartment, a tangled mess of limbs, heated kisses, and wandering hands. Neither of you remembers exactly how you got here, but neither of you cares.

As soon as the door shuts, Soonyoung spins you around, pressing your back against it before crashing his lips onto yours once again. The kiss is frantic, desperate, full of pent-up tension that's finally being released. You're both breathless, but neither of you wants to pull away—the taste of him is intoxicating.

Finally, he breaks the kiss, forehead resting against yours as both of you struggle to steady your breathing. His hand gently cups your flushed cheek, thumb brushing along your skin as his gaze locks onto yours, dark and searching.

"Are you sure you want this?" he whispers, voice low and full of restraint.

You meet his eyes, lips brushing his as you mumble, "Soonyoung, just shut up and fuck me."

A breathless chuckle escapes him. "Yes, ma'am."

Without hesitation, his arms sweep under you, lifting you effortlessly. You squeal softly, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck as he carries you through the apartment.

He brings you to the bedroom and gently lays you down onto the bed as if you were something precious, never once breaking eye contact—his gaze burning with desire.

His lips crash into yours again—hungry and desperate. Your fingers twist in his hair, tugging sharply, and he groans against your mouth. His hands caress your body, sending shivers down your spine.

He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his fingers already working to strip you. Your blouse and skirt are gone in seconds, leaving you bare except for your underwear.

He pulls back just enough to drink in the sight of you, trembling, breathless—his gaze dark with hunger.

"Fuck, your gorgeous," he groans, and you squirm under the intensity of it.

"Stop staring and put your dick inside me already," you mutter, cheeks burning.

Soonyoung laughs, low and amused. "Gotta prep you first, beautiful."

Gentle fingers make quick work of your bra, his teeth grazing your skin in a teasing scrape. You gasp as your breasts are freed, and he wastes no time, claiming one with his mouth while his hand kneads the other. A moan spills from your lips as pleasure arcs through you, back arching into his touch.

He sucks hard, drawing a whimper from you, then nips playfully just to hear you gasp. You feel his smirk against your skin as he switches sides, lavishing the same torment on your other breast. Already, heat pools low in your belly, your body aching for more.

Teasing fingers drag your underwear down slowly, and you squirm beneath him. A single digit slips into your slick heat, your body's need undeniable. Your mouth falls open as his finger curls inside, coaxing a gasp from your lips. He smirks, drinking in every reaction.

His kiss is deep, possessive, as he adds a second finger. The stretch burns just enough to make you choke out a whimper, especially when he scissors you open, stretching you for what's coming.

"Taking my fingers so well," he murmurs, admiring the way you clench around him.

You whine, hiding your flushed face, and his low chuckle only deepens your embarrassment. When he withdraws his fingers, you protest with a needy whimper.

"Don't worry, beautiful," he taunts, stripping off the rest of his clothes. "I'll fill you up soon enough."

Your eyes widen at the sight of him—fuck, he's huge, even bigger than you'd imagined. You can't fathom how he’s going to fit, prep or not. Soonyoung smirks at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself.

"I'll take it slow, I promise," he promises, and you swallow hard before nodding.

He grabs a condom from the drawer, rolling it on before joining you again on the bed. His fingers brush stray hair from your face, his touch tender as he cups your cheek. Leaning in, he captures your lips in a soft kiss just as he pushes inside.

You gasp against his mouth, fingers flying to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he stretches you impossibly wide. He's so deep it's dizzying, and for a moment, he stills, letting you adjust despite the tension in his muscles.

A shaky nod and a squeeze of his shoulders is all it takes—he starts moving, slow and deliberate, and you melt at the sensation. Soonyoung groans at the way you clench around him, his breath ragged.

"S-Soonyoung, more," you whimper, and with a growl, he obliges.

His thrusts grow harder, faster, your moans filling the room as his name spills from your lips. Sweat glistens on his skin, his abs flexing under your wandering hands, and the way he shudders at your touch only spurs you on.

"Close?" he grits out. "Need you to come with me."

"R-Rub my clit," you beg, and his fingers are there in an instant, circling just right, relentless.

Pleasure coils tight in your stomach, your back arching as your vision whites out. Soonyoung fucks you through it, his rhythm faltering as he chases his own release.

"F-Fuck!" he snarls when he comes, hips jerking, refusing to stop until you're both spent.

You tremble beneath him, oversensitive and breathless, as he slows, dragging out the last waves of your climax before collapsing onto you.

The room falls into a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of your heavy, laboured breaths mingling in the air. After a moment, Soonyoung gently pulls away, earning a soft whine from you at the loss of his warmth.

He presses a tender kiss to your temple, softly shushing you. "It's okay, I'll be right back," he whispers reassuringly.

Your eyelids grow heavier, the exhaustion finally catching up to you as the adrenaline wears off. You feel yourself drifting in and out of sleep, your mind hazy and your body relaxed.

The last thing you register is the comforting sensation of a warm, damp washcloth carefully tending to your skin, his touch delicate, as he takes care of you.

You bring your arm up to block the sunlight filtering in, trying to get in a few more minutes of sleep. A low groan escapes your lips as a sharp throb pulses in your head—you really shouldn't have drunk that much.

You try to roll over, but something warm and solid prevents you from doing so.

Cracking open your eyes, your blurry vision adjusts just enough for you to make out the figure beside you. Blinking a few times, you finally realise what—or rather who it is.

"S-Soonyoung?!" you gasp, sitting up abruptly.

Your eyes dart around the unfamiliar room, panic surging through you as the memories slowly piece themselves together. You clutch your head, wincing both from the headache and the horrifying realisation. Oh no…oh god no.

You just slept with your boss.

Your breathing quickens, heart racing as worst-case scenarios flash through your mind like a disaster reel. Fired. Unemployed. Homeless. Your entire life crashing down because of one drunken night.

Beside you, Soonyoung stirs, sensing your frantic energy.

"Y/N?" he mumbles groggily, voice still thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

"Soonyoung, we—you—I—ugh!" you exclaim, words stumbling over themselves as your brain short-circuits.

He sits up beside you, clearly still half-asleep, and you quickly avert your gaze to avoid taking in his very naked state.

"Hey, hey, relax," he says gently, trying to calm you. "Why are you freaking out?"

"Why am I freaking out?! We just slept together!" you yell, flailing your arms in panic.

He blinks at you, tilting his head like a confused puppy. "And?"

You gape at him, utterly dumbfounded by his calm reaction.

"What do you mean 'and'?! If anyone finds out, we could get fired! This is serious!"

He simply shrugs, completely unfazed. "Well, I won't tell if you won't tell. So, no one's gonna know."

Your jaw drops again as you flail your arms one last time before groaning and collapsing into your hands in defeat.

"I'm way too hungover for this," you mutter, massaging your temples.

"Come on, lie back down," Soonyoung coaxes, slipping his arm around you and gently guiding you back into the bed. Too exhausted to protest, you let him.

You stare blankly at the ceiling as your mind races, anxiety swirling with every possible consequence of last night's mistake. But one thing's painfully clear:

This is definitely going to change everything.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @kwanniehae @ateez-atiny380 @junnhuisworld @horangipower17 @cheolsbb26 @scoupshawty @shuas-winnie30 @amaranthar @cherriecsc @shadowkoo @winterisnt @combinatoright-blog @my-neurodivergent-world @jennwonwoo @smiileflower @senxgwha

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sailorsoons · 7 months ago

Text

Baby (k.sy)

PAIRING: Soongyoung x f. reader

SUMMARY: Soonyoung had been in your life for as long as you can remember. You haven’t spoken since your wedding to someone who isn’t him, but when you uncover your husband’s plans to turn against your family, you don’t know who else to call.

WC: 29,988

AU: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Childhood Friends/Exes to Lovers

GENRE: Smut, Heavy Angst

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARINGS: Full warnings available under the cut.

A/N: This fic was posted on my original blog which has been deleted. I am now reposting it. I hope it does half as well as it did when I originally posted this story - thank you to everyone who left amazing feedback the first time. It genuinely made me so happy and I am so sorry that it got sent to the moon where I can no longer read it.

A/N 2: Thank you @daechwitatamic and @eoieopda for beta-reading this fic.

Warnings: Graphic violence generally associated with mafia behavior, mentions of murder and blood, morally grey characters, themes of codependency (a little bit), a bit of a toxic relationship with Soonyoung and reader at times (they like to make each other jealous), bar fights, women being very petty, recreational drinking and drug use, heavy angst, depictions of death (funerals for parents), fight scene that ends in death in a domestic situation, difficult relationships with parents, reader and her husband have a terrible relationship and hate each other, depictions of blood and stabbing in one scene (it is the most graphic scene in the whole fic but kept short), reader agonizes over decisions she's made and struggles mentally with a lot of it, depiction of a full blown anxiety attack, sexually explicit content including fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, crying during sex, a lot of making out and biting, multiple orgasms... sorry this is so long, I want to over-warn for everything happening here so if I have missed something you think needs to be warned, please tell me!

KWON SOONYOUNG IS CRYING THE FIRST TIME YOU MEET HIM. It’s a loud, warbling cry that you’re not used to, and you flinch at the pitch as you hide behind your mother. Soonyoung and his mother are standing in the grand foyer of your home, his fists twisted in her tweed skirt as he begs her not to leave him.

His mother sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. You’ve seen her around before on the arm of her husband at your family dinner parties and for afternoon tea with your mom. This is the first time you’ve seen Soonyoung, though, and you’re unimpressed as his shrieking only gets louder when she crouches down to look him in the eye fondly, brushing the tears from his face.

You don’t know a lot of other kids, but the noisiness of him startles you. Unsettles you. Sensing your unease, your mother reaches to pull you from behind her, giving you a single look that you know means please behave. You straighten immediately, turning to watch the sniffling boy as he calms down.

Soonyoung is round-cheeked, his dark eyes swollen and face reddened from working himself up. His mother murmurs something to him and he nods, wiping the snot from his face with the back of his hand.

Seungcheol must notice the crying has stopped. He appears from the kitchen, giving Soonyoung an unimpressed once over as he strides toward you and your mother. She clucks her tongue at the cheek of her eleven year old, giving him a hard look.

“Seungcheol, don’t be rude,” she admonishes. “Greet our guests properly.”

Your older brother glances at you and you lift a shoulder. He’s going to lead the family one day, it’s important for him to show manners. You know this even at a young age - have always known what his place is among your family, what your place is.

Cheol is in line to become the Tower of the Choi Syndicate, an empire that you cannot fathom at your age but you know is important. You are its insurance, a second heir if something happens to the first and a bargaining chip for future partnerships. A potential logician, if you’re good enough.

Turning to Soonyoung and his mother, Seungcheol bows politely. “It’s nice to meet you, Soonyoung. Are you here to play video games?”

Soonyoung perks up at that, looking at his mom, eyes going round. She grins and nods her head, pulling her hands from where they rest on his shoulders. “He is,” she agrees. “We thought it might be good for you to become friends.” Her gaze drifts to you. “All three of you.”

That makes you frown. You don’t really like playing video games. Seungcheol never lets you win and forces you to play for hours in exchange for him letting you borrow his AetherLink at night to scroll the internet. You’re not allowed to have one yet, even though you’re only four years younger and all of your other friends have them to enter virtual chat rooms and play online games.

“Do I have to?” you ask your mom, looking up at her.

“Yes,” she says firmly, gently nudging you by the shoulder toward where your brother is not so patiently waiting to escort you to the gaming room. “Go.”

“Why don’t you want to play?” Soonyoung asks, pouting a little.

“I’m not any good.”

“That’s okay. I’ll let you beat me.”

Seungcheol moans. “Ugh, don’t let her win. Come on. I got the new Grid Fighters game on the Reality Rift console!”

“No way!”

Seungcheol grins and shoots off toward the gaming room, Soonyoung hot on his heels. You hesitate for a moment, staring after them with indignation. Soonyoung stops at the doorway, turning to you. His face is still ruddy from crying, but he’s suddenly smiling, cheeks round and smooth.

“Come on,” he whispers. “I’ll let you win, I promise.”

“Holy fuck, can you let me win for once?” Soonyoung groans, rolling over on the mat. He’s dripping in sweat, wiping it away from his brow as he stands with effort.

Grinning, you skip away from him, reaching for your water bottle. Music pounds through the speakers of the training room. Overhead, the blue neon casts an eerie glow over the two of you. Seungcheol ignores you both in favor of using the weight machines in the far corner of the room.

On the far wall, your health and fitness data is displayed, each one of your bodies outlined and flashing as new data comes in. Right now, you’re in the red zone, heart pounding hard from your bout with Soonyoung, who is in the orange zone.

Which confirms your suspicion that he’s not trying as hard as he could be.

“Maybe if you weren’t afraid to actually hit me,” you offer. The water helps cool you down as you eye Soonyoung. Even at fourteen, he’s started to fill out his form more, arms corded as he hones himself into a weapon. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

Seungcheol scoffs from across the room. Maybe he wasn’t totally ignoring the two of you. He drops his cool-older-kid act to turn and grumble, “He’d put you on your ass, Baby. Lucky for you, he always lets you win.”

The nickname makes you bristle. You hate when people point out that you’re the baby of the family, like you’re something less than or incapable of keeping pace. You especially hate it when Seungcheol uses it to put you in your place, reminding you that one day your shithead older brother is going to be leading the family business.

The family business is the reason you spar with them at all. Occasionally Vernon joins, though those days are as unpredictable as his appearances. Usually when he’s over at your house, it’s never a good thing. His arrivals are always bracketed with the sound of his father’s manic yelling and his mother’s frantic begging, followed closely by slammed doors and your father’s calming voice.

Today it’s just the three of you, though. Soonyoung comes over and sits on the mat by your feet, holding a hand up to you. You pass him your water bottle, rolling your eyes at him even though it doesn’t really bother you.

Nothing Soonyoung does really bothers you. Since that first day he showed up at your house sobbing because his mother was leaving him for the day, he’s grown on you. More than grown on you, in fact. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t noticed your lingering gazes and the way he flusters you when he gets too close, and you hope to keep it that way.

“I don’t want to hit you,” Soonyoung offers gently, voice low over the metal clang of Seuncheol’s weights. “And it’s not ‘cause I don’t think you can’t take it,” he adds with a grin, bumping his shoulder against your leg. “I just don’t like the idea of you getting hurt.”

“Everyone treats me like a baby.”

“You are. But it’s not a bad thing. For example, you say jump and everyone says how high. Even my dad.”

That makes you smirk a little. You look at the floor, letting his words wash over you. They do ring true - there’s no one in the Syndicate who would deny you anything, and though you’re utterly terrified of Soonyoung’s dad, he would do anything for you. In a way, it was the Kwon family’s divine purpose to be by the side of the Chois.

“What about you?” you ask.

“What about me?”

“Jump.”

Soonyoung grins and sets the water bottle down, getting up to his feet at your command. “How high, Baby?”

Soonyoung doesn’t shed a tear on the day of his parents’ funeral. He’s a far cry from the little boy who showed up at your house to play video games and become friends.

Instead, he sits in silence, eyes raging - always raging, now. You don’t think the fury stops, his gaze burning the entire ceremony. His grip on your hand is like iron, and after a while, your arm tingles with pins and needles. You say nothing, willing to endure. Eventually, your arm goes numb entirely, and he keeps holding your hand.

Afterward, Soonyoung says nothing. You do the talking for him, accepting the hand shakes and bows on his behalf when he doesn’t reach out to accept them, thanking those who have come to offer him condolences and respect when he doesn’t speak.

His grip on you is steadfast. Iron and fire. Even when your father drops his gaze down with a look of disapproval, Soonyoung doesn’t let go and you don’t ask him to. If there’s any day that you can break decorum and tradition, it’s certainly now in the wake of Soonyoung’s loss.

They don’t need to know you’d let him hold you anyway.

The boy who existed before the murder of his parents is dead. You knew it before the funeral. But when the last guest finally leaves the Choi Estate and Soonyoung doesn’t shed a tear, you realize it isn’t just his parents that you’ve buried.

The sweet, gentle boy who had cried those tears for fear of his mother leaving him has died too. And you don’t think you’ll ever see him again.

“You want me to do what?” Soonyoung asks, pulling you into his room and looking out the cracked door to make sure no one else is around. “Where is your brother?”

“I have no idea.”

“You can’t just- ” Soonyoung fumbles for words as he shuts the door and takes a few steps past you into his room proper. It’s dark, safe for the glow of his AetherLink glowing with a paused video game. “Did he see you follow me up here?”

“Why are you being weird? I’m in here all the time. You live here.”

“I’m being weird? You just asked me to kiss you. Neither your brother nor your dad want you in my room in the middle of the night.”

You frown. “Since when? Look, I’m sixteen and I’ve never been kissed, and Lin just lost her virginity to Jeonghan. What happened to when I say jump you say how high?”

“Oh don’t start with me. Who cares if Lin is giving it up to Jeonghan. She blew Wonwoo like two weeks ago. It’s not a competition.”

You cross your arms over your chest, caving in on yourself a little. Maybe it was a stupid idea to ask Soonyoung after all. But you can’t get over the way all of the other girls were clinging to Lin’s every word as she spilled the details of sleeping with Jeonghan. Everyone else in your friends group had at least made out with boys - you had nothing.

Being the daughter of the leader of the Choi Syndicate has its benefits. Being accessible to do things like kissing boys and going out with your friends to new cool clubs like Echo Space and Hyper Vibe were not one of them. Getting any of the boys your age to even look you in the eye was impossible, the fear of catching the wrath of Seungcheol and your father looming over them like the Sword of Damocles.

Soonyoung is Soonyoung, though. Your father has brought him into the fold like one of his own, keeping his oath to Soonyoung’s parents to always watch over him and protect him. You’re old enough now to understand that the bonds between higher members of the Syndicate are bonds of faith and blood, of family and something more.

If anyone shouldn’t be afraid to kiss you, it’s Soonyoung. He lives down the hall from you, and he’s best friends with your brother. It wouldn’t be that weird. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you lay awake in your bed at night while you stared at the ceiling, fingers trailing your lips.

Now, you’re not so sure. The way Soonyoung recoils makes you realize you hadn’t thought of the single most important thing before marching in here and asking him to be your first kiss: maybe Soonyoung didn’t want to kiss you.

It hadn’t even crossed your mind - one of the many downsides to getting mostly everything you wanted. You’re so infrequently told no that in the light of rejection, you don’t know what to do, recoiling like you’ve been mortally wounded.

Nodding your head, you turn away from Soonyoung, throat tightening as the new wave of emotions threatens to spill over. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“Baby,” he sighs. You ignore him, bolting for the door. Soonyoung is fast, though. He snatches your arm and drags you back toward him, though you turn your face away from him to hide the evidence of oncoming tears. “Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not being like anything. It was a stupid favor to ask.”

“Would you look at me?”

“No.”

He sighs heavily. “Why are you being so difficult?”

Trying to wrench your arm from his hold is useless. He’s not hurting you, but the grip on your bicep is firm. “Well if I’m so difficult then let me go.”

“Baby.” The frustration in his voice is evident. You ignore the way your nickname rolls off his tongue, the way he’s the only person you don’t absolutely hate the name from.

“Just let me go!”

“No. Why do you want me to kiss you?”

The question is like nails against chalkboard now, your embarrassment peaking. “Forget I even asked, just let me go!”

“Fuck - are you crying?”

“No.”

“Baby, look at me.”

Too afraid that the wavering in your voice will give you away, you shake your head, refusing to turn and face him. With a growl, he gives a sharp tug on your arm, spinning you toward him. You let out a noise of protest, ready to lash out at him again when you feel his mouth on yours.

Startled, you don’t do anything at first. Soonyoung’s grip is still on your bicep, firm and steadfast. Your eyes blink for a second before they flutter closed, unsure exactly what to do beyond lean into him a little, pressing your lips firmer to his.

It’s somehow exactly what you expected and totally unexpected at the same time. Soonyoung’s mouth is softer than you were ready for, slotted gently against yours. He’s warm and smells like vanilla and sandalwood, a scent you’ve grown familiar with. Your thoughts peter out, enjoying the way he holds you to him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

When Soonyoung pulls away, you look up at him through half-lidded eyes, your breath shaky. He doesn’t pull back very far, looking down at you with a dark gaze. This close, you can see the real Soonyoung. His expression is soft, eyes sparkling in the blue light of his room. He looks so young suddenly, all of the rage and wrath that lurks under the surface of the calm mask he wears gone for just a moment.

“You have pretty eyes,” you whisper. His mouth twitches at the corner, an almost smile. “I’ve always thought you had beautiful eyes.”

He opens and closes his mouth again, trying to find words. You wait him out, heart thudding. He’s still holding you close to him, fingers digging desperately into your arm.

Footsteps thundering up the stairs wake him from his daze, Seungcheol calling your name. Soonyoung drops his hand and steps away from you, a cool mask of calm sliding into place, the vulnerability gone in an instant. “There’s your kiss,” he murmurs. “Is there anything else you need from me or do I need to jump too?”

Synth pulses through you, vibrating your very bones as you lounge on the velvet couch in a private section of the club. The lights above you are hazy, but you can make out the shapes of holographic dancers, their graphics so high definition that you can see the sweat beading down their bare backs.

From the VIP section, you have the perfect view of the DJ platform. Screens flash behind it, holographic wonders of creatures and places and visuals flashing brightly. Writhing bodies twist on the dancefloor around the DJ like a pit of snakes. Among them, you know your father’s Taps slither among the crowd, pushing drugs and psychedelics into the hands of those who can afford it.

A trained eye can spot a Tap well enough. Though they blend in with the nylon and leather of the partiers, they tend to be sharp eyed and lucid, chewing on stim pops or some other substance to keep them awake and alert.

It’s not the drug dealers in the crowd who keep drawing your attention, though. You shouldn’t be able to spot Soonyoung in the mass of bodies so easily, but you do. His hair is bleached, reflecting the flashing lights around him as he presses in close to the girl attached to him, hips swaying.

Your mouth sours. Leaning forward you snatch one of the bottles from the ice bucket and pour a shot into a crystal glass. Angel raises her brows as you slide the glass over to her and pour another for yourself. She’s not much of a drinker, but she takes the glass wordlessly, sensing your need to have a partner in crime.

Knocking it back, you hiss as the liquor burns all the way back. Even the high grade alcohol is like fire, washing away your irritation for a dizzy moment, veins buzzing. Leaning back, your eyes scan the crowd and settle on Soonyoung again. This time, he’s leading his partner through the crowd and toward the stairs. The stairs that lead to you.

Seungcheol and Wonwoo crashing onto the seat next to you breaks your concentration. Seungcheol’s pupils are wide as saucers, eyes trailing upward to dance at the visual of a woman with pink skin sliding out of her top.

Next to him, Wonwoo pulls a small bag with glittering dust from his pocket, shaking it to settle all of the contents at the bottom before unsealing the top. The way the powder glows against the lights tells you its high quality frostbyte, a powerful stimulant named for the biting feeling when inhaled.

Instead of yelling over the music, you gesture toward the bag, catching Wonwoo’s attention. He gives you a surprised look followed by a wolfish grin. Wonwoo loves when you partake in partying harder, a side everyone so rarely sees from you.

Sliding a knife from his pocket, you watch with rapt attention as Wonwoo dips it into the baggie, scooping delicately. You’d rather he cut lines on the table, but you’ll take what you can get, watching as he expertly fishes out a decent sized amount for you to take.

You’re mutely aware that a group of bodies enters your section. Vernon throws himself down next to Angel, jostling you both as you lean over Seungcheol’s half-asleep form toward where Wonwoo extends the knife toward you carefully. You ignore the weight of Soonyoung’s eyes on you as he, Mingyu and a group of girls sit down and reach to fill their glasses with liquor.

Wonwoo’s hands are steady as he holds the tip of his blade out to you, a hand held underneath to catch any powder that slips off the blade. Careful not to lose your balance and stab yourself, you level your face with the knife, inhaling sharply.

Immediately the drug bites the back of your throat, eyes watering as you tilt your head upwards and blink for a second, letting it settle. Sniffing harshly a few times, you clear your nasal passage and blow out a breath, feeling the softest beginning of a tingle as you look at Wonwoo, who is still holding his hands out to you.

“Thanks,” you nod. He grins and pulls back, rubbing the excess powder along his gums as you fall heavily against the back of the booth.

Turning to look at your brother, you elbow him. “Are you alive?”

“Mhmm,” he grunts, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. Lights dance across his face, all pinks and blues and purples as he breathes in heavily. “I am fucked right now. Can you get me a stim pop from Hoshi? If I do anymore frostbyte I’m gonna get a nosebleed. Again.”

Actually, asking Soonyoung for anything is the last thing you want to do. However, your brother does look like he needs to wake up, the mess of drugs and alcohol in his system working overtime to put him on his ass. Stim pops are a quick fix, a careful mix of sweet candy and methylphenidate to wake up the nervous system. Soongyoung always has them on his person, especially for when he works late night shifts.

Turning in the booth, you’re smacked with a wave of color. For a moment, you drink it in, tilting your head upward as the figures dancing above explode into a world of lavender butterflies. They’re utterly captivating, your eyes watching them twist and dance in the air as they flutter.

A laugh bubbles from your lips, entirely childlike. Grinning, you watch them for a few moments more before they disintegrate into stars, entire solar systems hovering and floating through the space above your head.

Seungcheol elbowing you breaks you from your concentration. Right. Stim pop. From Soonyoung. Glancing at the man in question makes your stomach plummet. Soonyoung’s head is resting against the back of the booth, the girl next to him draped over him with her mouth pressed hot to his throat, her teeth overly white in the blacklight of the club.

A surge of rage shivers through you, your nails scratching across the green velvet, leaving marks in their wake. Leaning forward, you reach out a hand and smack Vernon’s knee to get his attention. He turns his lazy gaze on you, brows raised. When you point at Soonyoung, he nods and yells over his shoulder to get your target’s attention.

Soonyoung’s eyes flutter open and flick to where you’re sitting. He drinks in your expression before muttering something to the woman mouthing at his neck and peels her off, standing up and shuffling over to you. Angel makes room for him, all but sliding into Vernon’s lap as Soonyoung crashes down on the couch next to you.

“Hi, Baby. What’s up?”

“Cheol needs a stim pop,” you answer curtly, leaning away from him. He smells like vanilla and sandalwood laced with alcohol. Soonyoung is so close you can feel his body heat, his breath fanning across your bare shoulder as he moves to look at Seungcheol half asleep on your other side. “Then you can go back to your little public sex session.”

Soonyoung makes an angry cat noise, narrowing his eyes at you as he smirks. He leans toward you further to reach into his pocket, shoulder pressed against you. His scent fills your nose, heady and familiar. You’re dizzy with it, the touch of his warmth against your skin making you flush.

Suddenly, his nearness is overwhelming. Every hair on the back of your neck stands on end, your skin hypersensitive to the way he leans against you. The glow of the lights is sharper than you remember, and you swear you feel the blood rushing through your body.

A response that could be either because of the drugs you inhaled a moment ago or because Soonyoung is pressed against you and you have the sudden urge to lean into him, to feel his warmth, to press your lips against his and feel their softness.

In an attempt to save yourself from the trap, you shove back at him. He huffs, glaring at you as he fishes a stim pop out of his pocket and hands it over to you. You’re careful to avoid his touch when you snatch it from his nimble fingers, turning your back on him in the booth to look at Seungcheol.

“Why are you being a brat?” His voice is loud over the music, shouted into your ear as he tilts back into your space again. You can feel the warmth of him on your back.

“Go away.”

“Baby, please don’t start with me.”

“I’m not starting fuck with you.”

Seungcheol cracks an eye open to observe your argument with a look of interest. Seungcheol’s pupils are dilated like moons, totally empty of any coherent thought. You peel the wrapper off the stim pop, careful to hold it by the cardboard stick as you pop it into your brother’s mouth.

For a few moments, your brother lolls the candy around his mouth, sucking greedily. Then, he blinks his eyes open, pupils narrowing as he drinks in the lights and the clubs. He sighs in relief, patting your thigh gratefully as the stimulant chases away whatever else is washing him out.

When you turn around, Soonyoung is still lingering, his dark eyes fierce and focused only on you. He looks good tonight. He looks good every night. He has become your picture perfect torture since that night you asked him to be your first kiss, kickstarting something you were incapable of foreseeing.

The bleached hair is new and you hate how much you like it. The silvery strands look just as soft as his natural black, and it’s a nice contrast to his dark eyes and sharp cheekbones. Those stormy eyes are staring at you now, something playful that you don’t like glittering under the surface.

He pouts at you. “Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you. Go away!”

“You definitely are. What did I do, hmm? Tell me.”

“Please fuck off.”

He rolls his eyes, peeling himself off the couch and muttering something under his breath. You’re sure he has nothing nice to say, so you sink further into the couch, crossing your hands over your chest as you sulk.

Sticky air clings to your skin. You can feel your heart racing in your chest, the music vibrating your ribcage. Your anger is like a monster given life, fueled by the frostbyte and the feverish anger taking root in your stomach as Soonyoung settles back in his spot, pressing his mouth sloppily to the woman next to him.

And that’s the problem, really. It’s not you that is pressing your mouth to his jaw while he leans against the back of the seat. It isn’t you running manicured nails down the front of his shirts, pulling at buttons despite the audience.

It isn’t you and it should be. You want it to be.

It’s been two years since Soonyoung kissed you for the first time in his room. You’ve had more experience with other people since then, but it dulls in comparison to his simple kiss. You hate it. What you hate even more is how childish it makes you feel, embarrassment heating your cheeks and throat when he catches your gaze across the booth and you divert your attention.

For the second time, Soonyoung peels the girl off of him, making like he’s going to get up and come sit next to you again. This time, his companion keeps him rooted to the spot, her nails digging into his forearm as she hisses something at him. He groans, head tilted back like he’s once again the most inconvenienced man in the room.

Wanting nothing more than to blot him out, you call Wonwoo’s name again, leaning forward heavily for more frostbyte. Soonyoung whistles and snaps his finger in your direction as though to tell you no. You bristle, your anger turning to an inferno, burning up inside of you.

Vernon and Angel both cringe, leaning out of your line of fire as you swivel to angle yourself toward Soonyoung, hands shaking. “Don’t fucking whistle and snap at me! I’m not a dog.”

“Baby, you don’t need more. Your pupils are the size of Mingyu’s big ass head.”

Mingyu, though right next to Soonyoung, doesn’t hear the insult, his tongue being sucked down the throat of the girl sitting in his lap, hips grinding on him. Another girl is pressed to his side, teeth nipping at his jaw. At least someone is having fun, you think, the three of them totally aware of the crackling tension in their booth.

The girl attached to Soonyoung’s neck a moment ago bristles when she hears your nickname. “Baby?” she asks, face scrunching. “Are you serious?”

“Chill out, Victra. It’s her nickname.”

“Yeah,” you agree, shooting her a venomous look, despite her doing nothing to earn your ire. “Chill, Victra.”

Once again, you turn your back on Soonyoung, standing and scooting Seungcheol over to swap places with him. He does so with a keen eye, watching the scene unfold as he sucks his lollipop happily, content to watch the drama.

Wonwoo dips his knife into the bag as you settle in next to him, bouncing with excitement. “I love when you do drugs, you’re so much fun.”

“I don’t feel very fun right now.”

“Drugs will fix it!”

“Wonwoo, don’t you dare give her that,” Soonyoung warns. He pries Victra’s hands off of him, leaning forward as though to reach across the table.

“Ignore him,” you insist.

Wonwoo hesitates, stuck between a rock and a hard place. The last thing he wants to do is tell you no. No one but your father and older brother get to tell you no. Wonwoo knows this better than most people. But he also doesn’t want to cross Soonyoung, a venture nearly as dangerous as pissing off Seungcheol.

Soonyoung hisses at the girl next to him, “Stop clawing at me! Baby, please stop being stubborn for one moment. Just one. ”

“Why the fuck did you even bring me up here?” Victra interrupts, ignoring Soonyoung’s plea. “You’ve done nothing but fawn over her since we got here. This isn’t fun.”

Soonyoung ignores her. “If you’re mad at me, be mad at me. Stop blowing shit up your nose to prove a point and be a bitch, though.”

“I’m not proving fuck, Soonyoung. And Victra’s right, go fuck her in the bathroom or something and stop telling me what to do.”

“So it is about her?”

“I have a name!” The her in question snaps. You turn around, temper flaring as you level your glare at her. She turns her nose up at you as she says, “It’s obvious you’re bothered he brought me here. Your jealousy is insufferable.”

“Ding, ding ding,” Seungcheol imitates a bell. You turn around to look at Victra. “Round one! Fight!”

It takes a second for Victra’s words to land. It’s like each one hits you a second apart, packing their own punch as you register them. The pulsing music around you fades to a dull roar as you stare at her, seeing the way her lips twitch upward as she realizes she’s right. You are jealous that Soonyoung brought her up here.

Victra’s grin is all it takes for you to spill over. Before you can register what you’re doing, you’re out of your seat and leaping over the table at her, knocking over glasses and bottles. Wonwoo cheers in delight behind you as your brother catches you by the waist, trying to keep you on your side of the booth as you tear at his hands to get across the booth.

Seeing the attack of opportunity while you’re subdued, Victra shoots to her feet. Angel is fast as an adder, one moment sitting in Vernon’s lap and the next striking Victra down into the booth, knee planted in her stomach. Vernon does nothing to stop his girlfriend, opting instead to reach for a water bottle, unscrewing it to take a sip as his girlfriend pins Victra down to the seat with little effort.

Noticing for the first time that their friend is in distress, the two women with Mingyu lift their heads. As soon as one starts to slide from his lap to reach for Angel, you kick a foot out, striking the bucket of alcohol and ice. The bucket goes flying at her, hitting her hard in the face. She screams, crumbling in Mingyu’s lap, cradling her face.

Mingyu and Soonyoung are on their feet in seconds, soaked from the waist down and trying to gain control of the situation as it spirals. Mingyu becomes a blockade between Victra’s two friends, trying to keep them on their side of the booth. Soonyoung is prying a bottle from a hand before it can make its way toward you, yelling something indecipherable.

Angel is still pressing her knee deep into Victra’s gut. Victra’s attention has diverted from you entirely as she screams like a wounded animal, pushing and scratching at Angel’s knee to try and get her off. You’re sure it hurts, but Angel doesn’t budge, sinking her weight into it.

Leaning down, you grab something to lob at them - someone’s shoe - but Seungcheol manages to haul you off your feet and spin you, planting you into the booth behind him. You growl, shoving at his legs to move him out of the way, trying to re-engage.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts. “Are you fucking juicing? Why are you so strong?”

“It’s the drugs,” Wonwoo offers unhelpfully. “Really top of the line drugs.”

“Shut up, Wonwoo!” Both you and Seungcheol bark at the same time.

Wonwoo holds up his hands, leaning back into the seat as he watches the mess unfold with a delighted grin. You strike out with your foot, slamming against the booth’s table, shoving it in Soonyoung’s direction. You hear glass shatter as more things fall off the table, clattering to the ground. There are shrieks and curses that you can’t see with Seungcheol blocking the way.

“He’s a fucking asshole!” You seethe to your brother, panting with rage.

“He is, and you did exactly what he wanted you to do.” You try to kick the table again but he stops you, grabbing your knee. You feel like you can’t get enough air, sweat slicking your skin and the velvet of the couch too sharp against your flesh. “Soonyoung loves a fight when he’s fucked up. You know that.”

“Well fuck him!”

He pulls the stick from his mouth, candied stim gone. He tosses it onto the floor and looks over his shoulder where Mingyu and Soonyoung are corralling the three women out of the booth. “God, Angel broke that girl's rib I think. Hahahha!”

“I want to break her fucking face!”

“I think you broke her friend's face. She is fucked up. That bucket hit her right in the eye. What a shot.”

“If you’re so entertained, why’d you get in my way?”

“There’s a lot of eyes here.” You glance around, noticing other booths looking at you, people ducking toward one another to whisper. “You have an image to maintain.”

Adjusting your shirt, you settle back into the booth. “Alright. Alright I’m good.”

When Seungcheol moves out of the way to take a seat, Soonyoung replaces him. You glare up at him, feeling your anger curl up in you again. His lips twitch, a hint of a smirk as he sits down next to you, sighing heavily and tilting his head to look up at the flashing lights.

The girls are nowhere to be found. Angel is sitting back down next to Vernon who hasn’t moved, and there are servers picking up the mess you made. Mingyu is notably absent, though you can guess where he’s gone for the night. He’s good at making scorned lovers feel better about their bad luck.

“Jealousy is crazy on you,” Soonyoung notes, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he glances at you sidelong. “I kind of like it.”

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” you warn. He laughs, the fight totally leaving him. “I’m serious. Don’t ever do that to me again, Soonyoung. Not to me.”

“Alright, alright. When you say jump, right?”

Soonyoung’s fingers brush against yours. Just the rough feeling of his calluses against the tips of your fingers has you shivering, anger replaced with want. He doesn’t take your hand, doesn’t move to do anything else but lean back in silence with your fingers touching.

Resigned, you say nothing else to him. You’d got what you wanted - sort of - even if you know you made an ass out of yourself doing it. It isn’t the first time he’s made you jealous, but it is the first time it’s boiled over so violently.

You remind yourself not to do frostbyte when you’re mad anymore.

You turn your attention to where Angel is snorting frostbyte up her nose off of her boyfriend’s phone, accidentally turning on the hologram as she does, her face suddenly caged by green screen data. You call her name gently. She looks up at you, pupils blown, reflecting the lights dancing above like dark glass. “Thanks,” you offer.

Her grin is too wide, teeth too white. She reminds you of a demon more than she does an angel. “Anytime.”

When you settle back in, you glance at Soonyoung once. He looks down at you, smirking a single time before he leans into you and rests his head on your shoulder. You feel him melt into you, sighing as his eyes close and he nuzzles a little closer. You put your hand on his thigh, squeezing once before you leave it there, feeling the heat of his skin through his pants.

It isn’t until he’s almost asleep, pressed as close as possible to you that you realize maybe he got what he wanted too.

Rain washes over the black city, the mist turning the thousands of digital and holographic advertisements into a watercolor smear of neon. It smells wet and like rot, the drains overworked and belching water and trash back out into the street as you walk, feet splashing.

You quickly duck out of the way of a group of rowdy men spilling from a bar. You can smell the drink on them, their feet sloshing in the rising water of the street as they dredge toward the next bar. They whistle at the pretty girls dressed in light up raincoats and flickering green contacts, stumbling toward a brothel instead of the bar.

Gripping your umbrella tighter, you quicken your steps. Grease smoke drifts toward you from various hawker carts, the sizzle of meat making your stomach growl. You ignore them, knowing you have dinner with your family later as you take a corner and plunge into the darkness of an underground stairwell.

The LEDs on your umbrella cast a pink light as you descend the stairs, careful not to slip on the caked grime. Two guards stand outside metal double doors, music pulsing faintly behind it. They look you up and down, ready to deny entry until you state your name at the bottom of the steps.

“ID?” the one on the right asks, giving you a critical eye.

Of course he doesn't believe you. The daughter of the Tower would never walk anywhere without a body guard, especially in this part of the city. You spin the umbrella, the pink coalescing as he takes the phone from your hand and taps it, blue lighting up his face when your ID and profile appear in holographic data above the screen.

He clears his throat and bows at the waist. When his counterpart doesn’t, he smacks him hard on the back, making the man lean over. “Apologies, Miss Choi. Right this way.”

Music hits you full on when the doors open, the base creating static in the air. You cringe as it vibrates through your ribcage and teeth, wondering how anyone could stand to be in a club this loud. Popping the umbrella shut, you let your eyes adjust while one security guard remains at the door, shutting it behind you, and the other hands you your ID.

“Should I escort you to the office, Miss?”

Writhing bodies dance together, scintillating like snakes in a pit. Above them, lasers and holograms light up the world with flashes of colors you didn’t even know existed. A wide bar stretches to the left of the floor, lit up by soft cyan lights. Behind it, the bartenders move in a blur, the glow on their clothes turning them ethereal.

You glance at the security guard, who waits patiently before shaking your head. You point to the space above the bar where there are two large, mirrored windows looking out into the club. “Up there?”

“Yes,” he answers, hesitating. “Let me escort you.”

With a roll of your eyes you nod, gesturing to him to lead the way. He clears a path, clubbers and workers alike moving out of his way when he shoves them. You walk behind him, swinging your head from side-to-side as you look at the people, fascinated.

People with spikes pierced in their skin and whorling tattoos with glow ink stare back at you, glowing contact lenses and gemmed teeth all taking you in. You rarely get to mix in with the crowd that partakes in more unique cosmetic alterations and fashion, fascinated by someone who walks by with red glowing face tattoos like a demon mask.

At the foot of the stairs, the guard lets you walk up first. It’s clear of people, so he remains standing at the bottom, taking up an imposing position with his hands linked in front of him, blocking the stairway entirely.

The thud of music vibrates through your boots as you climb the stairs, greeting another security guard. You can tell he’s already been warned you’re here - he bows immediately and keys in the pad at the door, opening the office for you.

You pass by him airily, stepping into the dry and much cooler office. The door closes behind you, immediately cutting off the sound with high–tech sound proofing. Soonyoung is leaning against the bar, his back to the door as he watches out the windows, a glass in his hand.

“What in the fuck are you doing?” he asks, tossing you a look over his shoulder. You grin, skipping over to him. He doesn’t grin back, looking you up and down as you join him. You reach for the decanter he’s drinking from but he smacks your hand, viper fast. “Not a chance.”

“What? Why not?”

“You shouldn’t be here, much less without a security team. The Tower will be livid.”

“The Tower doesn’t have to know.”

Soonyoung’s jaw flexes. “The security team will tell him you were here.”

“Not if you tell them not to.”

“Baby,” he sighs, tilting his head up and closing his eyes. You lean against the bar, watching him. The lights from the club are dimmer in here, but they flash against his face, painting him in golden light. He’s beautiful. “What are you doing here?”

“Angel said you had a bad day.”

“I always have a bad day. And tell Angel to shut her mouth.”

You snort. “You tell her that.”

That gets a grin out of him. He lowers his head, dark gaze finding yours. “You can’t just walk around the Lower City without a personal guard, Baby.”

“I’m not helpless.”

“I know you’re not. I’m not either but people try to rob me all the time. You, on the other hand, are a lot prettier of a prize than I am.”

“So you think I’m pretty?”

This time when Soonyoung sighs, it’s affectionate. He sips his glass of amber liquid, turning to watch the crowd outside the office. He holds out his glass to you, a concession. You grin further, accepting it from him and bring it up to your nose to smell. You don’t know anything about liquor, but from the spiced scent you can tell it’s good quality.

You take a tiny sip. It goes down smooth - strong, but good and warm. Instead of giving him the glass back, you cradle it to your chest, leaning against the bar next to him close enough that your arms are almost touching. He continues looking out at the crowd, keen eyes serious and back to work while you look at him.

Soonyoung is beautiful. His side profile is lethal, the slope of his neck elegant, the curve of his jaw sharp but delicate, his high cheekbones catching the light. His eyes are dark pools, reflecting the snatches of light that come through the dark windows.

“Did you come here to stare at me?” he asks, never taking his eyes off the crowd.

“What if I said I did?”

His mouth twitches at the corner. “Unfortunately I would believe you.”

Watching over clubs isn’t usually Soonyoung’s job. But this club is in a terrible part of the city and isn’t worth much to the Choi Syndicate, so sometimes he’s awarded the opportunity to prove himself to your father and to the elders of the Syndicate that he’s competent and capable of leadership, despite the fact you’ve always known him to be.

Soonyoung isn’t meant for leading like Seungcheol. But there is a certain level of loyalty and understanding he has to cultivate with the heavies of the family, the Swords who carry out the bloody tasks of removing people from the way and keeping assets safe. His father had been the Sentinel of your family for years until his death, and Soonyoung is expected to pick up that mantle.

This is all a part of that. Soonyoung already has the loyalty of the security team running this hole in the wall, alerting him the second you arrived and refusing to let you go up the stairs alone. Had they failed to do that, you might think a little less of them.

Soonyoung also probably would have had them beaten.

Finally, Soonyoung turns to look at you. He sighs and raises his brows expectantly.

“What?” you ask.

“What did you come here for? Real answer, this time.”

“I told you. Angel said you had a bad day. That is my real answer.”

“And?”

You shrug, sipping from the glass and turning toward the windows. “I wanted to make it a better one.”

That makes him go silent. You can see him turn to look at you, his stormy gaze pinning you to the spot. You don’t look at him, letting him stare as you nurse the drink and watch the dancing crowd down below. They’re beautiful, in a way, an ocean of bodies saying as colors turn them blue and then green and then bright red and then lavender.

Soonyoung leans toward you, bumping his head on yours lightly. That gets a laugh out of you, stomach fluttering and wishing he would stay leaned against you. He pulls away though, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his eyes back to his job.

“Thank you,” he finally says, voice quiet. “It is already a better day.”

The silence is comfortable. You eventually give him the drink back and he takes it, tongue darting out to lick the lip gloss you left. He hums. “Cherries.”

“You’re gross.”

He smiles into the glass, taking a sip. “I actually have something for you.”

“A present?”

He snorts. “Not exactly. Go to the desk - top drawer on the right.”

Eagerly, you do as he says. The heavy wooden desk sits in the back of the room, imposing even without the metal lockers behind it with weapons. You ignore the heavy guns under padlocks and go for the drawer in question.

A rectangular box is in the drawer Soonyoung specified, unmarked. You turn it over in your hands, curious. It’s not very heavy and fits mostly in your palm.

“Bring it over here.”

You do, trailing back to Soonyoung. He extends his hand and you pass it over to him, watching with interest as he cracks the box open with the sheer strength of his fingers. He pulls out a small device, a wire and what looks to be a plug, tossing the box to the bar.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks, holding up the device.

It’s a small rectangle with a keypad and a screen. You raise your brows in surprise. “It is a very old phone.”

“It is.” He smiles, pleased with your answer. He passes the materials over to you and you hold them against your chest. “That’s the charger and the charging cord. It’s one of the old kinds of phones that requires a phone tower. There are barely any in the city.”

“And what is this gift for?”

“I own the phone towers that support it.” You raise your brows. Soonyoung rarely spends the inheritance his parents left behind, so you’re surprised. “It only has a single phone number programmed into it that will call the one I have.”

At this, he reaches into his pocket and produces the phone’s twin. He shakes it for emphasis, pressing a button and lighting up the screen. “You have to make sure to keep it charged. I want you to have it for emergencies only. And I mean emergencies, Baby. This is a last resort kind of device, alright?”

You chew your bottom lip, dragging your eyes to look up at him. “Why?”

“Because I need to know that you always have a last resort.” His gaze darkens. “Clearly your assigned security team lets you give them the slip. I need to know that you can hit the dial on this faster than you can on our phones. They’re overly complicated and not quick. With this?”

He reaches over and turns on the phone in your hand. Once booted, he presses the one button. The device in his hand starts ringing. “Direct and fast access to me at all times. Do it even if you can’t tell me where you are. I’ll find you.”

Emotion twists your throat. You grip the phone with a vice grip, looking up at him with wide eyes. His face is serious. He slips his phone in his pocket, turning back to do his job. “I will answer,” he promises. “It doesn’t matter when and where. I will answer that phone even if I’m dying. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

He nods. “Good.”

A knock on your door wakes you up from a dreamless sleep. Darkness spills across your room like ink as you slip from your bed, cursing when you kick the corner of your nightstand. With a raspy voice, you ask the automated room assistant to turn on the nightlights, a hazy purple immediately lighting the circumference of your room.

Squinting against the lavender glow, you pad over your room to open the door. Soonyoung is leaning heavily against the wall just beyond the threshold, his chin tucked to his chest and his hair sweaty and clinging to his temples.

He doesn’t move when you open the door, the lilac light casting an eerie radiance on the side of his face. It’s hard to make out his expression in the lurking shadow of the hallway, and he offers no explanation for why he’s knocking on your door at three in the morning.

“Soonyoung?” you whisper, eyes darting down the hall. No one else is around. “Where are Cheol and Vernon?”

“S’cheol is still working. Vernon went to stay at Angel’s.”

“Are you - Soonyoung are you drunk? Or high?”

“Yeah.”

Both you realize. You can deal with both.

Grabbing him by the hand, you tug him gently. He pushes off the wall with heavy steps, stumbling through your open door and into the room. You grip him tighter, shutting your door with a gentle click before turning around to face him.

Soonyoung won’t look at you, turning his face away as he sways a little where he stands. Now that you can see him fully, you realize that there is blood on the collar of his shirt. Heart thudding, your hands reach for it, peeling it back to look at his neck. Specs of dry crimson flake from sweaty skin, making your terror reach new heights.

He shrugs you off. “Not mine.”

“I - what’s going on?”

Instead of answering you, he walks a few crooked steps toward your bed and sits down on the edge. Licking your lips, you approach him slowly. He’s slouched over, elbows pressed to his knees as his head hangs heavily. He still hasn’t looked at you properly and you’re aching to see his eyes. You can always understand him better when you see his eyes, able to read the depth of emotions hiding beneath his mask.

When you reach him, you crouch down. Instead of grabbing for him again and risking him pulling away, you rest your hands on top of your knees. When afraid or upset, Soonyoung is like a cornered animal. You don’t know whether he’s in fight or flight, both just as dangerous as the next.

“Soonyoung,” you say again gently. You watch his every move. “You’re scaring me. Do you need me to call Cheol or Vernon?”

If Seungcheol is working the circuit, he isn’t the best to call. Late night circuits include going from club to club under the Choi banner to monitor the drug trafficking and attend small business meetings as appropriate. Seungcheol will drop whatever he’s doing for you in a heartbeat, but it’s more complicated than that.

In theory, Vernon is easier to get a hold of. He’s already off work and though he might not answer his phone if you call, you know his girlfriend will. Plus, the blood on Soonyoung’s shirt and skin can give you a guess at what’s happened, and Vernon is more equipped for that type of thing than you are.

“Let me call Vernon-”

“No,” he finally says. “No. Sorry. I just.”

Your chest squeezes in pain. It’s like you can feel the torture radiating through him, feel the weight of whatever it is that’s dragging him down yourself. Desperation drives you to reach out toward him slowly, watching for any sign of startling him. When he doesn’t move to pull away, you touch him gently, squeezing his knee gently. “What do you need?”

“My dad always said I should feel something.” His words are halting, coming out slurred. You wait, holding your breath as he works through them. “Always said that you should feel something when you kill someone. If you don’t, it means you’re nothing more than a beast with base instincts. Not intelligent or refined.”

It takes everything in you not to let your grip turn to steel at his words. Instead, you rub your hand up and down his thigh soothingly, saying nothing. Soonyoung has never killed someone before. You would know if he had. He’s the last in your immediate circle of friends beside yourself to take on the weight of stealing life, and you’ve dreaded this day for a long time.

Murder is an inevitability in your family. Keeping the Choi Syndicate on top requires sacrifice, cruelty and cunning. Soonyoung had started serving as an officially ranked member of the Syndicate over a year ago, and though he had fucked up a lot of people and brought them to the brink of death, he hadn’t actually done it yet.

“I felt nothing,” he whispers, voice thick. “Fucking nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was no guilt. I didn’t even flinch. It was so easy, like fucking breathing. That’s not what my dad wanted me to be. He always said that those who felt nothing were just… baser creatures. That we were better because we were… made better.”

“I think your dad wanted a lot of things. You being alive was the most important of those things, Soonyoung.”

“I’m just tired of feeling fucking empty. I don’t give a shit that I killed someone, Baby. Honestly? I was fucking looking forward to it. I thought maybe - just maybe - I would feel something, even if it was guilt or horror or satisfaction. There was nothing.”

You have no idea what to say. Instead of words, you surge forward, letting go of Soonyoung’s knee to push yourself between his thighs, wrapping your arms around his middle. He flinches for a moment, arms hanging dead at his side as you press your cheek to his chest, squeezing.

Inside, you feel your heart crack open. You shove down the overwhelming sense of despair on his behalf, instead focused on him. There’s nothing to say with words, and you hope he can feel what you’re trying to tell him through touch, that he can feel everything you don’t know how to say as you hold him tight, clinging to him.

Slowly, his arms encircle you. It takes him a moment, but he applies a little pressure back. It makes you scoot in more, pressed as close as you can get to him. He buries his face in your neck, his breaths warm and smelling like tequila. He smells like him too, vanilla and sandalwood.

