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lowkeychenle · 6 months

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And Then It Was [ZCL] (M)

Description: After your marriage with Chenle was arranged by your parents for a company merger, things with him aren't quite like you expect. In your life full of obligations, he's determined to finally give you the ability to make your own choices. Genre: Smut/Fluff/Angst (arranged marriage!au, rich families using their children as business mergers yk) Content Warnings: Rich, generational family trauma, family secrets, reader in her men suck era, explicit, protected sex, mentions of pregnancy (no actual pregnancy in the fic), reader feels obligated to have children, explicit, unprotected sex, use of the pet names 'baby' and 'darling', dirty talk, oral (f receiving) Word Count: 28.2k Pairing: Zhong Chenle x fem!Reader (features Jeno, Jisung, Jaemin, and Mark, but mostly Jeno and Jisung! (sorry idk where Renjun and Haechan are in this fic?????)) A/N: Y'all tumblr really f'in hates me because it was so difficult to format this fic? like it did not want to let me put the whole thing on here. So if the last section is oddly formatted, that's why and I'msosorry :'( (p.s. thank you so much for 700 followers!!!)

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Chenle’s hand grips yours loosely, resting between the two of you right on the crack between the couch cushions. All of this is a formality, down to the smile plastered on your face. It started out simple, like something out of a movie, honestly, but even movies have to roll the end credits at some point.

“So, tell us the story of how you met,” the interviewer begins, crossing her legs as she looks at you in complete interest.

“We’ve known each other for ages,” Chenle says.

Lie. You’ve known of each other for ages. You’re only here with an oversized ring on your finger to complete your family’s merger with Chenle’s. What big news that was, two heirs of two of the biggest companies around the world falling in love. If only that were true in the slightest.

“Wow, way to make it sound romantic.” You laugh, reaching across to push his arm—gently, of course. “He makes it so lackluster. But to be completely transparent, it wasn’t…anything crazy. We did meet years ago, and we’ve been friends since then. Gosh, probably since we were sixteen?”

“Fifteen,” Chenle corrects you and sends an award winning smile your way. You’d be inclined to believe him if everything wasn’t scripted.

“He always has been a little more detail-oriented than me.”

The interview drags. You and Chenle were officially married just over a month ago, and while you know it’s your owed duty to your family, you wish optics weren’t so important. After all, legally binding yourself to secure a company was one thing, but physically binding yourself to a man you barely know? You wouldn’t dream of it. Even holding his hand feels odd, not to mention his palms are sweaty.

Your honeymoon had ended shortly before the interview. You’d been gone for four weeks, and it was the last bit of privacy you’d have when it comes to your ‘relationship’ with Chenle. You got to know him enough to where you’d be comfortable sharing an oversized house with him, but there were still a lot of mysteries between you two—mysteries you were sure would never get solved. There are a lot of good things about Chenle. He’s smarter than most people you’ve met, he knows how to make jokes and take them, he’s nice to look at, to hold a conversation with, but you don’t love him. You’d been of the mind that you wanted to marry for love since you were young, but some things are overshadowed by your duties. By money.

“There aren’t many people in this world that don’t just…immediately bow down to powerful men. It was…interesting to say the least, because throughout my entire life I’d always just been given respect. From the moment I met (Y/N), I knew I’d have to work for it. For her respect, I mean. She’s just as confident and much more intelligent than any other man I’ve ever worked with.” Chenle squeezes your hand.

That wasn’t in the script. It’s almost enough to have you break character and forget your next line. “Is that so?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, and he chuckles.

“Tried and true,” he replies with ease. “You really are extraordinary, you know.”

Can’t script a blush rising to your cheeks. It’s something about the way he makes direct eye contact with you that has your face burning.

Grinning, he turns back to the interviewer. “I have a lot of things to be grateful for in life. Truly, I do. I’m very fortunate for all of the good my family has done for me and for having things set up for me from the start. One thing I never could’ve imagined was that it could get better. Meeting her changed my life, and if I had to, I’d give everything else to keep her next to me.”

That time, your smile does fall, but you quickly catch yourself. Your heart picks up its pace in your chest, but you know it’s all part of the script. It has to be. He’d never give up his money, his family, his lifestyle for something as simple as you. You desperately want to pull your hand away, but you’ll wait until the cameras stop rolling.

As soon as you and Chenle are behind the tinted windows of his car, you drop his hand and scoot all the way over to have some semblance of peace. None of this truly makes sense to you. You’re much too young to be worried about your marriage to another person equally as young as you, yet you can’t help but mull over each word that left his mouth today.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Of course.” You pull your phone out of your purse and scroll through your social media with a sigh.

The driver pulls away from the spot, and after a few minutes, you look over to find Chenle watching you.

“What?”

“Is that it?” He clasps his hands together in his lap.

You scoff. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are we to keep acting while we’re alone, too? It’s exhausting.”

“You don’t even want to…try to keep getting to know each other? You’re just done?” He pauses, tongue wetting his lips. “We’re here for the long haul, (Y/N). We signed a legally binding contract. Divorce isn’t an option ever. We may as well try and—”

“All due respect, Chenle, I’d rather not know you. What happens if I do, and then I hate everything about you? Ignorance is bliss. Why risk hating you when I can just tolerate you instead?”

“Is it the hate you don’t want to risk?” His question catches you off guard, the confidence laced in his tone sending sparks of irritation through you.

“Are you insinuating that you think I could fall in love with you?”

“There’s no insinuation. I’ll tell you with full certainty that you would.” Chenle’s dark eyes narrow, and he shifts in his seat. “You fear failure. But a marriage failure would be easier if you’re not in love, right? No feelings to cloud your logical judgment.”

“For such a smart man, that was an incredibly stupid statement.” You scoff, setting your phone in your lap. “This is a job, not a marriage.”

“Not according to our sealed certificate.”

“Burn it for all I care. I’m not here for you. I’m here for my family, so I could’ve been married off to anyone. Don’t think that means I’ll allow you to control me. What’s mine is still mine. If I choose to see someone outside the marriage, that’s my own choice.”

“Ah.” He inhales slowly. “You’re already in love.”

“Wrong again.”

“Then why is that the first thing you say?”

“Because I have a duty to you. An obligation. But that does not mean you’re obligated to my heart.” You look straight forward, refusing to acknowledge the heat of his stare boring into your side.

“At least make sure you’re using protection.” He clicks his tongue.

“That was also in the contract. Didn’t you read it?” You tap your foot. “‘Extramarital relations require usage of effective birth control methods, and I may not bear another man’s child.’”

“I’m sorry, what?” He gapes at you. “Are you serious right now?”

When you laugh, his eyebrows furrow deeply.

“What’s funny?”

“No, no, I just forgot. You’re the man. You’re expected to stray from the marriage because you obviously don’t have everything life can offer. It’s okay for you to get someone else pregnant because you don’t have to physically have the child. Ridiculous.”

“And you think that’s my intention? Seriously?”

“It’s an expectation in every arranged marriage, I assume.” You cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t care what you do, Chenle. Just act like you respect me at least.”

“Okay, now hold on.” He scratches his forehead, his thought process basically written out across his face. “You were the one that mentioned extramarital relationships. I was never going to suggest it because I’d never do something like that. I don’t care what our…relationship is like, it’s still a marriage. You’re my wife, whether we like it or not, and I’m not going to do anything that would undermine you or the legacy you’ve already created. Regardless of what you believe, I do respect you. Honestly.”

“I…” you trail off, swallowing roughly. “I’d prefer silence for the rest of the drive.”

Chenle runs his tongue over his teeth, but he nods.

“Do we have to share a room?” you ask as you take your earrings out. Placing them on the vanity in front of you, you stare at Chenle through the mirror, watching as he removes his suit jacket and tie.

“We don’t have to do anything.” Chenle shakes his head and untucks his shirt from his pants. “If that’s what you want, I’ll stay in another room.”

“What?” You frown. “This is your house. You should keep the master bedroom.”

“Stop thinking like that,” he says, working on his buttons. “It’s yours now, too.”

He stops halfway down, grabbing his shirt and sweatpants to change into.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” His voice seems different, almost cold. Distant.

“Chenle,” you call out, turning in your chair to face him directly.

He sighs, stops, and looks back at you. “Yeah?”

“Before you go, can we…get something out of the way?”

“More things.” He presses his lips together in a thin line, but eventually nods and takes a few steps closer. “By all means.”

This time, it’s your palms that are sweating. You grip the armrest and flounder for the words you want to say. It’s rare for you to get flustered or shy with anyone, so acting this way in front of him has heat rising to your cheeks.

“We’re expected to have children,” you finally spit out. “Heirs. We carry two legacies on our backs.”

He shifts on his feet, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as he glances away from you. “This is what you want to get out of the way?”

“I…I just think it’s a good idea for us to put our…expectations out there early.”

“About sex or babies?”

“The only reason we’d ever…is to have babies.” You try to maintain your strong facade, but the conversation makes you more nervous than you’d care to admit.

“Right, because thinking that you’re sleeping with me out of obligation is incredibly sexy.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “We don’t even have to have sex to get you pregnant, you know. There are other options. Do you even actually want children? Or is that purely out of obligation as well?”

“Everything I do is out of obligation.”

“Not anymore.” He walks closer, resting his hand on the edge of the vanity. “You’re my wife now. You do what you want, and you do it for you. No one else. Understood?”

You stand up, obliterating the minuscule distance between the two of you. Your chest almost brushes his, and you’re nearly distracted by his half-unbuttoned shirt. Tilting your head, you scan over his face.

“You’re saying there’s not anything you want from me?”

“Wanting and demanding are two very different things.” He doesn’t back down, his impenetrable gaze locked on yours.

“And what is it that you want?”

“For someone who doesn’t care, you sure are inquisitive,” Chenle remarks.

“Don’t let my level of interest stop you.”

His eyes narrow. “How long have we known each other?”

“I can tell you our first real conversation was just over six months ago. We were informed of this…situation.” You sigh. “Why?”

“I was relieved to find out it was you.” He gulps. “To know that you are someone I’m…attracted to. That we could maybe one day have something real in the wake of this…joke of an arrangement.”

“Relieved?”

“Yes.” He nods without hesitation. “And that is what I want. A real life, real love, real family. And while everything else may not be ideal, I’d never force you to give me any of those things. As I’ve said, you’re free to make your own choices. Whether they include me or not.”

His voice is soft, barely carrying over to you from his spot mere inches away. Your heart pounds in your chest from his proximity, his words, him. You don’t want to risk anything, and the consequences far outweigh the rewards of a relationship like this.

“Good.” You nod. “I’ll remember that.”

“I expect nothing less.” He takes a step back, unintentionally shattering the tension between the two of you. “Have a good night, (Y/N).”

But for some reason, once he closes the door behind him and leaves you alone in this giant, extravagant bedroom, you truly wonder what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into.

“I mean, is that a bad thing?” Jisung’s voice carries through the phone, shuffling around with documents in the background.

Your cousin always did have trouble seeing things from your side. You sigh. “It is a bad thing. Why can’t he just be a normal man? I’m not going to beg anyone to impregnate me, if that’s what he’s waiting for—”

“(Y/N),” he says, tone laced with disbelief. “After that whole conversation, that’s what you got out of that? That he wants you to beg him?”

“What else am I supposed to get?” Crossing your arms over your chest, you study yourself in the mirror. Despite the stress as of late, you still seem miraculously put together.

“That he actually cares about you. And wants something real.”

“Then his family picked his wife incorrectly,” you insist. “I’m here because I was told to be. And why risk a lifetime of unhappiness and hate when we could just…tolerate each other?”

“Not everything has to be—”

“You were supposed to be on my side for this.” Your chest deflates, and you put him on speaker to apply your lipstick and put your earrings in.

“I’m always on your side, even if you think I’m not. I’ve met Chenle, too. You could’ve been much worse off for a company merger.”

“Right, so I should be grateful?” You snort. “Grateful that my husband doesn’t want to have—”

“Insufferable,” your cousin cuts you off. “You’re insufferable. The whole world is not out to get you. In the position you’re in, you need every single ally you can get. Chenle especially. He’s one of the most powerful men in the country. Imagine what that could do for you.”

“Yes, because powerful men are so enticing for me.” You roll your eyes.

“You don’t have to love him. Nobody expects that of you, but you can at least be friends with him.” Jisung clicks his tongue. “Give him a shot, okay? He’s not an asshole, and from what you’ve told me, he seems to be trying with you.”

You tap your fingers on the vanity. “I have a business meeting with him and his board. Guess I’ll see you in a few.”

“That you will. Talk to you soon.”

As the line cuts, you head out of Chenle’s—your—room, and head down the hall and out the door. Today is a new day, and the first way to present your dominance to your husband is to talk business. You’ve always been good at keeping your composure. While the buildings for your family’s company and Chenle’s were on opposite sides of town, the merger gave you unlimited access to both. Chenle was his own respective CEO, while your father still held the technical title at yours.

COO had been sitting in your pocket for years, and your father told you the only way he’d relinquish his CEO title onto you is if you married. And produced an heir without any public miscommunication. Essentially, your heir would, under no uncertain circumstances, be conceived and birthed in a conventional way.

You’re the last one to arrive in the conference room. The walls are mostly windows, overlooking the bustling city below you. You inhale deeply at the sight, and Chenle looks up at you, standing as soon as he finds you in the room. The rest of the board follows suit, and you almost scowl at the realization that the only open seat is right next to your husband. You don’t recognize any of them since this is solely for Chenle, but he insisted you were to be included on all business discussions from the moment you were married.

You stand next to Chenle, staring down at the five men around you. “Sit. Standing on my behalf is a waste of time.”

All of them listen to you, Chenle included, leaving you the lone pillar in a room full of money.

“Thank you for waiting for me.”

You don’t ever apologize for being late. Some things are out of your control. Sitting, you move your chair closer to the table. Chenle leans in, close enough for his lips to brush your ear. “I told you to just drive with me.”

You turn to him, unintentionally scanning over his face while he’s so close, and give him a small, fake smile. “And I told you I travel alone.”

It’s the first time you see annoyance pull at his brows. The only thing it does for you is make you give yourself a mental tally mark. Winning is your strong suit.

“Late on the first day isn’t a good look,” the man in the back on the right says. “It’s almost as if it’s not important to you.”

“First day?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t been involved from the moment I signed a wedding certificate.”

“That’s hardly an excuse—”

“Jaemin,” Chenle interrupts him. “It won’t happen again. Leave it alone.”

Anger bubbles in your stomach as you watch the man at the end—Jaemin—immediately back down. Your words weren’t enough, but the second Chenle opens his mouth, the argument’s over? With the group of men, you talk financials from last quarter. You follow along easily thanks to the binder of data Chenle provided you with. Stopping on the fourth page, you frown.

Leaning over to Chenle, you nudge his shoulder. When you point at the page, his eyes follow. You turn your head to whisper in his ear, “This charge isn’t itemized. Little amounts may be fine, but a $143,000 charge with no itemization from one of your departments can’t be normal.”

“You’ve got sharp eyes,” he mutters, almost appreciatively.

“Obligations make you that way,” you return, brushing your hair back as you lean against your chair. Chenle’s button-up sleeves are rolled to his elbows, the tip of his pen tapping on the table as he listens to Jisung talk.

Chenle’s smart not to bring anything up just yet, as he’s likely to do more research before asking his team what is going on with something like that. You cross your legs and listen intently, but most of it is beyond your scope in his company, anyway.

“You’ll also have to decide on new positions as well.” Another man speaks up from beside your cousin.

“And what positions are those, Mark?” Chenle asks.

“COO and CFO nominations for the board to vote.”

“There isn’t any need for nominations for COO.” Chenle frowns.

“Why’s that?” One of the men, Jeno, follows up.

“Isn’t it obvious? The only person qualified for such a role is my wife.” Chenle crosses his arms over his chest, but this time, you can’t stop your outward reaction. Your jaw drops as all eyes fall on you, and you give him an incredulous look.

“Are you serious?”

“Why is this a surprise?” he inquires, gaze meeting yours.

It’s a surprise because nowhere in your signed contract did it say you were entitled to a position of power at his company.

“(Y/N) is an excellent candidate. She’s done great things at my uncle’s company,” Jisung butts in, nodding at you. “If it were up to a vote, she’d have mine.”

“We’ll reconvene for the vote. I have several candidates for CFO listed in the binders you received today, so you may vote on those as well.” Chenle pauses.

You don’t realize your leg bouncing up and down until his palm presses against your knee. The movement is undetectable to everyone else, but it makes every ounce of air dissipate from your lungs. You calm down in an instant, no matter how much you hate to say it, and you clench your fists together in your lap.

“For now, my wife and I are going home,” he continues. “Have a good and productive day today.”

Everyone stands as he does, and you stare at him briefly when he extends his arm out to you. In that split second, you make eye contact with Jisung, who nods in encouragement. You let out a nearly invisible sigh, but you wrap your fingers around the crook of his elbow and allow him to lead you from the room. Once you’re far enough away from everyone, he still doesn’t let you go, a somewhat proud half-smile on his face. “After you pointed out that discrepancy, I almost switched gears and made you CFO instead.”

“You’ll learn quite fast that numbers aren’t really my strong suit.” You don’t even attempt to remove your grip on him. “My attention to detail makes up for the…lack of numerical intelligence.”

“I hope I didn’t take you too off-guard.” He opens the door to the building, disconnecting your arms to place his hand on the small of your back to guide you.

“Please.” You chuckle and shake your head. “You? Take me off-guard?”

“Competitive, too, huh?” He raises an eyebrow at you as he glances around at the different people with cameras surrounding you. Whether to keep you away from them or to keep up appearances, his hand slides from your back to your hip, gently pulling you closer to his side.

“Let’s just say I stopped being invited to family game night,” you admit.

Once the two of you make it to the car, you barely realize you’re disobeying your own rule of traveling alone. He grasps your hand to help you into the backseat, ignoring the flashing lights behind him as he watches you slide over.

He gets in after you, closing the door with a huff. “That’ll be a headline tomorrow.”

“You helping me into the car?”

“You smiled at me.”

“We’re married.”

“Nobody believes it.” He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.

After a moment of your silence, he reaches over to grab your hand. You surprise even yourself when you allow him.

“I’m sorry. It’s not your problem. And it doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks.”

“Don’t apologize.” You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter, Chenle. We’ll get our…obligations out of the way, and then you can find the love you claim you want.”

His jaw tightens as he looks forward, his grip on you loosening. “Right.”

“Why?” you ask. “Why is that what you want? With me, or with anyone.”

“Love is good for you.” He shrugs. “To have someone who actually cares for you more than themselves just because they want to. Ever since I was young, I wanted to marry for love, but I’d always understood it wasn’t in the cards for me. But I figured I’d at least be able to try. With whoever it was, at least I’d be able to try to be a proper husband.”

There’s much more complexity behind Chenle than what you initially gave him credit for. You figured he’d be the typical CEO, a man high on power who will do everything and anything to not only keep it, but to grow his influence. The version of him you see now doesn’t support that original thought, but you have a hard time believing it.

“Life is already dull and loveless as it is. Rich families don’t exactly enjoy time with their relatives. I figured you, of all people, would understand where I’m coming from in that aspect.” He fidgets with his wedding band. “I don’t want to bring children into a world where they won’t be loved.”

“You think I wouldn’t love my own children?” you ask.

“That’s not what I said.” He glances at you. “Children deserve a complete family. One with parents who not only love them, but each other. I didn’t have that growing up, and I refuse to put anyone else through it.”

“I see.” You understand his point all too well, but you don’t see the big deal. Even if you two were in love and had children, wouldn’t you still have nannies and cooks and all of the things that you had as a child?

“Again, I’m not forcing you into anything. So, you don’t have to try with me if you don’t want to. But I’m not searching for it somewhere else. Since we…are obligated to have children, I wouldn’t put them through a situation where they view their father as a cheater. When I signed that contract and the marriage certificate, I signed my life away to you. Sure, it wasn’t in a traditional way or necessarily…by choice, but we’re here.”

“Wow, you sure know how to woo a woman.”

“You’ve made your stance clear. All I ask is that whoever you…” he trails off and scoffs. “Whoever you decide to be with, you keep them away from any future children. And we’ll never force them into a marriage like this.”

“You want our children to marry for love?”

“Of course, I do.” He nods.

“Chenle, I…”

This time, you reach over to him to stop his excessive movement. The second your fingers wrap around his wrist, he stops.

“I think the same way you do. Hopefully, we respect each other enough not to be caught. Publicly or by children.”

“So, you really…There’s no chance? Of anything real between us?”

Your heart comes to a dead-stop in your chest, and the word ‘no’ hangs on the tip of your tongue, but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to actually say it. It’s one simple syllable, but it’s so heavy in your mouth, you fear opening it will wreak havoc.

“I…I don’t know,” you reply, gulping.

He turns his hand so your palms are touching, and then he squeezes you gently. “All I ask is that you keep an open mind. It’s okay to let yourself have things you want, too. Not everything has to be an obligation.”

Before you can speak, the driver is opening the door for you and Chenle to get out. The two of you make your way into the house, but you’re honestly not sure where to go from here. You head upstairs toward the master bedroom to take off your dress.

“(Y/N),” Chenle calls, stopping you in your tracks. He continues, “I have to get clothes to change into. They’re still all in the master, but I’ll have the staff move them by the end of the week.”

You wet your lips. Standing on the third stair makes you taller than him, and he looks up at you with only kindness behind his brown eyes. You want to hate him. Or to only tolerate him. But through the moments of kindness, you know he’s the type of man you could be friends with. You could—

You stop that thought before it completes. “It’s your house. Do whatever you need to.”

He joins you on the third step and leans closer to you. “Wrong.”

“Wrong?” You tilt your head.

“Remember that everything I have is yours, too. This house belongs to you just as much as it belongs to me. As much as you hate to think so, I know you, (Y/N). The ball is in your court. You make the decisions around here, whether it’s what color the walls are or twenty kids running around the hallways. Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.”

You gape at him, face red as he leans away from you and continues up the stairs without looking back at you. Once he’s far enough away, you clear your throat and pat your cheeks. Regaining your composure, you follow him up and find him working on the buttons of his shirt, his tie discarded on the bed.

“Does this bother you?” he asks. “I can go.”

“What makes you think it bothers me?”

“You’re staring.”

You head over to the closet instead of responding to him, more than ready to put pants on instead of the dress that’s much too tight for comfort. Once you’ve picked out your new clothes, you stay where you’re at and reach behind you for the zipper. After a few moments of struggling with it, you finally give up and decide to use your resources.

“Chenle?” you call out.

When he appears in the doorway, his shirt is absent, and you were pretty sure he’d been wearing a belt before. His arms are crossed over his chest as he leans against the frame, awaiting you to tell him what you need. You don’t have to actually speak. Instead, you turn your back to him and pull your hair over your shoulder. He hums behind you, keeping a respectable amount of distance before he grips the zipper.

“What did you do before me?” he asks, hesitant to pull it down.

“Staff.” You shrug. “But I mostly wore things I knew I’d be able to—”

The familiar sound and the rush of cool air against your heated skin as he reveals more of you has your breath catching in your throat. You cut yourself off, immediately reaching up to hold the dress to your chest.

“I’m a very accommodating man, (Y/N).” His voice sinks into every inch of you. “If you need something, tell me. I’m your husband. It’s quite literally my job to ensure you’re happy, darling.”

The heat radiating from his bare skin so close to yours has every thought in your brain flying away. Logically, there’d be nothing wrong with giving in to your temptation. It’d been a long time since anyone had touched you, and the man behind you is your husband. Physical attraction had nothing to do with emotions or feelings, so it was okay. One thing you’d never be able to deny is how he’s one of the most beautiful men you’d ever met. Your parents could’ve chosen much, much worse for you.

His voice centimeters from your ear startles you out of your trance. He says, “I wonder what you’re thinking about. You seem a bit distracted.”

“Wouldn’t you love to know.”

“Truly.”

“I need to change.”

“Do you?” He trails a finger up your spine. “You’re so soft. What an odd comparison to that steel wall you’re forcing yourself to keep up.”

“I think you’re forgetting your own boundaries.” You clench your fist into the fabric of your dress. “This wouldn’t be real.”

“What even is this?” His breath fans across your neck, and you’re sure you feel the sublest brush of his lips on your skin. “Tell me where you think this is going. After all, I’m helping you with your dress like a good husband.”

“My dress was dealt with minutes ago.”

“Darling.” He tsks. “If your dress was dealt with already, it would be long, long gone.”

Even like this, you refuse to let him win. If this were to be the extent of your relationship with Chenle, you’d be fine with that. You crave satisfaction, and you also know this is a means to an end. This may be the key to giving your family those fucking heirs they want so badly. In a bold move, you release your grip on the fabric and allow it to crumple at your feet.

“What?” You tilt your head, grinning when his breathing halts. “Are you the only one who can deliver?”

He places his hand on your hip. “Can I touch you here?”

“Mhm,” you inhale sharply when he squeezes, trying your best not to roll back against him.

“Here?” he whispers, splaying his fingers out along your stomach.

“What’s your goal?” you ask, looking back at him over your shoulder. “You seem like you want something from me.”

His face is much too close to yours, but for some reason, it does little to bother you. When his lips part, you don’t mean to squirm in his touch. His eyes sweep over your expression, his touch edging just a little further downward until he can play with the lace hem of your panties.

“I’ve told you what I want already.” His gaze locks on your mouth. “Everything. I want it all.”

You gulp, unable to speak for fear of making a fool of yourself.

“What about me makes this hard for you?” he asks.

