delusiondolly

[delusiondolly]

Thank You, Daddy Chapter 7

Masterlist and Summary

Previous Chapter

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, sex work, power dynamics, daddy kink, possessive behavior, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 8,421

The upscale restaurant is all understated luxury, a canopy of soft lights and hushed elegance. You and Christopher arrive at the private dining room, where a table set for four awaits beneath a glittering chandelier. He places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you inside with a familiar ease that speaks to the intimacy you’ve both grown into. You’re wearing a backless black dress that clings to your curves, and his eyes linger on you with a mix of pride and desire as you settle into the velvet-lined seat beside him.

“It’s a shame we have company,” he murmurs low enough for only you to hear as the waiter fills your glasses with water. His hand traces a line up your spine before he kisses your shoulder.

You smirk up at him, catching the flash of his dimples. “Good thing we have the rest of the night.” You lean closer, your voice playful. “Hope I’m not wearing you out.”

His chuckle is rich and full of promise. “Never.” His lips press gently to the side of your mouth. 

The door opens, and Allan and Helen Thompson enter with the kind of presence that commands a room. Allan is still robust in his sixties, his silver hair lending him an air of distinguished authority. Helen is striking and elegant in a cream-colored sheath, her demeanor warm despite the cool perfection of her appearance.

��Christopher!” Allan’s voice booms with genuine pleasure. “And this must be the lovely Noelle.”

Christopher stands to greet them, his handshake with Allan turning into a brief, affectionate back-slap. “It’s been a while,” he admits, a rare hint of sheepishness in his tone.

Helen pulls him in for a kiss on the cheek. “Much too long, Christopher,” she scolds gently, before turning to you. “We were beginning to think he’d forgotten all about us.” She takes your hands in hers, and you’re struck by the sincerity in her gaze. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Noelle. I’ve heard so much.”

“Really?” You’re surprised to hear that he’s been talking about you with people other than Hyunjin. You smile, feeling strangely at ease. “All good things, I hope.”

Christopher returns to your side as the four of you sit, his hand finding your knee under the table. “Mostly good,” he teases, earning a playful swat from Helen.

The conversation starts predictably with market trends, new ventures, Christopher’s latest acquisitions. Allan peppers him with questions, clearly impressed by how much his protégé has accomplished since the last time they talked months ago. Christopher's thumb strokes your knee absently, a constant reminder of the connection that pulses between you even amid talk of mergers and portfolios. You listen, chiming in occasionally with comments that surprise Allan with their insight.

Allan turns his attention to you, intrigued. “Are you also in finance?” he asks, his eyes lighting up with genuine curiosity and respect for how you hold your own in the conversation. You pause, a little surprised at the question, unsure how to frame your answer without breaking the elegant tone of the evening. But before you can respond, Christopher steps in smoothly.

“Not exactly,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice as he gives your knee an affectionate squeeze under the table. “Noelle has a business degree from USC Marshall. Top of her class.” His words are flattering, filled with pride. “She’s got an instinct for this kind of stuff.”

It’s both infuriating and thrilling how he manages to say so much with so little. He winks, and you know it’s his way of saying he’s impressed by you, that he likes showing you off like this, for your brain, as much as for your looks.

Allan laughs, clearly charmed. “I can see why you’re keeping her around.”

Beside him, Helen leans forward with a conspiratorial smile. “We’ve always said you needed a smart woman in your life,” she tells Christopher, but her eyes are playful and knowing as they flick back to you. He chuckles but doesn’t deny it.

As the first course is cleared, the topics shift. Helen gives you a conspiratorial look, her eyes sparkling. “I must say, it’s nice to see young love,” she observes, her tone both lighthearted and sincere. You raise your eyebrows at her use of the word love and turn to look at Christopher, but his eyes are on Helen. It doesn't seem like he's fully processed her comment. “Christopher’s always been a softy despite his attempts to convince the world otherwise.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Christopher interjects, though there’s a warmth to his protest. “She’s been saying that since I was nineteen.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?” Helen winks at you. “Look at him now, all grown up.”

You laugh lightly, and the sound draws Christopher’s attention back to you again, his expression softening despite himself, his gaze filled with a mix of affection and desire. You adore how natural this has become, how right.

“Very grown up,” Allan agrees, his eyes sharp as they take in the way Christopher looks at you.

“Maybe a bit,” you admit with a chuckle, covering Christopher’s hand with yours and giving it a gentle squeeze before leaning over to kiss his cheek. He blushes slightly.

Allan chuckles, a knowing look passing between him and Helen. “We’re glad to see you happy, son.” Allan refills everyone’s wine glass. “I have to say, it’s nice to see him finally following some of my advice.”

Christopher raises an eyebrow. “And what advice was that?”

“To let someone in,” Allan replies, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve always said it’s the best advice I can give, in business and in life.”

Helen nods, her gaze moving between you and Christopher. “And it looks like you’ve finally taken it.”

The words prompt a smile from Christopher, but there’s also a flicker of discomfort at the public acknowledgment of his affections. He’s not used to anyone commenting on his feelings, least of all someone he respects as much as Allan.

You feel Christopher’s hand tighten slightly on your knee, tension passing through him. You squeeze his hand again, a small reassurance, though you wonder if you’re trying to reassure yourself as well. You can see how Allan and Helen's words affect him, the way they hit too close to truths he’s still figuring out.

“Remember when we first got married?” Allan says, turning to Helen with a look that’s both amused and affectionate. “We had no idea what we were doing.”

Helen laughs, the sound warm and unabashed. “We still don’t,” she admits. “But we’ve gotten better at pretending, sweetheart.”

Helen catches the shift in mood and smoothly redirects the conversation. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Noelle, since this one is always so tight lipped.” She takes a sip of wine, her eyes bright with curiosity. “How did you two meet?”

Your answer is practiced. “Through a mutual friend,” you say, glancing at Christopher. “He was kind enough to introduce us.”

“Hyunjin?” Allan guesses, and you nod, amused by how well he knows Christopher.

“He’s got quite an eye for matchmaking,” you reply with a smirk, and Christopher’s grip on your knee tightens, though his expression remains composed. It’s not exactly a lie. You’ve always known that Christopher reached out to you based on a former client’s recommendation. What you’ve learned recently is that that client made the recommendation to Hyunjin and after investigating you by contacting a few other clients, Hyunjin thought you’d work well to accommodate Christopher’s… peculiarities.

Allan laughs heartily. “Hyunjin always did have a knack for finding the perfect fit for you.” He pauses, his tone turning more contemplative. “You know, when Helen and I first got together, everyone thought it was a terrible idea.”

Helen rolls her eyes, but there’s a softness in her smile. “Not everyone.”

“Everyone,” Allan insists, turning his attention to you and Christopher. “They said we were too different. That it would never last. But love is about risk,” Allan continues, his voice growing serious. “It’s about being open, letting go of control. We’ve faced many challenges, but we’ve always worked through them together.”

Helen reaches for Allan’s hand, her touch a silent testament to their shared history. “He’s right,” she says softly. “It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s been worth it.”

“That’s the secret,” Allan says, focusing back on you and Christopher. “It’s never easy, but it’s always worth it. The trick is being willing to take that risk.”

Christopher listens intently, but you can see the tension in his posture, the way he’s trying to keep his expression neutral. His eyes flick to yours and there’s an uncertainty there, a question there that neither of you knows how to answer.

The idea of vulnerability, of exposing oneself emotionally, strikes a nerve with Christopher. He remembers Julia, how her departure was a consequence of his inability to show true emotional depth. How she wanted something more than he knew how to give. How she left him because of it.

You smile at him softly, wanting him to know you’re here, that you want this to work just as much as he does.

“What do you think, Noelle?” Helen asks, her eyes knowing as they settle on you. “Is he worth the risk?”

You feel Christopher go very still beside you, the air between you both charged with everything that’s gone unspoken. You hesitate, the words caught somewhere between your heart and your mouth. You haven’t talked about a relationship beyond your contract, not yet. But the way you interact with each other, the things you’ve shared with each other, all point towards there being something more here. “I think...” you start tentatively, “I’m hoping we’re worth the risk to each other?”

Christopher’s eyes are on you, intense and searching. You look at him, your gaze steady as you wait for his answer to your implied question, and he gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod. There’s a vulnerability in it that makes your chest tighten, because you know how hard this is for him. For both of you.

“Well,” Allan says, lifting his glass. “Here’s to taking the leap.”

You all raise your glasses. “To taking the leap,” Christopher echoes, though you can hear the uncertainty still present beneath his confident tone.

You know this isn’t over, that the questions Allan and Helen have raised are ones you’ll both need to face, even if you’re not quite ready to admit it yet.

The second course arrives, an elegant arrangement of seared duck and heirloom vegetables. You take a bite, savoring the flavors but more aware of Christopher’s proximity, the way his knee presses against yours beneath the table.

The conversation turns to lighter topics, but Christopher isn’t saying much. You sense the shift in him, the way he withdraws slightly, and excuse yourself before the tension becomes too palpable. “If you’ll all excuse me,” you say lightly, “I need to powder my nose.”

As you leave the table, Helen’s gaze shifts to Christopher, her expression both curious and concerned. “So,” she says, her voice gentle but probing. “She’s absolutely lovely. Is this serious?”

Christopher hesitates, Allan's words about risk and vulnerability echoing in his mind. Helen's question sits heavy in the air. Christopher opens his mouth as if to respond, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know how to answer, doesn’t know if he can. He looks down at his hands, tension in every line of his body.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” he finally says.

“You’re not sure?” Helen tilts her head, her tone a blend of exasperation and affection. "She’s an extraordinary woman," Helen continues, her voice kind but insistent. "I know how hard it is for you to let anyone in, Christopher. But it’s worth it." She pauses, and when he still doesn’t answer, she presses on. "I really like her. I think she's a good fit for you."

Christopher’s jaw tightens, and Allan watches him with a knowing glance, clocking his discomfort. Christopher meets Helen’s gaze, but it’s full of uncertainty, a rare vulnerability that doesn't often surface. He struggles to find words, to articulate something he’s not sure he understands himself.

“She is extraordinary,” he finally admits, his voice low. “But…”

“But what?”

Allan leans forward, his expression shifting to one of deep sincerity. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

Christopher doesn’t answer, but the silence speaks for him.

Allan notices his discomfort and nods, as if this is exactly what he expected. He speaks with the kind of wisdom that comes from years of experience. “Let me tell you something, son," he starts, leaning back in his chair with the ease of someone who’s been through this before, "the biggest regrets in life often come from not taking risks in love. From letting fear dictate your choices.”

Christopher’s eyes flicker, a crack in his controlled facade.

“Especially when it comes to love,” Allan continues. “You can’t control it like you do everything else. You have to be willing to let go, to be open and vulnerable. It’s the only way to find something real.”

Christopher looks sharply at Allan, the words hitting close. Allan continues, undeterred. 

"Letting go of control isn’t easy, especially for men like us. But unless you open yourself up, you’ll never know what you’re missing."

Christopher shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with the truth in Allan’s words.

“Don’t let your need for control keep you from something that could be amazing,” Helen chimes in.

“You have to be willing to leap,” Allan says again, his voice gentle but firm. A beat passes, heavy with unspoken truths. "I see you building a life with her," he adds, his tone more serious now.

"Don’t be afraid to let it happen, Christopher," Helen says as she pats his hand. “You’re such a sweetheart; you deserve to find someone incredible who complements you. And you clearly have a winner in Noelle.”

Christopher’s jaw tightens, a muscle working beneath his skin. His need for control wars with the need for something more, something real. He glances up, his gaze following the path you took to the restroom. His eyes linger on the door.

Helen squeezes his hand. “She’s worth it, Christopher. And so are you.”

He looks at her, the conflict evident on his face. “I’ve never been good at this,” he admits quietly.

Allan watches him, knowing the battle Christopher is fighting within himself. "She’s the best thing that’s happened to you," Allan says quietly. "But you’ll figure it out kid,” Allan assures him. “You’ve got a good instinct. And we’re here for whatever you need.”

Christopher nods, a small gesture that barely acknowledges the weight of what Allan has said. He tries to smile, but it’s strained, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. He looks back to the door just as you step out. You’re moving with that graceful confidence he adores so much. Your expression is soft when you see him watching, causing you to smile.

That smile causes something inside him to shift, reminding him of the nights you’ve spent unraveling each other’s secrets, the mornings you’ve woken in each other’s arms, the ways you’ve held him when he was at his most vulnerable, the times you’ve let him in and shared your pain, and all the moments between the two of you that felt so genuine, so real.

But he also remembers how exposed he felt when he let his guard down, how raw and terrifying those moments were. And the way his chest tightened when you said you hoped he was worth the risk…

Is he worth the risk? Are you really willing to risk it all for him? Can he do the same for you?

He wants to believe it’s possible, to have this, to have you, but the risks loom large in his mind. His expression is conflicted as you reach the table, even as your bright smile is reassuring.

"I hope you were saying nice things about me," you say lightly, resuming your seat. "I’d hate to think I’m missing all the fun."

"All good, I promise," Helen replies to you with a warm smile. Her eyes flick to Christopher, and there’s a note of encouragement in them that you can’t quite decipher. "We were just saying how glad we are to see Christopher with someone so wonderful."

You slip your hand into his, feeling the tension there. He squeezes it, a little too tightly, and you wonder what you’ve interrupted. "I’m the lucky one," you say, your gaze on Christopher, willing him to respond in kind.

He doesn’t.

Christopher can’t help but want you even as doubt gnaws at him. He knows he has to decide.

To leap or to lose you.

****

The drive home is quiet, the city lights flashing by in a blur. You can feel the tension radiating off of Christopher, the way he grips the steering wheel a little too tightly. You want to ask him what’s on his mind, but you’re afraid of the answer.

“Did you have a good time?” you ask instead, trying to sound casual, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest.

He glances at you, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. Did you?”

You nod, forcing a smile. “Allan and Helen are great.”

“They really like you.”

“It seems like you’ve known them forever.”

"Since I was eighteen, when Allan hired me for a summer internship,” he replies, his right hand moving to the gearshift unconsciously. You notice how his usual confidence seems to waver; his words are clipped and his voice distant, distracted, not like the warmth you’ve grown used to.

You reach for his hand, placing yours lightly over it on the gearshift. He doesn’t pull away, but there's a tension in his grip that wasn’t there before. You can feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him, a silence heavy with unspoken words.

"Chris?" you venture softly, but he doesn’t respond. You take a breath and try again. “Are you okay?” you ask, watching for a reaction.

“Yeah,” he says too quickly without looking at you, his voice flat. “Just tired.”

You don’t believe him, but you don’t press. Not yet.

You swallow hard, looking out the window as the city rushes past. He’s been distant since you returned from the bathroom at dinner, a shell closing in around the man who held you so tightly the other night, who let you see the depth of his feelings and his fears. You wonder if the conversation with Allan and Helen has made him rethink everything and if he’s already pulling away to protect himself.

The mansion is dark when you arrive, the vastness of it echoing your own uncertainty. You slip off your heels at the door, the click of them on the marble too loud in the quiet. You pick them up in your hands and make your way up the stairs. Christopher watches you, his expression unreadable, his eyes tracking you without moving from the entryway.

He follows behind you, up to his room, his movements stiff and mechanical. You start to undress, changing into one of the silky lingerie sleep sets he bought you in Paris. The fabric slides over your skin like a second layer. You hum softly as you move, trying to fill the silence with something other than the questions buzzing in your mind, while trying to pretend not to notice how he’s watching you from the doorway. There’s something in his eyes, a mix of affection, conflict, and brooding.

He’s watching you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. He’s experiencing an overwhelming sense of conflict. Memories of Allan and Helen’s words linger in his mind, the emphasis on vulnerability and connection digging into him like barbs. He doesn’t know how to give that to you, to anyone. He thought he was doing it differently this time, thought he was trying, but the fear is right there, ready to swallow him whole.

"Nightcap?" you ask, breaking the quiet. He nods. You leave the room, casting a glance back at him before you disappear down the hall. You need a moment to gather your own thoughts, to let him gather his.

He quickly changes into sweatpants and sits on the bed shirtless. He feels restless, the space around him suffocating as he waits for you to return. He’s torn between wanting to tell you everything, that he cares for you more than he’s ever cared for anyone, and the instinct to pull back before the ground falls out from beneath him again. The contrast between the lightheartedness of dinner and the weight of his internal conflict becomes too much to bear.

You’re back with two glasses of scotch before he’s able to sort through the mess of his emotions. His expression is unreadable. You hand him a glass, your fingers brushing his, but he doesn’t say anything. The silence is deafening, amplifying every unspoken doubt.

You climb into bed beside him, pretending the tension isn’t there. You scroll through your phone while Christopher picks up a book, his eyes scanning the pages without taking anything in. You can both feel the distance growing, each moment amplifying the emotional space developing between you.

The tension is palpable, and you can’t take the uncertainty any longer.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" you finally ask again, your voice gentle, probing.

He looks at you, his jaw tight, and lies. "Yes," he replies hoping he sounds more convincing, but from the look you’re giving him, he knows you don’t buy it. For a moment, he thinks you’ll push for a real answer, but instead, you set aside your drink and phone.

You know he’s not telling the truth, can see the conflict written all over him. You straddle him, needing to feel the connection that’s been missing since dinner. You gently close his book and place it on the bedside table, before leaning in to capture his lips in a soft kiss.

For a moment, you think he might pull away, but then you feel him relax, letting go of whatever has kept him at a distance tonight. His arms wrap around you, and the kiss deepens, turning desperate and consuming. You feel the relief in the way he holds you, as if you’re the only thing keeping him from unraveling.

He flips you onto your back, his body covering yours. You can feel the urgency in his touch, the way he’s trying to communicate everything he can’t put into words. His mouth moves to your jaw, your neck, trailing heat and want as he goes.

“Chris,” you breathe as you feel his lips move across your skin, arching into him, wanting to break the tension that’s lingered between you all night. “What’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he kisses you again, desperate and consuming, like he’s trying to commit the feel of your lips to memory. His hands move to your hair, tangling in it as he deepens the kiss, a need so urgent in his touch that it almost hurts. You’re not sure if he’s trying to lose himself in you or find something he’s afraid he never had.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting this as much as he does, wanting to reassure him that you’re still here. You can feel all his fear and longing in the way he holds you, and you let it sweep you away. His breath mingles with yours, and the kiss turns almost frantic, each movement of his lips more urgent than the last. It’s raw, unfiltered, leaving you breathless and dizzy, but you don’t care.

His hands travel down, touching everywhere, like he needs to convince himself you’re real, that he hasn’t already lost you. You feel the full weight of his body as he presses against you, and the tension that’s been tightening around you all night finally breaks. It’s all you can do to hold on as he pours everything into this moment, everything he’s too scared to say.

He doesn’t stop kissing you, doesn’t give you a chance to question him again. You don’t need to, not anymore. You feel his urgency in the way he moves, the way he touches, and it’s intoxicating. You’re both breathless, hearts pounding, feeling as if the world might explode if you let go of each other.

****

You trace your finger along the edge of the wine glass, watching Christopher across the dining table as he scrolls through his phone, his expression unreadable. He's been like this for days now; present but absent, his body in the room while his mind seems locked behind walls you thought you'd broken through months ago. The Christopher who shared whispered secrets in the dark, who laughed with his whole body at your jokes, who held you like you were something precious rather than purchased… that man has vanished, replaced by this cold facsimile who barely meets your eyes anymore.

"Is work okay?" you ask, more to break the silence than anything else. Your voice sounds too loud in the cavernous dining room of his mansion, a space that had begun to feel like home over the past few months.

"Fine." One syllable, clipped and final. He doesn't look up.

The pasta on your plate has gone cold, the sauce congealing into an unappetizing film. You've barely touched it. A month left on your contract, just thirty days until the arrangement that's consumed your life for half a year will either end or renew. But something has shifted, and the uncertainty gnaws at you like a physical presence.

You remember the night five weeks ago when Christopher told you about his mother's garden, how she'd painstakingly cultivated roses in the tiny patch of soil behind their cramped apartment, a splash of beauty amid concrete. He'd never told anyone else that story. Or the morning he laughed so hard at your impression of Hyunjin that coffee came out his nose, his usually perfect composure shattered. The way he started leaving books on your nightstand that he thought you'd enjoy, complete with his own notes in the margins.

These weren't the actions of a man paying for companionship. They were the gestures of someone who cared.

But now, as your sixth month together starts, that Christopher is gone. In his place sits this remote stranger who speaks to you in monosyllables and looks through you rather than at you. His touch, when it comes, is still possessive, still skilled, but mechanical somehow, like he's following a script rather than responding to your body. He’s been this way ever since the dinner with Allan and Helen two weeks ago.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" You set down your fork with more force than necessary, the metal clanging against fine china.

Christopher finally glances up, his dark eyes unreadable. "Nothing's going on." He returns to his phone, dismissing you without words.

Something inside you snaps. A month of contract left or not, you deserve better than this silent treatment. You push your chair back and stand, gathering your wine glass and what remains of your dignity. "When you're ready to actually talk to me, I'll be in the bedroom."

You don't wait for his response, striding from the dining room with your head high. The plush carpet of his bedroom muffles your footsteps as you enter, setting your wine on the nightstand, your nightstand, as you've come to think of it. The left side of the bed has become yours too, the pillows shaped to your head, a small collection of your things accumulated in the drawer Christopher cleared for you months ago.

Evidence of your presence in his life, of something more than transaction.

You kick off your heels and curl up on the bed, trying to still the trembling in your hands as you bring the wine glass to your lips and sip slowly. Thirty minutes pass before you hear his footsteps, steady and measured. He pauses in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the hallway light.

"You're upset," he says, not a question but an observation.

"Give the man a prize," you mutter, taking another sip of wine to delay looking at him.

He moves into the room, loosening his tie with practiced fingers. "Is this about last night?"

Last night, when he'd come home late without calling and fucked you with mechanical precision, never once making eye contact?

"No, Chris. It's about the last two weeks. It's about you shutting down completely." You set the wine glass down with care, even as anger bubbles beneath your skin. You watch as he walks to the closet. "It's about feeling like I'm suddenly just fulfilling a contract again, when we both know it's been more than that for months."

He stills, his back to you as he hangs his tie on the rack in his closet. "The arrangement has always been clear."

"Bullshit." The word hangs between you, sharp and unexpected. "Our arrangement might have started with clear lines, but you crossed them all, Chris. You let me in. You showed me parts of yourself nobody else sees. You can't just… just lock that all away again and pretend it never happened."

He unbuttons his shirt and places it in the hamper. Then he turns to face you, his expression guarded but something vulnerable flashing in his eyes for just a second before it's gone. "You're a remarkable woman. I enjoy your company. That doesn't change the nature of our relationship."

"Our relationship." You let out a bitter laugh. "What is our relationship, Chris? Because from where I'm sitting, it stopped being purely transactional around the time you started telling me about your childhood, or when you held me all night after I told you about my mom's cancer scare, or maybe when you took me to meet your sister at that happy hour last month and introduced me as your girlfriend, not your escort."

His jaw tightens. "I pay you to be with me. Whatever... embellishments have developed are part of the fantasy. That's what you're so good at creating, isn't it? The illusion of intimacy?"

The words hit you like a physical blow. You stand, needing to be on equal footing for this fight. 

"Is that what you think this is? An illusion? When you whispered that you'd never felt this way about anyone before, was that just foreplay? When you started asking me to stay with you all week instead of going back to my penthouse, was that just convenience?"

You're close enough now to see the pulse jumping in his throat, to catch the scent of his cologne. A scent that's become synonymous with safety and desire and, yes, affection.

When he doesn’t answer, you continue. "Shit! I like you, more than I should. I care about you," you say, the admission torn from somewhere raw and honest inside you. "I care about you, Chris, and I think you care about me too. Not as a possession, not as a fantasy, but as a person. As me. As…" After a soft sigh, you say your name.

His face remains impassive, but his eyes, God, his eyes give him away, wide and almost frightened. "You're confusing sex with emotion. It happens in these arrangements. That's why I usually keep them to a few months."

"Then why did you originally propose a year? Why did you agree to the six months? Why am I still here?"

"Because you're exceptionally good at what you do." His voice is controlled, almost cruel. "You adapt perfectly to what I need. You're intelligent, cultured, beautiful, funny. A rare combination. It would be foolish to let that go."

"Look me in the eyes," you demand, stepping closer until you're toe to toe, nose to nose, "and tell me you don't have feelings for me. Real feelings, Chris. Not ownership, not possession. Tell me you don't wake up happy when I'm next to you. Tell me you don't think about me when we're apart. Tell me I'm just providing a service to you, nothing more." You drop your voice to a whisper. “Tell me this hasn’t become something more, something… real.” You touch your forehead to his gently and stare into his eyes. “Please.” You’re hoping he can hear the plea in your demand. You’re hoping he can give you confirmation that you’re not the only one who has had these crazy, stupid feelings.

For one breathless moment, you think he might break. Something flickers across his face –  longing, maybe, or fear? His hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach for you.

Then the mask slams back into place and he takes a step back. "You're projecting what you think I should feel. What would make this more comfortable for you. But I've never misrepresented what this is. Yes, we've become... companionable. Yes, we’ve shared personal  things with each other. Yes, I enjoy your company beyond the physical. But don't confuse those things with something they’re not."

Each word is another brick in the wall between you, mortared with cold precision. Now, you step back, suddenly exhausted.

"Fine." The fight drains from you, leaving only a hollow ache. "If that's what you need to tell yourself, fine. But don't expect me to keep going along with this fiction of playing house. I deserve better than that, even if you are paying me."

You move past him, heading for the door, but his hand shoots out to grasp your hand, intertwining his fingers in yours. His touch sends an electric current through you, as it always has, but you cock your head at his fucking audacity at attempting intimacy when he’s just shut you down completely.

"Where are you going?" His voice holds a note of alarm, the first crack in his composure.

"To my room. The one in the east wing that I haven't used in over three months because I've been sleeping here, with you, in your arms, every night, in what I stupidly thought was our bed." You pull free of his grip. "I think we both need some space tonight, Christopher." The switch to his full name is intentional and petty and you feel gratification when you catch him flinch at hearing it.

He doesn't try to stop you again as you walk out, your bare feet silent on the wood floors. The east wing feels foreign after so long, the guest suite he'd initially set up for you when the arrangement began, before you gradually migrated to his space. The bed is made with military precision, the surfaces dust-free thanks to his meticulous staff, but the air has a stale, unlived-in quality.

You slip between cold sheets, your body aching for the familiar warmth of Christopher beside you. But pride keeps you there, staring at the ceiling as tears threaten at the corners of your eyes. You refuse to let them fall.

In the morning, you'll be what he wants… the perfect escort, fulfilling her contract with professionalism and detachment. No more vulnerability, no more honesty. No more illusions that this could ever be something real.

As sleep finally claims you, your last thought is of the invisible lines Christopher has redrawn between you. Lines you won't cross again, no matter how much your heart protests.

****

Your alarm slices through dreams at precisely 7:00 AM. You stare at the unfamiliar ceiling of your designated room, the one Christopher so generously provided at the beginning of your arrangement, the one you haven't slept in for over two months until last night. Your body feels wrong, like you've put on clothes that don't quite fit anymore. The sheets are too cold, the pillows too firm, the silence too complete without Christopher's steady breathing beside you. This isn't your bed anymore. You're not even sure it ever was.

You shower and dress with mechanical precision, selecting a simple sundress that skims your curves without being overtly sexual. The morning routine feels like slipping into an old skin, one you'd nearly forgotten: the careful application of makeup that enhances without revealing, the strategic arrangement of your silk-pressed hair into a casual ponytail that looks effortless but took calculated minutes to perfect. The armor of the professional.

The east wing hallway stretches before you, a reminder of the distance you've placed between yourself and Christopher, both physically and emotionally. Your bare feet make no sound on the plush carpet as you make your way toward the kitchen, mentally preparing for another day of pretending that your heart isn't cracking with every breath.

When you push open the kitchen door at exactly 7:30, the sight that greets you stops you short. Christopher sits at the kitchen island on one of the bar stools, still in his robe, a cup of coffee steaming in front of him as he reads something on his tablet. He's never here at this hour. By now, he’s usually dressed in one of his immaculate suits, already at his office and in his first meeting.

He looks up when you enter, his dark eyes unreadable. "Good morning."

You recalibrate, keeping your expression neutral. "Morning." The word comes out clipped, your voice betraying none of the confusion swirling inside you.

The kitchen feels smaller with him in it, the air charged with unspoken words. You move to the coffee machine, the absurdly expensive Italian model that took you a week to master when you first arrived, and go through the motions of preparing your morning cup. Your movements are precise, controlled, revealing nothing of the tremor you feel in your fingertips.

You place two pans on the stove and turn on the heat.

"Did you sleep well?" Christopher asks, watching you over the rim of his mug.

"Fine." You don't elaborate, don't return the question. The petty satisfaction of giving him a taste of his own monosyllabic medicine isn't as sweet as you'd hoped.

You open the refrigerator, gathering eggs, butter, chives, bacon, the ingredients for your usual breakfast. The routine gives you something to focus on besides the weight of Christopher's gaze on your back.

"About last night," he begins, his voice careful, measured.

"I'm making eggs. Do you want some?" You interrupt him, turning with the carton in your hands, your expression pleasantly blank.

A flicker of frustration crosses his face before he masters it. "Yes. Thank you. But I'd like to talk about…"

"Great. Scrambled okay?" You're already cracking eggs into a bowl, whisking them with more force than necessary.

Christopher sets down his tablet, giving you his full attention, something that would have thrilled you yesterday but now feels like an interrogation. "Are we going to have a conversation about what happened, or are you going to keep pretending everything's fine?"

You look up from the eggs, meeting his eyes directly for the first time that morning. "Who’s pretending? You made your feelings quite clear last night, Christopher. What's left to discuss?" Your voice is steady, almost pleasant. Only the slight emphasis on ‘feelings’ betrays the barb hidden in your words.

He leans forward, elbows on the counter. "I don't think I did make myself clear. You were upset, and…"

The kitchen door swings open, cutting him off as Hyunjin strides in, immaculate in a charcoal suit that looks like it was poured onto his lean frame. He stops short, eyes darting between you and Christopher, instantly reading the tension crackling in the air.

You turn back to the stove, pouring the whisked eggs into the hot pan closest to you.

"Well, good morning," he drawls, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Why does it feel like I just walked into a freezer in here? Did someone turn the AC to 'Arctic'?"

You layer bacon carefully into the second pan at the back of the stove. "Morning, Hyunjin. Eggs?"

"From your hands? Always." He moves to the counter, deliberately positioning himself between you and Christopher at the island, leaning his hip against the marble surface. "So, who's going to tell me what's happening? Chris piss you off again?" He says it lightly, but his eyes are sharp, assessing.

"Nothing's happening," you respond, keeping your focus on the eggs as you fold them gently with a spatula. "And I'm not interested in talking about it. These need chives. Can you pass them?"

Hyunjin hands you the small bowl of freshly chopped herbs, his fingers brushing yours deliberately. "You know you can't lie to me, right? I can smell trouble like a shark smells blood. It's a gift. It’s why I’m good at my job."

Despite yourself, your lips twitch toward a smile. Hyunjin has that effect, diffusing tension even while acknowledging it. "Your modesty is inspiring, Jin." You use a pair of tongs to flip the bacon.

"One of my many virtues," he agrees, stealing a piece of toast from the plate you've prepared. "Seriously, though, everything okay?"

You glance past him to where Christopher sits, his face a mask of controlled irritation. "Everything's fine. Christopher and I just had a minor disagreement about... expectations." The last word hangs in the air, loaded with meaning.

Hyunjin's eyes narrow slightly, catching the undercurrent. He knows the nature of your arrangement with Christopher, he was there when it was negotiated, after all, but you’re not sure how much he's been privy to the emotional evolution of your relationship. You wouldn’t be shocked if he knows everything, given that he’s Christopher’s best friend and confidant. Still, he's perceptive enough to recognize that something significant has shifted.

"Expectations," he repeats thoughtfully. "Always tricky things, those." He looks between you and Christopher. “And when did we officially shift back to using the full name? Was that also part of the expectations?”

You ignore his question as you plate the eggs and bacon, one for Christopher, one for Hyunjin, one for yourself, and slide them across the counter with a practiced smile. "These are getting cold. Eat."

The next twenty minutes unfold in a strange pantomime of normalcy. You chat with Hyunjin about the art exhibit he visited last weekend, laughing at his scathing critique of a particularly pretentious installation piece. Christopher contributes occasionally, his comments directed more at Hyunjin than at you. You respond to Hyunjin with animation and warmth, while offering Christopher nothing more than polite nods and tight smiles.