“I don’t feel like a person sometimes,” he whispers. “It’s like the ability for me to feel anything died forever ago. Like I killed it so that I didn’t ever have to hurt again. Now I only ever feel when-”

He cuts himself off and sinks into you a little more. You bear his weight, willing to carry any burden for him. You don’t think he realizes that he could ask you to jump and you’d say how high. You’ve always been willing to jump for him, always willing to do whatever he wants, whatever he needs.

Gently, you ask, “You only ever feel when what? You can tell me if you want. Whatever you need.”

“I feel when I’m with you.” Soonyoung whispers it like it’s a secret he doesn’t want you to hear. You feel the words hit your skin where he speaks them, a shiver slithering through you. His grip on you tightens a little with the admission, like now that he’s said it, he can’t let go. Won’t. “I feel most like a person when I’m with you.”

Pressing the flat of your hand to his back, you begin to stroke up and down slowly, touch following the careful ridges of his spine. He sighs, shivering in your hold. You want nothing more than to take the pain or whatever he’s feeling away, to rip it from him and to destroy it.

The fierceness of your love for him is hard to tamp down. A fiery admission of your feelings for him isn’t what he needs right now. You know Soonyoung like the inside of your own soul, everything that makes him tick, every habit he’s picked up over the years. You can sense him standing lost at sea, needing an anchor. Needing you.

“Okay,” you say softly. “So stay with me. Be a person with me.”

“I’m not made for you.”

“Yes you are.” Your nails dig into his back through his shirt, pressing sharply. The desire to covet him is so intense it overtakes you. “If I make you a person, then how could we be made for anyone but one another?”

Silence greets your logic. You stay holding him like that, desperate to keep him there, terrified he’ll shrug you off and get up. He’s done it before, shucking off your affection like something to be disposed of. And still you give it to him freely, begging him to take it.

He doesn’t shy away from you. Instead you feel him nod, mouth brushing tenderly across your throat in the ghost of a kiss. “If I stay right now, you will never get me to leave. Do you understand? I won’t… I will be incapable of ever letting you go. Ever. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

You hug him tighter. “Try to leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung.”

“Where’s your other half?” the voice causes you to turn from where you lean against the bar. Angel slides up next to you, cocking her head as she does. She looks like a wraith, dressed in a rain slicker over black long-sleeved shirt that’s tucked into black pants. Her jacket and combat boots are wet, suggesting it’s still raining outside. “You’re usually attached at the hip. My therapist calls that codependency. Says Hansol and I have it too.”

“Does your therapist also know you’re a murderer?” you mutter. The bartender slides drinks over to you and you nod in thanks. “Or that you’re only seeing her because Jeonghan made a bet with you? Or that your job often involves extortion? What does she think about that?”

As a Rook of the Choi Syndicate, Angel’s job is a far cry from the holy nickname she’s sported since she was a child. Like Vernon, her role within your father’s empire is to collect debts owed to the Choi family and to remind them never to fall behind on payments. Other times, she’s simply used as a good tool to put the fear of god into enemies of the Choi family, and she’s good at it.

Raised under the careful tutelage of the Yoon family, there’s no weakness Angel can’t find and use. The only one better at it than her is her step brother, who is probably sitting next to your brother behind closed doors somewhere in the Choi Estate holding a meeting.

As Seungcheol’s future second in command, it’s Jeonghan’s responsibility to learn the ropes just like your brother. One day, it’ll be the two of them leading your family, a thought that makes you cringe with worry.

Angel answers your question with a shrug. “I’m sure she knows I’m into some shit. I’m learning all kinds of new things about myself.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“I don’t like therapy. And I kind of want to ask my therapist why she thinks she’s qualified for therapy when she’s fucking three of her clients.”

A snort escapes you as you shake your head. Of course Angel knows that about her own therapist. Lifting the two drinks on the bar, you drift away from her, eyes flicking over the Rook. “Stay out of trouble, Angel. And give Vernon my love.”

She grins, wicked sharp and deadly. “No bar fights, hmm? Enjoy the party.”

The party in question is exhausting. You’ve been playing pretty princess all night, saying hello to all of the right people, shaking all of the jeweled hands, kissing all of the right asses. You’re exhausted and the tension in your shoulder has been knotting further and further.

Once upon a time you would have been thankful to at least not be Seungcheol. He shouldered a lot more responsibility. Now you’ve realized that you don’t shoulder less than him - it’s just different. If Seungcheol is the sword and shield of the Syndicate, you’re the face and smile. Galas, charities, celebrity events - it’s a never ending stream of smile, pose, shake hands.

It doesn’t hide the fact that you sit on a throne that belongs to a criminal empire, of course. But it’s also no secret that the Three Syndicates run the city. Your family has long been one of the stalwart backbones of the government and city infrastructure. Only the Kim family and the Yong family come close.

Still, appearances are everything. Especially when the Yong family owns most of the media outlets, weaponizing it against the Choi Syndicate every chance they get. You make it harder for them, using your appearances and platforms like a carefully wielded sword.

Spotting Soonyoung among those dressed in dark security uniforms is easy. He nearly blends in with the dark pipe and drape that has been set up all over the ballroom of your home, but you could find him anywhere, your internal compass pointing to him even in the dark.

Soonyoung’s eyes alight on you, sharp and intense. His face is a cool mask of indifference, but you can see the way interest sparks in his eyes as he drinks you in. He’s already seen you in your dress tonight, but it doesn’t stop him from refamiliarizing himself, eyes tracing every dip and curve.

God you wish you were somewhere else with him. Specifically wrapped in the gray sheets of his bed, sweat-slicked and out of breath.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you say shyly, handing him a drink.

He takes it and looks up at you, arching a brow. “I can’t drink this, I’m working.”

“It’s just soda with lime, the way you like it.”

His lips twitch in a smile as he takes a sip, nodding in confirmation. He doesn’t reach out to you and hold you close like you know he wants to, respecting the propriety of his position and the fact that he is on the clock right now.

“You look tired,” he murmurs, eyes studying your face.

So does he. As an official Sword of the Choi family, his job keeps him out late, bloodied, and tired. He’s completely changed from the man who sank into your arms that first night he killed someone, hardened into someone that your father sends to do just that often.

A weapon. A Sword. A trusted knife in the dark for the Choi family.

You think Soonyoung is more capable than being a heavy for your dad and his associates. Soonyoung is intelligent and sharp, having gained perspective and a wealth of knowledge from living with your family. Still, his dad had been the leader of the hired guns for the Choi Syndicate. Soonyoung is an efficient killer, his fate bound by his father long ago.

“When are you off tonight?” you ask instead of telling him how tired he looks.

“I’m not.” You frown. He sips his drink again and gives you a soft smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s been busy. The Yong family are getting in our way at the docks. I gotta head down there with Vernon and Jeonghan after the party.”

“The Yongs are doing it outright?”

“No. We’re pretty confident it’s them though. Jeonghan is working on it. If we can bring the Xu family under our wing, it would be a lot easier to push them out.”

“They have a son,” you note, thinking about the last event you attended where the Xu heir was in attendance. “Maybe marriage to one of our big hitters? Nexus Capital has an heiress.”

“I’ll mention it to Jeonghan. Who the fuck would want an arranged marriage, though?”

“Not me,” you laugh, wiping the eyelash you spot on his cheek gently. He gives you a tired, albeit affectionate smile. “You’ve been working nonstop. Tell Seungcheol you need a night off.”

“We both know it’s not Seungcheol working me to the bone, Baby.”

Swallowing thickly, you turn away from him under the guise of scanning the crowd. You know you don’t fool him. Both you and Soongyoung know your father does not approve of your relationship, taking it out on Soonyoung to keep him busy and away from you.

Your father would never hurt Soonyoung directly. You know that. He loves him like a son - sees his late best friend in the features of the man that Soonyoung has been shaped into under his care and tutelage. When you started dating Soonyoung seriously, you thought your parents might be happy. They adore him and they loved his parents just as much.

Soonyoung is below your station, though.

Your father will never say it outright. He wouldn’t insult his late friend’s son that way. But the way your father works Soonyoung harder than anyone else, holding him to a standard he doesn’t even keep for his highest level of men, you realize how deep the dissatisfaction goes. Even your mother’s adoration of Soonyoung does little to shield him from the petty assignments, try as she might.

Still, you don’t care. And at the end of the day, neither does Soonyoung. As long as he gets to have you, he’s willing to put up with the petty assignments and the working late.

“Hey,” Soonyoung says gently, bringing your attention back to him. He finishes his drink and sets it on a banquet table nearby. His eyes are averted, looking somewhere across the room as his hand slips around your waist to squeeze you quickly and press a kiss to your temple. “I’ve got to go - I’ve got a meeting with Vernon before we head out tonight. I’ll see you when I’m done. Probably won’t be until late morning.”

“Alright,” You sigh. His hand slips from your waist and you wish you could pull him back to you. “Love you.”

He grins brightly, giving you a wink before he melts into the crowd, weaving around party goers. Your heart squeezes when you lose sight of him.

Someone clearing their throat catches your attention. You spin around to see Lan, one of your father’s personal Swords nodding politely at you. “Your father wishes to see you in the West Parlor. I’m to escort you.”

“Oh. Sure.” You set your drink down on the banquet table, wiping your damp hands on your dress. “Lead the way.”

People bow their heads in respect as you go. You keep an even pace with Lan, which is hard to do with his long strides and your strappy heels digging into your ankles. He slows for your benefit and you give him a grateful smile, the swelling noise from the party leaving you behind as you step out of the ballroom and walk toward the west wing of the house.

Some people mill about the halls of the estate. You can spot the members of the Syndicate who are on duty, mostly Swords that belong to the security force employed under the Choi family. You spot Chan leaning against a wall while gesturing broadly with his hands as he speaks to the owner of a new club on the edge of the Pearl District. When he catches your stare, Chan winks before focusing his attention back on the owner. Probably trying to work out some sort of deal or partnership, as is his job.

The west wing of the house is quiet and off limits to the rest of the party. Your bedroom is just up two flights of stairs, your bed calling your name as you pass under the stairwell into the hallway that belongs to the West Parlor, the library, the study and your father’s billiards room.

Old Man Vero is standing outside your fathers study, his hands linked in front of him and his head straight forward. He glances your way as Lan leans you toward the door, cracking a bit of a smile on his leathery face and giving you a wink. You grin, lightly reaching out and touching his elbow as Lan opens the door for you. Your father’s Swords have been in your life since you were a child, permanent figures of fixed loyalty and familiarity.

They love you like they love your father, like they love your brother. It isn’t pure fear and power that keeps the Choi Syndicate together. Your father has plenty of that among the ranks, but the loyalty and love between him and his higher ranking members is real. Critical. It was a skill he taught you and Seungcheol, both of you arming yourself with your own shield of friends and confidants.

Your father sits in a leather armchair, leaned back with his eyes closed. Next to him, a cigar smokes in the ashtray, threatening to go out as the thin wisps of smoke vanish into the air. An old fashioned record player echoes in the far corner of the room, smoothe notes vibrating through the air.

“Tower,” you greet him formally, bowing at the waist. “How can I be of service to the family?”

His eyes flutter open and he looks at you tiredly. He looks so much like your brother that it’s uncanny, sometimes. But his youth has worn off, his age more and more evident these days as he spreads himself thin expanding the Choi empire. Your mother has asked him - begged him - to give more responsibility to Seungcheol, but he refuses.

At least you know where your stubborn streak comes from.

“So formal,” he notes, his lips twitching upward. He gestured for you to sit in one of the arm chairs. You do, smoothing your dress carefully as you sit. Behind you, Lan exits the room, the soft click of the door behind you. “You were always a better student than your brother.”

“That’s because he’s a man.”

A hearty laugh makes you grin, feeling a flutter of fondness. He was never an overly affectionate father, but he’s always been kind, though firm. You respect him, which is saying something in your world.

“Spoken like an intelligent woman,” he sighs. You wait patiently, watching as he seems to gather his words. Your stomach knots, sensing a trepidation about him that you’re not used to. “Your intelligence has always been your best asset, though you’re a little hot-headed like your brother.”

“Steadfast is the mountain,” you say, quoting the Choi family motto.

He grins and adds your mother’s family moniker, “But the fire does burn. I knew marrying your mother was a good choice. Marrying the right person is paramount in this life. Family unions can make or break an empire, and they forge old alliances anew or secure new alliances.”

A prickle down your spine makes you sit straighter. You had implied as much earlier to Soonyoung about the Xu family, knowing marriage was a viable option to bring the shipping mogul into the Choi empire. Now, though, the notion has you on edge, watching him like a frightened cat.

“I didn’t pick your mother, you know,” he muses, his eyes unfocusing somewhere far away. “But when my father recommended her, I knew he was right. I was familiar with her, of course. We went to school together. Fought like cats, but she was so intelligent and fierce.”

You’ve heard this story before. Your father hadn’t loved her to start, but your mother had loved him right away. Had always known that she loved him. She’d shown up at one of his billiard nights and told him exactly how she felt, asserting that they would be married and that he would be loyal to her.

He’d fallen in love with her that night.

He sighs heavily. “I see a lot of your mother in you.”

“Don’t let her hear you sound so disappointed. She might be offended.”

“She’s better than me,” he says. His eyes focus on you, flicking back to appraise you. Sweat slicks on your back and only years of training keep you from not fidgeting under his weighty gaze. “But it would be easier sometimes if you were more like me. Less fire, more mountain. Still, you are rational, so let us speak plainly: you are going to marry the Kim family heir.”

Silence hangs in the air. You stare at him, your brain taking a moment to catch up with his words. It’s like you’re moving in slow motion, processing the firmness in his voice, the way he looks at you with heavy countenance.

You are going to marry the Kim family heir.

A high-pitched ringing starts in your ears and you feel the buzz of panic start to tingle at the base of your spine. Your fingers dig into the arms of your chair a little, trying to fight the staccato rhythm of your heart from getting out of control.

“What?” you ask. It feels dumb, compared to the eloquence you’re capable of.

“Kim Yijun is a perfect match,” he says simply. “He’s in line to inherit the Kim Syndicate. There is tension with the Yong family, and I will not lie to you: they have a far larger reach than we would like. They don’t do things the old way like the Choi and Kim families. They have started to ally themselves with the Arash family in Veridian, giving them cuts and room in our city to spread their reach outside the bounds of their own city.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The Kim and Choi families have been united before. They’ve always been our first ally in times of city upheaval and Syndicate war, and they, like us, don’t believe in letting outsiders have a seat at the table. The Yong family don’t understand that, and are willing to let vermin have scraps if it means scooting us out.”

“I’m-” you shake your head. “You can’t ask that of me.”

“I’m not asking.” He reaches for a lighter and picks up the cigar. He takes a moment to relight it, taking his focus off of you. You feel your pulse spiking, your grip on the chair like iron. “I am telling you that this is what your future will be. I understand you like the Kwon boy, but-”

You sneer, baring your teeth. “The Kwon boy? Don’t reduce him to some stranger. Soonyoung grew up in this house, he is family. And I don’t just like him, I love him. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you bullying him because you’re frustrated that I love him. You love him too.”

“I do. I love him like my own. But he is not for you.”

“He is. I will not marry Yijun. I am asking you not as a member of this Syndicate, but as your daughter to drop this machination from your plans. I am your blood, you cannot ask this of me.”

“I told you, I am not asking. I am telling you.”

A tremor starts in your hands. Your heart races so fast that you feel sick, sweat slicking your skin as you begin to pant sharply. The ringing in your ears grows until you feel disconnected to it, like suddenly you’re living in third person. You’re aware that you’re hyperventilating and yet, suddenly it’s separate from you.

Standing abruptly, you feel the world tilt. You take a second to steady yourself, feeling the numb tingle spread throughout you like a flood.

“Sit down,” your father demands. You hear the warning. Recognize the firmness in it. This is the Tower of the Choi Syndicate speaking, not your father.

“Take this as my resignation from the family,” you tell him. Your voice doesn’t feel like your own, steady and without inflection. “I’ll renounce my inheritance and will not use the Choi family for any connection or advantages-”

“You will not!”

His voice startles you. Lures you away from the safety of your detachment. You look at him, eyes wide and shaking. His hand is fisted on the armchair, his rage crackling around him like a thunderstorm. “I will not have my only daughter sabotage everything this family has built for the affection of someone unfit for her station. Kwon Soonyoung is a weapon meant to serve you. You will marry Kim Yijun or I will remove the obstacle altogether.”

Your entire life there have been two versions of your father. The stoic leader of one of the oldest criminal empires in Hyperion, the vicious man who could be cold and calculating, and who was reverently feared by his enemies. The kind father who watched you and Seungcheol study math together, carefully explaining to you how to carry numbers over in the equation.

It is the former who sits before you now. Someone entirely unfamiliar to you, though you’ve always known he existed. And why would you? Your father has never had to be ruthless with you before, hiding the way he could cut from you until it was necessary.

Soonyoung knew. You know it with absolute clarity. You remember the fear in his eyes when you had slipped into his room that night asking for a kiss, the way that he is always so careful about when and where he touches you, the way he takes the assignments and the mistreatment without so much as a protest because it means he gets to have you.

“You would kill him?” you whisper, looking your father in the eye. “You promised to take him in when his family was murdered. He had no one, and you promised his father you’d raise him as your own. You would go back on that?”

He scowls. “If his father knew what he was, he’d kill Soonyoung himself. That boy is a dog to be set upon whoever his owner wishes, who kills with impunity.” You say nothing. I don’t feel like a person. Soonyoung’s words echo in your mind, haunting. “I hold the collar and I will put him down, if need be.”

“So you raised a pet to be disposed of at your convenience?”

“I raised a boy who should be grateful I haven’t put him in the fucking ground for sullying my only daughter. I let you two have time, and you should be grateful. It is my love for him that has stayed my hand this long. No more. You will marry Kim Yijun, or you will bury that boy. This is the command of your Tower.”

“Mother will not let you-”

“Your mother doesn’t let me do anything. I am the Tower of this family, and it does what I command. You will fall in line.”

Tears spill from your eyes. You suddenly feel like you’re standing on a cliff, the vertigo of nothingness at the bottom making you sick with fear. Desperation grips at you as you stare at your father, willing him to change his mind. Begging him.

His pity doesn’t come. There is only resolute silence, watching as you crumple in front of him, knees going weak as you abruptly sit - fall - on the floor. You bury your face in your hands, grief for something lost stealing your ability to maintain control before you’ve even given an answer.

I’m not made for you.

Soonyoung had tried to tell you a long time ago and you’d brushed him off. Of course he was made for you. He was all you’ve ever wanted, and you’ve always been given what you wanted. You made him whole, and he you. How could you not be made for one another.

“Please don’t do this to me. Daddy,” you whisper, trying to appeal to him with the little girl he loves. “Please, I love him.”

“Lan will escort you to your room.” You ignore his words, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, willing the tears to stop. You know later you’ll feel pathetic for the display of emotion, for the meltdown in the face of adversity. “You will announce your engagement at the end of the week.”

“Yes, Tower.”

“If you so much as remotely try to sneak around with him, I will put him in the ground and bear the weight of that grief for eternity.”

“Yes, Tower.”

“Know that I love you. We must make sacrifices for this family we wish not to. But you will make the sacrifice like I have so many times before. So will Soonyoung.”

You stand, limbs shaky as you look at your father, the heat of your mother’s rage fueling your gaze. “Yes, Tower.”

Sleep claws at you with greedy fingers, unwilling to give you up to the waking light of day. You groan, suspended in that moment of almost awake but achingly unaware. A brush of warm skin on your arm pulls you the rest of the way from heavy sleep, your thoughts sticky as they formulate and you open your eyes, squinting in the gray light of your room.

Squinting at the clock displayed on your nightstand, you realize it’s late morning. The tinted windows of your room keep out the sunlight, but a single panel has been adjusted to let some of the cloudy day in, a single shaft of gray spilling into your room like muddy water.

Warmth presses behind your back, the steady touch on your arm trailing up and down. For a second, you lean back into it, feeling your head thud against Soonyoung’s chest, his mouth pressing against the crown of your head. He drags his fingers up and down your arm absently, light as a feather. He smells like soap, a hint of his familiar vanilla and sandalwood.

“Have trouble sleeping?” the words are mumbled against you.

“Hmm?”

“There’s lines of crushed knockout on your nightstand, Baby.”

You look at the nightstand. Sure enough, the white pills you crushed are dusted across the surface. The reality of why you used them slams into you so suddenly that you stiffen, muscles locking.

Soonyoung notices immediately, his touch stilling. “What?”

Finding the words is impossible. You don’t know where to start, your father’s words make you dizzy. The sheets stick to your skin, Soonyoung’s warmth too hot to stand. You scramble from bed, kicking at the sheets and putting distance between you as you bolt toward the bathroom.

“Hey,” he calls after you. You don’t turn to look at him, the cool tile giving you goosebump as the lights flicker on. You close the door behind you firmly, pressing your back against it. Soonyoung’s knocks are immediate, his voice calling your name on the other side. “What’s wrong?”

The use of your name sours your stomach. You lurch forward, diving for the toilet as the contents of your stomach empty. The bile burns, your eyes watering as you press against the cold porcelain, clinging to it for life.

Soonyoung opens the door, letting himself in as you heave again. He’s quick to react, opening the medicine cabinet to remove an anti-nausea inhalent. He wordlessly pads over to you, crouching down to extend it toward you.

You avoid looking at him directly in the eye as you snatch it from him. His brows are pinched in concern, face swollen with what little sleep he got and mouth turned downward. Your stomach roils again but holds as you crack the inhalent and wave it under your nose, breathing in gently.

The stimulant makes your eyes water, but immediately the churning in your stomach subsides. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in and out slowly, trying to regulate yourself. Soonyoung watches in silence, his hands opening and closing at his sides like he wants to reach out and touch you but doesn’t.

When you open your eyes, there is so much love and concern on his face that you almost break right then and there. Instead, you clear your throat and straighten, tossing the medication in the trash.

“Thanks, just hungover. I need to shower.”

He looks doubtful. “Alright.”

Soonyoung stands, heading to the shower. You clear your throat and he pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Alone, please.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just want to shower.”

He says your name again. Not Baby. Not any other derivative. Your name. “You can talk to me.”

Your heart cracks. You panic. Your brain races for the only viable option. “I just want to take a fucking shower, Soonyoung.” You push yourself off the ground, scowling at him. He moves out of your way as you pass him, stunned to silence. “I don’t need you crowding my space every five seconds.”

Refusing to look at him as you hit the panel in the wall, you instead focus on the water that falls from the ceiling, a storm of heat and the smell of peppermint. You keep your back turned toward him, staring at the water as it heats, steam curling in tendrils where it hits the stone tiles.

“You can go,” you say sharply.

“Alright.”

The gentle click of the door when he leaves is barely audible over the hum of the shower. You let the rushing water lull you into a state of numbness, peeling your clothes off with unsteady, mechanical movements.

Hot water slicks off your shoulders. You close your eyes and hang your head, letting the feel of the peppering water sluice over your ears, eyes, nose, mouth. You let it blind your senses to nothing but the roar of water, blotting out everything else.

If I stay right now, you will never get me to leave.

You remember when Soonyoung whispered it against your skin just a few years ago, spoken carefully and clearly, a promise and a warning. He would never let you go. You had to let him go. Telling him what your father has asked of you - has threatened to take away from you - will only make Soonyoung’s feet dig in further.

For as long as you’ve known him, Soonyoung has been a covetous creature. You remember the night at the club he antagonized you just to see that spark of want, just to prove to himself it was him you wanted. You remember the way he clung to you in the dark of your bedroom, the only person who could ever make him whole. Who could make him feel.

Your father sees Soonyoung as a loyal attack dog - but it isn’t the Tower of the Choi Syndicate who holds Soonyoung’s collar. It never has been. Soonyoung has never asked your father how high.

Pressing your palms to your eyes, you start deep breathing exercises. In through your nose, out through your mouth. The shaking in your fingers begins to subside, the logic part of your brain turning on.

The threat on Soonyoung’s life is real. You saw the resolve in your father’s eye, the painful glint. He would hate to do it, but he would do it. You’re entwined too deep into your family’s affairs and business to vanish. There is nothing in the world you have that’s your own, no assets that are not connected to them in some way.

And if you tell Soonyoung, he’ll face the problem like he does everything that stands in his way: try to kill it.

For a split moment, your brain chases the thought like a mouse after cheese. Like a long math problem, you work out if it’s possible to commit patricide and get away with it. Your mother will never forgive you, but Seungcheol might. Your friends would - they’re loyal to you, especially Jeonghan and Angel.

The older generation, though-

You toss aside the thought almost as quickly as you thought of it - not because you don’t want to kill your father, but because it isn’t possible. Not just like that. There are too many pieces on the chessboard, too many domino effects spreading out in every direction if you take that route.

No. There is only a single path for you, set in motion by a hand with more power than you.

And there’s only one way you can move forward with Soonyoung.

There’s so much of your mother’s side of the family you’ve inherited. Her side has always been associated with the phoenix, the burning immortality of their name and their strength, a blazing glory. Your maternal relatives have always been the rage and the fire that was needed for a Syndicate to advance, a good partnership for the Choi’s who were cold and steadfast.

What you need now is the winter of the mountain, not the rage of the phoenix. You need to be a Choi.

Steadfast is the mountain.

You love Soonyoung. You love him you love him you love him youlovehimyoulovehimyoulovehimYOULOVEHIMYOULOVEHIM-

Pressing your fist to your mouth, you bite down for one, blinding moment of untapped rage. You feel your skin break, taste iron and salt, feel pain bloom.

Steadfast is the mountain.

Then it’s gone. You drop your hand from your mouth. Open your eyes. Turn off the shower. The rage is gone, buried beneath a layer of newly formed ice. If there is anyone you can do this for, it’s Soonyoung. You love him. You will destroy him. But he’ll be alive.

Soonyoung is sitting on your bed when you open the door. He’s got a tablet in his hand, the holographic images displaying above the screen, haloing his face in blue light. There are circles under his eyes and his teeth worry at his bottom lip, which is chapped. He’s shirtless, the compact planes of his body half shadowed by the single shaft of light filtering through a window.

He looks up at you but you ignore him, heading to your closet. The silence is brutal. You push through it, opening the closet doors to reveal a massive space nearly the same size of your bathroom. Track lights kick on, rows and rows of clothes by color greeting you. In the middle, there is an island counter, filled with drawers and biolocked jewelry safes.

Soft steps tell you Soonyoung is standing at the entrance of the closet. You still don’t face him, walking over to your section of black clothes. You flick through them, eyes scanning. Black seems appropriate. It feels like death, afterall.

Soonyoung’s voice is soft as his late night kisses. “What’s going on?”

“I’m marrying Kim Yijun.”

A beat passes. Then another.

“Is that supposed to be a joke? I’m not interested in pranks this morning.”

“It’s not a prank.” You pull out a black, silk dress. “The Tower has asked this of me, and I’ll be doing it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

You continue, undeterred as you put the dress back and keep looking. “The Kim family has agreed to the match ahead of the rising tensions with the Yong Syndicate and their new take on foreign allies. A united front of the old families will benefit our family-”

“You’re not fucking marrying Kim Yijun.”

“All of the metrics we’ve run for public opinion and potential city-wide reaction are favorable. The Tower needs his children to fall in line, and I intend to do so.”

Soonyoung storms toward you. You turn on your heel, holding a finger out to him, voice severe, “Don’t come near me.”

“Why? Because you know you’ll lose your resolve? Because the second I touch you, you’ll drop whatever bravado this is and let me help you?”

Exactly that. He knows you inside and out. Sees through the front. It doesn’t matter. You don’t need him to believe you, you need him to obey.

He takes another step and you back up. “I will scream,” you threaten, venom in your voice. “I will scream and Seungcheol and Vernon are right down the hall. Whose side do you think they’ll take, with your reputation for violence?”

“Fuck you, they know I’d never hurt you.”

You hear the waver in his voice. That tiny sliver of doubt, so small and tiny but there. They do know he would never hurt you, but Soonyoung isn’t convinced they’d believe him. It makes you sick, but you latch onto it, unspooling that tiny bit of hurt. “Do they, Soonyoung? I hear some of them call you a mad dog because you attack with no regard for anything. Do you really think they trust you entirely with me?”

Soonyoung is raging. His chest rising and falling, shaking his head back and forth as he tries to understand. You’re rooted to the spot, muscles coiled, pulse thudding in your throat. “You are not,” he growls. “Marrying Kim Yijun. You don’t even want to, don’t try to lie to me about your feelings or insult me thinking you can bait me. You love me. You are mine.”

“I belong to the Choi family and it’s what my family needs from me. I will do my duty.”

“Fuck your family!” His roar makes you flinch, briefly closing your eyes. His palm slams on the top of the countertop in front of him, sharp in the silence. “You have a duty to me. I told you I would not fucking let you go. You’re not doing it. I’ll fucking kill him, you think I won’t? I’ll murder every last one of them-”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Kwon Soonyoung. I will do this, and you will obey.” He bristles, going rigid as your words land like a slap. “When I say jump, you say how high. You’ve always known that.”

For a second, he cracks. The Soonyoung you first saw on your doorstep, crying and round-cheeked and ruddy returns. His lip trembles and the way he looks at you nearly melts your iron will. You’re so close to collapsing, to laying it out before him, to risking it all.

“Don’t do this to me.” His whisper is made of glass. Delicate. He presses his palm to his chest, right over his heart. Earnest. “I can’t - you know I can’t. I- please. I can’t do this.”

Licking your lips, you look him in the eyes. His eyes are your favorite. Dark. Stormy. Endless. They are lined with silver, panic rippling across the surface.

You lift your chin and push back your shoulders. “You can and you will, because I told you to jump, Soonyoung. Now ask how high.”

Sunlight warms the back of your neck, humidity clinging to your skin like a second layer. You take a deep breath, though the steamy air offers no relief. You snap open a silk fan, waving it in front of your face in hopes of chasing away some of the sweat, feeling the separation between skin and makeup the longer you sit in the wretched heat of the garden.

It’s not even real sunlight or heat. You can’t tell beyond the projection in the room, but you know that there are vents heating up the room and controls that make the air humid and sticky, making it feel like you’re sitting in a real garden outside somewhere lush.

Lin drones on and on about something. You tuned her out long ago, eyes flickering back and forth to your watch and the women’s faces around you. None of them here are really your friend - not in the way Angel is, the way Wonwoo or Jeonghan are.

Yet you’re expected to be here, entertaining the upper echelon wives of the Choi and Kim Syndicates, boiling away in an imaginary garden while you sweat to death, dress clinging to your skin and thighs slippery in the seat as you adjust yourself, uncomfortable.

“It’s hot as a motherfucker,” a whispered voice comes from next to you. You look up to see the newly engaged heiress of Nexus Capital next to you, glaring behind the dark shade of her sunglasses as Lin continues rambling about something. “Couldn’t she have made it less real?”

A smirk twitches on your lips. You haven’t spoken to her much, but her recent engagement to Xu Minghao had secured the position the Choi Syndicate had been fighting for in the shipping yards and docks with the Yong family, elevating her family into the favored circle of your father.

Suddenly, you remember who had recommended that marriage in the first place. You remember the party, the pretty dress you wore, Soonyoung’s hand briefly on your waist as he kissed you goodbye for a meeting. You had no idea then that your throwaway comment about an arranged marriage to benefit your family would become your own nightmare under an hour later.

Grief is a funny thing. You never knew that you could feel grief for someone who isn’t dead, yet sometimes you feel such an overwhelming amount of grief at the hole that Soonyoung has left behind that you can’t breathe.

Throat dry, you reach for water, drinking eagerly. You feel a bead of water run down your face, but you ignore it in favor of trying to focus on not panicking.

Anxiety attacks are new for you. Though your entire life has been colored with stressful situations unique to growing up in a criminal Syndicate, you could never say that you were anxious before. At least not in the way that made the back of your neck too hot and the tips of your fingers buzz with the threat of a looming meltdown.

You ignore it. It’s all you know how to do. The anxiety medication your therapist gave you doesn't work, and you can’t crush a bunch of pills and inhale them anytime you feel like you’re about to get tunnel vision and spiral.

Well, you suppose you can, but you’re trying not to get into the habit.

Instead of acknowledging the way the panic lurks around your edges like a predator waiting to pounce, you listen to the dull conversation around you. Focus on the gossip that you don’t care about, exactly, but know it’s good to have.

Since marrying into the Kim family, you’re not sure what your job is. With your family, your role as the face, the legacy and the representation of the Choi Syndicate had always been clear and obvious. Now, your husband sends you to stupid things like this with preening people that you don’t like and makes you leave events early when he’s irritable.

Gossip is a weapon, though. So you gather it when you can, taking in bits of information and storing it for yourself. Rarely do you offer it to Yijun - not that he would take it - but Jeonghan finds the information you share useful. So does Angel, but there’s rarely anything you know that she doesn’t.

Just as your anxiety begins to fade, the source of it materializes.

At first, you think you’re seeing things when a door appears in the wall depicting an apple orchard and Soonyoung strolls out into the fake-sun. You blink dumbly, spine tingling as you realize that your mind is not playing tricks on you and it is him.

He sees you immediately. His dark eyes burn like embers, pinning you to the spot. His face remains motionless but you see his jaw tick, the only sign that he is immediately on edge when he sees you. He’s dressed for work in an all black suit, required for the Swords of the Choi family.

Giggles breakout around the table as he approaches, the ladies around you all flushed cheeks and demure smiles. You feel the buzzing start in your hands again, this time worse. It goes up your arms, working its way to your chest as the anxiety increases tenfold, heart pounding.

Soonyoung bows. “I beg your pardon, ladies.”

“My goodness, Soonyoung,” Lin preens. “You must be horribly hot in that suit, but you do look handsome.”

You fight the urge to snarl at her that the imitation of the garden isn’t real and no amount of pretending will make it real. You even imagine reaching across the table and plunging her fish knife into her hand. Instead, you watch Soonyoung, your hummingbird heart fluttering.

He gives her a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be alright. I apologize for interrupting, but the Tower of the Choi family has sent me to escort his daughter home.”

“Home?”

“The Choi Estate.”

He doesn’t say what he means: the Kim Estate is not your home.

“Alright,” you say, voice reedy. Your hands are trembling as you slide your chair from the table, the metal legs grinding loudly against concrete. You flinch at the sound, hyper aware of every bead of sweat crawling down your spine, every beat of your heart that is too fast, too hard.

Static fills you as you mumble parting words to the women who watch you in confusion. At least, you think you mumble your goodbyes. Blood rushes in your ears as you take uneven steps toward Soonyoung, who turns on his heel and starts marching toward the apple orchard.

It feels like you’re in an echo chamber. Everything suddenly feels hollow and everything sounds as though you’re hearing it through a thin wall. Muted. Dull. He opens the door that you can’t quite spot even this close, ushering you inside as your vision starts tunneling to a narrow point, everything else blurry and distorted.

No. No no no no no.

Lifting your hands, you glance down at them to see them trembling, opening and closing your fists in an attempt to stop the buzzing feeling, as though you could will it away. You think Soonyoung says something but you can’t hear him over the roar of panic that grips you and tears you sideways.

Instead of following him down the hall, you lurch toward a different hall, rushing toward the powder room. It feels like the walls are narrowing as you throw open the door, breath coming out in pants. Everything feels tight and compact, crushing smaller still.

Stumbling to the sink you try to turn the faucet on. Once. Twice. Cold water spits from the faucet and you gasp, leaning down over the sink to splash freezing water into your face. It doesn’t have the desired effect, the water is not cool enough to shock you out of your panic.

Soonyoung speaks behind you. You can’t hear him, the grip of your anxiety so strong that you grab the edges of the sink to keep you up right. You’re heaving now, heart rattling so hard you think that maybe you’re having a heart attack instead.

A firm grip wretches your attention from the porcelain sink to the mirror, where you see your dripping reflection, eyes blown like saucers. Soonyoung is standing behind you, a hand on your bicep, squeezing. His face is no longer a mask of indifference, but one of confusion.

His mouth moves and you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “I can’t,” you gasp, ragged. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Then, he does something that catches you entirely off guard. You watch in slow motion as he steps back and removes the gun from the holster underneath his suit jacket. You hear the safety on the gun click and the hum as the weapon charges, ready to fire rounds of plasma if he squeezes the trigger.

And then he points the gun at your head, the lights on it flipping from blue to red, signaling it’s ready to kill.

The world stops. The panic vanishes for a split second, replaced with utter shock as you stare at him in the mirror.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you demand, voice stronger than you expect.

Soonyoung is ten levels of crazy, but he’s never pointed a gun at you before. You stare at him, open-mouthed and wondering if he’ll do it. If he could pull the trigger. He’d told you a hundred times when you were together that he would never let you go and it was always with clarity that you understood what he meant: it’s me or no one.

With stark clarity, you realize there’s no reason for Soonyoung not to pull the trigger. He doesn’t care much about the value of his own life from what you can glean over the last two years, and he doesn’t really seem to care about yours.

Not that he should. You promised to make him feel human and you did. Then you took it away from him, leaving him adrift in a vast ocean of nothing alone and untethered.

No, you don’t think you inspire Soonyoung to feel human anymore. If anything, you probably make him want to be the worst version of himself.

Soonyoung’s voice holds no emotion when he asks, “Are you with me?”

“Why are you pointing a gun at me?”

“Breathe,” he says instead. He doesn’t lower the weapon, stormy eyes focused on yours. “Breathe,” he repeats. “Slowly, maybe.”

“Soonyoung, you are holding a gun at me, what do you mean breathe?”

“What do you mean what do I mean? I mean what I fucking said. Breathe normally.”

“Lower the gun!” He does. “What the fuck?”

He breaks eye contact, sliding the weapon back into his suit jacket. He turns away from you as though he didn’t have you at gunpoint a second ago. “You were having a panic attack. Sometimes a shock to the system stalls it. Your breathing has slowed down now. And you’re not panicking.”

A beat of silence passes. Then, “So you leveled a gun at my head?”

“It worked. Let’s go.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“Yes. Now let’s go. You’re needed at the Choi Estate.”

“Why?”

“Do I look like I have all the answers? I just do what I’m told. When a Choi says jump, remember?”

You visibly flinch as his words land. Soonyoung doesn’t wait for you to gather yourself, spinning on his heel and exiting the powder room to stride through the halls. Tightness gathers in your chest, left over from your anxiety attack.

Pressing your hands against your dress to wipe the sweat from them, you chase after Soonyoung. He’s already by the apartment’s elevator, jamming his finger into the button. He doesn’t look at you as he waits, content to stare at the metal door.

You don’t know where else to look - you want to look anywhere but him. Turning around, you fixate on the floor to ceiling windows. It’s still morning outside, but it’s hard to tell with the way the clouds block out the view, turning everything to mist.

This high up in the city is reserved for the elite. You can’t imagine why - there’s nothing to look at but clouds, clouds, and more clouds. It’s what makes them have virtual reality rooms in the first place, trying to recreate the experience that they might have if they were wealthy enough to own land.

The sound of the elevator arriving makes you flinch. Soonyoung ignores you, getting in and leaning against the wall as he hits a button to go to the parking garage. You scramble in after him, a little breathless as the doors close just behind you.

Immediately you start shooting down several floors. He glares at the wall, unseeing and unfeeling. You swallow thickly, watching the numbers decrease until you’re at Lin’s private parking garage. Soonyoung is out of the elevator before it finishes opening all the way, storming toward the car he’s left running idle.

Normally someone would open a car door for you. Instead, Soonyoung gets in the driver’s seat and slams the door shut. You reach for the handle of the passenger seat and pause. Normally you sit in the back when being driven somewhere, it’s always been like that. But this is Soonyoung and you’ve always been beside him in the car, his equal.

A muffled get in the fucking car reaches you. Deciding that sitting next to him is too personal, you open the back seat and slide in. You’ve barely shut the door when he punches the gas, slamming you into the back of the seat as he goes.

“Would you stop being an asshole?” you seethe, ripping the seatbelt from next to you to buckle in. Your hands are still shaking and it takes a moment for the clasp to click.

Instead of answering, you hear the way the car accelerates under his foot. Scowling, you look out the window. He speeds into the lift that brings the car down to the ground floor. Lights blur by as the lift drops at lurching speed, your stomach in your throat. You hate coming to apartments for this reason, the feeling of having to freefall to leave never growing on you.

It’s raining when the lift opens to the wet street. Soonyoung peels out on the pavement, tires spinning until they gain traction and the car slides onto the road, narrowly missing someone. You slam against the seatbelt, cursing and clinging onto the door as he pushes the gas down, engine roaring.

“Are you trying to kill us?”

Soonyoung doesn’t answer you. You think it might be because he’s not explicitly trying to kill the two of you, but he doesn’t care if he does. You try not to think about it so much as he powers through the streets of the Upper City, driving past towering businesses, luxury districts with entertainment and bars and apartment buildings.

The road starts to incline and you hit a line of trees. The city vanishes behind you as Soonyoung drives the car up the winding road, leaving a world of metal and lights for greenery and earth. The contrast between the cities below and the Estates above is stark, especially as he drive’s higher up the mountain, snatches of the city below visible.

“Why did you come to get me?” you ask, flicking your gaze to the rearview mirror to watch him. Soonyoung keeps his eyes on the road, but you see his mouth tighten. “Last I checked you’re not an errand boy.”

“So what, you check on me?”

“It’s a figure of speech, you know what I mean.”

“The Tower personally requested I come get you.”

That gives you pause. Soonyoung’s face reveals nothing as he turns on the street that will inevitably lead to the massive metal wall that blocks off the world from the Choi Estate. There can only be a single reason why Soonyoung was sent to fetch you when usually your husband’s staff would do so.

“What’s happened?”

Soonyoung doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he rolls the window down at the guard house to show his face. The security team recognizes him immediately, waving him through as the gate begins to slide open to reveal lush, green jungle.

Gravel crunches underneath the car tires as he drives through the winding foliage on Choi grounds. Your great-great-grandfather had built the Choi compound, the first of the few elite houses on the mountain. He thought it was important to keep the plant life and sprawling greenery to conserve, but you knew it was really about power. Symbolism. Greenery didn’t really exist in the city, and this much space and plantlife meant wealth.

The sprawling estate you grew up in reveals itself. Multiple buildings dot the property, making it more a family compound than an estate. Now that Seungcheol is old enough, he’s moved out of the main house and into one of the smaller homes, occupying the space with his own men and staff. Still, he’s just a brief stroll away from your childhood home.

Home. Even two years under a Kim family banner hasn’t erased the feeling of home for you. There is nothing in the house you share with Yijun that makes it feel like you. It is as devoid of love as your marriage, merely a placeholder for you to sleep, eat, and occasionally, try to produce an heir.

Soonyoung pulls up to the long building that serves as a garage, hitting a button on the car’s screen to open one of the bays. He pulls in slowly, the outside world fading as the garage door shuts behind the car, dousing it in darkness until the neon lights above flicker on.

Without a word, he powers off the vehicle and gets out. Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders and get out of the car. He doesn’t wait for you - even shuts the door as he enters the main house so you’re forced to lug it open.

He’s already opening the door to the main house a few yards away, forcing you again to haphazardly navigate gravel in your heels as you give chase. You’re sweating and irritated by the time you’re up the steps and pushing through the front door, a nasty quip on your lips ready until you see your aunt coming down the stairs.

“Oh thank goodness,” she says, seeing you. She looks older than you remember, the lines of her face deep and the hair at her temples gray. “Come along.”

“What’s going on?” you ask, uncertain as you step into the foyer and let her take your arm.

She scowls. “Did that useless boy not tell you? Your mother suffered a heart attack this morning. She’s with Dr. Ymir in the medical wing.”

Your heart thuds to a stop as you wheel around to look over your shoulder at Soonyoung. His gaze is stormy but his face gives away nothing as he turns to leave the way he came, slamming the front door and vanishing down the steps to leave you alone.

“No,” you mumble as your aunt pulls you down the hall. “He didn’t tell me.”

Because that’s how much Soonyoung hates you. Hate isn’t even the right word, you think. It is something far deeper and far more sinister, fueled only by taking away something that he valued more than anything else in the world and forcing him to live with it.

I deserve this, you think as the door to one of the private medical rooms opens, a clinical smell hitting you in the face. I deserve everything that happens to me.

I deserve this. It’s all you can think of as you watch the black casket lower into the ground. Seungcheol stands beside you, his hands linked in front of him. You want to reach out and take his hand in yours, but you don’t want him to look weak. Don’t want others to see him crack like you know he will if you comfort him.

Instead, you comfort yourself as best you can, which isn’t saying much. You’ve never been good at dealing with your feelings, too much of your mother’s blood running through you. It was your father’s least favorite trait of yours and perhaps Soonyoung’s favorite.

Soonyoung, who has always been your emotional tether and outlet. You’re not accustomed to dealing with grief alone, and the pull of it feels like an undertow threatening to drag you under and drown you.

Someone shifts behind you, close enough that you feel Yijun next to you stiffen. You turn to look over your shoulder, blinking in surprise as you tilt your head up to see Soonyoung. He doesn’t look at you, dark eyes fixed forward and jaw flexing tightly. He’s standing closer than is necessary, as shown by your husband’s scoff.

Soonyoung doesn’t move, though. He remains nearly pressed against your back, so close that you can smell vanilla and sandalwood. Turning away from him, you feel your shoulders relax. He ignores you, but he’s there, a stoic guardian that’s just out of reach.

The Tower of the Choi Syndicate is too lost in his grief to notice or care about Soonyoung’s proximity to you. Your brother couldn’t care less, barely realizing that his brother by choice is an inch away from him. But you know Soonyoung is there and that’s all that matters.

The grief lessens, turning back from churning waters to gentle, lapping waves.

“Your brother doesn’t respect me,” Yijun asserts. You look at him in the bathroom mirror. He’s standing behind you in the closet, taking out glinting cufflinks to replace them in the countertop in the middle of the aisles of clothes. “You should work on that.”

“Seungcheol hardly takes what I say to heart.”

Yijun snorts, detecting the lie before you can even get it out. Seungcheol very much values your insight and opinion far more than he’s interested in Yijun’s. He’s made it clear at multiple parties and events now, often asking you how business is and how the shared Kim-Choi accounts are doing, despite not having anything to do with them.

Seungcheol hates your role within the Kim family. On more than one occasion he’s recommended Yijun make use of you somewhere in the family business, to make you the head of operation somewhere so that your schooling and experience weren’t going to waste. Yijun asserted that your social skills were being put to perfect use, entertaining the wives of his associates and serving as the perfect host when his business colleagues and friends were over.

“He’s going to be leading the family soon,” Yijun sighs. “It would be better for us if he saw me as a real ally.”

“He does see you as an ally. You’re married to his sister.”

“Exactly, so you should remind him that I’m family.” It doesn’t sound like a threat, but it also doesn’t sound like a request. Sighing, you shut the drawer in the counter forcefully. It draws his attention, gaze darkening. “Don’t you want your brother to respect your husband?”

No, you think. You don’t respect your husband, so why should Seungcheol?

Instead, you sigh. “Of course, Yi.” He doesn’t soften at the nickname. “I’ll talk to him, alright? He’s got a lot going on. And don’t talk about my father’s health that way.”

“I didn’t say anything about his health.”

“Please,” you snort. “I know what you meant about Cheol taking over soon.”

Yijun had been talking about Seungcheol more and more. You’ve watched with a sour taste in your mouth as your husband tries to earn your brother’s attention and trust, flashing what he thinks Seungcheol cares about in his face, telling him about the new car he acquired, or the historical art piece you purchased at an auction, and the new apartment building he’s constructing.

Seungcheol doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. The Choi family never has. Your ancestors didn’t make a name for themselves and carve it on the mountain they built their home on by showing off their wealth and what it could do for them. They did it by earning it, and by remaining steadfast and intelligent. Political.

Yijun understands none of that. As the eldest son of his family, it’s a shame. The real world of the Syndicates is lost on him. He has enough business acumen to run companies under his father’s careful tutelage and instruction, but he doesn’t have the social savvy for it, the right drive.

His brother does. You think of Kim Minchan and nearly shiver. The middle child of the Kim family has more than enough understanding of the way that things work, but the ocean of blood behind him is enough for you to prefer Yijun leading the Kim Syndicate any day.

“I’m just saying,” Yijun grunts, flicking off the lights in the closet. “Your brother has all the reason in the world to respect me and he doesn’t.” He looks at you, face hardening. “Do you tell him not to? Is that what it is? His baby sister tells him how useless her husband is?”

Danger is in the air. Yijun won’t lay a hand on you, but it doesn’t make this dance any less stressful. You turn away from the mirror, looking at him fully. He’s not terrible to look at - he has a sharp jaw and a broad nose and a pleasant shaped mouth. He’s handsome, even.

He’s not Kwon Soonyoung.

Swallowing away the thought, you reach up to put your hands on his chest, placating. “I wouldn’t do that,” you assure him, softening your voice. You hate the sound of your voice, hate the way you pitch it low and gentle. “You’re a reflection of me too. I would never let my brother think any of those things about my husband.”

Yijun swats your hands away, making you grit your teeth. “Don’t act like a whore. Just - tell your brother. I should be in his inner circle by now. Make it happen.”

As Yijun leaves the bathroom, the urge to grab him by his collar and yank him back in to smash his head on the counter almost wins. You stare at him until he vanishes in the bedroom, your rage a live, sentient thing. You feel it crawl beneath your skin, slithering and clawing and biting and begging to be let out.

Steady is the mountain. You take that fire and shove it down. Years of instinct of reacting with your mother’s temper peter out slowly. It’s a shame - you’re the last woman left from her side of the family, the only one who can carry the fire of the phoenix.

You glare at the bedroom. Somewhere, Yijun lurks, getting into bed. Oh how the shadows of the weak choke out the fire of the strong.

If killing Yijun wouldn’t risk everything, you’d have done it already. That first month spent with him where you realized this would not only be a loveless marriage, but a hateful one had almost driven you to it. The Choi Syndicate could surely survive a war with the Kim Syndicate - you had better assets, stronger loyalties, and more money.

But if the Kim family turned to the Yong family…

Avoiding unification of the Kim and Yong families is why you were married to Kim Yijun in the first place. To murder him now would mean Syndicate war, and despite the fact that every moment with him is hateful and poisonous, you’re too nervous to put your family at risk.

Especially with your father’s failing health, as Yijun had pointed out.

Syndicate war isn’t the only thing keeping you from stabbing Kim Yijun until you can’t feel anything anymore. Minchan’s shadow of a presence lingers over your thoughts, one of the few threats you truly fear. Any harm to his brother would elevate Minchan to a position where he could only wield his power more.

And he’d hunt you like a bloodhound. You’re unsure if there is any corner of the world he would leave unturned if you killed his brother, no matter how much it would benefit him if Yijun keeled over tomorrow.

Inside your bedroom is dark. It doesn’t feel like your bedroom at all. There’s nothing homey about it, no possession or unique decor, no pictures. You wouldn’t sleep in here at all if Yijun didn’t make you, insisting that he couldn’t trust any of the house staff not to tell your father you weren’t sleeping in the same room.

Your father doesn’t care. He stopped caring about anything the day you put your mother into the dirt. Even if he hadn’t, as long as your relationship looked functional to whom it mattered, it mattered little to him if you slept in the same room or if you even liked Kim Yijun.

He’d made that very clear the day he tore away your future with Soonyoung.

Yijun is already snoring when you climb into bed. You grind your teeth, reaching to pull open the nightstand for noise cancelling earbuds and sleep medication. The medication isn’t as strong as the crushed up knockout you might have used previously, but it helps take the edge off without making you vulnerable to attack.

Which is something you still worry about.

Setting your phone on silent, you settle in for sleep. It takes a long time, but you finally drift away to thinking about smothering the man next to you in his sleep.

Something wakes you. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you sit up in bed and look around the room. It’s dark, but you can see the barely-there outlines of the furniture in your bedroom. Next to you, Yijun is gone. You can feel the lack of presence there more than you can see it, reaching your hand over to confirm the bed is cold and that he’s not been there for a while.

You reach for the phone on your nightstand but can’t find it. Frowning, you press your hand on the cool marble, sweeping back and forth to no avail. You lean further, finger finding the button to the light function on the stand and press down.