Despite the softness of his voice, your proximity to him means you see the hint of hurt swimming around in his dark irises. The heat of his bare skin on yours has everything inside you awakening, but you can’t give him what he wants.

“The choice is yours.” He takes a deep breath. “Going forward, the choice is always yours to make. I’m yours in any way you want me.”

The atmosphere around you is so warm, charged, you can’t help the way you struggle to breathe. You lean closer to him, and when your lips brush his, his grip around you tightens. Before he’s able to initiate a real kiss, a knock sounds on the bedroom door.

“Mr. Zhong, you have a visitor.”

“God damn it,” he curses under his breath, annoyance replacing whatever vulnerability you’d just seen. Stepping away from you, he grabs a shirt for you and hands it to you.

You accept it quickly, embarrassment flooding through your system as reality sets in and you realize what you’d done. He stops in the doorway, stealing one more glance at you before he runs his fingers through his hair and walks out.

“What the fuck?” you mutter to yourself, patting your cheeks.

Your skin where he touched you suddenly feels much too cold, and you give yourself a few moments to calm down as you search for a pair of pants to put on. You pick your dress up off the floor and put it with your dirty laundry. You tie your hair up to get yourself to cool down, and then you follow Chenle out to see who saved you from making a decision you wouldn’t be able to come back from.

“You came all the way here to deliver a report?” Chenle’s voice cuts through the air before you’re able to see him, and you hear the agitation flooding through it.

You round the corner and stop at the top of the stairs, finding Chenle in the foyer with one of the men from the meeting earlier standing right inside the doorway with a binder. He’d slipped his shirt back on, retucked it, and even rolled his sleeves up. His hands are deep in his pockets.

“It couldn’t wait,” the man says.

“There are plenty of things that can’t wait in this world, and they wait anyway, Jeno.” Chenle shifts on his feet. “But you’re here, so give it to me.”

Jeno hands Chenle the binder, and he opens it. At the realization of what it is, the latter’s eyes close.

“You’re telling me that this has been going on for years?”

“Before you were even CEO, yes.” Jeno nods.

“My father knows about this?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What is your father supposed to know about?” you ask, finally making your presence known as you make your way down the stairs.

Chenle turns to you, his jaw clenching as his gaze travels on its own accord. “The amount you pointed out earlier. It’s not just one payment. There’s…an entire binder full of payments to someone that aren’t accounted for. That’s $143,000 a quarter, for longer than I’ve even been able to—”

“Should she really be involved in this?” Jeno grabs Chenle’s arm.

“She’s the COO of the company.” Chenle frowns at the other man. “And she’s my wife. If this is going on, it affects her, too.”

The other man releases him, and you join Chenle at his side. At this point, even pressing your arm against his is far too much contact for you, yet you crave it all the same.

“It’s new for them,” you remind your husband. “They’re not used to me yet. They’ll learn in due time.”

“Right.”

You hold your hand out for the reports, and he gives it to you. You flip through, noting the dates corresponding with the payments.

“I wouldn’t bring it up to your father,” you mention.

“What?” Chenle recoils. “Why not?”

“These charges have been happening for years,” you point out. “There’s a chance he might know about them. That he could be the one—”

“That’s impossible,” Chenle interrupts you, his posture immediately straightening out as he stands rigid.

“It’s not.” You keep your voice soft in an attempt to neutralize the situation, and you reach for his wrist. “All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t rule anyone out. We need to keep this within a circle while we do research. No one else can know that this has even been caught.”

As soon as your fingers wrap around him, the tension in his body melts away. He lets out a sigh, wets his lips, and nods. “You’re right. We’ll look into it.” He turns to Jeno. “No one can know about this. This stays between the three of us.”

“Of course,” Jeno confirms. “I’ll leave you with that information now. Have a good night, you two.”

“Thanks,” Chenle says.

Jeno leaves, the echo of the door closing behind him leaving you and Chenle draped in an awkward silence. You place the binder on the table on the glass table, turning to face your husband.

“Are you alright?” Chenle asks.

“Me?” You raise your eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He gives you a pointed look, one that tells you he’s in no way wanting to beat around the bush. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m…okay, yes. Maybe a little flustered, but I didn’t…hate what happened, if that’s what you’re asking.” You avoid his gaze, rolling your eyes as you stare off past him to the ornate details of the front door.

“We’re married,” he points out.

“Yes, I’m acutely aware of that fact, thank you.” Your fingers find the band of your wedding ring.

He pauses, but his gaze leaves goosebumps all over your body as he trails over you. “It’s clear we’re…attracted to each other. And you’re still sure you’d rather not attempt a real relationship.”

“We’ve talked about this.” You glance around, like the staff overhearing is the most embarrassing thing you’ll deal with.

“Not enough.”

“What else could we possibly add to that?”

“I don’t want us to tolerate each other, (Y/N). At the very least, we should try to be friends.” He takes a step closer to you.

You’ve been confronted by a lot of men in your life. There have been even more men who doubted your abilities, but none of them had ever intimidated you. Chenle, standing in front of you with a determined look on his face, intimidates you. A part of you—no matter how small it may be—knows he’s everything he says he is and more. He could give you the life you’ve always wanted, but you’re sure you don’t deserve it. Not until you’ve fulfilled your portion of the contract and take your place as CEO. Only then can you allow yourself to let go.

“Do you want me?” he asks. “In any way?”

“I don’t want to,” you tell him honestly. “But I do.”

“When we were on our honeymoon, or the semblance of whatever that was, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how we were forced into this arrangement, yet none of it…None of it feels wrong. You may not have paid me much attention beforehand, but for years before we were ever to be married, I’ve admired you. Your willpower and the way you hold your own. The independence you have. Your autonomy. I envy you.”

“Why? Why envy me?”

“Look at yourself.” Chenle puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you to look into the floor-length mirrors against the wall. “I’m not talking about how beautiful you are, even though that’s definitely an added bonus. I mean the utter tenacity you have flowing through your veins. The way you can command attention the second you walk into a room. How you’re unafraid to put men with decades of more experience in their places. You are…unapologetically yourself. This life, one of business, is significantly easier for me as a man, yet you’ve absolutely bulldozed everyone in your way.”

“Chenle—”

“I’m not done.” He taps his fingers against you.

Seeing him standing behind you in these mirrors is making your heart race, your brain jolting with electricity, and inexplicable thoughts running around your mind. He looks good like this. He watches you fondly, the admiration in his gaze evident.

“But you’re honest, too. With your intentions and with the way you want to live your life. I wish you’d give me the chance to prove how things could be, but like I said before, these choices are yours alone. Don’t get that confused with me not wanting to try. Because I’ll keep trying as long as you want me in…whatever way.”

You turn to him, craning your neck to look at him with your hands flat on his chest. “I’m beginning to think you’re crazy.”

“If trying to give my wife the life she deserves is crazy, then I’ll gladly claim that title.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Something tells me you might come around someday.”

“I wish you saw things the way I do,” you mutter.

“I think the same way. But as much as I understand your fears, they shouldn’t hinder you in your life. You’re allowed to explore all aspects. Business. Joy. Intimacy. Love.”

“And you’re an expert on intimacy?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Expert might be a strong word, but I won’t ever lie to you. I’ve been in love in the past and gotten hurt because of it. But every heartbreak is worth it if it leads you to the person you were made for.” His hands slide to your hips, fingertips barely applying any pressure. “If we find we’re not good for each other, I’d let you go. You’re bound to me in a legal sense only. Paper. It means nothing unless we make it mean something.”

“You…scare me,” you breathe out. “This scares me.”

“We’re doing something right, then.” He lets out a short chuckle. “But I like this. Being close to you. Knowing that we’d be so much better as a team than as roommates.”

“I’ve always worked alone.”

“Does that mean you’ve never been in love?”

You shake your head. “Never. I don’t give myself the time to feel things like that.”

“So, feel.” His finger brushes below your chin, angling you so your eyes meet his. “Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

“I—”

“Don’t think. Feel.”

“I…I’m nervous. You can’t be real. I’ve only been burned in the past, but it feels like you’d…just keep me warm. I don’t know if I want that.” You gulp past the unexplainable lump in your throat. “It’s…overwhelming.”

“What can I do to help you?” Chenle asks. “Whatever you need. Tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”

“You.” Your voice almost refuses to work. “I want you, but I…I need time to see if that’s really it or if I’m tricking myself in order to fulfill these stupid obligations set for me.”

“Which obligations?”

“Heirs.” You avert your gaze, but he gently pulls you right back.

“Take whatever time you need. I mean it. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not going to push you into any situations like that.” He reaches up and plays with a strand of your hair. “But there are…plenty of ways to explore that side of our relationship without pregnancy being a risk. Or a reward, if that’s what you view it as.”

Your face burns. Never before has a man made you blush.

“With that in the open, does removing the pregnancy factor make you want me any less?”

You contemplate. While you’d love to say that portion of your contract was the last thing on your mind, you thought of it frequently. But thoughts of what he’s mentioning has your insides twisting and turning in every way, with or without heirs being involved. When he touched you earlier, his hands on your bare skin, that genuinely wasn’t a thought. You want him for personal gain, but not in the way you originally assumed.

“Never less,” you murmur. The warmth around you becomes unbearable, yet you still find yourself shivering. “I think we need to come back to this at a different time.”

“Of course.” He takes a step back, allowing cool air to rush over you. Grabbing the binder from the table, he gestures for you to follow him into his office. “Shall we move on to some numbers, then?”

Finally, you laugh shortly. “Yeah. Yes, that sounds good.”

After two hours of studying the documents, spreadsheets, and all the other information Jeno brought for Chenle, the two of you have gotten as far as discovering the payments were sent to the same bank account. Stress is written across his face, and eventually, you slide the binder away from him.

“You’re going to run yourself into the ground,” you scold him. “It’s time for a break.”

“What time is it?” he asks, massaging his forehead.

“Almost 8pm.” You lean back in your chair and cross your legs.

His lips part in shock, and he checks his watch. “Fuck. I’m sorry, I didn’t even…you haven’t eaten yet.”

“Neither have you,” you point out.

“We’ve already established that you’re more important.” He lets out a sigh, partially filled with frustration. “You know what? Why don’t you get changed and we’ll go out?”

“Together?” Your eyes widen.

“We’re married. It’d be weird if we went by ourselves.”

“Right, of course. Um, anything in particular I should wear?”

“The choice is yours.” He grins, and like it’s the easiest thing in the world, robs all of the oxygen from your lungs. You realize then that you don’t see him smile much, but the pang in your heart can only mean you want to see it over and over again.

“Okay.” You nod and stand. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Take your time. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“You sure you don’t want to pick?” you offer one last time.

“While that would honestly be an honor, darling, I’m trying to prove a point here.” He lifts himself to his feet and reaches across the desk to close the binder. “I could use a drink.”

You give him a small smile before you exit his office. Once he’s out of sight, you practically bound up the stairs. You’d been on dates before, sure, but this feels different. You know better than to let yourself look too far ahead, so once you’re in your closet, you want to make sure you wear something nice. You pick a dress you’re sure you can get yourself out of. Unlike your outfit from earlier, this one isn’t as tight to your figure, and the soft color matches you well. For business meetings, you only wear black. Wearing bright colors hasn’t ever brought you success, but you figure you can wear the purple for a date with your husband.

A date. Is it a date?

That part of it doesn’t matter. This dress makes you feel good about yourself, truly. Disgust immediately sends a shiver down your spine when you realize you’re beginning to ponder how Chenle will perceive you. He’s a man. You could wear a trash bag and he’d think you did something revolutionary. Brushing the skirt of your dress off, you grab a pair of heels, slide them on, and head back down the stairs. He waits by the door, his suit jacket back on and buttoned in the middle. He turns at the sound of your shoes on the floor, and he freezes in his spot.

“What?” you inquire.

“I just…I’ve never seen you in that color before.” He clears his throat, but his cheeks tinge with a light, barely noticeable pink. “You…it suits you well.”

“Thank you.” Before you attempt to leave the door, he grabs your jacket from the rack and drapes it over your shoulders.

“It’s cold, darling,” he mutters, making sure the fabric is secure on your shoulders.

“You don’t think it ruins the outfit?”

“Not a chance. Jacket or not, it’s my favorite of yours.”

“Relax with the compliments. You’re making me blush.” You brush your fingertips against his shoulder and exit the house.

“My hard work is paying off. Good to know.” He closes the door behind him and guides you to the car with his hand on the small of your back. “I’ll stop with the compliments if you ever stop deserving them. Which I doubt will happen, by the way.”

The drive is thirty minutes, and the city is still bustling by the time Chenle is helping you out of the car. His palm against yours makes your stomach flip, and you’re beginning to hate this effect he has on you. It seems like it hit you out of nowhere, and you’d prefer if it were to sink back into the depths of hell where it came from in the first place. But before you know it, you’re a glass and a half deep of wine, you’ve eaten enough pasta to get you through the night, and Chenle’s in the exact same boat you’re in. Between the two of you, you’ve finished a bottle, and it seems as if your husband is debating ordering another one.

You hide a laugh with another sip from your glass and shake your head. “I cannot believe we’re this out of order.”

“The order doesn’t matter as long as the end result is desirable. Isn’t that true?” He quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Mm, I’ve always been an order of operations girl. Everything has to happen in the exact right way.” You set your drink down and rest your head on your palm.

“I just realized I know…nothing about your past. Please, tell me what the younger version of you was like. What kind of trouble did you get into?”

“Wow, what makes you assume I got into trouble?” you tease him, unable to fight your smile.

He sucks in a deep breath and pats his legs. “God, I’m not sure. It couldn’t be the way you never take no for an answer or how you absolutely run over everyone in your way.”

“I’ll have you know that I am a very composed human.” You run your tongue over your teeth.

“I’d expect nothing less, to be honest.” He gives you a soft smile. “And for the record, I enjoy those qualities. There aren’t many people in this world that would be unafraid of calling me out if I’m doing something wrong.”

“You mean earlier.”

“I mean in general, but that does apply, yes.”

“I only want to be a balance for you.” You look down at the red liquid in your cup. “We’re meant to complement each other now, yeah?”

“I think we were the most strategic pair…ever.” Chenle nods.

“Can I be honest with you?” You take another sip.

“Absolutely.”

“You asked me earlier what about you makes this situation hard. Or what about you makes it hard for me to…let go of certain views.” You clear your throat, dreading the conversation more than you’d care to admit. “I feel like it’s…because a part of me knows the greatness we’d be capable of together. But I’ve worked hard to build my own greatness, and I can almost guarantee the second this becomes real, my greatness becomes ours.”

“Ah.” He purses his lips. “I won’t lie to you. There will be people that see it that way. But by being married to me, those people already exist.”

“I’m not talking about other people. I don’t care about them or their opinions.” You finish off your glass.

“You…you mean me?” His eyes widen in shock.

“That is a fear I have.”

He flounders for a second, and he scrambles for words for the first time all day. “I’m sorry, I just…I’m not sure if there’s anything I can say to make this better. I…(Y/N), I know my promises probably don’t mean much to you at this point, but I’d never discount you like that. Or take credit for anything you’ve done. How can I make that clearer?”

“It’s not your issue to correct.” You chew the inside of your cheek. “It’s mine. And I don’t say it to make you feel responsible, but as a forewarning, I guess. Being a woman and working my way to the top just to have…this thrust upon me is a little redundant.”

“You never wanted to marry in the first place.” It’s not a question.

“That’s correct.”

He blows out a long breath and looks down at his hands, twisting the wedding band on his finger. “You never saw this in the cards for you.”

“I knew I’d eventually have to marry for company purposes. My father would never let himself die before he knows I’ve carried on his line.” You snort and shake your head. “But I figured all of these types of marriages were the same. People signed their paperwork and barely acknowledged each other unless it was to reproduce.”

Chenle lets out a laugh. “Your word choice is interesting.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.” You cover your mouth as you join him in laughter. “I just never thought you’d be…you.”

“I live to prove to you that you can have everything. We can be happy, have a real family, and still be at the top of our field. Both independently and together.”

Fortunately for the both of you, Chenle doesn’t order the second bottle of wine. Instead, he pays the bill and leads you from the restaurant with his arm wrapped around your waist. He opens the car door for you, and as you place your hand in his to enter, he squeezes your hand gently. Once you get home, the two of you separate at the top of the stairs, him heading off to a spare room down the hall while you step into the room that technically belongs to him. You change without interrupt, your silk nightgown soft on your skin as you climb into bed.

You stare up at the ceiling, tracing along it with your eyes as if you were drawing a map. Where the destinations were you had yet to figure out, but you imagined a whole new world up there, one where you didn’t have to have this wall up. One where you didn’t have to fight tooth and nail for a shred of respect you more than deserve. One where you didn’t have to be scared of what Chenle was trying to offer you.

You sigh, clutching the blanket to your chest. The wine has since settled in your system, yet your blood still runs warm. The map on the ceiling becomes mountains, oceans, continents. It forms real shapes, real geography in your mind, but you find the destination right in the middle is where you truly want to be. When you look at your phone, the time is already past 2 a.m., and you’re not anywhere near tired. You’re startled by the knock. You shuffle out of bed, crossing your arms over your chest as you crack the door open slightly.

Chenle stands there, hands buried deep in his sweatpants. His eyes sweep over you as you open the door wider.

“You’re up,” he comments.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You shrug. “You’re up. And here.”

“I was hoping I could talk to you.” He pauses. “I can’t stop thinking, and I just really don’t want to be alone right now.”

Your heart skips a beat. As much as you hate it, warmth spreads through your entire being at the thought of his first idea being you.

“This is your room, Chenle. I’m not going to tell you you can’t come in your own bedroom.” You step back to give him space to walk in, but he stays put outside, staring at you as if he’s seeing straight into your soul. You give him a pointed look, but give in. “Yes, it’s okay for you to come in here. I’d prefer company as well.”

He shuffles past you, tiredness clearly weighing down as the bottoms of his feet slide across the hardwood floor. You watch him closely, admiring him. Quickly, you realize that he fits into any room he walks in. He belongs anywhere and everywhere, and within moments, he makes you feel something you’ve only ever been able to provide for yourself until this moment—safe.

“Sorry,” he whispers with a sigh. “I need to stop thinking.”

“Trust me, I get it. Me too.” You stand with your arms still crossed over your chest and you rock back and forth on the balls of your feet. “Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“I shouldn’t bore you.” He waves you off and sits on the edge of his bed. “How are you adjusting?”

“I’m okay. I’m not complaining about my accommodations.” You move and sit next to him, putting your hand on his knee. “You won’t bore me. If something’s bothering you, I want to try and help.”

His eyes sparkle even in the dark. The landscapes of the map you drew reflect in his gaze, and you swear you see every mountain, every body of water, entire worlds forming in his irises. How have you never seen this before? Why are you seeing it now?

“The payments,” he murmurs. “The idea that my father might know about them. Might be facilitating them. It’s driving me up a fucking wall.”

“When I said that, I didn’t mean to upset you.” You reach over and grab his hand. “We just need to take precaution when it comes to situations like this. If it is him and he knows we’re onto him, it might be…a bigger issue than it needs to be.”

“I know that. I guess it’s the idea that he’d be capable of something like that.” Chenle stares down at the way your thumb traces against his skin.

“You look up to him.”

“I did. I do. A lot, actually, so this seems so…backwards. That’s a lot of money per quarter, you know? I could only imagine what it’s going towards.” He turns his hand around so your palms are touching, and he gently intertwines your fingers. “Sorry, I should’ve asked if this was okay.”

“It’s more than okay. Don’t worry about me. Keep talking.”

“My parents never really loved each other. They grew to love their life together, but not each other. And despite that, I had a decent time growing up. They were good parents to me, and that’s what truly matters at the end of the day, but it makes me wonder if they’re…not these great people I’ve made them out to be in my head.” He lets out a short chuckle. “This sounds pathetic.”

“Hey.” Before you realize what you’re doing, you reach up to cup his cheek and bring his gaze back to yours. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not pathetic. These are valid concerns, and if you’ve been lied to for this long, you have every right to be upset.”

You’re so distracted by him, you barely even recognize the softness of his face. Your thumb runs gently along his cheekbone, and you watch as the frown fades from his features. Something you can’t recognize forms behind his irises, yet it still feels familiar. How do you explain how the normal beat of your heart hurts? How do you tell him that seeing him upset like this feels like needles running along your skin?

“My father would tell me I was foolish for hoping for love,” Chenle whispers. “He said it was a waste of time, since any man as busy as we are just isn't suited for it. For families.”

“If you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I would’ve agreed with him.” You squeeze his hand and give him a small smile.

“Something changed?” he asked.

“I don’t think that way anymore,” you admit. “Now, I’ve realized it’s about the amount of effort someone is willing to put in. It has nothing to do with time. We make time for those we care about.”

He leans into your touch as his eyes flutter shut. You admire the angelic glow the stars leave on his skin, and despite how tired he is, he’s still so fucking beautiful. Your throat dries at the sight, and you hate how it feels like your insides are at war.

“I like this,” he tells you. “Being with you like this.”

“Me, too.” You smile, even though he can’t see you. “You should try and sleep though. You’ll be exhausted tomorrow.”

His chest visibly deflates, and he places his hand on top of yours to pull it away from his face. “Of course. I…I’ll get going.”

You recoil, but you don’t let go of his other hand. “Oh. Is that what you want?” Nerves crawl around in your stomach. You figured he’d stay with you tonight, in his own bed. That maybe the two of you would learn to be better comforted by each other’s presence.

“You’re tired, and I’m keeping you up. I was inconsiderate.” He clears his throat.

“No, no,” you quickly interject. “That’s not what I meant at all. I’m only worried about you, so I was hoping you’d stay with me.”

“In here?” he asks.

You nod. “Yes. If it were my choice, you’d stay.”

“Damn, you got me there.” He delivers a tired grin and ultimately agrees. “I’d love that, (Y/N). Truly.”

You let him settle in beneath the comforter first, and he lifts it to allow you room to slide in next to him. Neither of you say anything else, but things seem to fall together naturally. He opens his arms, you push yourself against his chest, and then he wraps you up tightly in his warm embrace. He smells faintly of cologne, a soft, woody scent that engulfs you pleasantly. Despite the way you failed to fall asleep earlier, you struggle to remember a time you’d ever fallen into your dream world faster.

When you wake without Chenle in the morning, you’re sure you dreamed the last portion of the night. That is, until you see that it’s almost 10 am. You gasp and launch yourself out of bed. You never sleep in this late, so you quickly dress yourself and get ready for the day. Chenle’s side of the bed is mussed, so you determine it was, indeed, not a dream, and you make sure you look as presentable as your normal standard before you go downstairs to find where your husband disappeared to. The smell of breakfast emanates from the kitchen, so you naturally gravitate that way. When you step into the room, you’re taken aback by the company present. Not just your own parents, but Chenle’s as well. Your husband stands at the end of the table, clearly stressed with all of the people in your kitchen. He notices you first and breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of you.

“Wow,” you say as you approach Chenle and stand next to him. “Were we expecting everyone today?”

“Nope.” He chuckles and, much to apparently both of your surprises, he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Everyone showed up an hour or so ago.”

Through the burning of your cheeks, your gaze shoots up to his and you lower your voice. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You looked really comfortable.” He shrugs.

“(Y/N), Chenle was just telling us that you’re accepting the COO position at his company,” your mother butts in. Of course, business talk immediately.

“Yes, we—”

“Isn’t that a little early? And don’t you have enough responsibilities as COO of my company?” your father grumbles, and you already start to shrink into yourself in his presence.

“She’s more than capable,” Chenle defends you. “If I didn’t think she could handle it, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“Don’t interrupt their family discussions, Chenle, that’s rude,” his mother scolds him.

“This marriage was a merger, was it not?” Chenle raises an eyebrow. “Doesn’t that technically make our families interconnected now?”

“We’ll consider them officially connected when she’s had her first child.” Your father points his finger at you. “Speaking of which, what’s taking so long?”

Your jaw drops, and you shift uncomfortably. It’s one thing to talk about your husband getting you pregnant with your own father, but him being so comfortable spitting things out like that in front of Chenle’s parents as well has you feeling queasy.

“We’ve been married for two months.”

“Your mother was pregnant after three weeks.”

“I don’t really want to hear about you impregnating my mother—”

“You’re making excuses, (Y/N), you know what’s on the line here.” Your father tsks at you, sipping from his water glass.

“Sir, all due respect, but it’s not like we knew each other very well. We’re both still getting comfortable with each other. And we’re young. We have plenty of time to have children.” As soon as the words leave Chenle’s mouth, you reach over and grasp his hand. It’s not visible below the table, but he squeezes you in reassurance.

“And what happens if she were to die tomorrow? My bloodline dies with her?” Your father narrows his eyes at Chenle. Your heart sinks in your chest, and you scratch your forehead.

“Even if she were to be pregnant, if she died tomorrow there wouldn’t be an heir either way,” your husband replies.

“Is there a reason we’re having such a lovely family reunion?” you butt in, hoping to curve their conversation.

“Do we need a reason to visit our daughter?” your mother asks.

“Typically, yes.” You shrug. “You never show up unannounced.”

“Oh, I take it they haven’t seen the tabloids,” Chenle’s father mentions.

You stand from your spot and pull your phone out of your pocket to check. You hear Chenle whisper something to the group before he pushes his chair back to join you. Despite the anxiety crawling up your spine, the warmth of him right behind you calms you.

“They came here because there’s a couple articles of people being shocked that we like each other?” you hiss, tossing your phone on the counter.

“Breathe,” Chenle tells you, putting his hands on your shoulders. “They’ll eventually leave us alone, but we’ve got to placate them for now.”