It's childish, perhaps, but the petty satisfaction of excluding him from your attention feels like the only power you have left.

"So then the artist has the audacity to tell me that I 'clearly don't understand the intersection of capitalist critique and post-modern aesthetics,'" Hyunjin is saying, gesturing with his fork. "As if I haven't been collecting contemporary art since before this kid could color inside the fucking lines."

You laugh, the sound almost natural. "What did you say?"

"I told him I'd buy the piece for double his asking price if he could explain its meaning without using the words 'juxtaposition,' 'paradigm,' or 'neo-anything.'" Hyunjin's smirk is wicked. "He couldn't do it. I walked out with a different piece by an artist who actually knows what she's trying to say."

"Ruthless," you say approvingly.

Hyunjin glances at his watch and sighs. "Speaking of ruthless, we should get going if we're going to make that board meeting on time, Chris. The Williams acquisition won't wait for your domestic drama."

Christopher's jaw tightens at "domestic drama," but he nods, standing and gathering his plate. You take it from him before he can move to the sink, your fingers careful not to brush against his.

"I'll clean up," you say, turning away. "You should get ready."

Hyunjin gives you a considering look, then claps Christopher on the shoulder. "I need to make a call. Fifteen minutes, then I'm leaving without you, and you can explain to the board why you're late." He squeezes your arm gently as he passes. "Whatever he did, make him grovel for at least a week before you forgive him."

A small, genuine smile touches your lips. "Noted. Bye Jinnie."

When the door swings shut behind Hyunjin, you expect Christopher to leave too, to head upstairs and transform into the impeccable businessman the world knows. Instead, he moves toward you as you stand at the sink, rinsing plates. His arms slip around your waist from behind, his chest pressing against your back, warm and solid. His lips find the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder.

"I missed you last night," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin.

You don't lean into his touch, but you don't pull away either, your body caught in a limbo of wanting and resenting. His hands span your waist, possessive and familiar in a way that makes your heart ache. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something.

"See you tonight," he says after a moment when you remain quiet, pressing one last kiss to your neck before stepping back.

You don't turn to watch him go, focusing instead on the suds swirling down the drain, the gentle clink of silverware as you place it in the drying rack. Only when the kitchen door closes behind him do you allow yourself to exhale, your shoulders slumping as the performance of indifference takes its toll.

"See you tonight," you whisper to the empty room before finishing cleaning up the kitchen.

You make your way to your room in the eastern wing, the spacious silence of the house wrapping you in solitude. As you pass Christopher's room, muffled voices reach you through the cracked door. You slow, recognizing Hyunjin's teasing lilt.

"What happened last night? What did you do? It seemed like things were going really well the past three to four months. You two looked cozy enough after Paris," Hyunjin is saying. There's a pause, and you can almost see Christopher's jaw clenching in that maddeningly stubborn way.

"Nothing happened." Christopher’s voice is tense, low. He sighs. "I don't know. Maybe everything."

"Vague and broody. Classic Chris."

"I'm serious, Hyunjin." The sound of the bed creaking as Christopher shifts his weight. "It's complicated. I didn't expect to feel this... attached."

You freeze outside the door, your heart hammering in your chest.

"Attached," Hyunjin repeats slowly. "Attached is what happens when people spend lots of time together, especially when they’re intimate. I’m failing to see the problem here. And you're pulling back because?"

A pause, laden with unspoken fears. "Because I'll lose her," Christopher finally admits, the words rough-edged and raw. “I’ll lose her if I can’t take the leap,” he adds, referencing his conversation with Allan and Helen.

“The leap? What the fuck are you talking about Chris?”

"Nevermind,” Christopher mumbles, shaking his head. “I’m just saying that I can't go through that again. Not after Julia."

Hyunjin snorts softly. "So you're protecting yourself by pushing her away? Smart."

"You don't understand."

"I do," Hyunjin insists, an edge of frustration creeping into his voice. "Better than you think. You're so afraid of losing her that you're making it happen on your own damn terms. It’s the damn control freak in you."

Christopher sighs, the sound weary and conflicted. "She knows what this is, what we agreed on," he insists stubbornly. “She’s been fine with it all until now. Now she’s asking if it’s real.”

Hyunjin lets out an exasperated sigh. "Maybe she's been fine because she thought the two of you were connecting, that you actually liked her."

"I do," Christopher admits quietly, almost begrudgingly.

"Then act like it, you fucking dummy." Hyunjin says with a hint of irritation. He’s the only one Christopher would ever allow to speak to him like this. "She's not like the others," he adds sharply. "And you know it. That’s why you came up with this cockamamy arrangement in the first damn place instead of just asking her out like a normal fucking person."

There's silence again, heavy with Christopher's hesitation.

When Christopher doesn’t say anything, Hyunjin continues. “She’s not even like Julia, who, if we’re being honest, was a stuck up, elitist bitch. You’ve shared things with her that you never even told the woman you were engaged to, like how your mom died or the shit with your dad. Think about that.”

“I know,” Christopher says softly.

"She’s your person, as much as anyone besides me can be your person. I don’t understand how you can be the most brilliant person I know, yet still so damn clueless. For someone who prides himself on control," Hyunjin says more quietly, "you're sure fucking this up."

You shift slightly to get closer to the door, needing to hear more.

"You really think she’ll…"

"I'm certain she will leave if you keep this shit up. Keep in mind that she doesn’t need you, your money, or your connections; and most importantly, she doesn’t give a damn about those things," Hyunjin interrupts. "She likes you. Stop being so fucking stubborn, Christopher. Tell her that you have feelings for her, that there is something growing between the two of you, that you want her in every way that counts outside of the arrangement. Take some inspiration from those romance books you're always reading that you think I don’t know about. Fix it before it's too late." He sighs then adds under his breath, “Fucking pabo.”

Before Christopher can respond, footsteps approach the door. You scramble down the hall and turn the corner just as Hyunjin emerges.

The day drags on under a restless haze. You sink onto the bed, eyes fixed on nothing in particular as your thoughts swirl chaotically and keep drifting back to what you overheard outside Christopher's room.

Attached.

The word loops through your mind like a broken record, stirring hope and confusion in equal measure. Is it true? Is that why he's been so distant when things had started feeling... real?

He doesn't realize that by closing himself off, by treating this exactly like every other arrangement he's had with every other woman who's walked out on him, he's pushing you away faster instead of just letting himself feel something.

Hyunjin said you're not like the others, that he's afraid of losing you, but why couldn't Christopher just say it himself instead of treating you like just another escort?

The questions circle each other endlessly until you push away from your desk in frustration and decide to get a workout in to clear your head.

A/N: How are y'all holding up after this chapter?

[delusiondolly]

Thank You, Daddy Chapter 6

Masterlist and Summary

Previous Chapter

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, sex work, power dynamics, daddy kink, possessive behavior, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 11,612

Additional warnings: Talk about death, domestic violence and physical abuse.

A/N: Meant to post this yesterday, but currently at a conference. Enjoy!

The following weeks dissolve into a blur of intensity and confusion. You find yourself foregoing your time away from Christopher, your boundaries blurring like watercolors running together. What was once a structured arrangement (four days a week, your own space, no emotional entanglements) becomes something murkier, more consuming.

The following month, you accompany Christopher, Hyunjin, and Hyunjin’s “friend”, as he referred to her as, Rebecca, to a finance conference in Paris via a private jet. Christopher has been keen to keep you close, almost neglectfully doting in the way he assumes you'll follow effortlessly into his world. 

The four of you board the jet. With his hand possessively on the small of your back, he gives you a knowing look before taking a phone call and finding a seat towards the back to talk in private. You hesitate, wanting to give him his space, until Hyunjin waves you over to where he and Rebecca are already comfortably settled. You take a seat with the two of them at the small table near the front.

Hyunjin looks more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him, almost like he belongs here. The flight attendant pours each of you a glass of champagne, and Rebecca gives an exaggerated, thrilled squeal that makes you almost choke on your drink.

“My first time on a PJ! Ooh, thank you for inviting me Jinnie!” She leans over, planting a kiss on his cheek that's as loud as it is theatrical. He tolerates it with a smirk, his eyes meeting yours over the rim of his glass. There’s mischief there, a small conspiratorial spark that you have come to adore.

Rebecca turns to you eagerly. “Is it your first time too, Noelle?” Her question is curious, innocent in the way that only the truly sheltered can be. Her eyes are wide, and you can practically see them sparkle as she waits for your answer.

“No it isn’t,” you reply smoothly, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. You take a sip of champagne, hiding the humor in your eyes. “But the first time is always exciting.” The memory of your actual first time flashes in your mind. On the job at 19 with a forty-something-year-old john taking a “business” trip to South Beach. He had fucked you in the bathroom, inaugurating you into the mile high club. You don’t share that part. Instead, you toast to Rebecca’s inaugural flight with a lift of your glass, enjoying her youthful exuberance and the way it makes you realize how far you’ve come.

As Rebecca excuses herself to use the bathroom, you turn to Hyunjin with a curious expression and ask, "Is she...?"

"A pro? No, not at all," Hyunjin replies, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Although with the things she can do with her tongue, she should be." His grin is infectious, and you can't help but smile back.

"Where'd you find her? At the playground?" you joke, and Hyunjin bursts into a hearty laugh that fills the space.

"No," he manages to say between chuckles. "The intern pool."

"Ah, so she's in college," you deduce, a hint of surprise in your voice.

"She's a senior," Hyunjin confirms, nodding. "Not that much younger than you."

"I may only be twenty-five," you muse, reflecting on your own life experiences, "but I've been a forty-year-old for most of my life. So that makes me older than you." Hyunjin throws his head back, his laughter ringing out like a melody.

Rebecca returns, sliding gracefully back into the seat beside Hyunjin. Her presence seems to light up the room. "What's so funny?" she inquires, a playful curiosity in her eyes.

Hyunjin slips his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "Nothing, doll," he assures her with a wink. "Let's get you another drink."

The flight to Paris is smooth, luxurious, and entirely surreal. Christopher joins you after his call, pulling you into his lap with the kind of easy confidence that has Rebecca gasping and giggling again. You play along, letting him kiss you in front of the others, your arms draped around his neck in a show of affection that feels both genuine and practiced. You catch Hyunjin watching the two of you, his expression thoughtful.

The arrival in Paris is a whirlwind of black cars, designer luggage, and the flash of paparazzi at the edge of the airport. Christopher keeps you anchored to his side, his hand on your hip as if to ward off any unwanted attention. You find yourself reassured by it, even as it reminds you of the things Julia said. He texts and calls through the entire ride to the hotel, making arrangements with the precision of a military operation. When you finally arrive, it’s to a suite so expansive it could house an entire family, or the kind of party you’re sure Hyunjin will arrange by the end of the night.

Between the luxury hotel suite and exclusive parties, you start to see more of Christopher than you thought you would on this trip. There’s the way his gaze softens when he thinks you're not looking and the quiet moments of introspection when he shares parts of himself he'd never expose to anyone else.

Late one night, you stand on the balcony in your lingerie, picked out by him of course, and watch the Eiffel Tour start to sparkle. You’re caught off guard when you feel a blanket being placed around your shoulders.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Christopher says as he rubs your shoulders beneath the fabric. “You were shivering.” He kisses your neck.

You pull the blanket tighter around your chest. “I didn’t notice.” You turn your gaze back to the light show as Christopher hugs you from behind.

“Are you having fun?” he asks softly against your ear.

“I am. I had a great time accompanying Rebecca on her shopping spree. Hyunjin actually gave her his credit card. He’s a brave man.” The memory of Rebecca purchasing everything her eyes landed on makes you laugh.

Christopher chuckles, his grip around you tightening playfully. “I’ll be sure to have oxygen on hand for when he sees the bill.” He kisses you beneath your ear. “What did you get?”

“A book.”

“Just a book? That’s it.”

“Not just any book. A first edition of The Story of O.”

His lips curve into a knowing grin. “Interesting.”

“Why is that ‘interesting’?” You twist to face him, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He’s still smirking, his dimples prominent.

“Themes of submission, objectification, and the role of identity,” he replies with a teasing air. “Are you drawing parallels between our current arrangement and the story?”

“You’re the one drawing parallels,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow at him. “I saw the opportunity to get a rare edition, in the original language, of a book I couldn’t get enough of in my teens.”

“Pretend all you want, Baby Girl,” he chuckles, utterly unfazed by your deflection. He pulls you closer, mouth brushing against your cheek as his voice drops low, seductive. “But you know how that story ends. She starts to crave it,” he whispers, every word a deliberate tease against your skin, each syllable chipping away at the front you've been trying to maintain.

“Whatever, Chris,” you shoot back, defiantly using his nickname. It has the desired effect, earning another rumbling laugh from him. After a short silence, you ask softly, “What was your favorite book as a kid?”

He stills, his expression shifting from playful to something unexpectedly serious. You think he might brush off your question, but instead he looks out at the city, a thoughtful crease forming between his brows. “The Little Prince.” His voice is softer now, like he’s remembering something from a lifetime ago.

“A prince and his fox,” you say with a gentle nudge. “I’d have pegged you for more of a Gatsby guy.” You look back at him.

“I loved that one too,” Christopher admits, his eyes meeting yours with an openness that catches you off guard. “But The Little Prince was my favorite before everything else got complicated.”

You study him, trying to reconcile this new side of Christopher with the man you thought you knew. Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “When did it get complicated?”

He hesitates, then lets out a breath that sounds almost like a surrender. “When my dad lost his job and his drinking got worse.” There’s an uncharacteristic vulnerability in his voice, and it makes your chest tighten in a way that's both thrilling and terrifying. You reach up and back to cup his cheek before you kiss it gently. He sighs softly at the touch.

You turn back to face the skyline. “Any others?” you ask quietly, shifting the conversation back to the safety of books.

“Grimms' Fairy Tales,” he says after a moment. “My grandfather gave me an antique edition when I was six.”

You turn to face him, curiosity piqued. “Fairy tales. Really?”

“Really,” he said with a smile.

“An antique edition… so that means more of the original, disturbing, bloody ass versions.”

“I was obsessed with all those dark little stories.” He sounds almost amused. “Red Riding Hood, Rapunzel, Cinderella, Hansel & Gretel,” he says, naming some of the more common stories. “But also The Juniper Tree, The Robber Bridegroom, Fitcher’s Bird,” he adds, these ones some of the more gruesome tales.

You try to imagine him as a child, buried in fantastical worlds where the endings aren’t always happy or pretty, and it’s surprisingly easy. “What did you like about them?”

Christopher hesitates, then shrugs lightly, as if embarrassed by the admission. “The heroes and villains were always clearly defined. It made things... simple.”

Simple. The word hangs between you like a challenge, reminding you of everything not simple about this thing between you. You push forward anyway, wanting to know more.

“And now?” You press gently.

He looks at you with an intensity that’s softened only by the glint of humor in his eyes. “Now I think the best stories are the ones with the endings you don’t see coming.” His hand moves up your back slowly, possessively, making you shiver despite the warmth of the blanket.

You lean into him again, resting your head against his chest, letting yourself enjoy the closeness, enjoying even more that he’s let you in just a little bit more than before. “Have any other favorites I should know about?”

“Maybe I’ll show them to you sometime,” he murmurs against your hair.

You look up at him, surprised by how much you’ve started to want that. “I’d like that,” you whisper, your words almost lost in the space between you. His smile is languid, savoring the moment, the dimples deepening as his hand slides up to your neck, the touch possessive and gentle all at once. He leans down, capturing your lips in a slow, heady kiss that leaves no room for doubt about how much he wants you to be a part of his story. You melt into him, losing yourself in the heat of his mouth and the way his hands pull you closer, your body flush against his in a way that makes you forget everything but the two of you here in this moment. The kiss stretches out, indulgent and consuming, until you feel it might undo you entirely.

“Oh my god!” Rebecca’s voice shatters the moment as she bursts onto the balcony in her signature whirlwind fashion, pulling Hyunjin behind her.

Rebecca doesn't notice her intrusion at all, not the slightest inkling of the moment she's broken through, and instead lets out a delighted squeal. Even Christopher’s annoyed scowl can't faze her.

“This view! I’m obsessed," she declares, dragging Hyunjin along with her and clutching his arm with a joyous ferocity. Her voice is breathless, spilling over with pure, unfiltered enthusiasm as she pirouettes in a wide-eyed circle. It's contagious, like the energy of a kid who's just discovered the magic of a theme park. “I never want to leave! Isn’t this incredible?” She flops onto one of the chairs while Hyunjin follows with a knowing smile.

Hyunjin's gaze falls on you and Christopher. He offers a whispered, “Sorry,” at you both as he walks towards Rebecca. You just chuckle and pull an annoyed Christopher towards the lounger closest to them. He sits reluctantly, and you settle yourself in between his legs and lean back against his chest.

“Rebecca, baby, you know it’s okay to take a breath,” Hyunjin teases, his voice dripping with amused affection as he sits next to her.

“Sorry. I’m just so excited.” She beams like a ray of sunshine and stares out at the skyline, the Eiffel Tower still shimmering like it’s performing just for her. “This is amazing. It’s so romantic, don’t you think, Noelle?”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up as you tug Christopher’s arms more tightly around you. “Yup. Very romantic,” you say, not missing the way Hyunjin rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He shares an indulgent, knowing glance with Christopher as if to say, How did we get dragged into such theatrics?

Rebecca, ignoring your teasing tone, lets out another high-pitched squeal of pure delight, her energy cranked up to maximum volume. “Isn’t it?” she gushes again, holding both hands to her cheeks like she can’t contain her own excitement.

You shoot Hyunjin a teasing glance. “So what did you two get up to this evening?” you ask, throwing the question back to her and Hyunjin.

Rebecca launches into an animated recounting of their night, every word an exclamation point. “Oh my god, Noelle, we went to this little café on the Seine! It was soooo cute! And then we went bar-hopping all over Saint-Germain!”

You look at Hyunjin with mock disbelief at the energy he must have expended, and he just shrugs, feigning innocence as his eyes sparkle with humor. “Rebecca was very determined," he admits, glancing at her with an expression of both admiration and amusement.

“Determined is one way to put it,” Christopher teases, the corners of his mouth twitching into an unwitting smile.

Rebecca sticks her tongue out at him, unfazed and in full whirlwind mode. “It was great, okay? Not everyone wants to sit around and brood all night.” The statement causes Hyunjin to laugh loudly and Christopher to glare.

You barely have a moment to react before she blasts forward, her enthusiasm as relentless as ever.

“Oh, you know what we have to do tomorrow night? Go dancing!” Rebecca squeals as she claps her hands together. “I’ve heard that Paris late night clubs are amazing.” She pauses just long enough to catch a breath, her eyes wide and pleading.

“I don’t dance,” Chris states simultaneously with Hyunjin’s, “Chris doesn’t dance.”

Rebecca groans dramatically, collapsing back against the seat. “Oh my gawd! Why are old men so boring?” she asks you. “I mean, I practically had to drag Jinnie to the bars tonight,” she says with exasperation.

“We’re not old,” Christopher states, defending himself. “We’re only 32.”

“Old enough!” she shoots back, undeterred. She leans over and pulls Hyunjin’s arm, her persistence unwavering. “Come on, baby. Tell him it’ll be fun. Tell him we have to go.”

Hyunjin looks at Rebecca, now pouting adorably, then at Christopher, and sighs with a resigned smile. “She’ll never let us hear the end of it if we don’t,” he warns, sounding both amused and defeated.

“Damn straight,” Rebecca says, her voice triumphant and filled with anticipation. The determination in her eyes leaves no room for doubt that she’ll get her way.

Christopher raises an eyebrow, his mouth twitching into a reluctant grin. “I suppose we can stop by for a drink,” he concedes. The glint in his eye suggests he knows exactly what he’s getting into but is powerless to resist.

Rebecca squeals, sounding almost victorious. She leans over and plants a kiss on Hyunjin’s cheek, her delight radiating. “You’re the best!” she announces gleefully.

“I know.” Hyunjin gives her an indulgent look. "And I’ll remember that when we’re dead on our feet the next day,” he teases, already anticipating the whirlwind.

She grips his arm tighter, her joy uncontainable. “You’ll love it, I promise!” she beams, certain she’s already won them over.

The following night, The four of you find yourself in the VIP section of one of the hottest clubs in Paris. There’s a pulse to the place, a heartbeat of pure electricity that reverberates through every inch of the underground room. The bass booms in your chest, syncing with the strobe lights that flash above a sea of bodies, each one moving and grinding, lost in the music. Laughter and shouts weave into the heavy, pounding rhythm, creating an intoxicating symphony of sound and energy. The club is alive, and it’s impossible not to get swept up in the high of it all.

Your group is tucked away in a plush corner away from the chaos but still close enough to feel it. Rebecca is practically vibrating with excitement, her face lit up like it’s Christmas morning. She snuggles into Hyunjin’s side and raises a shot glass. “To Paris!” she yells, tilting her head back and downing it in one go. The rest of you join her and Rebecca quickly refills the shot glasses.

Christopher watches you, an amused look on his face. “You might have created a monster,” he says referring to Rebecca, his voice barely audible over the music as you slide onto his lap, a cocktail in hand. You give him a taunting grin and lean back against his chest, stealing a sip of his drink as you do.

“Full credit to Jinnie,” you say with a light laugh before turning your attention to the dance floor, trying to pretend the energy isn’t infectious, trying to play it cool. But Rebecca is up on her feet, grabbing your hand and pulling you to the music before you can protest. You melt into the chaos with her, your bodies moving together in a sensual rhythm, the heat and the crowd like a living, breathing thing around you, trapping you in.

You lose yourself in the moment, spinning and swaying, feeling the burn of Christopher’s gaze even over the pulsing music. Hyunjin comes up behind you, spinning you and Rebecca around with playful ease, and Rebecca lets out an excited holler that gets swallowed up in the noise.

You glance back at Christopher, catching the raw hunger in his eyes as he watches the three of you move. You shoot him a wicked look, brazen and challenging, pulling Hyunjin closer and grinding your body against him as Rebecca dances on him from behind. It’s a taunt, a promise, a test of how long he can bear to just watch. You turn dramatically, facing where Christopher sits and lock eyes with him as you push back on Hyunjin, his crotch bumping against your ass as one of his hands moves up your body and settles around your throat.

Hyunjin leans in close to whisper in your ear. “Well, you certainly know how to get his attention. This will bring him running…” 

Hoping he’s right, you point your finger in Christopher’s direction, then curl it in a come hither motion, a silent dare for him to join.

He rises, your provocative dance with his best friend pushing him over the edge. He doesn’t even look like he’s trying to resist as he pushes through the crowd, charging forward with a determined stride. He is at your side in an instant, slipping his arms around you, pulling you away from Hyunjin and into him, his body hot and unyielding against yours. It’s exactly what you knew he'd do, and you laugh, triumphant and breathless, exulting in your victory. His body feels scorching and solid against yours, and you let yourself get lost as you sink into it, giving in to the wild rhythm of the music and his willing capture.

“Took you long enough, daddy,” you whisper before spinning around. You grind your ass against his crotch, unrestrained, the thumping bass in sync with the raw want heating up between you. His restraint slips away as the length of his body presses against your back, hot and unyielding. Your teasing is clearly working; you feel him getting hard with each wine of your hips, every undulating movement inciting more. His grip on you tightens, and it's clear he's close to losing all control. He spins you around to face him again with a sudden, consuming urgency, and you gasp as you find yourself face to face with the full force of his intensity.

His hands settle on your ass, pulling you flush against him. You’re practically burning up, the tension coiling between you tighter and tighter. You lean in, your lips close to his ear, your breath hot and teasing as you whisper. “So, you do dance,” you taunt, savoring the way it makes him shudder. You lift your arms over your head, a gesture of surrender and enticement all at once. His hands slide up your sides, then your arms, until his fingers intertwine with yours high in the air.

“You look too fucking delicious not to,” he growls into your ear, his voice thick with the kind of desire that makes your limbs weak and your mind go blank with need. He crashes his mouth onto yours, kissing you deep enough to steal your breath. You’re lost, drowning in the heat of him and the music and the searing electricity shooting through you both. He brings your arms down, wrapping them tight around the back of his waist as his kiss grows more desperate, more demanding. You pull back just enough to catch a breath and catch his eye, the hunger there matching your own, a mirror of want reflected back at you.

Your bodies keep moving, your hips rolling together in a rhythm as wild and reckless as the pounding beat around you. His eyes stay locked on yours, drinking you in, as if the sight of you is enough to send him spiraling. It makes your heart race to see him like this, completely, utterly consumed by you. You squeeze his waist with your hands, feeling powerful and victorious, and he just grins at how you're having such a blast, how you’re almost as giddy as Rebecca. You lean back, letting him take in the sight of you, the sight of what he does to you. You play it up, throwing your head back, your hair spilling across your shoulders, and he groans like he can barely handle himself.

With a sudden, fierce urgency, he pulls you back into his orbit, unable to stand any distance between you, his lips claiming yours once more. You answer his need with your own, kissing him hard, your fingers threading into his hair and tugging just enough to drive him insane. His hands are everywhere, relentless. You’re both giddy with it now, like you’ve stumbled into some ecstatic, untamed place where only the two of you exist. You feel drunk on it, dizzy with it, and somewhere in the haze, you breathe out a challenge: “Can you keep up?”

“I guess we’re about to find out,” he replies, his voice rough and full of heat.

You tear yourself away from him, making a path through the crowd, your hand tight around his as you drag him behind you.

You end up in a cramped bathroom stall, his back pressed against the wall and you on your knees fumbling with his belt buckle.

He’s breathing heavy, almost panting, and the look on his face as you free his cock is pure, unguarded want. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you; wild, like he can’t believe you’re real. It lights a fire in your belly.

You take him in your mouth, slow and teasing, your tongue swirling around the head before sliding down, inch by tortuous inch. You engulf him, hot and wet and eager, and he lets out a strangled sound, his hands flying to your hair. It’s frantic from the start, your mouth working him with no hesitation, no restraint, like you’re starving for it. His hips jerk forward as he struggles to keep still, but to no avail. He gives up quickly, thrusting against you, pushing deeper into your throat, losing himself to the slick heat of your tongue and lips. His eyes roll back as you swallow around him, greedily taking everything he has to give.

“Fuck,” he bites out, low and guttural, his fingers tugging hard at your hair. “You’re gonna fucking destroy me.”

You pick up the pace, sucking harder, hollowing your cheeks and taking him deeper until he hits the back of your throat.

You hum around him in response, sending vibrations up his length that have him cursing more under his breath. Your pace is relentless; you want to see him break apart, lose all control the way you know only you can make him do. He groans loud enough that anyone nearby must hear nothing but his pleasure echoing off the walls.

You pull off with a slick pop, just long enough to catch your breath and grin up at him as you pump him with your palm. “This what you had in mind when I dragged you in here?”

He meets your eyes with raw intensity, pupils blown wide in wild arousal. “Hell yes,” he gasps out before you take him back between your lips again.

He feels impossibly hard in your mouth, throbbing with need as you suck him deeper than before. He’s not going to last much longer; the way his hips jerk and muscles clench tells that story loud and clear. It spurs you on, makes you greedy for it—to make him lose it completely.

“Fuck… baby… I’m gonna…” His words dissolve into ragged sounds of bliss as he comes undone for you, hot and desperate down your throat. You swallow every bit of it like a promise kept, savoring the taste of how completely you've unraveled him. You pull away with a satisfied smirk, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb.

When he finally drags you back up to standing, he's still breathing hard, chest heaving as he watches you like you’re some kind of miracle, but already grinning like he can’t believe how good that was. He pins you against the wall this time, kissing you with fierce hunger that leaves no doubt about what he’s planning next.

“You think we’re done?” he says against your lips, still winded but wickedly determined.

You laugh into his mouth and nudge your hips forward where he’s already getting hard again against you. “I think we’ve only just started.”

He spins you around and hikes up your dress all in one swift move that makes you gasp with thrill and anticipation. The fabric pools at your waist as he bends you over slightly, your hands pushing against the metal divider for support, leaving no question about who’s in charge now, or maybe who’s willing to fight for it.

The music pulses through the walls in time with the rush of blood pounding through your veins as he roughly pulls your panties to the side and slides two fingers inside of you without warning or mercy. You moan from sheer sensation, the stretch of them filling you and wetness spilling down across his knuckles; you push back against his hand like nothing else matters except more.

“Look how ready,” he murmurs approvingly near your ear before kissing and nipping along your skin while his fingers work their magic. Suddenly he pulls them away from the dampness.

And then his cock is there, buried deep where those fingers were, with one sure thrust that has both of you groaning. You’re trembling now, breathless from his touch, and wanting more. As he thrusts forcefully, the sensation is blinding, sending jolts of electricity through you that blot out everything else. You don't even care if anyone can hear.

He fucks you like you're the only thing he needs, driving into you with brutal, punishing strokes that make you wild. You're soaked, heat spreading through you, around you, spilling down your thighs and across your skin. You can barely keep track of the slick, frenzied sounds coming from your mouth, breathless and desperate. It's relentless and raw, and you push back to meet his thrusts, riding the edge of ecstasy. The cramped bathroom stall vanishes, the music fades; it's just the two of you chasing something that feels reckless and infinite.

His hands grip tight on your hips, the force of him a promise you'll be feeling this for days. He bends over you, hot breath in your ear, urging you on. The sensation is overwhelming and you can't keep quiet. You're trembling, falling apart, barely able to hold yourself up. You're sure everyone out there knows exactly what you're doing to each other, but it only makes you hungrier for more.

He doesn't let up, can't let up, pounding into you with rough determination that scrambles every thought in your head. You're gone to it, lost to it, needing everything he has and more. Your legs almost give out, but Christopher's body pins you to the wall, holding you in place as he moves. The way he's taking you, as if you'll disappear if he lets up for even a second, has you spinning out of control, frantic and breathless and fucked so thoroughly that you don't think you'll ever come down from it.

"Chris!" His name comes out in a high-pitched cry as heat blooms everywhere inside you and you're lost to it entirely, clutching onto him behind you to keep from buckling under the intensity.

He holds you close through every shuddering wave of release until you're spent and gasping against him.

"You good?" There's amusement in his voice but also tenderness, a softer side that's rare enough to feel precious when it shows itself.

You lean your head back against his shoulder. "Mmm." Your laughter is shaky as it bubbles up past the afterglow haze clouding all rational thought. "Think so."

He kisses your neck, then your cheek. You turn your head to the side to capture his lips.

“That was…” he says in between kisses.

“Yeah,” you finish for him.

You both stand there, Christopher’s arms holding you tight, staring at each other in silence. A few minutes pass by until the sound of someone entering the restroom snaps the two of you out of your trance.

“We should go,” he whispers softly in your ear.

“We should,” you whisper back, but neither of you move.

Eventually, he releases you from his embrace. He turns you around gently to face him, retrieving a few squares of toilet paper to carefully clean the mess he’d left between your legs. His touch is tender as he helps readjust your underwear and smooth your dress back down, ensuring everything is in place before tucking himself back into his pants with a practiced motion.

When the two of you emerge from the stall, the woman standing at the mirror, meticulously applying her lip gloss, pauses to raise a curious eyebrow. Christopher, unfazed, gives her a polite nod, stepping to the sink to wash his hands with a casual ease. You nudge him aside with a playful bump of your hip, claiming his spot at the sink and letting the cool water rush over your fingers. He grins, those familiar dimples deepening, as he dries his hands and offers you a crisp paper towel to do the same. His fingers naturally intertwine with yours, leading you out of the restroom with a confident stride.

You both make your way back to the VIP area, the dim lighting casting an intimate glow over the plush surroundings. Rebecca is perched on Hyunjin’s lap, her lips leaving a trail of kisses along his neck. Hyunjin’s gaze lifts to you and Christopher, a mischievous glint in them. “You’ve been gone for a while,” he remarks, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “Everything good?”

“Everything’s perfect,” Christopher responds, settling into the seat beside Hyunjin. You grab a cold bottle of water from the table before sinking into the plush cushions next to him, letting your body relax against his. His arm wraps around your back, his hand resting comfortably on your hip.

“Perfect, huh?” Hyunjin’s eyes meet yours, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“Yeah, perfect,” you affirm, taking a refreshing sip from the bottle. You hand it to Christopher, who takes a long drink before passing it back with a satisfied sigh.

“Hmm,” Hyunjin muses, his smirk stretching across his face like a Cheshire cat as he swirls the amber liquid in his glass. He tilts his head back and finishes the whiskey in one swift gulp. “I think we need to get this one home. You ready to go, doll?” he asks, turning his attention to Rebecca, his voice a playful lilt.