Dim, lavender light halos the top of the nightstand. Your phone is nowhere in sight. It’s just your jewelry dish, a decanter for water, and your sleep medication. You’re pretty sure that you put your phone face down before you went to bed, but you can’t be sure.

Pulling open the nightstand drawer only makes the back of your neck sweat. Your phone isn’t there, but neither is the gun you keep in the top drawer. Both you and Yijun sleep armed, despite having armed guards on the premises at all times.

Snapping the drawer shut, you roll to the other side of the bed and pull his open. A book, a watch, some pill bottles and a pack of cigarettes fill the drawer. No gun.

The back of your neck tingles. You rip the sheets off of you, heading to the bedroom door. The house is mostly dark when you open it, the entire second floor dim. Leaning over the banister, you can see a shaft of light falling across the room, perhaps coming from the kitchen.

Quietly, you stalk toward the top of the stairwell, trying to reduce noise as you creep down. A high pitched whine rings in your ears, heart thundering. You have no idea why you’re so afraid all of the sudden, especially in your own house, but your instincts tell you to be alert and quiet.

At the foot of the stairs, you confirm the light is coming from the kitchen. It’s not uncommon for people to be in the house in the middle of the night. Official Syndicate business happens at any time, and often goes into the early hours of morning.

Tonight, it’s not busy. Before you’d gone upstairs to bed, you’d noted that it was a skeleton crew security team for the night, just a few of them at the gate house and walking the premises while you and Yijun returned upstairs for the evening alone.

Creeping toward the hallway, you pause when you hear voices. You identify Yijun’s voice right away, holding your breath and straining your hearing as he says, “What do you want me to do here?”

“Keep her contained. Make sure no one from her family can reach her.”

“I already took her phone and her gun.”

Your stomach drops. “Good.” That’s Minchan’s voice, you realize, dread growing tenfold. “The second she finds out the Tower has fallen, she’ll try to run or her brother will try to get her.”

“Or that psycho fuck,” Yijun mutters.

“You’d be lucky if it was Seungcheol who came to get her. If Kwon Soonyoung comes looking, call me immediately. We’ll make our move in two hours. We’ve got the biggest team outside the Choi estate ready to go in and we’ve got men and women stationed at all the key points.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit here and babysit my wife?”

“Yes.” Minchan’s tone is nonnegotiable. “We’ll leave the guards at the gatehouse but we can’t spare anyone else. This kind of assault requires everyone. The Yong family will take care of the Pearl District and the Salt.”

Yijun hesitates. “What about the Yoon family? Are they all accounted for?”

“Yes. I have a team on the crazy one - what do they call her?”

“Angel, I think.”

Minchan laughs. “Demon is more fitting. Stay here. Stay by your phone. We’ll call thirty minutes before we give the signal to link everyone on comms. We do this right, and the Choi Syndicate is gone.”

Panic presses in for a moment. Your heart hammers. Your hands shake. Bile churns your stomach. It feels like you can’t get enough air, the pieces of what they're talking about falling into place.

The Tower has fallen.

Your father is dead, and in the wake of the crushing blow, the Kim family intends to strike at yours alongside the Yong family. The realization lands like a blow, immediately slapping you out of your panic.

Fear turns to rage. Rage turns to ice. You are fire, you are the mountain.

Steadfast is the mountain, but the fire does burn.

As quietly as you can, you creep up the stairs. You keep turning over your shoulder to ensure Minchan doesn’t leave the kitchen and catch you creeping back toward your bedroom. When you hit the second floor landing, you all but sprint to your room, gears turning.

Yijun took your phone and intends to keep you locked in the house until they finish their plan. From their discussion, you know they intend to mobilize within two hours, targeting important members of the Choi Syndicate across the city with the help of the Yong family.

It means you have only a few minutes to warn your family to respond, to prepare and to fight back or strike first. Which is hard to do without a phone, but your husband doesn’t know you nearly as well as he thinks.

Door closed behind you, you flip the lock on the bedroom door and dash for the closet. The lights above come to life, bathing you in ghoulish, grey light. You dive to the floor toward your shelf holding all of your shoes, the carpet burns nothing compared to the pain starting to bloom behind your sternum where your grief builds slowly under your anger.

Your father is dead. The Kims are going to turn on you anyway. Your marriage to Kim Yijun to secure alliances against the Yong family was for nothing.

You’ve endured for nothing.

Snatching a pair of boots, you swallow down the bile again. You will not break now, not when there are more important things than the time you’ve wasted withering away in this cold home. Shoving your hand inside the boot, you come into contact with what you were looking for. Your hand closes around the device, yanking it out and powering it on.

The screen flashes to life. You press one and hold, hearing the buzz on the phone as it begins to ring. You cradle the phone against your shoulder and ear, nearly sick with the adrenaline that is pounding through you, your vision blurring, hands shaking.

You grab another shoe, this time reaching inside carefully instead of shoving your hand in. The smooth, bone handle of a knife meets your hand and you wrap your fingers around it firmly, pulling it out.

Soonyoung answers on the fourth ring. “Where are you?”

“The Kim family has turned on the Chois. They’re mobilizing for a full scale attack in roughly two hours. The Yong family is helping them. They’re at the estate and all over the city - anyone who is important to us regardless of position will need to be warned. The Yong family is handling the Pearl District and the Salt.”

“How many men are at Yijun’s estate?” You can hear him moving on the other side of the line, something rustling. Perhaps clothes as he gets dressed. “Are you armed?”

“There are men at the guard house and one walking the perimeter. It’s just me and Yijun inside, I think Minchan is leaving. I’ve got a knife.”

“Where are you in the house?”

“Bedroom, second landing to the right and all the way at the end of the hall. There are windows but they don’t open.”

“Listen to me,” Soonyoung says, voice like ice. “The second we start moving into position to accept the assault, they’ll know something is off. When that happens, Yijun is going to try to kill you, do you understand?” When you say nothing, he asks again, voice louder. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to fight back. Either kill him or hold him off until I’m there.”

“You need to warn-”

“Don’t worry about the fucking Syndicate! We’ll be fine. You’ve given us more than enough time. I need you to be entirely focused on yourself.”

You take a deep breath, letting it out shakily. “Okay.”

“Do you have frostbyte?”

“Maybe? Yijun might have it in the nightstand.”

“Take some. Not enough to fuck you up, but enough to pump that adrenaline and make your head clear. I will be there in thirty minutes.”

“Okay.”

You squeeze the phone, unwilling to hang up. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t heard his voice in months. It doesn’t matter that he hates you, it doesn’t matter that you know whatever used to be between you is broken and it’s entirely your fault. You just… don’t want to hang up.

“Hey.” Soonyoung’s voice is soft, drawing you from your trembling spiral. “Do what I said. Do the frostbyte and kill him if you have to. I have to go.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you in thirty minutes.” Soonyoung pauses, the silence heavy on the line. “I love you.”

Nothing breaks you like those words, whispered but firm, whispered in case you die before he gets there. He doesn’t have to say that’s why he’s saying it - you know. You know the chance of him not getting there fast enough is likely and real. He does too, but instead of telling you, he gives you this.

You whisper back, “I love you.”

Soonyoung hangs up the phone and you fight a sob. You bring the knife up to your hand, pressing your pointer finger down on the tip. The sting is immediate, making you his in pain as blood beads on the tip of your finger, red and garish in the closet lighting.

The sting grounds you enough to push yourself from the floor, following Soonyoung’s directions to Yijun’s nightstand. You yank it open, rattling around the contents until you find the bag of frostbyte you were hoping was there. Yijun uses it the nights he attempts to put an heir in you, numbing himself the way you never did, taking your punishment for what you’d done to Soonyoung raw.

Not enough to fuck me up, you think, untwisting the bag and shaking. Just enough to make it easier.

Dipping the tip of your knife into the bag, you pull out a small lump of the glittering drug. You try not to think about that night at the club all those years ago, when you and Soonyoung were still dancing around one another’s feelings, doing anything you could to get a reaction out of one another.

You take a sharp breath in. The drug hits your nasal passage and it burns, your eyes smarting as you tilt your head up, cursing and blinking away the tears. It hits the back of your throat, bitter and awful as you cough a little, trying to wait for it to clear your nasal passage.

When the burning subsides a little, you do it again. It’s less harsh than the first bump but still just as awful, making you wonder how the fuck you did this on the weekend with your friends as a teenager. Tossing the back on the nightstand, you stand waiting, closing your eyes and trying to do deep breathing exercises your therapist taught you to calm down.

Frostbyte works fast. It hits your bloodstream and an electric calm comes over you. Everything comes into sharper focus, the adrenaline pumping as your simmering rage turns to a boil, ready to kick the fucking door down and hunt down Yijun yourself.

Nerves fade away to the background of your mind. You walk toward the door, waiting to the side so when Yijun ultimately kicks it down, you’re ready.

Ten minutes pass. The entire time your ears are ringing, heart thundering in your chest. You think the frostbyte was a good idea - if you had to wait in silence like this without it, you would have gone crazy by now. Even with the drug, fear nips at your ankles, a hound ever on your tail.

Yijun’s footsteps thunder up the stairs. Your heart lurches and you inch away from the door, readying yourself. He storms down the hall, fury in each step until he gets to the door and turns the handle. It doesn’t move. He tries a few more times, shaking the door.

His roar on the other side of the door is loud and feral, making you grin as he thrashes against the door, cursing and screaming at you. The door holds, rattling in place as he slams what you think is his shoulder into it multiple times.

The bombardment pauses for a second and then restarts ten times stronger. This time, you recognize that it’s his foot slamming into the side of the door. You realize he’s kicking where the door is latched, trying to break it open instead of kicking through it.

A small crack sounds. You take a breath, readying yourself as you hear another snap go through the door, now rattling loose in its frame. He kicks hard again and the door blows open, nearly smacking you as it does. You roll away from it on the wall, keeping close as Yijun barrels past you, swinging his head from left to right as he looks for you.

It’s your only chance to get the jump on him. You slide from the dark, heart hammering. You’ve never stabbed anyone before, but you’ve practiced. You drive the knife upward, intending to puncture his kidneys. Yijun twists a little to the side, sensing your presence as the knife plunges into his side.

Yijun screams. Your satisfaction only lasts a second before he throws his elbow backward, catching you in the nose. Pain explodes in your face, blinding you as your eyes water and you stumble backward hands shooting to your face.

Removing the knife from his side, Yijun screams at you, spit flying as he comes at you. Through tears and warm blood rushing from your nose, you reach for anything to use as a weapon. Your hand closes on the ceramic artwork on the dresser and you launch it at him, hitting him hard in the face.

The ceramic shatters and he drops the knife. You dive for it but he grabs you by the hair, ripping you upward and backward like a ragdoll. You lose your footing, screaming as he tightens his fist in your hair and drags you toward the bed, tossing you there.

With a feral shout, you kick your foot forward, catching him in the lower gut. He grunts but wraps his hand around your ankle, yanking you back off the bed onto the floor, where the knife lays. You reach for it, seething, your hands managing to close around it just as he pivots, foot landing against your ribcage.

Again, pain explodes inside of you. With the frostbyte, you barely recognize it, grabbing the knife and stabbing him in the calf. He shrieks and collapses to a knee, reaching for the knife. This time you rip it back out, nearly losing your grip on the bone handle, fingers slippery with blood.

You stab him again, this time in the thigh. His knee presses into your stomach, crushing you and forcing air from your lungs. You ignore the pain, stabbing him again and again in the thigh until he falls backward off of you, muscles malfunctioning, tendons give away.

Yijun kicks out at you with his good leg but you’re already moving, ignoring the way your body is screaming in utter agony, every part of you throbbing and begging you to give up.

You don’t. You scramble on top of him. His hands shoot up to your throat but you spit at him, a spray of blood blinding him and making his grip loosen momentarily. It’s enough to bring the knife down home again, this time directly in the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

For a second, he fights back. You hear the wet gasp and he thrashes, but you stab him again. And again and again and again and again -

You think about all of the times that you were forced to submit to him.

And again and again and again -

The way he heaved himself on top of you, trying to force a child into you so he could be done with you, the way you’d wish it had been Soonyoung instead.

And again and again and again -

The way Soonyoung’s face broke that morning, begging you not to do this to him.

And again and again and again -

All for the Kim family to turn on the Choi’s anyway, wasting the entire time you’ve spent under lock and key, doing Yijun’s bidding while Soonyoung hated you. Loathed you. Wish you never happened to him.

Again and AGAINANDAGAINANDAGAINAND-

Yijun isn’t moving under you. Your hand is warm and wet, the knife becoming slippery as you let it go. It clatters to the floor and you sit backward on his knees. He’s unmoving as you heave, sucking down air that tastes like iron and salt.

Sweat slicks the back of your neck and down your spine. Somewhere in the house, there’s a crashing noise. You leap for the knife, rolling off of Yijun’s mutilated body toward the door, positioning yourself in a defensive position as feet thunder up the stairs.

You bare your teeth, knowing this is it. Knowing Soonyoung hasn’t come quickly enough but it doesn’t matter, because you warned them and they are safe. Your penance for destroying him has been paid in half, though never full, and -

Soonyoung appears in the doorway. He looks like an angel from hell, wreathed in shallow light that comes from the first floor, his silver hair stained with blood. He’s in black trousers and a short-sleeve shirt with his favorite band on it - one of his sleep shirts.

For less than a second, he stares at you. Then, Soonyoung dives at you, dropping the gun in his head and grabbing you. You hadn’t realized that you’d sunk to your knees, looking up at him as he grabs your face, turning you this way and that. He’s asking you a question but you can’t understand him, dizzy and confused and in so much pain that the edge of your vision wavers.

“Baby,” Soonyoung begs, his voice warped and echoey. “Hey, I need you to answer me. Where are you bleeding?”

“S’mostly his,” you answer, feeling how heavy your tongue is. Your thoughts are sticky and slow. Concussed, you think. “Maybe broke my nose.”

Soonyoung’s thumb brushes gently across your cheek, smearing blood. “Can you walk if I help you?” You think about it. Shake your head. “Okay. I’m going to lift you up, alright? Tell me where it hurts so I don’t hurt you, Baby.”

“Ribs.”

“Left or right?”

You pause, breathing in and feeling the pain bloom. “Right.”

“Okay, tell me if I hurt you, okay? We’re going to take you home.”

“Thank you.” Soonyoung hesitates at your tone, looking at you. His eyes are vulnerable and open, more raw than you have seen them since you were kids. “You didn’t have to come get me.”

He stares and stares at you. The world fades a little and Soonyoung lifts you toward him. “Of course I did,” he murmurs, so soft you barely hear what he’s saying. “When you say jump, remember?”

“Where's this?” You mumble, looking out the window at a small home behind high gates.

Soonyoung has been driving for an hour and a half, his silence nearly unbearable as you both left the city. You don’t ask about where you’re going or if everyone is okay - you don’t think you can stomach the answers right now. Not while in the car.

Rain mists through the window as Soonyoung rolls it down to punch in a code in front of the gate. It flashes green and the metal starts to roll open, revealing a large but modest house - at least by Syndicate standards. He drives through, gravel crunching beneath the tires.

“Safe House. Very few people know it exists.”

“Are we in Levin?” He nods his head. You’ve never been to the small town, but you know it’s mostly a vacation village on the coast. “Who does this place belong to?”

“Me.” You look at him, surprised. “I bought it when you… got engaged.”

It’s like a stone sinking to the bottom of your stomach. You don’t have to ask why. It was his failsafe for you, a way to get you away from Yijun if you had just asked.

You should have asked. Should have just thrown it away and called him, should have begged him from your knees-

Soonyoung turns the car off and opens the door. You open yours, rain pattering against your red skin. He rushes to help you out of the car, hands hovering around you, unsure where to touch. It makes you want to sob. You want him to touch you anywhere - everywhere.

Instead, he leads you to the house, a hand wrapped firmly around your forearm to keep you upright and steady as you walk up the steps.

A porch light flickers on. You cringe away from the brightness, squinting through your fingers as the door opens to reveal Vernon standing on the other side. His eyes flicker between the two of you and he nods, stepping to the side to let you in.

Warmth blankets you as Soonyoung shuts the door. You’re standing in a small entryway with a staircase to the right leading to the second floor. Straight on, the lights are on, revealing a sliver of the living room. You can hear voices pause as they hear the door shut.

Angel materializes in the doorway, her hair damp. She’s dressed down like she recently showered, her eyes on you as she heaves a sigh of relief. “It’s Hoshi and Baby,” she calls over her shoulder, coming forward.

Soonyoung nudges you toward Angel gently. “Take her to shower.”

“Yeah of course.”

“Where’s Seungcheol?” You ask, turning to look at Soonyoung, who is already looking at his phone, holoscreen lighting up his face.

“On his way. The main crew is safe.” He hesitates. “We lost Lan, Old Man Vero and Yoon Minji.”

Your heart seizes, eyes darting to Angel. “Angel, I’m-”

“Jeonghan is taking care of it.” For the first time in years, you hear a note of pain in her voice, raw and real. Angel has - had - a complicated relationship with her step-mother, the matriarch of the Yoong family. “I’ve already satiated my vengeance. This is his. Come on.”

You hesitate. Soonyoung nudges you toward the stairs gently by the hip, suddenly looking tired. “Go. I’m going to find a doctor for that nose.”

“Is it terrible?”

He huffs, trying not to laugh. “No, but it needs to be fixed. Go. Shower.”

I love you. It’s on the tip of your tongue, right there. I love you. It’s all you can think about, thundering in your ribcage. I love you. It consumes you, makes you freeze up, staring at him. I love you.

Angel tugs your wrist delicately and breaks the spell. You follow her up the stairs. She’s careful with you, making you take one step at a time. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her so gentle, her eyes softened with worry and her touch on you delicate as butterfly wings.

Upstairs, she leads you into a room that smells like vanilla and sandalwood. Soonyoung. This room belongs to Soonyoung. You spot his subtle touches, a gaming computer shoved in the corner and powered off. A closet with a metal door that is under lock and key. A single gun sitting on top of the nightstand.

But what makes the room spin is the touches of you. A teakwood candle sitting on the dresser. Weighted blankets folded at the end of the bed. A bookshelf with all your favorite titles. A jar of saltwater taffy in multiple flavors.

Angel hesitates by the bathroom door, watching you drink in the room. You turn to her, shaking your head, confused and mouth open. She nods. “I know. I didn’t know either.”

“I could live and die a thousand times and never deserve him.”

“I’m not the best judge of character, but I don’t think I believe that to be true.”

Angel isn’t the best judge of character. But she also doesn’t say things she does not mean. She’s the last person in the world to offer words of comfort, and yet she’s standing in the bathroom staring at you like she can see through you, right down to the very core.

Maybe she can. Seeing what is rotting people on the inside and sniffing out their weaknesses is what she does best.

Instead of pointing out where you hurt, she manages to get you into the bathroom. It’s spacious but not grand like what you’re used to - it’s small. Safe. She starts the shower and backs away, helping you get out of your bloody clothing.

Everything hurts so bad. Your ribs ache, the bruising on them blotchy and horrendous as Angel peels back your shirt. She thankfully doesn’t react - she’s seen worse and done worse. Suddenly, you realize why Soonyoung picked her to help you. She’s steady, her fingers sure as she holds your arm while you pull your pants down.

You don’t dare look in the mirror. From what you can see without it, it’s already bad enough. Yijun hadn’t dealt fatal damage, but you know you’re bruised and covered in dry, flaking blood.

Angel leaves you in the shower, shutting the door to go sit on the sink, a guardian willing to give you space but ready to help when you need it. Shaking, you shuffle into the stream of hot water, hissing when it hits your skin.

It’s both heaven and hell. The hot water feels so good on your aching muscles and throbbing pain, but it also hurts when the water taps against your nose, reminding you that it is indeed broken. You suck in sharp air as you slowly begin to work your fingers into your skin, turning the water pink as you wash off the blood.

Blood that belongs to you. Blood that belongs to Yijun.

Yijun.

You’re not sorry you killed him. It was satisfying and necessary. But… the weight of your grief comes crashing into you. You could have killed him years ago and ran. Could have gone crawling back to Soonyoung and asked for his help. Could have told him that the only reason you ever agreed to marry him in the first place was to protect him.

None of it mattered. You bought him a paltry couple years worth of protection and for what? To shackle yourself to a man who thought little of you, who wanted to fuck you until you gave him another version of himself, who wanted to kill you at every moment because he knew you didn’t respect him and because he was afraid of you and the way you command respect from your family, but he never did.

All that time you’d made yourself smaller for him. Held back your bite. Hid your teeth. Mourned Soonyoung everyday, knowing that you’d never touch him again, that he would never kiss you again, that you’d never wake up in the morning when he got home from work and crawled into bed with you.

A potential lifetime of happiness, one of your own making, wasted on a promise that they broke anyway.

For nothing. It had been for nothing, you’d hurt Soonyoung for nothing, shut him out, promised you would never leave him and threw him away, forced him to jump for you, forced him to leave you when he said he wouldn’t all for nothing nothing nothing nothing notHING NOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHING-

Angel’s arms are around you. You startle, looking up to see that she is in the shower fully clothed, holding you to her. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying - screaming - in the shower. She presses you closer to her, the only way she knows how to tell you that she’s got you. She’s there. She understands.

You crumble, leaning heavily on her as you let it out, sobbing. Your throat is raw, your face throbbing each time you squeeze your eyes shut. Angel says nothing, content to hold you while her clothes soak up the water, weighing her down as you let out your grief in full, ugly waves.

Eventually, the water starts to get cold and your tears start to dry up. You sniff and groan, the pain in your face so poignant that it can’t be ignored. Lifting your head from her shoulder, you glance at her boots, soaked and murky red around the edges.

“Can I tell you something?” Angel asks, voice low. You nod. She hesitates, putting the words together before she says, “He’s going to accept you back. He’s going to do it with no conditions, and ask nothing of you. You’re going to want to torture yourself and beg for his forgiveness and deny yourself of him because you think you should be punished, that there is not a god powerful enough to hurt you the way you deserve.”

You blink in surprise. Angel isn’t religious, despite the nickname. She also isn’t overly emotional or wordy. But you see the severity in which she tells you this, see the pain in her eyes. You remember that she has demons far older than yours, ones that have followed her since childhood.

And she’s right. She reads you like a book, seeing the fucking pain radiating inside of you, the desire to be punished and hated and whipped-

“Let him take you back.” Her words are firm. “Don’t make him punish you. Don’t believe for a second that Soonyoung wants to make you pay. He doesn’t. He doesn’t care what you did or why. Just… let him have you. You’ve endured enough.”

You nod. “Alright. I’ll try.”

“Good. Um - can we get out of the shower though? It’s very cold in here.”

You laugh, immediately followed by a groan. “Please don’t make me laugh. I am in so much pain.”

“Yeah, let’s go get you some drugs, dude.”

The three Syndicates of the city are officially at war. Of all the news that has poured in over the last few days, this is the least surprising. When you’d seen Seungcheol that first night after everything went to hell, he’d held you close and promised that he would kill every last Kim in the city.

He had also told you he was proud of you. Not just for surviving Yijun long enough for Soonyoung to come get you, but for being able to warn the family what was coming. Your single warning alone had saved them a great deal and wounded the Kim Syndicate more than you could understand.

The days following your father’s death are strange. It doesn’t feel like he’s dead - at least, you haven’t truly processed it yet. There are things that demand your attention like being seen by Dr. Ymir for your fractured nose and bruised ribs, and the accounts and logistics of what being at war with the Kim and Yong family truly means.

On the fifth day at the safe house, you go back home. Seungcheol makes you ride with him, unwilling to let you out of his sight these days. You’re the only two members of the Choi family left, and it’s up to the two of you to rally the troops and remind everyone what the mountain can do.

Seungcheol replaces your father as the Tower of the Choi Syndicate. Typically there’s a small ceremony to pass the torch so to speak, but there’s no time for that. Seungcheol is buried in problems and trying to maneuver the family into a favorable position, but it’s hard - the Yongs and Kims have been preparing this for a while.

You’re suddenly given a job again. Fresh in his position leading the family, Seungcheol needs those he trusts by his side, immediately appointing you as the Architect of the Syndicate. There’s no one he trusts more with the finances and the logistics of the businesses under the Choi banner and who have pledged to his family.

With Yoon Minji’s death, Jeonghan’s takes his rightful side as the Wisdom and second in command to Seungcheol. It’s like you’d always known it would be as a kid, but it brings you no joy to see the two of them together in an office until the early hours of the morning, worn at the edges and sick with the grief they’re ignoring to push forward.

With no surprise, Seungcheol immediately promotes Soonyoung to the lead military position, rising from Sword to Sentinel in a single night. It’s the same position his father held under your father, and Soonyoung takes it with steely resolve.

It also means you don’t see him. You move back into your old room at home. At first, it doesn’t feel like your room at all because Soonyoung isn't in it. He had moved into your room when you first started dating, spending two years in that bed with you. Now, he’s taken up residence in his room down the hall, so close and yet the distance feels larger than ever.

Of all the problems mounting for you to solve, Soonyoung is the most important. You know he shouldn’t be. There are a thousand other things that you need to figure out, like how to assure that the businesses you own in and near the Kim and Yong family territories won’t go under or be attacked, or how to assure that payment to the family won’t increase now that there’s a fight.

Your days are filled with countless meetings, assuring loyal patrons that the Choi Syndicate will not fall and will not fail them, and that the Choi’s protect their own. You can see the fear in people’s eyes - the city hasn’t had the big three at war in a long time. Already the city officials are cracking down on Syndicate activity to try and establish order.

It’s farcical at best.

Squeezing your temples between your fingers, you lean back from the desk in your newly appointed office - which is really just your father’s. It feels weird to be in here. It still smells like leather and sweet tobacco, a little bit of smoke hanging in the air.

The last time you’d been in this office, you’d fallen to your knees and begged him not to make you marry Kim Yijun. Now you sit at the desk, hanging up the phone as another call ends - not as bad as the first, but not as good as you’d hoped.

Quickly, you scribble down a summary of the call to give to Seungcheol. You know he’ll read every word you write, determined to hear each concern of those under Choi patronage, whether they’re valid or not.

At the sound of the door opening, you glance up. Soonyoung sticks his head in, surprising you. You straighten in your seat, heart racing when you take him in. His silver hair has grown longer, tapered a bit at the neck. He’s dressed in all black but he’s clean, indicating that he showered not that long ago. You thought he would be out all day like usual, looking at your watch to see he’s back far earlier than normal.

“Is everything alright?” You start to get up and he rushes to you, hands lifting to help you. “I’m alright. I am well on the mend.”

He chews his lip, nodding before dropping his hands hesitantly. “Everything’s fine I just.” He hesitates. “Do you want to eat lunch?”

“Oh. Sure.”

Soonyoung’s smile is tentative. Shy. You give him one back, following him out of the office while sending a quick note to Jihoon that you’ll meet with him later. He sends a thumbs down back, less than pleased that you’ve not made time to talk to him about your potential murder charges for Yijun.

“Are you busy? We don’t have to-”

“It’s just Jihoon.”

“Ah. He’s persistent, are you sure-”

“I want to have lunch with you, Soonyoung.”

He blushes and you grin. “Alright,” he murmurs. “When you say jump and all that.”

That makes you pause. “You don’t have to do anything I tell you.”

“What?” He stops walking, confused.

“You don’t have to ask how high if I tell you to jump... I’m wrong a lot of the time. I don’t… want to be that.”

I don’t want to repeat my mistakes. You don’t say it, but you think Soonyoung senses it when he says, “I’ve always wanted to jump for you. That hasn’t changed.”

Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you.

Angel’s words come back to you so you swallow down your guilt and you nod, giving him a tentative smile that he returns. This time, he holds out his hand to take you in the kitchen. You take it, the feeling of his fingers wrapping around yours both foreign and familiar.

The way he holds your hand in his makes you tremble. It’s something so simple and benign and yet you’re screaming on the inside, looking at where your fingers twine together like it’s everything, like it’s the only thing.

Lunch consists of very badly burned grilled cheese. You don’t care because Soonyoung makes it, insistent that he wants to and that he can. He’s good at a lot of things, particularly on the spectrum of murder and weapons, but he is terrible at putting bread, cheese and butter in a pan.

You eat it anyway, burnt bread and all. He sits next to you, his stool pulled so close that your thighs touch. You want to reach out and brush your fingers across his face, down his neck, through his hair. You want to touch until you’re grabbing, grab until you’re pulling.

Instead, you let him lead this dance, too afraid to initiate.

Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you.

You don’t, but you can’t let go of the fear of rejection. Can’t bring yourself to toe the line beyond what he’s giving you, which is more than you ever dreamed of. So you accept when he offers to take your plate, fingers brushing over the top of your hand either by design or by accident you don’t know. His touch makes you shiver and he notices, pausing.

Slowly, you look up at Soonyoung. His eyes are dark and misty as ever, churning with emotion that you’re a little too afraid to read. Instead of taking the plates to the sink, he sets them down and reaches for you, cradling your face in his hands.

A sob works its way up your throat but you force it down. You will not cry over this. You will not make him comfort you.

“Are you afraid to touch me?” His question is gentle. You nod, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb brushes back and forth across your cheekbone. “Why?”

“I… want to so badly. I just want it to be your choice.”

“I want you to.” You open your eyes. His earnestness is right on the surface of him, rippling for you to see. “I’m dying for it. Please.”

Soonyoung’s please sounds like that morning he’d begged you all that time ago. It freezes you in place, heart beating like a prey animal in fight or flight. He steps closer, his breath on your forehead when he whispers, “Please.”

Slowly, you bring your hands up to his wrists. Licking your lips, you place your hands on him. His eyes close. His skin is warm to the touch and you feel him tremble as you brush your hands upward, tracing his forearms, his corded biceps. You brush your fingertips over the sleeves of his shirt and toward his neck until you’re cupping his throat, your thumbs resting against his hammering pulse.

You close your eyes, remaining still. Both of you remain that way, his hands on your face, yours on his neck. You’re shaking under his touch, feel his breath against your forehead. His fingers add a little pressure to your face, careful not to hurt you where your bruise is finally fading on your nose as he turns you to look up at him.

Soonyoung licks his lips, eyes open. “There is not a second I didn’t love you.”

And there it is. The admission that he never hated you. You bet he tried - you know he tried. You know the inside of Soonyoung’s soul better than you know your own, no part of him hidden to you even with time.

“I don’t care why you did it,” he continues. “Not anymore. Not after everything. I don’t care about any of it. I just… want you.”

“Soonyoung-”

“I know you’re sorry. I know you hate yourself. I know there is guilt eating away at you. Get over it, because none of it changes how I feel. I love you. You’re mine. I don’t want to leave you again. You cannot make me.”

“I know. I won’t make you.”

“Good.” Soonyoung presses his forehead to yours gently. He’s careful not to knock noses with you too hard, aware of the pain it’ll cause. “I cannot do any of this without you.”

“I know.”

Soonyoung’s mouth is tentative when it presses against yours. Your grip on him tightens, leaning forward into the kiss. It is everything - the only thing. You feel something wet on your face, thinking that you’ve got another nosebleed, but when you pull away, you realize it’s because Soonyoung is crying.

Crying for the first time since his parents died.

You stand up from the stool, gripping the back of his neck to pull him toward you. He melts under your touch, letting you meld your mouths together. He tastes like his burnt sandwich and like him, his mouth warm and wet against yours. Vanilla and sandalwood invade your senses, overwhelming as you grip him for dear life, never wanting to let him go.

He doesn’t want to let you go either. His grip on your hips is crushing, fingers digging into flesh and bone as though he can force you to become one. The thought makes you dizzy. You slide your fingers in his silk-soft hair, wrapping the strands around them to pull lightly, pull him closer, pull him to you, pull him back.

Soonyoung whines against your mouth and you break the kiss, panting. “Take me upstairs,” you whisper between peppering kissing against his mouth, his bottom lip, the corner of his lips. “Please take me upstairs.”

He does. Soonyoung grabs you by the hands, tugging you toward the stairs that lead to your room - the room you used to share. The room that still smells like him, even if faintly. He takes you to your bed, where you’ve spent hundreds of nights with him, and lays you down gently like he has a million times before.

Soonyoung touches you like you’re holy. His hands skim over you in worship, they scratch you in penance, they hold you in reverence. He slots himself between your knees, stealing a kiss from you like it’ll breathe new life into him, bare him anew, purge him of sin.

You love him. You love him you love him you love him you love him you love him -

A moan leaves his mouth when your nails drag down his back. He is quaking under your touch, his mouth hungry but careful against yours, wanting to swallow you whole but knowing you’re hurt. You know he won’t break you but you wish he would.

There’s time for that later. Now isn’t the time for rough and biting. Now, Soonyoung peels the shirt from your skin, immediately covering your arms, chest, collarbones, shoulders in kisses. You vibrate under his touch, lashes fluttering as he sucks at the sensitive skin of your neck, tongue pressed flat to your pulse as he tastes you.

You tug at his shirt and he complies, leaning upward to toss it. He’s back on you in a second, pressing you close, hip to hip as he tangles his tongue with yours, drinking you in. His touch ignites a fire and you’re burning, a complete inferno as you drag your fingers up the hard contour of his stomach to the firmness of his chest and around to his shoulders.

“I love you,” he mutters against your mouth, rolling his hips into you. You let out a breathy sound and he groans. “Fuck I love you. I missed you. I love you.”

“Please,” you beg. He understands, burying his face in your neck and biting down lightly. You feel like you’re going to burn up under him, an out of control blaze while his fingers work the buttons on your pants. “Never let me go.”

“Never.”

Jeans scrape down your legs, his hands following. He drags his blunt nails down your thighs. Your hips twitch upward, loving the scratch, loving the way he touches you, loving him. He returns his mouth to yours, unable to get enough of your kissing.

Soonyoung’s hand slips between your thighs, the pads of his fingers pressing against your clit through your underwear. You keen for him, pulling at the long strands of hair at the back of his neck. He moans in tandem, his pleasure driven by yours, loving the way you sound as you start to come apart under the gentle circle of his fingers.

He only teases you a little, knowing the friction with the fabric between his fingers and your aching cunt isn’t enough. He finally decides that you’ve had enough, hooking a finger to pull them aside, the cool air hitting your sticky folds.

Before you can complain, Soonyoung’s touch is there. He drags his fingers slow-soft from top to bottom, circling your clit slowly. He’s not in a hurry, dragging it out as he sucks your tongue into his mouth, sliding his fingers back down to press against your entrance but not breach it.

You whine and he grins, pulling your bottom lip with his teeth until he lets go with a pop. “I love those sounds you make.”

“Feels good,” you admit, head falling to the side as you close your eyes, enjoying the pressure he puts on your clit, wiggling his fingers back and forth. Your thighs close around his hand but he’s unbothered, drawing more arousal from you as he plays. “Fuck, your fingers.”

His laugh is throaty and he shakes his head, attaching his mouth to your jaw where he sucks at the skin. He makes himself comfortable with nibbling toward your neck, both of his hands reaching for the sides of your underwear to pull them down. You let him, folding your knees toward your for a moment to help.

Soonyoung’s hand returns to the wetness between your legs except this time, he’s not teasing. He presses a finger in deep and you whine, hips wiggling. You squeeze down on his finger, pussy spasming as he begins to pump leisurely, like he has all the time in the world.

And he does, doesn’t he? The work is far from done and the world is falling apart, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here with you. Because Soonyoung is yours again - always has been - and because he’s drawing your mouth toward his to kiss you messily, swallowing down your moans as he presses in another finger.

Now you crumble beneath him. You can’t stop your hips from coming off the bed. You loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close, breathing the same air. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes impossible dark and half-lidded as he hooks his fingers, dragging them against that sensitive spot.

You cry out his name and he grins. Now he knows where it is, pressing repeatedly as he fucks you on his fingers, driving you directly toward an orgasm. Your breathing becomes labored, your legs squeezing his hips, your fingers digging into his shoulders. It is so good that you think you might die, letting him yank you toward release.

Soonyoung kisses you again and you come crashing down, cumming around his fingers, body squeezing, ignoring the ache in your ribs and the millions of other places that you’re sore. He doesn’t slow down, scissoring his fingers to pry you open, to stretch you more.

“Soonyoung,” you gasp, voice wrecked. “Soonyoung Soonyoung Soonyoung.”

“Just like that,” he agrees. You can tell he loves the way you say his name, knows that on your tongue it means something different. “Come on, one more.”

You’ll give him anything he wants. Never again will you deny him. You let him work you up again, feeling the way your breath gets stuck in your lungs and you shiver, another wave washing through you as you shudder around his fingers.

When you start to pant, he pulls his fingers out. You feel the wet schlick as he does, immediately hating the way you feel empty, hating the way he leans away from you. Whining, you reach out toward him, needy. He hushes you with a brief kiss, only standing to rid himself of his jeans and briefs.

Using the fingers covered in your arousal, Soonyoung pumps his cock, smearing a mixture of your slick and his precum down his shaft as he kneels on the bed again, taking his place between your thighs again. You watch with hooded eyes as he rubs the head of his cock through your messy folds, a moan dripping from your lips.

Soonyoung is beautiful, skin flushed and a sheen of sweat on his arms. His stomach flexes and clenches as he presses the tip of his cock into your entrance, both of you taking a shaky breath together. He slowly slides home, the stretch of him driving you wild, pussy fluttering around him until he’s slotted to the hilt.

He hangs his head, panting as he plants his hands on either side of your head. He takes a moment to collect himself, shaking. You turn your head to the side, kissing his wrist, peppering any skin you can reach with your love while your hands drift up his back, feeling the muscles flex.

When he begins to move, you nearly die. It feels so good, your breath lodged in your throat. He lowers his face to yours, kissing you as gently as he fucks you. His thrusts are deep and timed, not hard or fast but slow and measured, pressing all the way in as he uses his weight to his advantage.

Your fingers turn to talons on his back, nails biting his shoulder blades. He’s precise, the tip of his cock finding the right angle to make you nearly sob in a matter of a few thrusts. It’s familiar. Home.

Soonyoung lowers himself to his forearms, pressing your chests together. The friction of his skin against your pert nipples makes you squeeze around him, his name a whisper on swollen, kiss-bitten lips. He presses his forehead to yours, breathing shakily as he continues to fuck you.

You feel him everywhere, feel everything that he wants to say. Soonyoung has never needed words to communicate to you and he doesn’t now, the way he shakes as he lets out a wispy moan enough, the way he slides one of his arms under your back to cradle you to his chest, closer closer closer.

He wants to be closer and so do you, arms around his neck, drawing him to you. You never want to let him go, never will let him go. You’ve learned your lesson and this, right here with him is the only thing that matters.

“Shh,” he hushes. You realize you’re crying, tasting salt on your lips when he brushes his mouth against yours. “I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Soonyoung’s pace picks up only a little bit. It’s enough, sending you careening toward your third orgasm. He can feel it - needs it. He chases after your high, catching your mouth to brush his tongue against yours, rolling his hips until you’re clenching around him, whining into his mouth, lips buzzing against his.

He hums against you, waiting until your pussy lets go of its vice grip to speed up a little bit, the wet smack of his hips against yours loud and lewd, driving him forward until he comes, your name on his lips, his face buried in your neck. His thrusts slow, both of you trembling like leaves until he finally stops, remaining seated inside of you.

“I will love you for a thousand lifetimes,” he mutters against your mouth, with no intention of moving. “You know that, right Baby?”

You nod, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “Leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung,” you rasp, quoting yourself that first night he finally caved, where he finally told you that he couldn’t exist without you. “I will never go anywhere ever again.”

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SYNDICATE ROLES

Tower - title for a Syndicate boss Wisdom - title for the second-in-command to a Sydnicate boss Architect - title for the main business affairs and political tactician Sentinel - title for the main military leader of a Syndicate Riots - title for a member of the Syndicate responsible for sowing discord Swords - title for a member of the Syndicate who is a fighter/military role Chariots - members of the Syndicate who make deals/act as business brokers Rooks - members of the Syndicate who collect debts/lead the extortion practices Justices - members of the Syndicate on the legal counsel Hanged Men - members of the Syndicate who betrayed their Syndicate Watchers - members of a Syndicate who are spies/informants Patrons - citizens who pay homage/have an alliance/are under the protection of a Syndicate Vanguard - official members of the Syndicate who don't have specific roles but do work for the Syndicate

#hoshi smut #soonyoung smut #kwon hosi smut #kwon soonyoung smut #hoshi angst #soonyoung angst #svt smut #hoshi x reader #hoshi x you #soonyoung x you #svt imagines #svt x reader #mafia hoshi #mafia soonyoung #svt angst #svt fanfic #hoshi fanfic #soonyoung fanfic

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thedensworld · 1 month ago

Text

A Tempting Damage | K.Sy

Pairing: Nepo Baby Soonyoung x reader

Genre: office au!, enemy to lover au!

Type: romance, fluff, smut (mdni!)

Word Count: 15k

Preview: You should’ve known the moment he walked into the boardroom with a grin too expensive for someone so inexperienced, This was temptation—tailored in Armani and absolutely lethal.

How did the two of you end up here—his office, lights off, half-breathing on his desk at nine o’clock at night?

You should’ve known the moment this would spiral. The signs were all there.

Soonyoung Kwon was the grandson of your boss’ boss’ boss’ boss. Which, by hierarchy, technically made him your boss too—though the title felt more ornamental than functional. You still remember the day he stepped out of the elevator a month ago, flashing a dazzling smile, shaking hands with the interns like he was on a political campaign.

He had announced himself as the new Director of KF Label, like he was gifting you all with his presence. And then your former director, who clearly saw the chaos ahead and ran, called you in for a “quick chat” and gracefully asked you—read: begged—to guide Soonyoung during his adaptation period.

A polite corporate term, you’ve since realized, for “He has no idea what the hell he’s doing, so make sure he doesn’t crash and burn the company before Q4.”

And yes—he truly has no idea what he’s doing. He is rich in confidence, poor in skill. A golden retriever with a black card and a C-suite title. Infuriatingly cheerful, tragically unqualified.

Which is how you, the marketing manager who actually built her way up from zero, spent the past month babysitting someone who thought "brand synergy" was a soft drink.

Thirty days of training him, fixing his mistakes, dragging him out of meetings he wasn’t prepared for, and still—still—somehow he manages to get under your skin.

“Now, tell me…”

“What should I say… during the meeting… with the supermarket owners tomorrow?”

Your fingers dug into the edge of his desk as he slammed into you, hips snapping forward with a pace you didn’t know he was capable of. God. Why were you into this? And why were you suddenly sounding like a desperate young woman getting her brain fucked stupid?

Kwon Soonyoung was an idiot. A cocky, clueless pain in your ass.

Yet tonight—he was making you worse than everything he is. Your moan broke the silence of the office in a high, breathless pitch no one in this building had ever heard from you. You—who kept your heels sharp, your lipstick in place, and your tone professional no matter the pressure. But now? Now you could barely get out a single word. Barely answer his simplest questions.

Yet he kept asking them. “We have a slogan?” — his first dumb question, asked a month ago when you handed him a company profile and procedural system you had rewritten in the simplest terms possible. You’d practically turned it into a corporate comic book, hoping to minimize the damage.

And now?

“Should I wear a Rolex or a Cartier for tomorrow’s meeting?”

He whispered it against your ear like it was dirty talk, the smirk in his voice cutting sharper than his thrusts. He probably thought he won something. Okay—fine. He won a little. Ever since he had you bent over his desk, squirming, gasping, ruined.

But still—stupid. Always with the stupid questions. “You’re… stupid!” you managed, voice strangled between a moan and a cry, half an insult and half a plea. You barely made sense, and you hated that he knew it.

He laughed, low and wicked, before slowing his hips, dragging out the motion just enough to make you whimper at the loss. His hand ran along your front, slipping under your blouse and palming your breast like he knew you needed that grounding, that release.

“Please… Kwon Soonyoung…” you gasped, back arching when his fingers grazed your nipple.

But instead of mercy, he pulled you upright, chest to chest, keeping you firmly locked against him. His hand gripped your waist as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“Answer me first, Ms. Ji. And remember…” His voice dropped a note deeper, quieter, deadlier.

“I’m your boss. So it’s Director Kwon.”

The next morning felt criminal.

Not just because you only managed two hours of sleep, or because your thighs still ached from being bent over a mahogany desk like some overworked intern in a very inappropriate drama. No. It was criminal because you still showed up on time, coffee in hand, hair done, heels on, and speech script perfectly printed.

Even after Kwon Soonyoung had given you three orgasms in one hour. In the office. On his desk. Under the goddamn company logo.

You were trying your best to pretend it never happened. Really, you tried. The speech script was crisp, stapled, and revised at 3 a.m. in between waves of humiliation, aftershocks of pleasure, and the memory of him whispering “Answer me, Ms. Ji…” like he wasn’t buried so deep inside you— you forgot your own name.

You had cross-checked every paragraph, every bullet point, just to make sure you hadn’t unconsciously written “Your cock has a better function than your brain.”

Honestly? If that line made it in, it wouldn’t be inaccurate. Was there a company that specialized in evaluating performance like that? Maybe it was time to write to the Kwon family directly. You could pitch it as a side venture—something like Kwon Enterprise: More Brains Below the Belt.

Hell, they might even give you equity for surviving their grandson.

“Thank you, Ms. Ji,” Soonyoung said quietly, his voice low, velvet-wrapped. He took the papers from your hand, but didn’t let go. His fingers lingered. So did his eyes.

And you swore—you swore—you saw the same madness in them that you saw last night. The hunger. The chaos. The wicked tilt of his mouth that said he remembered everything.

You cleared your throat, yanking your hand away as if his touch burned. It did, in a way. You forced your face back into your best professional mask.

“Try not to freestyle this time, Director,” you said coolly, taking the seat beside him. “And no dumb questions about ‘what synergy means.’ It’s in bold on page two.”

He smirked without turning, flipping the paper open. But you caught the way his leg brushed yours under the table. Intentional. Definitely intentional.

Last night was incredible. You couldn't lie. But if this man thought he could rattle you in daylight the same way he did in the dark. Well. He really was stupid.

A gentle touch on your shoulder startled you out of your screen-staring trance—you didn’t even know how long you’d been zoning out. Your eyes blinked back into focus, and you looked up to see Kim Mingyu, your colleague and the ever-reliable Finance and Accounting Manager of the label.

His brows were furrowed, concern written across his face. “You okay, Y/n? Director Kwon’s called for you three times,” he said softly.

You sighed, pushing yourself up from the chair with a tired stretch. “I’m fine. Just... running on fumes,” you said, flashing him a half-smile that tried to pass for reassurance.

But Mingyu didn’t look convinced. He tilted his head, gaze narrowing just a little. “Is he still bothering you?”

You blinked. “Who?”

“That bastard,” he replied, voice lower now—him, meaning Jeon Wonwoo, your ex. The IT guy who cheated on you two months ago with an intern. The same incident that created a domino effect of side-eyes and rumors throughout the building. It wasn’t a secret that Wonwoo’s spiral post-breakup had revealed just how deeply insecure he truly was. And not just about you—about everything.

You rubbed the back of your neck, feeling a sudden weight in the room. “No,” you said, clearing your throat. “He’s not worth mentioning anymore.”

Mingyu nodded slowly, reading between the lines but not pushing. “Okay. But you know I’ll throw hands if I have to.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Appreciated. But no violence in the office—unless it’s against that printer in the copy room.”

That earned a soft chuckle from him. “Did Director Kwon actually say anything, or does he just need me to be present and breathing?” you asked, your eyes scanning your desk for the folder Soonyoung needed to sign. You knew how he was—selectively urgent.

Mingyu reached over and pulled a document map from the far corner of your workspace. “This. He needs this.”

You took it with a grateful sigh. “I’m seriously glad I have you, Mingyu. Otherwise I’d probably die in here for the stupidest reason—death by incompetent boss.”

Mingyu laughed, that boyish grin spreading across his face, fangs peeking out. “You’re dramatic.”

“You know I’m not.”

“True,” he replied, still grinning. “But at least the chaos keeps things interesting.”

You rolled your eyes with a quiet chuckle, fingers tightening on the file as you braced yourself to face Soonyoung again. That man could burn your patience to the ground in five minutes—and somehow still leave you… you didn't want to think about it!

You entered his office with quiet steps, the thick folder in your hand still warm from Mingyu’s grasp. Director Kwon Soonyoung sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair pushed back in a way that looked almost too polished for someone who once asked if a “slogan” was a new type of dip.

Without looking up, he extended his hand. “The file?” You placed it gently in his palm, expecting some sort of snide comment or dumb question about where to sign. But instead, he opened it, flipped straight to the right page, and signed with swift, confident strokes. No questions. No confusion. Just… efficiency.

Your brows lifted slightly. Who was this? Then, without looking up, “what’s the projected ROI on the third campaign under the Miju rebranding?”

You froze. Not from fear—but from pure shock.

He finally glanced up, and your eyes locked. There was no usual smirk, no cocky glint in his gaze. Just focus. Calculation.

You cleared your throat. “Projected ROI is 127%, assuming we maintain target engagement through the influencer channels and retail activations we discussed last week.”

A beat passed. He nodded once. “Good. Shift the TikTok rollout to next Monday. Make the data look prettier before we send it to the board. I want them convinced before they even read it.”

Another pause. You blinked. You were still blinking. He signed the final page, closed the folder, and handed it back with a smooth slide across the desk.

Then, with the slightest tug of amusement curling at the corners of his mouth, he said—

“You may go on the clock for today, Ms. Ji.”

You narrowed your eyes just slightly. “Excuse me?”

He leaned back in his chair, lazy again. Back to his usual smug, languid rhythm. “I said you may go. Early dismissal. I hear sleep deprivation reduces productivity—and I’d hate to see the company suffer just because you forgot how to say no to your boss.”

Your jaw tensed. He was back. The devil in Dior. But you refused to let him have the last word. So you smiled sweetly, flipping your hair off your shoulder. “Then I’ll use the time wisely and remind myself what good leadership looks like.”

His laughter followed you out the door. But so did his eyes.

You woke up to the sound of your phone ringing, the sharp buzz pulling you out of a sleep so deep, you almost forgot where you were. The living room was dim, the drama still playing quietly on TV—the last thing you remembered before dozing off. You hadn’t napped like that in years. Not since you started working your ass off at the label.

You squinted at your phone screen. 9:02 PM. The name flashing across it: “Boo Dam.”

“Mmm… Seungkwan…” you mumbled as you slid to answer.

“Honey!” his voice practically sang through the speaker. “You just woke up? Heol! That’s a record. Anyway—I’m going to this new bar with Vernon and Chan. Come join us!”

Seungkwan and Chan were your friends from college—your soulmates in chaos. Meanwhile Vernon… well, Vernon was the guy Seungkwan successfully seduced at a club a year ago with nothing but eye contact and a whiskey sour. They've been disgustingly cute ever since.

You stretched, letting your limbs slowly remember how to function. “Is it like a bar,” you asked, voice dry, “or a bar?” You didn’t need to explain the tone difference—Seungkwan knew.

Without missing a beat, he replied, “A bar. Capital B. Good lighting, better drinks, people who bathe.”

You smiled, already getting up. “Pick me up in thirty. Should I wear the red dress I sent you last week?”

The one you bought after seeing the intern Wonwoo cheated with had liked it on Instagram. It was an impulsive purchase—unlike you. But still… it looked fire on the model, and tonight, you wouldn’t mind setting something on fire.

Seungkwan gasped like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. “YES. Yes please! I want that intern to cry just by breathing the same air as you!”

You grinned. Tonight might not fix your mess of a professional life. But maybe, just maybe, it would remind you what it felt like to be you again.

Seungkwan rushed up to you like a windstorm in designer sneakers and pulled you into a quick hug that reeked of cologne and overpriced candles. “You look unreal. That intern is somewhere crying right now, I know it.” He held your arms and took a step back like he was inspecting artwork. “Ten out of ten. No—eleven. You’re welcome, world.”

Vernon chuckled beside him. “Glad you made it.”

“Thanks,” you laughed. “Though now I’m wondering if I overdressed.”

“You definitely didn’t,” Chan said without missing a beat, raising his hand to you. “You’re just raising the bar.”

The bar Seungkwan had chosen was all velvet mood and amber light—dim enough to hide your regrets but not dark enough to trip on your heels. Hushed conversations buzzed low under a jazzy remix of something that used to be a love song, and the scent of expensive gin and citrus filled the air.