“Placate them?” You turn to him and raise your eyebrow. “You exchanged words with my father.”

“He said stupid things.” Chenle shrugs.

You chuckle. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ah, but you said the people are surprised we like each other, so I’m assuming you enjoy how ridiculous I am.” He bites back a grin when he sees you blush.

“God, you’ve got to stop doing that.” You push gently at his chest and walk back to your parents and your in-laws.

“I’m not sure this is really something that should have blame assigned,” Chenle’s mother says. “I’ve seen married couples go years without children.”

You curse under your breath. Of course, this is still the topic of conversation.

“That’s not how it works in this family. Heirs come first immediately after marriage.” Your mother sips from a champagne flute.

“Well, that’s hardly Chenle’s fault—”

“He’s a man. How hard is it to impregnate a woman?” Your mother scoffs. “Please, she’s not ugly by any means.”

“Mother, dear God,” you snap. “Why in the world are we still talking about this?”

“I’m sorry, are you questioning my son’s…viability?” Chenle’s father narrows his eyes.

You want to combust into flames right then and there. The immediate assumption that the reason behind you not being with child yet is that Chenle simply can’t get it up. How fucking great.

“I’m just saying, there were other men contending for a contract that were more than willing—”

“That’s enough,” you shout.

You have four shocked faces staring at you, and you feel Chenle go rigid behind you.

“I am beyond tired of this conversation already. We’ve only been married for two months, and that’s just not enough time. I barely even knew him when I married him, and we’re trying to do this the normal way. As normally as we can.” You pause. “I’m the one that wants to wait. And it is a want, not a necessity, so neither of us are…sexually dysfunctional.”

Chenle holds back a laugh behind you, but four sets of eyes are still on you. And while it’s technically not the truth—as you’ve stated multiple times you’d be okay with having an heir quickly—you’d rather this portion of it fall on you than on him. Your parents would lose their minds.

“And let’s not forget that (Y/N) is a human with a career that’s just as important as mine,” your husband adds. “Having a child at this time could put her back immensely after all the hard work she’s put in. If she wants to wait, nobody should have a say in that other than her.”

With every word coming out of Chenle’s mouth, he gets more and more attractive to you. You wish today had been a simple morning, truly. One where you’d wake up with him next to you and he’d hold you for however long the two of you could stand to stay still for.

“You should be happy we’re trying to do this properly.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“Love is a waste of time in a business arrangement.” Your father sets his empty water glass on the table.

“I agree. It’s better to get the obligations out of the way first, and then worry about trying to create something real,” Chenle’s father agrees.

“Right, because that worked out so well for you,” Chenle says.

Today was going to be a long, long day.

Your parents and in-laws stayed for another hour, and then they (thankfully) willingly left on their own accord. As soon as Chenle closes the door behind his parents, you sigh in relief and slump your back against the counter. He approaches you without a word, and almost like it’s instinct, you wrap your arms around him. Running his fingers through your hair, he holds you as close as he can.

“I’m sorry my parents implied you’re impotent,” you mutter, and you and Chenle burst into laughter at the same time.

“Wow. Clearly the only two options for an explanation as to why you’re not pregnant within two months are impotency or your husband not finding you attractive. Which, for the record, neither of those are an issue.”

“Gross. But thanks, I think?” You lean back slightly to look at him and find him smiling at you.

“Just being honest. If I was impotent, I would’ve told you before we married for business purposes. And if you don’t know how attractive you are at this point, that would be one of the world’s biggest mysteries.” He pulls you to him until your chest presses against his. “But, since I was so rudely torn away from my beautiful wife this morning by our nosy, no fucking good parents dropping in like we’re fifteen years old, I wanted to thank you for last night. Since I couldn’t earlier.”

“Thank me?” You frown and tilt your head.

“I needed that. I didn’t even know it, but I needed it,” Chenle tells you.

“Of course,” you murmur. “You never have to be alone for those moments.”

“Just for those moments?” He fakes a pout. “Does that mean I have to go back to my own room?”

You give him a pointed look, and then pretend to be lost in thought momentarily. “Pretty sure that’s only when you make me mad. I guess married couples argue and then the wives send the husbands to the couch. But in this case, there’s an extra bedroom. Or twenty.”

“Can I…can I try something?” he asks, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Yeah.” You nod.

“Close your eyes,” he mutters.

If he was anyone else, you’d be asking a million questions. But this is Chenle, and you’ve grown to realize he’s exactly who he said he is. You trust him inexplicably.

“Wow,” he says. “Not even a sarcastic comment. I think I’m winning you over.”

You open one eye, push at his shoulder, and then close it again. You’re more than tempted to open them again when his hands cup your cheeks. His thumbs caress your skin, and your breath gets caught in your throat. Your heart races in anticipation as you await his next move, craving whatever it is he wants to give you. You gasp quietly when you feel his lips brush yours, and your body tenses.

“Relax,” he whispers. “It’s me.”

You don’t give him the opportunity to finish closing the distance between you two. You do it for him. Pushing yourself forward, you seal the kiss with him quickly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close to you. He curses against you, and you follow suit when he wraps his arm around your waist and lifts you onto the counter. For a brief moment, he pulls away from you, chest heaving as he pants.

“Chenle.” You hate that it comes out as a whimper, but you love the way he reacts to it.

He kisses you again, harder this time while one of his hands tangles in your hair and the other sits on your thigh where the hem of your dress is. Instinctively, to make your dress ride up your legs more, you lift one and hike it up around his waist. The fabric slips past his fingertips, now resting much higher than it was before. You pull him closer until he’s right up against the lace of your panties.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly, digging his nails into your skin. “You’d better think this through, darling.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but heat floods your core. You need him.

“Please,” you whisper to him, watching as his eyes darken right in front of you. When you let your hand travel down his body, you smirk at how his length hardens further beneath your touch.

“Shit.” His hips unintentionally thrust into your hand. “Fuck, we should stop.”

You drop your head against his shoulder, retracting your hand away from him. “Well, impotency definitely won’t be a problem.”

He kisses up your neck. “Sorry. I don’t want to get carried away. Or even more carried away, I guess.”

“Look at me.” You wait for him to listen to you. “You don’t have to hold back if you don’t want to. Your desires are just as important as mine.”

“Before we…do anything, I need to make sure I have condoms.” He clears his throat and removes your leg from around his waist.

“Wait, what?” You frown and lean away from him. “What do we need those for?”

“Are you serious?” He takes a step back.

“Well, yeah. We’re married. We need to have children, why would we use condoms?” You run your fingers through your hair.

He sighs and runs his hands down his face. “We talked about this. I was under the impression that we were figuring this out first and then worrying about how and when we’d have children.”

“We can’t do both at the same time?”

“Did you ever think that maybe I don’t want kids yet?” He tilts his head at you and narrows his eyes. “Yes, I understand that’s part of the deal and why we’re even married in the first place, but I don’t want to even risk having kids if I don’t know it’s really me you want.”

Embarrassment floods through you, and you slide off the counter and send him back a few more paces. You pull your dress down and grimace at the thought of being in a position like that.

“After everything we’ve talked about and the time we’ve spent together, you really think that’s not true? You think I don’t want you?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. All of this is confusing. And then our parents are here pressuring you into having a kid, and you’re—”

“Oh, my God.” Your jaw drops, and you brush off your skirt. “You’re literally the one who kissed me. And then you put me on—God forbid I ask a simple question, right? That must mean I’m trying to jump your bones to get my way.”

“(Y/N), that’s not what I said—”

“Maybe not, but that’s sure as hell what you meant. And here I am, like a fucking idiot, letting you touch me when you think that fucking low of me.” You clench your fists at your side, and you’re unaccustomed to the way your heart twists so hard in your chest. “God, fuck you.”

You turn away from him and stomp off, painfully aware of your over-exaggeration. The logical side of you begs you to calm down, since both of your concerns are valid, but the side of you you’re experiencing for the first time is stronger than what you’re accustomed to. When you make it upstairs and to your room, you sit on the edge of the bed and force yourself to breathe. Chenle’s assumption hurt you. It’s as simple as that. You’ve let yourself like him, and now he has this power over you. With a simple miscommunication, it feels like everything is falling apart before it even begins.

You blink rapidly to stop the tears from welling in your eyes, and eventually, you’re more annoyed by your reaction than by the actual situation. The door creaks open, and Chenle walking in makes relief flood through your veins. He moves over to you and sits down next to you, reaching over to grab your hand.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod and lean into his chest, craving his comfort. He sighs, wraps his arms around you tightly, and strokes your hair. With your ear pressed against him, you hear how his heart beats just as hard as yours.

“I think we both got a little carried away there,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I got so upset.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He kisses the top of your head. “It’s never my intention to hurt you. Or to make you regret anything we do.”

You sit there in silence, appreciating the comfort he gives you simply by being next to you.

“I was…I don’t know. Embarrassed, I think.” You chuckle at yourself, but you don’t find it funny at all. “That you would think I’d just…do that without being truthful to you. I’ve had a lot of men assume things about me throughout my entire life. Because of my success, it’s either from my father handing it to me or because I slept my way to the top. So, I’m sure you can see why I had trouble comprehending that as anything else.”

“And I hope you know that’s not what I was thinking at all. I know how much of an influence your parents have had on you. All I ever want to do is make sure you’re making your choices for you. I never communicated that I would want to use condoms if we started sleeping together because I didn’t really assume we’d get there.” He squeezes you closer to him and takes a deep breath.

“I’m also sorry for yelling at you.” You scrunch your nose up and look at him. “That was…really weird.”

“Weird?” A small smile pulls at his lips.

“I’ve never felt anything like that before. And it’s scary that you have that kind of power over me, even if I know you wouldn’t use it against me intentionally.”

“Learning how to manage those feelings will come with the territory. Have some faith in me, alright? I’m not saying things just to bring you down.” He tilts your head up, his gaze scanning over your face. “I want you to be happy. Obviously, bonus points if I’m a part of that happiness.”

“You are.”

“Good. You deserve only good things in life, and I need to make sure you get them.”

He leans down and presses his lips to yours, gently working your mouths together. You sigh into him and tangle your fingers in his hair. Everything about this feels good. It has warmth spreading in your chest from knowing someone in this world cares for you beyond what you can give them. You know he wants you, but you also know he’s going to have your best interest in mind.

He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours. “We’ll learn each other, darling. Everything will work out the way it’s meant to.”

Whether intentionally or not, you and Chenle keep your distance from each other for a couple days. Today, however, you’ve no choice but to be around each other later for the board meeting, where they’ll vote on the CFO position. And your COO position, but Chenle made it very clear that the vote was simply a formality. You choose a black dress, zip it up, put your earrings in, and head downstairs, where your husband waits for you by the door. He looks at you as you stop on the bottom step, a loud clack coming from your heel.

“Yes?” You tilt your head at him.

“Are those earrings new?” He buttons his suit jacket.

“Not new.” You shake your head. “I just haven’t worn them since we married.”

“Right.” He walks over to you and offers you his arm. “Do you like receiving new things?”

You loop yours through his and allow him to guide you toward the door. “I guess that would depend on the context of receiving.”

“If I buy things for you, will they be well received?” he asks.

“You think you know me well enough to buy me things I’d enjoy?” You bite back a smile as he leads you outside and to the car.

With his hand on the small of your back, he helps you into the backseat before following. “I think I’d figure it out fairly quickly. I’m a smart man.”

“They…would be received. Maybe not well, but received nonetheless.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, relaxing against the seat. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I can’t make it too easy for you.” You purse your lips, and without much thought, you scoot closer to him and place your hand on his.

“I don’t think easy is the right word for most things when it comes to you.” He laughs, turning his smile toward you.

“Most things?”

“Being with you is easy. Or around you, I should say. You’re pleasant company. Easy to have an intellectual conversation with, easy to relax around. Those are the easy things.”

“Wow.” You bite back your grin. “You sure know how to woo a woman.”

“Not just any woman,” he interjects. “My wife.”

“Your wife.” It’s the first time you’ve called yourself that out loud, and it has a weird, unrecognizable feeling sprouting in your stomach.

“I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but it seems like you’re coming around a little bit.” He nudges you gently. “I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I’ve missed you the past few days. After the other day, I wanted to give you space in case you didn’t want to see me, but I should’ve thought to ask you.”

He stares down at where your hands are connected, his thumb rubbing against your skin.

You fight the urge to touch his face again. “I…I’ve missed you, too, I think.”

“You think?” Humor laces in his tone.

“I don’t know. I’ve never wanted to be around someone like this before.” You shrug, heat gathering in your cheeks. “Forgive me while I navigate whatever’s going on inside my brain.”

“I want to know everything you’re thinking,” he murmurs, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Every joke, unimportant sentence, emotion, process. I want to know you.”

You lean forward and press your lips to his without a single thought in your head, but he reciprocates with ease. Almost as if he’s not taken off-guard in the slightest.

“I could get used to that,” he says against your lips. “No more silence, okay? I don’t want to be away from you.”

“No more silence,” you agree.

When the two of you pull away from each other, your eyes widen at the sight of your lipstick on his lips. You grab his arm to stop him from getting out of the car and use your thumb to wipe the excess away.

“Made a mess, did you?” He grabs your wrist to stop you. “You don’t want anyone to see that you like me that much?”

A grin follows his words, and he grabs his handkerchief out of his pocket.

“No one can know I actually have a heart,” you interject, watching as he wipes his mouth.

“Alright.” He puts his hand on your knee and squeezes. “Are you ready?”

If there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s the overwhelming attraction you have for Chenle. You take him in for a moment, the dark sweep of his hair parted to reveal his forehead, the way he grips you, the way he watches you as if you’re the only person in the world to exist.

“Before we go,” you start, chuckling quietly at yourself for the question you’re about to ask him. “Did…did you ever get condoms?”

His lips part in shock, and he blinks and flounders for words for a solid few seconds before he clears his throat. “I…I mean, I did, but not because I thought we would—it was just a precaution, you know?”

“Do I make you, Zhong Chenle, so nervous that you’re stuttering right now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He pats your thigh. “Absolutely, you do.”

You silently thank whoever made this car for the partition between the driver and you and Chenle. “I could do so many other things to you that are so much better.” You gently touch his tie, wrapping your fingers around the fabric and pulling on it to bring him closer to you.

“I truly have no doubt that’s true.” He wets his lips. “If we don’t get out of this car in the next ten seconds, I’m having the driver fucking turn us around. We can’t miss the vote.”

“I guess receiving the title of COO is a little more important than banging my husband.”

“Fuck, I need to get out right now.” He glances up at the ceiling and throws the door open without any more hesitation. Like usual, he turns and offers you his hand.

You take it gratefully, and you loop your arm through his once your feet are safely on the ground. While you follow his lead, you realize something that has the gears in your brain turning. Chenle is the only man you’ve ever accepted guidance from. As miniscule as it seems to allow him to walk you inside, you can’t deny how you’d willingly follow him wherever he may go.

The vote does go off without a hitch, and not even half an hour after you receive your title, you’re in an office plugging away at whatever work needs to be done. Unfortunately, you’re awfully distracted by the thought of Chenle by himself down the hall. A knock on the glass door jolts you out of your thoughts. You see Jeno standing there with a file in his hands. You beckon for him to come in, and he gestures at the seat as if to ask you if he can sit.

“Please.” You nod, folding your hands together. “Did you need something?”

The man hands you the file. “We were able to trace the owner of the bank account, and an address associated with it. I…I figured it’d be best to leave this information with you, given that this could be sensitive information.”

You open it, glancing through the charges. “It started with a different bank account and name.”

“It did. Payments were originally made to a Liu Shuye, and just over two years ago, the bank account switched to a Liu Sujia.” Jeno pauses and takes a deep breath. “I think it’d be better for you to do this portion of it on your own.”

“They have different surnames.” You tap your pen on your desk. “And you’ve never heard of this person before today?”

“Not once.”

“Very well.” You sigh and close the folder, gaze meeting Jeno’s. “Thank you. I’ll look into this further and determine at what point Chenle needs to be involved. For now, Jeno, keep this between us.”

“Of course.” Jeno nods and stands. With a quick bow of his head, he moves to the door. “He’s a good man, (Y/N). Chenle, I mean. But he feels too easily, so tread carefully with whatever you find.”

“I will.”

Once Jeno departs, you cross your arms over your chest and stare down at the information delivered. These payments were made for years, so you’re unsure of how this could relate to Chenle in specific, but you feel an overwhelming resolve to make sure whatever this is doesn’t hurt him.

Chenle came to get you from your office at almost 7pm. He refused to let you work any longer and insisted he had to take you home. Your mind has been turning since Jeno brought you the documents, but you leave them buried in your desk and lay your head on Chenle’s shoulder for the duration of the car ride home. Once you're inside the house, Chenle takes your jacket off your shoulders and hangs it. You turn to him and grab his hand.

“Come to bed with me?” you ask.

“Of course.” He gives you the softest smile, and as you walk up the stairs, he follows closely behind you.

The two of you step inside his room. Chenle closes the door and then wraps his arms around your waist and tugs your back to his chest. He buries his head in your neck, a hum escaping past his lips.

“Are you tired?” you ask him, reaching up to play with his hair.

“No,” he mumbles. “I just want to be close to you. It’s been a long day, and you make me feel better.”

“Is that so?” You face him and tilt your head.

“I was scared to fall for you, too,” he whispers. “For anyone, but especially you. I know the reasons we’re here are vastly different from a conventional marriage, but I already wanted you before all of this.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you realize his use of past tense. He was scared. Does that mean he already has fallen for you?

“C’mere,” you mutter. “We can be closer.”

“Are you sure?” He cups your cheeks, thumbing your skin. “I know we’ve gone back and forth a couple times, but I need you to know you don’t have to do anything for me. Ever.”

“Kiss me, Chenle.”

All events of the day are forgotten as soon as his lips are on yours. His hands explore along your back, fingers clenching onto the fabric of your dress as he inhales shakily. When he pulls away, it’s only for a second, as if he can’t stop himself from going back for more.

“Please tell me this means something to you.” He gulps, his words punctuated by kisses as he turns you around and walks you backward. “That I’m not crazy for wanting you the way I do.”

As the back of your knees make contact with the bed, you grip onto his shoulders, breathless from the passion behind his kiss. “You’re not crazy. It’s terrifying how fast you’ve become all I think about. Your smile and your laugh and the passion you carry. This means everything to me.”

His eyes sparkle in the lamp-lit room, a warmth dancing around in them you’ve never seen from anyone before. He finds the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down.

“I hope you truly know how fucking exquisite you are,” Chenle murmurs, removing the fabric from your body and returning his touch to your back to explore your bare skin. “I don’t want to fight these feelings anymore.”

“Do something about it, then.”

The heat radiating from him keeps the chill of the air in the room off of your skin, and after he guides your back down on the mattress, he haphazardly tosses his suit jacket away. You scoot back to give him more space, and he climbs on top of you. You part your legs further, nearly gasping when he takes his spot between them, pressing against you as if he were made to fill that space. As he takes your lips with his own, you work on the buttons of his shirt. Your hands shake, making it difficult, but he doesn’t mention it. He keeps kissing you like he’ll die of thirst the second he pulls away.

You finally get the last one, and he sits up briefly to rid himself of the extra material. Before it’s even completely removed, you reach down for his belt. He stares at your hands as you unbuckle it, but you don’t have time to slide it off him. When his mouth crashes into yours again, you lift your hips up.

A quiet, needy sigh passes through his lips. “God, I fucking need you so bad.”

“I’m yours,” you tell him. “Show me how much you need me.”

He grinds down against you, and his hard length slides against the wet spot in your lace panties. That time, you do gasp. It’s been much too long since you allowed yourself pleasure by another’s hand, and you crave that closeness with Chenle.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, voice rough.

“Please.” You nod. “Touch me wherever you want.”

He curses under his breath, but he presses his lips to yours once more, then along your jawline, down your neck, and paying attention to the valley between your breasts. He squeezes the right one, rubbing his thumb against your nipple through the somewhat thick material.

“You’re so fucking pretty.” He nips at your skin, and you already know he’ll leave marks on you. Pausing, he takes a deep breath. “You—you’ve done this before, right?”

“Done what?”

“Sex.”

“I have. Why?”

“No, I just…you said you’d never been in love before and I didn’t want to just assume that you—”

“Just keep going.” You blush, but he listens to your command without hesitation.

When his mouth continues downward, leaving a trail of his saliva on your stomach until he reaches the hem of your panties. He tongues along the band, his eyes flicking up to yours.

“Good God,” you whisper, the urge between your legs becoming far too much for comfort. “What are you doing?”

“Getting my fill.” He leaves open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs.

When his thumb brushes your clit through your panties, your hips jolt. You curse, grasping onto the sheets as you prepare yourself for whatever he has planned. He smirks at your reaction, and as he pulls at your underwear, you lift up to urge him to move faster. He wraps his arms around your legs, his hands pressing your hips down into the mattress. Even though he opens his mouth to speak to you, his eyes don’t leave your glistening core.

“You can stop me if you change your mind. Just tell me.” He gulps, wetting his lips like he’s struggling to hold back.

“I won’t change my mind,” you reassure him.

“But you need to know it’s always an option.” He squeezes you gently, and without awaiting your response, he slides his tongue from your entrance to your clit.

No matter how embarrassing it is, you can’t stop the whimper escaping you. His tongue flicks your clit one, two, three times as he digs his nails into your skin. Pleasure isn’t entirely foreign to you, but you’re sure it’s the way your soul has begun craving Chenle’s that makes this so much better than anything else you’ve experienced. His grip on you keeps you from squirming too much, but you try regardless. As he steadily moves over your clit, your back arches off the mattress. Whines leave your mouth as you run your fingers through Chenle’s hair in encouragement.

He takes your sensitive bud into his mouth, sucking to add pressure, only to release it and start all over again. You lift yourself on your elbows to watch him, all while practically pushing his head further between your legs. His eyes are closed, and seeing his lips work on your core has to be one of the most erotic things you’ve ever witnessed.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groans, the vibrations against your entrance sending shivers up and down your spine.

You feel yourself approaching the edge. Your body tenses, but your high won’t take you. Cursing quietly, you lift your hips in an attempt to figure out why the hell you can’t get out of your head. Chenle pulls away from your core, pressing kisses to your inner thigh. “Relax, darling. It doesn’t matter how long it takes.”

“Please just…” You drop your head back on the mattress and let out a defeated breath. “I want all of you.”

He leans over to the bedside table and grabs a condom, trailing his lips up your body once more until he reaches your neck. His teeth graze your skin. “You can trust me, (Y/N). I’ll take care of you.”

“I do,” you mutter, running your fingers through his hair. “I swear I do.”

“It’s not me you have to convince.” He nips your collarbone. “We don’t have to keep going if you’re not ready.”

You shake your head. “I’m ready. I want you.”

“Okay.” He nods, pulling back to meet your gaze. His features are soft, nothing short of adoration in his eyes. “Try not to think about it too much. Just feel.”

“I’ve never been good at that.” You chuckle and grin at him.

“I’ll show you how, baby. I’ve got you.”

You crane upwards to kiss him, and he meets you in the middle. Tasting yourself on his tongue has you sighing into him, and you push at his pants in hopes that he’ll take the hint. He pauses to rid himself of the rest of his clothing, and then slides his hands beneath you to unclasp your bra. You arch your back to give him more space, and soon enough, nothing separates you from your husband anymore.

“You’re sure?” he asks you again, grabbing the wrapper once more.

“I want you,” you confirm.

Despite the confidence you usually feel, something here feels more…vulnerable than you’ve ever been. Your heart flutters in your chest as he opens the condom and slides it on, and you spread your legs further as he climbs over you again. No man has ever made you nervous before, even in similar situations, but something with him is different. You care about him. You want him to feel good, too, and you crave his promises of taking care of you.

“Need you to relax,” he whispers, peppering kisses on your jawline as he lines himself up with your soaked entrance. “Close your eyes, darling, just let yourself feel.”

You tilt your head back to give him better access to your neck, and you listen to him. Through the darkness, you see the world you drew on his ceiling, the one with beautiful landscapes, overarching mountains, fresh, clean streams, and you sigh in content. The middle of the map, the location you craved to be in, is right here. With him. His breath catches in his throat as he slides inside you, his length stretching you. He gulps and rests his head on your shoulder as he attempts to steady himself. You tangle your fingers in his hair, combing through the midnight strands. After both of you calm down from the initial overwhelming movement, you wrap your legs around his waist and lock your ankles together, tugging him up to kiss you. His lips work softly on yours, and he slowly grinds against you. He pulls out until only the tip is inside, and as he pushes back in, he moans into your mouth. Your body shudders at the sound.

“Tell me how it feels,” he says, chest pressed to yours. “How do I make you feel?”

“Chenle, I—” You blush despite the situation.

“You don’t have to be shy with me, baby. Let me help you.” He repeats his previous movement, and you watch as his eyes flutter from the pleasure. “I can tell you how it feels for me.”

You nod. “Please.”

The pace he sets is slow but has electricity coursing through your veins anyway. He continues to pull out almost all the way, just to allow you to experience the entirety of his length rubbing against your inner walls.

He gulps, pressing his lips to your ear. “You’re divine, darling. You’re squeezing me so tight, I could stay here forever. It’s like you were fucking made for me, soaked and so fucking warm, baby, you take me so well.”

Everything he does is like a lightning strike, every fiber in your muscles breaking down as you yearn for this completion. You know you’ll never be able to stay away from him. Even if you don’t finish, this journey is just as good as the destination.

“Feels like I’m on fire,” you whisper. Thankfully, your eyes are closed, or he’d see them roll back. “You’re everywhere and it’s still not enough.”