Rebecca finally peels her lips away from Hyunjin’s neck, leaving a faint mark behind on his skin. Her eyes flutter as she struggles to keep them open. “I want to stay a little longer,” she protests, her words slurred with exhaustion.

He leans in and plants a soft kiss on her lips, a gentle promise. “How about we head back to the hotel, and I order us a bacon cheeseburger and fries from room service?” he suggests, his voice coaxing.

Rebecca’s face lights up, and she nods eagerly. “That sounds amazing, Jinnie,” she murmurs, almost dreamily.

Hyunjin shifts his gaze to you and Christopher, his eyebrows raised in question. “You two ready?” he asks, the invitation clear.

“Sure,” Christopher replies, nodding.

Ten minutes later, the four of you find yourselves nestled in the plush leather seats of the private SUV as it glides smoothly through the city streets, heading back to the hotel. You and Christopher are situated directly behind the driver, your back comfortably pressed against the cool window, and your legs stretched across Christopher’s lap. His hand idly traces patterns up and down your thigh. In the third row, Hyunjin and Rebecca sit close, with Rebecca’s head resting on Hyunjin’s shoulder, her eyes half-closed yet intently focused on you.

“Noelle,” she murmurs softly, her voice just audible over the quiet hum of the vehicle. You turn your head to meet her gaze. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

A smile curves your lips, warm and genuine. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

She doesn’t let it rest at that. “No, I mean it. You’re gorgeous, and you have a beautiful soul.” Her voice is insistent, imbued with sincerity.

With an unexpected burst of energy, she sits up and leans forward, reaching over the seat. Her lips meet yours with unexpected fervor, her hand cupping your cheek as her tongue softly explores your mouth.

“Woah,” Hyunjin exclaims with a chuckle as Christopher’s lips start to curl at one corner. “That is kind of hot.”

Rebecca pulls back, her lips leaving a tingling echo. “She is hot. Don’t you think, Jinnie?” she teases, eyes dancing with mischief. Without waiting for him to reply, she draws Hyunjin in, her fingers threading through his hair as she kisses him deeply. Then, with a playful push, she directs him toward you.

Hyunjin’s lips meet yours softly, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth gently before his tongue presses insistently against yours. Damn, he’s a good kisser, you think to yourself. You feel Christopher’s hand still on your knee. When you finally pull away from Hyunjin, your breath comes in short, exhilarated bursts.

“Now him,” Rebecca instructs, her smile loose and tipsy, pointing at Christopher. “He’s almost as pretty as you, Jinnie.” She bites the tip of her finger.

A laugh bubbles up in you that you fail to stifle, watching Christopher’s eyes widen in offense. “Almost?!?” he echoes, disbelief mixed with incredulity.

“You heard her right. ‘Almost’ bitch.” Hyunjin’s laughter is infectious as he seizes Christopher’s cheeks between his hands, drawing him into a kiss that’s both playful and charged. You watch as their eyes fall closed, mouths opening to each other, both of them slipping into the moment as their tongues massage against one another’s.

“Oh wow,” you exhale, the words escaping without you realizing as a feeling of warmth spreads through your body. “I think I’m kind of turned on now.” You relax back against the window, your eyes wide with wonder, transfixed by the unexpected yet captivating scene before you.

“Right?” Rebecca agrees, her grin wide with satisfaction, triumphant at the scenario she has orchestrated.

Christopher finally pushes Hyunjin away, a playful grin spreading across his features. “That’s enough of that,” he says gruffly, though the amusement in his eyes betrays his tone.

As Hyunjin leans back with a wicked grin, Rebecca eagerly slides into his lap, straddling him with enthusiasm. “Oh Jinnie, you are so fucking hot," she purrs, her voice sultry and teasing. They begin to kiss passionately, their lips moving together with a fervor that suggests they are lost in their own world.

You nudge Christopher with your foot, drawing his attention back to you. "I think you're just as pretty as Hyunjin," you remark with a playful smirk. Your comment elicits a hearty laugh from Christopher, echoing warmly in the vehicle.

"Thanks," he responds, his voice light and teasing, as he leans down to plant a soft kiss on the top of your knee, a gesture both affectionate and reassuring.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, your eyes locked on each other, the atmosphere charged with unspoken words. The two of you ignore the sounds of heavy petting, impassioned kissing, muffled giggles, and whispered endearments coming from behind you.

The charged silence hangs between you like a tangible thread as the four of you ride the elevator, each moment stretched with anticipation. Once back in the suite, Hyunjin and Rebecca stagger to their room, their laughter trailing off as the door slams shut behind them with a resounding thud.

You and Christopher walk hand in hand to your own room. As the door clicks shut behind you, Christopher gently draws you close, enveloping you in a passionate, lingering kiss that sends a thrill through your body. His fingers move deftly behind you, unzipping your dress with a practiced ease, while you tug his shirt over his head, revealing the warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

By the time you both reach the bed, clothing lies forgotten on the floor, and you embrace each other in a newfound vulnerability. You and Christopher slip beneath the soft, inviting covers, your lips meeting once again in a zealous reunion.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” Christopher whispers softly against your lips.

“Me either,” you reply.

His lips find yours again and the kiss deepens, evolving into an intense makeout session, a dance of lips and tongues where time seems to dissolve. Despite the heat of the moment, neither of you seem eager to break the relaxed, intimate rhythm that has both of you under its spell. Neither of you move to take things further, even as you feel the weight of his body settling more firmly against yours, his bare skin pressing deliciously close. Instead of having sex again, you each savor the closeness and intoxicating intimacy that feels endless. You shift slightly beneath him, running your hands slowly up his back, feeling him shiver at your touch.

“Are we taking it slow tonight?” you ask with a soft chuckle in between kisses.

“Absolutely,” Christopher whispers back.

Lost in each other's presence, you kiss languorously, the world outside fading away. A raw connection unfurls through the endless exchange of kisses and small, teasing bites, building something more powerful than either of you expected. The hours seem to stretch and blend as you explore this tender closeness, until finally, content and entwined, you both drift into a peaceful slumber, wrapped securely in each other's arms.

When the sunlight streams through the window the next morning, you’re still tangled up in each other. Christopher's eyes remain closed, his breathing calm and even, the gentle rise and fall of his chest soothing against your skin. You take a moment to study his face, relaxed and unguarded, and trace a finger along his jawline. There’s an unfamiliar warmth blooming in your chest at the sight.

As you shift slightly, he stirs, tightening his hold around you. “Good morning,” he mumbles, voice heavy with sleep and satisfaction.

“Morning,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips.

He nuzzles against you, pulling you even closer, as if to further erase any of the remaining space between your bodies. The simplicity of the gesture makes your heart clench strangely.

"You look beautiful," he says. His hand slides down over your shoulder, your arm, until it comes to rest on the curve of your waist.

You smile up at him with a mix of playfulness and sincerity that you rarely allow yourself to feel, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours like a drug. “I always do.”

He chuckles, pulling you even closer. The movement presses you against him, and you can feel his morning-wood against your leg. There’s an electric pause where neither of you breathe.

“Last night was a lot of fun,” he comments, his voice thick with morning drowsiness as he shifts against you. His fingers trace idle circles on your skin, setting off small, pleasurable bursts beneath your ribs.

“Which part? The shots, the dancing, the bathroom stall, or the makeout session between you and Hyunjin?” You arch an eyebrow, a wicked grin teasing your lips. “You two have definitely done that before.”

His laughter fills the room, rich and unrestrained, as his head falls back against the pillow. “All of it,” he answers, a broad smile lighting up his features. “Not quite what I expected, but I loved it. You’re full of surprises.” His hand weaves into your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. The fondness in his eyes is so warm it almost makes you squirm.

“Surprises are my specialty,” you quip, but the words are softer than you intend, filled with a truth you can’t quite hide. “I’m glad you had fun.” Your voice dips with sincerity. “I did too.”

“I really enjoy our time together,” he admits. There’s a rawness in his tone that ignites a small flutter in your chest.  

“I’m glad,” you say again, with more weight this time. Your face is close to his, and you close the distance to kiss the tip of his nose before pulling back to study him. “I enjoy spending time with you too.”

You revel in the rare display of vulnerability that passes between you and him, unguarded and unhurried, like a quiet confession in the early morning light. Usually by this point, he’s slipped his mask back into place, hiding away his vulnerability.

“Can I ask you a question?” You hesitate momentarily, debating if you should break the easy intimacy with the curiosity sparking in you. His thumb brushes reassuringly over your cheek, nudging you on.

His eyebrows furrow with curiosity, revealing a boyish charm you rarely see. “Sure, anything,” he replies.

“Why don’t you like people calling you Chris?” You voice the thought you’ve had for a while, surprised that you haven’t asked him sooner. The question feels almost silly, considering the other extremely personal things he’s already shared and the deeper wonders that have been swirling in your mind. But you want to continue getting to know him, and the lightness of the question is perfect for this moment.

His body tenses slightly, the easy warmth in his expression shifting as he considers your question. You expect his usual deflection, the mask, but after a moment, he surprises you.

“I never liked it,” he says finally, his voice low and careful. “Chris.” He pauses, as if testing the name on his tongue. “It’s what my dad called me when he was alive, when he was trying to be nice or wanted something. And because I hated him, hated how he treated us, especially my mom, I didn’t want anyone outside my family, outside of who I trusted implicitly to have the privilege of calling me that.”

The sincerity and weight of his words hang between you. It feels like you’ve stumbled blindly into something precious but fragile.

“Oh,” you say softly, feeling the depth of what he’s sharing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

He shakes his head, silencing your apology with a hint of a smile. “It’s okay,” he assures you, and there’s a slight vulnerability in his eyes that makes your heart clench. “I don’t talk about him much.” Another pause, but this one is charged with meaning as his hand unconsciously grazes the scar on his shoulder; the one his dad gave him. “Or ever.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You lean in closer, offering comfort with your presence rather than words.

His grip on you tightens again, pulling you into the solid warmth of his body. “Somehow you make it easy,” he murmurs into your hair, his breath hot against your scalp. “I somehow find myself telling you all sorts of things I normally wouldn’t.”

You want to respond in kind, to share something equally personal in return, but instead you find yourself silent, savoring this unexpected moment of openness. His candor about something so private leaves you exposed in a way that makes the walls inside you crumble even more than they already have.

Christopher leans back slightly to look at you again, studying your face with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. There’s an unspoken understanding passing between you now, an acknowledgment of how far you've both come from where all of this started. “You can call me Chris if you want.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “Thanks for the permission, but I already do,” you tease lightly, breaking the heaviness in the room. Chris smiles slowly, a mix of amusement and genuine fondness lighting up his face, as if he’s delighted by your sass.

Before either of you can say more, the muffled sound of giggles bursts in from the adjacent room, followed by a crash. “Sounds like they’re up,” you remark dryly.

Christopher groans into your neck. “Do we have to be?”

You laugh softly, running your fingers through his hair, surprised that the usual early bird is dodging his morning routine. “Not yet. Not if you don’t want to be.”

Content with the answer, he rolls on top of you, pinning you beneath him without breaking contact, capturing your mouth with his before you can say anything else smart. The kisses are languid and lazy, a delicious morning haze that neither of you is in a hurry to leave.

Incapable of resisting, Christopher’s hands begin to wander slowly down your side, tracing over your curves until they reach the swell of your hips. He shifts against you meaningfully, and you're suddenly aware of how hard he is against your thigh.

“What happened to going slow?” you tease breathlessly.

His smirk is wicked when he finally lifts his eyes to meet yours. “We went slow all night, remember?”

You hum thoughtfully as his mouth trails over your throat and shoulder, the warmth of him igniting every nerve. “True.”

“I can’t help it,” he murmurs into your skin. “There’s something about you that drives me crazy.”

“That so?” You arch into him as he slides over you deliberately.

“Mmm.” His lips seize yours again with renewed intensity, hungry now, but still somewhat tender, savoring every inch of your skin as if he’s memorizing it with his mouth. You gasp when he nips at your neck before soothing it with his tongue. The heat between you is almost overwhelming after last night’s slow burn.

You tug at his hair, yanking him back up to meet your gaze. “I want…”

He doesn’t let you finish the thought before he slides inside you with one powerful thrust that rips the words from your throat and replaces them with a moan.

“Ohhh…”

“I know what you want,” he growls into your ear, moving within you with an intensity that makes everything else fall away except this, this feeling that consumes and unravels and binds and frees all at once.

Your nails rake down his back as he drives deeper, matching him movement for movement until every part of you sings with pleasure that's raw and uninhibited and leaves no room for pretense or doubt or fear because right now in this moment it's just pure desire breathing through both of you like fire.

The next hour is spent in blissful oblivion: rolling sheets and tangled limbs; whispered names and promises; gasped curses and heated confessions lost in moans.

Everything builds to a shuddering climax, the orgasm hitting you fast and hard, making the world explode white behind your eyes while Christopher groans deep in his chest and follows you over the edge seconds later. Both of you are left trembling and breathless in its aftermath.

Christopher collapses onto his side next to you, panting and sweaty and more perfectly gorgeous than anyone should be allowed to be this early in the morning without coffee.

“Wow,” is all he manages after a moment where neither of you can do much more than breathe.

You turn toward him lazily, still catching your breath as well. “Yeah. Wow.” It’s not often that sex feels like that for you, like something more than just physical.

A comfortable silence stretches between you, the kind that only comes after hours of tangled sheets and whispered confessions. It feels like a secret the two of you share, something intimate and just yours. You sigh contentedly, your fingers grazing the hard lines of Christopher's chest. Eventually, his hand clasps yours and holds it against his heart.

The door creaks open suddenly, shattering the fragile tranquility, and Hyunjin sticks his head through with a mischievous grin. “How about some breakfast, lovebirds?"

Christopher groans in annoyance, but you can see the fondness in his eyes even as he feigns irritation. Your mouth twists into a smirk at the sound of Hyunjin's voice.

“Already enjoyed a ‘breakfast’ in bed, thank you very much,” you call back, making a point to sound breathless and satisfied.  

Hyunjin rolls his eyes dramatically. “I could tell. I think the two of you woke up the entire floor with all that racket.”  

Chuckling, you shake your head at the teasing. “Sorry we interrupted your beauty sleep, Jinnie!” you sing back at him, unable to resist adding, “As if you need it. By the way, there’s something on your neck.” You gesture towards the monkey bite Rebecca has left behind on his skin. Christopher laughs, his chest shaking under your cheek, and Hyunjin huffs for dramatic effect as he slaps a palm across his neck to cover the mark.

"Yeah, yeah,” he responds. “You owe me for putting up with that soundtrack.”

Christopher lets out a groan. “Get lost,” he mutters, suddenly launching a pillow at Hyunjin's head, pretending to be more annoyed than he is.

Hyunjin catches it with ease and tosses it back at you. “If you’re done fucking, we’re planning on going to the champagne brunch in an hour.” He winks and shuts the door.

“What an ass,” you say with a laugh.

“Always,” Chris replies. “The two of you seem… friendly.” 

“We are. He eats breakfast with me several times a week, unlike you. You got a problem with that?” 

“Not at all. It’s just that he rarely likes the women I bring around.” He looks down at you. “Shower?”

“God yes,” you reply, desperately needing to get the scent of club and sex off of you. He smiles and kisses your forehead before throwing the sheets off your bodies.

He grabs your hand and the two of you walk to the bathroom. As he turns on the shower, you stop to look at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Your hair is wild and lips swollen from the night before. You love the sight.

Christopher’s eyes follow yours to the mirror. "Still beautiful," he says. He kisses your neck and guides you into the shower.

As the two of you stand under the extravagant rain showerhead, washing each other’s bodies in the steamy cascade, you think about how close you and Christopher have gotten in such little time. Despite his initial emotional coldness, it’s surprising how well you seem to know him now and him you, how much his presence has started to feel like a part of you. A smile tugs at your lips, more honest and unguarded than it has been in a long time, because for the first time in years you’re happy, really happy, without reservations or second guesses. You run your fingers through his hair, water beading down his face as he watches you with that possessive affection that used to irk you when this all began. Now it fills you with unexpected joy.

This feeling continues into month five, deepening as the two of you grow even closer and sink further into each other’s lives, your connection evolving into something that feels more unguarded and natural every day. It’s astonishing to you how, despite everything, you’ve come to really know each other, and how intense the need for more has become.

You learn about the people who matter to him, the things that drive him, the insecurities underneath his confident exterior that he doesn’t bother to hide from you anymore. He gets to know you in all the same ways, and maybe in some ways you never knew yourself.

You’re outside, sitting at the edge of the pool in Christopher’s backyard. It’s early evening, and the water reflects the first few stars appearing in the Los Angeles sky. The air is warm with a slight breeze, and you can smell the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere nearby. Your feet dangle in the water as you hold your phone against your ear, listening to your mother talk on the other end of the line.

“…so I told him, ‘If you think I’m letting you touch my gardenias after what happened last time, you’re out of your mind,’” she says. Her voice is full of energy, her laugh bright and infectious.

You find yourself smiling. “Poor kid.”

“Poor nothing,” she replies with a snort. “He’s lucky to be alive after that stunt.”

“This is why you need to hire an actual gardener, not Kyle from across the street.”

“I like Kyle. He’s a cute kid. Plus I know his family can use the money.” There’s a pause, delicate but not awkward, before she continues more softly. “Thank you for remembering today.”

“Yeah, Mom." Your voice is soft, tinged with a concern you can only partially conceal. “Of course I remembered.” You swirl your feet absently through the water, watching the ripples disturb the surface. “Three years is a big deal.”

Christopher steps out onto the patio, his silhouette tall and familiar against the dusky sky. He crosses to where you’re sitting and bends to kiss your neck in greeting before settling beside you, rolling up his pants to dip his feet in too.

“Well,” your mother says after a beat. “You know I’m not one to turn down attention or gifts, especially not gifts, but it does feel nice to have you make a fuss. The jacket is beautiful.”

You take a moment to reflect on how different things are now compared to three years ago, then smile into the phone.“I’m glad you like it. I got it in Paris. I knew it would look amazing on you as soon as I saw it.”

“It looks expensive though. You know you don’t have to spend your money on me.”

“Of course I do. Who else am I gonna spoil?”

“Well I’m still waiting on my grandkid….”

“Mom.” You don’t know how many times you’ve told her you’re not interested in having kids.

“What? An old woman can dream.”

“You just turned 50. You are not an old woman.”

“I’m starting to feel like one…”

“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to come out there?” You can almost see her dismissive wave, even from the other side of the country. “I can be there in a couple days. Maybe even tomorrow.”

“I’m doing fine, sweetheart,” she insists, her voice as unwavering as you remember it from when you were a kid. “You don’t need to worry about me.” She pauses, and when she speaks again, her tone shifts to something warmer. “Just promise me that wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, that you’re happy.” The statement hangs between you, unspoken but understood. It makes you glance over at Christopher; he’s watching you closely, his eyes soft as they meet yours.

The truth is that for once you are. Happy in a way that feels terrifying but real. You think of Christopher, his touch, the way he makes this life feel like something more than just survival.

"I am," you say finally, the sincerity in your voice surprising even you.

“Good, baby. You deserve to be happy. My beautiful, number one daughter.”

"I’m your only daughter," you say with a smile, making her laugh. “I love you.”

There’s a pause on her end, then she sighs softly into the phone. "Love you too," she says before ending the call.

Christopher raises an eyebrow inquisitively. "Your mom?” You nod. “How is she?" His voice is gentle but interested.

"Good," you reply, stretching out beside him so that your shoulder brushes against his. "Really good. Better than I expected." You slip your hand into his and squeeze it lightly, leaning back on one arm as you look up at the night sky. "She sounds happy."

"Doesn't surprise me," Christopher says thoughtfully, tracing circles on your palm with his thumb. "She has every reason to be."

"Yeah," you agree quietly. "Three years."

He nods and looks away toward some distant point across the pool. He knows exactly what day it is and what it means; three years since her cancer went into remission. He’s always known these things about you; even before things got personal between you two, he paid attention in ways others never did.

You turn slightly so that you're facing him more fully now. You study his profile for a moment, his strong jawline silhouetted against fading light, close enough to see how vulnerability has softened some of his harder edges lately. You catch something flicker across his face; his expression makes words spill from your lips before you've given them much thought: "Was it hard for you? After your mom?"

The question hangs between you like an echo before sinking deep enough into silence that he turns back toward you slowly. He hesitates for just a moment before turning to look at you, answering in a voice that's lower than usual, a voice reserved only for these rare confessions late at night or early mornings when neither one of you can sleep because there’s just too much inside of both of you now.

"It will be six years in a few months." You can hear the tightness in his voice, that old ache still so present even after all this time. He swallows hard and looks back out across the water. There’s tension working its way through every muscle along his neck and shoulders, an intensity that makes him seem almost fragile despite the calm face he puts on for you. The flatness of his expression doesn’t fool you. Not anymore. Not after spending almost every single day with him over the past five months. You know him too well, know how to read the smallest inflections in his eyes and voice, how to see the vulnerability underneath.

You squeeze his hand to remind him you’re there, to tell him you’re listening even if you don’t say it. He lets out a small breath like he’s trying to exhale some of the grief he's kept inside for six years, and his body eases next to yours. It’s a different kind of intimacy, this sharing of silence, of things that don’t have to be put into words for you to understand them.

He had mentioned his mom’s death nonchalantly two months ago, when you were making a gift box to send to your mom for mother’s day. You’d asked if he was ordering something for her, if he wanted you to help put something together, not realizing. “My mom died a few years ago,” he had said before kissing you on the forehead and walking out the room. He’d never said how or when, and you never asked.

"Car accident," he continues, almost like he's reading your mind. "Out of nowhere. One minute everything was fine, and then..." You watch the way the fingers of his free hand flex and clench in his lap, restless with a need for control even as he talks about losing it entirely. "Nothing I could do. It all happened so fast." He pulls his feet from the water and crosses his legs before resting his elbows on his knees, his body folding in on itself like it's too much to contain.

You reach for him, your fingers brushing his arm. He doesn’t pull away but doesn’t look at you either.

"I couldn’t stop it," he continues, a raw edge creeping into his voice. "I couldn't save her." His jaw sets with a familiar stubbornness, but there's something like gratitude in his eyes when he finally looks back at you. "She was gone before I even got to the hospital."

The starkness of his words hits you both, the first time he's voiced this out loud, the first time he's let himself feel anything this deeply in front of you. You see how deeply this has scarred him. It reveals another layer to him, another reason for why he is the way he is; this one thing he couldn't control, couldn't prevent even with the wealth he had amassed. There was nothing he could do to save her life, so now he tries to control what he can. You see how it’s shaped everything, this man who needs to possess and dictate every part of his life because the alternative is unbearable.

"I'm sorry," you say, moving closer. You're not sure what else to say, not when this is so much bigger than anything words can contain. You lean your head against his shoulder instead, offering comfort through touch rather than sentiment.

He lets out a shaky breath that feels more like surrender than relief. "I should have been with her that night," he says after a long pause filled only by the occasional ripple across water. “I was supposed to have dinner with her, but my meeting was running long and I cancelled. Rescheduled for lunch the following day.” The guilt in those words makes your heart clench tight enough that it almost hurts, the way he blames himself for something beyond anyone's control except maybe fate itself. "No one saw it coming," he says as if trying to convince himself. "There was nothing I…"

"Chris,” you say, cutting him off gently, but firmly, your voice catching with emotion as you struggle to find words that fit the moment. You tighten your grip on his hand like you're afraid he'll slip away if you don’t hold on tight enough. "You couldn't have done anything."

There's a beat where you think he might push back against this truth, might retreat behind those careful walls again because it hurts too much not to, but instead something breaks in him all at once with a shuddering breath that’s almost a sob.

He turns toward you, looking into your eyes, searching for something neither one of you can name, before closing his eyes and whispering, "I miss her." Then he lets out everything he's been holding inside: grief and loss and guilt and love tangled together so tightly that they unravel into tears before your eyes.

You watch as years worth of restraint slip from him, dissolving under grief still fresh enough to leave jagged edges. You’ve never seen him like this before, completely undone, and it cuts through every defense you've spent years building around yourself.

His head drops into his hands as emotions crash over him, leaving him unguarded and vulnerable in a way that makes your heart ache with equal parts hurt and hope.

You reach for him instinctively, ignoring the voice inside telling you not to get too involved because your heart isn’t meant for this kind of risk, and pull him close. Then he's folding forward into your lap without warning or shame; breath hitching against your stomach while tears soak through fabric onto skin beneath until they're indistinguishable from heat rising up between both bodies now pressed close together under the night sky. You wrap him in your arms with nothing between his pain and your comfort.

“Shh,” you murmur into his hair as he clings to you with an urgency that would have terrified both of you months ago. You hold him tight through each shuddering wave of emotion that follows; hands rubbing slow circles along his tense muscles until they finally begin relaxing under steady pressure. “It’s okay.”

His shoulders shake under your touch, each ragged breath a reminder of how deep these wounds still run even after all this time. There are no words left for either one of you now; what's happening here doesn’t belong in language or logic or contracts written on paper—it exists somewhere beyond all those things where everything is raw but real.

It feels eternal at first, the two of you suspended together outside the world, but gradually Christopher's breathing steadies against you as reality seeps back into focus around edges softened by tears neither one ever expected.

"I'm sorry," he whispers finally into the quiet space between heartbeats. His voice sounds different than usual: less certain; more alive because it dares expression despite fear holding so much else hostage until now.

He holds you tighter like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t, burying his face into the crook of your neck, unable to look at you. Unable to face you, as though he’s ashamed for letting the grief swallow him whole, ashamed for losing control, ashamed for showing you how deep his scars really go. You’ve never seen him like this before, so raw and human, without the armor of confidence and power he usually wears like a second skin.

"For what?" You tilt his chin up slightly so that he has no choice but to meet your eyes, pouring everything you can’t quite say into that look, telling him without a word that he has nothing to be sorry for, that you’re not going anywhere. You want him to feel it as deeply as he feels his guilt, to know that you’re as in this as he is, that you’re not afraid of his scars, his grief, or any of his emotions.

His eyes search yours, looking for the truth in them, and you feel the moment he finds it. Tension releases from his body like a tightly coiled spring finally unwinding; it spreads like a wave, leaving him pliant and unguarded. You know how rare this is, this surrender, and you can hardly believe it’s you who’s inspired it. You’ve spent years keeping your own heart under lock and key, barricading doors and imagining yourself safe from the kind of emotions that have always promised more risk than reward. But now here you are, tilting his face to yours while everything around you grows sharp and clear and terrifyingly beautiful.

A strange, unwelcome thought niggles at the back of your mind, that Julia was right to warn you, but you shove it aside. She’d never had this with him, had admitted that he’d never been emotionally open with her. What the fuck did she know. 

Right now there’s only Christopher in front of you and the way he holds on tighter, the way he lets you pull him back from the edges of his sorrow and straight into the warmth of the present. He buries his face in the crook of your neck again, and the gesture is so childlike, so sweet, that even you can’t ignore the truths beginning to take shape inside.

You’re starting to care. Really care. More than you ever expected when this began and more than you know how to deal with.

You wonder if he knows. You think maybe he does, that he’s known even before you did and that’s why he’s laid his heart bare here tonight.

You hold each other quietly for the next few minutes, until he finally pulls away and leads you back into the house by the hand for dinner.

You realize you’re cherishing the time the two of you spend together.

You find yourself laughing more, talking more, just being together more as you both give in fully to the pull between you. Sometimes it’s as simple as lying in bed, his fingers tangled in your hair as you doze off against his chest; other times it’s more like a whirlwind, like extravagant dates in cities you’ve never been to before. And every day, despite yourself, you love how normal and real your relationship with him, if that’s even what this is, is starting to feel. 

A/N: They've finally kinda confessed feelings.

What do you think? Keep the comments coming. I really love hearing your thoughts on the story.

Only 3 chapters left.

[delusiondolly]

Literally in love with this series!

Trophy Husband - Chapter 10

Hyunjin x Reader (fem.) Genre: Arranged Marriage au!, Marriage of Convenience-ish, Romance, Angst, Frenemies-to-Lovers, NSFW (mdni) Warnings: mentions of cheating, cursing, drinking, somewhat proofread WC: 10.3k A/N: longer chapter as promised! Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated! Happy reading! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Two individuals with polar opposite lifestyles are thrown into an arranged marriage for the benefit of both their families, or so they claim. One is a frivolous playboy, living off familial wealth, while the other is an overly controlling workaholic. Navigating their marriage with a business-like approach, their relationship is marked by a whirlwind of bickering, banter, and societal pressures. Amid misunderstandings, they uncover layers of unexpected qualities, eventually discovering a sweet love neither saw coming.

Missed a chapter? - Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

CHAPTER 10 ───────────────────

Revelations, lots of liquor and his deepest desires for his wife, spilling through his lips. Hwang Hyunjin had had an eventful night.

Yet the following morning brought along its own headaches.

Literal headaches.

Painful poundings at Hyunjin’s temples, rousing him awake from a slumber that should’ve rejuvenated him from his irresponsible actions the night prior, but clearly wasn’t enough, seeing that he had moaned and groaned awake. His brows furrowed into a frown as the morning light hit his eyes, lids closing instantly before adjusting.

Usually when he woke up at such early hours it was because of the rustle and shifting besides him. Y/N who had a habit of sprawling out her limbs and kicking him all throughout the night sometimes, a habit which she insistently denied having at all, would break him away from sleep even when she attempted to subtly untangle herself off of him. 

Yet there wasn’t any of that this morning. 

It seemed as if his body had reconditioned itself to wake so early for no reason at all. Conditioned to roll out of the sheets, and trudge out into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee for his caffeine addict wife. 

But rolling anywhere right now sounded like torture, and glancing to his side, at the empty spot that belonged to Y/N, paired with the subtle clatter he could hear from the other room, was enough to tell him she had her addiction covered.

Hyunjin sat up slowly with low groans, hands grabbing at his forehead, rubbing at his temple, trying to recall exactly how he ended up in such a state.

Although in the past, when he exceeded his drinking limits he wasn’t waking back in his bed, let alone waking up in a fresh set of silk pajamas.

For a few seconds he blinked, brain trying to catch up, giving himself a moment to figure out the when, what and hows of his current state.

And instantly as his eyes settled over the cream color of his sleepwear, he recalled how he had gotten into them.

How he was put into them. His wife who had taken care of him all night while he sat here with a dopey smile. Squirming and telling her nonsense.

Squirming and telling her he loved her.

Hyunjin froze, hands stilling against his temple, eyes settling onto the navy of the covers, not entirely focused on anything specific. His mind replaying to the rambles of his past self.

Back to Hwang Hyunjin who poured out all the feelings he had bottled up. The influence of alcohol doing nothing to contain his well kept secrets.

He confessed. 

He fucking confessed to her. 

His feelings spilled so easily, so pathetically. It wasn’t how he expected to tell her, these emotions he’s kept to himself for the past eight months. Longer than they’ve agreed to remain as simply civil hostages of a marriage of convenience. An agreement that flew out the window the moment his eyes stared for a little too long.

When he dreamt of her.

And now, he sat here. In a daze. Guilt that slowly morphed over his expression.

In fear that wavered just beneath. 

Now what?

Maybe he should pretend he didn’t remember last night. That he wasn’t even sure how he got home. Maybe he should deflect if she asked if he remembered. He was sure she would. 

Like she did the first time, after he had kneeled between her legs.

God, fuck did he miss her taste—

   “Damn it Hyunjin.” He groaned, now was definitely not the time to be thinking that far back, although he would much prefer drowning in those blissful memories than whatever anxiousness that coursed through him currently.

   “—Oh! You’re up.” Her voice, even so early in the morning, was like his personal music box.

Breaking him away from the navy sheets that he was so locked onto.

   “I thought you’d sleep like the dead, well into the afternoon. God, you were a mess last night.” She laughed, entering the room to begin preparing for her morning.

Hyunin inhaled silently, eyes following after her. 

Waiting for her to bring it up. 

To ask if he meant what he said the night before. To which he’d probably jump up at and nod furiously, everything he had claimed was undeniable. Pathetic and as desperate still, as the night before.

Except she doesn’t bring it up. Her fingers, working on clasping on her accessories for the day. No nervousness, no worry in her expression like the one he probably wore right now.

   “I put something light to ease a hangover on the stove, but I’m not sure if it’ll taste any good.” She let out a breathy laugh.

Her husband swallowed, eyes meeting hers for a moment through the dresser mirror. 

   “You’re brother called me, weirdly. I don’t think I’ve had a conversation longer than five minutes with that man. But he seemed worried about you. So call him?” She began to pick out her makeup products.