You made your way toward the bar counter, scanning the place. But before the group could fully settle, Seungkwan clapped his hands once. “Okay, baby,” he turned to Vernon, “we need to find the bathroom. And by bathroom I mean selfie lighting. Emergency.”

Vernon just smiled, like this wasn’t the fifth time tonight. “Lead the way.” And just like that, the couple vanished into the crowd like glitter in a wind tunnel.

You slid onto the barstool, crossing your legs as you adjusted the hem of your red dress, feeling the fabric hug your skin in all the right ways. You stared after them, then turned back to Chan, brows raised. “Did they even sit down?”

Chan shrugged, raising his hand toward the bartender for an order, strong whiskey. “I give them ten minutes. Tops. Then they’ll either come back drunk or deeply emotional.”

You laughed again, warmer this time. “Or both.”

“Always both.”

“So,” Chan said, turning slightly to face you, “what do you want out of tonight?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Out of tonight?”

He nodded, serious now—his eyes clearer despite the liquor. “I mean… what would make this night feel like it was worth leaving your bed and dreams behind?”

You looked at him for a second. Your red dress clung to your skin in all the ways that made you feel powerful. But somehow, that question made you feel a little bare.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Maybe just a moment where I don’t feel like I’m holding the weight of everything. A night where I’m not someone’s manager, not the woman who got cheated on by an IT guy with bad eyesight.”

Chan chuckled, amused. He knocked back a shot of whiskey, exhaling sharply as it hit. Then, as if it were the most natural shift in conversation, he muttered, “So. Still dealing with your incompetent boss?”

You tilted your head with a sigh, leaning your elbow on the bar. “Worse. I think he’s trying to be competent now, which is terrifying in itself.”

“Hmm.” Chan nodded solemnly. “Mine forgot to approve the budget this week and then blamed it on Mercury retrograde.”

You blinked. “Isn’t he the one who doesn’t believe in astrology?”

“Exactly.”

A beat passed, then both of you laughed quietly into your drinks, bitter and understanding.

“People like us deserve a position,” Chan muttered, more to himself than to you. Then he downed his next shot like he was trying to silence something. Maybe his ambition. Maybe the reality.

Your eyes followed his line of sight, catching a man on the other side of the bar—tall, broad-shouldered, eyeing Chan like he was something worth unwrapping.

Chan caught it too. He turned to you with a mischievous smirk, the kind you knew too well. “Excuse me,” he said smoothly, setting down his glass. “Duty calls.”

You laughed as he sauntered off, watching the silent exchange between him and the stranger—how easily Chan slipped into chemistry, how effortlessly people gravitated toward him.

It made you smile. And ache, just a little. Your friends really were better at finding men than you. You swirled your drink in its glass, watching the liquid catch the light like molten gold. Fuck.

A subtle shift in air made you glance to your side. Someone had taken the stool Chan had vacated minutes ago—unannounced, but not unwelcome.

He looked crisp. A semi-formal suit in charcoal gray, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest ease without arrogance. His hair was freshly cut, styled like he walked out of a luxury magazine spread, but the smile he wore? Surprisingly… cute.

“Hey,” he said, voice smooth but warm. “Are you alone?”

You blinked once, thrown for the smallest second before recovering with a polite smile. “Nah, I’m with friends.”

He nodded, gaze never drifting, posture casual but confident. “I’m Choi Seungcheol.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. Choi Seungcheol? You’d heard the name before. Everyone in the building had. Director of Grand Paradise Hotel, under the Choi Group. One of your company’s most important VVIP clients—usually talked about in numbers, not in the context of flashing a boyish smile at you in a bar.

“Ji Y/n,” you replied, offering your name with an ounce of surprise still clinging to your voice.

“I like your dress, by the way,” he said sincerely, his tone the kind of soft that didn’t ask for attention, but gave it fully. “You look amazing in it.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing clever came. His compliment didn’t feel like a line. It felt like the truth wrapped in manners. He flagged down the bartender, ordering something light—no shots, no bravado. Just a mild liquor with a twist of lime, like he was trying to prove he was here to talk, not to get drunk.

Cute. And unexpectedly polite—for someone carrying that much power behind his last name. Unlike someone you were really, really trying not to think about.

“So,” he said, turning slightly toward you, “my friends are at a table across the room. Do you mind joining us?” He paused, then added with a soft chuckle, “I promise they’re decent guys. No finance bros in sight.”

You considered it. Not too quickly, not too slowly—just enough to give the impression that you weren’t that easy, but you also weren’t cold.

You smiled, head tilting. “Sure.”

His eyes sparkled briefly at that, and in one smooth motion, he stood. Then, reaching for your hand, he helped you up from the high stool—like a man raised right. His grip was firm, confident, warm. And it was probably nothing. Probably just good manners.

Seungcheol’s hand remained gently on yours as he guided you across the bar, weaving through polished shoes, crystal glasses, and laughter that cost too much.

The place changed as you moved deeper—less noise, more privacy, the lighting softer, shadows richer. The kind of spot reserved for people who didn’t have to wait in line. And you were being led there. You.

When he stopped at the table, three men looked up mid-conversation, drinks in hand, posture relaxed in the way only old money could be.

“Everyone,” Seungcheol said casually, “this is Ji Y/n. She’s joining us tonight.”

You smiled, polite but composed, heart thumping a little harder than you liked. You recognized the faces before Seungcheol even opened his mouth. You’d seen them in magazine articles, shareholder meetings, boardroom slides—not up close, not like this.

Jeonghan sat at the far end, one arm draped lazily over the back of the velvet booth, legs crossed, a glass of scotch in hand. Hair tucked just right behind his ear, a soft silk shirt half-buttoned like he was born too elegant to care about dress codes. He was the kind of man who turned being looked at into an art form. You’d seen him before—once at a fashion gala you were nowhere near important enough to attend, and many times in the margins of headlines about high-end runway investments, creative directorships, and quiet takeovers. The heir of a fashion empire, and from the look in his eyes, fully aware of it.

Next to him was Joshua, spine straight, shirt pristine, smile the kind that had likely been melting boardroom resistance since he was a teenager. He exuded charm without arrogance—a quieter sort of influence that didn’t need to announce itself. You remembered him from a different kind of context: a company email signature at the bottom of a rejection letter when you’d applied to Hong Finance 8 years ago. Back then, you imagined men like him sitting behind high-rise windows, too far out of reach to even notice people like you.

“Nice to meet you,” you said calmly, shaking his hand with a professional grace. No bitterness. Just quiet history you kept to yourself.

And then—then your gaze moved to the last man at the table. Your breath stalled for half a second.

Kwon Soonyoung. He was mid-sip, glass frozen near his lips, eyes wide with what could only be described as… surprised indignation. He looked clean and collected in a black button-up with his sleeves rolled up, top two buttons undone like the night didn’t deserve his full formality. But his stare? It was searing.

You’d never seen him in this kind of setting. Not as your annoyingly attractive director. But as one of them. Powerful. Prestigious. Connected.

You tilted your chin slightly, letting a small smile rise to your lips as if to say, Fancy seeing you here.

He blinked, then lowered his glass slowly. “Ji Y/n.” Your name sounded strange coming from his mouth in front of this table. Too familiar. Too… intimate.

Joshua and Jeonghan looked between the two of you with mild interest, picking up on the tension like it was perfume. Seungcheol remained seated, watching the exchange without interference. Then he leaned over, voice smooth as his smile.

“Looks like you two know each other?”

You chuckled softly and sat down beside him. Soonyoung’s eyes narrowed. His fingers tapped against the side of his glass, lips parted like he wanted to say something—but didn’t.

Your eyes met across the polished length of the boardroom table. Again. This has become a weekly ritual now—joining board meetings not just as the Marketing Manager, but as Kwon Soonyoung’s unofficial shadow. Secretary. Handler. Babysitter. Pick a label, they all applied.

Still, a small part of you secretly flattered at the elevation. The prestige. You were seen, involved, and whether they liked it or not, your presence had weight in that room.

Every time a meeting wrapped, you’d nudge Mingyu and mutter, “I’m going to be the one talking in there someday. Note that.” To which he always replied with a half-laugh, half-sigh, “Sure you are.”

He never debated you. He knew better. You didn’t bluff when it came to ambition. But right now, ambition wasn’t the problem. It was Soonyoung.

He’d been staring since you walked in. Sat down. Dragged him out of his office five minutes before the meeting began, muttering something about punctuality and image and for once just pretend you’re not a walking HR hazard.

Staring wasn’t new with him. He often looked at things the way a curious toddler would—eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, like the world was one big mysterious object. But this time? This time his stare wasn’t childish curiosity. It was more like you grew a second head and he couldn’t decide if he liked it or wanted to poke it with a stick.

You shot him a sharp look, mouthing the word “Focus” and subtly motioning toward the executives who were mid-discussion about budget forecasting.

Soonyoung blinked, then smiled—too innocently—and turned his gaze toward the speaker, nodding along like he hadn’t just spent the last three minutes trying to telepathically undress your thoughts.

You furrowed your brow in suspicion before glancing down at your watch. Almost noon. And you were starving. Your fingers tapped the table quietly as the meeting stretched on, words starting to blur together. You tried to stay alert, but every time you felt yourself zoning out, Soonyoung shifted slightly in your peripheral vision. Not because he was fidgeting.

But because he was still watching you. And now you were convinced of one thing: He wasn’t staring like you grew a horn.

“You went home with Seungcheol-hyung last night.” His voice broke the silence as the two of you had just settled in after the board meeting—him tossing off his blazer like he ran the world, you gathering your files with the intention of escaping before your stomach officially started devouring itself.

Your steps halted mid-stride. “Yes, Mr. Kwon,” you replied, turning slightly over your shoulder. Tone neutral. Civil. Professional.

Soonyoung nodded slowly, a little too calmly. “I bet you went home… very safely.”

You blinked. Was that supposed to mean something? “I did, actually,” you said, brows lifting in subtle confusion. “Thank you for your concern.”

He slid into his chair, tilting it back with that look on his face. A smile curled at the corner of his lips—not his usual, goofy, harmless grin. This one was... sharp. Teasing. With just enough glint of mad to make you want to throw a stapler across the room.

“I’m expecting the summary from the meeting,” he said, lacing his fingers behind his head, “after lunch.”

You blinked again. “I was planning to finish it after I eat.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Mmm, but you always say I should send the report right after the meeting ends, remember? ‘Strike while the numbers are hot,’ wasn’t that your words, Ms. Ji?”

Shit. That was your line. You cleared your throat. “With all due respect, I’m afraid I can’t hand it in that fast. I’ll need some time to—”

“Really?” he cut in, voice dipped with mock surprise. “Because I need it quickly. You made that very clear. Efficiency is everything, right?”

You stared at him, mouth parting in silent disbelief. This was personal. You knew it. That little smile on his face was soaked in petty vengeance. You bowed stiffly, jaw clenched. “Understood, Mr. Kwon.”

As you turned to leave, fuming and still hungry, you could practically feel his smugness trailing behind you like expensive cologne. And everyone who saw you stomping back into your department after that? Knew exactly who you were cursing under your breath.

Kwon Soonyoung, the golden heir of the Kwon Group. A menace in designer shoes. And currently, the reason you’d be skipping lunch and possibly losing your sanity.

No one stayed in the office during lunch. It was the only sacred hour when even the most cutthroat employees stepped out to breathe something that didn’t reek of toner, stress, or twenty kinds of corporate ambition. Even Mingyu had left—after tipping you off about a new KF Label instant spaghetti that only needed five minutes in the microwave. “Garlic cream or tomato,” he’d whispered like he was offering black market gold.

But not you. You sat at your desk, typing the meeting summary like your job—or pride—depended on it. Which, let’s be honest, it did. You weren’t about to give Kwon Soonyoung the satisfaction of thinking he’d thrown you off just because he got a little petty over last night’s company. Your stomach growled in rebellion, but your ego growled louder.

When the last word clicked into place and the printer began humming behind you, you pushed away from your chair with a smug stretch and headed to the pantry. You’d earned that microwaved meal, sad as it was.

Except when you stepped inside, the scent of cheap instant coffee hit you first—followed by the last person you expected to see.

Kwon Soonyoung. Blazer gone, sleeves rolled up, stirring his coffee like this wasn’t the same man who’d made your blood pressure spike all morning. His tie hung slightly loose, hair messier than it had been during the meeting. He looked... calm. Almost casual. Like he belonged here. He didn’t.

“Ms. Ji,” he greeted smoothly, his voice low, almost too composed.

You bowed without thinking, still halfway in surprise. “I didn’t know you were staying in.”

He shrugged, not quite smiling. “Neither did I.”

Your gaze narrowed slightly. “Didn’t grab lunch, Mr. Kwon?”

He swirled the plastic stirrer in his cup, then leaned against the counter with the kind of confidence that didn’t belong in a pantry. “Didn’t have time,” he said, eyes cutting toward you. “You said I needed that report fast, remember?”

You ignored him and turned to the microwave, peeling back the film cover. “I came here for spaghetti.”

The microwave beeped. You retrieved the steaming bowl, grabbed a fork, and gave it a quick stir. The scent of tomato and roasted garlic filled the small space—a reminder that, yes, your company did do something right.

“So that’s it,” he said behind you. “The new KF Label product.”

You nodded without turning. “Premium instant line. Heat-and-Meet.”

There was a pause. Then, Soonyoung stood.

He moved to stand beside you, too close for the pantry’s size, or for what little sanity you had left. “You’re eating company product,” he said, voice lower now. “That’s very… loyal of you.”

“I’m starving. Loyalty’s a coincidence.”

He glanced at your fork, then back at your face. “Still looks good on you.”

You blinked. That line shouldn’t have worked. But it stirred something anyway. You cleared your throat. “Do you want a bite?”

He raised a brow. “You’re offering to share?”

“Don’t make it weird. It’s R&D. You’re the director. You should know what it tastes like before you embarrass yourself at investor tastings.”

Without hesitation, he leaned forward and took the bite directly from your fork. It was too smooth. Too deliberate. The slide of his lips against the plastic, the way he held your gaze as he chewed.

You stared at him, half wondering when the room got warmer. He swallowed, thoughtfully. “Tangy. Surprisingly rich.” He looked at you, a beat too long. “Kind of like the woman who made me eat it.”

You stared at him. Not just because of what he said, but how he said it—like it wasn’t a line, like it was a fact. His gaze didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. And then it did—just slightly—drifting down. You felt it like a touch: the way his eyes paused at your lips. Not in a rush. Not in hunger. Just there.

Studying. Contemplating. Wanting. Your breath hitched, just enough that you swore he noticed it. He tilted his head slightly, as if waiting to see what you’d do. And suddenly, the air between you didn’t feel casual anymore. It felt hot. It felt loud.

You didn’t move. He didn’t either.

But the tension between you was already leaning forward, even if your bodies hadn’t yet.

And then, slowly—so slowly—it happened.

Your eyes fluttered down. His breath brushed your cheek. Neither of you said a word as you both leaned in at the same time, like it wasn’t a choice but a conclusion. Like something you’d been avoiding had finally cornered the two of you in the smallest room in the building.

Your lips met—soft, hesitant at first.

A question. An answer. And then it deepened.

Not rushed, not frantic, but sure. Deliberate. Like every back-and-forth bicker, every power play, every petty jab in the boardroom had been leading to this.

His hand touched the edge of the counter beside you, grounding himself. Yours hovered somewhere near his chest before settling on the curve of his arm—tense beneath your fingers.

It wasn’t a kiss that screamed recklessness. It was a kiss that whispered, we knew this was coming. And maybe… maybe that was worse.

Because when you finally pulled away, just barely, lips still brushing, you didn’t dare look at him. Not yet. You just whispered, voice low and cracked at the edge, “That was very… unprofessional, Mr. Kwon.”

Soonyoung’s lips curved near yours. “Good,” he murmured, “because I’m not done being unprofessional.”

You barely had time to process his words—“I’m not done being unprofessional”—before his lips captured yours again, firmer this time. Less tentative. Less testing.

Your back bumped against the edge of the counter as he stepped closer, his hand skimming your waist like he was trying to memorize the shape of you through the thin fabric of your blouse. The scent of his coffee still lingered on his breath, mixing with something uniquely his—clean, warm, infuriatingly intoxicating.

You let out a quiet sound, something between a sigh and a gasp, as your fingers slipped into his hair—soft and slightly messy from the day. You gripped it lightly, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth. God. That sound.

His hand settled firmly on your hip, pulling you into him like gravity had a personal agenda. The kiss turned deeper, messier, your bodies syncing in a rhythm that felt far too natural for two people who spent most of their time trading sarcasm and sideways glances in glass-walled meetings.

It was heat. Friction. Unspoken things finally spoken with mouths instead of words. Soonyoung broke the kiss only to trail his lips to the corner of your jaw, his voice warm and ragged against your skin. “You always talk so much in meetings,” he murmured, his fingers brushing the exposed skin beneath your tucked blouse. “But now you’re so quiet.”

You swallowed, breath shaky, heart hammering against your ribs. “Maybe I’m waiting for a good question for once.”

He chuckled against your neck, low and sinful, before lifting his head—eyes dark, lips kissed pink, voice like velvet. “Okay then…”

His thumb grazed the hem of your skirt. “…Ms. Ji, what do I have to do to make you say my name again?”

You should’ve walked away. You should’ve reminded him this was a pantry, in a corporate building, at lunchtime. But instead?

You pulled him back into you like your body had already made the decision your brain refused to acknowledge. Fingers tight in his hair. Mouth crashing into his like you were both starving. And maybe you were.

You didn’t remember taking another breath—only the weight of his body caging you against the counter, the soft clang of your forgotten fork hitting the floor, and the rush of his hands finally going where your thoughts had wandered for too long.

Soonyoung hovered close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm and deliberate. “You’re shaking,” he whispered, voice almost reverent.

“Am not,” you breathed, your fingers still tangled in his hair, holding him there like you weren’t entirely sure you could stay upright without him.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of your skirt, slow, assured, until his knuckles grazed the band of your underwear. He paused, as if testing the waters. As if daring you to stop him.

But you didn’t. You let your head fall back slightly, eyes fluttering shut as he tugged at the fabric—just enough to slip his fingers under, to brush against heat and softness and the part of you that ached with how long you'd resisted this exact moment.

A quiet gasp escaped you, and that seemed to break whatever restraint he still had. “God…” he exhaled like a confession, “you really drive me insane, you know that?”

He kissed you again, slower this time—almost sweet if not for the way his hand moved with purpose, with intention, like he wanted to memorize every reaction you gave him. Your hand gripped the back of his neck, grounding yourself in him, in this, in the ridiculous insanity of making out in the pantry like it was your last chance on earth.

“You’re always so in control,” he murmured, teasing the edge of your jaw as his other hand anchored your hip, “but I think you like it when I push.”

You opened your eyes just enough to meet his, and there it was again—that flicker of madness, mischief, and something dangerously close to need.

“Careful, Mr. Kwon,” you whispered, mouth brushing his, “push too far, and I might pull you under.” He smirked like he hoped you would. And then he kissed you again—deeper, slower, pulling you closer like the world outside that pantry didn’t matter.

You were flabbergasted. A month ago, you were heating instant spaghetti in the pantry, trying to pretend that fucking your boss didn’t feel like the worst idea you’d ever fallen into.

Now? You were sitting stiffly in a room with three people from HR, a folder in front of you, your hands cold despite how warm the room felt.

Yes, you had slept with Kwon Soonyoung. A few times. Consensually. Not impulsively, not irresponsibly—not from your perspective. And as ridiculous as it was to admit even to yourself, he hadn’t been bad at all in those areas. Too good, in fact. Dangerously good, both with his hands and the way he listened—actually listened—to your ideas during board meetings. He even stopped wearing Cartier and started taking actual notes.

So the fact that you were here, now, caught off guard and very much alone, felt like a slap out of nowhere.

The woman in the middle of the HR panel cleared her throat, hands folded neatly. “Ms. Ji. We wanted to discuss something concerning that’s come to our attention.”

You blinked, still unsure where this was going. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I did anything against the—”

“Your last relationship,” the woman interrupted gently, “was already a topic of concern when it involved someone significant to the company.”

Wonwoo.

You stiffened, jaw tightening. You hadn’t heard his name in weeks, and you preferred it that way. But yes, the intern he cheated with turned out to be someone's niece from the Kwon family. Of course that hadn’t died quietly.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the man sitting beside her cut in first. “We didn’t expect this one.”

You blinked again. “Excuse me?” They didn’t repeat it. They didn’t need to.

The third HR rep leaned forward, sliding a paper your way—an incident report, stamped and dated. “We’re going to have to take action regarding your affair with Director Kwon.”

Everything in you froze. For a moment, all you could hear was the soft buzz of the overhead light. You didn’t move, didn’t speak, as the words circled your head like a siren you couldn’t shut off. Your affair. Director Kwon. It felt like your lungs deflated.

“I… don’t understand,” you finally said, slow and careful. “On what grounds?”

The woman in the center flipped open a file. “There was a complaint submitted anonymously, referencing inappropriate conduct in the office. Specifically in shared spaces. A pantry, for instance.”

Your stomach dropped. So fast, it made your fingers go numb. “And—if I may,” the younger HR rep added, “there’s also concern regarding power dynamics, given your reporting line.”

You wanted to laugh. But it wasn’t funny. Because you’d worked so damn hard. You trained Soonyoung. You cleaned up his messes and wrote half the proposals with his name on them, and still walked into every meeting like your career had been built on steel, not glass.

And now, after everything, it came down to this? A moment. And an anonymous report.

You clenched your jaw, sat straighter, and folded your hands in your lap. “So what kind of action are we talking about?”

The room went quiet. The silence that followed your question felt like it lasted forever. And then the answer came, quietly, like they already knew how you’d react—and were bracing for it.

“We’ve decided,” the woman said carefully, “that you will be reassigned to a different department effective immediately.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Reassigned?”

“Demoted,” the man clarified with corporate softness, as if using the word wouldn’t hit like a fist. “You’ll be moved from Marketing Management to Administrative Strategy under Corporate Communications.”

You stared at them. Not because you didn’t understand. But because you did. They weren’t firing you. That would’ve made noise. No—they were burying you quietly, slipping you into a department where your work wouldn’t shine, where your name wouldn’t show up on campaign reports, board meeting minutes, or executive proposals. They were pushing you out of the light.

You let out a slow, controlled exhale, refusing to let the tremble in your chest reach your face. “Is Director Kwon receiving the same treatment?”

Another pause. “No,” the lead HR officer said. “After discussion with the executive board, it was determined that Director Kwon will be formally warned, and the matter will be noted in his file.”

A warning. You blinked. A warning for him. A demotion for you. You pressed your lips together, not trusting your voice to stay steady. “And that’s fair, in your opinion?”

“Ms. Ji,” the younger officer interjected gently, “you’ve had a prior history of internal relationship issues that—”

“He’s my superior.” You snapped before you could stop yourself. “If anything, he should’ve been held to a higher standard.”

They didn’t answer. No one ever did, when the unspoken truth hung heavy in the air. He had power. You didn’t. And even if you were the one who helped him become competent, presentable, capable—even if you were the one cleaning up his early failures and doing your work and his—they didn’t care. Because it was easier to punish the one they knew would quietly take it.

Your jaw clenched as you stood, straightening your blazer. “I understand.”

The head officer gave a polite nod. “Your reassignment email will be sent by the end of day. Your new manager will expect you tomorrow morning.”

You turned to leave, your heels echoing sharper than usual against the tiled floor. Your desk had never felt this bare before. You moved like your body had detached from the rest of you—silent, efficient, folding your things with the kind of care you’d normally reserve for the start of something, not the end. Each click of a pen, each rustle of a folder being stacked, was sharp in the quiet.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t cry. You just packed. A shadow passed in your peripheral vision.

“Y/n?” You turned slightly to find Mingyu standing there, a confused frown drawing across his face. His eyes darted to the box on your desk, to your emptied shelves, then back to you.

“What’s going on?”

You kept your head down, pretending to double-check a folder as you tucked it into the box.

“I just got an email from HR,” he continued, voice tightening. “They’re asking me to step in as acting Marketing Manager… temporarily.”

He said the last word like it tasted wrong in his mouth.

You didn’t answer. Your fingers paused at the edge of a stapler, then moved past it.

“Y/n.” Mingyu stepped closer. “What the hell is happening?”

You closed the box slowly, pressing your palm flat against the top as if to anchor yourself. Your chest felt too full—tight with shame, anger, disbelief—and none of it had a name you were ready to say out loud.

You looked up, just enough to meet his eyes. His worry was sincere. Of course it was. He didn’t know. He wouldn’t have accepted the offer if he did.

“I’m being moved,” you said quietly. “Another department.”

“Wait—what?” Mingyu blinked, stunned. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you said, voice low and flat. “Not right now.”

He fell silent. You could hear the protest building in his throat, the way he shifted his weight like his body didn’t know whether to stay or follow. But he didn’t press. He just nodded once—slow, reluctant.

You gave him a tight smile, the kind that didn't touch your eyes. Then you picked up your box and walked out of your office—your former office—without looking back.

Soonyoung walked into the office with his blazer half off and irritation simmering behind his eyes. The lunch meeting had been a disaster—numbers thrown around without context, board members talking in circles, and nobody knowing what the hell they actually wanted from him. He needed grounding. He needed clarity. He needed you.

So when he stepped out of the elevator and saw Mingyu standing by his office door instead of you, he frowned. “Mingyu?” he asked, blinking like he’d walked into the wrong floor. “Where’s Ms. Ji?”

Mingyu straightened a little, caught off guard. “I… see HR hasn’t told you.”

Soonyoung’s brows pinched. “Told me what?”

“Ms. Ji has been reassigned to another department,” Mingyu said, careful with his words. “I’ve been assigned to assist you until your new executive assistant is recruited.”

For a beat, the air felt thicker. Soonyoung tilted his head, confused. “She was moved? When?”

“I’m not sure about the details, sir,” Mingyu replied, trying not to fidget under Soonyoung’s narrowing gaze. “I only got the notice after lunch.”

Soonyoung stared past him for a second, processing. You were just… gone? No meeting. No sarcastic remarks. No quiet nod as you handed him a stack of deadlines and subtle reminders to behave like a functioning adult. No draft on his desk of the proposal you were supposed to polish before 3 p.m. Gone. Without a word.

“Right,” Soonyoung finally said, brushing past Mingyu and into his office. “Thanks.”

At exactly 2 p.m., two sharp, precise knocks echoed against the glass door of Soonyoung’s office. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Only one person knocked like they were keeping time on a metronome. The door opened anyway.

Kwon Soonyoung looked up to see Lee Jihoon—his cousin, his childhood sparring partner, and unfortunately, also the manager of the Human Resources department. Jihoon was sharp as ever, dressed in a pale button-down and black slacks, sleeves rolled past his elbows like always, giving him the air of someone both overworked and unbothered by it.

He walked in with calm purpose, a single manila folder in his hand and a look on his face that said this wasn’t a social visit. Soonyoung sighed and leaned back in his chair. “What now?”

Jihoon said nothing. He reached the desk, dropped the folder down with a solid thump, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Your notice,” he said, tone clipped. Soonyoung dragged his fingers through his hair and opened it with two fingers like it might bite. Inside was a printed letter bearing the company’s watermark and the clinical, unmistakable phrasing of HR. The header hit first:

Formal Reprimand — Director Kwon Soonyoung.

Beneath it:

Violation of company policies regarding professional conduct and inappropriate relations within workplace hours...

A wave of heat spread across the back of Soonyoung’s neck. He exhaled through his nose. “A love letter,” he muttered bitterly.

“I warned you,” Jihoon replied, not even flinching.

Of course he had. Jihoon had been warning him since the second week Soonyoung started at KF Label. First subtly. Then with passive-aggressive memos. And then with real conversations—cousin to cousin, HR to Director.

Soonyoung kept reading. Then he stopped. Your name was listed. His. Dated timestamps. A note about internal protocol breaches and the review that followed. “She was moved because of this?” Soonyoung’s voice was low. Tight.

Jihoon gave a slow, neutral shrug. “She’s been reassigned to Corporate Communications under Admin Strategy. Effective immediately.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Jihoon didn’t move from where he leaned against the desk, arms crossed again. “The complaint came in. Security reports matched the time. You want the details? You’ll get them in writing. Bottom line—HR took action.”

“She didn’t file anything,” Soonyoung said, more to himself than anyone.

“No,” Jihoon replied. “But someone else did. You’re in a glass building, Soonyoung. Don’t act like you’re invisible.”

Soonyoung looked away, jaw clenching. “She didn’t deserve that,” he muttered.

“No, she didn’t,” Jihoon agreed, voice flat. “But she’s not the one with Kwon as their last name. You are. And between the two of you, the board wasn’t about to sacrifice their own director—so they cut the easier string.” The words hit harder than they should have.

Soonyoung sank into his chair, fingers curling slightly around the edge of the folder. “She made this department function,” he said. “She made me functional.”

Jihoon tilted his head, stepping away from the desk. “And now she’s somewhere no one will bother her again.”

He reached for the door handle, pausing with one foot out. Then, without turning back, “She covered for you every single time you slipped. Maybe instead of being angry at HR, you should be asking yourself why she ever had to.”

The door clicked closed behind him.bAnd for the first time since Soonyoung sat behind that director’s desk, it didn’t feel like power anymore. It felt like consequence.

Days later, Soonyoung stared at his screen, the cursor blinking beneath the words he had retyped at least four times. He wasn’t good at this part. The… formal part. The “trying to keep things clean after it’s already messy” part.

But he had to try something. He’d already felt the hollow space you'd left behind the second he walked into the office and saw someone else standing where you should have been. The wrong energy. The wrong rhythm. Everything off balance. The chair behind your old desk was too still, like no one dared to fill the space you carved.

So he wrote the email like a coward—because walking to your new department unannounced felt too aggressive. And calling felt too personal.

Ms. Ji, I would appreciate the opportunity to meet briefly regarding recent events and your transition. Please let me know if you’re available this week, at your convenience.

Regards,

Kwon Soonyoung

Director, KF Label

He wrote it like a professional. And hated every line of it. But he sent it anyway. Then he sat there, one elbow on the desk, teeth pressing against his knuckle as if it might keep the anticipation at bay. It didn’t.

When your reply came in twenty-three minutes later, he opened it instantly. The corner of his lips lifted—small, involuntary.

I didn’t realize you had mastered the art of professional communication—should we alert HR?

Of course you’d say that. He let out a breath of something that was almost a laugh. It tugged at his chest in a way that was both cruel and comforting. You hadn’t blocked him out. Not entirely. You still knew how to twist the knife with charm. He leaned back in his chair and reread the last line.

Please book a meeting room that doesn’t echo.

So you were coming. Soonyoung swiveled in his chair, glancing toward the hallway, toward the part of the building where he used to see you moving between departments, coffee in one hand, files in the other, bossing people with that crisp, no-nonsense tone that made him fall for you in the first place.

It had been a month. A month of kissing you like he couldn’t help it. A month of crossing lines in ways that felt reckless but right. And then one day—just gone. No fight. No confrontation. Just a folder on his desk from Jihoon and a quiet, echoing absence.

He turned back to his screen and opened the calendar. Booked Meeting Room 5A—the only one with decent soundproofing—and sent the invite. As he pressed send, he sat back and rubbed a palm against his jaw, heart slower than usual but heavier.

You were coming. But this time, you were coming from a different department, a different floor, a different version of what the two of you had built—one meeting, one mistake at a time.

And he didn’t know if you were coming as a former colleague, a woman he’d ruined something with, or someone who still wanted answers.

Soonyoung wasn't the type to fall for the cold ones. Not at first glance, anyway. His usual preference tilted toward softer edges—women who laughed too easily, said yes too quickly, and let him coast through the surface of things. People who didn’t poke at his insecurities or point out the gaping holes in his competence like it was part of their daily job description.

Which is exactly why you were not his type. At least, you weren’t supposed to be.

You were the definition of precision—smart, fast, efficient, and terrifyingly prepared. You didn’t flirt. You didn’t dangle compliments or flash polite smiles unless they were strategic. You were the woman who made everyone in the room sit up straighter when you walked in.

And yet, from day three, he was already in trouble.

You’d walked into his office with your file folder tucked against your chest, wearing a blood-red pencil skirt and a black blouse so sharp it could’ve sliced someone’s quarterly budget in half. Stockings, heels, hair pulled back in that tight, quiet way that made him forget what you’d said right after you said it.

He hadn’t even known what department you were from before then. But he knew from the second he looked at you that you were dangerous.

You weren’t just attractive. You were intimidatingly put-together. The kind of woman whose brain was hotter than her body—and her body was already a goddamn threat.

Call him a pervert—but he’d nearly choked on his own thoughts that day. And his type? Changed. Overnight. It wasn’t just the clothes. Or the legs. It was how you looked at him when you spoke. Like you knew ten things he didn’t. Like he was your slowest subject in class.

And that mouth. You didn’t curse. You didn’t yell. You told him he was stupid with elegant, HR-friendly, vocabulary—inefficient, unprepared, unfamiliar with protocol. Words that stung more than insults because they were true.

Soonyoung wasn't a saint. He loved women. But your breed? Rare. Too rare to ignore. Too rare to resist. Maybe that’s why when you’d stayed late with him that first time—papers everywhere, the city lights bleeding in through the blinds, and you standing too close with your hair falling from that bun—you became inevitable.

Maybe that’s why his hand reached for you like instinct. Why you didn’t push him away. Why your kiss tasted like the end of something professional. And maybe that’s why he’d bent you over that desk that night—not just because he wanted to (God, he did)—but because some part of him had already fallen.

"Fuck..."

Your breath hitched as you settled onto him, your knees braced on either side of his thighs, the edge of the table digging lightly into your back. The polished surface was cold. His hands were anything but.

Soonyoung’s fingers gripped your hips with a firmness that said he’d been dreaming of this—of you—for longer than he wanted to admit. His thumbs pressed into the curve just above your waistband, guiding you, grounding you.

Each movement between you was desperate but controlled, like something learned through tension rather than timing.

Earlier, You arrived at Meeting Room 5A at 4:01 p.m. He was already inside. Blinds drawn. Door locked. Suit jacket hung neatly over the chair beside him. His shirt sleeves rolled up, wrists bare. A bottle of water sat untouched in front of him, condensation sliding down its sides like even it was nervous to be in this room.

You didn’t sit right away. Soonyoung looked up, eyes scanning you with something unreadable. He stood as you approached, as if unsure whether to greet you like a colleague… or something else.

“Ms. Ji,” he said quietly, too formal for the way he was looking at you.

“Director Kwon,” you returned with equal sharpness, sliding into the chair across from him. You placed your phone on the table, screen-down. Just in case.

Silence hovered like a third presence. He was the first to break it. “I didn’t know they were going to move you.”

You tilted your head. “That’s the thing about consequences. Sometimes they arrive quietly.”

“I didn’t file anything,” he said. “You know that, right?”

You gave a small, humorless smile. “I know. But your silence wasn’t exactly protective either.”

That landed. He didn’t argue. The seconds stretched again, thick with things neither of you wanted to say out loud.bThen, Soonyoung leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. His voice dropped, no longer formal. “I miss working with you.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers tapped against the wood, rhythm steady. “Is that what this meeting is about?” you asked eventually. “Missing your assistant?”

He smirked, but it was hollow. “You weren’t just my assistant, and you know that.”

You did. And that was the problem.

His hands slid up slowly, tracing the slope of your waist, steadying you as you moved against him. He tilted his head back just slightly, his jaw clenched, mouth parting with a quiet exhale that barely made it past his throat.

You didn’t need him to say anything. You felt it in the way he held you tighter with every shift. The way his fingers pressed into your skin like he couldn’t believe this was real again.

Your palm found his chest, steadying yourself. He was too warm, too solid beneath you.

Then he looked up at you. Eyes darker. Focused. Not on what you were doing, but on you—like watching you fall apart on him was more powerful than anything else he could feel.

His hand rose, brushing up the length of your spine, fingers threading into your hair before tugging just enough to steal your breath again.

You weren’t sure when your head tipped back, or when your hands gripped his shoulders like they were the only thing keeping you tethered to this moment. The edge between pleasure and collapse was thin now—barely holding.

His breath was ragged against your throat, each exhale growing more erratic, his hands no longer guiding but gripping—like he was trying to ground himself in you, like letting go too soon would ruin everything.

Soonyoung’s voice came low and strained against your skin, “Y/n—don’t stop.”

You didn’t plan to. Your rhythm faltered for half a second, hips stuttering from how tightly your body coiled around the sensation—but he was right there, his hand steady at the small of your back, keeping you close, keeping you moving.

Your foreheads touched. Sweat. Breath. Tension.

He looked at you—really looked. And for a beat, the air stopped. There was nothing but the heat of his palm at your waist, the tremble in your thighs, the way your name barely formed on his lips like a prayer or a warning.

And then it hit you—how close you were. How close he was. Every movement became desperate, sloppier. More like instinct than intent.

Your lips brushed his cheek, your body arching as your pulse surged, your voice catching in your throat. “Fuck—Soonyoung—”

That did it. His hands tightened, his body tensed, and in the space between control and surrender, you both tipped over the edge—together. Breathless. Silenced. Shaking.

For a few seconds, there was only the sound of your breathing. Tangled limbs. Quiet gasps. And the soft creak of the table beneath you. He didn’t speak. He just held you—one hand still at your back, the other cradling your waist like you might disappear if he let go too fast.

Your breath was still uneven, your limbs trembling slightly as the silence wrapped around you both like a warm, heavy fog. You rested against his chest, trying to steady your heartbeat, when his voice broke through.

Soft. Low. Like a secret he wasn’t ready to share but couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Resign.”

You blinked.

“Hand them your resignation.”

The words didn’t register at first—your mind too hazy, your body too loose. But when they did, your brows furrowed instinctively. You lifted your head just slightly, startled.

He was already watching you. Still inside this moment. Still bare and open and raw in a way he rarely allowed.

“I—what?” you whispered, breath catching again—but not from desire this time.

Soonyoung reached up, brushing a strand of damp hair from your cheek. His touch was slow, almost reverent. And then he tilted your chin until your eyes met. His gaze wasn’t playful now. No teasing. No smug curl to his lips. Just quiet sincerity.

“I couldn’t watch you being humiliated like this,” he said. “Not after everything you’ve done. Not after everything you’ve fixed… for me.”

You felt it then. The way your throat tightened. The sharp sting behind your eyes. You didn’t even realize a tear had fallen until his thumb was already brushing it away, tender against your cheek like you’d break if he pressed too hard.

His fingers traced the curve of your face, slow, careful. You hated how gentle he was being—it unraveled you faster than anything else. This wasn’t supposed to be gentle. This wasn’t supposed to feel like he cared.

But he did. And that made it worse.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. Tried to pull back the flood of emotion that had been simmering under your skin since the HR meeting—since the reassignment, the whispers, the humiliation you had to wear like perfume the minute you stepped into your new floor.

And now this. Soonyoung, who was never supposed to take anything seriously, was the one seeing you the clearest.

Your lip quivered. You bit down on it hard enough to taste metal, willing yourself to stay composed. But the second tear came. Then another. You looked away, ashamed of your silence, your vulnerability, your inability to respond.

“Y/n,” he said gently, pulling you closer, foreheads touching again. “If they don’t see your worth… leave. And I’ll help you find a better place.”

The weight of those words hit you harder than anything else. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

But your hand slid to his chest, curled softly in his shirt like you needed something to hold onto.

And for once, he didn’t ask anything more from you. He just stayed with you in this quiet, undone moment.

You didn’t mean to call anyone. You had told yourself you'd just shower, maybe eat, maybe sleep—but instead you found yourself curled up on the edge of your bed, still in your clothes, your phone pressed to your ear as it rang.

It was late. The kind of late that made everything feel heavier. The dim light from the kitchen gave the room a soft glow, but your phone pressed to your ear felt heavier than usual.

“I’m just… tired,” was all you said when Seungkwan picked up, his voice chipper at first—then cautious. He didn’t push. He never did. He let the silence fall, filling it with his presence, not questions.

There was a pause, long enough that you almost said “never mind.” Then your voice slipped through again, barely above a whisper.

“What do you think if I’m resigning?”

A beat. Then Seungkwan answered, calm and sincere. “I don’t mind. I mean, yeah—it’ll be hard to find something with the same value, same reputation. But if that’s what you want, I’ll support it. Always.”

You sighed, pressing your thumb against your temple. Your head hurt in the kind of way that wasn’t about lack of sleep—but a lack of peace.

“I don’t know, Seungkwan... I really don’t know.”

“Of course you’re clueless. You’ve been shoved around and put in situations where you had to survive. I understand,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Do you have any career plan? Is someone offering you a job?”

No. No one. Well— Soonyoung had said he’d help. Said it with conviction in that private moment like it was gospel. Like he meant every word.

But he was Kwon Soonyoung. A man who once asked if “ROI” was the name of a new intern. Who didn’t know how to schedule his own meetings without color-coded prompts you made for him. Who showed up to investor brunches with lipstick on his collar—your lipstick—and still made a joke out of it.

You couldn’t even trust him to send an attachment properly in an email. And now he was asking you to trust him with your life after this?

Your silence must’ve stretched too long, because Seungkwan spoke again. “Is it him?” That stopped your breath. You didn’t say his name. You didn’t have to. He knew.

“I don’t know what he promised you,” Seungkwan continued gently, “but if you’re holding on to that as your only parachute, make sure it’s not just… words.”

You closed your eyes. You wanted to believe him.bWanted to believe that Soonyoung meant it—that he would fight for you, that he saw everything you sacrificed for that label, that he wouldn’t let this end with you packing your things and being erased.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You didn’t know if it was belief… Or wishful thinking. And you were tired of hoping. You didn’t answer. Just let the silence fall again.

When Soonyoung stepped into his apartment, the first thing that hit him wasn’t the silence—but the scent. Something warm. Garlicky. Familiar. He paused by the door, blinking like he had to recalibrate. There was someone in his kitchen. You.

Wearing one of his aprons—badly tied—and frowning softly at the pot in front of you. The sleeves of your blouse were rolled up, and your hair was clipped messily at the back. You didn’t hear him come in right away, too focused on adjusting the stove and tapping at the edge of the box labeled KF Meal Kit –Kimchi Jjigae.

He chuckled, loosening his tie. You and these damn company products. It was the fifth time he’d seen you cooking them in the last month. At work. At home. He shrugged off his blazer, folded it neatly, then quietly walked to the kitchen. You looked up as he reached the counter, eyebrows raised and a small smile tugging at your lips.

You leaned a little on the counter, watching the pot begin to simmer. He stepped closer without thinking, hands finding your waist like they belonged there. You didn’t move. You didn’t stop him. If anything, your body softened beneath his touch, like it remembered the rhythm of standing this close.

Soonyoung exhaled quietly, pressing his forehead near your ttemple I miss you,” he murmured.

There was no teasing in it. No smug grin. Just honesty, spoken low and barely audible over the bubbling of the meal.

You blinked, the words catching you off guard—but not in a bad way. They melted into the air, sinking into the skin between his palms and your ribs. You didn’t respond immediately. You just leaned the tiniest bit into him, a silent answer in itself.

His thumb brushed over your hip, and he pulled you just slightly closer—not possessive, not rushed. Just… here. Present.

You tilted your head toward him slightly. “Dinner’s not even done yet and you’re already getting sentimental?”

Soonyoung chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder, “You in my kitchen is enough. Feels like I’ve already won.”

And for a moment, it was quiet. Dinner was long gone—plates in the sink, lights dimmed, and the two of you curled on the couch like gravity pulled your bodies together on instinct. The TV played something neither of you paid attention to. Just background noise to the slow rhythm of Soonyoung’s fingers trailing along your cheek, brushing the edge of your jaw, memorizing your face like it was the first time again.

You blinked, lazy from the warmth of his hold, when he spoke.

“I talked to Joshua hyung today.”

Your brow lifted. “Yeah?”

“He said there’s a manager position opening in his company. He’d like to see your resume.”

You turned toward him a little, eyes wide in disbelief. “Really?”

He smiled, nodding, looking far too proud for someone just casually bringing life-altering news. “Yeah… I told him about you. About how competent and sharp you are. He said he can’t wait to meet you.”

You stared at him. “That’s… unexpected.”

Soonyoung immediately pouted, his brows knitting together in that ridiculous way that never quite matched how tall and put-together he could look in a suit. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I wouldn’t come through?”

You chuckled under your breath, “No, it’s not that. I just…” you exhaled, “I didn’t expect you’d actually do it. I know you can, with your last name and network. But I guess a part of me thought… I was just someone who helped you with work.”

Soonyoung stared at you like you’d just said something blasphemous. Then sighed heavily and pulled you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin.

“You should know by now that you’re more than that, Y/n. Everyone sees it. Even Seungcheol hyung said you were—what did he say—ah, charismatic.”

You groaned, pressing your face briefly into his shoulder. “Don’t bring that up…”

Soonyoung chuckled, a little too amused. “What? It’s true. Remember that night he drove you home from the bar? You told him what you did—accidentally, if I recall—and he just went, ‘So you’re the one supervising Soonyoung? Ah… the annoying marketing manager, huh?’”

You sighed dramatically. “Great. That’s my legacy.”

“Sexy annoying marketing manager,” he corrected with a grin, pulling you closer.

“Shut up.”

He laughed harder now, contentment laced into every curve of his smile.

Then, a pause. Softer.

“You’re not mad?” he asked.

You looked up at him. “Mad?”

“For… helping you like this. I mean, I know you’re strong. I didn’t want to bruise your pride or make it seem like I thought you couldn’t land something on your own.”

You stared at him, heart clenching in that way it sometimes did when people said something too kind. Something too thoughtful.

“You’re competent. Smart. Efficient,” he said, as if repeating it to himself. “And I was worried you’d turn it down because you thought I was underestimating you. But I wasn’t. Not even a little.”

You blinked, then smiled, unable to stop the warmth spreading through your chest.

“You’re cute, Soonyoung,” you murmured, fingers reaching up to pinch his cheek gently.

“Hey! I’m being serious!” he protested, squirming under your touch—but his grin betrayed him.

You leaned into him again, nestling under his chin as his arms instinctively wrapped tighter.

“I know you are,” you whispered. “And that’s why I might actually consider it.”

He didn’t answer. But the way his breath slowed, and the way his thumb gently brushed the back of your hand, said everything.

The TV murmured in the background—some drama neither of you were really watching—as the quiet between you stretched long and comfortably still. The couch dipped just slightly beneath your bodies, your fingers lazily tracing the hem of his sleeve. You were dangerously close to dozing off again in his warmth. Until—

“Soonyoung-ah?”

The sudden voice made you jolt so hard you lost balance. He turned his head sharply—just as you tried to sit up. Your knees caught the edge of the coffee table, he tried to grab your waist, you both fumbled—and then fell.

Hard.

The thud was loud, a tangle of limbs and fabric hitting the floor, followed by a stunned silence and a hissed curse from Soonyoung.

“Oh my—are you okay?!” came the voice again. It was closer now.

You froze, eyes wide. Soonyoung groaned beneath you. “Why didn’t you lock the damn door?” you whispered sharply as you sat up from his chest, trying to fix your shirt, your dignity already lost in the living room rug.

“I didn’t think I needed to!” he hissed back, rubbing the back of his head.

Then a pair of heels stepped into view.

“Oh,” said a woman with a well-maintained bob cut and too-perfect makeup. Her tone was pleasantly surprised, but her gaze was anything but subtle. “I… didn’t know you had company.”

You scrambled upright. “Hello—I'm sorry—I didn’t hear anyone come in—”

“Clearly,” she said with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Soonyoung stood, brushing off his slacks and walking past you like nothing happened. “You visit,” he said flatly.

His mother blinked. “I brought food. And I wanted to check on you.”

He walked toward the kitchen without glancing back. “I’m not twelve.”

She gave you a knowing glance and followed. “Still, you always forget to eat when you're under pressure. And you’re hosting. I had to make sure she wasn’t starving.”

You stiffened slightly. Soonyoung looked back at you, unreadable. “She ate.”

“I can see,” she said, eyes flicking toward the leftover meal kit container on the counter. “Microwave dinners. Very romantic.”

His mouth twitched. “It’s from the label.”

His mom looked at him, then at you, and smiled again, this time softer. “You must be the reason he’s actually showing up to board meetings.”

You opened your mouth, unsure what to say.

“Mom,” Soonyoung interjected, tone clipped. “You’ve delivered the soup. You’ve confirmed I haven’t died. Are you staying?”

She tilted her head slightly. “I can go. Don’t let me interrupt.” Her gaze lingered on the couch—on the crumpled blanket, the two glasses, the clear closeness—before she turned to the door.

“I’ll call you later, Soonyoung,” she added as she slipped her heels back on. “Nice to meet you, Miss…”

“Ji,” you supplied quickly.

“Miss Ji,” she echoed with a small smile before she stepped out, closing the door with an audible click.

Silence.

You turned to him, breath still uneven from both the fall and the mortification. “So that was your mom.”

“Yep.”

“She didn’t seem… warm.”

“She’s not.”

A pause. “She said she brought food.”

He rolled his eyes. “She’ll Venmo the maid to drop it off later.”

“…You okay?”

Soonyoung scratched the back of his head, then looked at you with a crooked grin. “Honestly? I’d rather fall again.”

You laughed. Loudly this time. And maybe—just maybe—it made the awkwardness a little easier to carry.

Your first day at Hong Finance went better than expected. The morning had been a whirlwind of handshakes, onboarding documents, and a glossy welcome kit with your name printed in soft gold on the folder. The office was sleek, everything glass and grey and expensive-smelling, but the people? Surprisingly warm. Joshua, your new Director, had personally introduced you to each team member, casually mentioning that you came highly recommended—without saying by who.

Though you had a guess. A certain someone who used to forget what KF Label even stood for.

You worked through the day with quiet diligence, letting your brain adjust to the faster pace, the bigger picture, and the knowledge that you weren’t being micromanaged by HR this time around. You weren’t running damage control. You were actually doing your job—and being respected for it.

It was 6:10 when you stepped out of the building, your heels clicking gently on the pavement. The golden haze of sunset stretched across the city skyline.

And right there, leaning against a black car with sunglasses perched atop his head, was Kwon Soonyoung.

He looked like he belonged on the cover of a lifestyle magazine—tailored slacks, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, one hand in his pocket and the other lazily scrolling his phone. But the second he spotted you, he straightened up and pulled the door open.

“For the newly hired marketing manager of Hong Finance,” he grinned.

You raised an eyebrow as you walked up. “Look who’s playing chauffeur.”

“I prefer ‘supportive boyfriend who can finally say that title out loud.’” He gave you a dramatic bow before you slid into the passenger seat. “You worked hard. I’m proud of you.”

You chuckled as he got in, started the engine, and the two of you merged into the soft blur of city traffic. “So how was your day?”

He shrugged with a grin. “Better now. I was thinking of you the whole time. Could barely sit through my meeting without wondering if you were dying in there or thriving.”

“I’m thriving,” you smirked. “Try not to look so surprised.”

He glanced sideways at you, eyes softening, then turned back to the road. “You know, I meant it when I said I wanted to take you out tonight. Properly.”

You leaned your head against the seat, lips curving. “I know.”

He glanced at you again.

“And I meant it too,” you added, mischievous. “‘Finally growing up,’ huh?”

Soonyoung groaned playfully. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

“Nope.”

It happened six months later. You weren’t expecting it. Not after all the teasing. Not after the jokes he made every time marriage came up, always with a sly grin and a "we’ll see" or a "why rush, we’re young, aren’t we?"

And certainly not on a regular Saturday afternoon, in the middle of folding laundry in his apartment, your hair tied up in a loose bun, wearing one of his old oversized shirts that still smelled like his cologne no matter how many times you washed it.

But maybe that was why it happened. Because you weren’t dressed up. There was no audience. No violin strings, no rooftop dinner. Just sunlight spilling through the windows, the quiet hum of domestic life, and the two of you surrounded by all the little pieces of your routine. Your world.

He stood behind you, not saying anything at first. Just watching. You felt his stare and turned around, sock in hand. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Soonyoung tilted his head, lips quirking faintly. “I’m thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

He laughed softly, but didn’t look away. “I mean it.”

You waited.

“I was thinking,” he said again, this time quieter, “about how I used to think love was chaos. Fireworks. Like a storm you couldn’t control.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice.