He picks up his pace a bit, and a moan tumbles from your lips. He holds himself up on one of his elbows, his other hand gripping your thigh.

“That’s it.” He kisses you, gently biting at your bottom lip as he pulls away. “I could never have enough of you. Need you always. Forever.”

Your heart thuds against your ribcage, and despite the pleasure clouding your brain, you allow those words to sink in through your skin and bones, deeper still until they reach your soul. There, they repeat over and over again until they’re permanently tattooed upon every recognizable piece of yourself. The hand on your thigh skirts downwards, his palm pressing on your abdomen as his thumb brushes your clit. You jolt and whine, digging your nails into his shoulders. He curses, but doesn’t let up. As the knot forms in your stomach, you open your eyes to watch Chenle, his face scrunched in pleasure as your walls flutter around him as your high approaches. He doesn’t look away from you, and as you lift your hips to match his thrusts, his fist clenches the sheets next to your head.

“So fucking wet,” he groans, his thumb never faltering in pace as he rocks his hips against yours. “You’re so perfect, darling. Gonna let me feel you cum?”

Between the slide of his length inside you and the pressure on your sensitive bud, you’re dazed at best. You nod, gripping onto him.

“I’m so close,” you whimper. “God, I want it so bad.”

Chenle adjusts his hips, and the next time he thrusts in, he hits a spot that has you seeing stars. You’ve never unraveled like this before, but your body shakes as overwhelming pleasure takes over, your vision spotting as you cry out and grip onto your husband. Your toes curl as he quickens his pace, and it doesn’t take much longer for him to press himself as deep as he can to finish in the condom. His body slumps on top of yours, his chest heaving as he presses his lips across your hot skin.

“(Y/N)...” he says between pants. “Oh, my God.”

You let out a breathless giggle. “I didn’t do any of the work.”

“Promise you, just you being here is more than enough for me.” He kisses your cheek and gently removes your legs from his waist. “I’ll be right back.”

You stop yourself from whining at the loss of him inside you, but as he goes to dispose of the condom, you get yourself clothes to put on. You slide a new pair of panties on before setting your silk pajama set on the bed.

Chenle’s arm wraps around your waist, and he presses his back to your chest. “What are you doing?”

“Getting dressed.” You chuckle. “What should I be doing?”

“Absolutely nothing.” He presses a kiss to the base of your neck. “Supposed to be naked in bed and waiting for me.”

“Ah, is that so?” You pretend to be in thought, tapping your fingers on his wrist.

“Mhm. Don’t you know bare skin-to-skin contact promotes good bonding?” He pulls you away from the foot of the bed and guides you back to where he left you. “Bet you’ll sleep better, too.”

The two of you climb into bed together, and despite the way your internal temperature is much too high, you still thrive in the extra warmth of his embrace. You rest your head on his chest, his nails gently scratching up and down your back. He falls asleep first, his steady breathing nearly lulling you as well. You adjust your head on the pillow so you can see the softness of his features, and you allow yourself to reach up and trace along his cheekbone. If anyone had asked you at the beginning if you’d ever thought a moment as intimate as this were possible, you’d quickly tell them no. There was no way you’d ever let yourself be so vulnerable with anyone. Especially not someone who has no obligations to you other than legally marrying you.

But this is more. It’s so much more than a business arrangement, and maybe a part of you has always known that. It wasn’t hating him you were scared of, but loving him.

But here you are. And you’re long past falling.

Your morning is unfortunately hectic in the wake of the events of last night. Of course, you should’ve expected moments of relaxation in your marriage to be nearly non-existent, but neither you nor Chenle wanted to get out of bed. Despite that, today you planned on going to the address listed on the bank account. You roped Jisung in, even though he didn’t know all the details. He’s your cousin, after all, and he wasn’t going to let you do anything potentially dangerous on your own. Although, you’re not sure he could do anything in a ‘dangerous’ situation anyway. He may be physically giant, but he truly acted like a teddy bear.

You and Jisung sit in the backseat while the driver takes you to the house, and you’re flipping through a binder of papers while Jisung is on his phone.

“You know.” He pauses, waiting for your attention. “I stopped by your house last night.”

You turn to him and frown. “You did? How come I didn’t see you?”

“When I arrived, the staff said it would be best not to interrupt you at the time. They didn’t really say why, but I can only imagine. Either you and Chenle were in the process of murdering each other, or you guys are really going all in on the heir making.”

Your face heats up and you scratch your head. “I—I took your advice, is all. We’re kind of trying to figure things out, I think.”

“Uh huh. So the turtleneck isn’t a strategic move?”

“Park Jisung!” You push his shoulder. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“No, of course not.” He bites back his teasing grin. “I’m just saying, it’s good that you’re opening up to him. You guys are pretty much stuck together, so you should at least try to make the best of things.”

“But yes, we are certainly…making the best of things.” You grin to yourself and focus back on your binder.

“So, I can stop hearing your dad complain about no heir news soon?” He rolls his eyes. “That man is truly insufferable.”

You shake your head. “Can’t say the possibility is zero, but we used protection, so probably not. And yes, my father is insufferable. When he came over last time, he implied Chenle was impotent in front of both of his parents.”

“I’m shocked by both—why not try for pregnancy if you’re already sleeping together? And why would you not being pregnant after two months mean Chenle’s impotent?”

“You just live for drama, don’t you?” You quirk an eyebrow at him. “My husband would prefer to only have a family if it’s a real one. Meaning we would love each other. And I don’t question my father’s logic. I’m not sure how he got as far as he has in business when he lacks so much common sense. Like I’m a breeding mule or something.”

“Huh.” Jisung pauses and slumps back against his seat. “Aren’t you lucky?”

“Luck has nothing to do with it, Andy. None of this is short of hard work.”

Your driver opens the door, and before Jisung can respond, you’re stepping onto the sidewalk. The house in front of you is in a suburb, an exact replica of everything else around it. It’s not remarkable by any means. For someone making over half a million dollars every year, they sure do still live modestly.

“Don’t say a word,” you warn Jisung. “I’ll handle this.”

“Considering I have no idea what’s going on, I will happily let that happen.”

You stop at the front door, knocking three times. Standing completely rigid, you wait for anyone to answer. Once it opens, you’re confronted by a surprised woman. Her hair is long and black, reaching the center of her back. Brown eyes widen in shock.

“You can’t be here.” She moves to shut the door, but Jisung stops it over your shoulder.

“I’m—”

“You’re Chenle’s wife. I know who you are.” Her jaw tightens. “You need to go.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not an option. I’m here on company business, because apparently someone decided sending $143,000 a quarter to your bank account was acceptable. You can let me in, or we can make a spectacle out here. It’s your choice.”

The woman, who can’t be too far from your age, blinks through her frustration and opens the door wider for you to step inside. You do, and she gestures to the couch.

“Have a seat. I’ll grab us all some water.” She exits the room, and you and Jisung sit down on the couch.

Despite you being resilient in hiding your nerves from people, Jisung is able to read you like a book. “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Jisung warns you quietly. “You have no idea what’s going on.”

“Right. Only her being familiar enough with my husband to only use his first name. Not a big deal at all.” You clench your fists together.

“You said he had no idea about the payments.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t know her.” You shake your head. “He has no idea I’m here.”

Movement catches your attention, and you see eyes peeking around the corner. Your jaw drops before you can stop yourself, and then the small child steps into the open. You grasp onto Jisung’s sleeve, and those conclusions he told you not to jump to? Yeah, you dive into them.

“Who are you?” he asks. He can’t be more than four, and he looks achingly familiar.

“Jisung,” you whisper.

Jisung leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m Jisung. Who are you?”

“My name is Yichen.” He walks over and sits on the coffee table in front of you and your cousin. “I’m almost five.”

“Wow,” Jisung feigns surprise. “You’re getting so old.”

“That’s what my mommy says, too.” He scrunches up his face.

You’re struggling to breathe at this point, and that’s when Sujia decides to come back. She curses under her breath the second she recognizes her child in the room, and she quickly sets the glasses of water down before shooing him back up the stairs. You’re suddenly, painfully aware of Chenle telling you he’s been in love before. Of knowing there are women out there he’s wanted in the same way he’s sure he wants you.

“I think I’m going to puke,” you whisper to Jisung, careful not to let Sujia hear. “You don’t think…?”

Before Jisung can confirm or deny whether your suspicions are valid, Sujia sits across from you on the couch. The first thing you do is look for a ring on her finger, and when you don’t find one, you feel an unmistakable lump form in your throat.

“Why are you here?” she asks. “I’ve done everything I was supposed to. I haven’t told anyone anything, and my son and I are peacefully living far away from everything.”

“That’s the issue. I haven’t the faintest clue who you struck some sort of deal with for this money, nor do I know why. And if you want the payments to continue, you’ll tell me everything.”

“Is there something in specific you’d like to ask?” She frowns.

“What makes you say that?”

“You suddenly look like you’re ready to rip my throat out,” Sujia retorts.

“The child. Is he Chenle’s?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Sujia visibly recoils, eyes widening as she glances between you and Jisung. “You…Are you joking? Of course not. Chenle—dear God, Chenle’s my brother.”

You swear your life flashed before your eyes, and as you drop your head into your hands, you let out a shaky sigh of relief. Your heart still races, but it starts to slow at the news that your husband doesn’t have a secret child.

“I’m sorry, your brother?” Jisung asks. “I wasn’t aware Chenle had any siblings.”

“No one is. That’s why we’re receiving the payments.” She pauses, wetting her lips. “Chenle’s father—our father—met my mother many years ago. I see him quite often, and he’s aware he has a grandchild. I figured he never told Chenle, and this confirms my suspicions. Considering his parents never divorced, I can only assume it’s because she is also unaware.”

“He recently became aware of the payments.” Because of you. “And quite honestly, I don’t think this news will sit well with him.”

“Don’t.” Sujia shakes her head frantically. “Don’t tell him. We…We need that money, okay? And he has full power to take it away from us.”

“Do you know anything about him?” you ask her.

“Just what our father told me.”

“Chenle is exponentially kind. He’d never simply cut ties and leave you to struggle. It’s not like you lied to him by choice.” You take a deep breath and brush your skirt off. “He’s the best man I know. And for that reason, I could never intentionally keep this from him. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” Sujia runs her tongue along her teeth.

“And on the off chance he doesn’t continue payments, I will personally make sure you’re okay.”

“You actually care about him.” She tilts her head at you.

“It’s hard not to care for someone like him.” You stand up. “I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time. And for thinking your child was my husband’s. Thank you for talking to me. Can we exchange numbers? I can keep you updated on how things go.”

You make haste of retrieving her number, and then you and Jisung leave the house. Once you're back in the car, you let out a long, pent up breath. You tug your fingers through your hair and curse quietly.

“Are you okay?” Jisung asks.

“Honestly? I’m okay now that I know this isn’t Chenle’s fuck up.” You nod. “I think I need to pay his father a visit.”

“You’re going to confront…his father?”

“I’m going to confirm the story, obviously. And if it’s true, I’m going to tell him what an incredible fuck up he is.” You turn off the emotions switch, your face going stone cold. “Chenle looks up to that prick.”

When you arrive at his parents’ house, you’re greeted by staff and Chenle’s mother. Jisung opts to stay in the car, and his mother rushes to bring you further into the house.

“Ah, (Y/N), what a pleasant surprise.”

Not if she doesn’t know about the secret child.

“What brings you here?” she asks.

“Chenle requested I bring these files for his father. Is he here?” You smile at her.

“Of course. He’s in his office. It’s down the hall, all the way to the back on the right.” She pats your shoulder.

You bow your head to her in thanks, and then you make your way down the hall. Knocking once, you await his confirmation to walk in. He sits behind the giant desk, glasses hanging on the edge of his nose. You note a lot of Chenle’s features come from him, but you can’t believe how vastly different they truly are.

“(Y/N).” He leans back on his chair. “Was I expecting you?”

“No.” You approach him and drop the paper with her bank account information on it. “Liu Sujia.”

His eyes widen, barely noticeably, and he looks at you. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Did you think no one would notice payments that high to a random bank account? From the company?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. A bank account means nothing. You can’t even be sure I was the one facilitating such payments. Chenle has been CEO for years now, so it’s been under his nose, too—”

“I don’t need your excuses. Or your explanations. You’re not my father, and quite frankly, I don’t care about the state of your family.” You glare at the man in front of you. “But I also spoke with Ms. Liu. She has a child. Your grandson, and Chenle’s nephew. You think he doesn’t deserve to know?”

“If you don’t care about the state of my family, why are you doing this now?”

“Because I care about my family. And the second Chenle married me, he became part of it. And while you may not love your son, I do. I won’t let you lie to him.” The words fall right out without a second thought, and you fight the embarrassment of admitting your feelings to his father before Chenle.

“So, why come here? Why not go right to Chenle?”

“I’m sure he will have his own things to say to you later. I wanted the chance to let you know, objectively, what a selfish asshole you are. Your son idolizes you for the life you built for him. For showing him that a man can be loyal to a wife he may not love, if not for his child’s sake. But you weren’t. Everything he respects you for is a lie, and you’re despicable for being okay with that.”

“How dare you come into my home and talk to me this way?” His eyebrows furrow in anger, and he leans forward, but you don’t even flinch.

“I don’t fear you,” you hiss at him. “You are human, just like everyone else. If you deserve to be scolded like a child, I have no problem being the only one with enough balls to do it. If you lose Chenle because of this, I hope you lie in your fucking grave. I’ll pay people to dance on it.”

You turn your back on him, throwing the door open and stomping down the hallway before you give him the opportunity to say anything else. Sending a smile towards Chenle’s mother, you nod once at her before walking back outside to your car.

Gaining the courage to tell Chenle takes much longer than you’d like. You get back to your office, finding Chenle waiting for you. He smiles at you, one of his genuine, happy ones, and presses a quick kiss to your lips as you approach him.

“I never thought I’d find a time where the CEO’s not busy,” you tease him. “What are you doing here?”

“I figured we could take a break and go get some lunch.” He tugs you closer. “It’s been a long day, and all I want is to be with my wife. Is that so wrong?”

You purse your lips and tilt your head. “Wrong? No. Crazy? Maybe a smidge.”

“Wow, you just called me crazy. That hurt.” He chuckles.

“How about we just order something and eat it here?” you ask. “I have a bunch of stuff to do, but I would love for you to be with me.”

“Of course. What did you want to eat? I’ll tell the secretary to order it.”

“Whatever you’re thinking is good,” you tell him, leaning back on your desk. “I’m not too picky.”

“I’ll be right back.” He kisses your cheek, and when he closes the door behind him, you let out a sigh. It feels like you’re lying to him now, but you couldn’t drop something huge like that on him now.

Not when he was looking at you with such affection. What if you telling him this makes him hate you, too?

When he comes back, he sits across from you and rests his head on his palm. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” You frown at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re just acting…different, I don’t know. Is this about last night? Did I do something wrong?” His forehead creases with worry, and your heart sinks in your chest.

“No, no, last night was good. I really liked last night.” You try to fight off the embarrassment at your words, but it doesn’t work very well. The tips of your ears burn.

“Okay.” He reaches across the desk and grabs your hand. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on. As long as I’m not the one making you feel that way, I can wait until you want to talk about it.”

“Chenle,” you whisper, squeezing him. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being you.” You glance down. “For not being what I expected.”

“I want to take care of you. Not because I think you can’t, but because I want to. I can be a safe space for you, and I’d never do anything to harm that image.”

You stand up and walk over to him, grabbing both of his hands. “I think I might be able to let you do that.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this.” He pulls you closer until you’re straddling his lap. “You amaze me every day.”

“We’re at work,” you scold him.

“I don’t see you trying to move,” he teases, palms exploring your back. “I was kinda sad we had to rush this morning. I would’ve loved to just lay there with you for as long as possible.”

You relax on top of him, fighting a smile as you study him closely. “I need to stop wearing lipstick.”

“Why?” he asks. “Do you wanna kiss me again?”

“I want to kiss you a lot.” You nod.

“I can wipe lipstick off.”

“What if mine gets smudged?”

“Tell people to mind their business. We’re newlyweds.” He watches your expression as his hands dip down to grip your ass through your dress. “I think the newlywed era started yesterday. Because all I want to do is be with you. All over you. Inside you.”

“Jesus Christ, Chenle.” You smack his chest. “Composure.”

He grins. “C’mon. You were thinking it, too.”

“We certainly can’t do it here,” you tell him.

“It’s my building.”

You give him a pointed look. “I’m trying to get your employees to respect me. They won’t if they think I’m here simply because I let you screw me on the desk.”

“I gave you the position before I ever even slept with you.”

“They don’t know that.” You roll your eyes and clamber off his lap. “There actually is something I wanted to talk to you about later at home. Are you leaving at a decent time?”

“I figured we’d leave together whenever you were done. If that’s okay.” Chenle clasps his hands together in his lap.

“Perfect.”

Before you do anything else with him, you need to tell him about his father. You just hope you don’t lose your husband in the process.

You bring the binder home with you. On the car ride home, you loop your arm through Chenle’s and rest your head on his shoulder. He can sense your nervous energy and tries to soothe you with a kiss to your head. You and Chenle go upstairs, and you sit on the edge of the bed. He follows suit despite your nerves transferring into him the longer you stay silent.

“I wanted to talk to you about that charge we found.” You put your hand on his knee. “And it’s a lot, okay? So I just want you to listen to me.”

He frowns but nods in response.

“Jeno and Jisung helped me with it. Jeno found out the account belonged to a woman, and there was an address associated with it. Jisung went with me to the house, and when we got there, I met with the woman.” You pause and scratch the top of your head. “She has a little boy. He’s almost five. And to be honest, it was a possibility in my head that you might’ve…I don’t know, accidentally fathered a child, but thankfully, it wasn’t that.”

“(Y/N), who is she?”

“She’s your sister. Your half-sister, I guess.” You gulp, refusing to make eye contact with him. “And the little boy is your nephew.”

“Oh.” His voice shakes uncharacteristically, and he inhales.

“Your dad has been paying her and her mother off for years so you and your mother didn’t find out.” You close your eyes. “And she begged me not to tell you because she’s scared she’ll stop receiving her money. Which I get, honestly, but I couldn’t keep this from you. Not when I know how—”

“(Y/N), please. I need a second.” He drops his head in his palms. His jaw tightens, and he angles his gaze to the ceiling.

“Come here,” you murmur, opening your arms for him. Immediately, he melts into your grasp, resting on your chest as you stroke the top of his head. “I’m so sorry.”

He grasps the fabric of your dress in his fist as he uses you to ground himself. “The whole time I admired him for being better, he just fucking sucked?”

You can’t tell if it’s anger or sadness that makes his voice shake.

“You’re sure?”

You nod. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” he tells you. “You didn’t do this.”

“No, I didn’t, but I love you, Chenle. I hate seeing you like this.” You and Chenle both tense up. He lifts his head to look at you, and your heart nearly shatters at the welled up tears in his eyes. You keep looking at him, more than nervous for his response.

“What?” His voice is hoarse, almost like it’s caught in his throat. “What did you say?”

“It’s not important right now, okay? I wasn’t thinking.” Your own tears form, and you try your best to blink them away. “No thinking, just feeling didn’t really work in this situation, huh?”

“You love me?” He cups your cheek and turns you to him. “Do you mean that?”

“Are you kidding me?” You scoff. “Of course, I do.”

You shouldn’t have done that now, given how overwhelmed he is, but it truly slipped out. He stares at you in shock, and when he parts his lips, a tear slips down his cheek. You shake your head, reaching forward and wiping it away with your thumb.

“Don’t cry,” you say. “This is all so much, I shouldn’t have dropped that on you like this, I’m so sorry—”

“Stop apologizing. Please.”

“I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“Darling, at this point, you’re the only one who hasn’t.” He rests his forehead on yours. “And you…you loving me makes all of this worth it. Nobody has that power over me when I have you by my side.”

“I do. I love you.” You sniffle and hold him tighter.

“I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you walk into the room. I love you when you’re a thousand steps ahead of me, and I love you when you’re walking my pace. All the time, without fail and without reprieve.”

Every bit of oxygen is stolen right from your lungs, and all you want to do is scream and cry and punch his father in the face. Such a pathetic man doesn’t deserve a son like Chenle.

“Zhong Chenle, you’ve broken me in all the best ways. That terrible wall, the shell around my heart…I don’t want to face the world alone anymore. I need you with me.” You rub your thumbs along his cheeks, swiping up the next couple tears that fall.

“I will be better than my father. Than yours. We’ll do this the right way, okay?” He inhales sharply.

“I don’t doubt that one bit.” You lean forward and kiss his forehead. “What are you thinking? What do you want to do about all of this?”

“I’d like to meet her. My sister. And my nephew.” He chews the inside of his cheek. “She won’t have to worry about money. We’ll have to stop paying her through the company, but it’ll come out of our personal account. If that’s alright with you.”

“Somehow, I had a feeling you’d say that. Of course, that’s okay with me.”

“Can you set that up please?” he asks softly. “I honestly don’t know how, and she already knows you so…”

“You don’t have to explain. I’ll do it.” You run your fingers through his hair. “You’re the bravest person I know. Not everyone would handle it the way you are.”

“We’ll figure this out, yeah?”

“Between the two of us, there’s not a problem in this world we couldn’t solve.” You kiss the tip of his nose and stand from the bed, holding your hand out to him.

“What?”

“I was thinking we could take a bath. Help each other relax.”

He gives you a tired smile and nods. “That sounds amazing.”

You start the water and put a more-than-appropriate amount of the bubble bath liquid in it. Tying your hair up to prevent it from getting wet, you smile to yourself when you feel Chenle’s hands on your waist.

“Need some help getting this off?” He tugs on your dress.

“I might need help with everything,” you hum, letting your eyes flutter shut as he unzips your dress.

Once it's thrown across the room, you unbutton Chenle’s shirt, pushing it from his shoulders. Soon enough, both of you are beneath water and bubbles, and his arms are locked firmly around your waist. You rest against his chest, allowing the lavender scent to soothe your stress.

“Y’know what we’re missing?” you mumble. “Champagne.”

“I can have someone bring it to us. Just say the word.” He kisses your temple.

You shake your head. “We’re naked.”

“They’re professionals.” He laughs and squeezes you. “And I can have them leave it in the bedroom.”

“Right, and make sure there’s a heart made out of flower petals on the bed.” You roll your eyes.

“You can have anything you desire, (Y/N). You’re my wife. The sky’s truly the limit.” He explores your skin out of curiosity, mapping his way around your body.

You sit up and look over your shoulder at him. “You know what I want?”

He raises his eyebrows in response.

“I want it all.” You grab his hand. “I want you. The good days and the bad ones. Whatever trial comes our way, I want us to figure it out together.”

“Do you…Do you actually want children? Or is that something you feel like you have to do?” he asks.

“Honestly, I don’t know. There was a brief moment when I met Sujia and Yichen that I thought…I thought that he could’ve been yours. I mean, he looks like you a little bit, but he’s your nephew so that’s not weird. When that became a possibility in my head, it hurt. Stung, is more like it. I guess I figured that any children you’d have would be mine as well, and to think there were others you might have—”

“Darling,” he coos, tightening his grip on you. “I promise you, I do not have any secret children. Nor will I ever. You will be very, very aware of any child I have. I don’t want them if it’s not with you.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“That’s good.” You nod and lean back against him once more. “We have time to think about it, right?”

“Take as much time as you need.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You hesitated to have Chenle meet Sujia so quickly. A week passes before you consider reaching out to her, and you know Chenle is waiting for it. She has to be too, at this point, probably worried about whether or not her money supply was going to be cut off. He has yet to confront his father, but you assume that will come with time. For now, you’re curled up next to him in bed, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. Finally, it’s a rest day for you both, and you get to spend the whole day with him uninterrupted.

His fingers run through your hair, a deep breath passing by his lips. “Darling.”

“Hm?” You move closer to him, burying your head in his neck.

“Kiss me?”

You don’t hesitate to do as he asks, humming against his lips as the two of you connect. He shifts to his side to get closer to you, his hand trailing from your hip, down your leg, until he finds the back of your knee. Pulling your leg over his waist, he shuffles closer to you, pressing his body to yours.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, smiling.

“Loving you,” he replies easily, sliding his hand back up to your ass. The thin fabric of your shorts does little to hide the sensation of him squeezing you. You don’t mean to gasp, but you attempt to distract him by tangling your fingers in his hair.

“Tell me what you want.” You pull back to get a good look at him.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he admits. “How fucking good you made me feel.”

“More.”

“You’ve been telling me you love me for a week now and I haven’t been able to hear it when I’m inside you. God, I never thought I’d be like this. It’s only been a week.” He squeezes you harder, pushing his hard length against you.

As he grinds himself slowly into your core, you curse and wrap your arms around him. “Why did you wait this long?” you ask him breathlessly.

“Didn’t wanna push you.” He kisses along your neck, nipping wherever he can reach. “Don’t want you to think this is all I want. Fucking been hard all day, darling. Every time you walked into the fucking room all week, instantly ready to bend you over.”

Your body shudders as you process his words. “Why don’t you lay back? Let me take care of you.”

“I need you so bad,” he groans. “I could cum just hearing you talk like that.”

You push him onto his back and quickly straddle him. Rolling your hips, you curse under your breath as you feel his hard length against your clit.

“Chenle,” you mutter, trailing your hands beneath his shirt. “Do you prefer ass or tits?”

“That’s an odd question.”

“You won’t regret answering.”

“Ass.”

“Perfect. Do you have a condom?” You raise your eyebrows at him.