This conversation, one that she was seemingly leading on her own, felt like the kind any typical husband-wife would share. Except for some reason it made Hyunjin’s heart clench.

Y/N’s eyes flicked up to meet the quiet man once more. A hesitant look crossed her expression for a speck of a moment before she spoke.

   “Did… something happen last night?”

Her dazed husband blinked for a moment before, suddenly remembering the reason behind his intoxicated state. The “something” that had happened.

The desperation to confess because he was…insecure. 

Hyunjin found himself lying.

   “No.”

She hummed in response, returning to what she had begun to do. He watched, like he did often when he woke with her in the early mornings. Traces of sleep still clinging to his face as his eyes followed her every movement during those times.

Just as now he watched her smile at him and head into the walk-in closet to pick out her clothes, her figure disappearing.

And suddenly the husband that had a killer headache realized why his heart had clenched, why he was hurt. And it was not because of R.Min, the painter who he honestly had forgotten all about until now.

No. It was because of something entirely different suddenly.

She didn’t ask. 

Nothing at all.

Pretending as if he didn’t pour out his heart to her the night before. 

Granted he was plastered, but he still remembered as she helped him settle down, allowing him to engulf her in his arms. As she listened to him tell her he loved her.

Why didn’t she ask? 

Yes sure, he had hoped to ignore that confrontation because of the embarrassment of it all. Not to mention the distant fear that brimmed underneath. But he still expected her to ask, to even question if he remembered. Because unlike him, his wife who took care of him, had been fully sober.

Now that brimming fear was at the forefront. His worries surfaced easily as all kinds of thoughts darted through his mind.

He made excuses, like he always did when it came to her.

Perhaps she did it for his sake. Aware that even if his confession was made, it was done under the intoxication of way too many shots of tequila and flutes of champagne. 

Or maybe she thought he didn’t mean it.

If so, he would gladly rid that misunderstanding right this second.

And then, there were the other worries. 

The more realistic ones. Like how painfully aware he was that she probably didn’t love him back, maybe burdened by whatever he had rambled about yesterday night.

Perhaps she was equally confused as to how to bring it up, easier to pretend it didn’t happen than talk about it.

Another reason that pricked him.

Or maybe he was overthinking. Maybe he’ll confess again, sober. No alcohol involved.

Even the thought of another glass made him want to hurl.

And while her overthinking husband nursed his hangover headaches on steroids of worry, the gallery director was in her own thoughts in the middle of the closet room.

   “Fuck.”

Y/N knew she should address it. 

The entire night it had weighed on her, no matter how much she tried to melt into Hyunjin’s passed out embrace, hoping his warmth would wash away her worries.

But still this morning, after what felt like a blink of sleep, she found herself in front of the stove. 

She cared for him, that wasn’t something she’d deny. She definitely liked him, much more than she acted like. Which was scary in its own way, though she doesn’t dwell too much on it, afraid she’ll self-sabotage.

And as the gallery director stared at the bubbling stew, she realized why she was feeling so conflicted.

She was still in the midst of healing.

She was aware she could love him. Would love him. Maybe even somewhere deep down she did, but afraid to accept it just yet. Worried for her heart, the organ that had been slapped with bandaids suddenly had a moment to properly fuse back together, the cracks slowly filling with everything Hwang Hyunjin made her feel. 

Yet, still delicate, still wary.

Fucking Riwoo.

But…

Was it only because of Riwoo?

Maybe it was also because of her parents, her relatives. 

Or her exes who pulled away when they realized they were never the priority.

And here was her trophy husband, her husband, who was content with second place.

A thought that makes her feel guilty, makes her angry. 

Makes her feel as if he deserves much more. Much better than her, a woman who could never be a perfect wife, let alone be his perfect lover.

He had redeemed himself. Gotten rid of the disdain that brimmed within her at the mere mention of his name attached to hers, once. Earned himself the Romeo nickname. He had changed for the better. 

So where was her character development? 

Why was it so hard?

When Y/N stared at his dazed expression just now, she was worried she would bombard him with her frustrations, something he clearly didn’t need right now. The man looked like an absolute wreck.

And now she stood in the middle of their closet, drawing in even more frustrations. 

Y/N inhaled deeply, screwing her eyes shut to control the fury of emotions within her. 

Opening, her gaze settled on the discarded clothes from yesterday. His beige slacks that she had blow-dryed just the afternoon prior, becoming her object of focus.

A part of her saw the signs. 

What man would willingly ask to leave behind bruises littered on his neck just to thwart some advancements of horny models?

Asking for love bites, given to him from her, so he could show everyone who he belonged to. 

Who his heart belonged to. 

The woman he loved. His wife.

Y/N should have noticed when he spent more time with her, the touches, the lingering stares. When he had her breathless countless of times. His lips, his tongue, working his magic.

When she had watched him type away on her laptop, working on her responsibilities simply because she was exhausted. As if it was the most normal thing to do.

A husband sharing his wife’s burden.

The gallery director knew she was running away. 

No, avoiding a conversation, a vulnerable situation that would force her to bring back that Y/N that she had locked up somewhere deep within her. The clingy daydreamer. Not yet dead, but holding onto those last threads of affection and hope. 

The same threads that now slowly wrapped around Hwang Hyunjin. Her trophy husband who made her mind reel, heart ache. 

How he grounded her in surprising ways that still made her wonder if she was imagining things. 

How badly she wanted him, how much she wanted to push him away. 

She wondered if it was okay for her to wish for those dreams that she had thrown away. 

The perfect lover, the perfect wife.

If she were to tape those pieces of her once dreams together and hand it to Hyunjin, would he make them come true, or would she once again grapple with the shards that remained after he was done playing with her?

If he didn’t remember last night, does that mean she doesn’t have to confront these feelings? The once familiar emotions that felt so foreign, reignited with such a burning sensation, it slightly scared her. 

Definitely foreign, as she hadn’t ever felt this way before. 

Not with her exes. Not with Riwoo, the man she had thought was the love of her life once.

And it terrified her. Her mind was spinning, her heart beating from anxiousness, from fear. From the clingy daydreamer that thrashed to be released, yet forced to be pushed down, deeper and deeper into her chest.

All while just on the other side of the wall, the gallery director's husband had almost begun spiraling with his own insecurities. 

Thoughts that questioned whether she would see him as more than someone who helped her relax. A comfortable place. A friend.

If she would ever see him as something more than whatever he was to her, a husband. Yet, he craved to be a true husband. One she could bare her heart and soul to. Like the kind he’s read in countless books he’s finished while existing in the same space as her. Pure, passionate. 

Would she ever return those feelings? Those words that probably shouldn't have spilled in those circumstances, but still his true feelings. 

Would she ever tell him she loved him?

His eyes lingered on the sliding doors of the walk-in-closet. One the other side where the woman he was enamored with was. 

Still, pathetically he wished she would come out with the most beautiful smile on her lips. Her posture relaxed, her words stern yet comforting like the way she always spoke. Conversations that would make him chuckle, make his eyes crinkle, twinkle from the radiance that was her.

All night he had wondered why she hadn’t told him about Riwoo. All night he made excuses for her. Granted, he never truly disclosed any of his previous relationships either. But he was an open book. Sure, against his will, but still nothing hidden. His flings, his scandals and past girlfriends were a long list of names and faces she was either familiar with or didn’t even care about at all.

He could only imagine what kind of lover she would be. Getting glimpses in the ways she is with him. Even if they were titering between care and lust. 

Like when she was protective of him, her sharp eyes boring into whoever had offended him, had dared to look down on him. Her father, her cousin.

Like when her eyes flashed with jealousy, the bitterness in her voice when she asked about the model, perhaps she would ask more in the future, and he would allow her to mark him to her heart’s content.

Or like when her eyes raked over him, shamelessly ogling him because she can. A familiar look he recognized from his own gazes when he caught his reflections staring at her. 

Her lips were heaven, her hips home, fingers pressing and pulling her body flush against him. 

A fury brimmed within at the mere thought of her doing those things with someone before. Even if that man came first. 

A man forgotten since there was now a new worry that coursed through him. A wonder about words of affirmation. 

A reassurance.

I love you.

Words that had been so easy for him to say, even if he hadn’t ever uttered them to a lover of the past. 

A reassurance that he didn’t realize needed.

The door slid open, bringing Hyunjin out of the worries he was drowning in, his eyes shooting up to meet her surprised gaze.

   “Oh—you haven’t gone to freshen up yet?” Her brows had furrowed as she approached.

She was fully dressed to head off to work, the early morning’s calling for someone as busy as her. Instead she circled around the bed, her figure standing before him, eyes darting over his distant expression. Her palm cupped his jaw, warm gestures that instantly melted away the worries and insecurities whirring within him, drunk from her touch.

   “Are you feeling really unwell?” Her voice had dropped, the airiness in her tone from earlier suddenly replaced with concern.

   “It’s… too early.” The lie spilled from his mouth, a soft smile tugging on his lips.

Hyunjin found himself nuzzling into her grasp, eyes closing as he let out a sigh, a deep breath taken as he embraced her warmth, actions that had her eyes widening as she took in this sight. 

The sight of a man madly in love with her. 

Yet for some reason she couldn’t pull away. She wouldn’t pull away.

Instead she leaned in, hand cradling his jaw so her lips could press over his. An action that makes his eyes shoot open for a second only to flutter close the next, relaxing into the kiss that the woman he loved madly had initiated.

His arms had encircled her waist, hands already finding home on her hips. Kissing heaven.

Forgetting all about his rambles of love. About Riwoo. 

Not when the woman who did things like this to him, driving him crazy, was engulfing him into a breathless mess.

It was funny. 

Or perhaps cruel.

A man who needed to hear the words of “I love you”, a woman who was too afraid to say them. And ironically, they were married.

   “You know. It’s gonna be very hard to get anything done with you hanging off of me like this.” Y/N let out a breathy exhale, her husband’s long arms wrapping around her front as she prepared him a bowl of stew.

He muttered something into her, something about “warm”,  nuzzling his face into her neck, a ticklish sensation that made her stifle a laugh, trying her best to do things with the constriction of him weighing her down.

   “Hyunjin, at least sit down.” She nudged toward the highchair on the other side of the island counter.

   “No. I have a headache.” He murmured, earning a sigh from her.

Hyunjin’s eyes settled on the steaming bowl she set down, her form attempting to reach for utensils, but with him almost holding her down, her efforts were fruitless. With a resigned huff, she stilled in his embrace.

   “And whose fault is it that you have a headache?” Her tone had turned stern, like the kind she used in her office with her employees, the one that made Hyunjin nervous yet happy at once.

But right now, he wasn’t feeling all that happy.

Even after shoving down his worries so he could allow her to spoil him with these rare instances of affection, of care. Taking advantage of the situation to linger as close as possible. 

But she was right, whose fault was it?

His fault for simmering in anger, drinking so much? Riwoo’s for existing? Alex’s for opening up his eyes to whatever relationship of something that once-was.

Hers for not telling him.

Hers for not addressing his confession.

Hers for allowing him to crave for something too good to be true.

   “Mine.” He concluded with a mumble, his breath warm against her skin.

Y/N turned, his arms still wrapped loosely around her, dropping to her waist. Allowing his eyes to peer into her intense gaze.

   “Soup. Painkillers. Get a few more hours of sleep. Then maybe dinner with me? Hm?” She smiled, her fingers pushing away the strand of hair that had gotten in his eyes.

The stern tone no longer present, instead the gentleness from last night stared back at him.

She had to get to work, already running late with him clinging to her like a koala, helping him nurse the uneasiness that came with his reckless actions. He truly was getting too old for partying like he did.

He groaned again, clearly not happy with the new to-do list, but as always doesn’t argue. Knowing it was for the better, he found himself nodding.

And just like that he was left alone. Back to drowning in his thoughts.

────────────────────────

Hyunjin usually listened to Y/N’s suggestions. Usually they worked in his favor. And as amazing as a few extra hours of sleep sounded to soothe his aching head, he knew he wouldn’t get any rest at all.

Instead he would wallow further into his worries, his migraines only going to grow more intense.

Now, the second Hwang son found himself sitting across from his brother. The older man who had seemingly been blowing up Y/N’s phone for much of the morning.

   “You look like absolute crap, still.” Hyunsoo chuckled, watching the long-haired man glare up at him with his darkened gaze.

Hyunsoo was slightly surprised to see Hyunjin here, at his office the younger brother hated coming to, that too before eleven o'clock in the morning. But it was good to see him, sure, not looking his best, but enough to soothe whatever tensions that the older man had grappled with all night.

   “You could’ve texted me. Y/N’s busy as is.” The younger Hwang groaned, leaning into the leather of the chair he was in.

Hyunsoo stared slightly stunned, before a breathy chuckle escaped him.

   “I would but I’m still blocked, remember?”

This time it was Hyunjin that blinked in surprise. He had honestly forgotten all about it too. Not that the two of them ever exchanged any meaningful conversations other than a few words here and there. And he had blocked this man almost nine months ago, so the entirety of it all coming back was not helpful to his throbbing head in the slightest.

   “You could’ve just said something about it. I forgot.” Hyunjin huffed, fishing out his cellphone to finally unblock the older Hwang.

Hyunsoo only watched, a hum escaping through his thinned smile before he spoke.

   “I thought you blamed me for getting you tied down. That too to Y/N.” He titled his head, catching Hyunjin’s conflicted expression before the younger brother sighed.

   “It’s not like you’re the one who started the fight that day. Besides…” He cut himself short, eyes flitting to the wood of Hyunsoo’s desk.

Besides, he was glad he got tied down. That too to Y/N.

The older man doesn’t press further, nor does he go into the technicalities of what had occurred the day Hyunjin got arrested last. Instead he let out a deep sigh, slightly exaggerated to get his brother’s attention.

   “So why are you here?” 

Hyunjin furrowed his brows, eyes piercing into his brother.

   “I know you didn’t come here to show me that you’re fine—well alive. So you can just cut to the chase. I am pretty busy too, you know.” He chuckled at the latter part.

The younger brother opened his mouth but faltered. Unsure of how to bring it up.

The thoughts have been swirling in his mind ever since Y/N left this morning. Ever since he found out about Riwoo.

No.

Ever since his father-in-law cornered him the day before.

   “Do you think he’s right about me thriving in Yeom Co.?”

His question had been asked and a moment of silence had settled.

Hyunjin didn’t need to clarify, his brother was a smart man, he’d figure out exactly what he was talking about, who he was referring to. Having been part of the conversation yesterday himself.

The playful expression on Hwang Hyunsoo’s face disappeared, sharp gaze narrowing as he thought. The gaze of a businessman that you’d often find in boardroom meetings on full display.

   “Truthfully?” He raised a brow, and watching as Hyunjin only stared back at him intensely, he knew he could lay it down bare.

   “No.”

Hyunjin didn’t know what he was expecting. Somewhere within, he knew he wasn’t worthy. Not enough to become one of those accomplished suits whose names were well known through high society. He knew it was his father-in-law’s honey-coated words and nothing else.

And as if the older brother could see Hyunjin’s thoughts swirling in his eyes, he sighed. A breathy sound just loud enough to quell the new frustrations that brimmed within the younger brother.

   “You’ve only learned the Hwang way. Only learned how to grow and support HGroup. Even if you’ve kept away, it was drilled into you, and maybe even with some refresh, you’ll fall back easily into your role.” The older brother leaned in, his tone suddenly dropping.

   “That is if you want to. The role that you threw away years ago is always open for you.”

Hyunjin swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry. His gaze dropped once more to Hyunsoo’s desk.

   “You don’t have to return. Not here, but definitely not to Yeom Co. I told you. You can fuck around all you want. I’ll take care of it.” Hyunsoo pressed, the older brother’s gaze deepening with a frown.

Hyunjin’s own brows narrowed, upset by his brother’s statement.

   “This is why I have you blocked.” He groaned.

Words that easily wash away the tension that had settled between the two brothers, making Hyunsoo chuckle and Hyunjin roll his eyes.

   “Y/N said the same thing.” Hyunjin murmured recalling the night of their wedding ceremony, yet just loud enough for his brother to catch once the laughter died down.

   “She said I shouldn’t change. Yet I feel…unworthy. Like some useless loaf whose presence next to her makes no sense. Y/N is so driven, so-so admirable. Then there’s me, her trophy husband.”

He finally uttered it. The title he had once embraced enthusiastically now felt like a prick in his chest.

Hyunsoo processed his brother’s words. The sight of his fallen expression. A rare sight of Hyunjin who was always closed off from the family, from him sat before. Not that Hyunsoo really blamed him either.

Their relationship was complicated. An age-gap that sometimes put a wedge between them, sometimes bridged the distance. Yet the older brother had always watched over the younger Hwang in his own ways. Ways that perhaps drew them farther apart, yet enough to ensure Hyunjin’s well-being.

   “She’s always seemed like the protective type. Glad to get confirmation on that.” Hyunsoo broke Hyunjin away from his self-deprecation. 

He could see how much Hyunjin liked her, enthralled even. Especially after last night. When the younger man had been calling for her over and over again in his drunken stupor, head almost banging against the glass of his car’s window. An amusing sight, although Hyunsoo couldn’t help but be slightly embarrassed on the younger brother’s behalf. Hopefully the driver didn’t pay too much attention to it.

   “Do you think you have to fall into line because you want to be worthy of her? Or do you truly want to do this yourself?”

And suddenly Hyunsoo’s question made something fall into place. The younger brother’s eyes widening slightly as he processed the question.

He didn’t realize he was comparing himself to his brother. To Alex, who even with being an asshole and having his own fuck-ups, did his job well. He compared himself to all the other successful guys in their High society. 

He found himself compared to Y/N’s exes. The lawyers, the doctors. The fucking painter, who got to work with her, perhaps currently exchanging emails as he sat here drowing in his insecurities.

But for some reason. Even with all these comparisons, he wanted to do it. At least try.

Those ambitions that he had hidden away because of feeling sidelined, holding a grudge, rebelling, envious even of this same man that sat before him, finally resurfaced amidst all the messy thoughts that whirled in his mind.

   “I…”

────────────────────────

Y/N pinched between her brows, setting down her glasses to allow her eyes to rest for a moment. 

Preparations for her upcoming gala had been in full swing ever since she arrived. A supposed-quick phone conference with Madam Kim and the young artists whose works were going to be featured in the gala’s exhibitions had stretched longer than she expected, not to mention R.Min’s team still hadn’t gotten in touch with her to figure out the logistics of his grand piece as well.

It was slightly annoying, with the way she was late as well this morning, being someone who prioritizes punctuality. Yet she couldn’t even be truly upset. Her mind wandered back to Hyunjin.

Back to his clingy arms draped over her this morning.

His arms that held her last night as he whispered his feelings to her. 

But it didn’t seem like he remembered it. And even if he did, there seemed to be something else bothering him. Something that had definitely happened last night, but he denied so. She’d have to get to the bottom of that soon, feeling slightly frustrated from being in the unknown.

Y/N thought she would be too busy to recall any of it. Diving headfirst into her workload of the day, not allowing for the real reason behind her heart pounding so fast, to envelop her thoughts.

But with the end of the office day getting closer, there was an excitement that managed to seep through all her tensions and anxiety. Eyes flicking to her phone to check the time. To check if she got any messages. 

There was radio silence from his end. But most likely he was knocked out. Usually he would send her a string of messages once he was fully awake, but the lack of his enthusiastic texts were making her slightly anxious.

That feeling from yesterday evening returned with more force. 

She missed him. His stupid stares that always locked onto her, which she now realized were fond gazes. Because he loved her, his eyes always settling on her from across any and every room.

Now that she thought about it, Y/N doesn’t have much experience in love. In fleeting romances.

Unlike her once playboy husband who’s romantic trysts and whispers of his flings, were well known amongst their circle, Y/N had only loved one man.

The one that she believed was her forever, now nothing but a chapter she doesn’t want to recall. 

The relationships that came after, never lasted long enough to get to love. Blind dates set up by her parents, business-partners she entertained briefly. Always kept at arm's length. Always pushed away before she grew attached.

So how did Hyunjin, her former playboy husband, know love? It doesn’t seem like that man had ever truly loved someone, at least from what she knows from his past relationships. 

Y/N’s brows furrow into a frown, the mere thought of him loving another, irritating her.

A knock on her door broke her away from her thoughts, realizing that she had zoned out in front of her computer. She groaned to herself, watching Mijoo, her secretary slip inside, her lips pulled into a strained smile. The kind Y/N knew well, already irritated by the news she brought with her.

   “I know you wanted to get home on time tonight, but R.Min’s team touched base. And they’re requesting a dinner meeting at seven.” Mijoo informed, already used to the muttered curses that escaped her boss’ lips.

   “Why can’t they be like normal people and have normal meetings at normal business hours.” Y/N pressed at the keys of her laptop, harsh taps that echoed in the room, giving way to her rising anger.

   “I’ll prepare the outlines for the upcoming event. You still have some time before you have to head out.” The secretary continued.

Y/N muttered a confirmation before rushing to complete the task she abandoned while lost in thought about her husband.  

Her husband who returned home after his impromptu meeting with his brother, was stuck in his own daze.

Alot seemed to have happened in the span of two days.

He met his wife’s ex turned business-partner.

He drunk confessed his feelings.

He entertained the idea of becoming a boardroom, suit-wearing, bore.

And now he’s staring at the text message from Y/N. The one telling him she’ll be returning late. 

Apologizing for not being able to have dinner with him.

That she’s at some last-minute business meeting with none other than Riwoo Min. Her ex boyfriend.

The gallery director’s husband could feel that prick in his chest again, taste that bitterness that coated his tongue.

The sensations he felt when he found out about their once relationship, the news of which she still hasn’t given him. The bitterness he tasted when he thought about all the things they would have done together once-upon-a-time.

She probably said it back to him. 

I love you. 

The words he spilled countless times the night prior in his drunken state left unreturned every single time. She probably whispered those to the painter with a smile on her lips.

And the mere thought of it pissed Hyunjin off.

────────────────────────

The following day was even more torturous. With Hyunjin pretending as if he hadn’t been stewing in his frustrations for the past three days and his wife pretending as if she didn’t know something was wrong, there was an unspoken tension that settled in their apartment.

Y/N’s eyes darted to find her husband’s figure trudging around the kitchen area, on coffee duty that he assigned to himself.

He seemed tired after she returned home last night, slightly later than she liked as that stupid dinner meeting stretched a little longer than she hoped. But she found him lying on the sofa, eyes focused on the television. He smiled at her to acknowledge her presence, yet for some reason it pricked at her. Especially when she returned from shedding the weight of the day with a much needed shower, only to find him tucked into bed.

And here he was now, quiet as he was the night before. His fingers work against the coffee machine settings on muscle memory.

   “I’ve been thinking.” Y/N’s voice broke him away from his sleep haze, tired eyes settling on her semi-work ready figure as she slipped into a high chair across.

   “What would you like for your birthday?” She hummed with a smile, cupping her chin in her propped up hands.

Hyunjin blinked before he arched his brow.

   “My birthday isn’t until next month. Don’t tell me you want to celebrate really early also?” There was a slight rasp in his tone, a lingering amusement somewhere there too.

Y/N broke into a wider grin, leaning in even more as she shook her head.

   “No, we'll celebrate on the right day. I just want to prepare a gift for you. We’ve never done that before, you know?” 

Hyunjin fell silent at her words. True, they’ve never exchanged gifts like this, and this was going to be his first birthday after getting married, surely he deserved some extra attention from her.

The romantic Hyunjin that he had been pushing back the past few days suddenly thrashed at her request. She wanted to celebrate his birthday with him. She wanted to give him a gift. She was sitting here with the most beautiful smile ever, staring up at him with eyes that almost twinkled.

So the gallery director’s husband let out the romantic Hyunjin, sighing softly as he relaxed against the counter as he pondered her question. 

Hyunjin swallowed, a thought suddenly crossing him. 

He wondered if she painted for her ex lover. Creating masterpieces. Strokes and swirls of her imagination on a blank canvas, with him in mind? The mere thought of it made him want to puke. A bitterness that he managed to swallow. 

   “A painting.” 

He wanted to be selfish. 

There were many Hyunjins the former playboy was discovering. The romantic side of him, the yearning side of him.

The jealous one. The possessive one, brewing in the agitation he hid. Watching her taken aback gaze slowly relax as she took in his request. 

Then there was the Hyunjin who was full of insecurities.

That one that wasn’t new, but had surfaced from the depths of his mind. The one who he manages to hide behind feigned confidence and cocky attitude.

He swallowed again. The insecure side of him, wondering if he had gotten too bold. 

Perhaps she would turn him down. A refusal he would have to accept with a faux grin. Like had been doing whenever she asked if he was okay the last two days.

   “Okay.”

Y/N has always managed to catch Hyunjin off guard. And with just one word she had done it again. 

   “I-I…” His mouth parted, unsure of exactly what to voice out.

Afraid he was going to stutter, slightly aware of the dumb expression of surprise he was probably wearing right now, truly caught off guard.

His lips slowly curl into a soft smile instead.

   “I’ll look forward to it.” He managed to mumble, growing a smile that matched hers.

A genuine one. Different from the tugs of the fake ones he had been flashing to her, unbeknownst that the sharp eye director knew a forced smile when she saw it.

And she didn’t call him out on it.

Aware, somewhere deep down why he had been so distant. Aware that he remembered.

It’s because she hadn’t returned those words. The ones that fell passionately from his lips, making her heart race. The ones she probably felt herself but was too damn afraid to say it.

Afraid once she did he would have her heart. Fully. Wholly. To do whatever he pleased with it.

She trusted Hyunjin, she was sure she did. He hadn’t done anything to make her feel otherwise. Yet, there was something that held her back and she wasn’t sure what or why exactly. But she could see that it affected him. Even if he pretended he didn’t remember the other night. Even if he pretended to simply be tired.

And for the first time there was a slight glimmer in his eyes when he asked for his gift. And before she could even fully grasp if she was capable of doing so, talented enough to paint something for him, she had agreed.

His side-profile as he gazed fondly over the art that hung over the couch, flashed in her eyes.

And weirdly enough she didn’t feel all that afraid. 

Perhaps this was a start to her character development.

A step closer to falling in love with her husband. 

────────────────────────

The next few days were a whirlwind of duties. With Y/N’s gala date settled in two weeks, there was still much to do.

Check-ins with her team, the young artists part of the exhibition. Madam Kim, Artist Min. The gallery director had her hands full.

Not to mention the slight unease that brimmed within her. 

The sights of her husband who had been acting…off the past few days.

Y/N wasn’t sure what it was, but he was clingy, slightly. Distant, mostly. Two opposite moods that gave her whiplash. And even if at the end of the day his arms still engulfed her, she still wanted to ask. Still wanted to sit him down and try to figure out what it was that seemed to be weighing on his mind. 

Perhaps her father has been much more insistent after the other week. 

Maybe something happened between the friends he was seeing more these days.

Or maybe, it was because of his drunk-confession, the one from a night he supposedly didn’t remember.

But with all the piling workload, her need to be at the gallery overtime more often, Y/N hadn’t had a chance to find an answer to her concerns.

Although she did take time out of her lunch break to lock herself in a spare studio room and stare at the blank canvas. 

Hyunjin’s painting. 

The first gift he had asked for, a genuine want in his gaze.

She wondered what she could create, with rusty skills and a style that she wasn’t confident in anymore, she wondered if her husband would truly like it. Or would he flash her a strained smile, pretending as if it were a masterpiece.

The gallery director found herself laughing to herself as she shook her head at the thought. She knew his fake smiles, especially with the way he had been flashing it to her the past few days, she knew when something didn’t genuinely make him happy. 

Hyunjin liked her incomplete paintings, she often found him staring intently at the one hung over the sofa while he lounged on the couch. Keeping her company while she worked, his head would tilt as if he was trying to conjure up the complete image in his mind.

A sight that was enough to make her heartbeat quicken, her hand reaching for the paintbrushes that she had laid out.

Her husband deserved a complete painting.

Of course lunch hour doesn’t last long enough, the responsibilities pulling her away as soon as she was getting into the right mindspace.

Artist R.Min’s name flashing on the screen of her phone.

   “What timing.” She was slightly humored by the coincidental phone call.

The man who told her she had no talent called at a time when she finally decided to start painting again.

Her business partner was due a visit later this afternoon for some final discussions about his grand painting. The one that was to be unveiled at the end as a permanent collection piece at Y Gallery. But of course with the right amount offered, Y/N would happily hand off Riwoo’s painting, and she was sure Madam Kim intended on doing so, her grandson being such a big fan and all. Although Y/N still believed it was the old woman herself who liked R.Min’s work.

The text message wasn’t anything important, a notification that he was running a little late.

Y/N scrolled through the unread messages, from the event planner to her head curator, everyone checking in with updates about the upcoming event, the gallery director’s fingers faltering on Hyunjin’s contact.

His message that he sent asking if she was busy this evening. 

It was a short conversation had, one about his wanting to tell her something. Something work-related, something about HGroup. More details he’ll tell her in person.

She wouldn’t lie, it worried her slightly. Especially after learning that her husband has been having more frequent get-togethers with Hwang Hyunsoo. The older brother-in-law who was still quite a mystery to her. 

But of course, the thoughts can’t be dwelled on for long, her responsibilities taking her attention. The work day stretching into the late afternoon with Riwoo Min sat in front of her. 

   “Where’s your manager?” Y/N queried, her expression neutral.

Riwoo shrugged, leaning back in his chair.

   “Stomach ache.” 

It was a lame excuse, one that wasn’t true it seemed, but Y/N didn’t care enough. The quicker they’re done, the faster she can get to her husband. Riwoo’s late arrival made her mentally groan, knowing it was going to stretch into after-hours.

Mijoo had been present for the most part, taking quick notes of the meeting before she had to rush out early, having appointments with a vendor for the gala on the other side of town.

   “Message me with updates, and you can go home from there.” Y/N waved with one hand, her eyes glancing down at the time on her watch.

   “Got it. Then, I’ll see you on Monday, Director Yeom.” The secretary smiled before turning to the painter still present.

   “I’ll transcribe the notes of the meeting so far and email it to your team. I hope you have a wonderful weekend Artist Min.” She bowed.

With Mijoo’s departure, Y/N was the only one left at the office, besides this annoyance sat across her of course.

   “What are your plans for the evening?” Riwoo questioned, watching as Y/N’s eyes flickered from the computer screen to him for a second before looking away.

   “I’m having dinner with my husband.” Her response was curt as always, still great at maintaining rigid professionalism.

   “Hyunjin doesn’t know, does he?” Riwoo’s question finally had her attention, a frown replacing her concentrated gaze.

   “Know what?” 

She knew what he was talking about.

   “Your husband didn’t seem to know we were senior-junior, let alone know about our relationship.”

Y/N scowled. 

The expression that she had tried to keep away, finally settled over her face at his words.

   “A long forgotten relationship. It does not matter because after this project you will be gone.” 

Riwoo opened his mouth but ended up keeping silent, cautiously picking his next words.

   “I’m…sorry Y/N.” His tone had fallen, a vulnerable stare looking back at her.

Y/N blinked, neutral expression watching as he tired to find the right words.

   “I know you probably don’t want to hear it, years too late. But I still care about you. And working with you here showed me how foolish I’d been. How wrong I was to throw away what we had.” His head dropped for a second before his soft gaze met hers.

   “I made a mistake. I regret it, and have regretted it ever since. L’ailette didn’t love me. No, not like what we had. It was more of a show-marriage. A rising artist, a renowned art foundation heiress. A perfect match. Nothing more.” He continued.

Y/N’s jaw tightened as she listened to the man across her blabber, body stiffening in her seat before she crossed her arms over her chest.

   “A show-marriage that you benefited from, did you not?”

Her question has his expression fall, unable to counter. 

A truth that they were both aware of.

   “Marrying into the Bloom family brought you everything you’ve wanted. Prestige, fame. Connections, a title.” Y/N tilted her head as she stared at him.

   “And now that you’ve gotten everything you aimed for, you’re suddenly missing what once was?” This time a breathy laugh escaped her, amused or perhaps irritated.

   “Finish this meeting Riwoo. I have other things to do.”

The gallery director didn’t wait for him to speak, whatever it was he had to say, leaning back into the laptop screen with the outline of their next steps.

And soon enough the meeting was done. The gallery director’s neutral expression, professional facade back on her face.

   “I’d like for all other updates to be communicated through my secretary and your manager.” She closed the laptop, standing in front of her desk.

Riwoo stood, lips parting to speak. But again he decides not to say anything else, nodding at the request.

The goodbyes are quick, Riwoo exiting the gallery and leaving Y/N to her thoughts.

Hwang Hyunjin parked his car, the evening breeze tousling his hair as he exited. 