“But you’re not chaos,” he went on, stepping closer. “You’re… steady. You’re grounding. You told me when I was being stupid. You stayed when it would’ve been easier to quit. You even learned to like our new meal kit.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest tightened. “So now you’re confessing your undying love through carbs?”

“No,” he chuckled, then reached into his pocket. “I’m proposing through this.”

Your breath caught as you saw the small velvet box. He opened it slowly, revealing a ring so simple and beautiful it nearly took your breath away. No diamonds shouting for attention. Just a gold band with a small, elegant gem. The kind of thing someone would wear every day. Quiet. Constant.

Just like the love he’d built with you.

“I’m not good with a lot of things,” he admitted, voice trembling just slightly. “But I know I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life. I want our dumb, quiet mornings. Our microwave dinners. You calling me an idiot when I deserve it. And maybe one day, you walking into my office again—but with my name.”

You stared at him, completely speechless. Then he laughed, nervously. “You don’t have to say yes now, by the way. I know your career’s still—”

“Yes.”

He paused. “Wait—what?”

You dropped the sock you were holding, stepping closer. “Yes, Kwon Soonyoung. You idiot.” His smile split wide as you tackled him in a hug, the ring box still clutched in his hand.

Meeting his parents was something you’d quietly prepared for, even if Soonyoung said you didn’t need to. “They’re not scary,” he promised with his usual shrug. “You met my mom. My dad’ll just talk about the stock market until someone stops him.”

Still, as you sat beside Soonyoung at the long dining table in their sleek Hannam-dong house—with its museum-level lighting and not a single speck of dust—you knew this wasn’t just any dinner.

His mother greeted you first, of course, in a flurry of perfume, pearls, and the kind of warmth that felt performative but not unkind.

“Oh, you’re getting prettier!!” she said, gripping your hands with both of hers. “Soonyoung was never this glowy, you know. He must be eating well.”

You smiled, bowed politely, and thanked her—twice. She seemed like someone who appreciated a bit of extra etiquette. She gave you a quick once-over—your outfit passed the silent inspection, thank God. then insisted you sit beside her son like you were already part of the family.

His father arrived late, after the wine was already poured and the soup already served.

He was tall, imposing, with the kind of sharp silence that made your posture straighten without thinking. His handshake was firm, his gaze sharper.

“You’re working in finance now, I heard?” he asked, cutting his steak slowly.

“Yes, sir. Hong Finance. I handle B2B marketing strategies under Director Hong Joshua.”

His father hummed, noncommittal. “I see. No family ties to the industry?”

You blinked, just once. “No, sir. I’m from Busan. My family runs a small printing business.”

Another hum.

Soonyoung glanced at you, eyes flicking in concern. You nudged his knee gently under the table—a silent it's fine. I got this.

The conversation moved, meandering through safe topics, until the elder Kwon brought up the label again.

“You know, the KF Label still has too many bleeding points. Sales growth is good, but not stable. I’m not convinced Soonyoung understands where it’s leaking,” he said bluntly. “You do understand what I mean by that, don’t you?”

Soonyoung opened his mouth, clearly trying to assemble something in his head. You could almost see him reaching for words, for numbers you knew he hadn’t looked at since last quarter.

But before the silence stretched too long, you calmly lifted your glass, smiled, and spoke.

“The margin inconsistencies in the semi-premium line have been narrowing, actually. Since February, we’ve scaled down redundant distribution channels and optimized the logistics route from our Cheonan facility. The recent push with ‘Heat-and-Meet’ expanded brand visibility with minimal promo spend.”

You placed your glass back down and added, with polite finality, “Soonyoung has been involved in all those strategy approvals. We’ve made it a point to streamline executive summaries so he can lead without getting buried in jargon.”

The table went quiet for a beat. His father looked at you properly now—eyes no longer cold, but assessing. Appraising. “Hm,” he said. “I wasn’t aware of the Cheonan streamlining.”

“I prepared the original logistics adjustment proposal,” you said with a slight smile. “But the final call was Soonyoung’s.”

A pause. Then, almost grudgingly, the elder Kwon nodded. “Impressive.”

Soonyoung gave you a look under the table—half grateful, half floored.

His mother clapped lightly. “You speak better about business than some of his uncles do, dear.”

You blushed politely and simply replied, “I just care about what I do, ma’am.”

His father said little else after that, but the look he gave Soonyoung as he excused himself from the table later carried something unfamiliar. Respect. Maybe for the first time.

And as you and Soonyoung helped clear the dishes together in the kitchen, his mother called from behind you with a small, satisfied smile:

“You’re already helping him become a better man, Y/n.”

Soonyoung grumbled, cheeks warm. “I told you. She’s the smart one.”

You just bumped your shoulder into his and whispered with a smirk, “Glad someone finally noticed.”

The revolving glass doors of KF Label glided open with a quiet sigh as you stepped inside, heels tapping steadily against the pristine marble floor. The lobby hadn’t changed—still sterile, still polished, still smelling faintly of lavender diffuser and corporate ambition.

But you had. Not Ji Y/n, the former marketing manager. You were now Kwon Y/n. The name settled differently on everyone’s tongue now. Especially here, where whispers spread faster than memos.

You nodded at familiar faces—staff from various departments, even the security guard who once complimented your meal-prep lunches. Some smiled with genuine warmth, others with thinly veiled curiosity. And a few didn’t bother to hide their surprise.

Your steps slowed only when you reached the seventh floor. There, near the meeting room, you saw him. Kim Mingyu. He looked up from a file he was reviewing, pausing mid-page when he saw you. His expression didn’t change much—no shock, no smile. Just a polite flicker of his brows. You offered a small, courteous smile and bowed slightly. He returned the gesture with the same practiced civility. That was all.

It was a month after your resignation when you’d found out through Dokyeom in a hesitant voice over a coffee meeting, that it was Mingyu who had filed the HR report. The report that cost you your role. Since then, there’d been no real confrontation. No apology. Just stiff smiles across event halls and neutral nods across meetings.

Jun, Soonyoung’s secretary, greeted you the moment he saw you approach. He looked much livelier than he did during your era of damage control.

“Y/n,” he beamed, standing quickly and smoothing his tie. “You look amazing, as always.”

You offered a gentle smile. “Is he available?”

Jun nodded, already walking to the heavy door. “Just finished a call. I’ll let him know.”

He knocked once and pushed the door open with a practiced hand.

“Sir,” he said with a knowing grin, “your wife is here.”

There was a pause, then a familiar voice from inside, low and warm with the tone he reserved only for you.

“Let her in.”

And just like that, you stepped through the door—leaving behind the past titles, the old pain, and the fractured stares.

You weren’t here to prove anything anymore.

You were here as Kwon Y/n—his partner, in more ways than one.

Soonyoung stood the moment you entered, his face lighting up with that boyish grin that never failed to soften you. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled, and the stress lines on his forehead were deeper than usual.

Still, he reached you first—fingers brushing yours before he gently guided you toward the couch like you were something precious.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he asked, sitting close, knees turned fully toward you.

You tilted your head, teasing, “What would you have done if I told you?”

“Prepared something,” he said dramatically, eyes twinkling. “Like a red carpet. You’re a star here, baby.”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing your hand against his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you.” He leaned his head against your shoulder then, a deep sigh escaping from him as his whole body relaxed. “Have you had lunch?” you asked quietly, resting your cheek on his head.

He shook his head. “No time. This anniversary event… the product launch, five proposals due by tomorrow—” he exhaled sharply, motioning vaguely to his chaotic desk. “I’m going crazy. If you hadn’t walked in, I might’ve actually curled under that table and disappeared.”

You ran your fingers gently through his hair. “I took a half-day off.”

His head lifted slightly. “Why? Still feeling fatigue?”

You nodded, pressing your lips together. “Yeah. And I went to the doctor earlier.”

That made him sit up straighter, concern painting his face. “You should’ve come home. Why didn’t you say anything? Why are you visiting me if you’re not feeling well?”

Instead of answering right away, you pulled a neatly folded document from your bag and handed it to him.

His brows furrowed as he took it. “Wait—this… is this what I think it is?”

“Open it.”

Soonyoung unfolded the paper slowly, eyes scanning over the lines until they landed on one sentence that made everything around him blur.

Pregnancy confirmation – estimated gestational age: 6 weeks.

He looked up at you, completely still.

You smiled, a nervous, tender curve. “Surprise.”

His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first. His hands trembled just enough for you to notice, the document still in his grip.

“I’m—” he blinked, voice rough with disbelief. “I’m going to be a dad?”

You nodded, your own breath catching. “Yeah. We’re… we’re going to be parents, Kwon Soonyoung.”

For a second, he just stared.

And then he laughed—a soft, breathless sound of pure joy—as he leaned in and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest with a mix of awe and something almost like reverence.

“You’re everything,” he whispered. “I swear, you are.”

“I’m telling Jun I’m going home. Everything can wait until tomorrow.” Soonyoung stood up with a spark in his eyes after pulling you into one last firm hug.

You opened your mouth to protest—“Soonyoung, your schedule—”

But he already had his phone to his ear, spinning half toward his desk while still watching you like he couldn’t stand looking away for too long.

“Jun. Yeah. Cancel everything for the rest of the day. Postpone the internal review, shift the client call. Send a memo that the director is off-duty. No, not sick—in love.” He grinned at you while Jun, somewhere across the floor, probably died a little. “You can blame the most beautiful woman in my life.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, trying not to burst out laughing. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic,” he said, putting his phone down and coming back to you. “I’m in love. And apparently, I’m going to be a dad, which means I have very important priorities now.”

He helped you up gently, his hands warm on your arms. “Let’s go home, baby.”

You smiled, heart full. “Okay.”

As the two of you stepped out of the office hand in hand, the corridor lights overhead felt softer. Familiar faces turned, surprised, and smiled—some knowingly, some with wide eyes.

But you didn’t care.

Not as he walked beside you, fingers laced tightly in yours, saying things like “I’m buying dinner. No—wait, I’m cooking! No, I’m ordering and cooking!”

And you laughed. Because this was your life now.

Messy. Bright. Full of Soonyoung.

The end.

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100vern · 2 months ago

Text

in the zone | ksy

what do you do when it feels like your entire life is falling apart? you spend the last of your inheritance on a beach house for the summer, of course. sure, the listing was suspiciously cheap, and there’s a massive waterpark right outside the bedroom window, but you just need to get away, so it’ll have to do. besides, it’s not like your entire world can get turned upside down in three months… right?

⟡ pairing: hoshi x f. reader ⟡ genre: strangers to lovers, (accidental) roommates; smut, fluff, lite angst ⟡ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⟡ warnings: bestie minghao. lots of talk about wasted potential, dead-end jobs, fear of change, job-based insecurity, self-doubt (no this is NOT a self-insert why do you ask!!). mentions of grief and mourning a loved one but nothing super heavy. alcohol and weed use. swearing. mentions of food/eating. pet names (baby, pretty girl). two down bad losers who are disgustingly into one another after a concerningly short amount of time, which is the beauty and entire point of fanfiction. please suspend any and all disbelief, thank u! ⟡ smut warnings: kissing. grinding/dry humping. public indecency but not public sex. hair pulling. dirty talk & praise. oral sex (f. receiving, mentions of m. receiving). protected vaginal sex. everyone orgasms. ⟡ wordcount: 20.2k ⟡ credits: bee (@imnotshua) and jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over for me, as always. i was in a time crunch and we're under a tornado watch so this is unedited and any mistakes are my own. if there's anything glaring i will fix it at a later date. :') ⟡ written for: the carat bay collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you both for letting me participate. please make sure to check out the rest of the fics! ♡ ⟡ author's note: this is based entirely on the beach town i spent all my summers at as a kid, so there's a lot of nostalgia here. i wasn't sure i was gonna get this done on time, but with the power of god and anime vyvanse on my side, we managed to pull through... even if we had to pivot bc my original plan would've tripled the length. i hope you enjoy it!

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this.

“It’s not fate,” Minghao comments unhelpfully from his side of the lunch table, “it’s suspicious. It’s also highly concerning that they look the same to you.”

You frown. Spear a piece of near-wilted spinach on the end of your fork, sending a bead of salad dressing onto your phone that you don’t notice and consequently smear all over your screen when you scroll through the rental listing with your other hand. “Do the horrors ever cease?” Minghao stares blankly at you. You sigh at his lack of humor. “Are you saying you don’t think I should go?”

“No,” he’s quick to say, handing over a napkin. “On the contrary, I think you need to get the fuck out of here. All I’m saying is I think you should go to a place that isn’t such an obvious scam.”

A scoff escapes you as you stare down at the listing again. Super Host Soonyoung stares back at you for the hundredth time today. If it were possible to judge someone’s character from a blurry internet picture the size of an ant, you think he’d seem very kind with his beaming smile and doughy cheeks, not to mention the stylish sunglasses sitting atop his head that seem like they were purchased from an actual store and not a military-grade infomercial.

Besides, he’s opening up his home to strangers. Shitty people don’t do that, do they?

“They do if they’re landlords,” Minghao deadpans.

You concede the point. Not that you’d argue, anyway—renting out your beach house for the entirety of the summer is near-textbook landlording—but the lunch room is starting to fill up, and the last thing you need (or want) is your coworkers asking questions.

Aside from Minghao, these people are not your friends. They’re people you offer that weird closed-mouth smile to when you meet at the coffee machine and awkwardly have to wait your turn, sharing fake laughs when one of you complains that, no matter what option you pick, it always comes out tasting like an ashtray. They’re people you sign birthday cards for and have no idea how old they’re turning. They’re people who tell you all about their families and show you pictures of spouses and kids you swore belonged to someone else.

They’re people whose names you can’t match to faces when you get office-wide emails congratulating them on anniversaries and accomplishments; celebrating retirements; regretfully announcing departures for bigger and better things. They’re people you swear at under your breath for microwaving something foul or not pulling their weight; for wearing too much cologne and kissing ass for promotions that’ll never be theirs.

These people are not your friends, but you’ve been here so long that it feels like they should be.

“I need to decide before everyone else gets the same idea and it gets booked up.” A loud cackle sounds from the table beside you. Deborah, one of the new hires. You’d been expecting a picture of a middle-aged woman when her introductory email had been sent out. Imagine your surprise when a baby-faced new grad was staring back at you. “Wanna get together after work and tell me all the reasons why this is a terrible idea?”

Minghao, the bastard that he is, pretends to check his calendar. “Hmm. Looks like I’m all booked on the ‘dispensing extremely valuable advice no one listens to’ front. I do, however, have an opening tomorrow. Mimosa-drunk at brunch or wine-drunk at a more socially acceptable hour. Your choice.”

A glance at your phone tells you you’ve got five minutes and three-quarters of your salad left before your mandatory unpaid lunch break is over. You stab at the mixed greens again and frown—you left it too long and now everything is all soggy and gross. “First of all, this is the worst salad I’ve made this year. Don’t let me try any more Pinterest recipes. Second of all, you never ask me to hang out on weekends.” You narrow your eyes at him. “What’re you doing tonight? Do you have a date?”

Deborah immediately stops shrieking, attention piqued by her eavesdropping. Of course, she tries to play this off by pretending to check her makeup in her phone camera, except you can see her screen—and that she accidentally opened her credit card app.

So far, she owes $2,927.43 for the month of January.

A bastard but not an idiot, Minghao shakes his head, aware of the eyes on him. “No,” he answers, and his voice is so solid and sure you nearly believe him. “Well, not like that. I’m meeting my parents for dinner.”

God, you can practically see the cartoon hearts floating above Deborah’s head.

“Well, wine-drunk sounds better to me,” you answer, ignoring the fact that Minghao’s parents are in Turks and Caicos this week for their anniversary. Which he told you three days ago. “Orange juice gives me heartburn.”

With a put-upon sign, Minghao stands from the table. Gathers his trash and drapes his cardigan over his shoulders in a way that looks fashionable and cool. “I have got to make plans with people my own age.”

You snort. “Well, you can always ask—“

He cuts you off with a very pointed, “Back to the grind,” even though he says that’s “stuff white people say, along with ‘another day in paradise!’—and if you ever ask a white person how they’re doing and they respond with ‘I’m alive,’ you need to take a half-day.”

Everyone in this place is so fake.

And it isn’t like your day gets any better. An hour before closing time, your manager pops up on the ledge of your cubicle. “Heeey,” she chimes, pretending to wince at what’s about to come out of her mouth next. All things considered, she’s nowhere near the worst person to work for: she’s trustworthy, didn’t hesitate to give you the time off you needed, sends funny memes in the team group chat. So your whole thing with her isn’t her fault, it’s just—she’s years younger than you, so it touches on all those old insecurities. “Glenn needed to take the rest of the day, and in true Glenn fashion he didn’t get those reports done before he left. I hate to ask, but could you maybe, possibly, perhaps stay a little late…?”

In the split-second since she appeared at your desk like a bad omen, you’ve made up your mind: that beach house will be yours for the entire summer, scam or not.

Because you hate Glenn as much as the next guy (which, on your team, is mostly everyone), but you hate this place as an institution even more. What it represents. The insecurities and inadequacies it picks at. How comfortable you’ve grown here and the convenient excuses that comfort provides.

So you agree before you can come to your senses, because saying no will look bad, and the only thing you’ve got going for you and having been here so long with barely anything to show for it is the amount of PTO you’ve racked up, so you can’t and won’t give anyone a reason to refuse your request.

With a few minutes left in the day, everyone starts packing up and discussing weekend plans: sports and TV series they’ll be watching, new coffee shops they’re checking out, hobbies they’ll be catching up on. Before you can up the volume in your headphones, your cubicle mate asks if you’re doing anything fun. “Ah, just trying that new winery tomorrow, I think,” you answer, and you hope she won’t remember this come Monday because you don’t know anything about wine and can’t think of many things worse than discussing it.

Five-thirty hits. Everyone trickles out while you stay seated, glued to your desk and receiving everyone’s sympathetic glances. It takes a half hour just to get into Glenn’s reports because, for reasons unknown to you and your manager, he password-protected them—and once you’re in you see why. Half-baked columns, wrong formulas used even though knowing and understanding Excel was a job requirement, numbers you can’t trace back to any of the provided data. At seven you’re ready to put your head through a concrete wall. By eight you finally hit the halfway mark.

At quarter to ten, you finally send off the reports and sit back in your chair. Sitting in thischair for so long has to be doing irreversible damage, so you make a mental note to schedule a massage for tomorrow afternoon before you meet up with Minghao. With a sigh, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to conjure up some moisture. Nearly five hours after the rest of your coworkers, you pack up your belongings, twisting your body as you stand and trying not to wince as your knees and back make some concerning sounds.

Then, before you shut down your computer and go home to rot in bed until you’re forced to socialize, you put in your PTO request for June 2nd through August 29th.

(It gets approved first thing Monday morning.)

Vacations (In Theory) are very different from Vacations (In Practice).

Here you are on May 30th, mentally preparing for another long night hunched over your desk. Not only do you need to work ahead as much as you can for your nearly three month absence, you also have to include a paper trail to prove you at least tried to problem-solve before dumping it on whoever’s unlucky enough to cover you.

Minghao waits for you. Plops his stuff on your desk, pulls up a chair, and scrolls through social media while you work, making offhand comments every now and then about people you don’t know and all their drama while you try not to comment on how weird it is. In all the years you’ve worked together and have been friends, he’s never stuck around while you worked late, but the excuse had been convenient: I have plans tomorrow and you’re leaving early on Sunday so let’s grab dinner after work was much easier to say than I’m not going to see you for three months so let’s grab dinner because I’ll miss you.

You hadn’t commented on that, either.

Nonetheless, you put your head down and focus. Minghao had made a seven-thirty reservation at a place more upscale than the two of you usually frequent, and you’ll need to hustle if you have any hope of getting out of here within the hour.

Time seems to fly after that. Not only at work, but at dinner, too. Despite your first impression of him (deeply serious with a cutting resting bitch face), you’ve always enjoyed spending time with Minghao. He’s funny, now that you’re acquainted with his sense of humor, and he’s both carefree and solid in ways you could only dream of being. All of his troubles seem to come and go like the tide, never sticking around for too long and overstaying their welcome. The thought of him no longer being there when you return is too much to bear, so you make him promise not to change jobs until you’re back.

He quirks an eyebrow and pulls a face. “First of all, you’re going on vacation, you’re not dying. Second, I’m not promising you that. I apply to twenty jobs a week at minimum. I don’t want to be—” He pauses. Seems to be aware of what was about to come out of his mouth.

I don’t want to be like you, working a dead-end job.

I don’t want to be like you, undervalued by every metric of the word.

I don’t want to be like you, latching onto something no good for me just because it’s comfortable and I’m terrified of change.

I don’t want to be like you.

Minghao flushes. Stumbles over apologies. “No need to apologize,” you assure him, plastering on a smile you know isn’t fooling anyone. Take a sip of your drink to feign normalcy. Take a bite of food that tastes like sawdust. Good thing you were almost done, anyway.

Because Minghao was right, and everyone knows it.

Saying goodbye is awkward at best and painful at worst. Deep down, you know Minghao is just embarrassed—you would be, too, in his shoes—but just like Vacations (In Theory) and Vacations (In Practice), what you logically know to be true is very different from what you internalize. Because it’s not just embarrassment, it’s also the reason you don’t go for team drinks; the reason you don’t have anything personal on your desk. You just don’t see the point in integrating yourself into a place you shouldn’t be to begin with.

But that’s the whole point of this vacation, isn’t it?

Three months without having to think about work. Three months to decompress and pretend you’re going to do all that philosophical shit, like six a.m. trips to the beach to stare at the waves, stick your toes in the sand, and “find yourself.” Whatever that means.

There’s not much to do around the apartment except making sure you eat whatever’s left in the fridge. Coming home to a bunch of rotten food and having to go back to work the next day? Absolutely not. You’d need to bypass your office and go straight to an institution instead. You spend the rest of the day doing laundry and packing. You stand in front of your shelves and deliberate for far too long over which books to bring and then you do the same with your music library as you stare down at an empty playlist.

It’s early when your alarm goes off—barely eight o’clock, the sun already high in the sky as it beams through your curtains, birds chirping. Feels like waking up on a holiday morning or the first day of school: giddy excitement on the surface, nerves simmering just below. Makes it easy to get up and make your bed, to get dressed and put on sunscreen, your sunglasses, when there’s no dread weighing you down. Makes it easy not to mind the hours-long drive. Makes it easy to drive with the windows down, music loud, the wind in your hair.

Makes it easy to feel like you’re driving towards something, rather than away from it.

Halfway there, you stop at a small cafe for lunch, the feeling almost transcendental as you eat outside and let the sun warm your skin. You order an iced coffee to-go and it sweats in the cupholder, nothing but melted ice by the time you pull off the highway and navigate the smaller back roads, some of them covered in sand. You take a deep breath and smile. Everything smells like the sea—salty and slightly sweet, the sulphur of low tide.

The town looks like a postcard.

In your excitement, you’ve looked at a lot of pictures over the last few months, but none of them can compare to reality. Ice cream shops with striped awnings. Sidewalks covered in chalk doodles. More seafood restaurants than you can count. Antique and surf shops. Wooden playgrounds next to fenced-in basketball and tennis courts. Families walking back from the beach, pushing sleeping kids in strollers, lugging chairs and coolers and boogie boards behind them.

That excitement creeps back in the closer you get, and at every red light you look around and marvel at all the houses. How uniform they are. How they’re all elevated with ground-floor garages. The porthole windows and porches wrapped in white railing. Front yards with pinwheels stuck in thin strips of grass. Colorful cruiser bicycles stashed in tiny alleyways behind the houses, some laying on their sides with the wheels still spinning. If you close your eyes you can hear laughter and bells.

You pull into the driveway at ten after three, surprised to find that this house doesn’t look like all the others. Where they had vinyl siding in neutral, inoffensive colors, this one is mint green, bright and vibrant, with white scalloping along the facade. It reminds you of ice cream—the flowers in the wooden boxes beneath the windows look like sprinkles, and with how close you are to the boardwalk, the smell of fried dough hanging in the air, it’s easy to pretend.

Out of the car, an older couple in matching windbreakers waves as they pass you on the sidewalk. Everything sounds so much closer: the waves crashing, delighted shrieks from people on rides, the men combing the beach, trying to sell drinks and popsicles, squawking seagulls in search of someone’s food. You can see the ocean from where you stand, peeking out from beneath the boards. This is exactly what I needed, you think. Feels like your smile is permanent.

Until you try to get into the house.

You’d been given a door code when you confirmed your reservation. It doesn’t work. No matter how many times you try, 0-5-2-5 gets you nothing but a blinking red light and an encroaching panic. Phone already in hand, you send a message to the rental host—Hi! I’m at the house, but the door code doesn’t seem to be working. Is there another one I can try? Thank you!—before sitting on the porch steps to await your fate.

What you expect: a response rife with apologies, both for the mix-up and the inconvenience.

What you get: someone stampeding down the stairs and pulling the door open.

Super Host Soonyoung stands in the doorway wearing a sheepish smile and red-tinged cheeks. Except for the sunglasses, he looks just like his picture (especially the doughy cheeks), so at least you know you’ve got the right place. Still, you ask, “Hi, are you Soonyoung?” just to confirm, and that seems to knock him out of his stupor, offering to grab your bags and give you a tour.

Which seems strange. You don’t really need a tour, do you? Surely you’ll be able to find your way around over the next few months, but Soonyoung is extremely apologetic and seems a little embarrassed so you don’t say anything. You do let him grab your bag, though—mostly because meeting new people is always difficult for you, so letting him take one bag while you take the other gives you something to do with your hands. Gives you something to comment on and laugh about when he pretends to strain taking it out of the trunk.

When you get inside, Soonyoung gives you the choice of three bedrooms. Two are upstairs. Of those, one has two large windows facing the street, rewarding you with a view of the boardwalk and the ocean, while the other also has beach views that are semi-obstructed by the waterpark. The third and final bedroom is downstairs, just off the kitchen. Soonyoung offers this one and says it might be “less awkward,” which also strikes you as strange, considering—

Wait.

“Bathroom-wise, it doesn’t really matter what one you pick. There are full bathrooms on both levels—”

Reality hits you like a truck, head-on and all at once. Maybe it’s less reality and more the obvious, because listening to Soonyoung explain where the bathrooms are and giving you a tour and being here in general puts a lot of things into perspective very quickly.

“I think I fucked up,” are the only words you’re able to muster. Soonyoung’s mouth snaps closed. “Or you did. Either way, one of us really, really fucked up.” Soonyoung pauses. Tilts his head to the side like a puppy, the confusion obvious, and you think he’s about to ask what you mean so you beat him to it. “The listing was for the entire house.”

That does it.

“I—what? Are you sure?”

The second question is rhetorical. You know it, Soonyoung knows it, everyone knows it, so you don’t answer, just nod and offer a sympathetic, closed-lipped smile and hope the ground will split apart and swallow you.

Horrifyingly, all you can think at this moment is that Minghao was right about this being a scam. You’ll have to tuck your tail between your legs and tell him, because you can’t stay here. Sharing a space—not only is it foreign to you, you’re not sure you even can. There’s an art to being a good roommate, and after living alone both during college and all your years as an adult, it’s not a skill you have.

And it takes a while, longer than you expected, for the disappointment to hit. For all that excitement and all the plans you had—sticking your toes in the cold, early morning sand; sunset walks up and down the boardwalk; eating so much fried food you’re sick of it within a week; waking up to the sound of waves crashing—to come crashing down around you. This was supposed to be a reset. A reward for dragging yourself this far and surviving. A balm for all the regrets you have about your life and a compass to find a new direction.

All of it—gone.

The tears are just as embarrassing as you thought they’d be.

To his credit, Soonyoung doesn’t panic. He doesn’t seem to flinch at all, which surprises you; he gently grabs your arm and helps you to the small table in the kitchen. Pulls out a chair and gestures for you to sit, and when you do and he can be sure you aren’t going to bolt straight out the door, he pours you a glass of water, sits across from you, and calmly says, “We can figure this out.”

Any other time you’d probably scoff and say something that belied just how hopeless you found this entire situation, but now, after experiencing a concerning number of mental breaks in a very short amount of time, you’re happy to let someone else take the reins and do the heavy lifting. Of course, you don’t know what that looks like in this case. Do you ask for a refund and try to find a hotel? Surely not: any reputable hotel would cost ten times what you spent on this place, not to mention they’ve probably been booked solid since last year. Do you ask for a refund, find a hotel, book as long of a stay as you can, and spend the rest of your summer having a staycation at home? That sounds miserable.

There are probably thousands of podcasts talking about what a horrible idea it’d be to live with a strange man for three months, and it’s your fault for idealizing this entire trip so much to begin with that makes any alternative seem like a fate worse than death, but you can’t stay… right? Even if it somehow wasn’t the stupidest idea of all time, that doesn’t even touch on the fact that it’s Soonyoung’s house, and who's to say he even wants you here, anyway?

“Since this was my second embarrassing fuck up of the day, I’ll just… go somewhere else while you’re here, and you can have the house to yourself.”

You blink. “For three months?”

His eyes widen for a brief second. You’re starting to think he wasn’t prepared for any scenario, let alone this one. “I—yeah, yeah, of course. Three months! Psh, that’s nothing, you know? Barely any time at all.”

“I mean, it’s a quarter of a year. That doesn’t seem insignificant.”

Those same wide eyes have begun twitching. “Riiight.” He follows this with a very long sip of water. “It’s really no trouble, though. I can sleep at the studio. There’s a couch and a bathroom there and everything.”

It definitely doesn’t seem like it’s no trouble. Soonyoung looks like he’d rather remove all of his teeth with very dull tools, and even if this was his (admittedly catastrophic) error, it doesn’t feel right putting him out of his own home—especially to a place where having a couch and a bathroom are considered an upside. Does the bathroom even have a shower? How would he cook? Is any of his stuff there? God, you can’t do that to someone.

So it’s with a little caution, a lot of stupidity, and an ill-advised desire to be more spontaneous and free-spirited as if you’re a character in an Elizabeth Gilbert novel that you ask, “Is it weird for you if you just… stay?”

For all of Soonyoung’s mismanagement, it’s clear he doesn’t want to inconvenience you further or make you uncomfortable. He’s insistent that he’ll leave, insistent that it really is no trouble and it’s the least he can do for fucking up the listing, and insistent that if you just give him some time to pack some clothes, he’ll be out of your hair in no more than thirty minutes. With a sigh, you go through your questions again.

Does the bathroom have a shower? No, but—

How would you cook? Maybe I could come over once a week to meal prep, if you wouldn’t mind? There’s a microwave, at least.

Is any of your stuff there? Like, an old pair of sneakers. And maybe a musty sweatshirt.

By the time you ask your follow-up questions, both of you know he isn’t going anywhere, and perhaps if he’d confirmed that you’re one-hundred-percent okay with this nineteen times instead of twenty you wouldn’t have gone for it, but he does so you do.

“I really don’t have to—” You wave him off. Ask him if there are any house rules he’d like you to abide by aside from the obvious. When he sends you a questioning look, you admit you’ve never been anyone’s roommate before. “Oh,” he responds. Takes a second to think. “I don’t think so? Sometimes I keep weird hours. Like, I have my regular jobs, but sometimes I’ll go to the studio if I’m restless or want to work on something, so I guess me going in and out in the middle of the night is something to be aware of. I’ll make sure to be quiet, though.”

“Is it like a regular nine-to-five? I don’t want to disturb you, either.”

Soonyoung screws up his face. “God, no. I—wow, I just realized you have no idea what I’m talking about. I run a dance studio for the local kids. Most of them take summers off to go on vacations or whatever, so once school’s out we only open two or three days a week, depending on how many of them sign up. This year there weren't many, so we decided on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“And your other job?”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “Ah, that one’s kind of embarrassing? I… work at the waterpark next door. Carat Bay.”

“Oh, that doesn’t seem so bad.”

He sighs. Runs his thumb vertically along the length of his glass and collects the condensation. “When I first opened the studio, I didn’t realize it wouldn’t be busy all the time, you know? I spent my summers here, so I figured everyone else did, too, and I needed to pick up a second job to cover the studio rent on top of a million bills for both here and there.”

You want to tell him you understand. Want to tell him it isn’t embarrassing to do what you have to do to make ends meet; that, if anything, it’s brave. That you’ve been there (and still are). That you’re a little embarrassed by your job, too. But then he continues. “It probably isn’t embarrassing for the high school and college kids, but I’m almost twenty-nine and I’m operating the splash zone. It definitely feels embarrassing.”

You hum. Look around Soonyoung’s kitchen. From the listing photos, you knew it didn’t look like every other rental beach house, with all the ocean motifs and white wicker furniture and seashells nailed to the wall. It’s not sparkling marble and stainless steel, either, but it’s nicer than your outdated kitchen. “You seem to be doing okay, though. I mean—you’ve got this nice house and a dance studio. That seems pretty good for someone our age.”

Soonyoung laughs, a little shy and self-conscious. “I inherited the house from my grandma. I could never afford anything like this.”

“Mm, no offense, but I put that together pretty much immediately.”

When Soonyoung laughs this time, it’s bright and open, reaches his eyes and brings his entire being to life. The two of you make small talk for a few more minutes until you’re unable to stifle a yawn, and then Soonyoung is up and heading for a cabinet drawer immediately, pulling out a stack of takeout menus and saying to take your pick, dinner’s on him tonight. After you try (and fail) to protest, you ask him what’s good and accept his answer of a taco spot not far, and he puts through the order. Asks if you’ve decided on a bedroom so he can carry your bags, so you choose the streetside one upstairs with the view of the water, and while he’s gone to pick up food, you take a quick shower and unpack.

Minghao [6:22pm]: everything ok? how’s the house? You [6:49pm]: It’s a long story I’m too exhausted to type out rn You [6:49pm]: But I think this is gonna be really good for me 🤞

When you wake up the next morning, you expect it to have followed a night of fitful sleep.

Being in a stranger’s house. Said stranger sleeping only a few feet away, door cracked, his soft snores drifting down the hall. An unfamiliar place. A beach town that, while picturesque and dreamy, seems to also be nocturnal. Once most of the town turned off their lights and locked their doors for the night, it’d taken on a second life—groups of friends walking to and from the bars and clubs, shrieks of laughter and heated arguments, the to-be-expected disregard of the time and basic decency that comes with being immature and on a group trip in your early twenties.

You’re surprised, then, that you feel refreshed when you wake up. That the last thing you remember is your head hitting the pillow. It’s the most restful sleep you’ve had in months, and you roll over to check the time feeling ready to take on the world.

8:37am

Spoiled for and overwhelmed by choice, you take your time getting out of bed and going about your routine. When you slip out of your room to brush your teeth, you notice Soonyoung’s bedroom door is wide open. Even though you’re curious, you don’t (and wouldn’t) peek—instead, you’re distracted by the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafting upstairs.

“Good morning,” Soonyoung greets you. He’s sitting on the couch, one leg crossed and tucked beneath him. “I made coffee if you want some. I also left out the bread. If you wanna let me know what you like, I can go grocery shopping later—”

You smile. “Sure, thanks.” Wander into the kitchen. Fill a mug with coffee, cream, a little sugar. Pop two slices of bread into the toaster and, once they pop back out, spread on a thin layer of butter.

And then you hesitate. Should you eat here? Would it be weird to join Soonyoung in the living room? Would it be rude if you didn’t? With a sigh, you compromise and meet in the middle. Place your plate on the newel cap of the staircase and wrap both hands around the mug, soaking in the warmth. Soonyoung has the television on. You don’t recognize what’s playing, but it seems to be a mid-season rerun of some sitcom—background noise, mostly, which is exactly what it seems to be now.

Neither of you are watching. Soonyoung’s scrolling through his phone and you’re content to stare out the bay window facing the street, watching people pass by on their way to the beach. Large straw hats, colorful umbrellas, excited toddlers waiting for an opening to dart away. The waves still crash. The seagulls still screech. “Do you have to work today?” you ask Soonyoung because you feel like you should make conversation.

“Not today, thankfully,” he answers. He sets his phone down and twists his body so he’s facing you. “Back to the studio tomorrow, and I’m scheduled for the waterpark Friday through Sunday.”

You nod. You’re tempted to ask if he wants to do something together and decide against it, not wanting him to feel obligated. If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely sure you want to hang out, still wrapping your head around the fact that the vacation you spent months idealizing will not come to fruition. Not fully. But there’s nothing stopping you from grabbing a book and sitting on the beach for a few hours.

Long enough to decompress—or start to.

“I’ll probably head to the beach.”

“Cool. Let me give you a beach tag.” What he hands over reminds you of an oversized bread clip: octagonal and neon red, 2025 SEASON printed in the center. You have never seen one of these in your life. “Are these not a thing where you’re from?”

“You have to pay to go on the beach?”

Soonyoung’s nose twitches as he bites back a laugh and nods. Explains that the money’s used to maintain the beach and the restrooms and pay the lifeguards and a whole bunch of other things. “Supposedly,” he tacks on conspiratorially.

“Did the mayor get a brand new Porsche?”

“I don’t even know who the mayor is.”

An hour later, after you changed and decided on a book, and Soonyoung not only gave you a beach pass but also his favorite chair (one of the nice ones that recline and have a drink holder) and his phone number (under the guise of you sending him your grocery list, to which you inexplicably offered to just go with him instead), you have to admit the beaches are impeccably maintained.

Touché, beach pass.

With your toes dug into the warm sand, you get through half of your book. Spend the rest of the time dozing off in Soonyoung’s chair, lulled into a half-sleep by the rhythm of the waves crashing and retreating, the conversations of the people around you that becomes a singular thrum, the shrill sound of the lifeguard’s whistle that jolts you awake every time someone goes out too far.

Soonyoung texts you around three, asking if you still want to go to the store with him. No worries if not, he tacks on, you can just send me your list. So you start packing up what little you brought, thankful your walk back to the house is short. You’re drowsy from the sun, warmed through to your bones, still in awed disbelief that this is what the entirety of your summer is going to consist of. That you won’t have to suffer like the poor kid running the mini golf course, nearly dead from either boredom or a hangover behind the ticket window. That your whims will be able to come and go like the tide.

You rinse the sand from your feet at the spigot in the backyard. Return Soonyoung’s chair to where he’d grabbed it from. Leave your sandals by the back door and do a final shake of your bag to get rid of anything that might track into the house. Now that you have the right code (0-5-2-6; Soonyoung had mistyped it in his original message), you let yourself in, surprised to find him bent over the kitchen table with an extremely long grocery list in front of him.

“Lucy, I’m home,” you joke.

He looks up at you with a lopsided smile. “How was the beach?” he asks, eyes returning to his list.

“Beach-y keen.”

There’s a beat of silence—one that’s long enough to have your cheeks warming from embarrassment over a very bad dad joke—before Soonyoung lets out a snort of laughter. “Terrible.”

“Definitely not my best,” you concede, mirroring his smile. Even though he can’t see it, you nod at the list. “What are you up to?”

“Grocery list.” He holds it up, unfurling it like a scroll. “Do you think this is enough?”

You move closer, eyes scanning over what he’s written down. Four different types of burgers and soft drinks. Regular and gluten-free bread; milk and non-dairy alternatives. Brown, white, cage-free, organic eggs. Enough snacks to fuel a youth athletic team for at least a month. Pasta, lunch meat with ???? written next to it, cereal, rice. “Are you planning on buying out the store?”

“I—no, I just didn’t know what you like.”

“May I?” you ask, gesturing for him to hand you the list. When he does, you flip it over and create separate sections: one for each meal, one for pantry items (staples and snacks), and one for drinks. “Do you usually meal plan?”

Soonyoung’s stare is blank. “No. I just go to the store and buy things I like and try to eat it all before it goes bad.” Thankfully, you’re able to keep your horror to yourself. “You do? You’re that organized?”

“I wouldn’t say organized.” You flip the list back over and put checkmarks next to the things you like. “Do the same thing, and then we can come up with some ideas so we aren’t going rogue and overspending.”

After a lot of back and forth, a little friendly ribbing—“Do you really need four boxes of fruit snacks?” you tease Soonyoung, to which he replies, “Sorry, grandma. Add another box of Fig Newtons to the list instead,” which causes you to promptly cross them off—and even more organization and assigning of duties, the two of you emerge triumphant over the shopping list. If your calculations are correct (which they should be, considering how long you’ve lived alone and have done this exact thing every week), this shop should last roughly two weeks. You also give yourselves two days a week to either order takeout or go to a restaurant, considering Soonyoung’s sporadic work schedule.

As you pile into your car, Soonyoung slides into the passenger seat. Covers his eyes with a pair of sunglasses and rolls the window down. Leans his head back against the seat and sighs, appearing to be the epitome of contentment and inner peace. “Thank god it was you I fucked up the listing for.” He says this like it’s nothing. As if it’s a completely normal thing to say and it doesn’t have you nearly swerving into a telephone pole, stunned by the sincerity in his voice. “Can you imagine if it was someone as bad as me?”

It’s his words, and not the hours you spent in the sun, that keep you warm through the chilly grocery store aisles.

The first two weeks of your vacation feel well-earned and restorative, with a slight sunburn.

After that, however, everything starts to feel… different. Like you’re living someone else’s life. An alternate reality where you wake up whenever you want to, stroll casually up and down the boardwalk with an iced coffee and no destination in mind; where all those things you’d stressed over months ago are nowhere to be found, dragged out to sea by the current.

It’s a slow, gradual process. A little awkward and jilted at first as you both grow used to one another and figure out what and where the boundaries are. As you’re both determined not to make it weird or overstep.

Nonetheless, the two of you fall into an easy routine. Most of your afternoons are spent at the beach or around town, and on the two days a week Soonyoung is at the dance studio, he always texts you right before his last class to check in about dinner: if you want him to cook, if you want to cook, if you want to go out or order something for delivery. Meals are now eaten on the couch so the two of you can commentate whatever’s on the television.

(Fridays are your favorite. Soonyoung stops at the liquor store on his way home from the waterpark and the two of you get drunk on beer and soju and watch wrestling. You share two styrofoam takeout containers of tacos, and the drunker Soonyoung gets, the more ridiculous his commentary becomes. By the time the six-pack is gone, he’s sideways on the couch, his head nearly in your lap, bowled over from the weight of his laughter.)

A two-week trial period is usually far too short for you to make friends—hell, you didn’t even talk to Minghao until you’d run into him at the coffee machine every morning for three straight months—but Soonyoung is easy to get along with. To livewith. He’s easy to like. So you’re not shocked when you reach the three-week mark and all those inhibitions seem to disappear. When he appears in the doorway of your bedroom and asks if you wanna swing by the waterpark later that afternoon and keep him company.

“It’s so boring,” he whines. “I just sit there and make sure people don’t pee or drown, which is nearly impossible, anyway. It’s a giant bucket that dumps water on you—how could someone drown.”

You laugh to yourself, thankful your back is turned to him. You’ve been trying to decide between the neon green bikini and the one-piece with the cut-out just below your chest for a good fifteen minutes and aren’t any closer to a decision. “An adult human can drown in as little as two inches of water, you know.”

“Yeah, if they’re an idiot, maybe,” Soonyoung fires back. “Wear the green one. That color will look really good on you. And then come to the waterpark. I’ll give you a free pass.”

When you turn to face him, he quickly pulls out all the stops: truly pathetic puppy dog eyes, plush bottom lip pushed out, hands clasped together like he’s about to start begging. Before this exact moment, you would’ve said your resolve was made of steel, that you were not a person susceptible to a grown man’s pouting, but you cave in a concerningly short amount of time. Huff, try to act like you’re very displeased by this turn of events, and say, “Fine, but this is a family establishment so I’m wearing the one-piece. You only said the bikini because you’re a pervert.”

He’s torn between defending himself and letting out a triumphant hurrah before settling on both. “Hey, I’m not denying it,” he says casually. “You’ll really come, though?”

You shrug. “Sure, so long as you leave me alone sometimes so I can read my book.”

Cue the triumphant hurrah. “Yes! Okay, I can do that. I’ll see if there are any cabanas open and reserve one for you.”

“Wow, I even get my own cabana boy?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes and starts down the hallway to his room. “And you called me a pervert,” he calls over his shoulder.

Well, if he didn’t bother denying it, you aren’t going to, either.

—

Not only is the heat relentless, the noise does not stop.

Luckily the first issue is largely solved by the cabana Soonyoung was able to nab you. It isn’t all that large, only enough space for two lounge chairs, and to your dismay there are no men in tiny swimsuits holding trays of colorful drinks with little umbrellas waiting for you to beckon them over, but at least it blocks out the sun. Shields you from the worst of it. There’s less to be done about the heat, but once the humidity becomes too stifling you wander over to Soonyoung—easily identifiable in his garish yellow shorts and matching visor—and wait for him to blow his whistle, alerting everyone to the giant bucket of water about to be dumped on them.

“Nice legs,” you tease, wolf-whistling as you approach.

Soonyoung pretends to be scandalized. Gasps. Twists sideways as if he’s trying to hide his skin from your lustful gaze. “In front of the children?” he accuses.

No kids are paying attention to your conversation when they’re about to get drenched, but you play along anyway, sliding your sunglasses down your nose. “Can’t help it. Those tiny little shorts and your pale thighs really get me going.” He scowls, pulling said shorts further down said thighs to hide the discrepancy in skin tone. “God, it’s loud here,” you change the subject, taking pity on him. “This is what you put up with the entire summer?”

“Just wait—it’ll get worse in a second.”

He’s right, unfortunately. From the second the bucket begins to tip and for at least three full minutes after it unleashes its gallons of water, all you hear is screaming. High-pitched, manic screaming loud enough to make your ears bleed, but the water is cold and you’re thankful for the reprieve from the heat, even if it doesn't last long before it evaporates.

“Ah, gotta love it,” he deadpans. “Only twenty-six minutes and fourteen seconds until the next one.”

You snort. Ask him if he wants anything from the snack bar because you need a drink—a very cold, very refreshing drink. All he requests is a bottle of water. Not a bad idea, considering you’re probably dangerously dehydrated from how much you’ve sweat, but you change your mind as soon as you reach the counter. You hear a chorus of angels. It feels like the light of divinity itself shines a spotlight on the part of the menu advertising non-alcoholic piña colada slushies.

You promptly order two—and a water.

When the kid behind the counter hands over your order, you can’t help the beaming smile that forms on your face, but it’s short-lived. Yes, your drinks come with colorful umbrellas and are topped with cherries, and Soonyoung’s water comes straight from a cooler, dripping ice-cold condensation all over your hand and the warped wood top of the counter, but it’s hard to feel victorious when the kid who hands them to you looks like he’s going to keel over and die from heat stroke.

“I—thanks,” you mutter, taking in his flushed cheeks and the hair adhered to his forehead with sweat. You stuff a few bills in the tip jar. “Sorry you have to work here.”

You’re surprised to find Soonyoung in one of your cabana chairs when you return. His visor is pulled over his eyes, his energy completely boneless, and if you weren’t in this weird limbo of maybe-friends you’d probably tease him a little. Call him Sleeping Beauty or flick some of the cold water on your hands at him.

Instead, you place all three drinks on the small, rickety table in between the chairs. “Special delivery.”

Soonyoung lifts his visor. Laughs softly when he sees what you’ve ordered. Asks, “Is one of those for me?” and reaches for one regardless of what your answer is.

“It”—you begin to answer, watching as he dangles a cherry by the stem—“wasn’t,” you finish after he pops it into his mouth.

“But I’m on break.” He pouts. “And it’s so hot outside and this drink is so cold.” He sticks the straw in his mouth and has to speak around it. “And if Chan’s running the snack bar today I bet he put alcohol in this.” He takes a sip. “No booze. Coward.”

“Do you often drink on company time? Also, that kid at the snack bar looked about ten minutes from death. Someone should probably check on him.”

Soonyoung waves you away. “I’ll do it after I clock back in.”

“When is that? Rigor mortis might set in by then.”

“An hour. Rigor mortis is when they go all stiff, right?” You hum in agreement. “Easier to move, then.” He sucks down the rest of the slushie, finishing with a loud slurp that draws some attention your way, finishing with an exaggerated ahh. “Wow, that was really good. Can you wake me up in forty-five minutes?”

You scoff. Tuck your legs beneath you and reach for your book. “Don’t you have your phone? Set an alarm.”

“Mm, don’t want to. What are you reading?”

You tell him the title. Explain that you’d picked it up for cheap in a secondhand shop in town while you were wandering around one afternoon just because you’d liked the cover. “It’s okay,” you say. “It’s not really grabbing me, but it’s well-written and not very long so it could be worse.”

“Do you read a lot?”

“Try to.” Realizing this is not a very satisfactory response, you add, “I’ve tried to read at least three books a month since I graduated college.”

“I’m not good at math, but that seems like a lot of books.”

You laugh. “I don’t always manage it, to be fair. I’m happy with thirty books a year.”

“I haven’t read one book a year in maybe… ever. Do you have a book job?”

The question is asked around a yawn, words and inflection steeped in exhaustion, which is just fine by you. Because it’s easier to glance over at him—arms crossed over his chest, rising and falling rhythmically, and towel covering his face to further block the sun—and say, “Okay, old man, nap time for you,” and laugh at his responding middle finger than it is to exhume all that ancient history. Easier than adopting that indifferent affect as you say, “No, no book job, just a desk in an office,” and wondering if your discontent is made of tissue paper. If it’s palpable.

If it is, Soonyoung doesn’t say anything.

So you don’t, either. You stay mum about the lifelong absence of a dream. How there were things you liked but nothing you could envision doing forever. How it made you aimless, drawn to whatever felt easy at the time, content to let the wind pick you up and take you wherever it wanted. How you had to swallow down that small bite of embarrassment every time someone asks what you do for a living or how much you make. That lethal combination of hopelessness, bitterness, and jealousy you feel when it seems like all of your friends, classmates, and old coworkers are lapping you.

Those things don’t matter here, you remind yourself. You focus your attention back on your book and set an alarm so you can wake up Soonyoung.

Minghao wants to visit you.

This, of course, poses a problem. While you’d alluded to it on your first day here, you and Minghao haven’t talked much beyond a few texts every few days, so you never got around to telling him the full story. That the man you thought you were renting an entire house from is still occupying it. That he sleeps a few feet down the hall and cooks meals alongside you. That, even when he’s at work or both of you retire for the night, your phone will light up with messages or DMs from him as he sends memes or links to places around town he thinks you might like—and that you always hope he’ll ask if you want to go together.

There’s no real reason to deny his request. Much to your dismay, Soonyoung doesn’t mind. Seems to light up at the possibility of meeting one of your friends, someone he only knows about from stories and anecdotes and late-night scrolls through your Instagram feed, where you and Minghao have made it a game to tag one another in the ugliest photos either of you have ever taken. He goes into planning mode almost immediately, and if you were less mature you’d probably pout at the way the “you” in his messages becomes “you and Minghao.”

Inexplicably, you care about disappointing Soonyoung far more than you care about disappointing Minghao, so you tell him to call you once he’s done work so the two of you can come up with a plan.

Your phone rings just after seven, screen lighting up with the only normal photo the two of you have ever taken together. It should bring you comfort, the reminder that this is Minghao and he’s your friend and can even look ugly sometimes when he puts effort into it. But he’s also got the demeanor and general vibe of a parent picking you up from the police station. Something about him just exudes disappointment.

You’ll have it in spades soon.

Minghao spends a few minutes catching you up on things back home, tells you about the goings-on at the office: a new girl in his department he suspects might be a nepotism hire, the creepy IT guy you’ve all complained about for months finally getting fired, a day last week the plumbing broke and everyone got sent home early. “I’m ready for a vacation,” he sighs into the phone.

You grimace, thankful Soonyoung isn’t around to watch this trainwreck occur in real time. It’s another late night for him at the studio as he prepares for the mid-summer recital, still not fully satisfied with the choreography. He’d done the same two days ago and didn’t come home until nearly midnight.

“Hello? Are you there?”

You sigh. Tell yourself it’s better to just rip off the bandage and not prolong it anymore, but you can hear Minghao in your head saying I told you so and it gives you agita. Makes your palms sweaty. You cannot, in good conscience, allow yourself to be patronized by someone younger than you.

“Yeah, so, about that…”

Just as you expected, Minghao is not particularly gentle in his response. “A scam is a scam,” he says. “Do you have any idea how stupid it was to stay there? You don’t know that guy! He could be a serial killer for all you know, or worse—a furry.”