“They’re in the bedside table—darling, I didn’t prep you yet—”

“You’re not the only one who’s needy,” you interrupt him, quickly moving to grab one of the wrappers. Before you climb on top of him again, you kiss his cheek. “You’re allowed to do whatever you want, my love. You don’t have to ask.”

You shove your shorts and panties down, and as you pull at his sweats and boxers, his fists clench at his sides. His length smacks against his stomach, and he wraps his fingers around himself to relieve some of the ache. You didn’t get to see it much the first time, but you take a second to appreciate just how fucking pretty he is. He’s so hard, it’s probably starting to hurt.

He runs his thumb over the tip and gasps. “Baby, please.”

You waste no more time in getting the condom on him, and then you straddle his lap again, but backwards this time. As you quickly sink down on his length, taking him all the way inside, he moans loudly.

“God, you’re so fucking hot.” He drags his nails down your back until he reaches your ass, and then he grips you tightly with both hands. “You needed me, too, huh? Dripping all over me when I haven’t even touched you yet.”

You brace yourself on the mattress between his legs, and set a fast, steady pace. He moans every time you sink all the way down, and your fingers curl into the sheets. You easily ignore the ache beginning in your thighs when you listen to him and how good you’re making him feel. He spurs you on, his moans slowly turning to higher pitched whines.

“Can we—fuck, can we try something?” Chenle asks, gripping your hips to hold you still.

“Whatever you need.” You shakily lift yourself off of him, and he quickly moves from below you. He removes his shirt before aiding you in doing the same.

He guides you to arch your back, your face pressed into the mattress as your walls clench around nothing. His tip catches on your clit, and your body jolts, but you grip onto the sheets instead.

“Gonna fuck you good, darling. Wanna hear you the whole time, got it?” His voice sends needles of pleasure pricking into your spine, and you know you can ignore everything else once he’s buried inside you.

“Yes.” You nod. Your fingers curl into the sheets as he slides in. The angle has you seeing stars, and your mouth falls open at the sensation.

His hands squeeze your ass as he starts slowly, the rub of him against your walls making your legs tremble already. You worry briefly about being too distracted, but as reaches around you to put his hand between your legs, all thoughts besides the way he feels completely obliterate. He rubs your clit in pace with his thrusts, his breathing uneven as he works your body as if he’s touched you for years. You barely recognize yourself when your moans slip past your lips. You’ve never let go like this before, and through your daze, you push yourself back against him. He tentatively smacks your ass, light enough to make you crave the contact. You can’t breathe as you curse.

“Again,” you whine, your entire being on the brink of collapse. “More.”

“Earn it, baby,” he commands. “You know what I want to hear.”

You let out a shuddering breath as his tip nudges that spot inside you. “Fuck, I love you. I need more.”

He smacks you harder this time, and the loud, needy moan that pours from your lips gets distorted by the way he starts to slam his hips against you. His fingers speed up on your clit, and you’re already teetering on the edge. Sounds of your arousal emanate around the room, mixing with both of your moans. His skin clapping against yours has every muscle in your body craving the release you know is so, so close.

As your high smashes into you like a tidal wave, the pleasure is so overwhelming, you cry out and clench onto the sheets. Chenle curses as his thrusts begin to falter, but you barely hear him. You’re much too sensitive, and you whimper as his fingers still work your bud. Without warning, he pulls out of you. You whine at the loss, attempting to push back, but he grips your hips and flips you onto your back. Gasping at the sudden movement, you grab for him as he climbs over you.

“What are you doing?” you ask breathlessly.

“I need to see you, darling.” He inhales sharply as he pushes back inside you. “And kiss you.”

His lips connect with yours as he keeps his steady pace. His chest rubs yours, the heat almost unbearable as your tongues fight for dominance. A groan slipping out of his mouth interrupts your kiss, and next thing you know, he’s as deep as he can get, panting against your collarbone.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I love you.”

“Me too,” you reply, breathless as you run your fingers through his hair. “I love you, too.”

“That wasn’t too much, was it?” He peppers kisses anywhere he can reach—your neck, your chest, your shoulders.

You shake your head. “No, I’m just a little surprised. You can tell me when you want me, you know. You don’t have to wait for me to initiate.”

“It’s been…an interesting week, you know?” He pulls out of you, kissing you softly one last time before he goes into the bathroom to get rid of the condom. When he comes back, he lays down on top of you again. “I came twice.”

You recoil, angling your head to look at him. “Just now?”

“Yep. Came when you were on top of me, too,” he hums in content. “And I’ll have you know that’s never happened to me before.”

“Had someone on top of you or finished twice?”

“The second one.” He pauses. “But I—”

“You don’t have to explain.” You snort. “I have a past, too.”

“That’s good. Don’t wanna move,” he mumbles, pushing his head further into your neck.

You laugh. “Don’t, then.”

Chenle falls asleep fairly quickly, and you kiss his forehead before wiggling out from under him. You grab a new pair of panties and slide them on before grabbing one of his button-downs. It’s much too late for any of the staff to be out and about, so you grab your phone and head to the kitchen. When you look at the screen, the worry settles back in the pit of your stomach. Sujia had texted you forty-five minutes ago, asking you for an update on the situation. After a week, you think Chenle has probably had at least a little bit of time to come to terms with everything. You text her back to let her know Chenle wants to meet her, and then you get your water. You don’t want Chenle to ever feel hurt like that again, but it’s not going to just disappear. You know better than that. But it doesn’t change how seeing him so upset broke you to pieces, too. If you could, you’d ruin anything that even tried.

He was right all along.

Being in love doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It makes you stronger. Gives you a purpose other than what is required of you when you’re from certain bloodlines. From the beginning, you were sure Chenle would never—could never—mean anything to you, and even though he told you otherwise, you had to find out for yourself. You’d start wars for him. You’d do anything to make sure he was okay, because at the end of the day, he truly is the only person to love you without conditions involved. He cares for you not because he has to, not because he’s forced to, but because he wants to. Because he chooses to. You refill the glass for Chenle and head back upstairs. When you open the door, he stirs, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he turns and sits up.

“Where’d you go?” he asks, running his fingers through his hair.

“Water.” You hold the glass up and set it next to him on the bedside table. Standing at the edge of the bed, you look at him, unable to fight the small smile forming.

“What?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“You’re just…” You chuckle and shake your head. “Shut up. You’re just really cute like this.”

He holds his arm out to you. “Pinch me. I’m pretty sure I’m still dreaming.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious.” You smack at his wrist.

He tugs gently on the bottom hem of the shirt you’re wearing. “I like this on you.”

“It was the first thing I found.” Embarrassment climbs through you. “Sorry, I should’ve asked.”

“What part of that sounded like I wanted you to ask?” He snorts. “You’re always welcome to anything here. You should know that by now. But you’ve been away from me for way too long. C’mere.”

He opens his arms for you, and you chuckle and climb into bed next to him. When he lays on his side, he tugs you to follow suit. You listen to him, staring into his eyes while his thumb rubs on your hip through the white fabric.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?”

“For trying with me. Not running away. Letting me love you. The list is honestly endless.” He kisses your forehead. “Not to mention I really would’ve fucking lost my mind with all of that stuff last week if you hadn’t been there.”

“Speaking of.” You shuffle closer to him. “She wants to meet you. And I really think you should do it, because at the end of the day, she’s your sister, you know?”

Chenle hesitates, thousands of emotions crossing through his gaze like a storm. “You’re right. You can set it up for whenever, and I’ll be there.”

“I’m sorry this happened, Chenle.” You intertwine your fingers with his. “And I want you to know that, no matter how you’re feeling, you can tell me. I want to help you process.”

“I’ll be okay, darling. Truly. It’ll just take some time getting used to it. I do think it’ll be nice to have a sibling, although she’ll probably hate me for…I don’t know. Being legitimate?”

You laugh, burying your head in his neck. “You’re not taking her money away, so I doubt she’ll hate you.”

He hums quietly, sleep still heavy in his voice as he pulls you flush against him. “I shouldn’t be able to love you this much yet. Slow down, would you?”

“You, of all people, should know that those words do not exist in my vocabulary.” You close your eyes and breathe him in. “I love you, too.”

Sujia sets the day for the upcoming Saturday, and so while the days pass, you witness Chenle slowly lose his mind. He’s not upset at Sujia at all, but he obviously is with his father. It’s an incredibly large secret to keep from your family, so he has every right to those feelings. The entire car ride to her house, he’s squeezing your hand so hard, you fear he’ll cut the circulation off. His leg bounces restlessly, and the frown hasn’t left his face once today. The driver opens the door, and you get out first to at least attempt to lessen your husband’s nerves. You’re unfortunately aware of the straggle of photographers waiting for the two of you. While you’re not sure how they found out about this, you’re not worried about them in the slightest.

Once Chenle’s on his feet, you loop your arm in his. “Be calm. There are cameras, so at least wait until we get inside to freak out.” “Yes, ma’am.” He sends you a sly grin. The two of you approach the door, and you knock. Sujia opens the door quickly, ushering the two of you inside to prevent herself from being seen. Chenle removes his sunglasses, and you take them from him to put in your purse.

“(Y/N), it’s nice to see you again,” Sujia greets you. You nod at her. “Likewise.” “Chenle, you’re a little more intimidating in person.” She clasps her hands together. “Are you guys thirsty? I’ll get some water.” “Actually,” you say, patting Chenle’s arm. “Why don’t you two get your sibling introductions out of the way, and I’ll just play with Yichen. He’s my nephew, too, after all. And I’m pretty sure I scared him last time.” The two of them both flounder for words, neither of them wanting to be without you in a moment like this.

“It’ll be okay. Seriously. Neither of you bite, and Sujia, he’s actually really sweet. He just looks like he hates everything.” “As you can see, my wife is my biggest fan.” He presses his lips into a thin line as he fakes a glare. “Anyway.” You smile at Sujia. “I assume the child is upstairs?” “Yes, but if you want him to not be scared of you, you may want to refer to him by his name or something other than ‘the child.’” She scratches the top of her head.

“God, there is so much I could learn from you.” You separate from Chenle’s side and head for the stairs. Much to your pleasant surprise, your nephew…in-law? is already stomping down the stairs. “Oh.” The kid purses his lips. “You’re back.” “I am.” You nod and scrunch your nose up. “I figured while your mommy talks to my husband, we could…I don’t know. Play a game or something? Do kids do that?” “You’re weird.” Yichen grimaces. “But you’re nicer this time than you were last time. So yeah, we can play with the Switch.” You don’t end up actually playing, but you do watch Yichen’s game with interest. Leaning forward with your elbows on your knees, you analyze the process he uses when he plays every round.

“You’re smart,” you comment. “My mommy tells me that, too.” He nods, seemingly unaffected by your compliment. You pause for a moment. “Does your mom…compliment you a lot?” “Uh, I don’t know.” Yichen doesn’t start the next round, but turns to look at you. “Does your mommy compliment you a lot?” You laugh. “Yeah, no. Definitely not." “Are you—”

“Yichen,” Sujia calls out. “Can you turn the game off please? There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Without a second thought, he turns the Switch off and yells to his mom to tell her he’s ready. He sits next to you on the couch, folding his hands together in his lap. You’ve met a lot of children in your day, but you never imagined one could be so well-behaved. You see the panicked look on Chenle’s face as he walks in. A laugh almost erupts from you, but you hold it back. The man is meeting his nephew for the first time and can’t seem to shake the nerves away. You can only imagine what it’ll be like when he meets his own child. You tense the second that thought crosses your mind.

When?

A legitimate chill runs down your spine, and then you realize how close Chenle has gotten. He squats down in front of Yichen, and Sujia leans against the archway into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Chenle starts. “I’m your uncle. And you’re my nephew.” “Oh, wow.” You really didn’t think it could get any worse than you. “Do you know her?” Yichen nods his head towards you. Chenle smiles. “Yeah. That’s my wife. So that makes her your aunt.” “She said her mommy doesn’t compliment her.” His eyes widen. “Is she a bad person?” Your husband lets out an exaggerated gasp. “No way. She’s the best person I know.” “How?” “Well, she told me about you and your mommy when nobody else did. She’s really, really smart and, c’mon, she’s gorgeous. What else could I want in a wife?” Chenle grins, sending a quick glance your way. “I guess you’re right.” Yichen shrugs. “Do you wanna play a game with me?” “Absolutely.” He nods in response. You stand to give Chenle room, touching his shoulder lightly as you go to stand by Sujia. Leaning on the wall next to her, you quickly realize attempting to take your eyes off of your husband is futile. “He likes kids, huh?” Sujia asks. “He really likes family,” you reply.

“Do you want children?” “Oh.” You chuckle to yourself and fold your arms over your chest. “I’m not sure. But we…don’t really have a choice. We signed a contract and heirs are part of the deal.” “I’m sorry, but I really don’t envy you,” she tells you. “At the end of the day, it’s not that bad, though.” “So, you and Chenle actually love each other.” She hums, tapping her foot. “I feel like that’s rare for people in your positions.” “It is,” you agree. “And honestly, had it been up to me at the beginning, we wouldn’t even be…friendly. We’d be tolerating each other.” "Wow, he fought for you.” Humor laces in Sujia’s voice. “Well, I told him that I’d rather tolerate him than learn one day that I might hate him instead. He was entirely right when he said it wasn’t the hate I was scared of. It was love. Of relying on someone else.” “At least you can rest assured that he would be a good father.”

You don’t respond for a moment, watching Chenle interact with his nephew. They must win something in the game, because they dramatically high five each other. The smile on Chenle’s face is wide, and your heart flutters as a result.

“Yeah.” You fight your own grin. “Yeah, he really will.”

You and Chenle are at Sujia’s for hours. It’s clear the two of them are similar, and thankfully, your husband seems to enjoy having a family member other than the ones who have disappointed him. Yichen warms up to you both, and by the time you’re leaving, he’s hugging you both goodbye and asking when you’ll be back. Chenle is still smiling as he leads you back to the car.

“That went a lot better than you thought, huh?” You ask as he helps you into the backseat.

“I don’t know what I thought.” He shakes his head. “But it’s cool not to be an only child. Even if it’s unconventional, you know? And that little kid is freakin’ cool.”

You lean on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re making the best out of this situation.”

“Actually, do you mind if we make one more stop?”

“Of course not. Where to?”

“I think it’s time I had a conversation with my father.” He pats your leg. “And I could really use your support.”

“Chenle.” You tilt your head at him. “If you don’t know by now that I would follow you anywhere, you’re not as smart as I originally thought. We may have to reconsider this whole thing.”

He sucks in a deep breath through his teeth, holding back his laugh. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that contract is pretty air tight.”

“Damn.” You roll your eyes and kiss his cheek. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

“The luckiest.” He lifts your hand up to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “Can’t even joke about that one.”

Chenle isn’t even nervous as the two of you approach his father’s office. He grips your hand tightly, but his resolve has never been stronger. Despite him doing this on his own, you feel an odd swell of pride deep in your chest. You’re so proud of the man he’s always been, and how he only ever wants to be better. His father already knows what’s going on the second he sees you both. At that point, Chenle releases your hand and drops his folder on the desk.

“What’s this?” his father inquires.

“A lawsuit,” Chenle replies nonchalantly.

You almost gasp in shock. And while you shouldn’t be enjoying the awkward tinge in the atmosphere, you feel like you need a bag of popcorn right now.

“I’m sorry?” He recoils in shock.

“You seem to forget that when I became CEO, you no longer had any claim to the company’s profits. And if I did my math correctly, which I did, $143,000 a quarter is roughly $572,000 a year, which is a grand total of $2,288,000 from the four years I’ve been seated in the CEO position.”

“Chenle, you have no right—”

“You don’t tell me what I have the right to do, actually.” Chenle buttons up his suit jacket. “So, you’ll be paying me back the money you owe me. That you stole from me to protect your little secret from getting out. But that must really suck, because you actually delivered a handwritten apology letter to Sujia and to your wife and your mistress and me and the employees at the company that’ll be announced in about ten minutes. To the whole world.”

“Your mother cannot know about this. Whatever you’ve done, you reverse it immediately.” The angry expression on his face does nothing but make Chenle grin.

“Your secret’s out, Dad. Crazy how you had two children and never learned how to be an actual father.” Chenle brushes himself out and points at the folder on the desk. “I’d read that. You might wanna think twice before fighting it.”

“You’ll understand one day,” his father replies. “There’s more to life than marriage, and it’s only a matter of time before you—”

“I will never be like you.” The smile immediately falls from his face. “I love my wife, and I’m not a fucking coward. I don’t need a second family because the first one wasn’t good enough for me. This is the last time you’ll hear from me. And you won’t be receiving any money from my company again. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, your lips parted in shock as you realize what’s happening. Your husband turns his back on his father, gently holds out his hand to you, and shoots one last ice cold glare over his shoulder as he leads you out of the room.

As soon as the door shuts behind you, you laugh in disbelief. “Chenle, holy shit.”

“Dude, my adrenaline is fucking crazy right now.” He chuckles and blows out a deep breath. “That was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done in my life.”

“This might be terrible to say, but I am…so attracted to you right now.” You blush as you squeeze his arm.

“So, nothing but good things today.” He helps you into the car.

Once he shuts the door behind him, you climb onto his lap and kiss him. He groans in surprise, his hands immediately finding their place on your ass.

“What? You like when I put people in their places?” he teases you, leaning forward to barely brush his lips on yours.

“There were a lot of things I liked from today.” You unbutton the first button on his shirt. “It was…very hot of you to absolutely destroy a man like that. You held your ground and…I don’t know. The tone of your voice was sexy.”

“My God, am I learning things about you today.”

“If it helps you, I’m also learning things about myself, so.”

“Mm, please tell me what else you’ve got hidden up your sleeve.” He squeezes your ass gently, pushing you closer so you feel him hardening in his pants.

“I think…we should throw every single condom away. Permanently. We’ll have an endless amount of babies for you to play games with. Of course, you’ll also have to tell them I’m gorgeous, but—”

“You’re serious.” His jaw drops, hope sparking behind his eyes. “Darling, you better not be joking about something like that.”

You shake your head. “I’m not joking. You were on to something when you said you wanted everything. A real life, a real love, a real family. Why don’t we have it all?”

“Right now? You want kids now?”

“If we’re gonna have twenty, we really have to start now, otherwise I’m gonna be too old—”

He cuts you off with an earth-shattering kiss as he pulls you flush against him. His fingers tangle in your hair, and you giggle into his mouth. The only thing that separates the two of you is the door opening.You gasp and climb off his lap, clearing your throat and fanning your cheeks from the embarrassment of getting caught. Your husband grips your hand and pulls you towards the house, and you can’t stop the profuse laughter escaping you as he apparently decides you’re walking too slowly and hoists you over his shoulder.

“Oh my God, Chenle, put me down.” You can barely speak through your laughs.

He only listens to you once the two of you are inside and he’s able to set you on the kitchen island.

“If you’re doubting it even a little bit, darling, you’d better tell me now.” He kisses down your neck. “Because I don’t care how fucking long it takes, we’re not stopping tonight until I get you pregnant.”

“You’re crazy.” You push his shoulder. “You have no way of knowing if you’ll—”

“Baby, don’t ruin my fun. Tell me if you really want this.”

“I do, Chenle.” You cup his cheeks, smiling at him. “I want it with you. They all need to look like you. I want at least one boy and one girl, and they’ll be best friends because—”

He kisses you again, groaning as he slides his hand beneath the skirt of your dress. “Keep talking.”

“Um, I just really think you’d be a good dad,” you say, lifting your hips so he can pull your panties down. “And, uh, you’ve proven how much family means to you, so it makes me feel safe. I—shit.”

He presses two fingers to your clit, and your body jolts. Chuckling, he traces along your pulse with his lips. “How are you so wet already?”

“Well.” You let out another breathless laugh as you grind your hips to match his pace. “It so helps that my husband is the hottest fucking man in this universe.”

“You think so highly of me,” he hums, teeth grazing your ear lobe.

“You’re cruel for this, you know.” You rock upward, and your head lolls forward. “Teasing after you clearly feel how badly I want you is just…so rude.”

“I’m sorry, baby. Please forgive me.” He moves down to your entrance and thrusts two of his fingers inside you.

You cry out, holding onto his shoulders. With a frustrated groan, you push his jacket off of him. He curls his fingers and pumps faster, thumb returning to your clit.

“Fuck, Chenle, wait.” You smack at his wrist. Even though you don’t want him to stop, you want more. He stops immediately, pulling back to look at you.

“What? Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay.” You kiss him hard. “I need you inside me right fucking now.”

“First of all, you just scared me.” He tsks as he unbuttons his pants. “You need my cock so bad you can’t fucking take what I give you?”

Oh, he knows exactly what he’s doing. You shudder at his tone, shuffling closer to the edge of the counter. He pushes his pants and boxers down to the middle of his thighs, and your mouth waters at the sight of him. He’s hard, tip leaking precum as he spreads your legs further. The fabric of your skirt prevents him from having enough room, and the dark look in his eyes sends another burst of wetness to your core.

“Love how these skirts look on you but fucking hate how I can’t fuck you in it.” He taps your hip, and you lift yourself up so he can unzip it and tug it down quickly.

You barely even pay attention to what his doing when he pulls your ankles up to the edge of the counter and spreads your thighs apart until they begin to ache.

“Now, isn’t that a fucking view.” He wets his lips as he wraps his fingers around his cock. Thrusting into his fist a couple times, he uses his other hand to tease your clit.

“Chenle, please.” You gasp, tugging him closer.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby, I can see it.” He drags his tip along your entrance, pushing in just enough to watch the head of his cock stretch you open. He’s entranced by the way you take him so easily, his eyes focused on where the two of you connect.

Your pleasure intensifies simply by watching him so drunk on you, just appreciating the way you take him. You feel every vein in your body buzzing, and you can’t help it but to push your hand between your legs and rub your throbbing bud while he’s entranced.

“You have no fucking patience,” he hisses, grabbing your wrist and pushing it away. You whine at the loss, but his glare stops you. “I’m trying to enjoy my wife’s pussy, but she’s just so fucking needy, isn’t she?”

“Oh, God.” You grip onto the edge of the counter.

“Watch how easily you take me.” He flicks your clit. “Look.”

You let your gaze travel downward until you see his cock positioned outside your hole. Instantly, the room gets much hotter. You struggle to breathe, anticipating the stretch he gives you. His tip is covered in your arousal, but the rest of his cock has yet to feel you.

“Fuck me, Chenle,” you mutter almost incoherently. “I wanna watch.”

He finally obliges, nudging the tip between your folds again before sinking inside. He moves so slowly, you want to cry. You need more, and the stretch wreaks havoc on you when you’re watching. Every time he’d fill you up another inch, he’d pull out until his tip is barely caught inside you, and then sink in just one more inch. You’re losing your fucking mind, but you can’t take your eyes away from where he pleasures you. Finally, he bottoms out, the position of your thighs allowing him to press all the way against you, his pelvis hitting your overly sensitive clit.

“Are you ready?” he asks. “I need to fuck you.”

“You know I’m ready,” you reply, dazed from the pleasure of him seated so deeply in you.

He starts a steady pace, both of you still staring at the way you stretch to accommodate him.

“You feel so fucking good like this, darling.” He thrusts harder. “Nothing between us this time.”

You cry out when his tip hits your cervix. Your legs start to shake from how far they’re spread, but all you’re focusing on is the way your arousal shines on his cock when he’s pulling out of you. You feel every inch of him, and the way he rubs against your walls is so different without the condom. You’re fucking delirious, and every time he presses all the way inside you, the pressure on your clit has you getting closer and closer.

“You’re squeezing me so tight, baby,” he groans, moving his hand down between the two of you quickly. His thumb glides over your most sensitive area, and you can no longer hold back your sounds.

“Fuck,” you cry out, legs shaking as your orgasm lingers so, so close.

“Cum for me.” He slams into you. “Not gonna fill you up ‘til you cum, darling.”

You tip and tilt over the edge, convulsing as your high hits you hard. Chenle keeps rubbing you, thrusts picking up speed as he fucks you through your euphoria. He crashes his lips to yours as he spurts inside you, covering your inner walls with white as he pants. Your whole body shakes as you hold onto him tightly. Both of you are covered in sweat, but it does little to bother either of you.

“How does it keep getting better?” you ask. “You have that effect on me.” He shrugs, chuckling as he guides your legs around his waist. “And I wasn’t kidding. We’re not done yet.” “My insides are gonna be mush.” “What if I’m gentle next time?” He kisses along your neck. “If I fuck you with your legs up, apparently it’s more likely to happen that way.” “Insatiable.” You pull back to kiss his lips. “You’re lucky I am, too. Take me upstairs.”

You don’t make it all the way upstairs. Not at first. He decides he has to take you on the couch, up against the wall next to the staircase, the desk in his office, and then your bed. By the end of the night, you’re absolutely exhausted, but you’ve never felt so fucking good in your life. And for someone who thought you could never have it all, you realize just how damn close you are to having a perfect life when you have Chenle by your side.

926 notes · View notes

sailoryooons · 1 year

Text

Angel | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Mafia!Yoongi x Sex worker! F. reader

☾ Summary: Yoongi never meant to keep coming back. You never meant to become Yoongi’s favorite. Being Min Yoongi’s favorite has dire consequences.