Yet even before he could take a step, his eyes settled on Riwoo Min, the artist.

His wife’s ex, exiting the gallery. 

Instantly the sight makes him frown, hands gripping at the jacket in his hands. Aware that he shouldn't be this upset seeing as this man was her business partner, but still it pricks him.

And when he walked into the gallery office to find Secretary Kang’s desk long deserted, computer off, desk tidied, his jaw clenches.

He knocked on the gallery director’s door, not waiting for a response before he entered. 

Y/N seemed surprised to see him, in the midst of tidying up her desk and turning off her computer.

   “Oh. Sorry, I’m running a little behind. Give me five minutes.” She smiled, figure returning to put away a pile of papers.

Hyunjin’s sharp gaze darts from her to the coffee table, the empty glasses of what was either tea or coffee. 

Just two.

Which meant that the only people present were the gallery director and the painter.

Hyunjin swallowed, his eyes locking onto Y/N, oblivious of his inner turmoil.

   “Where’s Miss Kang?” Hyunjin questioned, placing his jacket on the leather sofa, attempting to swallow the insecurities down.

Y/N glances at him before she’s turning off the lamp by her table.

   “She had to meet some vendors. Left early—well, on time. The meeting stretched on longer.” She groaned.

Hyunjin nodded, swallowing back the irritation that threatened to surface. Except before he could calm himself, his eyes locked onto the leather-bound sketchbook sitting on the sofa. The one embroidered with the letters “R.M” in gold, a giveaway to who it belonged to.

His jaw tightened. Fully aware that he should not be feeling this angry. Unsure of who he was upset at even. But still, the glimmer of fury shows on his expression.

   “Hyunjin?” 

Her concerned tone breaks him away from his thoughts, eyes setting on his wife who now stood closer. She tilted her head.

   “Hyunjin, is something bothering you?”

She had an inkling of what could be the reason, aware that he had been acting off since that other night. Her heart hammered in her chest from anxiousness, from anticipation.

From saying he remembered his confessions.

From saying he didn’t remember.

Hyunjin swallowed again, hesitant. 

Debating whether he should lie, flash a smile to deflect her concerned gaze. Or should he tell her the truth.

Tell her that he was jealous as fuck. 

Even though he knew he shouldn’t be. Even though just the mention of the artist, his presence was enough to make his wife scowl. The kind of expressions he was once on the receiving end of.

He wouldn’t say he was the possessive type. Even his past partners hadn’t ignited this sudden fury that was burning through him, yet here she was, bringing out certain emotions. He didn’t question it, not when she drew out those burning desires of his with such ease. Yet now he stood here feeling a storm of jealousy and frustration over something that, on the surface, seemed so trivial. And it flashed through his eyes.

Hyunjin dropped his head, head turning for a second to calm himself. Of course that doesn’t work when he catches a glimpse of a figure through the door he left cracked open.

The owner of the forgotten sketchbook perhaps back to retrieve it.

Hyunjin’s gaze darkened, turning to face his still concerned, still lost wife who opened her mouth to maybe ask again if he was okay. 

It took two strides before he’s reaching out to her, fingers resting on the back of her neck to tug before he’s kissing her hard.

A surprised gasp escaped her, easily swallowed by her husband’s passionate kiss. But of course his wife, who missed him, melts into his lips. Returning his fervorous affection with her own pull. Warm fingers wrapping around his neck to deepen their entanglement. 

Yet there was something in her husband that gave way to his affection. Or rather, his show of affection.

A pathetic show of staking claim.

His arms sprawl over her back before his eyes flick open. His gaze trails past her cheek before darkening as the sight that settled on the painter who stood flustered at the door, stiffening once they made eye contact. 

The former playboy has always had terrible luck in these kinds of situations like his wife had once said. Always managed to get interrupted, to garner an unwanted audience.

A knowing smile spread over the Hyunjin’s expression, a kiss of possessiveness deepening as his sharp eyes tear away from Riwoo’s watching gaze. Darting back from the intruding painter who took backward steps, to kiss his wife hungrily.

The creak of the door broke away the bliss, the heat Hyunjin’s presence, Hyunjin’s lips brought, dissipating at the mere sound. 

Pulling away, Y/N craned her head back to catch the interruption. Stunned eyes locking onto R.Min who sputtered apologies as he almost spun around, the sound of his rushed steps growing farther away.

Y/N blinked, gaze still settled on the empty spot that the painter once stood in, while feeling her husband’s arm tighten around her.

She had felt that Hyunjin was distracted during the kiss, his body tense and unyielding against hers than usual. And now seeing why, she could only stare behind her. The stunned director turned to her husband, who, instead of showing any embarrassment, appeared oddly…pleased.

His fingers that had cradled her form, slowly dropped to his side, as if a task complete. Satisfied.

Realization dawned upon her almost immediately, recalling the intensity of his kiss. The possessiveness in his grip, the way his arms had held her so close.

   “You did that on purpose?” Her brows furrowed in confusion.

Hyunjin’s jaw tightened at her accusations, which was true, but still enough for his frown to set onto her confused expression. His frustrations continued to course through him, and before he could reel in the irritation that had been threatening to spill, he spoke. 

   “Why? Are you upset that your ex boyfriend saw you in the arms of your husband?” His tone was sharp.

Y/N faltered, eyes slightly widening, the pieces finally falling into place. Hyunjin’s recent behavior was slowly making sense now.

So he didn’t remember that other night.

And this was the reason he had been so moody, so distant.

Not because of what she had thought. 

Because he had learned about her once relationship with the painter.

Hyunjin took a step back, eyes darting over her expression. Unable to control the questions that he had been dying to ask from the moment he found out.

   “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hide the fact that this painter was your ex boyfriend?” Hyunjin’s voice dripped with jealousy, a tinge of hurt.

Y/N let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose before meeting Hyunjin’s upset gaze. In hindsight she should have considered it. Should have thought this could have been a reason he was so bothered. 

This man loved her for god’s sake!

She knew she should have told him, but truth be told, she was embarrassed.

The pathetic version of her that she was embarrassed to recall.

   “Because I don’t want to acknowledge that I ever dated that man.” Her tone was sharp, her upset expression making Hyunjin’s eyes waver for a moment, clearly some animosity still lurking.

He opened his mouth, perhaps to argue, perhaps to press further. Instead he lets out a pained sigh, his furrowed expression dropping to the shiny tiles.

   “Still… you should have told me,” Hyunjin replied, his tone softening with hurt. 

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident.

   “I…I shook his hand with a smile, trying to make him as welcome as possible. To get him to see you and the gallery positively, all without knowing any of this.” Hyunjin continued, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N fell silent, her gaze fixed on her husband. She could see how deeply hurt he was by her leaving him in the dark, even though she had considered it insignificant. 

   “I felt like such an idiot.” He admitted, his voice faltering. 

   “Finding out from Alex of all people.” His tone dropped.

The insecurities that easily surfaced at the sight of his wife’s interactions with R.Min was evident in his demeanor. Standing with a fallen expression Y/N has never seen him. 

The painter was the kind of man who one would naturally expect Y/N to be with. Their past made sense. A person who shared similar interests, a similar line of work, and a compatibility unhidden from anyone and everyone who looked in. The fact that he was her ex only fueled Hyunjin’s fears. Now, he was terrified that old feelings might resurface and that Y/N might be tempted to return to him. 

That she would realize that besides his good looks and his ways to please her, Hyunjin had nothing at all. Even though somewhere deep down he was aware that those thoughts were all bullshit.

Y/N processed everything slowly, from whatever he uttered to his downturned expression. And then she frowned, almost upset that this insignificant fact bothered him so much.

   “Why does that even matter?”

Her husband’s eyes lock onto hers.

   “Hyunjin, Riwoo is a partner in my work project at Madam Kim’s insistence at that, and he will be gone in just some days. Sure, we dated, and I will always hate that chapter of my life, but he shouldn’t matter. You’re my husband.” She pressed.

   “We’re husband and wife.” She reiterated again.

Her hand reached out to gently grip his forearm, softening gaze hoping her words were getting through to him.

Except it doesn’t.

And all Hyunjin could think about was that chapter of her life.

The one she hated. The one he would hate too probably, dying to know about it.

The one he wasn’t going to hear about because as much as his wife claimed to be just his wife, she didn’t see him as a husband.

She wasn’t going to tell him her fears, her wants. Things that bothers her, bothered her. 

About that chapter. About her ex. 

About the fact that she knew he loved her but chose to be ignorant.

   “Husband and wife…right.” There was a defeated sigh that escaped him, a slight of agitation underneath.

The almost sarcastic tinge beneath his words was easily caught by Y/N, whose eyes narrowed, hand dropping from his arm.

   “Why do you say it like that?” The strain in her voice had his own brows furrow into a frown.

   “Like what?” Hyunjin knew he was glaring now, a sharpness in his tone unmissed. 

His frustrations surfacing so easily, even after he had reminded himself over and over again that he shouldn’t lose his cool.

Another thing he failed.

How could he not?

Hyunjin had never felt like this, ever. Never in his life had he wanted something so bad. Someone so bad. He had always given up on things, easily backing away when he realized it wasn’t for him.

Just like Y/N. His wife. But not the one for him.

They had been forced to be together. Bound to be stuck on the same boat that started with a surprising smooth sail, yet now it rocked so hard he was losing himself, just a moment away from falling over and drowning.

   “Tell me why it bothers you so much—”

   “So you can ignore it? Hm? Pretend like it never happened?”

He watched the way her lips parted, yet the words didn't come out. Not truly expecting for him to state it. Her narrowed brows relaxed at the realization. At the final realization of what he was referring to.

So he did remember.

Hyunjin knew it was low of him. To argue with her over his feelings. His desperation. Pressuring her to acknowledge the secrets that he spilled so effortlessly.

Except as he stared at her guilt-ridden expression, her eyes dropping to the ground, fist balling at her sides, a pang of hurt surged through him. Making him feel like an asshole in return.

   “I…”

   “Forget it.” He cut her off, his jaw tightening.

The gallery director’s husband grabbed his coat, bitterness coursing through him, ready to leave, to turn away from the shock, the twinge of hurt that glimmered in her gaze.

Yet just one step back was all he could take, his wrist was grabbed, her fingers tightening around him, halting him instantly in his retreat. From running away.

   “He cheated on me.”

Hyunjin’s head snapped back to look at her with such force it should’ve pulled a muscle. Yet he could only stare in shock, eyes widening at the revelation.

Their first meeting at the cafe replayed in his mind.

   “The last man that said he loved me, broke my heart and left behind a million pieces. And… as much as I pretend that I’ve moved past it, those pieces still hold me back.” 

   “That chapter of my life is an embarrassment. And I would happily pretend it didn’t happen if I could.” The words were muttered harshly, bitterness in her tone.

Hyunjin swallowed his heart clenching tight in his chest, watching as she inhaled a breathy sigh.

   “I was content with the way I was. With never feeling so strongly again, protecting myself from heartbreak. From high society, from my family. And then you come along with your carefree attitude and your stupid taunting smiles. Easily making me forget to put up the walls that I have built around my fragile heart.”

She doesn’t turn, nor does she catch the surprised expression on his face as he stares at her backside. The shocked expression that morphs into guilt, soft gaze flicking over her suddenly small frame.

Y/N straightened, slowly shifting around. Her eyes flicker down to meet her fingers grasping his wrist before her determined gaze meets his wavering one.

   “You're my husband Hyunjin. Just my husband. I’m sorry if I make you feel otherwise, but from here on out, I’ll make sure you never forget that.” She nodded, glassy gaze meeting his stunned one.

It wasn’t I love you, yet it felt like something more, something deeper than that. Trust? Loyalty? Reliance?

A reassurance.

No longer being able to envision her life without his presence somewhere around. His figure sprawled over the couch while she worked. His eyes that take in her reflection as she got ready, leaning on the door frame as he simply watched.

His arms wrapping around her to ground her, to make her feel warm.

All of it was love. A simple word she couldn’t say, yet it was suddenly heavy on the tip of her tongue. A nudge closer to the edge, one push and it would spill through her lips. 

But perhaps this wasn’t what he wanted to hear. This man that loved her madly. This man that deserved to be showered in those three words.

Her fingers uncurled from his wrist, his arm dropping limply at his side as she let go. 

Silence settled for a brief moment before Hyunjin turned his body fully to face her.

   “I love you.”

His whispered voice breaks away the vulnerable silence, his sudden words making her stiffen, gleaming eyes darting between his soft gaze.

A confession, once again catching her off guard, making her heart hammer against her chest.

   “I’ll say it for both of us. Every day, every waking moment until you get sick of it. I’ll tell you that I love you over and over again, until you say it back.”

His heartfelt words had her breath hitch, heart clench. Wavering eyes frozen on his form just an arms graze away.

How was it so easy for him? To bear his heart. To be so understanding. So comfortable. So…pure.

Does she even deserve to receive those words? Deserve him?

She had once thought she was out of his league, too good for him. That the frivolous playboy was not enough for the ambitious Y Gallery Director, a waste of her time. The successful gallery director who could never be the perfect lover, the perfect wife. 

All those thoughts stupid.

When it was glaringly obvious that she was the one who was beneath him.

Undeserving of his beautiful heart. His love.

   “Hyunjin—”

The dark-haired man took a step forward, hands gripping on her upper arms to tug her closer, head shaking to cut her off from whatever she was about to protest with.

   “Let me be your husband Y/N. Just your husband.” His voice had fallen to just above a whisper, eyes darting between hers, a soft desperation in them.

A silent plea, to allow him in. 

A shoulder to lean on, arms to cry in. 

To be the one she could turn on, to spill all her frustrations, her imperfections. Sights of her no one else would ever see but him. Hyunjin, her husband.

And a nod was all it took. Her confirmation effortlessly soothing the unease that was eating away at him. Already forgotten, long left behind in the past now. 

Hyunjin’s lips met hers, engulfing her in a deep kiss. Unlike the fervent kisses that he had given her over the past few weeks, this one was much softer. 

Yet fiery in its own way, rushed in its own. In the way her fingers rake into the back of his hairs, gripping him tightly to deepen the kiss, returning his feelings with eagerness. Tongues battling yet not for dominance, simply to explore, to taste the love that he was talking about.

They part for air, a heave of chests, a gasp for air, his lips already attaching to her throat, hand already gripping at her hips. And yet, before she could begin to grab the fabric of his shirt, before she could tug and pull, tell him to get rid of it, to feel the warmth that his bare arms brought, Hyunjin pulled away from the crook of her neck, his forehead leaning against her.

He was not going to allow them to get interrupted again.

   “Let me take you home.” He whispered, his eyes fluttering close, breath hot on her skin.

A small squeak escapes her, a hitch of her breath, an excitement in her tone.

   “Take me home.” She whispered. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

── ask to be tagged! (18+) - @jellyleggz, @binniesbabe, @bookswillfindyouaway, @lemonn015, @scarlet789, @onlyhyunjin, @freekyfangirl, @candyquokka, @jehhskz, @stayjinnie, @suzyhhj , @minh0scat, @qwonyoung23, @d34thon2legs, @dessianna1, @kpopjackie, @rundontwalkshesaid, @sheerfreesia007, @thecutiepieme, @danihwang882, @hyunebunx, @seeeeking-skz, @hanadulsetaad, @velvetmoonlght, @alrm02, @tirena1, @hityoulikebahng, @tsunderelino, @cybergracie, @notevenheretbh1, @piscesrising01, @alisonyus, @hyuneyeon, @broken-glowsticks, @modesttiger, @gnabnahcbby, @shhyucm, @hanniesdegree, @lenfilms, @sushiinmidnight, @chrisbangsass, @fixation-dump, @minluvly, @loxgirl2004, @aeri-skzver, @ellemir2404, @mariahxrrera, @t1eekn0wsaurus, @aprilmaejune77, @amenabiii [CLOSED]

[delusiondolly]

𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 , 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 , 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏.𝟒𝐤

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐍𝐞𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭 (𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲), 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱( 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱!!!)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : 𝐎𝐦𝐠 𝐲’𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.

(@Rafaela 🫧🩰: Bro is not the sneaky link bro is the baby daddy who fucks me every single day anytime and anywhere he wants)

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐧.

𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬!!! 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞!!! 𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐞𝐞 ( 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃.)

You and Chris separated awhile after you had your baby. He wasn’t putting in as much work you’d like and just having the baby was exhausting. You’d wake up to your baby crying at the top of her lungs but when you felt the other side of the bed , only to be met with cold sheets , that’s when you had enough. You told Chris that you didn’t want to put up with him and his neglect so you just kicked him out. Chris understood but he didn’t get put out without a fight.

A few months after , your baby is now 5 months old. You and Chris had split custody.

You both live in your separate apartments as well. You can you guys have a great co-parenting relationship on the surface but deep down it still felt like you guys were together. You had your times when you missed Chris dearly and he had his times missing you dearly but both of you are so stubborn that you both won’t cave in.

You don’t know how many times you guys had fucked since you both broke up, you both just couldn’t let go of each other. Your daughter was the only excuse for you two to see each other.

For the past few months , Chris would have you pinned to his bed , fucking the life out of you, fucking you like he wanted to put another baby in you ; half the time it doesn’t seem like a bad idea to you but you snapped back into reality after your fuck sessions that are very much needed.

When you thought you’d tried to go back dating, Chris was very much against it Making excuse , like when you have your first date. It was Chris week to come get the baby , you were still getting ready for your date that was in a couple hours so you were multi-tasking ; gettting the baby’s bag pack , packing her snacks , getting her dressed , it was a lot. Then you heard a knock on the door , knowing it had to be Chris so you opened the door and seen your scrumptious baby daddy with his black beanie on , curly black hair sneaakinf out , fitted t shirt on and baggy sweats. If you weren’t going on a date in a couple hours then you would’ve had to take the baby to your sisters real quick.

You let him in and he grabbed his daughter out your hands.

“Hello there my beautiful little princess” he spoke with that damn hot Australian accent. Fuck you just want to jump his bones but you couldn’t give in.

Chris finally looked up to see you and he see that your hair was pin curled and you had your silky robe on. You looked gorgeous as always.

“Where are you going?” He asked while following you to your bedroom

“I have a date in a couple of hours Chris.” You said annoyed

Chris laughed “you won’t be going no where, love.”

“ I can and I will Chris.”

Chris sat your daughter down on your bed and grabbed your chin to bring it close to his face.

“ you won’t be going anywhere with anybody. This is still my pussy.”

You telling Chris that you were going on a date struck something inside of him. Just the thought of someone else inside your sweet wall , a feeling just for him to feel. He just couldn’t let it happen even if he had to put his pride aside.

The way that made your panties wet should be a crime. You always loved Chris’s possessiveness, it gave you a rush.

“Who are you to tell me where I can go and who I go with? Last time I check you were just my baby daddy Chris. You have no say in what happens with me. You just have to worry about our child.” You stated

Chris just sat there and stared at you for a bit. He thought about why you broke it off and he realized he neglected you and he now had no right to tell you anything or who you should be with because he had that chance. He neglected you right after you brought his child into the world.

Chris held the side of your face and tilted your head up

“ Baby… You know sorry can never take back the neglect I put on you but I want you to know that I’ll always love you and cherish you. You are my queen , you brought our baby girl into this world and I’m so grateful.”

Your eyes started to well up

“You know your going to have to work for my trust again Chris, you can’t say sorry and expect this to blow over.”

“I don’t think that baby, I just want you to let me in again. I regret ever letting you go.”

“I need to call my sister to come pick her up.”

After your sister left with your daughter, Chris waited no time to pick you up and take you to your bed. Chris was heavily kissing over your face while trying to rip your robe off, you were already out of breath and Chris wasn’t letting up no time soon. Chris was planning to worship you tonight ( and maybe put another baby in you.”)

Chris kissed all the way down your neck to your breast , cupping and swirling his tongue around each one. He stopped kissing when he got to your waistline, he pulled your panties down and starting kissing your mound. You moaned at the sensation, you haven’t felt this way in months. You grabbed Chris’s hair as he started licking and sucking at your sensitive pussy. Fuck it felt so good , you knew no other man could top Chris . None of these men could ever be your loving Chris.

“Chris , I just need you to fuck me please.”

“Anything my baby asks for.”

Chris grabbed both of your legs , spread your legs and held them above your head. You were in for a rough ride when Chris had you in the mating press position.

Chris sunk into you and you both sighed in pleasure. Fuck did you miss this feeling of Chris big fat cock splitting you open.

Chris started a unrelenting pace , automatically hitting that sweet spot that made your toes curl. Chris was slamming his hips into yours, not giving you enough time to breathe or recover in between each thrust.

You were already babbling, lightheaded, pin curls messed up , drool and tears coming down your face. Chris had fucked you dumb but he still thought you were the most beautiful woman on the planet. The beautiful woman that brought his child into the world.

Just thinking about the way Chris had knocked you up sent him over the edge. He picked up the pace , abusing your hole until you came hard on your sheets. Chris was still chasing his climax but after he felt you tighten around him, he bursted.

You and Chris’s mixed cum ran down his and your leg and into your sheets. He gently pulled out and laid your lower body on the bed and went to run a bath for you both.

All you could do was lay down and just rest your body while Chris cleaned up.

Once the bath was ran, Chris placed you in the tub and went to replace the sheets .

You thought , maybe you could give this another try. You loved Chris with all your heart and you were willing to try if he tried.

Once Chris was done , he came and sat down behind you in the bath and started to bathe you.

“I think…we should try this again. We both still feel strongly for each other and our daughter seeing us together while she’s still a baby is great for growth but you need to be willing to change, I’m not the only parent. I get that you have work but I have work as well Chris.”

“ I do plan to be better for my daughter. Be better for you. I want this, I want our little family together.”

You yawned

“We can finish this conversation tomorrow, I just need to rest right now.”

Chris carried to the bed and laid you both down , you both didn’t care for clothes. You both needed to feel your skin on each other.

Hopefully, you both could get it right this time.

(@𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 , 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧!!!)

[delusiondolly]

𝐈𝐧 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞“𝐥𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧“ 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 , 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 . 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 𝟏.𝟒𝐤

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 , 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞 , 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 , 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱 (𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧!) , 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬! (𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : 𝐇𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 , 𝐁𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐬𝐬🙃 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤🫶 (𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃😓)

You and Chris had been on bad terms for days. Its just the friends with benefits wasn’t cutting it no more. You felt like you were getting too attached. You honestly didn’t know why you agreed to being friends with benefits, you knew how your heart was. Sex wasn’t going to be just sex with you and you still agree.

Once you started feeling attached to Chris, you had started to withdrawal from any interaction with him. A few days ago, You texted him and told him you wanted to stop this. When Chris saw that, he instantly started blowing up your phone with calls and text messages, asking did he do anything wrong, can you call him. He just kept calling and eventually he stopped.

Now , today . You had gotten a text from Chris.

Chris : Let’s talk this out in person. 8:23 pm

Chris : After this , I swear I won’t ever bother you again. 8:25 pm

You: Where. 8:30 pm

Chris : Come to my apartment. 8:30 pm

After that , you didn’t respond. You just got into your car and drove to Chris’s place. You felt a little bit hesitant about this but you just needed to get Chris off your back and if he was willing to after this talk then it’d be better for you.

Arriving at Chris’s apartment , you just prepared yourself while on the way up. As you knocked on his door , you just started to think if this was the right idea , should you turn back now . The door was opening so no running now. You see Chris as he opens the door with a small smile.

“Hey”

“Hey”

He stepped aside to let you inside the apartment. You walked inside , not really expecting anything but suddenly when you heard the door shut, you felt your arm being pulled to turn you around. Your back was now on the door and you were faced to face with Chris but his face was only an inch from yours.

“Why did you suddenly just cut me out.”

He looked like he wanted to explode , If you weren’t so deep in this situation then it would’ve been funny to you but you weren’t here to play with Chris , not when this was deeply turning you on.

“I found someone , Chris. We can’t do this anymore.”

Chris just stared at you , his expression changing from mad to hurt. The expression he had on his face almost broke you, you wanted to comfort him so bad but you know it would only lead to you getting hurt more. You weren’t going to break yourself trying to put up with someone you had feelings for and only fucking them-

“Theres no one but me.” Chris growled

Chris had gripped your wrist and was forcefully pulling you towards his bedroom. You swear that if you were in the situation now , you’d be enjoying his roughness but you weren’t here to fuck him right now.

“Chris , let me go!”

Chris pulled you through his bedroom doors and that’s when you knew he had you. Chris threw you on his bed and turn to lock the door. When he turned around , you were standing up , facing him with a irritating expression on your face.

“Chris. I am not here to fuck you. Sex won’t fix this.”

Chris just stepped towards you , put his fingers through your hair then brought your lips to his. You moaned , fuck you were going to miss this. One last time wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Strip.”

You never stripped so fast, it was like your body , moved on it own. As you were getting naked , Chris was stripping as well but watching you so intensely. It made you throb so much. Fuck.

Chris moved his fingers to circle your clit and massage your pussy. You moaned as he slowly stuffed your hole with two fingers , he started at a fast pace , wet sounds and gargled moans bouncing off the walls.

“Fuck Chris, so good,” you babbled out

Chris kept fucking you with his fingers until you came all over his finger , you could feel your cum running down your leg. You were so dizzy that you almost fell but caught you and laid you partially on the bottom of the bed. On your stomach. You heard Chris groaning, stroking his cock while looking at the sight before him.

You felt his cock rubbing against your hole and running through your lips. Then you felt his tip prodding your pussy open, He forced his way through your tight hole , bullying his big cock deep into your walls. It hurted so bad but so good , it’s always like this when Chris fucks you. Your pussy can never get used to his cock,

“Chris, it hurts”

Chris ignored you and started thrusting. Hard. Chris was fucking you like he hated you right now. The way he’s about destroy your hole is crazy but you were enjoying every moment of it , his fast paced never letting up but only going faster , you felt his heavy balls clapping against your ass and wet sounds filling the room. All you could feel was your body burning and the smell of sex filling the room.

Chris had you arched over the end of his bed , fucking you into oblivion then he stopped, grabbed your right leg laid it on the bed , now you were laid spread open on the bed. He started to drill his hips into yours, this caused you to squeal and start pushing him , pushing at his stomach. It was too much . You couldn’t take it.

“Chris , I can’t take it.” You cried

“You can and you will y/n.”

You kept reaching back to push at his stomach until he grabbed your wrists together and pinned them to your back. Chris had you pinned and continued to drill his hips in to yours. Chris fucked you into mush, all you could do is babble. He kept hitting that sweet spot over and over and over again, you were overstimulated, all of your senses were in overdrive.

You felt hands snake into your hair and pull your hair, that made you arch off the bed. Chris pulled you back close enough for you to hear him.

“This pussy is mine. I ruined this pussy now you can’t give it to nobody else.”

“Who pussy is this?”

“It’s yours, Chris” you whimpered

“Fuck, you’re so good to me.” He said as he kissed down your shoulder

“Can I cum please , Chris”

“You can cum all over my cock like a good girl” he groaned

You felt the knot in your stomach burst you came so hard that you felt like you blacked out. Chris let go of you but he wasn’t done yet, he pulled out and flipped you over on your back into a matting press position and jack-hammered his hips into yours. All you could do is babble nonsense while Chris chased his release, your brain was fucked into putty.

“I’m going to cum mm fuck baby girl, I love you so much” he whimpered

Those last few word pulled you out of a stupor and you looked at him , his fucked out expression made him look even more handsome. As Chris came inside you , your knot bursted again. Chris pulled out and watched the mixed juices run out your pussy. He snapped out of the exotic scene and went to get a wet rag to clean you guys up.

Your mind was still on them three words he said to you. Could this really turn into something more than what you guys had?

Chris came back with the wet rag and cleaned you up, you shivered at the coldness of the rag when it touch your sensitive private. He threw the dirty rag in his hamper and pulled you up into the bed. He laid you on his chest and all you could hear is his breathing. His chest moving you up and down.

“Did you mean it?”

You looked up at him , locking eye contact with him.

“I did. The moment I heard you say someone else.. I couldn’t take it. The thought of anyone but me having you was something I never want to happen.”

You stared at him for a bit. “So what does that mean for us?”

“What is this now”

“Do you love me?” Chris asked

“…yeah I do.” You answered

“Then I love you too”

(@𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 , 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧!)

[delusiondolly]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “chris”.

— chan × reader. — 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: smut. — 𝘄. 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2217. — 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: afab reader, unprotected sex, creampie, dry humping, daddy kink, degradation & inappropriate language. — 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: i love me an obsessed ex-boyfie [🍽]

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔. you can't get over chris.

The studio door unlocked with an electronic noise. You didn't make a fuss about entering — it wasn't your first time there, and it probably wouldn't be your last.

"Took you long enough.", he mumbled without bothering to turn around.

"There was too much traffic," you threw your bag on the couch behind him, sitting there right away. The sound of the keyboard echoed in the room for a few more minutes, as if it was inside your head. There was no room for shame, you'd been in this position more times than you'd like to admit.

The chair finally turned around, letting you see the man for the first time that week. Okay. Maybe there was room to feel ashamed. You followed his eyes scanning your body from head to toe, lingering on your legs that were barely covered by the short dress you were wearing — it used to be his favorite, you didn't expect a different reaction.

"So? What have I done to deserve the honor of your presence?", the sweet tone dripped with sarcasm, as if the cynical smile wasn't already a great indicator.

"Cut it, Christopher.", you weren't in the mood to entertain his jokes today. His shameless laughter made you question whether being there was really a good idea, but unfortunately, you needed him.

"Oh, you mad, princess? No need to stress. I'll fix your issue right now." he pressed his tongue against his cheek, smiling mischievously — he was always a tease. He spread his legs even wider, settling himself in the chair. Chan looked at you as if he expected something from you, smiling when he noticed your shyness. "Are you gonna just sit there? We both know why you're here." conceited, he said as if it was obvious (and it really was). You stood up, feeling even more embarrassed, but didn't exactly know why — Chris knew how to make you shy, even after so long. "Take off your panties while you're at it." You gave the man an offended look, as if he had insulted you. "What? You wanna get fucked, don't you?" the man let out a chuckle. You reluctantly took off your panties, there's no arguing with facts, and sat on his lap right after.

Your body and mind felt like two different entities that didn't have the same goal. There was a voice in your head telling you how wrong that was, but you could barely hear it. At the end of the day, it was Christopher. And, somehow, he was still yours. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it. Not with you in his lap.

Grinding against him like a kitten, your nose pressed to his jawline, breathing in his scent. Chris always had a "manly" scent, you couldn't really explain what it was, but it turned you on — and that was the biggest problem when it came to the man: everything about him turned you on and you feared you'd never be able to let him go.

"Why are you so needy, princess? Your little boyfriend can't handle you?", he asked mockingly. His skilled hands lifted your dress so he could knead the soft skin of your ass — he was obsessed with that part of you, squeezing and playing with it whenever he could.

"He's not my boyfriend, Channie. I only went out with him a few times," you justified the fact for the thousandth time in god knows how long. There was no point, you knew Chris would still bring this up in the future.

"So you should stop giving hope to the poor guy. He must think he has a chance with you," he looked at you smugly. Chris was convinced that he was the only man for you — the fact that you had returned to his lap once again only confirmed the theory.

"I like him though...", it was a lie. You said it just to mess with the man's ego, because even if he knew the truth, he would still feel a little threatened.

"Oh, do you?", his voice full of disbelief. "So you're calling him when you want to fuck? Tell me.'", one of his hands grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "What's the point of breaking up with me if you can't get off my dick, hm?", his eyes fixed on yours made your body shiver.

Christopher's pretty lips were all you could pay attention to, trying to get closer, as if they were calling your name. He knew how obsessed you were with his lips — no wonder why you kissed him every five minutes when you were still together. Having that in my mind, you were sure of how merciless his next actions were. Your movements were suddenly stopped, the man's hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place.

"No.", the warning came coldly, but not enough to hide how pleased he seemed with your disappointed expression. "There's no point in making that face either. "No feelings" remember?", he reminded you of the rule you made sure of repeating every time you asked to meet him. "You're the one who wanted it to be like this.", it was painful for him and he wanted it to be for you too. Despite missing your lips as badly as you did, he would deny it, because maybe that would force you to take him back — you both knew he was trying to wear you down, but you were too stubborn.

"Chris, you said that-"

"I said I was going to fuck you, I never said anything about kissing you. You're not my girlfriend, remember that too?", irritated, he interrupted you. It was stressful having to continue with this dynamic just because that's how you wanted it to be. Chris was aware of your reasons, but what was the point of not taking him back if you always ended up at the same place every time? Christopher wasn't able to understand. He had already made a thousand promises in order to change himself, to be better for you... but none of them seemed to convince you. On the other hand, he also wanted to have the courage to get over you and end things for good. However, nothing seemed to overcome how fucking crazy he was about you.