“I’ll be surprised if he’s a furry,” you retort, picking at a bit of pilled fabric on the couch. “But also, it wasn’t entirely a scam, he just messed up the listing. It’s not like I got here and the house didn’t exist and some dude claiming to be a prince was laughing all the way to the bank with my money.”

“You’re hopeless.” You can practically hear the way he’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I am not. It’s really nice here, Hao. The town is nice and Soonyoung is nice and he owns a dance studio and works part-time at a waterpark that he gets me into for free sometimes.”

“Is the waterpark nice?”

You hesitate. “I, um—it’s not horrible. Sometimes Chan puts alcohol in the piña colada slushies.”

“That… sounds kind of good, actually. With the little umbrellas?”

“And a cherry,” you confirm.

This, more than anything else, seems to be what seals the decision for him. After confirming for the millionth time that Soonyoung doesn’t mind his company (and that he’s not a serial killer, to which you send him the link to Soonyoung’s Instagram and ask does this look like a serial killer to you? because his most recent post is a photo of him on a giant flamingo floatie in the pool, mouth stained orange from a bag of cheese puffs, to which Minghao reluctantly agrees it does not), he agrees to call out of work and make the drive Friday morning.

Which, of course, is the day the sky decides to crack open.

This is unfortunate for Minghao, who has to make the same hours-long drive you did. This is unfortunate for you, who was looking forward to trying a new brunch cafe on the boardwalk. This is not unfortunate for Soonyoung, who was scheduled from open to close at Carat Bay and now has the day off, which he’s spending preparing for Minghao’s arrival: fridge and pantry restocked, floors vacuumed and mopped, sheets washed and dried, downstairs bathroom stocked with fresh towels. Like the grocery shopping and cooking, you and Soonyoung had worked out a system early on, so on any other day all of this is stuff you’d be helping out with.

Except Xu Minghao must’ve either been a member of a spy network or a teenage girl in a past life.

Normally it’s to your benefit that Minghao can find anything on the internet. Unlike you, he’s not prone to or all that interested in gossip (so he says), but he’s receptive when you assign him a task, and over the time you’ve known each other, the partnership has served you well. Usually it’s just mundane work gossip: who’s sleeping together, who’s on job-hunting sites begging for leads, who got embarrassingly, shit-faced drunk over the weekend and overshared in their Instagram stories. Usually it doesn’t affect you all that much, forgotten soon after in the way mundane work gossip always is.

This time, however.

Although sending him Soonyoung’s Instagram had alleviated his fears that you’re shacking up with a serial killer, it revealed something far worse: you’re shacking up with a Gemini.

Again—not usually a problem, considering astrology isn’t really your thing. You’d be hard-pressed to differentiate a Gemini from a Cancer or whatever else, so when Minghao tells you this it’s met with a hum of acknowledgment and nothing else. It was only once he asked, “Did you guys do anything for his birthday?” that it all started to sink in and panic gripped at you.

Minghao can find anything on the internet because he doesn’t stop at the surface-level stuff. You’d sent him Soonyoung’s Instagram and he didn’t just scroll through the first few posts, he scrolled years back, almost to the beginning, and that’s where he’d found the post: Soonyoung surrounded by friends, their arms slung over his shoulders while he held a cake, two lit number candles perched on top. 25!!!! the caption read.

It was posted on June 15th.

Which was last Sunday. Nearly a week ago. Soonyoung hadn’t said anything, had gone about his day as usual—coffee and a breakfast sandwich eaten at the two-seater table on the front porch before he showered and got ready for work, and even after he got home and the two of you shared a pizza and watched baseball, he never mentioned it.

Hence why you aren’t helping Soonyoung with the cleaning. You’re at the grocery store ordering a birthday cake because if there’s one thing you cannot do it’s bake, even when it’s box mix and prepackaged frosting (and Soonyoung deserves a cake that’s both edible and stays upright). You move to the aisle with the party supplies and curse the lack of options.

A children’s cartoon character or plain red, edges yellowed from age. Tough choice.

You grab a few other things and stand in line to check out, checking your phone religiously. You’d gotten out of the house under the guise of a pilates class you “couldn’t cancel,” so anything longer than an hour will start looking suspicious, but the required 24-hour notice from the bakery had posed a problem. Soonyoung is scheduled at the waterpark tomorrow, and you can’t turn it down because he was kind enough to get you and Minghao another cabana (and Minghao really wants one of those slushies), and then he’s back at the studio on Sunday to put the finishing touches on the recital.

So, here you are. Arms full of items you can let overheat in the trunk of your car and a receipt for a small marble sheet cake, a request for Happy Birthday, Soonyoung! to be written on top in blue frosting, surrounded by confetti sprinkles.

—

Soonyoung and Minghao get on like a house on fire.

You aren’t surprised by this, considering you don’t think Soonyoung has ever met a stranger. He’s good at it—the small talk, navigating those awkward moments, making people feel comfortable. Minghao has only been in the house twenty minutes before he’s giggling and entirely charmed, made to feel right at home even though he’s dripping rainwater all over the freshly-mopped floors. Seems to forget he was supposed to be angry that the rain had ruined one day of his vacation.

Soonyoung insists on carrying on the Friday tradition of takeout, alcohol, and wrestling, which is not something Minghao would watch without outside influence. But he fits in seamlessly. Falls into step with Soonyoung’s chaos, taking over his ridiculous commentary when Soonyoung’s either too drunk or laughing too hard to finish his sentences. Polishes off two orders of tacos on his own. Assumes bartender duties and mixes your drinks to questionable ratios, but perfection nonetheless.

Not to mention he out-drinks both of you. Soonyoung is worse off, retiring to bed just after eleven, groaning about his head and worrying about how he’s going to get up for work as he ascends the stairs. Minghao laughs, watching him fondly. You get the impression there’s a lot he wants to say—and maybe he would if you weren’t seeing three of him—but as it stands he cleans up the living room and asks if you want a glass of water.

“No, I’m okay,” you answer. “I think.”

Still, you aren’t surprised to find water and painkillers on your nightstand when you wake up. Luckily you don’t need them, spared from the torture of spending hours at a waterpark with shrieking children with a hangover, so you send a double-text to Soonyoung—

You [9:37am]: Are you alive? You [9:37am]: Hao left me some water and painkillers if you need them

—to which he simply replies:

Soonyoung [9:50am]: p lease

With a laugh, you throw the duvet off of your legs and pad down the hall. Knock quietly on Soonyoung’s bedroom door and laugh again at the pitiful come in you receive in response. And he does look pitiful. When you walk in, he pops out from under the covers with dandelion hair, face puffy from the alcohol, cheeks ruddy. What little sleep he got must not have been great—he looks exhausted, so you move Minghao’s gifts to Soonyoung’s nightstand, whisper a little fighting!, and head downstairs to brew a pot of coffee.

Not long after, Soonyoung makes his way downstairs and collapses into one of the kitchen chairs. Face-plants onto the table and groans into the wood. Without a word, you grab the bread from the pantry and pop a few slices into the toaster, sliding them onto a plate and serving them to him plain once they’re done.

“This will help with the nausea. Do you think you can stomach coffee?”

He scoffs. “Sure hope so. What’s the point in living if I can’t?”

Minghao emerges halfway through Soonyoung’s third cup, looking fresh and well-rested in a way only the person who drank the most and isn’t suffering a hangover can do. He greets you and Soonyoung with cheerful good mornings and questions about how you slept and how you’re feeling. “Not as bad as him,” you answer, jerking a thumb in Soonyoung’s direction, who gives you both the finger before returning to his face-first position on the table.

Your friend looks at the plate of crumbs and the mug of coffee. He sends you a look that’s easier not to look at or acknowledge.

—

Somehow, Minghao is able to talk you into sharing a two-person tube and joining him on all of Carat Bay’s waterslides.

This is horrifying for many reasons (the height of the slides, seeing Minghao’s bare feet), but it also proves useful. At the top of the highest slide, just as you fit yourself in the front of the tube and screech when Minghao wiggles his painted toes at you, the worker responsible for pushing you towards your certain death asks, “Oh shit, aren’t you the one staying with Soonyoung?”

“I—yes.” You glance at his nametag. Mingyu, it says, and you think you vaguely recognize him from Soonyoung’s Instagram. Horrifying again, because he’s somehow even more attractive in real life and you’re squished into a two-person innertube with Minghao and his painted toes, but he’s friendly and charming and talks at you like you’re old friends.

“That’s cool,” he says, ignoring the impatient discontent and creative insults from the line of children behind you. “Soonyoung said he had someone staying with him and that you’d been here a few times, but I’m always stuck up here.” A child throws a tiny flip-flop at him. It hits him in the chest and falls to the ground. “Wow,” he deadpans, “lucky me.”

In an attempt to stifle his laughter, Minghao asks what time he gets done, telling him about the belated birthday party the two of you have schemed to surprise him with. Fuck me, you think, watching as Mingyu somehow becomes even more attractive as his eyes light up. Not only is he done two hours before Soonyoung, he’s going to invite more of his friends, too. They’ll pick up more food and more snacks and more alcohol. All you and Minghao have to do is pick up the cake and decorate, which last night’s drinking provides a convenient excuse for.

During Soonyoung’s break—which he once again spends napping on a lounge chair under the cabana—Minghao says the two of you will probably head back to the house soon. “I think the heat’s making her hangover worse,” he says, injecting a convincing amount of sympathy into his tone.

Just as you expected, Soonyoung buys it. Finishes up his break with a groan and says he’ll text you when he’s done to check in about dinner, and then there’s nothing but the thwack-thwack-thwack of his slides as he returns to his post at the splash zone.

Two and a half hours to go.

Minghao stays behind to start on the decorations while you go pick up the cake. It turns out better (and bigger) than you expected, and you thank the bakery profusely as you rush back toward the exit. Back at the house, streamers and balloons line the staircase bannister and hang from the light fixtures; a HAPPY BIRTHDAY! banner stretches across the doorway leading into the kitchen; the plates and napkins are both set out, sharing the same cartoon tiger.

Luckily, it gives you both enough time to shower and look presentable before everyone else arrives.

True to his word, Mingyu knocks on the door with his hands full: a case of beer, a pile of pizza boxes, bags of chips in various flavors. Behind him stands a group of people, only one of whom you recognize. Chan, alcoholic slushie barista extraordinaire, greets you with a wave and a large smile. You are wholly unsurprised to see he brought soju.

The next hour is met with more names and faces than you’ll ever be able to remember. Friends of Soonyoung’s, coworkers from Carat Bay, coworkers from the dance studio—all of them kind, making you and Minghao feel welcome and included. They shout in excitement when Soonyoung texts you saying he’s done work. Compliment your quick thinking when he asks what you and Minghao want to do for dinner and you tell him Minghao insists on cooking, and to just shoot you a text when he’s on his way back so he can put it in the oven. When that text comes through, they all hide in the kitchen out of sight and hold their breath, anticipating and waiting, the occasional giggle sneaking through.

You drape yourself across the couch. Minghao stays in the kitchen and, once you call out that the birthday boy is coming up the drive, pretends to chop vegetables to truly sell it.

And when Soonyoung comes through the door, looking just as exhausted as he had this morning and slightly more sunburnt, you almost feel guilty. Almost think he won’t be in the mood to host. Almost think you’ve made a horrible mistake. He asks, “Do you know what he’s making?” to which you shake your head.

“No idea. He won’t tell me—says it’s a surprise,” you respond, thankful your voice and expression both stay steady and neutral.

Soonyoung drops his bag at the door. “Hm. I’ll see if I can get it out of him,” he says, winking when he catches your eye, like it’s you and him against Minghao; like he’s solving this manufactured mystery for your benefit.

Then he walks into the kitchen.

There’s the expected shouts of SURPRISE!

And then there’s a few seconds of silence.

“What the fuck,” comes Soonyoung’s eventual response. You sidle up alongside him, laughing when he turns to look at you with a stunned expression. “What the fuck?” he repeats, quieter this time, meant only for you.

“Happy birthday.” You reach up to playfully pat his cheek. “Belatedly, anyway. Why didn’t you tell me?”

His cheeks go red. As he opens his mouth to answer, sheepish words biting at the back of his teeth, one of his friends interrupts. Slaps him on the back and puts a drink in his hand. Laughs and gives him shit, asking how he didn’t notice all the decorations.

Soonyoung steals a final glance in your direction as he’s pulled away.

Everyone eats, drinks, and laughs. You cut the cake before Soonyoung’s face can wind up in it, only for someone to grab a slice and smash it in his face anyway. Uproarious laughter follows. Someone snaps a picture: first, a close-up of Soonyoung’s face, covered in cake crumbs and enough frosting to stain his skin; then, a second photo of him washing it off in the sink, entire head stuck under the faucet.

It really shouldn’t strike you someplace deep. The memory should be enough, but you find yourself asking, “Do you guys want me to take a picture of all of you?” so you have something to remember it by, too, even if you’re behind the camera.

Minghao must notice, because he offers to take it instead, taking your phone from you and gesturing for you to join the group. They’ve all got their arms around Soonyoung again but they make room for you. Mingyu, heads taller than everyone, moves from Soonyoung’s right and to the back.

“Are you—is it on a timer?” Minghao shakes his head, clearly confused. “Well, put it on a timer and get over here.”

“Me?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Who else would I be talking to? Come on, it’s my birthday and you’re my friend, so get in the picture.” He coughs. “Please.”

Minghao laughs, but you can tell from the heat in his cheeks that he’s a little caught off-guard at Soonyoung wanting him in the picture, at declaring him his friend, so he fumbles with your phone. Can’t figure out how to set the timer. No one helps, of course—they give him shit and playfully boo him, flustering him more. Once he does figure it out, he sets the timer to the wrong length so the first few photos are candids, Minghao nothing but a streak across the frame. This earns him another round of boos that render him entirely useless, have him squatting beneath the weight of his laughter, but then he sets it correctly, thirty seconds, and there’s a smile on every single person’s face when you look at it later.

After that, it’s party time—within reason.

Someone connects to the small speaker in the living room and shuffles a playlist, upbeat with a low, thrumming bassline, perfect for a party. Minghao gets roped into a conversation with two people from Soonyoung’s studio, exchanging socials and numbers. Someone has left a pan of weed brownies on top of the stove, though no one takes credit for them.

That’s how Soonyoung approaches you some thirty minutes later, half of a brownie stuck between his teeth and chocolate clinging to the corners of his mouth. “Hellooo,” he greets you, each letter slurring together, eyes bloodshot. “Are you having fun?”

“I am,” you answer. “Are you?”

“Yes. D’you want the other half of this? I don’t think I should eat the whole thing.” Soonyoung offers the brownie to you, bottom lip slightly pouted. “I’m not a lightweight or anything,” he adds, as if it’s of the utmost importance to squash any thought you might’ve had about him being one. “And I didn’t stick the whole thing in my mouth. I broke it in half before I ate it, so there’s no spit on it.”

With a huff of laughter, you take the brownie from him and place it on a plate on the counter behind you. You also grab a napkin, turning to Soonyoung with what you intend to be stern, furrowed brows until he goes a little cross-eyed and it makes you laugh. “Why is your mouth always covered in something?”

You reach for him; he comes willingly and immediately.

“Ooh, are you gonna clean me up?” he quips, trying to wiggle his eyebrows. He winds up just squinting and un-squinting his eyes, heavy-lidded and getting redder by the second.

You ignore his teasing with a roll of your lips. Place your hand on his cheek to steady him, grounded by the warmth and softness of his skin. Soonyoung sucks in a breath when you touch him. Covers your hand with his own. Stares at you so intently you forget why you’re touching him at all, that there’s a party raging around you; forget that you’re surrounded by all of Soonyoung’s friends and their curious glances. You forget what the napkin in your hand is for, uselessly pinched between your fingers.

Everything narrows to the size of a pinhead. Soonyoung is all that exists in this moment, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Until now, you thought the banter had just been banter—innocent and fun but ultimately superficial. Until now, you could brush off his coy remarks and blame it on proximity and Soonyoung’s ability to flirt with a lamppost if he thought it’d flirt back. Until now, you thought the next two and a half months would be easy; that you’d be able to compartmentalize your attraction to him.

Because this isn’t about that.

You’d needed to get away—from your job, your apartment, your life. All of it. Needed a break from the constant what-ifs and self-doubt and the nasty, unrelenting feeling that you aren’t doing enough, aren’t living up to your potential. That what you are doing is walking down a dead-end street and foolishly trying to find an exit point. You needed to try to outrun everything you’ve pushed aside, knowing it’s long overdue for it to catch up.

You don’t want Soonyoung to be one of those things. Don’t want him added to your list of what-ifs, not realizing it’s already too late for that.

So, just for a moment, you let yourself indulge. You press the napkin to the corner of his mouth and wonder how it’d feel if it were your lips instead, how he’d react, what noises he’d make. If he’d gasp in surprise or suck in another breath through his teeth. If he’d push you away or move his hands to your hips to pull you closer. If he’d let you take your time and do what you wanted or if he’d take control. If everyone around you would be surprised or if they’d think oh, of course.

You don’t find out the answer to any of those questions.

Instead, you clean the stubborn chocolate from the corners of his mouth without a word. Your touch is far more tender and delicate than you think this moment calls for, but if Soonyoung agrees he doesn’t mention it. Keeps his gaze locked on you, eyes tracing every movement. His intensity surprises you, having been outshadowed by his larger-than-life personality, the way he makes you laugh without having to try. But the intensity of the moment surprises you, too, how it all feels amplified: how you can hear every hitch of his breath, even over the noise of the party; how you can not only feel the warmth of it on your skin, but also the tension. How it feels like a massive, tangible thing in the center of your chest.

“All done,” you manage to say, coughing to clear your throat, dry from nerves and the rest of the chaos swirling around in your head.

Soonyoung smiles. Sends a wink over his shoulder as he disappears into the crowd, and you feel his absence immediately and immensely.

Minghao calls you over and reintroduces you to the people he’s been talking to. They’re kind and funny and gracious with their time. Junhui tells you all about how he and Soonyoung met, about his time at his studio. Tells you all about the kids they teach and how much they love Soonyoung. All the gifts they make for him and how they watch him dance with wide, starry eyes, trying to replicate everything he does.

Which is exactly what you find yourself trying to do later on.

Soonyoung had found you in a half-hearted conversation with Chan and Mingyu and dragged you to the living room. “Dance with me,” he said, cackling brightly when you looked at him, bewildered, and said you didn’t know how. “I’ll show you. C’mon, it’s easy.”

Dancing with someone who does it for a living is not easy, but Soonyoung is a good teacher, full of praise and laughter and gentle corrections. It’s all in good fun, anyway, and that’s exactly how he makes it feel as he jokingly shakes his ass and twerks on his friends; as the room goes blurry when he takes your hand and twirls you around. And when the song switches to something slower, headier, more sensual, there’s an immediate spike of panic that Soonyoung snuffs out—he puts distance between the two of you but stays in your orbit, hovering, waiting for you to call the shots.

You know he’ll back off if you want him to. You know he’ll take it in stride and not allow things to get awkward. You also know this decision isn’t life or death, that this can just be harmless fun you blame on the alcohol and weed in the light of day when the sheepishness creeps in. And you have to admit that sounds enticing, because the two poles of your body are pulling you in opposite directions, warring with one another. Try as it might, your brain—with all its logic and reminders for you to use some common sense—is no match for the heat simmering beneath your skin.

It’s a split-second decision, you pulling him back in, letting him fit his hands to the curve of your waist, your eyes fluttering shut at the body heat that seeps into your skin. You watch as the corners of Soonyoung’s mouth lift infinitesimally before he straightens them again, like he doesn’t want to look cocky, doesn’t want this to look like a foregone conclusion, but you like it on him. He wears it well, and you’re taken by it in the same way you’d been taken by his intensity.

You know there are eyes on you—his friends’, Minghao’s—but you can’t find it in you to care. Every time Soonyoung touches you, it feels like you’re the only people left on earth, like you’re swimming through molasses, weighed down by the intoxication of it, the yearning, the need for more.

His hands move to your hips, his lips to just beneath your ear. “Is this okay?” he asks, words spoken so quietly against your skin you feel them more than you can hear them.

You nod. Still have no clue what you’re doing, feel awkward and too big in your own body, but you remind yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s okay to just enjoy the way Soonyoung is touching you. The way he moves his body, perfectly in sync with the beat of the song, purposeful and precise. The proximity to and closeness of another person.

It’s the same later on, long after all of Soonyoung’s friends have left. Only you and Soonyoung are left at the house, your crossfades providing a convenient excuse to stay behind. No one says anything, but you catch the look Minghao sends you on his way out the door, having accepted an invitation from Jun and Mingyu to check out some new club, wanting to make the most of his last full day in town—it’s discreet and sly, but it also says I hope you know what you’re doing, because you’ve been doing it all night.

You don’t.

You know it just as well as Minghao does, so you start cleaning up the kitchen to give yourself something else to focus on. Plates, cups, and napkins in the trash. Leftovers in the fridge or pantry. Icing wiped off the floor and counters. A massive garbage bag tied up and placed next to the back door to take outside. Time alone, room to breathe. Being around Soonyoung is starting to feel like the two magnets of your head and heart are repelling.

“Leave that for tomorrow.”

You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead. “I’m almost done,” you gently argue. “Besides, it is tomorrow. It’s almost two o’clock.”

Soonyoung just laughs, nodding his head in the direction of the door. “Come on.”

“Soonyoung, there’s still food everywhere, you’ll get bugs—”

“Do I have to drag you out there myself?”

He doesn’t, though you don’t think you’d be upset if he did. “Fine. At least take the trash out with you,” you compromise.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly isn’t for Soonyoung to lay on his back in the middle of the yard. No blanket, no towel—even if it’s mostly dried out from the previous day’s storm, you’re not exactly chomping at the bit to take the risk, but Soonyoung has no such reservations. He stretches out like he’s making a snow angel before he tucks his hands behind his head and sighs in content, though you’re not sure why. There’s far too much light pollution this close to the boardwalk to see anything in the sky, not to mention the noise.

Still, you either have to join him or stay standing and look like an idiot.

So you sit down beside him, arms stretched out behind you, your knee knocking into Soonyoung’s elbow. He rolls his head to the side and smiles, and you feel it behind your ribcage, sharp and hot like fireworks. “How did you know?” he asks. “About my birthday.”

Any other time you’d crack a joke, say something cheesy like ah, I have my ways, or that you’d paid an Etsy witch to find out, but in the middle of the night, sitting side-by-side in Soonyoung’s small, dewy strip of grass, it doesn’t feel right. Feels like a moment that requires sincerity. “It was Minghao, actually,” you admit. “He was there when I first saw the rental listing and told me it was a scam because of how cheap it was, so ever since then he’d sort of been convinced you were a serial killer or something. I had to come clean about us rooming together when he asked to visit and that only convinced him more.”

Soonyoung groans. “Damn. I wanna laugh but it’s not funny. Is it funny? He still came here after all that?”

“Well, luckily I’d already been to the waterpark with you by then and watched you nearly pass out when that kid fell and scraped her knee, so I knew there was no way you could kill someone—”

“Hey!”

“—and I sent him your Instagram. We both decided that, aside from the can’t handle blood thing, a serial killer probably wouldn’t post a picture of themselves with cheese dust all over their mouth.”

His jaw drops slightly. Looks like he wants to—and thinks he should—be offended before he snaps it shut and thinks it over. “Mm, that’s probably fair.”

“Yeah, so. As one does, he basically stalked your account until he saw one of your birthday posts from years ago and asked if we’d done anything fun for it this year, and I had to say no because someone didn’t tell me.”

Sheepish, Soonyoung apologizes. Says he didn’t have plans anyway and didn’t want you to feel obligated or make things weird. “It’d only been two weeks.” And when you move to protest, he rolls onto his side, head propped up by his elbow, and says, “I know now it was silly, and I’m still a little blown away the two of you threw all of this together. I—it just means a lot, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you and your friends had a good time.”

“I haven’t had a bad one since you got here.” Such a simple statement, but the honesty in his words steals the breath from your lungs. “I’d been having… a bad time. Before you got here. So yeah, it means a lot that you’d go through the trouble.”

It wasn’t any trouble, you want to say. Want to refute the notion that doing something nice, especially for him, was a bother, something only done out of a sense of obligation. Want to tell him you’ve been having a hard time, too, and doing something like this, celebrating someone else, helped ease that perpetual grief even a little bit. That feeling someone’s hands on you in the way his had been—selfish, wanting, longing—was a welcomed change from the hands clutching at your own, rubbing at your back, accompanied by waterlogged, sympathetic words. Apologies that only made you feel worse.

You want to tell him it was nice to be desired instead of pitied.

Instead, you say, “I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, too,” because the rest feels too honest. More words not meant for this moment.

And it seems you chose correctly, because Soonyoung’s brows quirk upwards. “Really?” he asks.

You nod. “I don’t want to dump on you, but my grandmother passed away last year. I used all of my PTO and the last of my inheritance to book the rental. It just sort of… felt like everything was starting to catch up with me, you know? The grief, the insecurities I’m feeling about my job. I needed to get away.”

Soonyoung frowns, and you brace yourself for more of the usual—I’m so sorry for your loss and other such sentiments you wish you could feel thankful for and don’t—but, as usual, he finds a way to surprise you. “Damn,” he mutters, sounding entirely convincing as he whistles, “I feel like I should give you a refund now. I scammed you out of your inheritance.”

A bubble of shocked laughter erupts from you and spreads to Soonyoung. Soon, both of you have dissolved into breathless, belly-aching laughter, trying desperately to shush one another so you don’t disturb the neighbors. And maybe you hadn’t been able to say all those other things, but this you are:

“Don’t you dare. I’d pay it every single time, a million times over.”

July arrives before you know it.

After Soonyoung’s party, things largely go back to normal. Minghao stays in touch, not only with you and Soonyoung, but also Junhui. Like clockwork, he texts you often for “updates.” He’s not interested in what books you’ve read or how many hours of sun you’ve soaked up at the beach. No, all he cares about are any updates in your relationship with Soonyoung—of which there have been none, so these days, understandably, your conversations don’t last all that long.

Additionally, you see Chan and Mingyu more often. Sometimes, when their shifts end at the same time, they swing by the house after work and join you for dinner… and shenanigans. A random Tuesday sees the four of you having a water balloon fight in the backyard. Soonyoung calls dibs on Mingyu, thinking his height will afford them some sort of advantage, but he underestimates Chan’s dodge and weave and that Mingyu’s height is nothing more than a giant target. Another weeknight has all of you nearly coming to blows over a game of poker.

Occasionally, on days they don't work, they join you at the beach. They rope you into boogie boarding and volleyball matches; they nap or mess around in the water while you read. Sometimes Soonyoung will stay behind and pester you with questions: what you’re reading, what it’s about, whether or not you like it, isn’t that similar to that one you read last week, what you think is going to happen.

And then Soonyoung gets a rare weekend off.

Friday, too, which is spent like all the previous ones. Takeout, cheap beer, watching wrestling and adopting silly voices. Even with all the time in the world, it’s not something either of you are willing to give up.

Saturday, though—

Instead of preparing for another hot, sticky afternoon at Carat Bay, Soonyoung appears in the doorway of your bedroom not long after noon. He’s still in his pajamas—nothing but a pair of black briefs you’re sure were created with the sole intent of torturing you—and his hair sticks up at odd angles. But he looks good. Looks like temptation itself with his golden skin, honeyed from the sun; the six pack of abs peeking out from beneath the waistband; his voice, deep and husky from sleep.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You try to swallow, not at all surprised to find your mouth has gone dry. “Sleep alright?”

Soonyoung hums. Crosses one arm across his body to scratch at his collar bone, which does nothing at all to alleviate your suffering. “You got anything on the agenda for today?” You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. “They’re doing fireworks on the beach tonight, if you wanna check it out? We can make a day of it and do the whole boardwalk thing.”

“Oh,” you manage to choke out. “Sure. That sounds fun.”

His responding smile is another arrow to your chest. “Cool. You’re good with rides, right? Or are you gonna puke on me if I drag you on a rollercoaster?”

I might puke on you if you don’t put a shirt on, you think. “No, I’m good,” you confirm instead. Then you actually give yourself a second to think of something that isn’t Soonyoung and his sculpted, insanity-inducing body and follow up with, “Except maybe that spaceship-looking thing that spins around really fast.”

Rookie mistake: you forget to put the teacups on your no-go list.

After getting your wristbands, it’s the first ride Soonyoung drags you on. “If you’re gonna puke, we might as well get it over with early,” he reasons. You’re too gobsmacked to argue or try to sneak out of line when he isn’t looking, so the next thing you know you’re being ushered into an empty cup by a minimum wage employee entirely indifferent to your plight, all hopes of a last-second escape dashed.

Soonyoung’s sinister grin fills you with dread.

Because you know exactly what he’s going to do.

“Soonyoung, don’t—”

It’s no use. As soon as the ride starts moving, Soonyoung’s grabbing onto the bar in the center and spinning your teacup as fast as he can. Aside from his wild cackles that slip through, you can barely hear anything over the sound of your own screaming, louder than even the small kids being spun around by their parents. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto the safety bar for dear life, filling your thoughts with anything that doesn’t require a barf bag.

(You obviously don’t know in the moment, but later on, Soonyoung digs his phone out of his pocket. Goes into his camera roll and thumbs until he finds what he’s looking for before holding it out to show you. And you’re a little stunned, is the thing, because there you are. Eyes shut, gripping onto the bar just like you remember, but it’s the way you’re smiling that takes you by surprise. You can’t remember the last time you looked so happy. Can’t remember the last time you felt it, either.

“Do you mind if I post it to my story?”

Feels nearly impossible to tear your eyes away from it, but you manage to nod. Say, “Sure, as long as you send it to me first,” and he does.

You [6:28pm]: [Attachment: 1 Image] You [6:28pm]: What do you think this means? Minghao [6:34pm]: that you’re fucked

A fresh wave of nausea hits you, because you don’t need Minghao to tell you that.

You already know.)

Somehow you survive, even though your first steps back on solid ground are a bit shaky. Soonyoung laughs and offers up a half-assed apology you know he doesn’t mean, but he lets you choose the next few rides to make up for it. Chivalrous, sure, but there are so many you don’t know where to begin. Anything upside-down is out of the question for now, given the state of your stomach, so you point at a dilapidated-looking ship and say, “What’s that?” even though it’s self-explanatory.

“Ghost Ship.”

The hesitation in his tone immediately piques your interest. Oh ho ho, you think, smiling to yourself—he should not have spun you dizzy on the teacups. “Oh. Is it scary?”

So subtle you nearly miss it, Soonyoung puffs out his chest and stands up straighter. Stares at the ride as if it offended him personally as he says, “I—no! Not really. No, it’s not.”

“Is it not scary or not really scary?”

“It’s not scary,” he clarifies, lying through his teeth. “Not to me, anyway.”

“Cool, let’s go on it, then.” You start walking towards the ride entrance, pretending not to know he isn’t following. “It’s eight tickets,” you say, keeping up the ruse. Soonyoung still hasn’t followed and your wristbands are loaded with unlimited ride tickets. “Do we have—Soonyoung? What’s wrong?” Checkmate. Soonyoung’s cheeks go pink as he shuffles a few feet closer. “Do you not want to go on it?”

“I do!” he insists. “It’s just—it’s just, uh. Doesn’t that rollercoaster look way more fun? Or… look! The log flume looks fun, too!”

“But then we’ll have to walk around in wet clothes.”

“That’s what the rollercoaster is for.” You stare blankly at him. “You know, for drying. ‘Cause it goes fast.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to go on that one,” you say, making sure to pout a little. There’s a very visible war waging inside of him. He either looks like a chicken on the ride or he looks like one by refusing to go on it at all. And that’s nothing a bit of bargaining can’t fix, so you say, “If you’re too scared, I can always hold your hand.”

You expect there to be at least a split-second of hesitation, but Soonyoung just says, “Deal!” and reaches for you. Laces your fingers together and doesn’t let go of you the entire time. Not while you wait in line, not while you’re on the ride (where he does scream his head off and grips your hand so tight you’re surprised it doesn’t cut the blood flow), and not after.

Soonyoung holds your hand as the two of you walk up and down the boards. As you duck into souvenir and t-shirt shops with crude sayings. As your stomach starts to rumble and he asks if you’ve ever had a deep-fried cannoli. As he somehow seems shocked when you say no and offers to buy you one, and when you jokingly ask if he’s trying to kill you, he squeezes your hand and says, “Never,” in a voice so soft it nearly makes you cry.

The only time he lets go is to pay for your food. He finds an empty table and sits on the same side as you, bodies pressed so close together your thighs touch. Takes another photo after he convinces you to try the cannoli. It’s far too sweet and far too rich, and you can’t stomach more than a couple bites, but Soonyoung wears a proud, beaming smile the entire time that helps it go down easier. He cleans the powdered sugar from the tip of your nose and, when he’s done, he stares at you so intently you think, this is it, he’s going to kiss me.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet, anyway.

There are things he wants to do first. More rides, more hand-holding, more obscene t-shirts he tries talking you into buying, more strange foods you can only find in a place like this. More people he wants to introduce you to, too, because he seems to know everyone. They all greet him warmly, like their day is better just by running into him, so by extension that warmth is also on offer for you. “Oh, hi! Who’s this?” they all ask, and Soonyoung introduces you by name each time.

He never says, Oh, she’s renting one of my spare rooms for the summer.

He never says, Oh, she’s just a friend.

He never says, Oh, no, it’s nothing serious, because it isn’t anything at all.

Not once does he shy away. Never seems embarrassed to be seen with you. Doesn’t seem fussed by his friends glancing down at your clasped hands and assuming you’re together, or watching the way he throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side. He doesn’t put a name to whatever is simmering between the two of you, but he doesn’t snuff it out, either.

Soonyoung gives you an answer to a question you haven’t dared to ask: does he feel it, does he want this, too?

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing. You know this as well as anyone. But it doesn’t feel so scary when, later on, the two of you see Chan manning one of the game booths, scrolling mindlessly through his phone as a young kid throws darts at a wall of colorful balloons. “Wow, great job,” he deadpans every time one pops, not bothering to check how many were taken out before handing over a giant stuffed animal.

“I’m gonna win you something,” Soonyoung declares. “Which one’s your favorite?”

You hum. Tap your finger against your chin as you pretend to mull it over. “The tiger,” you answer. “The really big one.”

Soonyoung pretends to push up sleeves that don’t exist. “Coming right up.” He approaches Chan. “Hello, sir. I’m here to win the giant tiger for the lovely lady.”

Chan ignores him and holds out his hand for the money. “Pay up, weirdo.”

As they argue, you wander into another souvenir shop. It’s mostly more of the same—tacky figurines of sea life and shot glasses featuring anatomically incorrect genitalia, skimboards and mugs with seashells for handles—but you pause in front of a rack of keychains. You’re not going to find Soonyoung’s name on any of these tiny surfboards. There are others, though: #1 Grandpa, Rock Star, Boy Mom, They Didn’t Have My Name. You laugh at the last one. Almost pick it up for Soonyoung until another one catches your eye.

Best Teacher

When you return to Chan’s game stall, Soonyoung is holding the tiger around the neck, grinning triumphantly as he rocks back on his heels like he hunted it himself.

“Welcome back! As you can see, I fought valiantly to win you your requested prize.”

He returns his arm to your shoulders, pulling you back into his side as he continues walking down the pier. From behind, Chan yells, “No he didn’t! He didn’t win shit, he grabbed it when I wasn’t looking! He’s a fraud!”

Naturally, Soonyoung ignores this. Pretends he doesn’t know Chan at all and asks what you’re going to name your new friend. “Probably nothing, if you keep carrying them like that. I think they’re turning purple. Or blue.”

Soonyoung gasps and adjusts his grip. Carries your new friend around their middle instead of their neck. “Okay, no attempted murder charges for me. One of my friends is on ferris wheel duty tonight—let’s see if he’ll let me use his locker.”

“Trying to get rid of my child already?”

“They’re heavy,” he whines.

You poke his bicep. “Are these just for show, then? God gives His biggest biceps to His most useless soldiers.”

“Did you forget I won this—”

“Stole,” you correct.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Did you forget I won this for you? How can that be useless?”

You’re poised for a response that’s cut off by someone shouting his name. A lanky, kind of tall man is leaning over the wrought-iron railing, waving his arms like one of those blow-up things outside car dealerships. He’s wearing a tie-dyed shirt and his nametag has two names on it. HANSOL is crossed out with VERNONwritten underneath in bigger, bolder letters, prompting you to ask Soonyoung what his name actually is.

“Both,” he answers. Then, to Hansol-Vernon, he asks, “Can I use your locker for this thing?”

“Just leave it here,” Hansol-Vernon says, pointing at the floor of his operating station. He cracks open a can of beer. “Y’all want some? The fireworks are gonna start soon so everyone bounced. No one’s wanted to ride this thing in fuckin’ hours.”

Surely this is in violation of at least fifteen different safety standards. No one else seems to care, though, so you’re not going to be the one to bring it up and be a wet blanket about it. “Sure.” You shrug, accepting two cans when he hands them over.

Soonyoung, on the other hand, seems to have other plans. “Can we watch the fireworks from this thing?”

“Probably. They’re doing them all the way down the beach, so I don’t think they’ll, like, hit you.”

Soonyoung looks at you. Asks a question with his eyes that you answer with a small nod. “Sick. Give us more of those”—he points to Hansol-Vernon’s beer stash—“and don’t bring us back down until I say so.”

“Dude, no. If you’re planning on fucking up there again don’t even—”

You choke on your beer, coughing violently as you try to prevent it from coming out of your nose. Hansol-Vernon slaps you on the back and asks politely if you can get it together because he can’t have a death on his hands, either. “Thanks, Hansol-Vernon,” you say, wheezing a little as you regain your voice.

“It’s just Hansol. Or Vernon.”

That doesn’t clear up much.

Still stuck on three sentences ago, Soonyoung scoffs, indignant, and crosses his arms over his chest. “First of all, that was Mingyu! Don’t blame me for his debauchery! Second of all…” He pauses. “No second of all, actually.” He turns to you. “Do you wanna watch the fireworks from up there? I promise I won’t try to fuck you.”

You choke again.

Regardless, you agree. Vernon (which you’ve settled on calling him due to his shirt, which doesn’t have much of a Hansol vibe) gets you two situated, shouting a very pointed, “Hands where I can see them at all times!” when you reach the top.

And the view is breathtaking.

Nearly the entire town is visible, flat and sprawling as it encroaches on the shoreline to your right and the bay to your left. Lit up bright, welcoming like a beacon, though you’re not sure what it’s luring you into. You watch the waves break against the shore. The ant-sized people moving in herds. All the other rides that are operating and flashing and playing stupid little songs. You watch two seagulls perch on the roof of the ticket booth and fight over a french fry.

Under no circumstances do you look at Soonyoung, even though you know he’s looking at you.

The weight of his gaze is overwhelming. Has fire needling beneath your skin, pricking at your most sensitive spots. Because not only are there implications in it, there are wants. Wants that you know would be mirrored in your own eyes. And that’s… is it smart to start something with a predetermined end date? Soonyoung isn’t an idiot, wouldn’t be going into this with eyes wide shut, but you’re not sure where you stand. If it’s a risk you’re willing to take and a hurt you’re willing to both endure and put someone else through.

Still.

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing, and Soonyoung’s looking at you like he wants to engulf you. Like he wants to take every broken part of you and piece them back together with gentle hands. He’s looking at you with no trepidation at all, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. Like there’s potential. Like whatever you have to offer is worthwhile.

It should be scary. You should be throwing out emergency flares, begging whoever comes to your rescue to make you think rationally. It’s only been a month. You’re leaving in two. Hours of distance separate the two of you. You barely know him. He barely knows you; might eventually uncover all the things you hate about yourself and find them ugly, too.

It should be scary.

But it’s not.

So here, at the top of a ferris wheel that might as well be the top of the world, is where you finally meet his eye and manage to say, “I want you to kiss me. When the fireworks start, I want you to kiss me.”

Soonyoung smiles so wide his cheeks dimple. Scooches forward to sit on the edge of the bench, so close his knees knock into yours, always touching now that he’s allowed to. So close you can smell the sea salt and the remnants of cologne that stick to his skin. So close you can see yourself reflected in his eyes, surrounded by stars.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asks, voice deep and molten, words nearly spoken into the crook of your neck. You almost have to look away again—almost have to call the whole thing off out of self-preservation—because that intensity is back. Has your breath hitching in your throat, sweat beading along your hairline.

Soonyoung cups your jaw. Runs his thumb over the seam of your lips. If you were any more coherent you’d nip at it with your teeth, soothe the sting with your tongue, show you can give as good as you get. You want Soonyoung just as affected as you, just as wanting. Just as gripped by the anticipation. Just as fucked up over the possibility of it all.

And it seems like he is, because he leans in impossibly closer. Uses his free hand to grip at the meat of your thigh, slide it higher until it’s nearly settling on your waist. He pinches the fabric of your shirt between his fingers like he’s trying to savor it, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. When he speaks this time, you actually do feel it against your skin. Feel the way his lips form around each word. Feel his warm breath every time he exhales. Feel your stomach somersault when he asks, “What if I don’t want to wait for the fireworks?” Feel your core throb when he continues, tone headier than you’ve ever heard it, “What if I just pulled you into my lap and kissed you right now?”

If you were any more coherent you’d tell him to do it. You’d smirk, press your tongue into the fat of your cheek, lean in just as close and watch the goosebumps rise on his arms when you tugged his earlobe between your teeth and said, “Why don’t you find out?” But you’re all out of sorts here on the top of the world, scared you’re going to come plummeting back to reality any second.

Because Soonyoung feels like a dream—not idealized or put on a pedestal, but realistic and attainable. Someone it’s easy to exist alongside of. Someone who shows you off without reservation and swindles his friends out of glorified carnival prizes just because you want one. Someone not afraid of or deterred by the liminal state of your relationship, before things became more solid and defined. Someone who knows when to push and when to be patient. Someone who looks at you and sees a future you could barely imagine—not because you didn’t want it, but because all those assumed barriers.

Grief so overpowering some days you could barely get out of bed. Salary, title, and job prospects not where or what you thought they’d be after graduating nearly a decade ago. Feeling trapped by both of these things. Knowing it’s pointless to tie your self-worth to numbers and degrees and prestige but being unable to help it. Being quietly dissatisfied with a simple, ordinary life.

But while those things are true, they aren’t what defines you.

You haven’t decided this thing with Soonyoung is worth pursuing because of his job—jobs. How much money he does or doesn’t make isn’t what you see when you look at him. What you see is his smile when he walks through the door on Friday evenings. The way his brows pinch and his tongue sticks out just so when he’s cooking dinner for the two of you. The look he wears when he shows up in the doorway of your room, half embarrassment and half mischief as he asks you to help him bleach his hair at some ungodly hour—that he trusts you to help even though you’ve never done it before. You see a man that, for the past month, has welcomed you into his home and his life.

All of those things are what makes it easy to plant your hands in the center of his chest and push him back against the bench. To crawl into his lap just like he’d teased, to nip at his skin just like you’d wanted, and whisper, “Maybe I don’t want to wait, either.”

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this: the first firework exploding as soon as Soonyoung grabs you by the back of the neck and draws you in for a searing, bruising kiss. The way he groans into your mouth and moves his hands to your waist, trying to erase space that doesn’t exist. You can tell he’s holding himself back, that he wants to thrust his hips, desperate for friction, but doesn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable, is letting you set the pace.

And the pace you want is just as frenzied.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung swears, hissing as you fully drop your weight onto him. When he tilts his head back, you move your lips to the column of his throat, delighting in the sounds spilling from him, the way he finally dares to roll his hips.

You moan, unable to help the sleazy smile that stretches across your face. “God,” you rasp, matching his thrusts, “you’re so hard.”

Soonyoung scoffs. Makes a sound like the air’s been punched out of him. “Do you know—shit—d’you know how long I’ve wa-wanted to kiss you? And have you seen yourself?”

“I have,” you snark, threading your fingers through his hair. “You could’ve, you know. Would’ve let you.”

“Pull it harder.” You do as you’re told, tightening your grip, staring down at the man beneath you. Lips parted, breathing labored, unsure what to do with his hands. You want to mess him up. Want to bring him close to the edge and make him suffer through having to wait. “Mm yeah, just like that, baby—make it hurt.”

Every word strikes you deep. Has you needy and clenching around nothing, unfazed by the world around you, that you’re in public. Fireworks continue to explode. So will you, soon, if Soonyoung doesn’t—

“Touch me,” you beg, unashamed of the need in your tone. He should hear it. He should know how affected you are by him, what he does to you. What you’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. “Soonyoung, please. Touch me, take me home, I don’t care, just—”

You’d be hard-pressed to say how you got here.

On your back in Soonyoung’s bed, his head between your legs. Panties pulled down only as far as they needed to be for him to get his mouth on you, and god is it good. Soonyoung’s made a trembling, gasping mess of you in record time. Has you clutching at his sheets every time he suctions his lips around your clit; every long, pointed stroke he makes with his tongue. Stars explode behind your eyelids every time he praises you, and you’d wanted him on the edge but you make it there first.

Soonyoung can tell. Sucks two fingers into his mouth and teases your entrance. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you, baby?” You nod, unable to muster actual words. Soonyoung grins, devilish and wicked, and presses his fingers inside. Crooks them immediately against your front wall as he returns his mouth to your cunt, sucking and licking, nipping at your skin.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Mhmm, let me feel it—that’s it, good girl. Taste so fuckin’ good; you drive me fucking crazy.”

You come with a shout, vision nearly whiting out, your hands back in Soonyoung’s hair to anchor you to this plane of existence. Wave after wave of euphoria hits you, and you almost beg him to keep going, to not go easy on you, make you come again, but you also just want him closer. Want to taste yourself on his lips. Want to hear his fractured intakes of breath as you grip his cock and touch him properly for the first time. Want the two of you to have to sleep in your bed because you make such a mess of his.

All he gives you is a few seconds to catch your breath. You know what you must look like, chest heaving and sweat-slick, and it makes you feel powerful. Sexy. Gives you the confidence to shrug off the last of your inhibitions and say, “C’mere, please,” and kiss the taste of your pussy off his lips, suck it off his tongue.

You skim your hands down his body—the expanse of soft, warm skin, chest to thigh. Grab at him over his briefs, rub your thumb across the wet patch you find there. Soonyoung curses when you suck that same thumb into your mouth and groan at the taste, the musk and hint of salt. One day you’ll return the favor and make him come with your mouth, have his muscles contracting as you swallow him down and let him fuck your throat, but right now you’re too impatient. Need him inside of you too badly.

There’s plenty of time for everything else.

Hand dipping beneath his briefs, you’re finally able to feel the weight of him. His velvety skin. Soonyoung hisses and tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. Watches you like a hawk, predator and prey, and it just spurns you on more. Has you circling and pumping his length, trying to figure out what he likes—which seems to be everything, judging by the way he hides his face in the crook of your neck and whines. “Baby,” he mewls. “God, you’re gonna feel so good around me, so tight and wet. Fuck, I’m never letting you out of this bed.”

“Yeah?” you tease, thumbing at his slit, collecting the pearls of pre-cum. “You wanna keep me forever?”

Another loud moan. “Please don’t say things like that,” he pleads, and you swear your heart stops, that your stomach drops through the mattress and onto the floor, before he follows it up with, “you’ll make me bust in my underwear like a virgin.”

You giggle, because that’s just how it is with Soonyoung: so easy to exist, to let go of your fear; so easy to laugh when everything starts feeling a bit too serious.

Easy to lob a truly terrible joke right back at him. “Come lose it, then.”

He barks a laugh. Leans over to fetch a condom from his nightstand. “Would you, the beautiful, incredible woman who I can’t believe is naked in my bed right now after I scammed her, like to do the honors?”

You would, actually, so you do.

Soonyoung kisses you as he slowly presses inside. As he fucks into you inch by inch. When he bottoms out, he gives you time to adjust; moves his hands to your waist and massages the skin just above your hip bones. “Okay?” he asks, and when you nod, tell him it’s okay to move, he presses another kiss to your forehead. “Good job, pretty girl; took me so well. I knew you’d feel like heaven.”

He fucks you slowly at first, measured and precise. Takes his time rolling his hips as his hands explore anything they can reach, like he can’t bear to not be touching you even though you’re connected in the most raw, sensual way two people can be. He waits he can feel you spasming around him, until your legs are locked behind his back, begging him to fuck you faster, harder, before he obliges. Before he puts all the power in his hips to good use. Before he rolls you onto your stomach and enters you from behind, both of you gasping at how much more intense it feels.

“Close,” you warn him, not at all surprised at how quickly your second release has snuck up on you.

With a final nip to the back of your neck, Soonyoung plants his knees against the mattress and grabs you by the hips, angling your body so he hits deeper, harder; so his balls slap against your clit every time he thrusts into you. You’re mindless with pleasure. Babbling nonsense as you beg him not to stop. Wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it, he speaks through gritted teeth.

The coil of tension in your gut finally snaps. Again, you come with a shout, entire body pulling taut as Soonyoung continues to fuck you through it, his own undoing not far behind. Only a few more thrusts before he’s draping his body over yours and spilling into the condom, hands immediately reaching for yours to twine your fingers together.

It’s quiet in the immediate aftermath. Soonyoung rolls onto his side and presses his front against your back, arm secured around your middle. Kisses the top of your head and sighs. “I need to clean us up but I don’t think I can move.”

“Hm. At least take off the condom so your dick doesn’t get all pruney.”

Soonyoung startles, bolting upright. “Can that happen?”

“Dunno,” you respond, feeling sleep nipping at your heels, “but I’d rather you didn’t risk finding out. I happen to like your dick very much.”

He laughs. Rolls out of bed and playfully swats at your ass on his way to the bathroom. “Yeah, we’re not leaving this bed for a long time.”

In the morning, you wake up Soonyoung with your mouth and ride him until you’re both dizzy and breathless.

You fetch a book from your room and read while he dozes in and out of consciousness, content to just be next to him. You ignore the slew of texts from Minghao, who had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that there had been a development in your and Soonyoung’s relationship the night before, but once your phone vibrates for the hundredth time that morning, you figure you might as well get it over with because you know Minghao—know he won’t relent until he gets what he’s looking for.

Minghao [11:03am]: ignore my actually important texts all you want, but at least look at this 🙄

What he’s sent you is a job listing.

You can hardly believe what you’re reading. Not only is it nearly your dream job, but it’s remote and triple your current salary—and, most importantly, you’re qualified.

You [11:12am]: Minghao what is this?? Minghao [11:12am]: a friend is a higher-up there. says we can use him as a reference but if your resume looks good it might as well be a done deal Minghao [11:13am]: i already sent yours to him btw You [11:14am]: Freak. Why do you have a copy of my resume?? Minghao [11:14am]: i don’t. i sent him your linkedin Minghao [11:14am]: your ugly ass headshot must not have scared him off bc he said he’ll be in touch soon

Now you’re breathless for an entirely different reason.

You’ll figure out a way to thank him later, ask if he’s making the switch with you because both of you deserve better. You won’t get your hopes up—not until it’s a done deal, and not until you talk to Soonyoung. Because whatever this is between you is heading down a path you want to follow; want to see through to the end, wherever that may be.

For now, though, you’re happy to exist alongside Soonyoung. Happy to listen to his quiet snores and let him cuddle into your side. Happy to be in this house in this little beach town that has already given you so much.

Perhaps fate is something you believe in, after all.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

#caratbaycollab #hoshi smut #hoshi x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fanfic #hoshi fanfic #hoshi imagines

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aeristudios · 3 months ago

Text

For A Good Time Call...

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You were just looking for a distraction from your toxic ex. Soonyoung was supposed to be a one-time thing. Then he showed up, showed out, and ruined you for anyone else. ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Soonyoung x reader (mentions of ex!boyfriend Seungcheol) ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, fluff, angst if you squint, friends to lovers, ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: soft!dom Soonyoung, dirty talk, kissing, oral (m and f receiving), light choking, breast/nipple play, fingering, riding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampie, lots of cursing, spilled feelings, jealousy, mentions of being a sneaky link with Big Sexy (Seungcheol), lots of cursing, pet names, teasing ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.4K ᝰ.ᐟ𝐀𝐍: This is an extension (part 2) to Toxic, but you don't have to read that to understand this story (it just adds more context to things). Thank you to the sweetest woman ever @yoongihan for beta reading this and saving my ass from all of my lovely grammatical errors 💙

Seungcheol: “I’m at the bar. Can I come over?”