☾ Word Count: 15,551

☾ Genre: Semi-established relationship, mafia, smut, surprising amount of fluff

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

☾ Warnings: Sex work and mentions of sex work, Yoongi and the reader are very confident in their relationship but also don’t want to ask for more, uses of the word whore negatively in some parts, vague references to dismemberment in an offhand conversation, intense action sequences, depictions of violence, reader is smacked around and kidnapped, depictions of injuries and pain, two sequences of detailed anxiety attacks, graphic depictions of blood, violent scene in which reader fights for her life and gores someone, depictions of murder/panicking while committing murder? Idk how to describe that one, mentions of nightmares/light reference to PTSD post-murder, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (m. and f. receiving) light throat fucking, nipple play, ass play (f. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, Yoongi… almost doing a strip tease but it’s not as goofy as that it’s more sensual?? Yoongi is a little bit possessive at the end.

☾ Published: September 3, 2023

☾ A/N: You voted for it, you got it! Introducing the fic that came out on top for the Hali’s Happy Agust Bracket Challenge! Thank you to everyone who voted during the entire month of August, I had such an amazing time seeing everyone yelling and voting and sharing and having fun with it. It means the world to me that you guys have fun and enjoy doing these kinds of things! Here is mafia Yoongi in all of his glory - I did try to keep it tame with the murder/violence/criminal side of it because there are things in this genre I’d like to table in later (most likely on Hali’s After Dark) but I hope that you enjoy this! Somehow it really turned into two people who are just !!! eternally confident in one another, despite their strange trades. Shout out to the hurricane and covid for FAILING TO STOP ME FROM WRITING THIS I’M A GOD (not really I am very tired but I did it osifjdoigj). This is mostly edited.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Angel Playlist

Yoongi would rather be anywhere else but the low lit, smoky club. The production team on the dancefloor below uses way too much cryogenic smoke for Yoongi’s taste, fogging the dancing bodies with thick clouds, the lasers reflecting off the smoke in dizzying patterns. From the VIP section, he isn’t choked by the haze, but he is choking on the cloying perfume of the woman in his lap.

She’s pretty enough, one of Kwan’s finest. No doubt trained from a very young age to please her employer’s most prestigious guests. Yoongi doesn’t touch her though, save for letting her sit on his lap, her hand cradling the back of his neck. She leans into his chest, her breath close to his ear as he watches Kwan consider Yoongi’s deal.

Yoongi doesn’t have to make the deal at all. Offering to become a minority owner of the club is a mercy, really. Yoongi could go after the investors who fronted the money when Kwan opened his business in the middle of the entertainment district, and he could wipe out the petty criminals pushing drugs in shadowy alcoves near the bathroom, damaging the cut that Kwan takes from them at the end of each night.

Yoongi could even go as far as to sow chaos every night, sending in his followers to pick fights with the elite clientele, make it a nightmare for the celebrity clients and cities government officials who use the back rooms for more nefarious matters, exposing the underbelly of La Vie if he felt like it.

Investments, Hoseok always insists. Investments, not enemies. They already hate that you’re taking a chunk of what they built - especially the seaside property. Let’s try to play nice and show face.

Forcing hands is exactly how Yoongi got to this position, sitting in a club and offering Kwan a rather generous deal: Kwan retains eighty percent of ownership, Yoongi becomes a twenty percent owner, the only person allowed to supply the club’s drugs, is paid for security services, and has access to the information funneled through those that work the private client rooms. He could just take it like he always has, and he still has half a mind to do.

Men like Kwan who think they’re savvy in business and the nuances of the criminal enterprises that run the city make Yoongi’s lip curl.

“These terms are bullshit, and I don’t have control of the back rooms.” Kwan looks up from the contract, glasses sliding down his nose. He’s a little bit older than Yoongi, and good looking. He has a traditionally handsome face that idols and actors like to get moderated to look like. He looks like new money though, with designer pieces that don’t quite match and a Patek watch that is flashy, but not coveted. “While it is under my jurisdiction, it is a handshake deal with Anya that she runs them the way she wants. They are her clients, not mine.”

“Then Anya will have a handshake deal with me.” Kwan’s face darkens. Yoongi is tired of this. Is tired of the feeling of the girl’s hand stroking the hair at the base of his neck, is tired of the way she presses up against him, and is tired of Kwan’s dawdling.

“Take the weekend to think about it,” Yoongi insists and stands. The girl falls off him, letting out a surprised sound as she hits the booth. Yoongi adjusts his suit and frowns when he sees there is body glitter on it. He casts a harsh look at the girl who stares up at him with big eyes before turning back to Kwan. “There are no terms for negotiating. Thank you for the drinks and the entertainment. You’ll hear from me.”

Kwan’s face is red like the neon of Yoongi’s favorite motel when he walks out of the booth. Synth and base rattle the metal catwalk that makes up the VIP section, overlooking the dancefloor. Seokjin slides into step with Yoongi as he goes, an imposing shadow as they circumnavigate the walkway.

It’s loud and raucous when they get to the dance floor. Members of the security team watch Yoongi as he goes, their eyes alert. He pays them little attention, just like the gazes of the people dancing in the ground when they catch sight of him.

Sometimes, Yoongi feels a little bit like a myth in moments like this. Out in public, Yoongi is an astutely dressed man who speaks quietly and says very few words. He wears nice but not gaudy jewelry, and he always styles his long hair slicked back, showing off the faded, red scar over his eye. What Yoongi lacks in height, he makes up for in omnipresent stares and quick reactions.

Everyone in the city knows exactly who Min Yoongi is, and they know that he doesn’t make threats. He simply acts.

Outside, rain falls from the inky sky. Hoseok leans against the brick wall under the awning, clove-tinged smoke drifting from the cigarette jammed between his lips. When he sees Yoongi, Hoseok pushes off the wall and adjusts his suit jacket. Where Seokjin looks tall, dark and imposing, Hoseok is wiry and sharp, dressed in all white, looking pristine as he raises his eyebrows at Yoongi in question. Yoongi nods towards the idling SUV as an answer.

They don’t bother with an umbrella. Yoongi ducks his head down as he quickly walks across the pavement and into the car. The interior is moderately cool in the SUV. He takes a seat in the middle, Seokjin sitting alone in the row behind him and Hoseok to his right.

Outside of the rainy window, the world turns into a smear of wet neon. Checking his watch, Yoongi notes that it’s just past midnight. If he hurries, he can stop by the Red before he goes home for the evening. If he goes home for the evening, at that point. The thought of sinking into sheets that smell like almond and cinnamon ease him.

“So?” Hoseok flicks through his phone, face lit up blue by the screen. He looks hauntingly beautiful, all edges and sharp lines. “Deal or no deal?”

“Giving him the weekend to think about it.” Hoseok sighs. “He thinks it’s a bad deal for him because it it is, and he’s stuck on the operation Anya runs in the back rooms. He doesn’t want to lose that connection to her. She feeds him information for his extortion of city officials.”

“How else would he have cleared that permit near the docks to build,” Seokjin mutters. Yoongi casts a glance into the back seat where Seokjin sullenly stares out of the window. “Fucker is sticking his nose in a district he has no rights to. At least we had the means to get that operation cancelled.”

“Yeah, and it’s part of why he doesn’t want to deal with us,” Hoseok says. “Even so, offering the deal is the right move. If he doesn’t take it, crush him like a fucking bug. He’s an intelligent businessman, it’s no surprise that he’s going to try and find a way around you. He might sniff around or try and fuck up some assets.”

“Hobi, you better fucking hope he doesn’t go to that fucker Seo.”

“He doesn’t have the balls. Seo Changbin is unhinged and volatile. He’s more likely to send Kwan to his family in chainsawed pieces.”

Yoongi grunts, amused. “Bang has kept him under control as of late. Seokjin, have Jungkook look into getting some people in there. I’m not interested in them linking up as permanent partners.”

A headache presses against Yoongi’s temples. He doesn’t care to debate politics and machinations with Hoseok and Seokjin. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the headrest, letting their discussion fall to a dull sound.

Yoongi feels like he’s bleeding at the edges, the color of him spilling out of neat lines and all over the pages. His empire is growing faster than he can keep up with, he’s playing politics more than he’s playing the savvy gangster, and the more capital he gains, the more of himself he loses.

When Yoongi had started to climb the ladder of crime and chaos, he didn’t know where it would lead him. An early grave, perhaps. But Yoongi has always been smart and knows how to pick his battles, knows how to innovate. He is not the most inspiring man to lead people in the underbelly of the city, but he does know what he’s talking about and he’s good at guessing what people want most.

People, he’s discovered, all want the same thing, whether they’re at the bottom rung or the top.

The boy he once was wouldn’t recognize him. The new Yoongi wears designer suits, the carefully curated art collections in the opulent halls of his home, the shaking hands with political figures to help install certain assurances within the city. There are more officials that line Yoongi’s pocket than there are gangs in the city, but it’s a weapon he wields well.

Old Yoongi might not be so impressed.

Yoongi feels the phantom ache of the scar on his eye. It doesn’t matter what old Yoongi wants, though. This new version of him is doing whatever he needs to live another day and to install another brick in his kingdom.

The driver drops Yoongi off at home. Tall gates with security cameras and guard house at the entrance keeps almost everyone away from the Min estate. There’s been a few idiots here or there who have climbed the walls and met the three lovely dobermans that roam the property freely.

Erebus catches Yoongi’s eyes as he walks to the large garage. The eldest of Yoongi’s canines sits and watches Yoongi approach with keen, dark eyes. He grins at the dog, whistling lowly. Erebus stands and joins Yoongi on his way to the side door, jamming in a code to the garage.

Inside, the automatic lights flip on. Yoongi squints from the harsh lighting, closing the door behind him. Rows of vehicles gleam under the fluorescents. Sports cars, old collectibles, sturdy SUVs. Yoongi has an armada at his disposal, though he so rarely drives himself anywhere these days. Not after Seo put a hit on him a few months ago, the insane fuck.

Yoongi pulls the tie loose from his neck and begins to change. He presses his finger on a thumb-print lock to a wardrobe and pops it open. Inside are casual clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, a riding jacket, boots and a gleaming black helmet. Nondescript clothes that can belong to anyone.

Every movement feels heavy. He should go upstairs and swallow down something to help him knockout, but he doesn’t. Instead, he finishes going through the motions and tosses the worn clothes in the wardrobe and walks over to the parked H2R in, all sleek, black metal.

Erebus sniffs Yoongi’s knee once, a sort of send off. Yoongi bends down and kisses the doberman on the head before shooing him, sending the dog through the garage and up the stairs that lead to the main house.

Instead of starting the bike in the garage and peeling out the front of the home, Yoongi pops the kickstand up and walks it out of the side door, careful not to bang the tailpipe on the door or scrape the shiny black paint. Once outside, he walks it through the entire yard, arms aching a little as he keeps the bike balanced.

Gravel crunches beneath his boots and the tires of the motorcycle. Crickets chirp in the yard until he makes it to the back gate in his home that opens up to a government only street. Being back-to-back with the minister has its perks, like an extra security measure that he doesn’t have to monitor constantly.

Swinging his leg over the bike, Yoongi slides the helmet on, turns the key, and presses the on switch. It roars to life, vibrating underneath him. He revs it a few times before he pulls back on the throttle and shoots down the street like a bullet from a gun.

Iron gates, walls and security houses blur past him. He lives among the gods of the city, high up over the glittering lights and those who pay pilgrimage to the political, criminal and tech giants who loom over them. Yoongi was one of them not that long ago, rising faster than he could have thought possible.

Still, he descends often. Nightly, even. Like even the most powerful gods, Yoongi’s weakness is a vice he can’t - doesn’t want to - rid himself from. While he doesn’t think of himself as impervious, Yoongi doesn’t have many weaknesses.

His biggest one, though, spends most days at the Red with a private suite in the luxury pleasure house disguised as a motel.

Yoongi parks his bike in a secured garage that he has a paid spot in. The payment for it is discrete and in all cash, one of Yoongi’s several attempts at covering his tracks when he visits.

The garage is still a few blocks away from the Red. He tucks his hands into his pocket, enjoying the balmy evening, rain still clinging to the air though not falling now. This late at night, there aren’t many people out. Cars drive by, tires hissing on the wet road. Neon lights burn above fluorescent-lit windows of small food shops.

At the end of a dead end street, a red motel sign buzzes against the night sky. The non-descript brick building doesn’t look like much, but Yoongi knows better than most. Instead of approaching the front door, he leans against the wall a few shops down, tucked underneath the shadow of an awning.

Pulling his phone out, he dials and brings it up to his ear. As the phone rings, he looks up at the four-story building. There are windows with dark curtains pulled shut and never opened. Yoongi knows that the glass looks ordinary, but is bullet proof grade to protect the most private of clients.

It doesn’t look like much. The brick is old, it’s bracketed by a laundromat and a hardware store, and across the street is a noodle shop and boarded up general store.

“It’s late,” you answer, voice scratchy. Yoongi nearly shivers at the sound of your voice, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in the rain-tinged night. “What’s a girl to do when a boy calls her this late, hmm?”

“Let said boy upstairs and out of the rain.”

“Hmm.” You don’t say yes, but Yoongi can hear the rustle of sheets and the soft creak of the bed when you get up. He waits in silence, though he imagines you’re walking across the bedroom to head to the main part of the state room. “It’s not even raining anymore, I bet.”

“It is. I’m soaked to the bone. Freezing. I might catch a cold.”

“Whatever shall we do?”

He grins, ducking his head. He can feel the warmth climb up his neck to his face, shaking his head. Only you can get him like this, heart skipping like he’s in grade school making out with someone behind the bleachers for the first time.

“Come on,” you tease on the other line. “Your door will be open.”

“Thanks, Angel.”

“Mhmm.”

His door isn’t really his. But it is a private access door in the back of the alley that requires a keycard and has an armed guard sitting in a security room next to the entry way on the inside. Yoongi hangs up the phone and heads to the special door, avoiding the puddles dripping from fire escapes.

Just as Yoongi reaches the heavy door, he hears the beep of the auto-lock and it swings open with you leaning on the frame. He wants to eat you whole. You’re not in work clothes, meaning you either wrapped up a while ago or didn’t work tonight. He doesn’t want to know so he doesn’t ask, instead walking up to you as you step to the side and let him in.

Glowing light flickers underneath the security door to the left. You close the door behind you and pass him, letting your fingers grab his hand and link fingers. There are security cameras here, but it’ll look normal, with you pulling him through the halls and to the elevator. Touching is very much permitted here. Encouraged. Required.

In the elevator, you stand by Yoongi. He leans into you, silent. You squeeze his hand, very small in his, but warm enough to soothe him. You smell faintly almond and cinnamon, making him go wild as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You giggle, leaning into him fully, arm pressed to arm.

Perhaps it’s stupid to be so open like this. When Yoongi first started coming here, he was still and awkward, never coming too close, never letting himself be too familiar. Now, the need for you is too strong. He doesn’t care if there’s a camera on him watching him melt into you. He doesn’t care if maybe it shows that this is a little more than money, a little more than just a quick fix.

Yoongi has been coming to you for almost three years. He doesn’t remember when it stopped being about sex, but it hasn’t been that way for a while. At first, he thought it was so silly. Mafia man in love with a woman he pays to have sex with him. Except it wasn’t so silly. You’d long stopped considering him a client and insisting he doesn’t pay you.

He doesn’t dare. He doesn’t know what money you make from clients. He knows that it has to be good to be at the Red, which specializes in top clientele. He knows it has to be great, even, because you always meet on your terms. In this space.

He also doesn’t dare to ask you to stop. He doesn’t know how many clients you take, or who. He doesn’t know when, he doesn’t know how often. He knows nothing about your work except that he doesn’t ask you to stop and you don’t ask him if he wants you too.

It’s an unspoken rule between you. Yoongi is too afraid to ask you to come live with him, and perhaps you’re too afraid to ask him to take you. Whatever the reasons, neither one of you is brave enough to cross the line first. So instead, you dance along it, making whatever this is work.

Inside the stateroom is clean and smells like expensive candles. The room is luxurious and is exclusively yours. A cut of your earnings go to holding the room, just like the rest of the workers in the other rooms.

With the door firmly locked behind the two of you, Yoongi heads to the open kitchen and leans against the counter, facing you. You kick off your slippers and turn to face him, half shadowed by the darkness of the hall, half lit by the warm salt lamp in the living room.

Yoongi drags his eyes up and down your frame. Soft curves, gentle lips, kind eyes. He was gone the first time he saw you, and he’s gone now. Even after all this time.

“What?” you ask, fingers fidgeting with your t-shirt. He thinks it might be one of his, but he might be imagining it.

“Come here,” he instructs, patting his thigh.

You grin and approach him. He opens his arms for you and he sighs as you press against him. Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing him tight. Slotting your head between his shoulder and neck, you hide your face against him, breath warm against his throat. He envelops you in his arms, wrapped around your shoulders and draped down your back.

Almond fills his senses. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing you in. You don’t say anything, content to sag against him in the low light of the room. This is what he comes here for more than anything. Everything else you offer is secondary. His foremost desire is this - you.

“Everything okay?” you finally ask, because of course you do.

“Mhmm. Just a long night.”

“You smell like perfume.”

“Hmm?”

“Like peaches.”

He opens his eyes and looks down at you. You crane your head so that you’re peering up at him with one eye, brow arched. His mouth twitches. “Jealous?”

“Maybe.”

“Interesting.”

“Not particularly.”

He lowers his arms, letting them drape around your waist. He smacks the round of your ass a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to make you pout. “We really going to get into the mechanics of this right now?”

Your smile is all he needs to know you’re not serious. At least, not enough to do something about it. “No, but it’s fun to tease you.”

“Perhaps I should tease you back, then.”

Hand in hand, you lead him to your room. Yoongi sees the white sheets and grins. White sheets are for him. Grey sheets are for clients, something you’d established in the infancy of whatever this relationship is. He appreciates the little layers of how you make things different for him. You make him feel special - and not the kind that he pays for.

Falling backward into the bed, you look up at him with those fucking eyes that make him week in the knees. It’s dark in the room but he knows it well, standing at the foot of your bed and reaching down to snatch an ankle and pull you a bit closer. You squeal as he does, making a jolt of joy go through him, grinning.

“How was your day?” he asks, lifting your foot to rest on his shoulder. He presses an innocent kiss to your ankle and he watches your brows furrow. “What?”

“Are you a foot person?”

“What if I was?”

You shrug a shoulder, watch him trail kisses down your calf. He nips the meat of your leg, an innocent bite but one that makes your leg twitch. “I’d say I’m surprised to learn something new about you after three years.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi lowers himself so that he’s on his knees, the carpet pressing into his slacks. The back of your knee fits perfectly over his shoulder, your leg resting along his back. You lean up on your elbows and look down at him, watching him settle between your legs. “Think you know everything about me, huh?”

Yoongi’s hands feel your warm skin. He marvels at the softness of your thighs, stroking his hands back and forth. Looking at you, he raises his brow in question. You’re too distracted by the feeling of his hands. It stirs something in him, and he cruves his fingers, dragging his blunt nails softly against your skin.

“Feels good,” you mumble, half-lidded. “I do know everything about you, Min Yoongi.”

“That so?”

“Yes. I could eat your heart if I wanted to.”

Yoongi’s stomach flips at how right you are, at how much you know it. Your confidence in his feelings never fails to make him feel like he is cut open and laid bare at your feet, waiting for you to step on him. To make him regret that vulnerability.

You never do. At every turn, you’ve shown him that you won’t take advantage. That you have no desire to use the fact that one of the most powerful men in the city is in the palm of your hand. Power for the taking. You could wield him like a weapon, he thinks, and yet you don’t. All you want from him is for him to speak freely, to kiss you often, and to hold you tightly.

So he does.

Yoongi presses kisses up the softness of your thighs. You drop from your elbows to lay flat on your back again, your breath catching. He watches raptly at the rise and fall of your chest as you gasp a little. He knows exactly what you like, reaching for your sleep shorts to pull them off slowly.

Tonight, he has nowhere else to go. Neither do you, letting him lean further up between your legs to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against your hips. You squirm a little, sensitive in the hip area. He loves it - would die for it - letting his tongue slip between his teeth to lave over your hot skin to soothe stinging flesh where he’s nipped you.

His hands are familiar with every dimple in your skin and every curve. He traces them as he pulls your shorts down, grabbing the elastic band of your underwear as he does. He throws them on the floor, hands settling on the inside of your knees as he presses you open, dropping his eyes to your wet folds.

Yoongi groans. You’re always so eager for him. That’s never been an illusion, the way your cunt drips slowly down to the curve of your ass at the most innocent of touches from him. It fuels Yoongi’s ego, knowing he has this effect on you. Knowing he’s the only one who can get you trembling in anticipation just by kissing the inside of your knees.

He made the mistake only once asking if you ever get off with your other clients. The flash of anger and irritation had never made him ask again, but you at least gave him an answer: no.

Thinking back on it now, Yoongi doesn’t know why he asked. He doesn’t care who you have before or between. All he cares about is being in the darkness of this room, your scent heady, his head shadowed between your legs.

Leaning forward, Yoongi drags the flat of his tongue up your cunt slowly. You let out a moan and he hums, closing his eyes. He’s been craving your sweet tang all day, the tip of his tongue lingering just under your clit before he drags around it, missing your bundle of nerves on purpose. You let out a sound but he grins, removing his tongue to return to tracing sloppy kisses on your legs instead.

Already lightheaded, he grounds himself by sliding his hands along the outside of your thighs, gripping you here and there as he lavishes you with attention. He knows he’s tired, but he at least wants this. Wants to taste you before bed, to have you melt in his mouth, fingers in his hair. He needs it.

Yoongi doesn’t dip into the drugs that his operation injects into the streets. He doesn’t need to. There’s nothing that makes him forget who and where he is the way you do. Nothing that amounts to feeling your soft skin beneath his palms, smelling the barest hint of sweat beneath your vanilla perfume.

When Yoongi gets a taste of you, it’s an instant high. He feels lost, hands skimming up your thighs to hold your hips to the bed. Your hands seek his, linking your fingers and pressing your joined hands to your hips as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh.

This is why he keeps coming back. The intimacy. The reassurance that this is something more than an accident that Yoongi stumbled on a few years ago. That this is more than the roll of bills he will leave on the nightstand tonight, even when you say not to.

There is nothing else he needs in these stolen moments with you.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, voice soft. He hums in response. “Please, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Good,” he shoots back, biting your knee. You twitch and curse at him, making him laugh. Your glossy cunt is a sure sign that you’re not lying, though. Clit swollen, hole clenching. “Fuck, you have such a wet pussy.”

“Then put your fucking mouth on it, Yoongi.”

He laughs. “As you wish, Angel.”

A breathy whine in the shape of Yoongi’s name leaves your mouth when he starts to eat you out properly. He takes his time, eyes closed as he indulges, tongue rolling up and down your slick pussy. You turn liquid in his mouth, your hips canting as he flicks his tongue across your clit. You shiver in his hands and he grins, gently sucking your clit into his mouth.

“Yeah,” you pant. “Fuck, like that.”

Alternating between fastening his mouth on your pussy to suck gently and sliding his tongue into your hole, Yoongi goes with what he knows makes you a mess. Holds out his tongue and lets you fuck yourself against his face, your hand coming to grip his long hair.

The wet slide of you against his face makes him ache in his pants. He ignores it, determined to hold you still as he buries his face in deeper, picking up the firmness and pace of his mouth and tongue. He feels your essence drip down his chin and his neck. Hears the squelch when he thrusts his tongues into your pussy. Can’t get enough of the way your thighs close around his head, muffling the sound of you whining and saying his name.

Yoongi’s scalp stings when you pull his hair. He doesn’t care. He whips his head back and forth between your legs, tongue pressed against your throbbing clit. You’re shaking underneath him and he pushes you further, dipping low to slurp at your pussy bottom to top, not letting an ounce of you spill out.

“Holy fuck,” you squeak, voice high-pitched as you arch off the bed. He looks up at you, mouth attached. “Your fucking mouth.”

He grins, and leans into you further, pushes your thighs higher. Your legs bend easily under his weight. His hips are pressed against the foot of the bed now, hips rolling slightly, seeking for friction. His eyes close as he gets the barest bit of friction against his cock, more focused on making you come into his mouth than getting himself off.

When you come, your whole body goes taut. Yoongi holds you tight in his hands, mouth moving against you messily as he licks you through your orgasm. You dissolve in his mouth, making him hum against your heat. You twist in the sheets, body twitching, muscles flexing. He avoids your clit, thrusting his tongue into your entrance until you’re gasping for air, hands pressing against his head to get him to stop.

Yoongi removes his mouth with one, lascivious lick. He sits backwards on his feet, panting as he looks at you melt into the bed. Your limbs are lifeless and tangled in the blankets, your hand over your eyes as you catch your breath. You look fucking beautiful.

“Come here,” you rasp, voice rough.

The bed creaks under Yoongi’s weight. He walks over on his knees, drinking you in. Your cum slicks your thighs, shining in the barest shaft of light escaping the bathroom from a nightlight. You turn to face him, face balmy with sweat. You reach up and work the zipper on his pants, making his stomach flip.

“You don’t-”

“Shut up,” you growl, tugging the metal down hard. He smirks as you press your fingers into his hard shaft through the cotton of his briefs. “Wanna feel your cock in my throat. Can you fuck my mouth?”

“Fuck yeah, Angel.”

Yoongi nearly falls getting out of his pants. You laugh, the sound so sweet that he feels himself blush. He’s hot all over, coming alive in the darkness of your room as he strokes his cock. You look innocent, splayed on the bed and blinking up at him.

Precum drips from his dark tip and you open your mouth, tongue catching it. He curses under his breath, entranced by the way your tongue disappears between your lips. You hum, a glint in your eye as you smirk at him.

“Vixen,” he says, shaking his head.