You nodded in defeat, the sadness in your expressions almost making Channie give in. Almost. But he knew just how to fix your disappointed face. The man hurriedly pulled down the straps of your dress, letting the fabric rest below your breasts. Wasting no time, he sucked on them, letting the saliva drip on your skin. Even bitting on them just to feel you pull his hair.

He pulled you by the waist, positioning your body right on top of his cock — the thin fabric of his pants letting you feel almost all of it. He left a slap on your thigh, silently demanding that you start moving — his busy mouth was only able to emit an almost annoyed hum. You grinded down carefully, speeding up as soon as you realized that the position was perfect to stimulate your clit. You could feel him throbbing under you and that was too tempting.

You struggled to get him out of his pants, wanting to feel it closer. Sitting right on top of it when you finally managed to do it, now grinding the wet length against your panties — the movement hitting just right on your swollen clit. You moaned softly, mentally thanking the soundproof walls of the studio.

"Channie.", you knew you could cum like that, but you didn't want to. He finally stopped sucking your tits.

"What do you want now, princess? I'll be good today, I'll even let you choose.", his fingers opening your folds more, making you feel his cock with more intensity. "Want my tongue inside your little pussy?", he rubbed his nose against yours as if he was going to kiss you — it was pure teasing. You shook your head, face frowning, it was pretty obvious what you wanted. "Oh, so you want to get fucked already, sweetheart? Are you that needy?", if you were being honest, that was the only thing on your mind — you didn't even think you needed to get stretched out first. He nodded, your innocent face making Channie smile nastily. "Get on all fours then, princess. I'll give it to you just the way you like it."

[...]

Your nails almost pierced the sofa's fabric, it wasn't your fault though, you needed to take the sensation out on something. You felt him so deep, filling you to the brim, making a mess out of your little hole. In moments like these, you lose all your composure. Swore you could go as far as shamelessly admitting you were fucking addicted to his cock — and you would probably feel pathetic after the high came down, but Chris had the ability to make you act like a bitch in heat. The horniness always spoke louder than you ever could, forcing your body against his, trying to fuck yourself harder. But a sudden slap on your ass made you halt your attempts.

"Can you fucking stay still?." he sounded irritated, your walls tightened almost immediately — a detail that didn't go unnoticed by him. "You know better than move when I'm fucking you. Thought I already taught you that, princess.", his hand tangled in your hair again. He made pressure, forcing you face against the couch. Thrusts getting slower, it was all on purpose — he wanted to punish you little.

"Channie-"

"Shhhhh. Like that, see? Stay still.", he whispered, burying himself deep inside and grinding into your cervix. Chris smiled mischievously when he saw your legs trembling, he loved how dumb you got for cock. You were drenched, slick running down the inside of your thighs. It was good, but it wasn't enough. You wanted to be fucked for real, you needed Chris to break you — the way he always did.

"Daddy, please...", you pleaded with the sweetest tone you could muster. Even with your face muffled against the couch, you knew he could hear it. The nickname wasn't used for nothing, you knew very well what it did to Chris — it was one of the man's biggest guilty pleasures, something he only let slip out when he was almost out of his mind.

Your memory full of all the times he had asked you to "let daddy fill your little pussy" when he was right about to cum. There was no better time to take advantage of it — the length spasming inside you only confirming the fact. You heard the man mumble something you couldn't identify, his hand letting go of your hair and gripping your waist tightly. You knew you had won him over. The thrusts increased the pace.

"Fucking slut.", an intoxicated smile decorated his features. Oh, you were so sure you won him over. His calloused hands forced you against his hips as if you were a toy, you whimpered, unable to deal with the change in pace. You felt Chris slap you a few times, he seemed not to be measuring his strength, hitting you without mercy.

"Channie!" you complained, but it was just pretend — you both knew.

"So I'm not "daddy" anymore? Hm? If you want to act like a whore, you gotta learn how to take it.", he sounded groggy. You throbbed, getting wetter — if it was possible. He brought one of his hands to between your legs, desperately playing with your clit. "Daddy's little slut gonna cum? Yeah? You're squeezing me so fucking tight, baby.", your body writhed, unable to handle it.

You were barely able to grasp when you tipped over the edge, your eyes squeezed shut, releasing a few tears in the process. The man didn't stop thrusting. He used your sensitive body, almost as if he couldn't hear the painful way you whimpered beneath him. It was delicious and torturous at the same time.

"Gonna cum inside you, love. Ah! Fuck, l-like that...", he moaned in a daze, not even aware of what he was saying — a clear sign that he was right about to cum. "I fucking love you... you're mine, love. R-right? Mine.", his body trembling, the orgasm taking away any and all signs of sanity for a few seconds. Chris' soft moans made you squeeze tighter, messing with him even more, filling you up until it leaked.

It took a while for your sensitive bodies to calm down.

Chris was now resting on top of your body, holding his own weight to not crush you against the sofa. He stood up suddenly, his presence disappearing for quite some time. Mind still hazy, you felt him turn your body around, opening your legs to clean the mess he made. You were exhausted, usually falling weak like this whenever you two had sex — Channie was the perfect sleeping pill, he always put you to sleep.

A soft blanket was placed on top of your body and your eyes closed almost automatically. You felt a long and soothing kiss on your lips, body lighting up, you couldn't hold back a smile. You missed this so much... you would even feel a little sad if you weren't so tired.

"Good night, love.”

# — © 2025 hansoleil ᯓ★ masterlist.

[delusiondolly]

𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

✫ Where are you going?

✫ Headlock

✫ Needy girl.

✫ Railway (WIP)

✫ In person

✫Baby daddy

[delusiondolly]

𝐇𝐞𝐲𝐲, 𝐈’𝐦 𝐒𝐤𝐲♡︎

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈’𝐦 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫!!!

❥ 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 !!! (𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐥).

❥ 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 , 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝😭.

❥ 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞!!!

❣︎ 𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ❣︎

��𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 ℐ 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉ℯ

❥ 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬.

❥ 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 , 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 , 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 , 𝐞𝐭𝐜.

❥𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 ℐ 𝒹ℴ𝓃’𝓉 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉ℯ

❥ 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐧!

𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞.

[delusiondolly]

Trophy Husband - Chapter 7

Hyunjin x Reader (fem.) Genre: Arranged Marriage au!, Marriage of Convenience-ish, Romance, Angst, Frenemies-to-Lovers, NSFW (mdni) Warnings: handjob, mentions of cursing, drinking, crude language, somewhat proofread WC: 5.4k A/N: this was a much calmer (👀) chapter but very necessary for their relationship. I had so much fun, giggling as I wrote, so I hope you all enjoy it too! Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated! Happy reading! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Two individuals with polar opposite lifestyles are thrown into an arranged marriage for the benefit of both their families, or so they claim. One is a frivolous playboy, living off familial wealth, while the other is an overly controlling workaholic. Navigating their marriage with a business-like approach, their relationship is marked by a whirlwind of bickering, banter, and societal pressures. Amid misunderstandings, they uncover layers of unexpected qualities, eventually discovering a sweet love neither saw coming.

Missed a chapter? - Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

CHAPTER 7 ───────────────────

They say that artists lack social skills. 

That they had their heads in the clouds.

Dreamers.

Perhaps some part of those stereotypes had been true.

The ambitious Yeom heiress had seemed to fit into just that. Once upon a time.

When her carefree world hadn’t shattered yet, fragile shards still held together. 

The then-art student grunted into the phone that was pressed against her ear, rushing through the corridors of her academy.

   “—And you seriously sent Alex of all people?” Y/N had muttered to her mother on the other end, her annoyance evident in her expression.

   “He went to familiarize himself with his school, starting next semester. It just happened to be in the same area as yours. You barely come home, can’t I be worried?” Her mother feigned with a twinge of concern in her voice.

Of course she wasn’t truly worried. An excuse to see how she was faring, to keep an eye on her. 

Y/N ran to her dorm, spotting her cousin leaning against the wall next to her door, a scowl that was forever a part of his expressions, pasted on his face. Perhaps they were family after all, seeing as both cousins loved to scrunch their faces into such expressions.

   “Why did you move out of your penthouse suite?” Alex’s first words dripped with disdain as he glanced around at the cramped, dingy hallways of the dorm.

The room that she had shifted into sometime ago, leaving behind the luxurious high-rise flat her father had gotten her just outside campus. 

   “None of your business.” Y/N groaned, pulling out her room keys to unlock. 

Alex was dressed in his pristine school uniform, ironed and well put together. His hair had been styled, and gelled back. Clearly out of place in these narrow, worn halls. He was a walking reminder of the wealth they came from.

The younger cousin’s head whipped around, his eyes scanning the small room. Cluttered with art supplies, canvases stacked haphazardly in a corner, stuff he would’ve tripped over if he hadn’t been paying attention.

   “Wow, I knew you were a slob, but this is next level.” The cousin snickered, his eyes settling on Y/N’s unamused expression.

   “Why are you here?” She knew there was another reason why her insufferable cousin was standing in the middle of her room, her parents well aware that she wouldn’t sit down to have lunch with him, let alone have the time to entertain him.

Alex’s fingers swiped at her drawing table, inspecting the small thing pushed in a corner, a petty gesture to further insinuate that she was living in filth, willingly too.

   “There’s an event tomorrow—some Seo guy or whatever’s wedding. We have to go on behalf of the family.”

Of course. It was always one ridiculous obligation or another. Her parents only thought of her when they needed a stand-in, when they were too busy to care for the “family image” themselves. They never considered how much time she actually had, or the fact that she wasn’t sitting around idle. 

Instead, she was expected to play along. Dress up, flash polite smiles. Their perfect, dutiful daughter. 

Because to them, painting and drawing weren’t even real work. A hobby she would outgrow if they indulged her long enough. These two years in art school were viewed as nothing more than another fleeting adventure.

Y/N opened her mouth, ready to respond with a annoyed retort, but before she could get a word out, the door swung open.

   “Is your lock broken agai—” Riwoo froze at the door, eyes darting between Alex and an equally surprised Y/N.

The older man’s eyes settled on the well-dressed man that stood across him, Alex’s brows furrowed in obvious disdain.

   “How rude.” He muttered, his eyes raking over Riwoo’s humble appearance before he raised an amused brow at Y/N.

   “And you prefer staying in this closet, where nobodies can come and go as they please? This place over your spacious flat?” The younger man chuckled, attempting to muffle his laughter.

   “Alex.” Y/N’s voice was tight, shooting him a piercing glare of warning, before her eyes settled back on Riwoo, whose brows furrowed at the jab.

Furrowed in confusion from his words.

   “My cousin, Alex. He’s leaving.” She attempted to press a strained smile, nudging at the younger man.

   “And who is he?” Alex narrowed his gaze, refusing to budge without an answer as his eyes darted between both art students.

Y/N stiffened slightly. Worried if her family found out about Riwoo, they wouldn’t leave her alone.

   “Ah, I’m Riwoo Min, Y/N’s—”

   “Senior!” She cut in, big eyes peering into Riwoo’s stunned expression.

   “Alex, leave. I’ll show up tomorrow.” She promised, pushing the cousin who had clearly caught on that there was something suspicious going on between them, out the room.

The door closed with a click, yet the silence that settled after the exit of the insufferable cousin was intense. 

   “Riwoo I’m so—”

   “I knew it.” He muttered, his voice tight, a twinge of hurt creeping into his words. 

His gaze, once fixed on her, now dropped to the floor of her cramped dorm room.

Y/N rushed forward, almost frantically grabbing at his arms.

   “Riwoo please hear me out. My family, they can’t-they can’t find out that—”

   “That you’re dating a nobody like me?” His voice cracked as the hurt in his eyes flared in his gaze when he looked at her.

A silent gasp escaped Y/N, her mouth opening, but no sound came out.

   “Was it fun?” His tone slowly shifted, the hurt morphing into something darker. 

A rising resentment perhaps?

His brows furrowed as anger began to simmer beneath the surface, slowly seeping out as this new revelation settled.

   “Cosplaying as a struggling art student? Living off of scraps to follow your dreams—was it fun?”

It seemed that in an instant, he had pieced it all together. Figuring out that she was a well-off heiress from the mere glimpse of her polished and wealthy cousin. From the younger man’s insinuation that she had a spacious residence.

That she had a life much better, much shinier than this dingy and cramped room.

A fact she had kept hidden, afraid that Riwoo, who was nothing like her, who worked part-time jobs to afford his art supplies, wouldn’t want to befriend her. Wouldn’t want to date her. Their worlds are too different, their status divided. 

Afraid that he would never want someone like her.

   “N-no I wanted to tell you. I just-I just wanted to find the right time!” She stammered, tugging desperately at his sleeve, her eyes brimming with tears.

   “For two years?” His voice rose, loud and furious in the small space. 

His upset gaze, his anger, almost glared down at his girlfriend who was a secretly wealthy heiress.

Y/N bit back the sob that rose in her throat. There was no excuse. She tried to protect him. Tried to protect their relationship, from the pressures and theatrics of high society scandals that would surely come if he knew who she really was. If it ever came out that the Yeom heiress was in love with a poor, struggling painter.

She tried to protect her freedom.

Riwoo rubbed his face in frustration, exhaling a groan before straightening up. His gaze finally met hers, his eyes colder than they had ever been.

   “No wonder.” His tone dropped, cold. 

Much colder than Y/N had ever heard, and suddenly he was distant, his expression as sharp as ice.

   “No wonder someone like you can easily get into this art school—you’re-you’re not even that good.” He muttered the last part moreso to himself, shaking his head in frustration.

Y/N froze. His words piercing into her.

   “What…what do you mean?” She found herself mumbling.

Riwoo’s eyes bore into hers. The anger that simmered beneath the hurt now fully took over. Hot, burning. Just like the words he had uttered next.

   “You suck Y/N.” 

────────────────────────

The melancholy lingered in the air in the gallery director’s apartment, Hyunjin still holding her in his embrace. 

The sobs had subsided, leaving behind low sniffles in their place. Her form had stopped trembling, melting into the warmth that his bare chest brought. His brows were still furrowed, clear frustration and worry etched on his face as he stared into the wall behind her.

He attempted to pull away, just enough to get a glimpse of her. Enough to allow his worried eyes to rake over her face, in hopes to comfort himself and the panic that surged through him before he pulled her into his arms. To make sure she was okay. 

But as soon as he shifted, Y/N’s arms, which had been pressed against his chest, moved swiftly, wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. The sudden action made his arms falter, his eyes widening in surprise.

   “T-tighter.” She murmured against his skin, her wet eyes peering over his shoulder to look at her painting.

He obeyed without a word, his arms tightening around her. One arm sprawling over her lower back, the other gently pressing her head to his shoulder.

Another speck of silence passed, allowing the wife who easily grasped the reason behind her sudden tears, to calm herself. The thrum of Hyunjin’s heart beating against hers, comforting her effortlessly, she wondered why she hadn’t done this before.

Embraced him like she had wanted to every now and then.

   “They’re supposed to be a set of three paintings. The view from my dorms back in art school.” Y/N whispered, her breath warm against his skin.

   “I only painted one. That’s why you’re unable to recognize what it should be.” She continued.

It easily dawned on her silent husband that the few paintings that sat in the dark shelves of the closet belonged to her. Created by her, his wife who wasn’t just an art collector but a painter hearself. A side of her he hadn’t glimpsed since they were teenagers. Since he had seen her holed away in the art-rooms back in school the few rare instances they crossed paths.

   “It’s still a nice painting. Even incomplete.” His soothing words easily fell out of his lips.

She inhaled, allowing his compliment to settle. Pushing back the surge of fresh tears that threatened to overtake, instead took in his voice. His words, and the warmth they brough. Along with the soft thrum of his heart beating, his fingers grazing softly on her, all suddenly made her cheeks tingle. Heavily aware of the bareness of his embrace, the shirt that was littered somewhere by their feet in their rushed movements. The shirt that was removed because she had urged him to do so. 

Because they were supposed to talk. 

Because they were going to take whatever it was that they had, another step further. The unusual dynamic that was their relationship.

Because they weren’t going to talk. Rather they would have rushed into the bedroom, with their clothes leaving a trail behind them. Just like Hyunjin’s shirt on the floor.

Because Hyunjin was going to show her his playboy persona, the glimpses she had gotten the past few days prepared her enough she believed.

Her heart began pounding. At the feelings that coursed through her, from the embarrassment that settled after. 

Embarrassed that she had cried in the heat of the moment. Their fiery kisses, burning touches. Her tears easily doused the blaze that had ignited between them.

Embarrassed that this was now the second time Hyunjin comforted her in such a vulnerable state, watching her cry like some loser.

Her face must be a mess. And the fact that she was worried the sight would turn him off now, even after having witnessed it once that day of their wedding, she realized that she liked him more than she thought.

Though, perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing either. Another realization that stunned her slightly.

Hyunjin carefully untangled their forms, gently pulling her away from the new swirling thoughts in her mind. His eyes met hers, a soft gaze that seemed to pierce through the dimness of the corridor they stood in. The sudden focus made her stiffen, an urge to kiss him rising within her, to embrace him again.

She hadn’t felt these feelings in such a long time, it felt slightly overwhelming.

Her husband’s hand grazed against her cheek, fingers tenderly wiping away the lingering traces of tear stains, the smudged mascara that she was worried about. Then he smiled. A curve of his lips, even more softer than the touch of his hand.

   “You should get washed up.” 

She found herself blinking, his words taking a moment to process. The suggestion unexpectedly caught her off guard. Although, it would have been slightly crazy for him to dive back in and litter her with kisses like he had before she was sobbing in his arms. 

But she wouldn’t have complained, nor would she have been shocked if he did do so, something only Hyunjin would be able to attempt and would get away with.

Another surprising thought.

What a revelation for the gallery director.

Hyunjin groaned into his hands, his eyes peering over the fingers that muffled the frustration threatening to spill. His gaze settled on the bathroom door, the sound of the running shower distant but loud enough to reach him from his spot on the recliner.

He tried to keep a calm composure, allowing her to only see his gentle expressions, yet as soon as she was comforted, enough to listen to his suggestion and head in for a much-needed shower, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander. The panic, the worry from earlier returning in fresh waves.

He wondered if something happened on her trip. Or if he had done something so stupid by touching those paintings, hanging it up. Maybe there were sad memories attached to those, and he had easily pushed her back into them. The trophy husband wanted to ask. The questions gnawed at him.

But would she tell him? It didn’t seem like she was ready to talk about it, let alone tell him anything at all. The sharp sting of that realization cut deeper than expected.

What were they really? Friends? He hoped not. He prayed not. Especially when he wanted her this bad.

He exhaled heavily, dragging his fingertips down his face before cupping his mouth, his eyes still lingering on the bathroom door.

Or maybe… maybe she was just using him to work through her own stress. Give him a taste of his own medicine. Play with him like he had done with others in the past. A possibility that sounded pathetic, but he didn’t hate it entirely. Another sad fact for the supposed playboy.

The door clicked open, the sound sharp enough to make Hyunjin sit up straight, his anxious gaze following her as she stepped out. A rush of steam trailed behind her, dissipating quickly in the cool bedroom air. Her eyes locked onto Hyunjin across the room, and suddenly, the recliner he’d dragged in front of the balcony doors, felt miles away.

Y/N moved slowly, her soft footsteps carrying her toward the bed, perfectly made and waiting for her. Hyunjin’s touch was evident in the way he straightened the sheets, arranged the pillows. A neatness she was great at undoing with such ease.

She could feel his eyes on her, her heart quickening as his gaze lingered, burning on her skin.

The rustle of sheets echo loud in the silence. One that wasn’t quite awkward, yet not entirely comfortable. A tense silence, heavy with anticipation. The kind of silence that made them both nervous. 

The two had beat themselves up alone, Hyunjin sitting on the recliner, Y/N under the hot shower. Yet it seemed, all that had disappeared. The frustrations, the embarrassments, forgotten as they locked eyes. 

Y/N’s head sank into the pillow, her body shifting to face him. Slowly, she reached up, pulling back the duvet she’d tucked herself under, revealing the space beside her, the space he often fell into after she drifted into her sleep. An unspoken invitation to come to bed. 

Her husband found himself moving on his own, lifting his body off the leather of the recliner, legs stretching out until he stood by the bed. His figure towered over her, his gentle gaze flitting over her before he shifted under the sheets.

The silence stretched, the nervousness increasing by every second that passed.

Y/N’s eyes raked over him, lying on his back, his eyes kept on the chandelier that they had bickered over once. Clearly tense, clearly unsure of what to do. The sight was slightly astonishing to Y/N, a small smile tugging on her lips as she read the nervousness written on his expression, his eyes refusing to meet hers.

It seemed this playboy was too afraid to make a move. Even though earlier in the evening his fingers had groped and tugged at any part of her he could grab. When he had pulled her into that bone-crushing embrace. 

A thought that made her stifle a laugh. 

Instead she leaned forward, her entire form shifting closer to his, arms wrapping around him. An action that made him stiffen immediately. His head darting, eyes shooting over her as she pressed against him.

Why was he so awkward at such little intimate moments when they’ve shared kisses that had literally snatched her breath away, when he tongue-fucked her just to soothe her frustrations. 

Another side, a soft side of her husband that she hadn’t truly expected to see, let alone find herself smiling against his chest. A cute side of her playboy husband.

The soft thrum of his heartbeat began to steady as his arms slowly draped over her, coming to terms with the fact that she wasn’t going to pull away. The soothing sound of his pulse, the warmth of his embrace, were just enough to lull her into the deep slumber she needed.

She knew his embrace would have such an effect, ever since the moment the thought had crossed her mind. Chiding herself for not giving into her curiosities much sooner.

But as the night settled, so did Hyunjin’s unease. Rather, the burning tinge on his cheeks increased the more his wife relaxed in his arms.

He felt like a teenager all over again. The first time he garnered the attention of a girl, the first time he held someone’s hand, all returning back to him anew. It was astonishing, how the smallest of grazes, the gentlest of touches, were able to ignite these feelings inside him. 

Infatuation, adoration. 

Love. 

The feelings felt so much better than any physical intimacy he’s ever had. 

A sad fact for the playboy? Or not, seeing as he stared down at her sleeping expression with nothing but affection. The soft hum of her breaths, just enough to make him fall deeper in love.

He knew he’d dream of her. Like he’s done for the past uncountable nights. Every time he kissed her like a maniac but got too scared to continue further. Too worried he came across desperate, that his rushed actions would overwhelm her, he had these sort of dreams. One where her fingers grazed against her skin, her lips attached to him. 

Lingering, trailing. Down his jaw, down his throat. So intense so real.

He inhaled, a sleepy moan escaping his lips, his slumber breaking at how real it felt.

Except as he fluttered his eyes open he realized it wasn’t a dream. 

That Y/N was in fact kissing him. 

Her lips grazed, trailing. Down his jaw, over the flesh of his throat. 

The tickling sensation of her hair falling over him. Real, real. So damn real.

He sucked in a deep breath, a sharp sound erupting the silence, between the sound of her kisses against his skin.

Wide eyes stared up at his wife. The one who was kissing him, pulling away to peer down at him. 

Not a dream. Not anything like his dreams, much better than those conjured fantasies. 

Her lips tugged a smile, slightly teasing, slightly something else. Looking down at him as her eyes raked over his face in the light of day, simply taking in his stunned expression.

   “Morning.” She whispered, a slight rasp in her voice, yet still sweet to her husband who was infatuated with her.

He opened his mouth, but nothing but a voice crack emitted out of his lips. Unable to formulate any words, he swallowed. Attempting to soothe his heart, the phantom feeling of her plush lips still warm against him. He attempted to suppress the thoughts, the ones that made his heart ache, an even more painful ache in his crotch.

Both Y/N’s and Hyunjin’s eyes trailed down to the bulge of his erection, the morning-wood that definitely took life because of her, her lips that couldn’t keep away from his skin. Especially when he looked so pretty even in his sleep.

Especially when she had finally realized exactly how much she felt for her husband.

Hyunjin’s eyes darted to her, swallowing hard again. Embarrassed that simple kisses were enough to turn him on, like some pre-teen having his first wet dream.

Too scared to move, too scared to say something. Hoping she hadn’t noticed, or that she would ignore it.

Hoping she would wrap her hands around his—

He inhaled sharply, his eyes shooting open even wider at the feeling of her fingers, the warm fingers that grazed at the fabric of his bottoms. Unaware of when it had even rustled under the sheets. 

It was a gentle graze, hot against the erection in his pants begging now to be freed, to be taken care of.

Her hand settled at the waistband, gleaming eyes flickering up to meet his ones that had been staring at nothing but her. At her expression as she tested the waters. Her eyes locked with his intently, watching him suck back another breath as she finally dove under his waistband, her fingers wrapping around his cock.

   “Y-Y/N…” He finally found his voice, a shaky whisper falling through his lips as he shut his eyes.

Mind still trying to grasp this surreal moment. Trying to focus on how her grip felt on him. So much better than he had imagined.

But she didn’t move, her fingers doing nothing but holding him, feeling him, tortuous almost. His eyes desperately pleaded, hands grabbing at her free hand between them.

   “Please move.” He muttered, his voice a little louder than before, definitely more desperate.

He was one second away from rutting into her grasp, fucking her fist, but it seemed she took pity and decided to give him what he wanted. Her lips thinned into a smirk as his eyes instantly screwed shut. Head falling back deeper into his pillow as she slowly started pumping, her fingers running up his shaft to collect the beads of precum that weeped out of his tip.

The feeling of her warm fingers working, instantly shot hot waves of pleasure through his body. His eyes flutter open, watching her concentrate on pleasuring him, and he moans softly, his abs tensing. 

Unable to believe this was happening, unable to control himself. His brows furrowing, eyes shutting. 

She glanced back up to take in the pretty sight of him getting worked up for a second, before she thumbs over his leaking slit once again, grazing almost, yet it’s just enough for his hips to buck up harshly into her fist almost immediately. His erection throbbed in her hand and he watched through droopy lids, biting back.

   “Please…” Hyunjin chokes out, feeling her stroking at the same snail-pace she had started with.

He needed more, he needed her to do something, anything to get him to release. 

His wife’s eyes flitted back up to meet him, his hazy gaze awaiting in anticipation. In desperation. The pleading expression, the begging tone made her feel emotions she’s never felt before.

Slightly surprised, mostly turned on.

Y/N gave in easily, he definitely needed to be rewarded after everything he had done for her these past few days.

The grip getting firmer, slowly tugging again.

His arm draped over his face, trying to fight his embarrassment, hiding the fluster this situation brought. 

The pleasure drawn on his face.

Her fingers begin pumping at a faster pace, gliding up and down easily. The groans that leave his lips sound familiar, like the ones she had heard that night she walked in on him, muffled behind his arm. His eyes peek out in time to catch hers locking onto him, a whispered “fuck” escaping into his flesh as she began flicking her wrist even faster, a slew of curses immediate falling from his lips.

He felt like a teenager, the way he released so fast, grunting into his muscle.

A guttural groan piercing the tense atmosphere. A sound that pleased her plenty, seeing the way her lips tugged into a grin, peering down at the only part of his face visible to her. His parted lips swallowed back as he began to settle from his high, the embarrassment surging down almost instantly.

He believed he’d last, his mind conjuring up all types of scenarios the moment she began jerking him off. All kinds of things he would do to her. But maybe the only cocky part of him was his thoughts, while in reality he still couldn’t grasp the situation. That she had in fact fulfilled one of his secret fantasies so easily, while he writhed in her grasp, unable to mutter a coherent sentence. Unable to even meet her gaze without his cheeks burning, entire body flushing.

The slap of the waistband of his bottoms, hitting against his skin resonated with a muffled thump as she pulled her hands out of his pants, her fingers coated in his release. She shifted in her spot, her clean hand nudging his arm out of his face, staring down at his wide, gleaming eyes that darted between hers.

   “Need coffee.” She hummed, her satisfied expression radiating almost, her lips brushing against him for a second at most before she’s gone.

The cold of the room replaced the body-heat she left behind on spot she once was, the bathroom door closing with a click, leaving her playboy husband utterly lost, utterly dazed. Craving for more.

Y/N washed her hands, and as she watched the water swirl down the drain, it finally hit her.

The fact that she had done something so bold, when she had never done something like that in her life surging down on her. Her eyes darted to meet her own in the mirror reflection, the tingle of a blush creeping on her face as she swallowed.

Images of Hyunjin’s expression, eyes screwed shut from the pleasure her touch brought, flashing in her gaze.

   “Fuck.” The word left her lips in a whisper, hand slowly covering as the aftermath of her actions settled.

She had only just realized how bad she wanted him, and she couldn’t even wait a night? How sex deprived must she have been? 

But of course, the gallery director was great at pretending, putting on a composed mask as if she wasn’t banging her head against the wall in the bathroom.

Her eyes peered out of the room to find Hyunjin starting a pot of coffee in the kitchen, where she scurried over to. He had changed out of his soiled bottoms, clearly grabbing the first pair of pants he could find, mismatched with the pajama shirt he wore, but still somehow managed to make it look good on him.

   “I’m going into work later today, so I have time. Drink with me.” She said with a smile, leaning casually against the island counter .

Her gaze lingered on the marble surface, its marble smoothness suddenly evoking memories from just a few days ago. Memories that made her ears and cheeks burn. Then her eyes shifted.

The dark haired man cleared his throat, pulling two mugs from the cupboard, his eyes avoiding hers as his heart thudded wildly in his chest. But as he turned, his expression faltered, noticing where her gaze had landed.

On the painting. The one that had brought her to tears. The one that was hers. Incomplete creation.

   “Should I remove it?”

His question made her straighten up, her eyes shifting to meet his gaze, soft and searching.

   “No. It…it looks nice there.” She finally concluded.

His gaze lingered on her, studying her a little longer. As though he didn’t quite believe her, trying to uncover something more, something hidden beneath the surface. Perhaps her true feelings.

   “I’m okay now. Don’t worry.” She smiled, a genuine one.

The kind of smile that effortlessly pulled at her husband’s heartstrings, though, today, it didn’t seem enough to quell the storm within him.

Hyunjin wanted to ask. To understand, to ease the nagging questions in his mind. The ones that circled around why she had cried, why the set of paintings were left unfinished.

He wanted to be the one she turned to, to be the husband who could comfort her through anything and everything.

A bitterness engulfing him when he realized would never be that to her crossed his mind.

   “And us..?” He found his thoughts blurted out before could even register that he asked

His eyes grew big as it hit him. However, it only took a moment before his bitterness took over, his body moving toward her, a step closer to the woman standing before him, caught off guard by his sudden vulnerability, the shift in the air.

   “Are we okay? After what happened the other night, last night... this morning? Are we—” His words faltered, his gaze dropping, brows furrowing as another realization hit.

They weren’t “we”.

   “No. What are we?” His voice dropped.

Hyunjin hated how pathetic he sounded. He had always carried himself with confidence, the cocky nature of the black-sheep of the Hwang family.

The flings, the fleeting relationships, nothing ever tied him down, and yet, here he was, wrapped around her finger without her even knowing it.

He didn’t deserve to ask these questions, especially when deep down he knew he should have been content with the idea of simply being by her side. Just as a plaything. As her trophy husband, and nothing more.

But Hyunjin was pathetic. Madly in love with his wife who was seemingly attracted to him too, but didn’t love him back. His heart clenched at the thought. Bitterly, sweetly.

Y/N froze at his question, a flicker of concern in her eyes as she caught the hurt gleaming in his gaze.

She wondered if her actions had offended him. If what he did the other night was truly nothing but a favor, truly nothing else but him helping her unwind, things someone like her playboy husband wouldn’t even bat an eye at if it was fun for him too. 

But the idea fizzled from her mind as soon as it surfaced.

She remembered his hands. Clammy fingers tightly gripping hers as they counted down floor numbers in the elevator last night. 

She recalled his embrace, his arms around her, tight but tender, his words soft and soothing in her ear. Promising she’ll be okay. 

His words when he called her paintings pretty, the fond expression she glimpsed flashing in her eyes.

Actions that didn’t match the persona of a playboy. Yet, were actions that fit this man standing in front of her now.

She remembered what he said when he showed up in the parking lot, his smile, his gentle voice. An excuse to hold her hand maybe, but still enough for it to stick, swirling on her mind.

“I came to pick up my wife.”

Y/N straightened, stepping toward him, closing the gap between them until they were inches apart.

   “We’re husband and wife.” 

Her hands naturally found him, arms wrapping around his neck, tugging him closer.