You: “No.”

Seungcheol: “Why not?”

Seungcheol: “???”

Seungcheol: “…are you still mad about last time?”

Irritated, you throw your phone onto the couch and turn up the volume on a TV show that you were barely paying attention to. Your phone buzzes incessantly against your leg, and you do your best to ignore it, pressing the buttons on the remote until the sound blares throughout your apartment. Does it work? No. Your phone continues to buzz, but now the vibrations change patterns, which means he is calling you.

“Fuck this.”

You snatch your phone and throw it on the bed, shutting the bedroom door loudly as if you were locking away the big bad wolf who will infiltrate your mind and heart if you let him. Seungcheol is infuriating, a pain in your ass, a thorn in your side and any other euphemism that could describe what he is to you. He pushes your buttons like no one can, and unfortunately, no one else has fucked you better. You hate it.

You wish you could get rid of him, get him out of your system, and be free. If there were an antidote, you would take it; if a spell were to be said, you would recite it more than once. He gets under your skin, molds himself on you, and you can’t break free from him. He’s intoxicating and addictive, and one look in his eyes and you melt like putty. God, you need to get it together.

You haven’t seen him since the house party at Seungkwan’s last month, where you lost your inhibition and let him have you outside against a tree. He said he would text you, but didn’t; it’s what he does. You aren’t a helpless victim in this either; you knew what you were getting into with him while he has a girlfriend. But like a bad habit, you just had to have your fix, damned whatever the consequences would be.

Well, consider yourself rehabbed, because you are not falling for him or his soft lips again.

That month of separation? Pure gold. It’s like the universe slapped you in the face with the truest post-nut clarity. You spent your time apart working and hanging with people who always want to be around you, no matter what. No fights or raw emotions. You realized you deserve better than what Seungcheol has been putting out. It was fun being the sneaky link and having him whenever you wanted, but after a year of back-and-forth, it’s getting tired. You’re sick of being the girl who is always number 2 when he’s bored. You need something new. Fresh. Exciting.

It’s time to cut the cord, and the best way to get over someone is to get underneath someone else, right?

Leaping off the couch, you rush back into your room and retrieve your phone, ignoring the missed notifications from Seungcheol and scrolling through your contacts until you find the person you’re looking for. With a quick tap, you press the dial on his name and put your phone on speaker. It rings for a few seconds until he answers, a backdrop of ambient noise hinting that he might be out and about.

“Hey,” you say casually, ignoring the flutter of nerves.

“What’s up?” he responds, sounding happy to hear from you.

“Remember, when you said you could treat me better than Cheol could, and to give you a chance?”

He pauses, clearing his throat. The music gets softer, as if he’s gone somewhere quiet.

“Yeah? Why are you bringing it up?”

“Because tonight I want to give you that chance. Come over.”

He pauses again, and loud music resumes, crackling through the speaker, making you wince. You hear shuffling, followed by a door shutting and the ignition starting shortly after.

“Are you sure?”

You bite your lip as you think it through, knowing that once you cross this line, there is no turning back. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

He chuckles in your ear, sending shivers throughout your body. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in an hour.”

You anxiously pace your living room floor, the minutes stretching on as you wait for him to arrive. A part of you feels guilty because you know you are using him. He’s a chill, respectful guy who spilled his confession on you on a drunk night. You could have chosen to leave him alone, done the right thing, sorted out your feelings for Seungcheol, and moved on in a healthy way. But you didn’t, and now here you are.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, and you pick it up slowly. The notification flashes, revealing the message: “I’m outside.”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, looking at yourself in the mirror and adjusting your simple tank top and shorts outfit. A small, wicked smile creeps onto your face, hinting at nothing but trouble. Anticipation builds as you open the door, revealing your man of the hour with kind eyes and a gorgeous smile.

“Hi, Soonyoung.”

“Hey.”

You step aside, the door creaking as you let him in. A chilly breeze sweeps through, carrying the scent of fresh spring air and the faint trace of cigarette smoke that clings to him. He slips off his shoes, the soft thud against the floor barely audible over the hum of your humidifier. As he strides into your living room, his gaze sweeps over the space, a grin spreading across his face. “You have a cool place.”

“Thanks,” you say, pointing to the couch. “You can sit there if you want.”

He obliges, taking a seat to the right, and you take your usual spot on the left, sitting cross-legged and facing him. A silence stretches between you, the air thick with an unspoken tension, as if it knows what’s coming next.

“I gotta ask,” Soonyoung cuts to the chase. “Why did you really ask me here?”

“You know why.” You give him a pointed look. “I told you I was giving you a chance tonight.”

“Yeah, only because you're mad about Cheol.”

You fold your arms, your mouth opening and closing as you struggle to find a response. You’re not used to this side of Soonyoung, challenging you and calling you out on your nonsense. He sits there smug, like you’ve been caught in a trap. Dare you say, you kind of like it?

“So what if I’m mad at him? What’s it to you?”

He shakes his head, his fingers tangling in his hair as he lets out a frustrated sigh. “Because I want to know what I am getting into… If this is a one-time thing.”

You watch him move closer to you, touching your knee as his eyes meet yours, steady and searching. “I’m not an idiot, okay? It’s no secret that I like you, and you know that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have called me over here. Why do you keep entertaining him?”

How do you answer that? Is it love? Lust? A mixture of both?

“I… don’t know,” you answer honestly. “Old habits, I guess.”

You think about his confession to you six months ago at another party, where he said he always liked you and would give you the attention you deserved.

“I… don’t know Soonyoung,” you hesitated then. “I’m still figuring shit out with Cheol, you know?”

“Y-you don’t have to say anything now,” he stuttered, his nerves clearly getting to him. “Just know if you were my girl, you would always have a smile on your face.”

You were on another break with Seungcheol then, but weren’t in the headspace to think of anyone else. Soonyoung is nice and goofy, the boy next door type that always makes you laugh, but he wasn’t Seungcheol, and you weren’t interested then. Thinking back on it now, maybe that is a good thing. You would’ve broken his heart, and Seungkwan would’ve hated you for it.

“Uh huh,” Soonyoung nods, mulling over your words. “Okay, so you say.”

“Now, let me ask you something,” you charge back, changing your position to sit on your knees. “Why do you like me so much? I’ve always wanted to know.”

Soonyoung studies you momentarily, his facial expression softening as he prepares to lay his heart on the line.

“I’ve liked you since you first walked into Seungkwan’s house at that Lau party he hosted that one time. You are cool, smart as hell and can take a joke, and you are so god damn beautiful.” He pauses, his face full of resentment, before continuing. “I saw you first, and Seungcheol knew that. When we were sitting on the couch talking, I was just like, ‘I really like your vibe.’ I even told him that I wanted to ask you out then. But once I went to the bathroom and came back, you were talking to Seungcheol, and I knew right then and there, he already got you.”

Soonyoung leaves you at a loss for words for the second time tonight. You didn’t know he saw you first, and just thought he was drunk talking, and maybe he would get over it. You wouldn’t expect Seungcheol to mention this, but you can’t help but wonder what your future would’ve been like with Soonyoung instead. It could’ve saved you from a world of fights, frustration, and pain.

“Why didn’t you say anything then?” you ask him earnestly, your heart slightly pounding. “I had no idea.”

“What could I say?” Soonyoung responds. “‘Hey, I know you are with Cheol, but I liked you first, and he knew. I figured you weren’t interested.”

You exchange a long look, your thoughts running through your head. “Geez,” you exhale, a small pit forming in your stomach. “I could’ve been interested, had I known.” You move closer to him, searching his eyes for understanding. “I’m not mad at you, Soonie. I just wish I knew. It could’ve made things different for me, you know?”

“I know,” he confesses, taking your hand. “My offer still stands, okay? Give me a chance tonight to make you forget all about Seungcheol, and if it works, maybe we can see how this goes?”

You have always found Soonyoung attractive, but hearing how he speaks about you and how he has pined for you for over a year makes you want him even more.

“I called you over here just for sex, to get over him, and you still want to do this? With me?”

“Like I said, I’m not an idiot.” He chuckles. “But you are finally giving me a chance to prove my worth, and I’m going to take advantage.”

You mull over his words, your lips twisting into a playful grin. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Soonyoung pulls you over to him, carefully placing you on his lap like you were a delicate thing. You’ve never gotten a chance to appreciate his beauty up close, with his bare face, cute nose, and smooth skin. You lock eyes, a shared smile blooming between you, your fingers gently weaving through his hair. An electric tension prickles along your skin, a feeling that feels foreign but somehow exhilarating.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says gently, his eyes peering into your soul.

“Don’t you get all soft on me, Kwon,” you tease, lightly pinching his shoulder.

“I’m only as soft as you let me be,” he quips, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip, igniting a flutter in your chest. “You know I am not going to go easy on you, right?”

You smile softly, your noses barely touching each other as you lean closer to him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you whisper.

His lips crash against yours, hunger and earnestness consuming him, and you immediately melt into him. A fire burns inside you, sparked by Soonyoung kissing you, craving to be taken in the ways you truly deserve. You grind slowly against his crotch, a tiny gasp escaping your lips as he places his hands on your hips, catching your rhythm. His eyes never leave yours, watching your face contort into pleasure as the building friction between your shorts and his jeans sends jolts throughout your body, electrifying your senses.

You kiss him again, savoring his soft lips and the taste of peppermint on his tongue. Soft moans leave him as you deepen the kiss, embracing everything he is willing to offer. This is the excitement you've been craving—the thrill of someone new who won't play games or tell lies. Someone unselfish, who kisses you as if you truly matter, and doesn’t hold back.

“How am I doing so far?” he murmurs against your lips.

“You’re doing great, baby.” You plant another kiss on him.

“Baby? Are we on those terms already?”

“Shut up,” you tease him with a wicked smile, slowly taking off your tank top and revealing your breasts.

You’re very proud of your body, and you know you look good, and judging by the way Soonyoung’s biting his lip, he agrees. His hands gracefully grab your breasts, kissing your nipples before sucking on them, his tongue swirling around your hardened buds. He worships you in that moment, murmuring sweet praises of how perfect you are and how much he craves you. A warm sensation stirs in your chest, filling you with a deep sense of fulfillment—a craving that had long gone unfulfilled: to be wanted, deeply and unconditionally.

“Take off your shorts, I want to see you,” Soonyoung breathes, pulling back just enough to gaze into your eyes full of awe and adoration.

You nod, climbing off his lap and slowly lowering your shorts and panties in one go. He licks his lips as he drinks your body in, like an artist with his muse. He stands, removing his shirt and revealing his sculpted physique and abs that almost make your knees buckle. It feels strange, having these feelings of lust for someone you wouldn’t have thought about besides tonight, but you are glad you made the call.

He pulls you close, his hands grabbing your derriere as he dips for another kiss, this one being deeper, darker, and full of desire that is soul-crushing if you let it. Your hands cling onto him as he lays you back down on the couch, your chest rising and falling as you watch him pull down his jeans, fixated on what’s aching to break free in his boxers.

“Do you want me to do the honors?” You smirk as you reach for him.

“You can do whatever you want, baby,” he whispers.

Baby. Hearing that word come from his lips makes your heart race.

“I’m already doing that.”

Sitting up, you pull down the fabric obscuring him, and what meets your eyes is nothing short of jaw-dropping. This man was bigger than you expected, and your mouth practically floods at the mere thought of having him wrapped in your lips.

“I’ve never seen you this quiet,” he quips, his cock twitching at your touch.

“Whatever.”

You gently grasp it in your hands and give it a sweet kiss, his tip already dripping with precum and smearing all over your lips. Your tongue plays around the tiny veins on his shaft, teasing and exploring every edge. His breath hitches, bringing a smile to your face as you prepare to take him whole.

“Who would’ve known Soonyoung has a pretty dick?” You giggle as you give his tip one last kiss.

His hand rests very lightly on the back of your head as you slowly swallow him. Your mouth salivates as your head bobs back and forth, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you enjoy tasting him. Drool drips from the corners of your mouth, making a mess on your chest and spilling on your knees. Soonyoung curses, quickening his pace as his hips subtly thrust forward, seeking more of your warmth, your wetness, the sinful glide of your lips down his shaft.

“Shit,” he breathes, voice strained with restraint. “You feel so fucking good. Don’t stop.”

Soonyoung fingers tighten around your throat, grasping it lightly as he fucks your face. Your eyes water as he quickens his pace, his cock hitting the back of your throat effortlessly. Your fingers climb to the back of his legs, bracing yourself for when he eventually cums down your throat. You want it; you can practically imagine it going down your throat.

“Okay. Okay fuck,” he gasps, pulling you off, his cock glistening with your spit. His thumb wipes the slick from your lip before he lifts you effortlessly, laying you back against the cushions. “You keep doing that, I’m gonna cum in your mouth and I don’t wanna waste the first round.”

You giggle breathlessly, heart hammering in your chest as your legs fall open to welcome him. “Who said that’d be a waste?”

He groans, sliding two fingers along your soaked slit before pushing them inside you, curling just right. “God, you’re dripping,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “All this for me?”

“Maybe,” you whisper. “Why don’t you taste me and find out?”

“My pleasure.”

His mouth crashes into yours again, tongue greedy and messy with want. His fingers twist in you slowly, earning shaky moans from your lips as he works you under hooded eyes. His lips travel down your neck to your breasts again, sucking on each one ravenously like he owned them, like they are his and his alone. Your senses are heightened, and you are fully aware of the trail his lips are leaving, soft kisses on your stomach, and finally meeting your center. He increases the pace of his fingers, lifting your legs on his shoulders to see his work of art, your walls contracting around him as you gush on his hand.

“Does that feel good, baby?” His tone is dark, like a switch is off.

“Mmhmm,” you mutter, unable to form a coherent thought.

“You can’t even speak. How cute.”

“Shut up—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, as his mouth sucks on your clit tenderly, sending you through a bottomless well of pleasure. Your hand digs into your couch, a guttural moan echoing off the walls as you ride his fingers, your essence spilling on his digits. He looks at you like he is proud, slowly taking out his fingers and sucking each one.

“You taste better than I imagined.” He licks his lips. “Do you think you can get on top?”

You give him a mischievous grin, patting the couch. “I’m going to change your life, Kwon.”

He eagerly sits down, and you hover over him, your breath shaky as you sink inch by inch. He stretches you in the right way, his hands grabbing your hips like he is anchoring himself, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as you take him all in.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head cocks back. “This is better than I imagined.”

You still for a second, overwhelmed and still ripe with sensitivity. Soonyoung’s cock presses deep in you, thick and perfect, and your body trembles as you adjust.

“Are you okay?”

You nod slowly. “I’m more than okay.”

You roll your hips, grinding slowly as you get used to his length. His hands slide down to your ass, guiding you carefully as he talks you through it, his eyes fixated on yours as you dissolve into pleasure. It feels cosmic, like you are on this incredible high from which you don’t want to come down. Soonyoung fucks you with every intention to make you his, and little by little, you are falling under his spell.

“Shit,” you pant, digging your nails into his shoulder. “You’ve been holding back, Soonie.”

You increase your pace, riding him harder, as he thrusts up to meet you halfway. Your couch shakes, banging against the wall, which will surely get some complaints from the neighbors later, but you don’t care. His hands caress your body as he holds you close, thrusting deeper and intensely as if he wants to implant in you, letting the whole world know you are his and his alone.

“Fuck, Soonyoung.”

“You look beautiful.” His eyes are locked where your bodies meet. “Keep riding me like it’s yours.”

‘Like it’s yours,’ those three small words have so much meaning. Soonyoung isn’t just good at this; he is perfect. You kiss him desperately, chasing your high as your impending orgasm breaks free, overflowing and sending you into paradise. You increase your pace, bouncing up and down as you squirt over him, screaming his name over and over.

“Good, baby,” he says with a shaky breath. “Keep cumming for me.”

Your body is on autopilot, unable to stop the pleasure that is erupting from your body as you keep slamming down on him, your bodies covered in sweat and lust. He whispers sweet praises in your ear, kissing you all over until he lets out a low, broken moan, signaling his release.

“Where do you want it?” his voice is desperate.

“Inside!” you cry out, reaching your last climax.

His neck is buried in your neck as he cums deep inside of you, trembling with the force of it. Breathing hard, he raises up and kisses your forehead, holding you close until he is completely spent.

“Wow.” You blow a raspberry. “That was…”

“I know,” he finishes your sentence, barely catching his breath.

He lifts you off of him slowly, his cock sliding out of you with a pop, your pussy dripping with his cum. He notices it comes down your leg and raises a brow, and you roll your eyes, slowly getting off the couch with shaky legs.

You see him in a new light. You would’ve never expected this kind of confidence and aggression from Soonyoung, and it makes you feel warm inside.

“I’m going to shower if you want to join me,” you announce, walking down the hallway.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

You fetch towels for both of you and step into the shower, letting the warm water hit your skin. Soonyoung comes in shortly after, taking your sponge and washing you off with delicacy and care, as if you meant something to him. You kiss him without warning, but he embraces it, stirring a warm feeling in your chest that spreads like wildfire. His arms find their way around you, pulling you in, and everything else around you disappears. He showed up when you needed him, he knew how fucked up you were and wanted you anyway. Maybe this is where you need to be.

“I would like it if you stayed the night,” you said, gazing at him.

“I’d love that,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

After he makes sure you are clean, he helps you dry off, assisting you into an old t-shirt before drying himself off and climbing into bed with you naked. He kisses the back of your neck, wrapping himself around you like a warm blanket, and you fall into a deep sleep.

For the rest of the night, Seungcheol is not on your mind. You dream of Soonyoung instead.

The sunlight peeks through your blinds and across your face, the brightness waking you out of your deep slumber. You still feel Soonyoung’s arms around you, his morning wood pressing hard against your ass, which makes you giggle. Reaching for your phone, you realize it’s not on the dresser, and you sit up slowly, not to wake Soonyoung as you creep out of bed and stalk into your living room. You see your clothes and his scattered all over the floor, the memories of last night flooding your mind and making you smile. Last night was truly one of the best nights of your life, and it was all because of Soonyoung.

You find your phone under your tank top as you pick up the clothes. The battery is surprisingly halfway charged and full of missed calls and texts from Seungcheol.

“Hey, baby.”

You face Soonyoung, with the cutest bed hair and sleepy eyes you have ever seen. It’s not lost on you that he is still naked; the events of last night, of you riding him into oblivion, are still on your mind.

“Hey, there, tiger,” you greet him. “I was just looking for my phone.”

You hold up your phone, and 9:15 a.m. is displayed on your lock screen. He nods slowly, grabbing his boxers and putting them with the rest of his clothes. His eyes tell you he has something on his mind, and you sit on the couch, watching him get dressed.

“I had a great time last night,” you say cautiously.

“I know,” he says cheekily.

You chuckle, your face heating up in embarrassment. “So, um… I would like for this not to be a one-time thing, if you are still up for that.”

He stops in his tracks, looking at you with a tenderness that gives you butterflies. “You mean that?“

“Yes.” You nod, slowly getting off the couch. “I mean that.” You give him a reassuring smile and move to give him a hug. Soonyoung has other plans, pretending to go for a hug and kissing you instead.

“You’re funny,” you giggle, reluctantly stepping away from him.

“I plan to make you laugh more often.” He gives you another hug, a genuine hug, that soothes you and fills you inside. “I’m going to change my clothes and run some errands. I’ll call you later?”

“I’d love that.”

Opening the door, he almost bumps into Seungcheol, whose arm was raised as if he were going to knock on the door. His eyes dart between you and Soonyoung, and you know he quickly understands the situation: he’s been replaced.

“See you later, baby.”

Soonyoung pulls you close and kisses you like he means it, grasping your face with his fingers. It’s possessive, leaving you breathless and on a high, and you have half a mind to drag him back into the house. You know he did that to piss off Seungcheol, but you don’t mind it. Watching him walk to his car and drive off, you return your attention to Cheol, who has an annoyed look on his face.

“So that’s why you didn’t answer your phone,” he huffs.

“Well, yes,” you say nonchalantly. “What do you need?”

“So that’s it? You don’t want me anymore?”

For the first time in a while, you don’t feel anything—not anger, sadness, joy, nothing. It feels like you are finally on the road to moving on and getting him out of your system.

“No, I don’t,” you say, stepping behind your door. “Go back to your girlfriend.”

Shutting the door in his face, you feel relieved that you could get the big bad wolf out of your heart, once and for all. You vibrate with joy on a different frequency, and it’s all thanks to Soonyoung.

taglist: @asasilentreader @shadowkoo @lovetaroandtaemin @gyupremacy @superpietom @vampsol

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pinkmoontaco · 4 months ago

Note

Hii its me again i think hoshi lol I'M NOT SURE IF HE FITS 🥹🥹 YOU CAN PICK ANYONE THO!!!

Welcome to the Family, Soonyoung!!! || Kwon Soonyoung

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung × Choi Y/N Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Crack, Seventeen Chaos Summary: Dating your leader’s younger sister is already dangerous territory—but for Hoshi, it’s pure entertainment. Ever since he and Y/N made things official, the Seventeen members have made it their personal mission to tease both him and Seungcheol mercilessly. A.n: Please give it lots of love and support! Don’t forget to leave your thoughts, comments and don't forget to follow for more stories like this—they mean so much to me and help me improve. Your feedback and encouragement keep me motivated to keep writing. Thank you for being patient and sticking with me. Love you guys 💖💖

And also feel free to make any request for any other members or other groups

M.list

Seungcheol should’ve seen it coming.

The signs were all there—the way Hoshi always volunteered to pick Y/N up from the train station when she visited, how he suddenly became very invested in making sure the dorm was clean when she came over, and most importantly, the way he looked at her like she was the best thing since tiger plushies.

And yet, Seungcheol had somehow convinced himself it was just Hoshi being Hoshi.

Until today. Until Y/N casually dropped the bomb over dinner.

"Oh, by the way, Soonyoung and I are dating."

The chopsticks in Seungcheol’s hand snapped.

The entire room went silent.

Then. Chaos.

"OH MY GOD, IT'S TRUE?" Seungwan screeched, standing up so fast that his chair nearly fell over. "I KNEW IT! JOSHUA-HYUNG, YOU OWE ME 20,000 WON!"

Joshua sighed, pulling out his wallet. "I was just being optimistic for Cheol."

"Hyung," Dino looked at Seungcheol with big eyes, filled with equal parts concern and amusement. "Are you okay? You’re gripping your spoon like you’re about to throw it at someone."

"I might throw it at someone," Seungcheol muttered darkly, glaring daggers at Hoshi, who was beaming like he had just won the lottery.

"Cheol," Jeonghan grinned, resting his chin on his palm. "How does it feel knowing Hoshi might be your future brother-in-law?"

Seungcheol groaned. "Why are we already talking about marriage?!"

"Because," Mingyu smirked, "we know Hoshi. The moment he decides he likes something, he never let go. Just look at his obsession with tigers."

Hoshi, still grinning ear to ear, nodded proudly. "That's right! I love tigers. And now, I love Y/N. So basically, she’s my favorite tiger now."

Seungcheol visibly cringed. "I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that."

"Oh, you’ll be hearing a lot worse now that we’re family," Hoshi teased, nudging him.

Unfortunately for Seungcheol, the teasing did not stop there.

The members had an entire field day with this information, and it was clear they weren’t going to let it go anytime soon.

At breakfast, DK sat next to Seungcheol with a bright smile.

"Hyung," he said sweetly, "would you like me to make you some eggs? You must be so stressed about Hoshi becoming your brother-in-law soon."

"He's NOT my brother-in-law," Seungcheol groaned, rubbing his face.

"Yet," Jun added helpfully, making the entire table burst into laughter.

Seungcheol shot daggers at Y/N, who was enjoying her tea as if she wasn’t the reason his life was crumbling. "You planned this, didn’t you?"

Y/N smirked. "You should just accept it, Oppa. It’s happening whether you like it or not."

Hoshi leaned over, grinning. "Yeah, Cheol-ah~ Just think, now we can have matching family pajamas at Christmas!"

Seungcheol let out a suffering sigh while the members lost their minds at the mental image.

During practice, Seungcheol really should’ve known the members would take things to the next level.

As they ran through their choreography, Minghao suddenly called out, "Hoshi-hyung, be careful! If you get hurt, Y/N-noona will scold us!"

Hoshi gasped dramatically, holding his chest. "You’re right! I have to be extra careful now that I’m a future family man."

"FUTURE FAMILY MAN?!" Seungcheol shouted.

"Hyung, you should be proud," Vernon said, straight-faced. "You’re about to gain a great brother-in-law."

"I'm about to lose my mind," Seungcheol corrected.

"But hyung, just think," Woozi said, barely hiding his smirk. "Now you and Hoshi will be tied together forever. Every single holiday, family event, weddings—"

Seungcheol groaned loudly.

"OH!" Seungkwan clapped his hands excitedly. "Cheol-hyung, when Hoshi and Y/N get married, you have to make a wedding speech!"

"I REFUSE!"

"But hyung," Hoshi pouted, batting his eyelashes. "Don’t you want to give a speech about how honored you are to have me as a brother?"

"I’d rather give a speech at my own funeral."

The final straw came when the members actually changed Hoshi’s contact name in the group chat.

Seungcheol woke up to his phone blowing up with notifications. Groggily, he opened the Seventeen group chat, only to see:

[ Seungcheol's Brother-in-law🐯]: Good morning, Hyung-nim! ☀️

[Mingyu]: LOLOLOL NOT THE ‘HYUNG-NIM’ 😭💀

[Jeonghan]: Should we change the chat name to "Seungcheol’s Family + Dino"?

[DK]: YESSS 😂😂

Seungcheol let out a scream and immediately left the chat.

After Seungcheol stormed out of the group chat last night, he had foolishly hoped they would forget about it.

He was wrong.

At exactly 8 AM, Jeonghan added him back.

And the first message he saw was:

[ Seuncheol's Brother-in-law🐯]: Good morning, Hyung-nim~!! Did you sleep well? ☀️

Seungcheol closed the chat. He refused to deal with this.

Then, his phone rang.

It was Joshua.

With a deep sigh, he answered. "What?"

"Hyung," Joshua said, barely holding in his laughter, "it’s rude to ignore family."

Seungcheol hung up.

That evening, Seungcheol finally got a break from practice—only to walk into the dorm and find Hoshi and Y/N sitting at the dining table with his parents.

He froze. "What is going on?"

"Family dinner!" Hoshi grinned. "I wanted to spend more time with my future in-laws!"

Seungcheol’s mother beamed. "Soonyoung is such a sweet boy, Cheol-ah. You should be happy for them."

"Should I?" Seungcheol muttered under his breath.

His father, clearly enjoying this way too much, patted Hoshi’s shoulder. "We always wanted a son-in-law who could bring energy to the family!"

Seungcheol pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great. Just great."

Hoshi, the little menace, leaned closer with the most smug smile. "Hyung, want me to set your plate? I gotta take care of my family now~"

Seungcheol wanted to scream.

After the family dinner, the group chat exploded again.

[Seungkwan]: GUYS, HOSHI HAD DINNER WITH CHEOL-HYUNG’S FAMILY AHAHAHA 😭😭

[Minghao]: It’s official. He’s in.

[DK]: Cheol-hyung, when’s the wedding? 👀

[Woozi]: Should we start preparing a Family Concert? Hoshi can perform a tiger-themed wedding song.

[Seungcheol's Brother-in-law 🐯]: Y/N SAID I CAN CALL HER MOM "EOMONIM" NOW!!! 😆🎉🎉

[Jun]: Wow. He’s really securing his spot.

[Jeonghan]: Cheol-ah, you should start looking for a matching couple outfit for family holidays.

Seungcheol threw his phone across the bed.

It happened too fast.

One moment, the members were just sitting in the dorm’s living room, casually chatting after practice. The next, Hoshi had Y/N’s face cupped in his hands and—

"YAH!"

Seungcheol launched off the couch so fast, he nearly tripped over his own feet.

The room erupted.

"OH MY GOD—" Seungkwan clapped a hand over his mouth.

Dino screamed.

Joshua wheezed. "He actually did it?!"

Jun fell to the floor in laughter. "Legendary."

Meanwhile, Seungcheol was in big brother crisis mode.

"KWON SOONYOUNG!"

Hoshi, still grinning like the absolute menace he was, turned to look at Seungcheol. "Yes, Hyung-Nim?"

"DON’T HYUNG-NIM ME, YOU JUST KISSED MY SISTER—"

"She kissed me back," Hoshi interrupted.

Y/N, completely unbothered, nodded. "I did."

Seungcheol wanted to pass out. "THAT DOESN’T HELP!"

Jeonghan, enjoying this way too much, leaned over to Mingyu. "Five seconds before Cheol explodes."

"Three," Mingyu corrected.

"TWO—"

"YAH!" Seungcheol pointed directly at Hoshi. "YOU—STAY FIVE FEET AWAY FROM HER AT ALL TIMES!"

Hoshi pouted. "But Eomonim said I can sit next to her at dinner—"

"NOT IN MY HOUSE!" Seungcheol turned to Y/N. "And you! How could you date him? Of all people?*"

Y/N blinked. "He makes me happy, Oppa."

The room went silent.

For a second, Seungcheol felt his brotherly rage waver—but only for a second.

Because Hoshi chose that exact moment to pull Y/N closer and say, "Aww, jagi~ tell him how much you love me."

Seungcheol lunged.

The members screamed.

Next day, as the members sat around watching a movie, Seungcheol turned to Y/N with a tired sigh.

"Are you sure you wanna be with him?"

Y/N laughed, intertwining her fingers with Hoshi’s. "Absolutely."

Hoshi flashed his signature goofy smile. "Cheol-ah, don’t worry! I’ll take good care of your sister."

Seungcheol exhaled deeply, shaking his head. "I don’t know if I should be touched or terrified."

"Both," Woozi said without missing a beat.

Hoshi, completely unbothered, wrapped an arm around Seungcheol’s shoulder and grinned. "Get ready for a lifetime of me, brother-in-law!"

And in that moment, Seungcheol accepted his fate.

He had gained a Hoshi in his family.

He had lost his sister.

He had lost his sanity.

And most importantly—

God help him.

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junhuiscent · 28 days ago

Text

Final Rehearsal: No Limits

pairing: woozi x female reader x hoshi

synopsis: woozi and hoshi invite you to the practice room late at night whilst you are recovering from their enlistment notice to help you forget about it.

WC: 2.7k

cw: smut, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (m receiving), mentions of enlistment, mean dom!,woozi, switch!hoshi, monster cock!woozi, sub reader, dumbification, degradation, lap dance, voyeurism, audio kink, threesome, slight edging, eiffel tower, cuck themes?, possessive behaviour, power play, biting, marking, spit, cream pie, overstimulation, dirty talk

note: this may be my way of coping with the enlistment notice.. also i wrote this quickly so probably mistakes.

It was 1:27am when you received the suspiciously vague message from Woozi. The message first contained a photo of him with hoshi, together in the practice room. This message was quickly followed by another, instructing you to meet them in the practice room as quickly as you could.

Your curiosity won. You gave in, making sure you looked presentable before setting off for the hybe building.

You expect it to be the normal: laughing, hoshi being an idiot and lots of sweat. What you didn't expect was to walk into an unfamiliar practice room. The lights dimmed and the music low. You couldn't even recognise the song but you could recognise it was woozi's voice, however the track was more sultry— sensual, a tone you hadn't heard this intense from him before.

It took your eyes a moment to adjust to the low lights, but once they had, the view was worth the wait.

Hoshi stood in front of the mirror, his eyes not on you. Yet it was obvious he had acknowledged your presence. His eyes stayed focused on himself and his moves as he looked forward fiercly, his beanie pulled down low and crucially, his shirt discarded. His muscles were defined as if they had been carved over hundreds of years, the low lighting emphasising each vein that ran down his arms. And beneath that work of art was a pair of grey sweatpants hanging low around his waist. yes. grey sweatpants. He moved to the rhythm of the song effortlessly, each move further defining the perfect lines of his body.

You scanned the room before noticing woozi. He stood further back, with his arms crossed near the computer, yet still somehow looking as if he was controlling the entire room. Woozi's eyes meet yours briefly as a small smirk plays on his lips before he nods in your direction. He's wearing a black cap with a simple black t-shirt and black shorts, still showing his defined legs and muscly thighs.

They notice you— but don't stop.

You catch Hoshi's demanding gaze in the mirror and he begins to direct his movements towards you before gesturing to a chair set up suspiciously in the middle of the room. Everything about this setup seems far too calculated.

You’re not a guest. You’re prey.

There are no greetings, no explanations, every word is unspoken. Yet, you obey, sitting in the chair as you gulp with anticipation.

Hoshi's steps are controlled as he makes his way closer to you. He's not asking for permission because he knows you've already given into him— both of them.

He takes your thighs into his hands, holding them with a firm grasp before spreading them slightly and sitting himself on your lap. He settles on your lap as if he already owns it. His eyes never leave yours.

"Let him play with you. I want to see what you're worth." You hear the words slowly spill out the mouth of the man behind you two, still standing in the corner with his arms crossed but finally breaking the perfectly suffocating silence.

You feel the flex of Hoshi's muscles through those fucking sweatpants—thick, solid, unyielding. His hips roll once. Slow. Precise. Just the pure pressure of his weight on your body grounds you into the chair. Every sense of yours becomes enraptured with his presence, his scent filling your nose. You can feel the sweat on the surface on his skin, making his bare skin glow in the dim lighting.

And his hips— Hoshi's hips. Each roll of his hips are deliberate and dangerous. They roll slow and deep, like he's fucking the air between you two. It’s not dancing anymore—it’s pornographic, and he knows it.

He holds your chin, directing your face, ordering constant eye contact.

“You breathing okay?” he teases, voice low, chest heaving. Another grind, harder, direct. You jolt. “Thought so.”

You suddenly feel a hand tangle into your hair, yanking it backwards, leaving your neck exposed as Hoshi takes the opportunity to sink his lips onto the delicate skin and suck, leaving determined markings, coaxing out soft moans as his hips continue their plan.

Woozi stands behind you two, watching the scene unfold. His shorts noticeably tighter, and a mic in his hand.

“Start from the top.” “Say your name. Tell me what you’re doing.”

Your mind can't fully comprehend Woozi's words as you let out a stuttered mess.

"Say it. Or I'll stop this entire fucking game and leave you soaked with nothing." Woozi's breath is hot in your ear as he speaks.

Hoshi keeps grinding down onto you, but now its slower, meaner. His hands slides down from holding the back of your neck to slowly reach your inner thighs as you attempt to answer Woozi's request.

"H-Hoshi's on my lap.. Kissing me.. Touching me. And i'm letting you watch." You whisper into the mic, your voice shaking.

You feel Hoshi smirk against your neck as he lets out a low growl and bites down onto your neck lightly, earning a soft whimper to escape you.

"She's twitching. Think she can take both of us?" Hoshi speaks out, his voice still a growl as he breaks away from your neck to look at Woozi, behind you.

"She will. When I say." Woozi replies, his presence a stark contrast to Hoshi. Hoshi is warm— overpoweringly hot and physical. Woozi stays back. Colder, calculated and all control.

The thought of what Woozi proposed plays in your mind without authorisation, the image haunting your mind as your hips subconsciously roll up to meet Hoshi's as if its instinctive.

Hoshi's slender fingers make their way closer to your heat, his fingertips teasing the hem of your underwear under your skirt. The pads of his two fingers slowly reach under the barrier of clothing, brushing against you as you desperately roll your hips in need of friction.

Hoshi continues biting and marking your neck as his two fingers enter you at an agonizingly slow pace.

“That’s it. Let him finger you like a toy—but don’t forget who’s really listening.” Woozi says into your ear, his voice as smooth as velvet but his hot breath prickling your skin and sending shivers down you.

Hoshi pushes his fingers in deeper before angling them upwards and curling them into your most sensitive spot, watching you unravel before them both, curses spilling out your mouth.

“Don’t bite your lip now. Cry for me. Give me something worth keeping.” You can't tell if you are becoming close from Hoshi's skilled fingers or the filth that woozi is swarming your ears with. Everything becomes blurred as you surrender yourself to the moment.

Woozi lowers the mic, past your chest to rest above your lower stomach. "Let's get a better sample." He insists as you can only reply through shaky moans and gasps.

"Fuck she's gonna cum like this?" Hoshi speaks in a low rumble, directed to Woozi. Something about the way they casually discuss you as if you weren't there made you somehow even wetter.

Hoshi's fingering becomes harder, punctuating your stammers as you begin to reach your high. Your gasps become whimpers which become shrieks as you get closer.

"Stop." Woozi suddenly speaks out at a louder volume for Hoshi to hear and he instantly obeys, leaving you on edge.

Woozi steps back to the computer and presses a few keys. You are left breathless, your chest heaving as you recover, feeling slightly betrayed by the two men around you.

Until, the speakers start to play a sound that sounds far too familiar, the moan which had just previously left your lips now resounded through the hollow walls of the practice room as you watched Hoshi's adams apple bob in his throat in front of your face.

"Thats what I want to remember." Woozi growls out.

"Fuck, you like putting on a show.” Hoshi says shakily, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Enough warming up. Face the mirror." Woozi demands, his voice starting to sound less cold and detached, now fueled by a new sense of passion— urgency.

Hoshi instantly gets off you, them working together in synchronisation as Woozi pulls you off the chair and directs you against the mirror, your hands stopping yourself from slamming into the hard material. Hoshi replaces your place as he sits down on the chair, his member standing proud in his grey sweats, creating a tent shape for you both to see.

Woozi's condition isn’t far better in his black shorts as he works your clothes off your body in a desperate manner.

“Look at yourself. See what he did to you?” “You're a fucking mess. And you still want more.”

Your chest was bare now as he shamelessly kneads your breasts in the mirror whilst winking at Hoshi, knowing his preferences and profiting off them to give him the show he deserves.

His hands then slide to take off your remaining clothing, leaving you revealed in front of both the men, completely obedient, completely surrendered.

Woozi then works his hands into your hair again, yanking it back before spitting in your mouth and forcing you to watch yourself.

“Eyes open. I want you to watch every second of what I take from you.”

Behind you, your eyes meet Hoshi, who is now slowly palming himself, clearly fighting the urge to roll his head back in pleasure but not wanting to miss the view.

You're gone. Overwhelmed. Dripping. You've completely melted into Woozi's grasp, completely unbothered by any shame and fully focused on the pleasure which is filling your entire body.

Your eyes close as you become more desperate, until you feel the feeling of something hard poking at your ass from behind. Something bare.

Your eyebrows knit together when you open your eyes to see his size. His eyes stay locked on yours, laced with confidence as his mouth cocks into that stupid smirk again whilst he revels in your reaction.

His cock stands up, the size bigger than any you have ever encountered before, his precum glistening in the practice room lights on his flushed pink tip. He slowly strokes it, teasing you as you study each vein curving round his shaft.

“You don’t even realise how much he’s gonna stretch you, do you?” You hear Hoshi's voice say, his tone is too calm to be innocent— there’s memory in it. Experience. And now it’s your turn.

The implications behind his words leave you speechless as you look in the mirror to see him. He's sitting in the chair, his abs still shining overbearingly as his hand is grasping his shaft. His dick also being an impressive size but having slightly less girth than woozi. Its clear he has been touching himself for a while due to the amount of precum he is spreading across his shaft as he shakes it slightly in your direction as you make eye contact.

“Keep your eyes on me in the mirror. Watch what I do to you.” Woozi whispers in your ear as he delicately nibbles at your earlobe, teasingly.

His rough hands slide up to hold your waist before pushing it forward, causing you to arch and for your hands to land on the mirror, leaving you bent over in front of them both. His hands trail the curve of your ass before he holds his dick, lining it up with your enterance. He slides his tip across your folds, teasing you as subtle moans and shakes leave your throat. He lets his tip glide past your clit which is still sensitive from Hoshi, causing you to jerk forward further.

He takes that oppurtunity of a better angle to slide his dick inside you in one mean thrust. It feels like you are being broken from the inside, every part of you. The stretch being overwhelming causing you no longer to be able to think— only feel. Every thought stuttering with every inch Woozi sinks into you.

Feeling his size so bare, so raw. It's as if you can feel every one of his veins trace through your walls and leave their mark. He finally bottoms out inside of you, and you can feel him pulse deep inside of you.

It's not long before he pulls back again, that feeling immediately hitting you again as his cock scrapes against your walls, splitting you open. Without preparation he slams back inside of you as if he's trying to carve himself in you. Woozi doesn't just fuck you— he erases you.

“Quit watching the show and join in. Touch her. Make her feel both of us.” Woozi demands Hoshi as he drives another harsh thrust into you.

You feel Hoshi take your hand off the mirror and move you back slightly, Woozi already following suit. Woozi's thrusts halt whilst Hoshi repositions you. Hoshi now stands with his back against the mirror whilst taking your chin in his hand directing your mouth to his intimidatingly sized cock.

“Open up. I need you on me now.” Hoshi pleas as he strokes your hair back, away from your face whilst you lick a line up his shaft, teasing him before letting your lips part around his tip.

As soon as your lips part, Woozi's hips pound into you with such force that it knocks the air from your lungs, forcing you to deepthroat Hoshi's dick in one go.

Both the men groan in sync, however your cries get silenced by Hoshi. Yet, each snap of Woozi's hips comes with sound— wet, flithy, sloppy and constant.

Hoshi looks up to see Woozi with his grip bruising your hips with his jaw clenched tight, his veins in his neck standing out and shimmering in a light layer of sweat. His eyes are focused on you, dark, fucking furious with pleasure. His chest is rising rapidly, his muscles tight and twitching with force.

This sight, along with the sight of you, dribbling dumb on his cock, sends him utterly insane.

“You’re just a toy for us to share—don’t forget your place.” Woozi snarled as his sweat drips down from his chest onto you.

His hips snap up again, somehow deeper as he fucks you harder, driving you further on Hoshi's dick whilst you become a mess of moans and gags.

You aren't sure whether you're moaning, gagging or sobbing anymore but that is the last thing that matters to you. Your legs have been trembling for so long yet the utter force being driven into you as you are fucked back and forth by both men is what’s keeping you upright.

Their groans are loud and rough, the lewd sounds echoeing off the mirror as they quicken their pace, somehow in sync again. Your vision is blurry, brain-fogged, body destroyed— yet they are still going.

You feel Hoshi twitch in your mouth as Woozi's pace falters, a gentle signal to you despite their harsh fucks. You don't have to change anything though, they are the ones using you. Woozi slams his dick reaching every sensitive spot as Hoshi bites his lip, almost drawing blood.

When you cum, it's not gentle— it rips through your body. It's wet, ugly, broken. Your eyes roll back, you clench around them both as your body shakes even more.

But they fuck you through your orgasm like it was just a warm-up.

“Look at you—shaking like a desperate mess." Woozi teases as Hoshi scoffs in response.

They don't go easier. They go harder. They go further.

Woozi angles your hips and holds up one of your legs, pushing his pulsating cock back into your sopping pussy as saliva runs down your face from Hoshi who is carving out your throat.

Finally, they can't hold back anymore as they snap together.

Hoshi holds your head down on his dick as he empties out his contents in your throat, urging you to swallow. As this is happening, Woozi gives you one final, brutal thrust before his seed fills you up entirely before he fucks it back into you, your cum mixing and spilling down your thighs.

They both slowly pull out before placing you onto the sofa in the corner, stroking your foreahead softly as they both admire your fucked-out state.

“You’ll be thinking about this while we’re gone, won’t you?” Hoshi whispers into your ear with a chuckle before you drift into sleep.

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jinmindeulle · 4 months ago

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baby bump | kwon soonyoung

you send your husband a bump update! hoshi's version

¸.·✩·.¸¸.·¯⍣✩ seventeen masterlist ✩⍣¯·.¸¸.·✩·.¸

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daisymbin · 5 months ago

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mr. g-dragon - kwon soonyoung

pairings: kwon soonyoung x reader

warnings: none!!!!

wc: 803

check out my masterlist! // soonyoung's m.list

soonyoung practically kicks the door open.

he stumbles inside, wide-eyed and breathless, and you barely have time to react before he’s throwing himself onto the couch, limbs sprawled out like he’s just finished the performance of a lifetime. you blink at him from where you’re curled up in the armchair, book long forgotten as you watch him with amused curiosity.

"oh my god," he gasps, clutching his chest like he’s trying to physically hold in his excitement. his eyes are shining, his whole body buzzing with an energy so infectious you can feel it from across the room. "babe, you are not gonna believe the day i just had."

you laugh, setting your book down. "i don’t know, i think i might have an idea."

"no, no, no, you don’t understand." soonyoung sits up, shaking his head so fast you think he might get dizzy. "this was the best day of my life. the best day, do you hear me?" he gestures wildly, and you nod, biting back a smile. "like—okay, obviously, the best day was when i met you, but this is a close second, okay? or actually, cant i have 2 different days for my 'best day' hm?"

your heart flips at that and you nodded but you just roll your eyes fondly. he is so adorable when he's all excited. "so, what happened?"

soonyoung lets out a high-pitched squeal, kicking his feet like an overexcited kid. "i met kwon jiyong, g-dragon, you know that, right? of course you do, i talked about this day for a whole month, BUT ANYWAYS i talked to him. i hugged him. we ate together. oh my god, we drank together. he poured me a drink! do you know what that means?"

"that you drank alcohol?" you tease.

"no!" soonyoung groans, flopping back against the cushions before sitting up again just as quickly. "well, yes, but no—babe, do you know what an honor it is to have THE mr. g-dragon pour you a drink? it’s, like, the highest form of respect! i was dying inside, but i had to act cool, you know?"

you raise a brow as the corner of your lip quirked up. "did you act cool?"

soonyoung pauses. "…no, i was a mess..." he admits, looking both sheepish and proud at the same time. "but i tried! seungkwan and seokmin were making fun of me the whole time, but it’s fine because they were such losers in front of him too & i got to talk to him!! he was so nice, and he gave me advice, and he told me i was cool, and—oh my god, he said i was cool."

he clutches his chest again like he’s been shot, then his starts vibrating as his legs starts to jump up and down alternatively from excitement and you laugh, getting up from your chair to sit beside him on the couch. immediately, soonyoung turns to you, grabbing your hands in his and squeezing them so tight you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

"i've looked up to him my whole life," he says, voice softer now, like the weight of the moment is finally settling in. "like, he's the reason i wanted to be an idol. he's the reason i love performing so much. and today, i got to talk to him like—like i was someone worth talking to."

your chest tightens and your eyebrows furrow slightly at his words. "soonie…"

"he told me he watched our performances. he told me he liked my energy. he said he could tell i really love what i do, and—and that means everything coming from him, you know? like, i always worry about whether i’m doing enough, whether i’m good enough, and then he just—he just said that, like it was obvious."

his voice wavers slightly, and you squeeze his hands back, grounding him.

"you are enough, soonyoung," you say softly. "you always have been."

he looks at you, eyes bright and a little glossy, before pulling you into a tight hug. you melt into him, feeling the way his body is still buzzing, still vibrating with excitement.

"i just feel so happy," he murmurs against your shoulder. "like, i don’t even know what to do with myself. i wanna dance. i wanna scream. i wanna relive today over and over again."

"then let’s relive it!" you say, pulling back just enough to see his face. "tell me everything from the very beginning!"

soonyoung gasps like you've just given him the greatest gift in the world. "you really wanna hear everything?"

"of course," you say, smiling. "i love seeing you like this."

he blinks. "like what?"

"so happy. it makes me happy to see you happy."

for a moment, he just looks at you, and then he’s breaking into a smile as he leans in, kissing you, quick and giddy and a little breathless, like he just can’t contain it all.

"i love you," he says, grinning so wide it makes your own heart feel like it might burst.

"i love you too," you say, laughing as he pulls you back into another hug.

and soonyoung spends the rest of the night recounting every single detail, every little moment, every joke and comment and look that passed between them. and you—you listen, because if there’s anything you love more than soonyoung’s happiness, it’s being the one who gets to witness it.

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hoshifighting · 1 year ago

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Arranged Marriage — Hoshi x Reader

— Synopsis: In contrast to the tired old plots of arranged marriages where the couple can't stand each other, you and Soonyoung are childhood friends. It's not just like marrying a friend—no, no, actually, it is marrying a friend, no-frills and simple. — WC: 10k — WARNINGS: smut, fluff, fingering, oral (m. receiving), penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, choking, one single slap on the ass, hair pulling, aftercare, whipped!hoshi, hoshi teases reader until she almost cries for dick, mentions of alcohol, mentions of body fluids (cum, sweat), DIRTY TALK—prob the nastiest dirty talk i've written.

You knew this day would come.

Growing up in a world where luxury, money, stock exchange, and business were the pillars of existence, arranged marriages were just another part of the cycle. Two patrimonies merging into one for the benefit of both families—it was a tradition as old as time.

Some couples embraced the spotlight, showcasing their unity to the world. Others barely tolerated each other, living in separate homes to maintain a fake image. There were also those whose mutual disdain led to chaos both in their personal lives and in the family businesses.

When you saw Soonyoung in your home, dressed in a suit that clearly wasn’t his style, you felt a hurricane of emotions. His usual vibrant, carefree energy seemed stifled under the weight of the tailored fabric. You greeted him and his family alongside your parents, both of you a shy mess, but something in his eyes told you things might not be as bad as you feared.

“Hey,” Soonyoung murmured as you both found a moment away from the adults’ formal discussions. “This suit is killing me.”

You laughed softly, feeling a sense of relief. “You look... different.”

“Yeah, definitely not my usual style, you know me” he grinned, loosening his tie. “But I guess we’re both out of our comfort zones today.”

You nodded, memories flooding back of the two of you playing outside when kids, during business congresses, your parents inside discussing mergers and acquisitions while you and Soonyoung chased each other around the gardens. “Do you remember those days?”

“Of course,” he said, eyes lighting up with nostalgia. “We had our own little world, didn’t we?”

“We did,” you replied. “And now, here we are.”

“So, how do you feel about this?” he asked, shy, looking at your expensive dress, clearly set for tonight. “About us... getting married?”

“I’ve been preparing for it my whole life, I guess,” you said honestly. “But with you... it feels different. Less intimidating."

“I feel the same,” Soonyoung admitted. “I mean, if it had to be anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”

You smiled. “Maybe we can make this work. Find a balance between our lifes.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “We can create something new, something that’s ours.”

You looked at him, seeing not just the boy you grew up with, but a partner. Someone who understood the complexities of your world and was willing to navigate them with you.

You looked around your house, taking in the scene. Soonyoung’s family mingled with yours, coworkers from your parents’ firms exchanged polite conversation, and your and Soonyoung’s nephews were playing circles around the couch.

The weight of the day pressed on your shoulders, a burden that didn’t match the elegance of the dress you were wearing for the marriage proposal.

Soonyoung’s eyes met yours, noticing your tense posture. “You’re nervous, aren’t you?” he asked softly.

You looked at him, sulking, and he recognized the same expression you had when you were eight.

He leaned in, whispering, “Don’t tell anyone, but I brought a bottle of tequila. It’s in my trunk. Would you like some to relax?”

You stared at him in silence before nodding with an exasperated look, feeling like it was exactly what you needed.

“Did you bring a shot cup?” you asked, following him outside.

He stopped, bottle in hand, and you both laughed. Taking the bottle from him, you leaned against his car, opened the cap, and poured a generous shot—maybe a little more—straight into your mouth. Soonyoung watched, his mouth wide open in surprise. You handed the bottle back to him.

“Why are you nervous?” he asked, taking a swig himself, looking comically exaggerated as he did. “I’m the one who has to kneel and propose today. My heart feels like it’s about to explode.”

You both laughed like teenagers getting away with something forbidden, hiding behind his car.

After a moment of comfortable silence, you broke it. “Do you have the ring here?”

He looked at you and nodded.

“Can I see it?” you asked, your curiosity piqued as if he had a rare Pokémon card.

“Is that right?” he teased.

You made doe eyes and asked, “Pretty please?”

He smiled, pulling a small black box from his pocket and opening it for you.

The diamond ring sparkled in your eyes, its brilliance captivating. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured.