“Give it to me.”

One day he thinks he’s going to die of loving you. He knows that this is what it is. It’s more than you opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue for him. It’s more than him letting you suckle on the tip of his cock playfully, his eyes fluttering shut and his thigh muscles twitching.

Yoongi loves you. It is an incredibly simple fact in his over-complicated world. Among all of the shit and the moves and countermoves he deals with every day, coming here to simply be in love with you is a relief. A home.

A shiver crawls up his back as he slowly inches his cock into your mouth. Your mouth is wet and warm, your tongue rough on the sensitive underside of his shaft. He keeps one hand on the base of his cock and the other on your jaw, keeping your mouth open to make the slide easier.

Everything fades away again. Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath as you open up for him. When he touches the back of your throat, he’s careful at first. He knows you can take it. You’ve taken so much more from him, gone so much harder. He doesn’t want to go hard tonight though. He feels soft at the edges, your taste lingering in his mouth.

The wet sound of your throat convulsing around him making him stroke faster. He knows you’re okay, breathing heavily through your nose as you gurgle around him, spit and precum slicking his shaft as he pulls in and out, marveling at the way you look at him, eyes watering.

Your eyes fix on him. Yoongi clenches his teeth, trying not to burst in your mouth. It’s hard when you look at him like that, gaze so dark and hungry and fathomless. You’ve never said you love him. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows in the same way he is aware you know he loves you. He knows enough to trust you with him. With everything.

There’s not a single doubt with you. It is a rare gift to share this open trust with someone, especially in his position. It is an added bonus that you know he loves it when you swallow around his cock as he presses into the back of your throat. The tight heat of your throat constricting around him does him in, and Yoongi comes with a growl.

You take it in stride, gulping. Taking it down. His eyes roll back in his head and he thinks that if he didn’t love you already, this alone would make him fall in love.

Pulling out his softening cock, he falls backward on the bed. He’s still in the top half of his clothes, but he is exhausted, lashes fluttering. Your hands are delicate as you begin to pull the jacket from his body. He rolls to the side and lets you, lost in the daze of a much needed orgasm. He feels at ease now, more than he has all day.

“Come on,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the spot under his ear. “Take a quick shower while I change the sheets, they’re sweaty. And I came on them.”

“I’d sleep in them anyway.”

“Hmm, too bad. Shower.”

“Meh.”

“Yoongi, you smell like a whore.” That makes him crack an eye and look at you. Your gaze is pointed. “And not like me. I don’t like it.”

“Huh. So you are jealous.”

“Get in the shower.” Your mouth twitches as you try to fight a smile. “Or else.”

Getting up before the sun is your favorite thing. Even now, when you’re tired from being woken up in the middle of the night, you make an effort to crawl out of bed to make coffee. Your steps are heavy and you shiver in the freezing air of the kitchen as you open a drawer and pull out a coffee pod. You hold it up close to make sure you’ve got Yoongi’s favorite brand before sticking it in the machine and popping the lid down, punching the button to brew.

Yoongi is a sleeping mound in your bed. Leaning against the counter, you admire him from afar. He’ll be up soon, your body clock tuned to the hours of his operation. It’s been that way for over a year now, your circadian rhythm trained to be the most functional during the hours in which Yoongi is awake.

When you were younger, you would have hated to admit that. Would have detested the thought of ever adjusting a single part of yourself for a man. Your entire job was to be moldable. To put on whatever face your client needed, to shape yourself into whatever person that you needed to be.

You have been so many things. A wife. A mistress. A temptress. A lost loved one. And darker things still, sliding on the skin of client’s fantasies over-and-over again until you lost the substance that made up whoever you were for hours at a time.

Back then, it would take hours and days to regain who you were. It wasn’t until you were more advanced that you were able to separate who you are from who you pretended to be. Now, it’s not necessarily. There is no other, no mask. Just you and Yoongi, the single client you decided was worth being moldable for.

The smell of coffee wakes him up before his alarm. You watch him sit up in bed, eyes not yet open. His hand spreads to where he expects to find you, only to discover open space. He swivels back and forth then, looking for you. Maybe a little panicked.

A pang aches your heart. It is so easy to forget that even after years of getting up before him first, Yoongi will never be trained out of the instinct that something of his has been taken. The day he doesn’t worry is the day he’ll lose everything and you know it.

“I’m over here,” you call gently. He relaxes and pulls himself together before getting out of bed and trudging out of the room.

Yoongi is pretty in the morning. His face is swollen with sleep, making him look so much younger. Like a dumpling, even. His mouth is fixed in a pout as he rubs at his eyes, steps uneven and dark hair sticking up all over the place. He looks at you, eyes glassy. The faded pink scar over his eye is less intimidating in the morning. You grin and open your arms. His reaction is automatic, sliding between them and sinking into your embrace, head thudding to your shoulder.

“Hi,” you purr, your hands squeezing around his middle. His shirt is soft in your fingers as you play with the hem. He grunts back, not much of a morning person. You don’t mind. Instead, you let him lay his weight on you, unwilling to move even as the coffee finishes brewing. He smells like sage shampoo and something more unique to him. “You okay, sleepyhead?”

“Mhmm.”

“Can’t talk yet?” he shakes his head against you and you laugh. “Come on, coffee.”

With Yoongi latched on to you, you walk over to the coffee maker. You giggle, elated as he clings to your front, letting you move him backwards. With his butt pressed against the counter and arms wrapped around you, you lean around him to grab the steaming mug and bring it in front of him.

Pouting, he drops his hands from you and takes it.

Years of mornings and carefully pulling back layers of Yoongi has earned this rare silliness between you. You’re acutely aware of the fact that the sleepy man in front of you, no matter how soft and blushing he is in the mornings, is a murderer. He’s extorted people, has threatened them, sits at the top of drug trade, and has pushed people into political office with dirty money and blood. Your eyes linger on his scar, a memento of his violent youth.

You don’t care. It doesn’t matter what Yoongi is and is not. All that matters to you is that he is Yoongi and that he is yours. At least, yours in the way it matters. You don’t dare ask him for more than what you have. It is the one thing you’re afraid of, because even though you know that he loves you, that you know he trusts you, asking for more is something you don’t want to do. Too many people want more of him. You just want whatever you can have.

As he sips his coffee, careful not to let it spill over and burn you while you bury yourself in snuggling him, you close your eyes. A couple of years ago, you didn’t think a life like this was possible. Getting in at the Red was the first step in the right direction. Though still for sex workers, it was an upper level platform in the industry you clawed your way to.

Both of you are similar in that regard. Yoongi started from nothing. A poor boy who dropped out of school to work a job and help pay rent at his apartment, too uneducated with not enough resources to make a dent in the world. It was the same story for you, though perhaps a little bloody around the edges, a hand that started selling you before you could make the choice yourself.

At the thought of your mother, you feel your jaw clench. The bite of the memory is only soothed by the knowledge of Yoongi putting her down himself. Perhaps it makes you a monster, but you’ve accepted that long ago you were what the world crafted you to be, and you wouldn’t apologize.

If you were Yoongi’s shield, he was your sword. You protected him from the weight of his atrocities, and he slayed your monsters.

It’s what drew Yoongi to you in the first place, the unapologetic approach to life. You appreciate it in him too. He doesn’t try to pretend that he is more or less than what he is, and you never try to hide the ugly parts of yourself.

And here he is anyway, coffee-warm lips pressed against your forehead. It almost makes you ask for more, but you don’t. This is enough for now.

The room at the Red isn’t where you live, but it’s yours in everything except lease. You long stopped using it for its intended purposes, now pleased to use it as a neutral ground to meet Yoongi and to stay where you know he is safe. His sprawling estate under guard and gun is surely safe enough, but you like having Yoongi where you can see him.

After a mostly innocent shower together, Yoongi gets dressed and kisses you goodbye after you walk him down. It’s still dark outside when you swipe your security key. He puts on his biker helmet and gives you a little salute before jogging down the alleyway, splashing into the morning and vanishing around a corner.

You linger for a moment, watching the empty space where he vanished. It would be nicer to be somewhere you didn’t have to escort him out. Somewhere you could be together all the time. You don’t think Yoongi would say no if you invited him over to your apartment, but you don’t have the security and the heavy protection that the Red offers.

Collecting your things, you scribble a note for the cleaner before heading out. You’ll only return to the room if Yoongi intends on swinging by again. Though it is more than a suitable place to spend all your time, you like your small apartment tucked downtown above a coffee shop. It has a hominess that feels more like you. That is a little less sterile.

Sun cracks over the city, spilling light like yolk over the buildings. You shield your eyes as you make your way down the sidewalk, shafts of light falling between buildings. The subway is full of people heading to work. Everyone shuffles without speaking, some buttoning collars of uniforms while others close their eyes in seats, headphones snug over their head.

The lull of the train as it starts makes you drowsy, but you fight to stay awake. Now that you don’t spend hours sleeping in and recovering from servicing clients late into the night, you value your mornings. Want to be the kind of person whose business hours are during the day, to feel the sun on your skin.

At your stop, you disappear in the flow of people going up the steps. The concrete above is still wet from the rain the night before, your steps tapping wetly as you go. It’s still summer, but the wind in the shade is cool as you enter the parking garage of your building, heading toward the elevator.

It’s mostly empty, people having left for work already. There’s a single black SUV by the elevator that you don’t recognize, the windows too dark to see inside. As you approach the car, you realize that it’s on, idling quietly.

Years of living in the wrong part of town have you slowing your steps. Your eyes flicker to the plate to see a metal shield over it, hiding the numbers on the vehicle. The back of your neck tingles. You come to a full stop, staring at the running vehicle. No one makes a move to get out and there’s no indication that someone is inside.

While you don’t live in the luxurious part of town, your neighborhood is relatively safe. It’s not without instances, but you live deep into Yoongi’s territory, his foothold on this block strong. You’ve never had to worry about walking down the road by yourself at night or making it to your apartment when drunk.

Now, you’re worried. Instinct needles you sharply. There is no reason to think the SUV means you any harm, but something is screaming at you to walk away.

Then the elevator opens and a normal looking man and woman exit. They don’t pay you any mind as they get into the vehicle, shutting the back door. Your nerves ease and you laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. There’s no reason for anyone to be doing something nefarious this early in the morning.

Shaking yourself out of it, you walk the rest of the way to the elevator. As you reach your hand to press the button to call the elevator car, you hear the sound of the car doors opening. You whip your head to look over your shoulder as men get out of the passenger seat and the back seat.

Instinct kicks in. You turn and run, screaming shrilly for anyone that can hear you. They take off after you, steps thundering against the pavement as the SUV squeals its tires to back out of the spot and peel after you. There’s nowhere to go but out into the street. You head for the sidewalk only to be snatched from behind and lifted off your feet.

You react immediately. You throw your elbow back, connecting to one of the men’s faces. He screams and you hear bones crunch. He drops you but your knees buckle, a mix of fear and lack of coordination making you fall to the ground. The other man is on top of you, pressing you into the ground as you scream savagely, kicking your limbs to wiggle out of his grip.

He grabs your hair and pulls. You yell out, eyes smarting from the sting in your scalp as he then shoves your face into the ground. It hurts. Pain blooms in the side of your face. You’re aware of tiny pieces of gravel digging into soft skin, cutting up your face. The sting is small in comparison to the throb that pulses through your cheekbone as he grinds your face into the pavement.

Screams echo in the garage as you’re yanked backwards. There are several hands on you, grip like iron. You snarl and yank your limbs to no avail. Just as you’re pulled into the interior of the car, a piece of cloth is slapped hard against your face. You gasp in surprise, a pungent smell filling your nose before you feel a swift fog take over, your mind fading until there is nothing left.

Pain. It’s the first thing you feel when you come to. It’s a slow sort of drift toward awareness, like sluggishly swimming to the surface of a deep lake. You manage to drag yourself there, but immediately want to sink back into the nothingness again once you feel how much you hurt.

Your face perhaps hurts the most. Not only does your skin burn, but it feels like you’ve been rocked with a cinderblock on the left side of your face. You dully recall having your head pressed into the concrete with near bone-breaking force. It explains why when you open your eyes, the left feels a little swollen.

The room you’re in is empty. Your shoulder muscles are on fire, hands tied behind your back in the chair you’re sitting in. It’s hard to pinpoint what hurts worse, body littered with bruises and injuries. Still, you’re alive and that has to count for something.

A man leans against the wall across from you. He watches you curiously. When you become aware of him, you straighten a little in the seat. Your ass tingles with the numbness of sitting there for who knows how long, and your biceps strain with the movement, making you hiss.

“I’d like to untie you,” the man offers. “But I need a guarantee that you’ll behave.”

You want out of the ropes, so you nod your head. He nods once and pushes off the wall, walking over to you. You use the nearness of his proximity to gather as many details as you can: Patek watch, a basic model. He smells like mandarin and something spicy like pepper - maybe an Arabian fragrance. The suit he’s in is well-tailored and when he pulls a knife out of his pocket to cut the ropes around your wrist, you see a mother-of-pearl handle.

Money. This man has money.

Relief makes you sigh, melting into the chair when the pressure in your shoulder blades releases. You immediately lift your hands and place them into your lap, rubbing your trembling fingers across your palms, pressing firmly to encourage blood flow. Your handles tingle as the circulation begins to return to normal, though you can’t make a fist or move all of your appendages immediately.

The man backs away and leans against the wall once more. He’s incredibly handsome, the kind of guy who might be an actor or in the movie industry, perhaps. You continue to assess him, placing him a few years older than yourself. His hands are linked in front of him. No marriage ring, no tan to indicate there was once a band there either.

The expensive cologne matched with the watch leads you to believe someone else picked them out, which leaves you with two options: a lover or a sales associate. Judging the make of the watch, you know it doesn’t look like a limited edition series, so not a very personal gift, if a gift at all. And while the cologne smells expensive, it’s too spicy for a day scent, indicating that he doesn’t have someone to tell him the difference between night and daytime colognes.

If you have to guess, they’re things he’s purchased himself on the advice of a sales associate or because of the amount of numbers on the price tag. It’s a habit that comes with new money.

“I apologize for the roughness,” he offers. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you.”

“Intent matters little. Results matter a lot.”

“Well said.”

Feeling starts to come back to your hands as you flex them. You’re in some sort of construction building. It looks like maybe an apartment building in the making, with plastic tarps covering the windows and metal scaffolding exposing unfinished concrete. Outside, you think you faintly hear the sound of docks and workers.

“Do you know where we are?”

You look him up and down. “We’re in a building. You’re against a wall, and I’m in a chair.”

He scoffs. “Smart mouth.”

“You asked a question.”

“So I did. We’re in a building that was supposed to be my next venture. Someone, however, got in the way and created a bunch of red tape with the city. Now my funding has been slashed and this building has been sitting unfinished for a year, draining me of my property taxes.”

“Well,” you deadpan. “I’m a whore, not a lender. I can’t get you a loan.”

He grins, but you can’t tell if he’s amused. “You’re not just any whore though, are you? I have on good authority you service high profile clients. One of your clients is the reason this building is stuck in paperwork, and now he wants to take even more from me. I can’t let that happen.”

Yoongi. He’s talking about Yoongi and you know it. You try not to squirm in your seat, meeting his dark eyes head on. Your mind is trying to make decisions and keep up as much as possible, funneling through the list of names Yoongi has mentioned, anything at all that can give you a leg up.

“High profile clients are where the money is,” you admit. You think perhaps this man is Kwan Daehyun, whom Yoongi has been playing chess with for the better part of a year. “I don’t like to sell information on my clients, but I suppose you know that since you kidnapped me.”

“Consider the sales price on this particular client’s information to be your life. I just need a little bit of information, and you’re free.”

You shrug. “You’ve got me there. What do you want to know?”

“Min Yoongi.” You continue to stare at him, giving away nothing. Your heart is racing in your chest and you try to keep your hands from shaking. When you continue not to answer, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. “What can you tell me about his weaknesses?”

You can’t help it, you laugh. Kwan frowns as you giggle. It hurts to laugh, face bursting with pain as you catch your breath and shake your head. “What a cheesy fucking questions. What, you think I just have a list of things that can hurt Min Yoongi?”

“I know how pillow talk goes. He must talk about his stress. Brag about his assets. What else do men go to whores for?”

“To get their cock sucked, usually.”

Kwan pushes off the wall and storms toward you. You sneer up at him, a little less afraid of him now. He appears small and gutless to you, kidnapping a sex worker to ask for pillow talk secrets to gain a fucking advantage. It means he has nothing on Yoongi and has resorted to pisspoor tactics to get anything usable against Yoongi.

Though how he managed to get to you is unsettling. You’re unsure how he made the connection, or how long he has been watching Yoongi. You find that to be the most irritating, to know that Yoongi has been under surveillance for any period of time. Not that you’ve been smacked around and put in an abandoned building on threat of murder.

“I will fucking kill you.”

There is truth in his words. Questioning you is a desperate attempt, but perhaps not his only. It occurs to you that he doesn’t thin you hold any value beyond questioning you, and though he’s said he’ll spare you life, you don’t think that’s true. He only sees you as a vacuum for information, and if you don’t have it or you give it to him, he’ll kill you.

You need to be valuable. And fast.

“Kill me and you ruin any chance of that deal with him.” Kwan hesitates, eyes darkening as the words spill out of your mouth, “In fact, that was probably already off the table as soon as you had me physically harmed and dragged into a car here. So now, you should stop asking me about what Yoongi’s weaknesses are and start asking, what will Min Yoongi do if you call him and tell him who you kidnapped and tied to a fucking chair.”

Kwan narrows his eyes. You see him assessing the weight of your words. You fight the urge to leap at him and reach for the folding knife in his pocket. Just because you can’t see a gun doesn’t mean there’s not one, and just because you can’t see or hear anyone else in the building doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Outside you can hear the cry of a seagull. When you breathe in, you smell ocean water and salt. Definitely keeping you in a building by the docks. You think you know the one. Kwan takes a few steps back from you and crosses his arms over his chest.

“You think he gives a shit if I have you?”

“You asked for Yoongi’s weakness. You’re looking at it.”

“I think you’re bullshiting me. I think you’re a whore he won’t deal for.”

“One way to find out, right?”

Instead of answering, Kwan turns on his heel and walks towards the opaque tarp. He walks through it and two men replace him at the entrance. Both of them are armed, staring down at you. Ignoring them, you roll your neck in slow circles, trying to ease the soreness.

Tentatively, you reach a hand up to your face, pressing your fingers into your cheek. You hiss, the pain still raw and present underneath your fingers. You can feel small scabs from where the gravel broke skin, but thankfully it doesn’t feel like your eyes are too swollen.

Time passes. You remain in the chair, fidgeting now that you’re awake. Your tongue is heavy in your dry mouth and your lips begin to burn from wetting them constantly, only to be dried out by the salty air. You feel itchy and irritable, trying not to squirm too much in the chair lest you disturb the guards.

Most of all, without having to put on a brave performance, you feel afraid. Afraid of being here by yourself in this warehouse, afraid that you’ve made a mistake trying to make yourself valuable, afraid that Kwan isn’t going to give you a chance to talk to Yoongi as proof of life.

You’re not versed in this part of Yoongi’s life. So much of his business has been held separate from you. The violence and the extortion and the sketchy deals have always been something he did outside of that room at the Red. You’re not afraid of this life, though. Just unprepared and trying to guess what to do next, fueled by poorly written crime movies and stories that Yoongi has told you in the warmth of your bed.

It feels like hours have gone by when Kwan comes back into the room. You sit up straight when you see the phone in his hand and see the fire in his eyes. He looks like a man who has had something go right - which means you have him right where you want him, if he’s doing what you think he is.

Kwan holds out the phone to you. “You have five minutes to talk to him as an act of good faith on my proposal.”

You see Yoongi’s name on the caller idea and try not to start crying. Swallowing thickly, you lick your lips again and bring the phone up to your ear. The tremble in your hand and your voice isn’t a performance when you say, “Hello?”

“Where are you? He hasn’t told me.”

“Yeah, I’m alive.” You sniff a little. “Agh, don’t make me cry. My face will get saltier than it already is.”

“I need more than that, Angel. He’s trying to make deals with me, but I need to know where you are to come get you. He won’t tell me where you’re at unless I wire over money and legally sign over assets.”

“No, he hasn’t hurt me. He’s been polite, though I’ve been kind of a beach- bitch. I’ve been a bitch. Sorry, I’m very tired.”

“Is it the building in the warehouse district at the docks? That apartment shell?”

“Yes, I can do that. Just… please agree to whatever he says, I feel tired and loaded. Bloated. Sorry, I’m confusing words again.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got fucking guns too. We’re going to come get you okay?”

This time when you sniff, you feel actual tears. Of relief that he understands your weird turns of phrase, of the terror at knowing he’s going to have to come get you. To risk his life for you. You knew he would, and yet you almost hate to ask him.

“Thank you.”

“You’ll be okay, Angel, but I need you to listen.”

“Okay.”

His voice is firm as he says, “I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. Don’t think twice about it. It is you or them, do you understand me? There is almost a certainty you are going to have to kill someone when we come get you. Start thinking about it now. Try to get used to it so that when the time comes, you’re not afraid anymore.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“See you soon.”

Yoongi likes to think that he is an expert in control. His compartmentalization is unmatched, and though he is incredibly proud, his pride is not easily wounded. Foolish slights and insults don’t rile him the way they might have in his youth, and physical threats of harm are amusing, especially when no very few people carry through on their threat.

When Yoongi hangs up the phone, he loses every ounce of control he’s ever felt. Never has his urge to destroy been so sharp. He sees red, slamming his hands across his desk and swiping everything off. He tastes metal in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, screaming as he hammers his fists on top of the desk hard enough that he thinks he might split the wood.

Hoseok and Seokjin hear the commotion, crashing into the office with Namjoon and Jungkook behind them, weapons drawn. Yoongi is shaking when he looks up at them, the phone screen cracked in his hand. He cannot stop shaking, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a dose of heroin.

All of their voices sound like a mess of sounds. The ringing in his ears overpowers everything they’re saying as he stands there, hands at his side, mind racing and chest heaving as he pants. Why is he panting? Yoongi feels like he’s suddenly not getting enough air, dropping his phone to loosen the tie around his neck, trying to give himself more room to breathe. Why do his clothes feel so fucking tight?

Suddenly it’s like there isn’t enough air in the room. Yoongi feels the tunnel vision come up on him fast. Chills spread through his body as he wavers, hands held out as he tries to catch his breath. He feels hands on him trying to steady him, but he yanks away from them. They feel too close, too much in his space and he needs more room. Room to get this blazer off and breathe. Breathe, why can’t he breathe?

Yoongi stumbles into a wall. His vision pulses on the edges and he can vaguely make out Hoseok’s voice. He looks up at him and sees his friend, his advisor. Hoseok isn’t touching him, but his head is cocked as he tries to keep and maintain eye contact with Yoongi.

“Inhale for seven seconds,” Hoseok says. “Then exhale for seven. I’ll count.”

“What?” Yoongi demands.

“You’re having an anxiety attack.” Hoseok states it as if it’s the most common thing in the world. “You have to regulate your breathing or you’re going to pass out. If you pass out, we can’t help.”

It’s the only thing that gets him to listen. He counts with Hoseok, drawing in long breaths.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Yoongi has to shake this. Has to get ready and call his people, needs to make plans to come get you. He knows exactly where you are - wants to fucking kiss you for how clever you mange to be even while terrified.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

He knows you’re afraid. Yoongi has never heard your voice tremble like that since he’s known you. He knows every tone of your voice, every color to the spectrum of your sounds, able to pick them apart to know how you feel. And while you spoke in a clear tone, it was all wrong. Colored with terror. Voice soft and rough and wavering.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

The ringing in his ears fade. Yoongi continues to take slow, deep breaths. His hands are still shaking and he feels a little light headed, but when he blinks a few times and looks around, he sees his closest men and confidants standing around him, waiting.

“Talk to us,” Hoseok urges. “What’s going on?”

“Kwan has my girl. They’re in that apartment project we froze in the docks.”

“He told you where they were?”

“No, she did.”

Hoseok looks weary. “That sounds like a trap - did he already offer you a deal?”

“He said several things. He didn’t tell me where they were, she did.”

“In front of-”

“Hoseok, stop asking stupid questions or I swear to fucking god I’ll hit you first. She’s not used to any of this, but she isn’t fucking stupid. She used the words salt, beach and loaded. They’re in that building and they’re armed.”

“Poetic,” Seokjin grunts. Yoongi cuts his gaze to his head of security and the man pales. “Sorry, bad timing.”

“Get every fucking person we know on the fucking ground and here. We’re going to get her.”

“They’ll see us coming from a mile away.”

Yoongi stares at Seokjin. “I don’t give a fuck. Kwan wanted to find a weakness, well he found one. And now I’m going to paint that shitty little development with his blood.”

An hour later is when it hits Yoongi. He stops in the middle of tying a shoe and he stands. He’s replaying the conversation with you over and over in his head, looking for any other details he could have missed. He was so fucking proud of you for getting your point across even while scared, but now it’s something else he thinks of.

I love you. He had almost not realized you said it at all at the end of the call. He can’t remember if he said it back, but he’s suddenly sick over the what if of it all. What if he doesn’t get to say it back? What if he gets there and swarms in, only to find you dead?

In a moment of panic, he texts Hoseok to request proof of life on the hour every hour from Kwan under the guise of considering his horrendous deal. Kwan, of course, thinks he’s got Yoongi. He doesn’t, naturally. They haven’t agreed on a time or place to meet, and Kwan does not seem to understand just how poorly he’s miscalculated.