Her lips found his, and everything else fell away. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

── ask to be tagged! (18+) - @jellyleggz, @binniesbabe, @bookswillfindyouaway, @lemonn015, @scarlet789, @onlyhyunjin, @freekyfangirl, @candyquokka, @jehhskz, @stayjinnie, @suzyhhj , @minh0scat, @qwonyoung23, @d34thon2legs, @dessianna1, @kpopjackie, @rundontwalkshesaid, @sheerfreesia007, @thecutiepieme, @danihwang882, @hyunebunx, @seeeeking-skz, @hanadulsetaad, @velvetmoonlght, @alrm02, @tirena1, @hityoulikebahng, @tsunderelino, @cybergracie, @notevenheretbh1, @piscesrising01, @alisonyus, @hyuneyeon, @broken-glowsticks, @modesttiger, @gnabnahcbby, @shhyucm, @hanniesdegree, @lenfilms, @sushiinmidnight, @chrisbangsass, @fixation-dump, @minluvly, @loxgirl2004, @aeri-skzver, @ellemir2404, @mariahxrrera, @t1eekn0wsaurus, @aprilmaejune77, @amenabiii [CLOSED]

[delusiondolly]

This was tea!!!

𝓑US𝓣 𝓨𝓞UR 𝓚N𝓔𝓔 𝓒A𝓟S 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 방찬

you can't seem to get away from your ex husband, no matter how hard you try.

⧼ 🩹 ⧽ 一 𝓹a𝓲r𝓲n𝓰 ⸝⸝⸝ ex husband!bang chan 𝓍 fem!reader 𝓲nc𝓵u𝓭e𝓼 ⚬ ⚬ ⚬ unnamed oc daughter

𝓰e𝓷𝓻e ⚬ ⚬ ⚬ non-idol au, smut, angst, porn with plot

𝔀arn𝓲n𝓰𝓼 ⸝⸝⸝ dubcon, street fighter and underground boxer!chan, criminal!chan, mentions of jail and gangs, graphic descriptions of blood and injury, toxic and possessive behavior, toxic ex!chan, manipulation, explicit language and sexual content, soft dom!chan, degredation and praise kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampies, dirty talk, breeding kink, impregnation mentions, clit slapping, daddy kink, squirting 𝔀𝓸r𝓭 c𝓸un𝓽. 6. 2 k | ⧼ 🥊 ⧽ 一 𝓽𝓸 𝓵i𝓫rar𝔂.

♫ 𝓫u𝓼𝓽 𝔂𝓸ur 𝓴nee ca𝓹𝓼 ❪ 𝓳o𝓱nn𝔂 𝓭on'𝓽 𝓵eave 𝓶e ❫ 一 𝓹𝓸m𝓹𝓵am𝓸𝓸𝓼e

[n𝓸𝓽e𝓼.] my first fic on my new blog! something shorter to start out with <3 this took me a little too long to write i'm afraid since it's my first go at angst themes but i'm pretty proud of how this turned out! this isn't proofread, so please lmk if there are any mistakes! feedback is greatly appreciated <3

THE KNOCK ON THE door makes your heart fall to the pit of your stomach, cutting through the peaceful quiet of your kitchen like a knife. You drop the pot you were scrubbing in shock, clanging loudly as you grip the edges of the sink in a futile attempt to calm the pounding of your heart. At first you think— hope— that you were simply just hearing things, your little skyline apartment falling back into an uncertain silence sprinkled with the pouring rain outside, an atmosphere that no longer felt comfortable. But the knocking starts again, loud enough to be mistaken as thunder, ringing in your ears like alarm bells. You nearly jump out of your skin, your hands shaking as they reach out to turn off the water faucet. There’s only one person who would ever show up at your door this late at night, and you’ve done everything you possibly could to avoid him for the past four months.

It couldn’t possibly be him. It had to be someone else, your landlord or a neighbor or a maintenance man or anyone. You hadn’t told him your new address, hadn’t spoken to him since the day you packed up your daughter and what little you had and left him, never looking back. But you hadn’t called for maintenance, and you hadn’t heard from your landlord, and the way that his fist beat on the door as if it had somehow offended him was unmistakable.

You consider, for a split, mindless moment, that you could simply ignore him. He’s just a man, after all— a weak, spineless one at that, underneath that intimidating façade he loves to hide behind. He’ll give up and leave eventually, you try to convince yourself, but you know him far too well to fall into that blind hope. The knocking only gets louder and more aggressive to the point that you begin to worry that he’ll wake the baby.

The thought alone is enough to get your blood boiling, a red-hot anger overtaking any amount of fear or trepidation that kept you back. You refused to let this coward affect your daughter, wake her up without a single thought or care when you had just spent hours gently rocking her to sleep. Not after everything you’ve went through to keep him away from her.

You hurl the sponge into the sink with a scowl before spinning around and storming to the door. You wrench it open mid-knock, leaving the man on the other side of it standing there with his fist outstretched and blinking at you owlishly.

The sight of him shocks you to your core, despite how much you had tried to prepare yourself— blood drips into his bruised, swollen eye from a large cut on his forehead, just barely visible behind his wet hair sticking to his skin. The rain washes it away, down his chin to drip onto your welcome mat, staining it a faded red in the outline of his scuffed sneakers. He’s drenched down to the bone, the sharp ridges of his pecs and abs visible through his white tee shirt, the thin dark jacket he had draped across his shoulders doing little to protect him from the ever-worsening downpour. His dominant hand he curls protectively against his bloody abdomen; the knuckles are busted, and his pinky finger is twisted unnaturally to the side.

You look back up to his face just in time for him to flash you a weak, wobbly smile, a wounded ghost of the ones that used to send your heart soaring and fill your stomach with butterflies. His plump bottom lip is split down the middle, a jagged crater that threatens to open even further with every movement he made.

“Hey.” he croons, dropping his fist to his side, pained little smile dropping into more of a wince.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” you hiss venomously, praying to any god that would listen that he couldn’t tell how badly you were shaking. “How the fuck did you get my address? Go away before I call the cops. I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again.”

“Come on, baby, wait—” you try to slam the door shut, but he catches it with ease, and even one-handed he’s stronger than you could ever hope to be.

“Don’t fucking call me that, Christopher. Answer my question.” You sneer, biting back hot, painful tears.

If any of your words hurt him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he extends his wounded hand, prying open his fingers with some effort to present you a bloody, crumpled wad of bills.

“For her.” He says simply.

Your eyes rake over the bills as if they were alien, hardly able to muster up the breath needed to scoff at him incredulously. “I don’t want your dirty money.”

You had a sneaking suspicion of just exactly where he had gotten that money from, it was written all over his busted, bleeding face— under no circumstances would you line your pockets with the bettings from street fights, feed and clothe your daughter with money that people had shed blood for. You had told him this when you had left him, given him the choice to leave it all behind or lose everything.

He chose the streets, and you kept your promise.

Yet you don’t have the strength to slam the door in his face, no matter how much you ached with the desire. Chan keeps the bills outstretched, the blood-smeared faces printed on them winking up at you, taunting you.

“Who told you where I live.”

“…A friend. Please, just take it.” He whispers, just short of begging. “I know how badly you need it. He told me you were struggling.”

“You don’t know anything.” you spit, but there’s no fire behind your words anymore. The rain has put it out, left you defeated, feeling betrayed, admiring how the streaks of lightning illuminate Chan’s hunched over silhouette. Your mind wracks itself for whichever one of his goons could have possibly caught sight of you, but you come up empty. You fear he may have found you through an inside source.

 Thunder booms in the distance, much like your heart. The helpless, desperate look in Chan’s big brown eyes sends the rest of your defenses crumbling to dust.

he tries to shuffle his way inside, and you let him— everything inside of you yells at you to stop him, shove him away and close the door, never to look at him again. But you don’t. You slide submissively to the side, open the creaking door open further for him to step into your living room. No matter how hard you try to convince your muscles to move or your mouth to open and retort, all you can do is stand frozen by the door, watching with wide eyes as he drips blood onto the carpet.

He tosses the stack of cash onto the coffee table, the bills unfurling and flying everywhere. You count sixty, maybe seventy thousand won, all those zeroes staring up at you as your mouth goes agape.

You had been losing sleep for days over having to tell your landlord that you would be late on rent for the third time this year. Somehow, you feel like Chris knows that, though it was impossible to tell how— it brought you back to all the times before where you swore that he could read your mind.

It seems that he still could, even out in those dark alleyways, on the other side of the city. Tethered to him. Just what you were afraid of.

“You’re getting blood everywhere,” you finally manage to say, your usually strong voice timid and weak. “at least let me clean you up.”

Mindlessly, you scamper back to your kitchen, bending down to rummage through the cabinet beneath the sink. your first aid kit was still in there somewhere, hidden behind a mountain of cleaning supplies and spare bottles, something from your old life that you had held on to just in case. It was as if you were moving in a trance, just sheer muscle memory, the situation all too familiar; you couldn’t count the amount of times Chan had come home just like this before, back when you were still together, beaten and staggering but grinning victoriously as you carefully clean and bandage him up. It used to excite you, even, in some sick, dark way. He never lost a fight.

But that was before you had gotten pregnant. Before the danger that lurked beneath the surface of your husband’s lifestyle creeped up on you and became all too real.

“I’m fine.” Chan replies gruffly, though the pain in his voice suggests otherwise. “I just want to see my baby girl.”

Your fingers freeze around the first aid kit, all the heat and color draining from your face. “You’re not seeing her.”

“You can’t keep me from her.” Chan replies coldly. “She’s my daughter, too.”

You jump to your feet so fast that your vision goes fuzzy, spinning around to watch with wild eyes as he balances his good hand on the wall and limps his way to the nursery. You hate how he still remembers where it is.

He smears a trail of blood across your tattered wallpaper. The sight of it shocks you into action.

“You get away from her!” You snarl, nearly leaping across the dining table to grab onto the sleeve of Chan’s jacket. “Don’t you dare go anywhere near her!”

He shoves you off effortlessly, his sheer strength nearly sending you flying back against the wall. “Stop acting like I’m going to hurt her.” He growls, making it to the nursery door in the time it takes for you to regain your senses. “You know I’d never let anyone lay a single fucking finger on her.”

He quietly cracks the door open and steps inside, leaving you to follow him biting your tongue— you can’t bear the thought of her waking up, especially now with Chan in the room. She hasn’t seen her father since she was born, and that was only because he had forced his way inside of the delivery room. He was essentially a stranger to her.

And, quite frankly, how she might react if she lays eyes on him again scares the shit out of you.

Chan staggers to the crib, quiet as a mouse, his large frame bending over the railings to look down into it. Your daughter lay on the mattress peacefully asleep, her little chest rising and falling with her soft, steady breaths. You’ve stared at her for hours before, studying every freckle, every wispy eyelash that brushed against her rosy, round cheeks. The way her nose is already starting to look like her father’s, his dimples forming around the upturned corners of her dainty little lips, always giving the impression that she was enjoying her dreams. Whatever they were, you took some comfort in knowing that they were, they’re better than what waits for her when she opens her eyes.  

Chan is nothing short of entranced, grabbing ahold of the crib’s railings with both hands, so tightly that his cracked knuckles were threatening to split back open. He gazes at her sleeping little form with a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before— a fire burning, but not one that hurt or destroyed. Not anything like the fire in his eyes you were used to. It was one that warmed and protected, the watchful, dutiful stare of a weathered knight in armor.

Something warm and heady swirls in your gut, unwelcome but in no way unpleasant. You fixate on his face, unable to look away, and watch awe-stricken as your ex-husband refamiliarizes himself with his daughter’s face.

“She’s grown.” He whispers, undoubtedly able to feel you breathing over his shoulder. His voice is flat and lifeless, but it starts to break at the end— he blinks hard, and you swear for a second that you saw his eyes shiny with tears.

“Oh, she’s a monster.” You reply easily, the rampant emotions swirling around in your head calming down at the sight of your baby peacefully sleeping. Talking about her is soothing, almost therapeutic. “Always hungry. The doctor says she’ll be nearly nine kilograms by the time she’s six months.”

“My little girl… she was so tiny in my arms…” Chan laments, lowering his eyes to look down at his hands. It was like he was looking at someone else’s, shocked by the dirty, bloodied state of them. He suddenly wrenches them from the railings and shoves them in his soaked jacket pockets, the act causing him to grimace with pain. In the peripherals of your vision, you see faint bloody fingerprints smeared across the white wood.

You struggle to keep your voice calm. “She’s gotten so big so fast… it feels like that day was just yesterday.”

Chan’s gaze hardens and grows cold again, his head spinning to stare you down with an ironclad sharpness. “Not to me!” he spits, gritting his jaw. “Not when you wouldn’t let me ever fucking see her, wouldn’t tell me where you were, how you were doing. I’ve been looking for you two for months. How am I supposed to keep you safe, my baby safe? I had to track my family down like dogs. What kind of mother keeps a father away from their child?”

Your shoddy mask of calmness cracks, red hot anger flaring back up again and rising to the surface. Your voice trembles terribly, but the disgust in your words is palpable. “She’s not your fucking baby, Chris! That’s my baby. Mine. You made that call before she was even born. You’re not her family, you’re hardly even her father— you’re nothing to her.”

The last comment strikes a chord within him. He stalks towards you, his dark eyes boring into yours, all that stormy emotion churning in them focusing directly onto you. Chan isn’t exceptionally tall, but you feel so incredibly small underneath him; he looms over you like some kind of predator, his lip curling back into a nasty snarl. “I’m nothing to her because you made it that way.” He seethes, his deep voice growing louder and louder. “Don’t you ever try to put it in my baby’s head that I don’t love her. Stop trying to convince yourself, for fuck’s sake— you both are absolutely everything to me, you know that. Everything that I do is for our future.”

You scoff. “If you really care that much about “our future”, you would have stopped this. Fighting for these clubs. The racing, the gangs. You would have listened to me and left it all behind, gotten a real job. Show me that you actually give a shit and aren’t just blowing smoke up my ass. You’re addicted to this, all of it. It’s sick.”

“You don’t fucking get it, do you?” Chan sneers, shoving his face up against yours. “You just can’t get it into your dumb, pretty little head. What kind of “real job” is gonna take an ex-con? Even if they do, I wouldn’t make nearly as much money as I can out on the streets. All I want to do is provide for you and our daughter; can’t you see that? I’m doing what I have to do to survive. My own future is fucking ruined. You two are all I have left.”

“And you’ll ruin ours too!” you laugh incredulously, directly in his face. “With all your blood money and all the enemies you make. You’re going to get arrested and locked up again, destroy mine and my daughter’s lives— fuck, you’ll get us all fucking killed! What if someone you beat wants revenge?! These are dangerous people, Chris!”

“That’s what I’m trying to protect you from!!” Chan roars, slamming his fist against the crib’s guardrail. His voice and the loud thump startles you, all three of you— you and Chan both peer down into the crib to see your daughter’s peaceful sleeping face screw up, her mouth opening to let out a shrill wail as she kicks out her little chubby legs.

Chan’s face falls, all the bitterness and anger leaving his body in a rush, like he had a bucket of cold water poured over the head. He looks the part, anyway, still dripping wet from the rain, tearing his eyes away from your own to stare down at your daughter as if she were a ghost. Your rage overtakes you to the point it can no longer contain it, your entire body shaking as you manage to grit out two icy words;

“Get out.”

Surprisingly, he does. He takes one last long look at your fussing daughter before slowly turning and shuffling out of the nursery.  Your eyes bore holes into his back as he retreats, expecting him to turn around at any moment with some more nasty words to sling your way… but he never does. He stays completely silent as he shoulders open the door, doesn’t even turn to look back at you as it clicks shut behind him.

Part of you wants to follow him, chase him out snarling and snapping like some guard dog, but your daughter’s frightened little cries tug painfully at your heart strings. Tears of your own pool in your eyes as you carefully lift her out of her cot and snuggle her against your chest, soothing your hand down her quivering back as she hiccups into your sweater. “Shhh, it’s okay… you’re safe, Mommy’s got you…”

You rock her until she falls asleep again, fighting the entire time not to break out into sobs yourself, and when you finally place her back down into her crib and slip out of the nursery, you’re not at all surprised to see Chan still in your apartment, hunched over on the couch with his head in his hands.

Your apartment looks like a fucking crime scene. For the first time tonight you’re able to take everything in, all the blood dripped on the floor and smeared on the walls. All the muddy shoeprints and puddles of rainwater. The cabinets under the sink are still swung open, your first aid kit left forgotten on the kitchen floor.

You don’t have the energy to be mad at Chan anymore, your gaze lingering back on his weathered frame. You don’t have the energy to feel anything except empty. Depleted.

Wordlessly, you pick the first aid kit off the floor and make your way to Chan. He lets you cup his face without a fight, raise it out of his hands so you can dab an alcohol pad against the cut on his forehead. The sting makes him wince, but he doesn’t try to move away, looking up at you with eyes full of stars as you wipe away the dried blood from his skin. The dim lamp by the couch cast dark shadows across his handsome face, bathing him in a sensual, intimate light. You can’t bear to look back into them, the way they make your heart twist painfully in your chest, deep chocolate brown so effortless to get lost in. You busy yourself with bandaging up his forehead, and then his lip, and then his busted hand.

“Why are you doing this?” Chan whispers softly, the question making you stop in your tracks.

“I… don’t know.” You admit after a long pause. You do it without thinking, just like when he first stepped inside. Your natural response after seeing him hurt so many times before, playing nurse while he boasts to you about his triumphs, fills you with empty promises and proclamations of love. Your hero, swearing to you that you were his savior. Everything in you still aches to soothe him, heal his wounds and numb his pain, be his guardian angel like you used to be before his suffering became your own.

If he were addicted to the fighting, you would be addicted to what came after.

“I know you still love me.” Chan professes boldly, a wild spark in his eye. “I know you do, baby— you know I love you too. More than anything. Why won’t you let this— us—work? Why are you trying to run away from me?”

Your fingers pause in the middle of wrapping up his knuckles in gauze, quivering slightly as you let out an agonized sigh. “It’s not about whenever or not I love you, Chris. I have to put our daughter first. I have to make sure she’ll be safe and happy.”

You barely manage to finish bandaging up his hand, your knotting work far from the best. The minute you let go of him he pulls you right back, his big hands enveloping yours and squeezing tightly. “She will be, I promise. I’ll keep both of you safe, never let anything happen to either of you— I’ve got the means to keep you protected no matter what happens. You’re my everything… I’m so lost without you.”

His bandaged hand slides up to caress your cheek, his skin so bitterly cold. “Channie…” you warn, but you’re the weakest you’ve been all night. Chan can see it in your eyes.

“I was so fucking worried about you.” He continues softly, hushed like he was kneeling for confession. “I’ve missed you so bad… please, baby, don’t ever leave me like that again.”

Breaking feels a lot like letting go. Dropping all your fear and worry, any semblance of rational thought to finally allow yourself to nuzzle into Chan’s touch. He knows you too well, always knows exactly what to say to get your walls to come crashing down, what to do to when the smoke clears and you’re left defenseless amongst the rubble. Because, underneath all the piling resentment and hatred, the divorce, the distance you’ve been fighting for, you truly do still love him. You fear you always will.

Your eyes flutter closed as you bask in Chan’s affection, preen under his loving gaze and delight in the way he cradles you as if you were made of glass— you feel so precious yet so fragile, yielding to a man strong enough to shatter you completely, leave you nothing but a pile of dust and broken shards.

You’ve never felt safer.

“God, you’re so pretty…” he whispers awestruck, under his breath almost as if he were talking to himself. His thumb maps out the curve of your cheekbone, down, down, down to your pliant, pouting lips. The pad of it is hardened and calloused, rough against the soft skin of your bottom lip, but the sensation leaves you aching for more; you open your eyes to bat your eyelashes up at him, open your mouth to invite his thumb to creep inside.

The flash of carnal, animalistic lust in his eyes sends a wave of liquid fire coursing through you, down your spine to where it pools heavy in your belly. You purse your lips around his thumb and suck it in deeper, hollowing your cheeks as if you were sucking on something else entirely. Chan groans deep in his chest, his other fingers curling tight around your chin to pull you towards him. “Fuck. Come here, babygirl.”

You surge forward to capture your lips with his, and he meets you halfway; the pillow softness of his lips are hauntingly familiar against yours, yet somehow they feel completely brand new, like uncharted territory in a land you’ve ventured in countless times before. Any chastity is quickly tossed to the side with the heady sensation of his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, the warmth in your belly heightening into a wild swirl. You’re shocked by your own eager response, opening up immediately to let him ravish your mouth with a forceful domination that left you weak. He pulls you effortlessly onto his lap, your legs spreading to wrap instinctively around his waist, the closeness of your bodies maddening. Your blood pounded in your ears, leapt from your heart with a scalding fire, and made your body tremble, senses reeling as if you had short-circuited. Clashing emotions whirled around in your head, but your consciousness had left you the minute your lips made contact with his. All you can think of is how passionately Chan devoured you, the force of his kiss almost punishing, like a soldering heat that bonds metal. Yet it felt like anything but a punishment, doused in a honeyed sweetness that called to you like a drug, dragged you under the waves of dreamy tenderness, filled your head with thoughts of how good it would feel to let yourself drown.

You kiss him back with reckless abandon, hands reaching out to hold him, anywhere you possibly can— the wispy hairs at the base of his neck, the worn leather of his jacket, the grooves of his defined muscles through the fabric of his wet tee shirt. He crushes you against him, swallows you within his big beefy arms, one of his hands running down the small of your waist to grab a fat handful of your ass. You gasp against his mouth as his touches grow bolder, massaging the globes of your ass and guiding your hips to glide against his. The outline of his half-hard cock pokes at you through his jeans, growing thicker and stiffer with every passing second, pressed perfectly against the curve of your cunt. Your sleep pants are thin enough to where it feels like you’re wearing nothing at all, and when Chan cants his hips up his bulge grinds right against your clit. He does it again, and again, until you’re squirming helplessly against him, panting and moaning into his mouth.

“Chan, we can’t do this…” you manage to stutter out between kisses, the reality of the situation finally beginning to dawn on you again. But Chan ignores your plea, his lips leaving yours to sear a path down your neck and shoulders. He nibbles at your skin, kisses the pulsing hollow at the base of your throat, distracting you enough to slide one of his hands to cup your pussy.

“Yes we can.” He croons against your heated skin, hot tongue escaping between his lips to lick a tantalizing stripe up your neck. “I can feel how wet this pussy is, baby, how needy you are for me. Just let me in, princess, let me take care of you…”

He slides his fingers down your covered slit, your clothes sticking to your mound with your sopping juices, drenched to the point you can’t possibly hide your arousal. Your engorged clit aches, empty hole clenches around nothing… you whimper pathetically in defeat.

“Come on, say it. Say you want me.”

You really were nothing but an addict. Addicted to the power he holds over you.

“fuck, oh f-fuck— right there!”

Chan knows every single spot inside of you to make you scream, his thick cock hitting each one expertly with each of his powerful thrusts. The angle he has you bent in makes you see stars, his big rough hands clasped tight around your ankles to push your legs up against your chest and spread you wide open— he’s never fucked you this roughly before, his feet planted on the mattress to pound into you animalistically, but even then there’s still a bitter tenderness to the way he holds you up against him, gazes down at you in rapture as you fall apart beneath him.

“Yeah? Right there?” He coos, deep Aussie accent dripping with poisoned honey, “Feel me all the way in your tummy, baby? Feel this fat cock splitting you open? Fuck, you’re so tight, sucking me in. Greedy little cunt.” He lets go of one of your ankles to press down on the bulge he’s made in your belly, your trembling leg curling over his shoulder in ecstasy as the pressure in your core increases.

“So deep!” you hiccup stupidly in reply, fisting the sheets as your world explodes and shatters behind your eyelids. His bulbous cockhead slams repeatedly against your cervix in a punishing rhythm, so deep inside of you that you mindlessly fear that he’s pushed through and was fucking your womb. “Deep! S-so fucking big!”

Chan growls like a beast, his efforts doubling in speed and intensity, “Missed this cock, didn’t you, princess? God, listen to how fucking wet you are. Hear how badly this cunt needed me?”

He emphasizes his claim with a particularly harsh thrust, your pussy squelching obscenely around him and filling your dark, quiet bedroom with loud, filthy noises. “C’mon, tell Daddy how badly you missed this.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you worry that you’ll wake up the baby again. Chan fucks you loudly and shamelessly, like he doesn’t care that your daughter sleeps in the room just across the hall... the thought reignites your anger.  You want to accost him, defy him, tell him that you didn’t miss him at all. That you weren’t desperate for him to make you cum and finally leave you satisfied after months of frustration. That you didn’t think of him at night when you played with yourself, or when you took another man to your bed, because as much as it agonizes you no other man has ever made you feel as good as he does. But you couldn’t string the words together, could hardly even think with how pleasure coursed through every fiber of your being. Besides, Chan knows when you’re lying.

“M-missed your c-cock,” you admit between whimpers and moans, your face burning with shame and arousal. “M-missed Daddy’s cock so fucking much, needed it so bad— oh, fuck, Chris, Daddy, please—!”

Chan snatches your hips and tugs you roughly towards him, lifting your bottom half up off the bed to fuck into you impossibly deeper. Your mouth falls open in a gasp of sweet agony, arching your back and tossing your head against the pillows. The show of sheer strength gets you impossibly wetter, your juices coating his heavy balls as they clap wetly against your ass. “Good pussy.” He grunts, his fingers digging bruising indents into the flesh of your waist. “Love this pretty little pussy— gonna fuck it ‘til it’s molded to my cock. Gonna ruin you for anyone except for me. This cunt belongs to me, doesn’t it, baby? God, look at you… taking it like such a good girl.”

His words make your head spin, a searing need building in your core, molten lava beneath your skin heating your thighs and groin. It feels divine, better than you ever remember… but it’s not enough to send you over the edge, give you that release you crave so desperately. “Need more,” you keen, “More, Daddy, please!”

“Greedy girl.” Chan chuckles darkly, the sound going straight to your cunt. “Tell me what you need, baby, and I’ll give it to you.”

You can’t respond, fucked so stupid you don’t know what you’re begging for— Chan tsks like he’s disappointed, letting go of your hips with one hand to grab a rough fistful of your hair. He tugs your head up to look at him, dark eyes dripping with lust and delicious dominance; you struggle to keep your eyes open, your vision swimming and your eyelids drooping from the onslaught of pleasure Chan continues to pound into you. “Too dumb on cock to speak? C’mon, pretty girl, tell Daddy what you want him to do to you.”

He tugs on your hair again, pain erupting across your scalp. It blends with your pleasure to create a heady, dizzying cocktail of ecstasy. You cry out in delight, letting go of the bedsheets to scramble for something sturdier to hold on to, ground you— your hands find purchase on your own tits, bouncing with Chan’s thrusts, and you knead the plump flesh with a wanton sob, your fingers twisting and pinching at your nipples hard enough to make you shake.

“My clit!” you finally manage to whimper out, broken and pathetic. “My clit, my clit— touch me, touch my clit, please!”

He does as he promised, leaning back to spit messily on your clit before letting go of your hair to circle the bud with his thumb. Your head falls back limply onto the pillows, hazy eyes rolling back in your head as you sob and hiccup in uncontrollable pleasure.

“Gettin’ close, babygirl? I can feel it, pussy squeezing me so tight— I’m close too, fuck, gonna cum so fucking deep inside of you!” Chan’s thrusts grow sloppy, his chest heaving as he pants open-mouthed like a dog. “How about that, hm? Want me to put another baby inside of you? So everyone knows not to touch what’s mine? I’ll breed this pussy so fucking full you’ll be dripping my cum for days…”

His words should scare you, should break whatever spell he’s put you under and have you begging him to pull out. But you’ve slipped away from reality, floating mindlessly in an erotic fantasy you’ve convinced yourself is too good to be true. You don’t want to wake up, don’t want to think about what lies ahead of you once Chan leaves your bed once again. You babble and beg for his cum, for him to bring you to your own climax, scratching deep red marks into his chest. They look at home amongst all the bruises.

“Tell me you love me.” Chan grunts abruptly, the rhythm of his thrusts slowing down to barely moving, his cock dragging along your gummy walls deliciously buy far too slowly.

You blink up at him in shock and confusion. “H-huh?”

“Tell me you love me and I’ll make you cum.” He repeats, his eyes boring into yours, a knowing look in his eyes like he can see into your soul. “I love you so much, and I’m gonna show it with all this cum I’m gonna pump into this sweet cunt… don’t you love me too? Just say it and I’ll give you what you want, what you need…”

You’re just on the precipice of orgasm, teetering on the edge but unable to push yourself over, and your poor heart feels so exposed and raw… you can’t help but relent to him, succumb to his desires like you always do.

“I love you! I-I love you, Channie, Daddy, love you s-so much— ah!!”

His hips pick up to a speed that seems nearly superhuman, rutting into you wildly like an animal in heat as he grunts and groans, pinches your clit hard between his thumb and forefinger to make you scream. It feels so good, too good, and big watery tears roll down your cheeks as your body begins to vibrate with your orgasm. You’ve never cried during sex before.

“Let go, my love.” Chan croons, slapping your clit lightly. “Let it all out…”

Your orgasm hits you like a tsunami, a tidal wave of explosive hysteria— with a shriek you squirt everywhere, all over Chan’s hand, belly, thighs, creamy droplets flying with every nasty wet thrust. Your gummy walls spasm around his cock, sucking him in deeper as if to ensure you milk him dry. “That’s it, babygirl, cum for daddy!” Chan howls, intent on talking you through it even as he creeps closer and closer to climax himself. “Fuck yes, such a good girl, making a mess for me— gonna cum now, too, gonna breed this pussy! Ready for it? Gonna take it all, right princess?”

“Yes! Yesyesyes, please, please! Give it to me, daddy!”

He shoots his load deep inside of you with an animalistic growl, hot and thick painting your walls creamy white. It feels never ending, fat cock twitching with every spurt of seed he dumps into your womb, filling you up so much that thick globs of it spills out around him and drips down his balls to mix with the puddle forming on the soaked bedsheets. His legs give out and he collapses against you, gasping for breath with his face buried in your chest; you wrap your weak, trembling arms around his neck, and the two of you dissolve into breathless giggles as you slowly grind against each other ride out your highs. When Chan finally pulls out you see a foamy white ring around the base of his softening cock, sticking in his pubes.

You can feel your spent cunt leak his seed, dripping down your ass— Chan stares at in in awe, his fingers sliding up your sensitive folds to collect it and push it back inside.

“So beautiful…” he whispers, grinning as he admires your creamy bred pussy. His fingers at your hole makes you whimper in overstimulation, and you try to close your legs and squirm away, making him laugh. His eyes crinkle in that adorable way you hate to love so much. “You’re so beautiful.”

You don’t have the heart to make him leave, not when he runs you a warm bath and cleans you up so nicely. Not when he strips the bed and changes the sheets for you so you can lay comfortably, holding you close and whispering sweet nothings into your hair. Not as he promises to you that he’ll change, that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you in his arms, that white picket fences are just over the horizon. You feel weightless, floating, satisfied… and that makes you feel sick.

©YEONINGZ, 2025. please do not repost, copy, or translate any of my works in any way, shape, form, or fashion. all rights reserved.

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[delusiondolly]

This was sooo good

Unspoken Endings

Bang Chan x gn! reader

Caution: Language, Arguing, Fighting

The break up with BangChan was harder than you thought. Traces of him lingered everywhere even though he cleared his things out entirely.

The smell of his shampoo and body wash combo soaked into the bathroom walls. The stain from the wine he spilt on rug during Valentine’s Day was still shaped into a cat silhouette.

The memory of him scrubbing the rug for an hour straight cracked a smile on your face but it faded as you remembered the argument. his powerful voice fueled with anger and resentment drowned out any soft memories that you shared with him.

You walked into the kitchen and started to prepare your tea, you reached for the tea kettle but clenched your fist remembering Bang Chan shattering it to pieces along with two of the matching tea cups and the two cups that the both of you painted during a date night at the local tea house.

After deciding to just go out for tea you pulled on your sweater that’s been keeping you warm since Bang Chan’s absence. You grabbed your bag and headed out. The autumn air was crisp and cold. You pulled the beanie securely on your head and headed towards the bus station.

You found your seat and stared carelessly out of the window, passing by the spot where the argument started that lead all the way home. You shut your eyes and looked ahead seeing your stop was next, time seemed to speed up when you wanted to forget.

At the tea house you ordered a pot of your favorite tea and waited for the waitress to drop off the fixings and the cup. You looked around at the environment around you, people sitting alone in booths reading books, or scrolling on their phones, or some typing quietly on their laptops.