Soonyoung nodded, grinning. “My sister helped me choose it. I originally wanted a diamond shaped like a cat, but she said that wasn’t appropriate.”

You laughed, the image of a cat-shaped diamond making you smile. “It’s beautiful, but a kitten-shaped ring sounds adorable. I would’ve loved that too.”

His grin widened, a small, proud smile lighting up his face as you both admired the ring.

Your moment was interrupted by Soonyoung’s mom's voice, echoing from the house. “Oh my god, are you already proposing?”

Soonyoung choked on his own saliva, his eyes wide with panic. The best thing to do now? Say no and face his mother’s scolding for showing the ring prematurely, or actually propose right then and there?

Before he could think it through, he found himself on one knee on the sidewalk, his heart pounding. You quickly hid the tequila bottle behind your back.

“Soonyoung, what are you doing?” you whispered, eyes wide.

“I... I’m improvising,” he replied, clearing his throat. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

The spontaneity of it all, made you laugh and cry at the same time, you needed to pretend you were actually emotional. “Yes, Soonyoung. Yes, I will.”

You barely noticed the sudden crowd that had gathered around you, they'd appeared out of nowhere, all eyes on the two of you. Soonyoung’s hand trembled slightly as he slid the ring onto your finger, the cool metal contrasting with the warmth of his touch.

You smiled nervously at him, teeth gritted. “Hug me,” you whispered urgently, your eyes darting to the tequila bottle that was precariously wedged behind your back. “Please, put the tequila bottle inside your car. It's practically shoved inside my ass.”

Soonyoung blinked, processing your words before a grin spread across his face. He pulled you into a tight hug, the kind that felt both reassuring and grounding. As he embraced you, he expertly reached behind you, his fingers brushing against the bottle.

You could feel his body shaking slightly with suppressed laughter.

“Hang on,” he whispered back.

He managed to grab the bottle and discreetly slid it out from behind you. Still holding you close, he took a step back towards the car, opening the door with one hand and slipping the bottle inside. The whole maneuver was so smooth that you doubted anyone noticed the clandestine operation.

That moment eased the tension of the night, but the tequila hadn’t taken effect yet, and you knew you had to keep an eye on Soonyoung. His alcohol tolerance was notoriously low, and you didn’t want him to embarrass himself—or worse, get into trouble.

As the night wound down and Soonyoung’s dad started to lead him to the car, Soonyoung sulked, trying to resist. “I want to talk a bit more to my bride,” he protested, his voice slightly slurred. His words elicited good-natured laughter from both families, who were enjoying the unexpected turn of events.

You walked over to him, giving him a warm hug and patting his head affectionately. “It’s time to go home, Soonyoung,” you said gently.

He looked at you with wide, earnest eyes, the warmth in his gaze reminding you of why you felt less nervous than you should. Soonyoung had always been warm-hearted, and maybe that’s why you felt a sense of calm amidst the chaos.

As you pulled back from the hug, Soonyoung’s hand lingered in yours for a moment longer. “Promise you’ll call me tomorrow?” he asked, his tone earnest despite his tipsiness.

“Promise,” you replied, smiling as you squeezed his hand.

With one last affectionate look, Soonyoung allowed his dad to guide him into the car. You watched as the vehicle pulled away. Your parents approached, their expressions a blend of amusement and expectation.

“Well, that was quite a night,” your mom said, her eyes twinkling with delight.

“Yes, it was,” you agreed, glancing at your dad, who nodded in approval.

“You two make a good pair,” your dad said, his tone warm. “I’m glad to see you both getting along so well.”

Your parents were now expectant, believing you and Soonyoung were truly becoming a couple. And in a way, you were—just not in the conventional sense they imagined.

The next day, even though it was a promise to a drunk boy, you called Soonyoung in the morning. Like any typical business wedding, the preparations started swiftly, aiming to have the wedding happen as soon as possible. Today, you were going to choose the food and drinks for the event.

When Soonyoung arrived, he was all tidied up, but his face was clearly tired. You laughed a bit, “You look…”

He completed for you, “Fucked?”

You chuckled, “I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Long night,” he admitted, rubbing his eyes. “But I’m here.”

“Good, because we have a lot to decide,” you replied, glancing at the event agent who was discussing the dessert options.

As you both looked at the event agent, who insisted on adding superfluous things to the sweets—like a layer of gold—you exchanged amused glances. The agent was enthusiastically explaining the virtues of gold-leaf-covered desserts.

“Gold? For us to... poop?” Soonyoung murmured incredulously.

You stifled a laugh and leaned closer to him. “Can’t it be something more tasty?”

The agent looked slightly taken aback. “Gold leaf is quite a statement piece.”

Soonyoung nodded, trying to be polite. “But we were thinking of something simpler.”

“How about churros?” you suggest.

The agent blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Churros? For a wedding?”

“Why not?” you said with a grin. “They’re delicious, and everyone loves them.”

“But they don’t exactly scream luxury,” the agent protested.

“They scream fun,” Soonyoung countered. “And isn’t that what weddings are supposed to be?”

The agent sighed, making a note. “Alright, churros it is. Anything else?”

“Maybe some street-style tacos?” he added, enjoying the agent’s bewildered expression.

“Tacos?” the agent repeated, as if the word was foreign.

“Yeah, why not?” Soonyoung agreed. “Let’s keep it simple and tasty.”

The agent finally nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Very well. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Honestly, days flew by with Soonyoung by your side. Planning every little detail of the wedding together brought both fun and challenges, especially when your tastes didn’t always align. It was a bit complicated at first, like when you two were choosing the destination for your honeymoon.

Soonyoung wanted an adventure-packed trip to the Amazon rainforest, while you preferred a relaxing beach resort in the Maldives. The negotiations were intense, but you eventually settled on a compromise.

Choosing Soonyoung’s suit also proved to be a task. He insisted on wearing a tie with a tiger print, a nod to his childhood love for tigers. You were surprised that his fascination with the big cats had persisted, but you drew the line at a tiger tie. “Absolutely not,” you told him firmly, trying to imagine the looks you’d get. “A tiger tie is a no from me, and I think a lot of people would agree.”

“Fine,” he conceded with a sigh, but you could tell he was already thinking about how to sneak a little tiger motif into his outfit.

When it came to choosing your dress, you were accompanied by your mom, Soonyoung’s mom, and his sister.

Soonyoung, the only man in the group, tagged along as well. The other brides at the boutique initially assumed he was either your brother or your stylist.

Their jaws nearly dropped when they overheard he was actually the groom.

One of the brides, adjusting her veil in front of a mirror, turned to you, wide-eyed. “Wait, he’s your husband-to-be?”

“Yes, he is,” you confirmed with a smile, watching Soonyoung fuss over a lace detail on one of the dresses.

Another bride laughed softly. “Lucky you! He’s so involved.”

“He’s been amazing,” you said. “Except for his obsession with tiger prints.”

Soonyoung, overhearing, grinned and walked over. “What can I say? Tigers are cool.”

“Soonyoung, you’re a unique groom,” his sister teased, shaking her head.

As you tried on dresses, Soonyoung offered his opinions with surprising thoughtfulness, balancing out his more quirky suggestions. He was genuinely invested in making sure you felt beautiful and confident in your choice.

You’d tried on everything: the biggest gowns, the tightest silhouettes, dresses with endless layers of skirts, and others that hugged your hips so closely it felt like they were molded to your skin.

There were corsets that took your breath away—literally—and fabrics that shimmered under the boutique lights.

But this time, when you left the dressing room, you were wearing a veil.

Soonyoung’s eyes didn’t lie for a second. He liked this one very much. The women around you—your mom, Soonyoung’s mom, and his sister—fussed over the dress, adjusting it here and there, offering compliments. But Soonyoung was speechless.

If Soonyoung were to be completely honest, up until this moment, he had always seen you as his friend, the girl he was going to marry because of an arrangement. You were the same girl who used to run around the events, eluding the security guards with your mischievous giggles.

But now, you were different. You were a woman. His woman. And you looked stunning.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you. The transformation was breathtaking. You stood there, looking radiant in your wedding dress, and for the first time, the reality of the situation hit him. You weren’t just a friend anymore; you were about to become his partner, his wife.

He was so lost in the moment that he didn’t realize he was gawking until you and the women turned to him, waiting for his response. He blinked, snapping back to reality, and managed to find his voice.

“You look...” he started, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Your cheeks flushed at his earnest compliment. “You really think so?”

Soonyoung nodded, still unable to tear his eyes away. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

His sister grinned, nudging him playfully. “Told you she’d find the perfect dress.”

Your mom wiped away a tear, “You’re going to make a beautiful bride.”

Soonyoung’s mom stepped forward, adjusting a tiny detail on the veil. “This is the one. It’s perfect.”

You looked at yourself in the mirror, feeling a sense of certainty wash over you. “Yes, this is the one,” you said, smiling at the reflection and then at the people around you who made this moment even more special.

[...]

The days leading up to the wedding were a whirlwind of activity. Every day brought something new to choose, and your creativity was running dry. You were worn out, and Soonyoung knew it. Today had been particularly exhausting.

As the realtor showed you yet another option for apartments in the Metropole, you responded with short answers, your enthusiasm long gone after visiting sixteen places that day alone.

“So, what do you think?” the realtor asked.

Soonyoung noticed your hesitation. “Can I talk with my wife for a sec?” he asked.

The realtor nodded and walked off, giving you space.

“Y/N-nie... are you okay?” Soonyoung asked softly, looking at you through his lashes.

You sighed, your shoulders slumping. “I’m so tired,” you confessed.

He took a step closer, his voice softening. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You breathed out heavily. “My family is putting a lot of pressure on me, and I’m working relentlessly at the company. I can’t wait for us to get married…”

Soonyoung’s heart sank a little. “You want to get married just to get free from it?”

“No, it’s not just that. It’s everything. The wedding preparations, the constant decisions, the endless work... I feel like I’m drowning.”

He reached out, gently taking your hand. “We don’t have to rush this, you know. We can take our time.”

“But everyone’s expecting so much from us,” you replied, feeling the weight of expectations.

“Let them expect,” he said firmly. “And I want this to be as much about you as it is about us.”

“I just... I don’t want to disappoint anyone,” you admitted.

“You won’t,” Soonyoung assured you. “You’ve already done so much. It’s okay to take a step back and breathe.”

You took a deep breath, feeling a bit lighter. “Alright. Let’s look at this apartment one more time.”

Soonyoung nodded, giving you an encouraging smile. “And if it’s not the one, we’ll keep looking until we find the perfect place for us.”

You laughed softly, the tension easing. “You always know how to make things better.”

“Just doing my job as your soon-to-be husband,” he said playfully.

Soonyoung was doing an incredible job.

From what you’d heard from friends who had gone through the same situation, they didn’t have partners like Soonyoung. You felt proud of him.

He was your rock, making sure you took a breath when you were overwhelmed by the slightest things. He even insisted you didn't move a finger during brunch, making you so relaxed that you found the apartment you’d been searching for on the very same day.

The drive home was quiet, the car enveloped in a peaceful silence that allowed you a moment to rest. You laid your head back as he drove, appreciating the tranquility. Once you arrived, you stayed seated for a bit, soaking in the comfort of the quiet.

Soonyoung looked at you, waiting patiently. When you finally looked up, he gave you a gentle smile. “Ready to go in?”

You nodded, feeling a bit more refreshed. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He stepped out of the car and came around to your side, opening the door for you. “Take your time,” he said softly.

You appreciated his patience as you slowly got out of the car. “Thank you, Soonyoung.”

He smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked towards the house. “I’m just doing what any good partner would do.”

You leaned into him, feeling grateful for his support. “I don’t think everyone is as lucky as I am.”

He chuckled softly. “Well, I’m pretty lucky too, you know.”

As you entered the house, you felt a sense of relief. The apartment search was over, and you had found the perfect place. More importantly, you had Soonyoung by your side, making every step of this journey easier.

“So, what’s next on our list?” he asked, guiding you to the living room.

You sank into the couch, feeling the exhaustion of the day catch up to you. “I think a nap is next on my list.”

He laughed, sitting beside you. “That sounds like a perfect plan.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of the day lift off your shoulders. “Wake me up in an hour?”

[...]

The days flew by in a blur with the whirlwind of wedding preparations. It felt like only moments ago you were choosing flowers, tasting cakes, and finalizing guest lists.

Now, as you stood at the end of the aisle, holding a bouquet in front of Soonyoung, the reality of the moment hit you with full force.

The weight of the dress and the pressure of looking perfect made your hands sweat like never before. You felt like a porcelain doll, perfectly polished and poised.

Soonyoung stood there, his eyes fixed on you with pride. He couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness. Here you were, a perfect woman by his side, and even better, an old friend he'd known for years.

The familiarity of your presence brought him comfort. Despite the fact that you hadn’t really dated, the idea of having someone as pretty and cool as you with him every day made him feel at ease about the whole situation.

As you walked down the aisle, your eyes met his, and a small, reassuring smile played on his lips. He looked stunning in his suit, and the way he stood tall, waiting for you, made your heart flutter.

You could see a hint of nervousness in his eyes, mirroring your own, but there was also a calmness there, a silent promise that everything would be alright.

When you finally reached him, he extended his hand towards you. He leaned in slightly, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “You look amazing.”

You blushed, your nerves momentarily forgotten. “Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.”

The vows were sincere, filled with heartfelt words that spoke more to your shared friendship than any romantic notion. Both of you couldn’t help but giggle as you remembered all the crazy things you’d done together as kids.

Your minds flashed to the time you stole sweets from an event or when you both jumped into a water fountain during an important dinner with company directors.

As the officiant declared you husband and wife, all of these memories became a sweet reverie. You leaned in and whispered with a playful glint in your eye, “Are you going to kiss my lips or my cheek?”

Soonyoung blushed, clearly caught off guard by the question. A kiss on the cheek was typical in such moments since most arranged couples didn’t share a romantic bond. He stammered for a moment, his face flushing a deep shade of pink.

“Well… uh… I suppose the cheek would be safe,” he mumbled, eyes darting nervously.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, leaning closer. “But where’s the fun in that, Soonyoung?”

He looked at you, his eyes widening slightly. The playful challenge in your gaze gave him the courage he needed. With a deep breath, he moved in, his hand gently cupping your face.

“I think I’ll go for the lips,” he whispered back, his voice steadying.

The crowd held its breath as Soonyoung leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was a simple kiss, not passionate, but filled with the warmth of years of friendship and the promise of a shared future. The applause that followed was thunderous, but all you could focus on was the feeling of his lips against yours.

As you pulled away, you both wore matching grins. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” you teased,

He laughed, shaking his head. “Not bad at all. Actually, it was kind of nice.”

You linked arms, turning to face the crowd together. Your parents looked relieved and proud, while your friends were cheering loudly, clearly entertained by the spectacle. Soonyoung’s eyes met yours again, and there was a newfound spark there, full of possibilities.

As you both shared champagne with your parents, Soonyoung playfully asked, "No tequila tonight?" You were about to respond when his mom's voice cut in, "Tequila?"

Soonyoung’s eyes widened, and his mouth twisted into a frown as he tried to suppress his laughter. You quickly improvised, "Huh, h-he meant... tacos! We had tacos with tequila last time, remember?" You forced a smile, hoping it sounded convincing enough. His mom seemed satisfied with the answer, nodding along.

After mingling with guests—aka talking with people from work about the next meeting—you finally found a moment to escape the spotlight. You and Soonyoung crouched behind the kitchen, hiding from the crowd. The chefs chuckled at the sight of the newlyweds sneaking bites of food, but they made sure to hand you the best eats, knowing how overwhelming the day could be.

Soonyoung grinned, playfully nudging you. "We're so used to doing this at parties that we're practically pros now."

You nodded in agreement, a mischievous smile on your face. "Even though it's our own wedding party," you said, shaking your head in disbelief.

He chuckled, looking at the gold ring on your finger with a sense of wonder. "Our wedding... I still can't believe it. Oh my god, we're grown adults now."

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching out to pat his head mockingly. "We've been grown adults for... kind of a long time already," you teased, a playful glint in your eye.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, then leaned in closer, his voice softening. "Yeah, but it feels different now. Like, we're really starting something new."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. It was true. The reality of your situation was sinking in, but in a way, it felt comforting. You had each other, and that made everything seem a little less daunting. As you sat there, hidden away from the chaos of the celebration, it struck you how much you appreciated this moment—just the two of you, stealing away for a breather.

“Shall we follow tradition?” Soonyoung asks, a playful glint in his eyes. You frown, confused, as he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a bottle of tequila.

“Should tequila be kept in the fridge?” you ask, laughing at the sight.

“I hope so,” he replies, pouring the liquid into a cup. “This one is expensive.”

You raise an eyebrow, taking the cup from him. “The cheapest has the same effect,” you say, waiting for him to pour his own.

He chuckles, raising his glass. “But today’s a special day. We deserve the good stuff.”

You laugh it off, crossing your arms before taking the shot together. The familiar burn makes you both scrunch up your faces.

The wedding party was truly one of a kind. You and Soonyoung were a bit too excited, turning the waltz space into a wild dance floor.

At first, your parents were too embarrassed to join, especially at the sight of Soonyoung twerking on you. But soon, even the directors and business partners were on the dance floor, dancing and drinking extravagantly.

[...]

The next morning, you and Soonyoung were woken up by the buzzing of your phones.

Your makeup was smudged and stamped on the pillow, and you were still in your wedding dress. You scratched your scalp, feeling the bobby pins still tangled in your hair.

Soonyoung was no better; his shirt was unbuttoned to his belly button, his tie was loosened around his neck, and his hair looked like a bird's nest. He scratched his forehead groggily. Despite sharing the same bed, you both seemed unbothered by it.

You grabbed your phone and saw the company group chat flooded with messages:

“Wow, last night was incredible! Congrats to the newlyweds!”

“I can't believe we all danced that much! My feet are killing me. :')”

“Best wedding party ever! So happy for you guys!”

“My head is pounding, but it was totally worth it. ^^ Cheers to you both!”

“I’m still recovering from all that dancing. What a party!”

“Never thought I’d see the CEO breakdancing. ㅋㅋㅋㅋ”

You couldn't help but smile at the messages, as Soonyoung peeked over your shoulder, a sleepy grin spreading across his face.

“My head hurts,” Soonyoung complains, rubbing his temples.

You adjust the corset of your dress, feeling the tightness around your ribs. "My ribs are squeezed," you grumble, wincing as you try to get comfortable. "I can't believe I slept in this."

He yawns, glancing down at your leg. "You even kept the garter on," he points out, noticing the delicate band still around your thigh.

You crack your neck, feeling the weight of the long night. "Your sister gave it to me, so I put it on," you explain, lifting the voluminous skirt to reveal the bridal garter.

His eyes widen comically. "My sister?! Is there something I don't know?"

You frown at him, a bit confused. "You don’t know about the tradition?"

Soonyoung looks a bit lost, scratching his head. "I mean, it’s my first time getting married."

You sigh, laying back down. "Traditionally, the groom is supposed to take it off when... taking the virginity," you explain, watching his face turn a shade of pink.

His eyes dart around nervously, processing the information. "So... my sister thought I was... a virgin?"

You shrug, teasing, "Probably. Are you?"

He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Definitely not. And you?"

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. "Nope. Sorry to disappoint."

He chuckles, finally relaxing. "Good to know. Not that it matters, but... it's funny to think about how everyone just assumes stuff."

“Are you going to take it off?” you tease, stretching your leg up and wiggling your foot playfully. Your eyes glint mischievously as you watch Soonyoung’s reaction.

He scoffs, but a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “What, you mean right now?” His eyes flicker to your thigh, then quickly back up to your face, trying to gauge if you’re serious or just messing with him.

You arch an eyebrow, maintaining your playful expression. “Why not? It’s tradition, right? Don’t you want to fulfill your husbandly duties?” You stretch your leg out further, making the garter more visible.

Soonyoung chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s a sparkle of joy in his eyes. He reaches out hesitantly, his fingers brushing lightly against your thigh. The touch sends a shiver to your skin, and you can’t help but giggle.

“What’s the matter?” you prod, your voice dripping with mock innocence. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

He rolls his eyes, trying to suppress a laugh. “Not at all,”

You bute your lip as his fingers graze the lacy fabric of the garter. His touch is feather-light, almost ticklish, and you squirm a bit under his hand.

Soonyoung smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction. “You’re squirming,” he notes, his voice low and teasing. “Does that mean you’re nervous?”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Me? Nervous? Please,” you retort, trying to sound confident despite the rapid beating of your heart. “I’m just surprised you’re taking so long. I thought you’d be an expert at this.”

He chuckles, sliding his hand a bit higher up your thigh, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow, deliberate strokes. “Oh, I am,” he replies smoothly. “Just savoring the moment.”

“Well, don’t take too long,” you murmur, your voice softening slightly. “We wouldn’t want to miss out on any other wedding traditions.”

Soonyoung grins, his fingers hooking under the garter. “Right, can’t forget those,” he says, his voice tinged with a hint of naughtiness.

He gently tugs on the garter, slowly sliding it down your leg, his eyes never leaving yours.

As he finally slips the garter off, he holds it up triumphantly, a goofy grin on his face. “There, tradition fulfilled,” he declares, waving the garter like a trophy.

You laugh, shaking your head at his antics. “Congratulations,” you say, clapping mockingly. “You’ve successfully removed a piece of elastic lace. Truly, a remarkable achievement.”

He bows dramatically, playing along. “Thank you, thank you,” he says, flashing you a cheeky smile. “It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.”

You can’t help but laugh, the light-hearted banter making the moment feel even more special. Soonyoung’s hand lingers on your leg for a moment longer before he finally lets go.

As Soonyoung gets up, stretching his arms with a yawn, he announces, "I'm going to take a bath." He heads towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

You sit up, still feeling the effects of last night's festivities, and shout after him, “Ya! Ladies first!”

From behind the closed door, you hear Soonyoung's laughter echo in the bathroom. “Sorry, didn’t hear you over the sound of me already starting the water!” he calls back, his voice filled with playful defiance.

You shake your head, smiling to yourself. It’s these little moments that make everything feel so natural and easy with him. After a few minutes, you hear the sound of running water stop, and Soonyoung emerges from the bathroom, his hair damp and a towel wrapped around his waist.

“All yours,” he says, grinning. “I left some hot water for you, too.”

You roll your eyes playfully, grabbing your toiletries and heading into the bathroom. The warm water is a welcome relief, washing away the remnants of makeup and the night's events. After a quick shower, you step out feeling slightly more human, though the hangover still lingers.

As you both finish getting ready, the thought of breakfast crosses your mind. However, just the idea of food makes your stomach churn. The hotel's breakfast spread is typically lavish, but today, the thought of greasy bacon and pastries is anything but appetizing.

Soonyoung, dressed in a casual outfit, catches your expression as you look at the food options. “Yeah, not feeling it either,” he says, rubbing his temple. “Let's skip it.”

You nod in agreement, both of you opting for just a coffee to stave off the worst of the hangover. With minimal conversation, you gather your belongings, checking out of the hotel and heading straight to the airport.

But one thing you definitely didn’t expect was Soonyoung falling asleep on your shoulder within the first thirty minutes of the flight. His head rested heavily against you, and his hand, seemingly by accident, was placed on your thigh.

As he softly snored, you couldn’t help but chuckle at how comfortable he looked. Anyone passing by would probably think you two were an old married couple, so naturally attuned to each other.

His head's weight pressed down on your shoulder, a constant reminder of his presence. Every now and then, you felt him subconsciously moisturizing his lips, a small, almost imperceptible movement that somehow made the moment even more cute.

You glanced at the small TV screen in front of you, trying to focus on the movie playing. It was a romance novel adaptation, the kind with sweeping gestures and grand declarations of love.

Normally, you might have rolled your eyes at the cliché, but with Soonyoung sleeping peacefully beside you, it felt oddly fitting.

As the plane cruised through the sky, you found yourself getting lost in the storyline, occasionally glancing at Soonyoung. His breathing was steady, a gentle rhythm that added to the soothing hum of the plane.

You shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable without disturbing him, but his hand tightened instinctively on your thigh, holding you in place. It was a small, protective gesture that made your heart flutter.

What you loved the most was when Soonyoung finally woke up, blinking sleepily and then immediately apologizing. "I'm so sorry," he repeated, his face flushed with embarrassment. You chuckled, assuring him it was okay, that he had every right to rest. He seemed genuinely mortified, even offering, “You can sleep on my shoulder too, I promise.”

You smiled at his earnestness, brushing it off with a light, “Maybe on the way back, then,” as the announcement came that you were about to land.

Once you arrived, Soonyoung was quick to grab the suitcases from the taxi, his efficiency a comfort as you made your way to the hotel's check-in counter.

The concierge’s eyes seemed to linger on you a little too long, his gaze sliding over your sundress and perhaps admiring more than just the attire.

As you waited for the receptionist, the concierge leaned casually on the counter, offering a friendly, yet slightly flirtatious, smile.

“First time here, ma’am?” he asked, his tone smooth and inviting.

“Well, yes...” you replied, keeping your voice polite but detached. You could feel the weight of his attention and tried to subtly stretch your hand, making sure the gold ring on your finger was clearly visible.

The concierge didn’t seem to get the hint, or perhaps he chose to ignore it. “You’re in for a treat. We’ve got some wonderful spots for—”

Before he could continue, you felt Soonyoung's presence behind you, a comforting warmth at your back. His body pressed lightly against yours, a subtle yet possessive gesture that didn’t go unnoticed. His hand slipped around your waist, resting just below your belly, the touch gentle but unmistakably protective.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Everything alright?” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity and a subtle edge.

You could almost feel the shift in the air. The concierge straightened up, his expression flickering between surprise and a polite smile. “Oh, just making sure your stay is perfect,” he said, his tone now more professional, eyes darting between you and Soonyoung.

“Thank you,” Soonyoung replied, his voice steady. His hand didn’t move from its spot on your belly, and the slight squeeze he gave was enough to send a clear message. You leaned back into him, feeling a rush of warmth at his silent claim.

The receptionist finally returned with your room keys, handing them over with a bright, “Welcome to our hotel! We hope you enjoy your stay.” With the keys in hand, you and Soonyoung made your way to the elevator.

As the doors closed, sealing you both from the world outside, you turned to Soonyoung with a smirk. “Looks like someone’s a little possessive.”

He grinned back, a playful glint in his eyes. “Just making sure everyone knows you’re taken.”

You tease him back with a playful smirk. “Well, it’s just a business marriage. You shouldn’t worry about stuff like that,” you say, your tone light and slightly mocking.

Soonyoung scoffs, turning his gaze to the side with a dramatic sigh. “You’re such an idiot,” he mocks, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“An idiot, hm?” you counter, crossing your arms with a smirk. “Well, I’m an idiot you agreed to marry, so I guess that makes you twice the fool.”

He raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Sharp tongue of yours, huh?”

You nod, feigning innocence. “What can I say? I’ve had years of practice.”

Soonyoung leans in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, it’s a shame. I was really looking forward to giving you something special once we got to our hotel room.”

Your curiosity piques immediately. “Something special? Like what?”

He grins, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Oh, just something that’ll make you remember tonight.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to gauge his meaning. “Something that’ll make me remember tonight, huh? Care to elaborate?”

Soonyoung chuckles, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, I think you already know what I’m talking about.”

You narrow your eyes, playfully challenging him. “Do I? Because you’re being awfully vague.”

He leans back, enjoying the game. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

The teasing glint in his eyes only fuels your curiosity further. You know exactly what he’s implying, but you play along, eager to hear him say it outright.

“So,” you press, “what is it? Can you give me a hint?”

Soonyoung’s grin widens, clearly relishing the moment. “Let’s just say it’s something that’ll make you very excited. And not just because of the hotel’s decor.”

You roll your eyes, laughing softly. “Alright, alright. I get it. You’re being all mysterious.”

You sulk, trailing behind Soonyoung as he walks down the hallway toward your room. “Tell me, pleeeease,” you plead.

Soonyoung glances back at you with a mischievous smile. “Nope, not telling,” he says, his grin widening as he enjoys your insistence.

When you reach the door, Soonyoung unlocks it and pushes it open, gesturing for you to enter. You walk in, your eyes scanning the room briefly, but your focus quickly returns to Soonyoung. He places the suitcases by the door and then hops onto the bed, sprawling out with a relaxed sigh.

You stay standing by the door, your arms crossed over your chest, giving him a sulky, upset look.

“So,” Soonyoung says with a defiant glare, “am I forgetting something?”

You pout, trying to look as curious and frustrated as possible. “You’ve got me curious,” you admit, your eyes wide.

He laughs, brushing his hand through his hair with a playful sigh. “You’re almost throwing a tantrum over this?”

Soonyoung slides his hand down his abdomen slowly, getting lower and lower, until he's wrapping his fingers around his cock through his white shorts. The outline is clear, thick, and perfectly defined against the fabric.

He gives it a little shake, a sly smile playing on his lips as he watches your reaction.

You stare at him in shock, your knees almost giving way as you take in the sight. Your mouth opens slightly, but no words come out as you struggle to process what you're seeing.

Soonyoung’s smile widens, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “Are you surprised?”

He chuckles softly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Well, I figured it was time to give you a little hint,” he says, his hand still resting casually on his bulge. “So, do you think you’re ready to find out what else I have in store for tonight?”

You stammer, unable to look away from the outline of his cock pressed against the fabric of his shorts. “Do we have to wait until nightfall?”

Soonyoung licks his lips, his gaze never leaving you. “Oh,” he drawls, “but you have to walk properly tonight, so we can go to the restaurant.”

Your eyes darken, a fire igniting within you. “You think I can’t handle all of this inside?”

He raises an eyebrows. “You shouldn’t,” he says, his voice dripping with devilishness. “It’s just a business wedding, after all.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Just a business wedding, huh? You really want to test me?”

Soonyoung chuckles, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “That’s right. Let’s see if you can keep your composure while we enjoy a nice dinner.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “Challenge accepted,”

You’ve never been so turned on by someone’s mere presence before. The entire city tour was a cruel game of torture, all at Soonyoung’s hands.

In the taxi, his hand had wandered to your nude thigh, brushing against your skin like a feather. The way his fingers lightly caressed your inner leg made your heart race and your breath catch.

At the restaurant, the casual caresses continued. His leg pressed against yours under the table, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

The warmth of his skin against yours, the way he would occasionally let his knee slide up your thigh—each movement was like an electric current surging through you, leaving you squirming in your seat.

Walking through the jewelry fair was an exercise in restraint. As you admired the sparkling displays, Soonyoung’s hands kept drifting to the exposed skin of your back. His touch was light, almost playful, but each graze against your bare skin made you shiver with need.

You could barely focus on the dazzling jewels in front of you; your mind was consumed with the need for him.

By the time you were back in the elevator, you felt like you were on the edge of losing control. You could feel his eyes on you, sharp and hungry, as you pressed yourself against the wall.

You turned your face away, but you couldn’t hide the truth from him. Your nipples, straining against your dress, betrayed your arousal. Your legs, pressed tightly together, were a clear sign of your desperation. Even your unsteady breaths gave you away.

When you finally arrived at the hotel room, you barely made it inside before your desperation took over.

You throw him against the wall, hands planted firmly on his chest. The sound reverberates through the room, probably making the neighbors wonder what the hell is going on. His usually small eyes are wide, staring at you flaggerblasted.

Your breath mingles with his as you lean in, letting your lips barely graze his. Your voice comes out breathy, almost desperate, “Please. Stop teasing me.”

For a moment, he's stunned, caught off guard by the whininess in your voice and the look on your face—like you might break if he doesn't give you what you need right now.

It's a twisted scenario, considering you're his childhood friend turned wife is standing before him with an expression that borders on agony—an agony only he can alleviate.

For a moment, he looks like he might laugh, but he knows he's on the verge of losing all sense of control, but a part of him relishes the idea.

“Say it again,” he murmurs. He knows he's playing with fire, but he can't resist the thrill. His lips barely brush against yours, teasing, taunting.

“Soonyoung, I'm going to fucking cry if you don't—”

“Hold it,” he commands,you shudder, your breath hitching as he lifts your dress. And you comply, bunching the fabric in your fists to keep it out of the way.

His hand slides down the front of your panties, and your head falls back.

Soonyoung leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear. “You’re so fucking impatient,” he growls.

His fingers slide through your slick folds, finding you wet and wanting, throbbing everytime he rubs his fat fingers on you. “You’ve never even tasted my cock, and you’re already obsessed, huh?” He presses his thumb against your clit, making you gasp. “You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You whimper, your hips bucking against his hand. You can barely think straight. “Please, Soonyoung,” you beg again, your voice cracking.

He chuckles darkly, clearly relishing your desperation. “You want my cock so bad, don't you?” His fingers slide inside you, curling just right, and you cry out. “You want me to fuck you senseless? Make you scream my name?”

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. The words spill out of you, unfiltered and raw. “I want you to ruin me.”

“You’ve never had anyone fill you up like I will,” he says. “I’m gonna stretch you out so good, baby. You’ll be begging for more, even when you can’t take it.”

The dirty talk, the sheer vulgarity of his words, makes you even wetter. You feel like you're on the verge of losing control, and it's rousing.

Soonyoung's fingers pump in and out of you, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. His thumb rubs relentless circles on your clit, and you can feel the tension building, winding tighter and tighter.

“You’re gonna cum on my fingers first,” he whispers. “And then I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk straight for days. Is that what you want, baby? To be fucked so good, you can’t even think about anything else?”

“Yes, yes, please,” you pant, your voice high and desperate. You can feel the orgasm building, Soonyoung's touch is all-consuming, driving you wild with every stroke.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs.“So eager to please. I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

Here and there, Soonyoung is driving you insane with his body affixed to the wall, one strong arm holding your leg up. His wrist swiveling to match his fingers as they explore your weeping cunt and his repetitive rubbing of the areas that cause you to roll your eyes.

You cry out, gasping as you roll your hips onto his fingers, the orgasm making you forget what would be appropriate at the time. Soonyoung's fingers work you through it, drawing out every last drop of you.

As you come down from the high, you realize you're still clinging to him, fingers deep on his muscular shoulders, your breaths coming in hiccups. Soonyoung pulls his fingers out of you, and you feel a pang of loss.

Your legs feel like jelly, and you can barely stand. Soonyoung catches you, pulling you close.

Soonyoung's eyes rake over you, his smirk widening as he takes in the sight of your trembling legs. “You're trembling,” he chuckle. His gaze drops to the slick mess between your thighs, and he bites his lip, clearly reveling in the sight. “Better than this... you're literally dripping,” appreciating.

He lets your leg down, holding you firmly as he guides you back onto the bed. The plush mattress sinks under your weight.

“God forgive me,” he continues, “but if our mothers weren't in that dressing room that day, I would've fucked you right there in the store. With that princess veil of yours... I would've pinned you against the mirror and made you scream my name.”

Your mouth falls open. The image of him taking you into that bridal shop, surrounded by white lace and satin, hitting you like a punch to the gut.

You're not sure what shocks you more: his bold declaration or the way your body reacts to it, growing wetter with every word.

He smirks at your reaction.

“What's the matter, princess? Cat got your tongue?" He teases. His fingers slip under the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs. “Or are you just too turned on to speak?"

He's right; you're completely at his mercy, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a response.

He strips off his shirt, revealing the sculpted lines of his torso, then shucks off his shorts. His erection strains against the fabric of his boxers, and he groans, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as he palms himself.

“I could've fucked you on that altar,” he visualize. "In front of all those guests. Just to show everyone that no matter how arranged this marriage was, you're mine. No one else's.”

He opens his eyes, locking onto yours. “I would've spread you open right there, had you screaming my name, showing them all who you belong to."

His dirty words, the way he claims you with every syllable, makes your head spin.

Soonyoung's hand moves over his bulge, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don't even know how much I've wanted you,” he hisses. “How much I want to fuck you senseless, make you mine in every way.”

He leans over you, his breath hot against your ear. “And tonight, I'm going to do just that. I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget about everyone else. Just me, and this cock inside you, filling you up until you can't think straight.”

You squirm, your body responding to his filthy promises. You can't tear your eyes away from him, your mind racing with the possibilities of what the night holds.

Soonyoung's fingers brush against the hem of your dress, and you shudder at the contact. “Take it off,” he orders, his voice rough. “I want you naked, spread out on this bed, ready for me.” His eyes bore into yours, and you know he's not just asking—he's demanding.

You slip your dress over your head, tossing it aside as you finally catch sight of Soonyoung completely naked. His hand moves over his erection, the cockhead glistening with precum. The sight makes you lick your lips.

“Can you—” he starts to ask, but you cut him off, not needing him to finish.

“Yes!” you nearly moan. His eyes darken, a smirk playing on his lips as you drop to your knees in front of him.

You take a moment to appreciate the sight before you. His cock is thick and veined, the head an angry red, glossy with precum. You can almost taste it just from looking.

Tentatively, you lean in and press a soft kiss to the tip, tasting the salty precum on your tongue. It's musky and slightly bitter, but it makes you want to choke on this cock. You swirl your tongue around the head, savoring the taste and the way his breath hitches above you.

Soonyoung's hand tangles in your hair, guiding you closer. “Yes, baby,” he groans, his voice thick with need. “Just like that.”

Encouraged by his reaction, you take him deeper into your mouth, your lips stretching around his girth. The texture of his cock is smooth yet rigid, the veins pulsating against your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, creating a tight seal as you bob your head, taking more of him with each movement.

His hips jerk forward involuntarily, and you hear a strangled moan escape his lips. “Shit, that feels so good,” he pants, his grip on your hair tightening. You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes meeting his. The sight of him looking down at you, his face twisted in pleasure, spurs you on.

You slide your hand up his thigh, wrapping it around the base of his cock to stroke what you can't fit in your mouth. Your other hand cups his balls, gently massaging them as you continue to suck him.

You hum around his length, sending vibrations through him. He shudders, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. “You're so fucking good at this,” he praises, his voice breathless. “So eager, so perfect.”

You moan around his cock at the praise. You take him deeper, pushing your limits as you feel him hit the back of your throat. You gag slightly but push through, wanting to please him, wanting to show him how much you want this.

“Y/N,” he gasps, his hips bucking forward again. “You're going to make me cum if you keep doing that.”His voice is strained, you don't know if he's warning you or if he's desperate.

You don't let up, doubling your efforts. You suck harder, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head every time you pull back. Your hand continues to pump the base of his cock, matching the rhythm of your mouth. You can feel him throbbing, his cock pulsing with need.

Soonyoung's moans grow louder, more desperate. His breaths come in uneven pants, his body tense with the need for release. “Fuck, Y/N, I'm so close,” he warns, his voice breaking.

You look up at him, your eyes locking with his as you take him even deeper. You want to see him come undone, to watch him lose control because of you. You feel his cock twitch in your mouth, and with one last swirl of your tongue, he lets out a choked moan.

He comes hard, his hips jerking as he spills into your mouth. The taste of his release floods your senses, warm and salty. You swallow every drop, savoring the way he trembles above you. His hand in your hair tightens, holding you in place as he rides out his orgasm.

His hand gently strokes your hair after, a contrast to the rough grip from moments before. You pull back, licking your lips and savoring the last taste of him.

He lifts you up effortlessly, his lips crashing into yours. He doesn't care that his cock was just in your mouth seconds ago or that his cum lingers on your tongue. The taste of himself on your lips makes him moan, the sound vibrating between you.

After a moment, he pulls back, one hand wrapping around your throat, not tight but firm enough to make you feel his presence. His eyes bore into yours, as he licks his sensitive lips.

“You were sucking me so good,” he rasps, “that I almost said ‘I love you’.”

A laugh bursts out of you, hearty and genuine, and he watches you with a smirk.

“I swear,” he continues, his tone playful. “if I'd known marrying you would come with benefits like this, I would've done it way sooner.” “I feel like I owe you something after that blowjob,” he says, his voice dropping into a deeper, more sultry tone.

You bite your lip, a dirty thought flashing through your mind, and Soonyoung picks up on it immediately. Soonyoung's gaze narrows, reading the filth in your expression

“What is it? What do you want?” he asks excitedly.

“Can you fuck me… doggy style?” you ask.

“Yes, I can,” The corners of his mouth twitch, barely holding back a grin.

You look up, pretending to be lost in thought, then say, “Can you fuck me in missionary?”

He nods again, biting his lip, his grip on your throat tightening just a little.

“Can you fuck me inside… the shower?”

He presses you tightly against him, his hand gripping your waist possessively, but your gaze still eating him whole.

“I can fuck you upside down, sideways, any way you want, baby,” he answers, his voice steady and confident. “Just say the word, and I'll make it happen.”

You moan in response. Too early to say that you're already dumb for his cock?

“Get on all fours and lift that pretty ass for me.”

As you crawl up the bed, you make sure to put on a show. You arch your back, lifting your ass higher, giving Soonyoung the view he wants. You wiggle it a little, teasing him.

The motion makes your pussy lips part slightly, already slick and ready for him. You can feel his eyes on you, burning with thirst. Without warning, his hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp. You let out a yelp. You know that mark will be there tomorrow, like a postmark, like a stamp, like a reminder of this moment, and the thought makes you even wetter.

He moves behind you, the bed dipping under his weight. You feel his hands on your hips, gripping you firmly as he positions himself. You can't help but push back against him, seeking more contact.

“So fucking perfect,” he mutters, running his hands over the curves of your ass, squeezing the flesh and kneading it roughly. He spreads you open, taking in the sight of your wetness. “Look at how ready you are for me. You're dripping, baby.”

You moan, pushing back against him, desperate for more. “Please, Soonyoung, I need you.”

“Fuck, you sound so desperate,” he taunts, positioning himself behind you. His cock slides against your folds, teasing you, making you whimper. “Beg for it. Beg for my cock.”

“Please, Soonyoung, fuck me,” you whine. “I need your cock inside me, please. I can’t wait any longer.”

He doesn't tease, doesn't make you wait any longer. He thrusts in with one hard, deep stroke, filling you completely. The sudden intrusion makes you cry out, a slight discomfort as your walls stretch around him. But it makes your toes curl.

“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, gripping your hips as he starts to move. “So fucking tight and wet for me. You feel that? That’s my cock stretching your pussy.”

You moan loudly, the pleasure building with each thrust. “Yes, Soonyoung, I feel it. It feels so good. Fuck me harder.”

He picks up the pace, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. He reaches around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles. The sudden burst of pleasure makes you gasp, your body jolting.

He pulls back slowly, only to slam back in, setting a rough, punishing rhythm, making you roll your eyes back.

He's so deep, hitting spots you didn't even know existed. Each thrust makes you see stars, and you can't help but moan loudly, not caring if the entire hotel hears you. The stretch, the fullness, it's all so overwhelming, so fucking good.

“Come on,” he urges, voice a low growl. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you squeeze this cock.”

It's all too much. The feel of his cock, his fingers on your clit, the dirty words spilling from his lips—it all sends you over the edge. The second orgasm of the night making you feel already exhausted. Your voice hoarse, as you feel yourself sloppier between your legs.

There's no mercy in his movements; he's fucking you through your high, pushing you beyond your limits. Each time he hits your cervix, a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain ripples through you, making your arms tremble uncontrollably.

You try to hold yourself up, but your strength falters. With a soft cry, your arms give out, and your chest falls against the bed. Soonyoung lets out a low chuckle, a smug grin spreading across his face as he watches you crumble beneath him. Even with your body slack, you're impossibly tight around him, your pussy squeezing him like a vice.

Soonyoung’s hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he continues to pound into you from behind. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, stretching you, making your walls clench involuntarily around him.

He leans over you, his breath hot against your ear, and you can hear the pride in his voice as he coos, “Aww, look at you. So fucking helpless, so fucking wrecked. You can’t even hold yourself up, can you?”

You can barely muster a response, a breathy whimper escaping your lips as you feel the tears start to stream down your cheeks. It’s an almost incredulous feeling, the tears mixing with the sweat on your face.

You’ve never been fucked like this before, never been pushed to the brink and then beyond, your body betraying you as it trembles under his control. It’s a raw, visceral experience that leaves you gasping for air, your mind a hazy blur of feel.

Soonyoung notices the tears, and his smirk grows wider. “Look at you, crying for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Is it too much, baby? Too fucking good? Love being fucked so hard you can’t even think straight?”

His hand moves from your hip to your hair, tangling his fingers in it and pulling your head back, forcing you to arch your back even more. The angle shifts, and he hits that perfect spot inside you, making you moan loudly, your voice cracking with the intensity of it all.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, his hips snapping forward with even more force. “God, you’re squeezing me so fucking hard. It’s like your pussy doesn’t want to let me go.” He punctuates his words with deep, hard thrusts that leave you reeling, each one sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through your body.

“So pretty when you cry,” he continues, his tone almost taunting. “I could do this all day, just watch you fall apart on my cock” His words are filthy, degrading, but they ignite something inside you, a desperate need for more.

The way he speaks to you, the way he claims you with each word and each thrust, is addictive.

You can’t hold back your sobs. “Please,” you manage to choke out, not even sure what you’re begging for anymore.

More, less, anything—just something to ease the dizzying sensation coursing through you.

He laughs softly, a dark, knowing sound that makes your skin prickle. “Please what, baby? You want me to stop? You want me to fuck you harder?”

He pulls out almost completely, the emptiness leaving you gasping, and then slams back in with a force that makes your whole body jolt.

“You’re so fucking greedy. Can’t get enough, can you? You want this cock to ruin you, want me to fuck you so good you’ll feel it for days.”

All you can do is moan and sob, your body shuddering with each thrust as he pounds into you. The bed creaks under the force of his movements, it’s dirty, raw, and utterly nasty.

“Gonna make you cum again,” he murmurs, his voice a dark promise.

And as you feel the tension building inside you again, that familiar coil of pleasure tightening in your belly—you know he’s right.

He lays you gently on the bed, your back sinking into the mattress. Your face, flushed and glistening with sweat, looks completely wrecked, completely exhausted. Soonyoung feels a brief flicker of pity, but it quickly dissipates as you babble out your dirty words, barely coherent but dripping with need. “Please... Soonyoung... more, need you so bad... fuck…”

He smirks, spreading your wobbly legs apart, exposing the slick, swollen mess between them. “You can barely form a sentence, and yet you still want more.”

He slides his cock back inside you, stretching you open once more.

Soonyoung's thumb finds your clit again, and he begins to work it in slow, light-touch circles. The sensation is maddening, a delicious contrast to the deep, methodical thrusts of his cock.

He watches your face intently, drinking in every expression, every gasp and whimper."That's it, baby," he coos. “Let me see that pretty face when you cum.”

You can barely keep your eyes open, your body overly sensitive from the previous orgasms, but he doesn't let up.

His other hand moves to your chest, fondling your breast, his fingers pinching and rolling your nipple before sliding up to wrap around your throat. This time, the grip is firm, real, and you can feel the delicious pressure as he chokes you just enough to make your head spin.

He leans in closer, his eyes never leaving your face.

You cling to him, your arms wrapping tightly around his body, pulling him closer as if you could merge with him, become one. The scent of sweat and skin mingling in the air—it all consumes you.

Your body is trembling, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core, a white-hot band of pressure that threatens to snap. Soonyoung's moans are louder now, but they seem distant, like they're coming from underwater, muffled by the roaring in your ears.

His pace quickens, and you feel yourself losing control, your mind slipping away from the physical world. The room, the bed, even Soonyoung—all of it fades into the background.

There's only the blinding, all-encompassing pleasure that fills every nerve, every cell in your body. It's like being pulled under a wave, the sensation crashing over you with a force that's almost violent.

Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, and you can feel the muscles in your abdomen clenching, the buildup to your orgasm reaching its peak.

And then, it hits. The climax rips through you, a white-hot explosion that leaves you gasping, the world narrowing down to the blinding sensation of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Your back arches off the bed, your mouth opening in a silent scream as your vision goes white. The intensity is mind-numbing, erasing everything else from your mind except the overwhelming euphoria that pulses through you.

Your body shakes with the force of it, your legs quivering, toes curling as the pleasure radiates outward from your core. You can feel the slickness between your thighs, the way your walls flutter and squeeze around Soonyoung, pulling him deeper inside you.

Soonyoung's name falls from your lips in a choked sob, your voice hoarse and trembling.

You slowly come back to reality, feeling the weight of Soonyoung's body on top of you, his cum warm and sticky between your bellies.

Soonyoung pants loudly, trying to catch his breath. He lifts his head slightly to look at you, concern flickering in his eyes despite the satisfied smile on his lips. “You okay, wifey?” he asks.

You manage a weak smile, still feeling the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. “I’m okay, hubby,”

His smile widens, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmurs. “You were amazing.”

You chuckle softly, the sound a bit strained. “You weren’t too bad yourself,” you tease, your hand coming up to rest on his back, feeling the muscles still taut from effort.

He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your own. “Glad I could satisfy my wife on our first night together,”

“Think we should clean up?” Soonyoung asks after a while.

“Probably,” you agree, though neither of you makes a move to get up just yet. You’re too content, too wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of each other’s presence.

Eventually, with a reluctant sigh, Soonyoung shifts, carefully pulling away from you. The cool air hits your skin, making you shiver slightly. He helps you sit up, his hands gentle and supportive as you both make your way to the bathroom.

The weight of the wedding ring on your finger feels heavier now, more symbolic than ever. It’s not just a piece of jewelry; it’s a constant reminder of the commitment you’ve made and the life you’re building together.

Soonyoung, despite his own exhaustion, is kneeling beside the tub, gently washing you. His focused expression as he works to make sure you’re clean and comfortable. The sight of him, so dedicated and caring, makes your heart swell.

You feel a pang of guilt as you see the tiredness etched on his face, a reminder of how much he’s given for you, both physically and emotionally. Your legs, still trembling from the aftermath of the passion, had given up on you, leaving you reliant on him. The thought of him taking care of you, even in his weariness, makes you feel both grateful and a bit ashamed.

“Hey,” you say softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “You don’t have to do this. I can manage on my own.”

Soonyoung looks up at you, his eyes softening as he smiles. “I want to,” he says quietly. “You took care of me earlier, and now it’s my turn to take care of you. Besides, it’s kind of nice, being able to do this for you.”

You look him in the eye and sense the truth in his words. His warm, comforting smile belies the weariness that is evident in the lines on his face.

[...]

As you and Soonyoung lie together in bed, the room is quiet except for the soft rustling of the sheets and the occasional sigh from either of you. The memories of what just happened still lingers in the air, making both of you feel a bit shy and stunned.

As Soonyoung lays his head on your chest, you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He sighs contentedly, his fingers lightly tracing patterns around your breast.

“So,” he begins, his voice tinged with both surprise and a hint of playfulness, “when I hinted at what I wanted, I honestly didn’t think you'd go for it. I was kind of... hoping, but also preparing for a rejection.”

You chuckle softly, your fingers running through his hair. “Oh really? And why not?”

“Well, for one, you’re ridiculously hot. I didn’t think you’d be that into it right off the bat.”

You giggle, feeling a rush of confidence. “Oh, come on. Why wouldn’t I? You’re hot, and let’s be honest, you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Damn, so you think I’m hot, huh? And here I was thinking I’d have to put in a little more effort.” He rises to look at you, but you make him lay again, your cheeks flushed.

“I can’t believe we managed to go from ‘I do’ to ‘Let’s fuck’ in just a few days. We really don’t waste any time, do we?” You say, grinning.

“Yeah, I guess I underestimated how much I’d resist you, but I knew I was in trouble from the moment we got married… I thought I’d be a strong soldier, holding out a bit longer.”

He hums thinking.

“I’m surprised I managed to hold out for as long as I did.” he finishes.

You raise an eyebrow, a naughty smile playing on your lips. "Well, I guess you’re not as disciplined as you thought. Seems like you fell for me quicker than you’d like to admit.”

Soonyoung’s eyes sparkle. “You’ve got me completely hooked.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, your hand resting on his cheek. “Poor soldier. Captured by the enemy and all. What will you do now?”

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a tender kiss. "I guess I’ll just have to surrender to you completely.”

“Even the strongest can fall. And let’s be real, I’m pretty good at making sure my soldiers surrender.” You shrugged, smirking.

He bursts into laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn, you really know how to make a guy feel like a total pushover.”

“I plan on keeping you hooked, you know—well, at least until the next time we have a ‘conversation’ like tonight."

“Well, if this is what marriage looks like, I think I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.”

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