You wondered if they were alone because they liked it, and if so how do they do it? You also wondered if any of them were going through a break up, or writing their life story of a relationship that was once heaven and slowly turn to hell.

The waitress placed the cup in front of you making you refocus and come back to reality. “Any pastries you want to add?” She smiled “uh, a muffin, blueberry” you replied “I’ll put that order in” she smiled and nodded.

You poured your tea and slowly stirred in your add ins. You took a slow sip and nearly choked seeing Bang Chan walking in with his band mates Lee Know, Jisung and Felix.

Your coughing fit from the scorching tea gave away your position as the quartet looked over. Bang Chan’s eyes widen as he recognized the mustard colored beanie. It was the same one he saw every winter and fall time. The one that he snuggly tugged over your hair before leaving outside in the cold weather.

Felix looked over at his hyung and shook his head subtly. The man in front of the four finished his order and Felix gently tugged on Bang Chan’s sleeve. You weren’t looking but you could feel his eyes searing into hour skull. You wanted to disappear, sink into the leather seats of the booth or melt into the tiled floor, anything was better than this.

Han finished his order and the four stepped aside. Lee Know whispered something into Felix’s ear and Felix leaned in to tell Chan. “They are probably telling him how better off he is without me” your thoughts wondered. The four of them looked over at you, as if they could hear your thoughts. A number was called and Lee Know and Jisung walked to the counter to grab the box and bags. Felix looked over quickly to make sure all beverages were accounted for and Chan saw this as an opportunity.

Felix reached out his words stopping in his throat as Bang Chan started in your direction. You saw him approaching and your heart was beating so fast you could feel it trying to burst out of your skin. With each step you could feel your comfort bubble shrinking and shrinking ready to suffocate you.

Chan stopped two booths away, you were too afraid to look up. It was almost like the soles of his shoes melted into the floor. Or perhaps it was the man on the laptop testing some new gravity defying technology he just created that would make him a billionaire. Nope it was Lee Know’s arm crossing over Bang Chan’s chest.

He mumbled something that you couldn’t hear but this had Bang Chan turning around and heading towards the door. He looked over one last time before exiting. Suddenly it was like someone hit the unmute button as the tea house filled up again with the noise of glasses clinking, fingertips typing and a low hum in your ear that popped like a bubble.

Your sudden thirst for tea was long gone, you got up and paid for your drink and the muffin you never received. The bus chugged by you, making you sigh in disappointment, now you would need to rely on your legs to get you home in this cold weather. After zipping up your jacket and securing your beanie you embarked onto the journey back home.

Your thoughts switched between how damn it cold it was, and what did Bang Chan want to talk about, what did his members whisper to him? was it good or bad? A cold chill down your spine snapped you back to reality. You looked around trying to find a familiar land mark and spotted one, the spot where the argument flared up between you and Bang Chan that night.

You approached the perimeter and put your hand against the lamppost that held the button to the crosswalk to get home. you could hear Bang Chan’s voice booming in haunting echos in your ears.

“It’s just a stupid birthday!? What are you eight years old!?”

The buzzing sound telling you it was okay to walk pulled you back into reality. You hurried across and looked back an image of Bang Chan waving his hands and arms in the air as he yelled at you in the streets flashed like a ghost.

You walked past the staircase of the apartment buildings where he pulled your wrist to stop you from walking. You could see the past image of the two of you arguing at the bottom.

“Do Not EVER touch me!” you snapped and shoved him as hard as you could.

“Then don’t walk away from me!” Bang Chan yelled back. “What do you want me to do huh?! Give up on my dreams for you? I been doing this shit for years and I thought you’d understand!”

“Go back to your studio! I hate you!”

“Fine! I hate you too!”

The ugly brown door of your apartment complex looked like golden doors as you spotted them in the distance. Suddenly it felt like the icy pavement froze your feet in place as you saw Bang Chan sitting on the staircase at the bottom.

Where he stood blowing warm air in his hands was the spot it all ended. You wondered if he could hear the arguments too as he stood in that spot, or if he could see the ghosts of that fight playing like holograms in front of him.

“Everyone else remembered my special day, and you? You couldn’t even put aside an hour for me to celebrate?”

“Listen to yourself, can you hear how stupid and selfish you sound right now!!? You’re really going to try to guilt trip me for not showing up to a stupid birthday dinner with your friends that I don’t even fucking like!?”

“I would have done it for you!”

“That’s because you don’t have a career! You have nothing else to do during the day except bitch and complain and wait for me to come over! It’s pathetic!”

If Bang Chan could hear it or see it, he would know the argument went up to the apartment, where instead of going to bed angry and waking up to “forgive me” kisses. Bang Chan yelled and broke every single gift he ever got you.

“It’s not like I don’t buy you gifts any other day! Look at all this shit! This necklace!? I bought it for you for Valentine’s day!” *he breaks the chain*

“Or-or this fucking camera! For Christmas!?” *he smashes the camera into the floor*

“Chan STOP IT!” you shout and try to grab him, but he’s too powerful, and in full rage mode.

“All these fucking gifts! and presents!” *he walks off to the kitchen where he smashes the porcelain tea pot and matching cup*

“GET OUT! I hate you! I HATE YOU SO MUCH!”

“You hate me? GOOD!” *he storms out the door*

Instead of heading to the apartment, your feet unfreeze and you turn around. Your legs carrying you away, anywhere but home. You never got a confirmation if it was truly over between the both of you, or if it was just an argument like the many others you had before, but a more explosive one.

All you knew was you would rather take your chances risking a cold than talking to Bang Chan, and finding out.

[delusiondolly]

Where are you going?

Summary: An argument that turns rather spicy

Pairing : Stray kids (ot8) x Fem!reader

Genre : Angst , Smut

Word count : 2.3k

Warnings : multiple positions , unprotected sex (I don’t condone, wrap it up), creampie after cream pie, oral sex (m!recieving) , name calling (kinda) , overstimulation. (Let me know if I missed anything)

Notes : Lord , I pushed through writing this. This is kinda of everywhere but I just want to get something out😼.

(This isn’t proof read , please forgive me 🧍🏽‍♀️)

You had been in a polyamorous relationship for about a year now with eight men. You loved these men so much that you could explode but your relationship was getting to that point where you guys had constant arguments. It wasn’t like your arguments were just with one person but eight people, Once one started the rest followed. Usually you’d end the fight with something hurtful then have hate sex. Today was nonetheless one of those days.

You were arguing with Minho because he had said something so out of pocket that it hurt your feelings. That argument had gotten so loud that the boys started piling out of their rooms to see what was all the yelling for.

“No cause your being such a bitch about it” Minho yelled

“I’M BITCHING? YOU FUCKING STARTED THIS!” You yelled

You were so fucking livid at this point , he tried to act like he was the victim when he didn’t have to say anything negative to you.

“YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO OPEN YOUR BIG FUCKING MOUTH TO CRITICIZE SOMEONE , SHUT THE FUCK UP SOMETIMES!” You yelled

He looked stunned , you never really curse anyone out that bad before. You didn’t care how he felt , you were tired of him poking and prodding at you. He needed to be put in his place.

“Baby don’t you think you were a little harsh?” Chris started

“No, I don’t think I was too harsh Chris , he had it coming .”

You were trying to calm down but they just kept saying you should apologize to Minho. Of course they were taking his side.

“I don’t think she should apologize, you guys know how Minho gets” Changbin said

Tears started to stream down cause you were getting frustrated. When you get mad , you start crying . It's been like that your whole life. Finally, some stood up for you and it was your lovely changbin. You loved changbin so much and you were thinking about rewarding him tonight but your thinking got interrupted.

“She should’ve never said those kinds of things to him though.” Jisung said, and the rest of the boys started agreeing. You honestly couldn’t take it any more and you didn’t have the heart to listen so you walked past some of the boys , to the front door and started putting on your shoes and coat. They started to walk towards you and asked where you were going but you just continued to leave.

You just needed time to breathe, to think, to calm down. You went home and replayed the argument in your head so many times that you cried yourself to sleep.

Hours passed, you woke and it was 10 pm already. You had worn yourself out. Even though you were mad at the boys, you missed them so much. You couldn’t stand being mad at them so you ultimately decided that you were going to make up with them , even though Minho started it.

On the ride to the boys dorm , you were just thinking about the argument and how Minho said those rude things to you. As you pulled up , you had to mentally get yourself together before going inside.

As you used your key for their apartment, you saw that they were sitting on the couch. Once they heard the clip of the front door , they quickly got up and tried to make their way towards but they were toppling over one another.

You put your hand up to stop them from coming close.

“We all need to talk.”

As you all sat on the couch , Before you could explain what’s been weighing on your mind, Minho started to speak.

“Baby, I’m so sorry , I didn't mean anything I said.”

“It felt like you did , you even called me out my name. Then everyone started to gang up on me. You guys made me feel like an outsider in my own relationship.” You cried

“Baby , we never wanted you to feel that way .” Chris started

Before Chris could say anything else , you cut him off.

“Well you did. Only changbin was by my side.” You sniffed

“But I don’t care any more , I said some things I shouldn’t have. I just can’t stand to be mad at you guys.”

After the boys started to give they’re apologies and hugs, you were thinking of a way to punish them.

“I want everyone to sit on the couch except changbin.” You said

As everyone settled on the couch , you went and grabbed a chair from the dining room and placed it in front of them.

“Sit , Changbin.”

Changbin had sat down and you started to explain what you were doing.

“I felt the need to punish you guys so this is what I’ll be doing. I’ll be fucking changbin and you guys will be watching. You guys can’t touch yourselves , you guys can’t touch me , you guys can’t touch changbin and you cannot touch each other. If you break these rules then I won’t be fucking you guys for the rest tonight and the rest of the month. Got it?” You smiled

You were so ready to punish and make Changbin suffer. Your sweet baby was just staring up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Baby , just be a good boy for me and let me do everything ok?”

“Yes.”

You started kissing changbin's body, as you were kissing him , you started to strip him until he was naked and until you were on your knees in front of him. You pulled his boxers down and his cock shot up and hit his stomach. You grabbed it and Changbin let out a sweet moan. You started stroking up his cock while sucking on his tip. You smiled around Changbin's cock as You heard groans behind you. You continued to take changbin whole cock in your mouth , saliva running down the sides of your mouth as changbin started to fuck your throat.

“Fuck baby, I can’t take it, I’m going fucking blow.” Changbin groan

You continued to deep throat Changbin’s cock until he came down your throat. You made sure you swallowed everything he gave you with a smile. As you get up , you decide to start stripping. You made sure you put on a show for the boys. Once all your clothes were off, you started sinking down on Changbin’s cock. The stretch felt so good. You didn’t have time for being prepped.

“Fuck look at her, that pussy is just sucking binnie up.”

“Baby, I’m so hard.”

“Baby I need that pretty pussy.”

You sank down on Changbin and wasted no time bouncing on Changbin's . Changbin gripped your ass and helped you bounce on his cock. It felt so good but you didn’t want to cum just yet, you have seven cocks to go. You kept bouncing until you felt Changbin tighten his grip on your ass.

“Baby , I’m going to cum fuck.” Changbin whined

You started bouncing faster until you and changbin came undone , he filled up your hole so well.

“Fuck I need a turn.”

You got up off Changbin and turned around to see if the boys had broken any of your rules. None of them broke your rules so you knew they wouldn’t take the chance to not fuck you for a month.

“Han, I want you next.” You said

Han got up and started stripping , he was eager to have his fill of you or you filled up of him.

“How do you want me babe?” You asked

“I want you to ride me like changbin please baby.”

“Anything for you , love. Now lay down.”

You had Han lay on the floor because Changbin was still fucked on the chair. Han looked utterly pretty on the carpet but you were going to have him drooling after you were done with him. You were going to give the rest of them head , they didn’t deserve it today. They were lucky enough for you to fuck them.

You grabbed Han’s cock and started to stroke it. He started to whine so you just eased his suffering and sunk down on his cock. The moan he let was just music to your ears. You got on your knees and started to lift yourself up and down on his cock. You quickened your pace and not even long after, you and Han were cumming together.

“Fuck baby”

You got up from Han, cum dripping out of you but you didn’t care. You were still hungry for cock.

“Felix I need you love”

“Sweetheart , please” Felix begged

Felix's voice always made you feel some type of way and that feeling somehow always made its way down south.

You knew how Felix loved to have you. You grabbed a pillow off the couch and laid on your back. Legs wide and open for Felix. By this point , everyone were stripped down to nothing so it was easier for Felix just to fit between your legs and just start fucking you.

“Shit baby, you already had three cocks in you, how are you still so tight?” Felix groaned

You threw your head back and moaned, enjoying this time on your back cause you still had five delicious cocks to go and they just knew how to fuck you. You came and Felix followed. Fuck this was a lot but you never backed now.

You looked at Seungmin next, oh you were so ready for your puppy. Felix got up off you so Seungmin can fill your hole up with his cock. Seungmin just started to fuck you, he grabbed onto your jumping boobs and started groping them aggressively

“You think you can try to punish me ? Bark for me.”

It looks like he made you his puppy for today.

“Mong , Mong” you moaned put

He was quickening his pace , you came after he finally finished in your hole.

Fourth cock down, four more to go. You had mixed cum stuffed in your hole , running down your legs onto the carpet. This carpet might need to be replaced.

Now you are ready for your pretty hyunjinnie and his long cock. You turned over so you could be faced down, ass up. Hyunjin sank down to his knees and started to knead the flesh of your ass, his finger running over your leaking hole. He was observing.

“So much cum baby, you ready for mine?”

“Yes love.”

Then Hyunjin just stuffed his cock into you without warning , it felt so much different from behind you , Hyunjin was pounding into you and it felt so good fuck. He was hitting the sweet spot in you that made your toes curl.

“Fuckkk Hyunjin.” You moaned as you came, you were so sensitive at this point.

Hyunjin continued to fuck you until he was cumming in your hole. You were left trying to catch your breath.

Five down , three to go.

It was now the maknae’s turn to have you.

“Baby you ok, you’re not too far gone right?” He smiled at you

“If not , I need to hold on to the couch.” He said that with so much dominance. Your innie always seemed to disappear when it was time to fuck you. You got up on shaky legs and held onto the couch. Jeongin rubbed the small of your back as he eased his way into your fucked out hole.

“Fuck, still so tight”

Jeongin snapped his hips into yours at a pace you couldn’t keep up so you just stood there taking it. Jeongin had power , the way he was blowing your back out was utterly so much that you came without even knowing. By this point you were fucked out of your mind , just letting Jeongin fill you up.

Fuck , two more and these were by far the worst cause you knew your pussy was going to be destroyed.

Someone had pulled you down to the floor on your knees and that someone was Minho. He loved to fuck you from behind because he loved to see your ass.

“Just sit here and take it jagi.”

Then you were stuffed full of Minho , you moaned. He set a brutal pace as he grabbed the back of your neck and forced you into a deeper arch. He was ramming his hips into you while keeping you in place.

“I’m so sorry for earlier jagi , please forgive”

Minho was hitting that spot that made your insides tingle , fuck your were about to cum so hard. Minho continued to abuse your hole and you eventually creamed his cock. Minho continued until he stuffed you full.

You were wrecked , cum leaking out of you , hair everywhere but you weren’t done.

“Chris, I need you.”

“You sure baby? You already taken a lot-”

“ I’m sure come on and be the last to stuff me.”

Chris put you on your back with your legs pushed up by your head. Chris loved the matting press. Chris made sure you were comfortable before pushing his big cock into your worn out pussy.

“Fuck , Chris.”

Chris started to put his weight on you and drilled his hips into yours. The sound that was echoing through the living room was sinful , his balls were hitting your ass every time he thrusted into you. Chris was set on making you cum first and hard. Chris quickened his pace until you were babbling. He was hitting your cervix so good that it made you so stupid his cock. It was too much.

“Yes baby girl , take it.”

“Too much, I can’t take it.”

“You can and you will baby girl.”

With that you came on Chris’s come , your juices and the mixed cum running down his balls. Chris came and pulled out. Your legs were shaking and you were fucked out. All you wanted now was sleep. One of the boys picked you up and started taking you to the bathroom so you could pee.

Once you were clean , you were laid in bed and cuddled with your lovers.

[delusiondolly]

Headlock

Summary: A night turned disastrous

Pairing : Bang Chan x fem!reader

Genre : Angst fluff towards the end

Word count: 379

Warnings : Death, gore ig ( let me know if I missed anything)

Notes: Something short rn because I’m working on a ot8 skz story rn so I’m just going to keep throwing out these little stories. I was listening to Headlock by Imogen heap and thinking about the mouthwashing game. This story kinda suck tho. Andddd I’m finna start really putting better pictures 😼, I just been lazy after writing

(This isn’t proof read , forgive me😼)

Chris didn’t know how he got in this situation. He was just having the time of his life with his members and his wife when suddenly blood was everywhere. Random people’s bodies littered everywhere and no sign of his members anywhere but his wife, oh his wife y/n was laying on the floor , seeming lifeless.

Chris should’ve known being the leader of an very dangerous gang , his enemies were bound to act at anytime to hurt his loved ones but he thought he had her kept under, they were never out in public together , if they were then he would’ve made sure no one knew what was going on but his members and a few trust people. Unless someone gave her up. He had a rat in his gang.

Several things were going through Chris’ mind right now but it was one that was overplaying the other thoughts.

TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.

TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.

TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.

Chris tried to shut his mind up but nothing was working.

“Shut up , shut up , I didn’t do this”

TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.

TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.

TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.

“I-I didn’t mean to do this , I swear. I just wanted to protect them. Take them away before anyone could hurt them.” Chris cried, he knew how dangerous his life could be.

He had killed everyone around him, he looked closer and those random bodies were his members. Chris started to lose it , he started to scream for everyone to wake up, he started apologizing profusely. The voice in his head started getting louder.

CHRIS TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.

CHRIS TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.

CHRIS TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.

“Christopher , you don’t deserve to be loved , you don’t deserve to live , may this be a lesson. You Hurt them, now you shall live forever in your guilt.”

Chris suddenly woke up drenched in sweat. He looked around and he was in his bedroom, he was breathing fast trying to catch his breath. He looked down to see his wife sleeping peacefully beside him. He eventually even his breathing and just stared at his wife.

He was still shaken up about that nightmare , promising himself that nothing shall ever come to that. He pulled his wife closer and peppered her with kisses, he promised to protect forever, no one shall ever get close to hurting her.

[delusiondolly]

~ New Years Party

~ Poly SKZ!Fake Texts

☆ Pairing: Ot8!Skz x Afab!Reader [group chat] - ❗MDNI ❗- ☆ A/N: This is what I think the group chat would sound like while these chaos cuties are at a new years party. Happy New Year! ☆Masterlist ☆

Thank You For Reading! 💕

Divider credit to @strangergraphics

ALSO, please follow my back-up acct. @minniee-verse 💕

Perm. Tag List:

@dreamingaboutjisung @nxtt2-u @kayleefriedchicken

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@teddy-stay , @baconcupcakes123, @moonchild9350 ,

@krayzieestay, @soulsbbg , @stay-bi , @yzsqu , @lghtdarling @yaorzu-blog

@wealwayskeepfighting

[delusiondolly]

*𝑨𝒓𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒅*

Pairing: Vamp!Bangchan x Vamp!Reader (Fem)

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Blood/Biting/Blood Drinking (Duh), Slight Mention of cheating/K!lling, Arranged Marriage, people Watching the deed, Oral (Both), Choking, Hair Pulling, Squirting, Multiple Rounds/Orgasms. Sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings! (I’m sure I missed a few this time)

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this cause I had so much fun doing this. This scratched an itch for me fr.

-🧛🏻

He was irritating. The “prince” you had been married off to. He was so full of himself not to mention feared by many. However you saw right through him. You saw the little things that made him crumble. His biggest weakness? You. He wouldn’t admit it but you drove him crazy.

Remembering when he accidentally walked into the bathroom after you had showered. You were completely naked quickly covering yourself up when he had come in. His jaw was on the floor, he stood there for a good minute or two before you yelled at him to get out. He quickly did, running to another bathroom to quickly help himself. He leaned back on the bathroom wall cock in hand as you ran through his mind. The best nut he had, had in a long time.

Both of you being vampires meant you’ve been alive for a while. Although with that being said you’ve never really dated much. You had your fun of course but most of them were quickly made into meals afterwards. Sucking them dry in more ways than one. Chan on the other hand got around a lot. Especially the first hundred years. However he found himself in love for the first time. A beautiful girl who he met at a coffee shop. He didn’t expect to fall in love but he did. He did hard.

Sadly he found the love of his life tangled in bed their own bed one faithful night shattering his heart. The girl told him “you were fun but I have an eternity to live, why would I spend it with one person?” He was broken. He spent days by himself locked away hating the world. Going out at night to feed, he fed even when he wasn’t hungry. The sadness washing away to be replaced with anger. He killed not even wanting to feed, killing to kill.

A decade down the line he was finally getting better. He got his spark back but he never wanted to be in love again. Only going for hookups if he had the need. When the court had come forward asking him to get married he was fully against it. After chipping away at him over the years he finally said yes.

Chan was cold towards you at first, wanting to keep a distance which you were honestly fine with. The whole arranged marriage thing wasn’t something you wanted either however it was best for your own “coven”. It helped spread the boards of your own hunting grounds and broadened the masses together.

The house you were sharing now was massive. Plenty of places to go to be alone but somehow you both found yourself in each other company. You gradually started talking more. Figuring out what you both needed for the members of your covens. Talking about the wedding plans as well.

—

Today was the day of the wedding, it went off well. As you walked down to Chan you noticed him almost getting choked up. He was looking at you in a different way, a way you haven’t seen.

He stuttered over his words as you said your “vows”. His eyes not being able to look anywhere else but you. You swear you could see little hearts in his eyes.

After all the festivities the elders of the coven had come to talk to you both. “It’s time to christen the marriage” they said.

“What does that mean?” You asked.

Chans eyes went wide at their words “there’s no fucking way.” He said.

You looked at him still confused. “What does it mean?” You asked again.

“It means these sickos want to watch us fuck” he said bluntly.

“What??” You asked.

“It’s tradition Chan, if you do not do it the marriage is null” the elder said sternly.

“And why didn’t you tell us about this before” he bit back.

“We thought you knew” the elder shrugged “come to the house over there, we will be waiting” the elder said before walking away.

“You’re fucking kidding me” Chan groaned.

“Do we have to?” You asked.

“Yeah- I guess so?” He said in a huff. “I’m sorry” he sighed.

“Well, why don’t we give them a good show?” You said with a smirk.

You both headed to the house, the room was covered in flower peddles. The bed made up nicely with silky red sheets. You strolled in taking Chans hand “let’s give them a show they’ll only be able to dream of” you said with a chuckle.

Chan made his way to you, before you pulled him into a heated kiss. The first kiss you had shared. It was messy, teeth clashing against one another’s. Tongues colliding with one another. Chans hand glided up your dress pulling your panties down your legs. His hands were a bit shakey as he felt your soft skin against his.

You grinned yourself against his leg letting yourself go. You moaned into the kiss hands coming up to take his shirt off. “Fuck y/n” he groaned out his hands dipping between your legs only to be greeted with how wet you were. Something in him snapped, he couldn’t hold back anymore. He quickly moved himself back pulling your body at the edge of the bed before diving into your cunt like a starved animal. His tongue darted against your clit, hands keeping your legs spread.

He lapped at your folds taking in your sweet taste, your hands clung to his hair back arching off the bed. “Ah- f-fuck!” You moaned out. You tugged on his hair harshly grinding your dripping cunt into his plush lips.

“Mm, fuck- use my tongue my pretty wife” he moaned out. The name making your cunt clench. “Are you all liking the show? Like watching my pretty wife get off on me?” Chan yelled knowing the elders were watching from the glass.

Chans hand moved from your leg, pushing his long fingers into your cunt. He curled them ever so slightly hitting your sweet spots. He had your body shaking, close to orgasm. He moved his mouth from your dripping cunt, lips swollen. He kissed up your thigh before sinking his teeth into it. The slight pain only bringing you pleasure, your body felt like it was levitating. Arching off the bed once more before cumming hard around his fingers. He lapped at the blood only to come back to your cunt to mix the two. His new favorite taste.

He looked up at you with glazed over eyes before coming up to you kissing you messily again. He slipped his pants off stroking his cock slowly. “Chan- need you- fuck please” you whined. He chuckled “whatever my princess wants she’ll get” he slowly pushed his cock into you. Stretching you out so nicely, like he was made for you.

“Sh-shit” he moaned out. He couldn’t stop himself from moving. Your warm cunt sucking him in. His thrusts were slow but deep, Hitting your cervix perfectly. He leaned his body down biting down on your neck before sucking harshly at the spot. When he pulled away he latched his lips back to yours pushing the blood into your mouth. Both of your lips now stained red as his movement became faster.

Drinking from others was one thing but drinking from your partner especially during sex was almost like taking an aphrodisiac. It made you both go crazy. Chan brought his hand up gripping at your throat grinning from ear to ear. “Fuck- I love you y/n. I’ve waited so long for this” he groaned.

“I love you too!” You cried out. His grip around your neck tightened as he felt your cunt clench around him. “Gonna cum? Cum on my cock- fuck- make a mess-“ he said before speeding up his thrusts. Your high quickly crushed over you cumming hard around him. He let out an almost growl before pulling out. He spun you around putting you on your hands and knees.

He moved himself in-front of you pressing the tip of his cock to your lips. Before he let you take him in he bit his wrist. Dripping blood down on his cock. You groaned watching him before taking his cock into your mouth. You twirled your tongue around his shaft licking him clean of the blood and your slick. His hands rested at your head before pushing back your throat. “Ah- fuck- just like that beautiful you’re taking me so well- isn’t she? You old bastards still watching?” He said with a chuckle.

He gripped your hair pulling you fully down his cock, his head pushing as far as it could go. He pulled away watching the string of saliva keeping you tied together.

He moved himself behind you once more and with out warning this time pushed fully into you. “Fuck- fuck-“ he said under his breath. His full balls smacking against you as he bottomed out. His cock head kissing your cervix ever so perfectly. He was fucking into like he hated you. Thrusts were deep and harsh. He gripped your head with one of his hands before pushing it down into the bed. “Gonna take all my cum? Gonna let me fill you full for all these fuckers to watch?” He growled.

“Yes! Chan- fuck please! Breed me- cum inside me please” you begged.

“That’s my beautiful wife” he said with a smirk. He moved from your head hands locked on your hips as his nails dug into your soft flesh.

He thrusted in a few more times before pushing in as far as possible. His hot cum painting your walls white as his nails dug into deeper making you bleed. He leaned his body down as his balls emptied into you biting your shoulder. His sharp teeth piercing your skin for the third time as he claimed you as his. Your high was quick to crash over you once more, the bite pushing you further making you squirt all over the silky sheets.

You both panted trying to catch your breathes. Chan pulled you to him holding you against his chest. “You all have 10 seconds to leave. You got what you wanted now let me have my time with my wife” he snarled.” The elders rushed out not wanting the wrath that they knew Chan would bring.

He held you as close as possible rubbing your back as he peppered it with kisses. “You know” he said softly. “I’ve always been afraid to let myself fall in love again” he said trailing off. “But- I can’t help it.. I love you.. I really mean it when I say that I love you y/n”

“I’ll never do what that awful woman did to you. You’re stuck with me now you know? Can’t get rid of me anymore” you teased.

He squeezed you tightly “I couldn’t imagine that, you’re stuck with me too” he said with a chuckle kissing your back softly. “Let’s go get cleaned up yeah? Then we can get some food” he said sweetly.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget

[delusiondolly]

Excited to see how this turns out!!!

Hunting Your Soul Chapter 1 💀Chan💀

Trigger Warnings: Slavery, Abuse, Manipulation, Feeding, Misogyny, Killing, Obsession, Stalking, Obsessive, Sexual Desires, Sight impairment, arousal, MDNI

The groans and screams of pain around the wooden walls were starting to get on my nerves. It wasn't as exciting as it usually was for me. Killing. I loved the hunt and the chase of weak humans. Tormenting their pathetic little souls. I loved to compel them. Make them feel aroused as I sunk my teeth into them. It was a fun obsession. It would start in the night as I woke up from my slumber. Gasping for blood. Feeling the need to feel the hot thick red liquid down my throat. Luckily for I, there was a body. A regenerating body. Tied to a machine. The body would repair itself. Heal itself with the help of my venom. So, every night I got to have my fill. But. If the body had not regenerated quickly enough, my body would shudder. In anger. Despair. Hunger. I would then run, out of desire. To the cells where the lucid humans would live. Trapped in a cage by me. It was fun. It was fun because they needed me. Their pathetic little hearts craved me to bite them. Their hearts would beat sadly when I was not around. When I didn't want them. When I visited them they would cry out in excitement and pull at me. They would scurry to the bars to see me so I would play with them. Bite them. They were my little toys. My little blood whores. I probably should let them out but it was much more fun when they were inside. That was my usual day. Feeding. Hunting. Killing. All until I found something. Something different. It called to me. It wanted me. It yearned for me. This pretty little heartbeat yearned for me. It was purely coincidental how I found this heartbeat. It was purely coincidental how I did not want to hurt it.

The heartbeat I found was a woman. A woman walking back from the library. She was young. Early twenties maybe. She wasn't afraid of the dark and the creatures that watched her. But I hated it. I hated the way the creatures watched her in the night. I wanted to be the only one who watched her. The one who haunted her. The one who hunted her. I followed closely behind her as she clutched her tote back and pulled her coat closer. She was cold. As she should be. Humans were tastier when they were cold. Their blood cells were working overtime to keep them warm. Pumping more blood around their weak little bodies. Except this little heartbeat looked strong. She looked as if she could handle the dark. Could handle me. I would make her handle me. I would make her play my games. I would make her heart run faster than it had ever done before. I would make her heart crave every inch of me and then I would abandon her. I would make her heart cry and break. I would make her heart feel isolated. Then I would come back and apologise. Tell her heart I was sorry. I would listen to her heart repair itself and forgive me. Then I would do it again and again until she feared I would leave her forever. Her heart would get sick and anxious. It would become deprived and weak. It would hallucinate with paranoia. Become drunk off of fantasies I may never provide for her. Except I would fulfil every fantasy I had of her. That she had of me. I decided then. That night she was going to be my special little heartbeat! She was mine to consume.

Did I feel bad when I returned to my sanctuary? No! I was excited! Ecstatic even as I thought about the hunt. I lay on my bed hissing and growling as I thought about my newest little heartbeat. Her dark black hair fell to her shoulders. Her small frame that was easily breakable. Her dark brown eyes that hid behind her glasses. Those glasses. I hissed in delight. Her glasses told me she was slightly sight impaired. The thoughts of her blindness aroused me. I could blindfold and impair her as she ran around my compound in fear. Hoping to find me. She was going to be so much fun. Unlike my other little heartbeats.

My other little heartbeats were crying. They have not been bitten in three days. Tonight I did not want to bite them. I did not want to taste their tainted wine. There sweat. There blood. I wanted to taste her in all of the darkest places. I wanted to lick her balls of sweat. I wanted to brush her hair back with my claws as I licked her face clean. Swapping her sweat for my desirable spit. I wanted to pierce her throat with my fangs and leave a black mark. I wanted to pierce her behind her ear. Then down by her shoulder blade and drink from her. I wanted to taste her saccharine wine. I wanted to strip her from the clothes that covered her dignity. I wanted to cover her body in my claw marks as her heart begged for me. I wanted her hips to bleed for me as my tongue would swirl around her. Painting her with blood. I wanted her to bleed her womanly blood. I wanted to taste the sweet congealed concoction of her purity. Her femininity. Most of all I wanted to fuck her under a rainfall of blood. I wanted her to bathe in blood.

She was going to be mine either way. I would watch her and haunt her until she was ready. I was going to train her strong little heart to become weaker. To become dependable on me. I was going to train her to be a good little heartbeat that needed her master. Needed her owner. Needed her vampire. Needed her Chan.

18+ Taglist for those who are not turning back

@catlove83 @itsyourleilei @whatudowhennooneseesyou @leeknot @estella-novella @fackeraccount @eastjonowhere @cocofia143 @jennibahng @noerinspace @sleepingmissingprincess @ye0lkkot @hiitsmebbygrl16 @shhimhereforsmut @jaeminie-cricket @stayceebs97 @ritiiiiiii @chlodavids @beautystarry @hyunjinhoexxx @hash2013 @jeonginontopforever @catnipchannie

[delusiondolly]

ATE

COME HERE~ {HYUNG LINE}

Sypnosis: The Guys seem to be very desperate for you.

Screenshot Count: 7

Warnings: Cursing, talking of sex

WARNING! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!