None of it matters. All that matters is that Yoongi is going to come get you like he promised, and he is never letting you out of his sight again.

Surprisingly, your living conditions change a little upon Kwan learning that you’re more valuable kept alive and in decent condition than beat up or dead. He has a cot and a fan brought in, along with an ice back for your cheek and a thermos of water.

You crush the thermos almost immediately. Though you’re kept under armed guards now, you’re relieved to be able to lay down and stretch your sore limbs. When the ice pack finally grows hot and melts on your aching cheekbone, one of the guards gets you a new one without question.

It almost makes you feel bad for what is to come. Almost.

You know Yoongi. It’s why you gambled with a hostage play in the first place. He won’t let them have you and it doesn’t matter what Kwan offers him, Yoongi is far too powerful to accept deals from the likes of Kwan. It isn’t so much a matter of pride as it is a matter of power. You know Yoongi has the power to pull you out of this without further harm.

At least, you have put every ounce of trust and confidence in him that you have.

Time moves slowly. It’s hard to know how fast Yoongi will mobilize or what his plan is. It would make sense for him to perhaps cause a distraction elsewhere to get Kwan’s eyes off of you, but it’s also a dangerous game to play with a hostage.

It doesn’t matter. Yoongi has his job and you have yours, which is to work the screw out of one of the cots joints. You’ve picked one that isn’t imperative to the overall structure of the cot. It can bear your weight without the screw as long as you don’t lean on the joint too much. It takes you a while to unscrew it with your bare fingers, all while lying on your back trying to look uninterested in anything.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself.

Finally, you pull the cool metal free. You slide it into the pocket of your sweatpants. The weight of it feels better than nothing. It won’t do much damage, but a well placed punch to the face with the screw between your knuckles will do what you need, even if you damage your hand to do it.

You’ve never killed someone. Thought about it a few times, maybe. Had some people try to sway you to slip something into a client’s drink, but you never accepted. Killing isn’t your business. It’s Yoongi’s, but you know that if he’s telling you to take the chance, it’s because he wants you to live.

The thought is chilling. You rest your hand on the pocket, feeling the shape of the screw. You don’t know how to kill. You’re not even entirely sure that you have it in you. You’ve seen people die and you’ve seen people murder. It seems easy.

You’re not sure if it’s that simple.

It’s late into the night when a commotion draws you from your half-slumber. You lift your head as someone comes in and mutters something to the guards. They nod and one of them leaves, the other turning to face you with a glare, hand resting just inside his jacket where you assume there’s a gun.

Outside, you hear the sound of peeling tires as a car takes off.

Nerves take over. You feel your heartbeat pickup as you continue to lay on the cot, one hand under your pillow. It’s hard to think of what might be happening over the sound of your own pulse, but you try to regulate your breathing. There’s nothing happening right that second that you can control, so there’s no reason to panic.

A few minutes go by. It’s agony, waiting with bated breath. It’s quiet outside except for the sounds of the ocean and the mostly empty warehouses and docks. Plastic snaps in the breeze, loud in the silence of your waiting. You think that this is the worst part, the anticipation for what’s to come. You can’t sleep now even if you tried.

When the first round of gunfire comes, you almost lose control of your bowels. It’s a shameful sort of fear that takes you by surprise, making you freeze up. You have been waiting for it, and yet now that you can hear the sound of automatic weapons somewhere below, it feels worse than you imagined.

Looking up at the guard at the door, you reel in surprise to see him rushing toward you. Time seems to slow down. The sound of guns and yelling fade to the background everything suddenly becomes hyper focused.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself.

As the guard leans to pick you up, you strike like a snake, pulling the screw from your pocket and jabbing upward with a savage scream.

His guttural cry splits the night. You feel hot blood spray your hand and dot your face as you plunge the blunt screw into his eye socket. Blood makes your fingers slippery and as he falls onto his back, hands clutching his face, you lose your grip.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself.

No hesitation. You dive for him, stained hands searching for the weapon. The metal of the gun slides in your slick fingers. Through the blinding pain, the guard realizes what you’re doing and grabs your forearms. You pull back against him but can’t shake his grip, your hand stuck in his jacket on the gun. You finger the trigger and squeeze, but it doesn’t budge. The fucking safety.

Sliding a knee down, you crush the cap of your knee between his legs, pressing his balls with your full weight. He screams and his grip goes slack. You yank on the gun, almost dropping it as it slides free from the holster. Your grip is clumsy and shaking, your heart pounding so hard you think you might die of fright before you manage to find the safety on the hammer and pull it back.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself.

Click. Squeeze. Bang.

You don’t aim. Don’t have the sense to at that moment. This close, you don’t have to aim at all. You hit your target and his yelling turns to shrieks. You can’t tell where you’ve shot him, all you know is that you have. You scramble away, hands slipping on the floor, gun clutched clumsily in your hand.

A hand goes around your ankle and you scream as he drags you backward. You roll onto your back, bringing the gun up again, trying to aim in the general direction of his chest.

Squeeze. Bang.

It’s so loud. Your ears are ringing and you’re unable to hear anything as the grip on your ankle immediately goes slack. The guard goes limp, the fight leaving him immediately. You don’t look - can’t look. Can’t focus on anything but the way your vision tunnels.

Dizziness sweeps over you as you crawl away from him again. Your knees and palms might hurt if you could feel anything at all, but numbness starts to take over as you manage to press yourself against a wall near the doorway. You don’t dare move toward it, too untrained to handle a gun while terrified.

“Angel!” you hear Yoongi’s voice screaming somewhere in the building. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Your lips tremble. You try to find your voice, willing the words to come. Mouth open, his name on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find a response. “Angel, come on, baby! Where are you?”

“Yoongi,” you whisper. It’s not nearly loud enough and your voice cracks on the name. You close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath as you muster strength behind your voice. “Yoongi!”

“That’s it, keep talking to me.”

It sounds like he is yelling somewhere down a stairwell, voice echoing up concrete walls. “Up!” You start to curl into yourself. “Yoongi, up!”

Steps thunder in the stairwell. You drop the gun next to you and look at your hands. They’re slick and wet. In a panic, you start wiping them on your sweatpants, smearing red as you do. You viciously wipe your hands. You want the blood off, you don’t want it all over you, it’s hot and stick and it’s not yours and it belongs to the dead man who was trying to take you-

Warm hands grab your face and tilt you upward. You blink through blurry tears. Yoongi looks back at you, his forehead sweaty and his slicked back hair a little messy. He turns your face from side to side as more of his men flood into the room, guns raised.

Yoongi’s mouth moves but you can’t hear him. You shake your head, looking up at him. His grip softens and the gentle brush of his thumb back and forth across your face eases the rising panic inside of you. You sniff, taking a few slow, trembling breaths.

“Are you seriously injured?” Yoongi asks again, voice rough. Cracking. “Do you need medical attention?”

“No.”

“The blood-” You shake your head violently, closing your eyes. “Okay. It’s okay. You did what you needed to do, Angel. I’m going to get you on your feet and take you home, okay?”

“I don’t-”

“My home. Not yours. You’re coming home.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to explain what he means. As he slowly pulls you to your feet, you know what he’s telling you. You’re going to his estate, because it’s yours too now. The agreement is unspoken but mutual. You don’t want to go back to your apartment. You don’t want to go back to the Red. Right now, all you want is to wash the blood from your hands and get away from this place.

Seokjin is at the door with a blanket. He wraps it around you as Yoongi keeps his hands around your waist, steadying you as you walk. You get down two levels of stairs before he tucks you into him and presses his lips against your temple.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, mouth moving against your skin. “I won’t let you trip.”

You do as you’re told. His steps are confident and careful as he leads you through the bottom floor. You hear the murmur of voices, the flapping of plastic tarp, and the humming engines of vehicles. Yoongi lifts you lightly and helps you get into the cool interior of a car that smells like leather.

When the door shuts, you flinch and open your eyes, staring straight forward. Yoongi is next to you, arm going around your shoulders as he pulls you into his side again. You realize for the first time as you glance at him that there’s blood on his face and in his hair. His knee bounces up and down, his hand resting against it, still gripping a gun with the safety off.

“Are we safe?” you whisper, staring at his gun.

“Yes.”

“Then why-”

“It makes me feel better,” he admits. “I just need to come down.”

“Okay.”

“Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are dark and though his mouth is pinched at the corners and the vein throbs in his forehead, his eyes are soft for you. “I love you,” he murmurs. “We’re safe.”

A week makes the pain in your cheekbone fade away. A week does not make the memory of squeezing the trigger fade. At night, the memory is worse. What your mind had been unable to remember at first comes back in full-clarity at night, gripping you in your sleep and dragging you down into an endless terror until Yoongi pries you from the clutches of your nightmares and wakes you.

It’s easier with him by your side, though. You’re at least able to fall asleep, if not stay asleep through the night. When he wakes you from screaming and thrashing in the sheets, you’re able to settle against him, his hold on you firm. Comforting.

Yoongi takes this in stride. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t lose his patience. He simply murmurs that he gets it and holds you, his skin warm and smelling like home.

Home.

The estate is a sprawling mass of elegance that stuns you each day. Beyond the opulence of the home and the luxury that it offers, what matters most is the security. The personnel at every entrance, the high gate with cameras and alarms, the three lurking dobermans that still terrify you when you see them standing in a dark hall at night or watching you in the kitchen when you get a glass of water after a nightmare.

Nox has come around to liking you, at least. She’s become your shadow in the house, which had made you a little unsure at first. Now, she trails you up the stairs and to the master bedroom. You’ve grown used to her - prefer it, even, when Yoongi is not home like right now.

Erebus and Khonsu are on the floor of the master bedroom. Both watch you as you enter, unbothered but aware. Where their younger sister has adopted you as an owner and a thing to protect, they still seem set on Yoongi only.

The three dogs remain in the bedroom as you end the bathroom. It makes you feel safe to know that even if someone managed to get through the gates, up the driveway, through the secured doors and the dozen people that Yoongi has stationed at the estate since your kidnapping, the dogs are another line of defense.

So is the gun under the bathroom cabinet and in the nightstand, but you don’t want to touch a gun ever again. Not if the nightmares it gives are like this.

Steam fills the room accompanied by the scent of eucalyptus. Carefully, you peel the clothes from your body and toss them into a corner. The stone shower is warm with heated floors and a digital panel both inside and outside for control of the fifteen different water settings. There’s even steam options, but you simply turn on the rain feature, slipping under the dripping ceiling.

The hot, wet taps of the water lull you into a trance. You stand with your head tilted down, letting the rivulets of water run the full length of your body.

“Angel, I’m home,” Yoongi calls from the bedroom. You smile, appreciating that he announces his presence instead of sneaking up on you. He’s always careful to make noise when he enters rooms now and announces his arrival. “You just get in?”

“Yeah,” you call back. “Join me?”

“Give me five.”

When he finally enters the bathroom, you turn around to look at him. He’s already pulling the tie around his neck loose, dropping it to the ground. You catch sight of the red across his knuckles. Though he is free of blood - an effort on his part now to bring it home to you - you notice the days where he comes home and his knuckles are split or bruised, hands aching.

Watching Yoongi undress captures your full attention. His movements are slow and methodical. His back is to you, shirt dripping off his broad shoulders to join the tie on the floor. He looks up in the mirror and pauses, dark eyes catching yours. You raise a brow and gesture for him to continue. When he does, it’s with his tongue poking his cheek and a smirk.

Knowing that you’re watching, Yoongi turns it into an art. His fingers trace the top of his slacks before he slowly undoes the belt, pulling it with a satisfying hiss through the loops before holding it out to the side and letting it clatter to the floor. Your eyes are zeroed in on his reflection in the mirror as he works the button open, peeling the top of his pants apart to reveal the logo of his briefs.

Yoongi pauses. Your eyes dart up to his in the mirror to find him watching you, eyes dark. The scar looks menacing today. You squeeze your thighs together, chewing on your bottom lip. He notices, smirk growing as he rolls the slacks down his thighs and kicks them aside. You see the imprint of his half-hard cock in his briefs, your attention on him alone enough to get his blood pumping.

You’ll never get over having that effect on him. Knowing that even after the nightmares and becoming an inconvenience - in your eyes, at least - the chemistry between you isn’t gone. It’s still there, a burning candle.

Slowly, Yoongi peels off his briefs. His heavy cock bobs as he steps out of them and you feel your pussy clench around nothing, just thinking about him stretching you open. He says nothing about the small bead of precum at the tip as he turns and walks over to the shower.

He’s built beautifully. Broad shoulders with a slim, tapered waist. Strong arms and large hands, firm chest and soft but muscular stomach. Yoongi is the perfect blend of pretty and rugged, a combination that you didn’t know existed until him.

When he steps into the shower, you step further into the water, making room for him. He shuts the door and frowns at the distance between you, holding out his hand. You take it immediately and he pulls you forward, careful not to let you slip on the tile.

He doesn’t waste a moment. Yoongi’s mouth captures yours, wet from the shower water as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly. You hum, bringing your arms to loop around his neck, fingers combing through his wet hair. His cock presses against your lower stomach, and you shiver.

Yoongi’s kisses are addicting. Slow, like he has all the time in the world, but hungry, like he can’t get enough. His tongue brushes the roof of your mouth, his teeth pulling at your lip again when he pulls his mouth away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw.

Tilting your head back, you let him pepper kisses along your throat. You close your eyes, letting him hold you to him. The room tilts as you sway in his arms, the feeling of him licking the hollow of your throat entrancing. It’s so simple yet it feels so good.

One arm loops around your waist to keep you pressed to Yoongi, his other slides up your wet skin to cup your breast. You let out a breathy moan when you feel his thumb circle your stiff nipple, the stimulation so bare but so good.

Yoongi keeps you cradled against him, mouth working your neck and shoulder and back up to your mouth while his thumb lazily plays with your nipple. You're pliant in his arms, letting him do whatever he wants with you.

His mouth starts to descend and when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth, you can’t stop the whine that escapes you. He hums as he sucks gently, tongue flicking back and forth over the peak. You can’t help but twitch in his arms, a ripple of pleasure sliding through you.

Heat pulses between your legs and you feel the slick gathering in your folds. Your legs squeeze together again as Yoongi drags his teeth over your sensitive nipple before letting go and switching to the other. This time, he looks up at you through dark, wet lashes, sticking out his devilish tongue as he uses the tip to trace your skin.

“Show off,” you mutter, voice shaking.

He laughs and runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple before giving a sharp suck that has you arching into him. “You love having your tits in my mouth,” he shoots back. He bites the top of your breast softly, teeth scraping your soft skin. “Don’t deny it.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Hmmm.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he teases. The hand around your back slides down to your ass. He grabs a handful, squeezing generously. “Can you turn around for me? Legs spread so I can see that pretty pussy.”

“Fuck.”

He drops his arms so you can turn around. You press your palms against the wall, shivering as the cold tile leeches the warmth from you. The temperature difference makes the room tilt. You slide your legs apart and stick your ass out toward him, lifting a little.

“Fuck yeah.”

You can’t see him, but you feel him as he slides down to his knees. His palms grip your ass, spreading your cheeks open. You close your eyes and let your head hang between your arms when it feels too heavy to hold up yourself.

“Just want a quick taste,” Yoongi mutters.

“Shiiiit,” you hiss, feeling his tongue dance up and down your cunt. He licks you in broad, slow stripes before he puts his entire mouth on you and sucks sharply. “Just like that.”

“Fuck.” The smack of his lips against your wet heat are bracketed by the slick sound of him stroking his cock, the filthy sounds echoing in the shower. “I could eat you out every day.”

“You do.”

“Fine.” His tongue zigzags back and forth, reaching to swirl around your click. He kisses your cunt and stands up. “I’ll make it twice a day, then.”

The blunt head of his cock slides between your folds. You press back toward him, eager to have him push in and split you open. He tuts at you, giving you a gentle smack on your ass. “Eager.”

“I’ve been waiting all fucking day for it, Yoongi. Give it to me.”

“Mmm.”

The feeling of Yoongi sinking his cock into you slowly drives you mad. You feel like you can’t breathe, every inch of his thick length stretching your walls to the max. It feels like he’s in your guts when he bottoms out, the pressure immense and good and dizzying.

He starts slow, giving a few shallow thrusts as you adjust to be pried open. You relax around him, falling into the pleasure as he begins to fuck you in earnest. Hands on your waist, he pulls your ass backwards, meeting every one of his strokes in a loud, wet smack of hips on ass.

A shiver ripples down your spine and you moan when he adjusts the angle, prodding your g-spot. “Yeah?” he asks through gritted teeth. “That the spot?”

“Yes, please fuck me just like that.”

Nothing else exists beyond this. The steam makes your skin even hotter, cloying the air and making it hard to breathe. It makes everything fuzzy, like you’re drifting in and out of reality, pleasure unfolding in you as you squeeze around his cock.

Each snap of his hips is punctuated with stilted breath. You’re gasping, thighs burning as you take every inch of him, fingers curling against the wall, eyes rolling back as you fall into a mute space. You make sound but no words come out, the pressure against that spot inside of you driving you mad.

Yoongi slides a hand from your waist over the curve of your ass and between your cheeks, thumb pressing gently on the rim of your ass. You let out a loud moan, fingers trying to grab the wall to no avail. The new stimulation feels delicious, Yoongi’s thumb pressing against your asshole in time with his strokes. He doesn’t push past the ring of muscles, but it doesn’t matter - it’s enough to send you careening closer to your orgasm, toeing the line of insanity.

“Fuck, Angel,” he pants, fucking into you harder. “Just like that, make it fucking creamy. You gonna come?”

“Fuuuuck yeah.”

His thumb presses harder against your rim. “Come on, give it to me.”

“Shit shit shit shit.”

You lose the ability to say anything. Your body folds forward, only held up by Yoongi and the press of the freezing cold wall as he fucks you with precision. It sends you over the edge, your knees knocking as you come, fists pressing into the wall as you yell through it.

The sound of the shower is drowned out by your babbling. Yoongi thrusts hard a few more times, hand slipping away from your ass to grip your waist hard, chasing his high. He comes with a loud curse, fingers digging into your skin.

For a moment, he leans into you, pressing his cock as far in as he can go. Your pussy throbs around him, every pulse ebbing around him. He presses kisses up your spine, hands sliding up your ribs to pull you upright until your back is against his chest.

“Fuck,” he pants, voice rough. “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

“I’ve always been yours.”

“I mean entirely. Without sharing.”

You pause, looking up at him with a frown. “You know I haven’t been… taking clients for two years, right?”

He pauses. “What?”

“You stupid boy,” you laugh, laying your head against his shoulder. “Of course I wasn’t. I just wanted you.”

“Then why stay there?”

You shrug a shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. The warmth of the orgasm blooms through you, Yoongi’s skin hot against your back and the shower hotter still. “It was a place I knew you’d be safe when you visited. And I didn’t want to ask you for more. Everyone always wants more from you. I just wanted you.”

“All that time, I could have just… asked you to come home?”

“Yes. But it’s okay. I’m home now.”

He kisses your neck. “You are home, Angel.”

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #suga fic #suga fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #mafia yoongi #mafia bts #minors dni #minors do not interact #halis happy agust

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reiding-writing · 9 months

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Are u willing to do a fic about an unsub!reader with early seasons Spencer? Like, the BAU has to team up with the unsub to catch another criminal with a similar M.O. to them and hijinks ensue (could be angsty hijinks or could be general scooby doo type situations) Idk!! I really like ur works and I've been thinking about this thing for days but my ass sucks at writing lol ;;

copycat—s.reid [1]

Summary:

The replication of a disturbing 2004 serial murder case calls for the BAU to get involved with the assistance of none other than the original killer themself. And whilst Spencer didn’t work the original case, he was eager to learn every detail about it, including its offender.

WARNINGS: made up murder case, graphic depictions of violence, implied suicide (actually murder), mentions of spencer’s addiction, sociopathic reader

s3!spencer/gn!unsub!reader || mystery || 4.5k || masterlist!!

part one !! , part two !!

unsub!reader masterlist!!

a/n: sorry to the person who requested this because tumblr deleted the actual ask but i did have it copied so at least it wasn’t completely lost 😭😭😭

left it here because people tend not to want to read really long fics. if people want a part two i will gladly oblige but otherwise its a decent stand alone to see how spencer would interact with an unsub like this

“James Harden, 23, was found two days ago on the bench of a public park in Los Flores, Orange County,”

The BAU team, barr Hotch, all settled in their seats as JJ arrived in the room.

JJ pressed a button on the small remote in her hand, two photos, one of each wrist of the victim, appearing on the screen behind her. “Both wrists had been slit, and the cause of death was concluded to be blood loss,”

“So, why are we being called in exactly?” Morgan raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from his coffee. The team was *tired*. They’d only gotten off a case three days before, and they were all in need of a break.

“Well, if you’d allow me to finish,” JJ shoots Morgan a pointed look to which he promptly raised his hands in surrender.

JJ presses the remote again, images of the victim’s wrists being replaced with images of his face.

There was a mix of reactions from the group, all of which perturbed, but some with more intent than others.

His head was laid limp over the back of the bench, his face pale and his lips white from the lack of blood flow to his head. Nothing they hadn’t seen before.

His eyes however, were a different story, covered up by a pair of red roses that had seemingly had their stems forcibly pierced into the victims eyeballs, leaving a trail of oxidised blood down his cheeks.

Morgan and Garcia shared a concerned glance that they simultaneously turned towards JJ, who matched their expression with her own.

“They didn’t-”

JJ shakes her head at the beginning of Morgan’s question, and Emily and Spencer share a confused glance that they turn towards their three teammates who seem to be locked in a silent conversation that only they understood.

“I feel like i’m back in high school again,” Rossi pipes up at the three from his seat, inadvertently calling them out on their exclusion of Emily, Spencer, and Rossi from their conversation.

JJ sighs as she adverts her eyes towards Rossi, her shoulders sagging slightly. “We worked a case in 2004…” She hesitates to elaborate any further about the details, and Spencer takes the opportunity to voice is own curiosity.

“You didn’t solve it?” He tucks his hair behind his ear, eyes glistening slightly as his eyebrows furrowed in JJ’s direction.

It’d been three years since 2004, and the idea that an UnSub could go postal for that long with an FBI target on their back was- something, to say the least.

“No, we did-” Garcia nods her head determinedly, her eyes lingering on the screen as if she was more focused on the images than the conversation.

“So, a copycat then?” Emily adds her part to the conversation, clearly concerned for her friend’s wellbeing.

“Most likely,” JJ nods her head sharply, looking back at the screen once more. “There’s only been one recorded victim so far, but we want to stop whoever is responsible before anything else happens,”

“Are you alright Garcia?” Emily’s eyes remain fixated on Garcia’s face, her usually upbeat persona dwindling into something more solemn.

“Hm? Oh, yes, of course my love bug, i’m alright,” Garcia shoots Emily a small smile as if to emphasise her point. “It was the first case I ever worked on is all, they just… stick with you ya know?”

Emily nods softly at her explanation. She knew what it felt like to have your first case stick in the back of your mind.

“Alright settle down everyone,” Hotch’s voice echoed through the conference room before he even stepped inside, and the team all diverted their attention towards him.

“I trust they’ve been briefed?” Hotch looks towards JJ, who gives him a nod before stepping aside so that he can take her place at the head of the table.

Hotch walks into the conference room with someone at his side. Someone who makes Morgan’s hand clench into fists and the small hint of optimism that Garcia had managed to keep fizzle from her eyes.

“You can’t be serious.” Morgan’s voice was stern and challenging as his eyes narrowed in Hotch’s direction. “Hotch-“

Hotch halts Morgan’s attempt at a rebuttal with his hand, raised in Morgan’s direction as he knits his eyebrows into a line. “They will be a valuable asset to the investigation.”

“You can’t bring a psychopath in here and expect us to just go along with it-” Morgan’s argument was interrupted by your voice from where you stood behind Hotch, hands clasped together behind your back.

“Sociopath.”

Morgan’s expression furrows further if that’s possible, eyes staring daggers at your face. “Close enough.”

“Actually, Psychopaths and Sociopaths are fundamentally different, with the only real similarity between the two being an extreme lack of human empathy,” Your eyes flicker towards Spencer as he corrects Morgan’s assessment, raising an eyebrow in his direction out of intrigue.

“Either way, you cannot expect me to be okay with working alongside a serial killer.” Morgan’s eyes don’t stray from Hotch’s as he speaks, not backing down from his standing.

“I don’t expect you to be. But that doesn’t change the fact that they will be joining us for this investigation.” Hotch’s tone marks the end of the debate, one that Morgan knew he’d lost before it even started.

Hotch gestures for you to take a seat at one of the empty chairs and you oblige, leaning the side of your left foot on top of your right thigh and relaxing back into the swivel chair as Morgan’s eyes bore holes into the back of your head.

The fact that you were even here was enough to spark the embers of rage in the back of his mind.

The fact that you were walking around freely with no restraints was even worse.

“For those of you who weren’t present, in 2004, the BAU team was called out to Malibu to investigate a series of murders that littered the city.” Hotch’s eyes flicker over to where Emily, Rossi, and Spencer were sitting.

“Eighteen people were killed over the span of ten days, crossing age, gender, and race boundaries typical of a normal M.O, with the only link being two roses in place of the victim’s eyes.”

Hotch’s eyes turn towards the images on the screen, yours following his own as you examine the photos with a small huff. “Are you sure that is person is copying me and that it’s not just a coincidence?”

“Putting roses in peoples’ eyes isn’t something we see in the field every day,” Hotch’s explanation is blunt and straight forward.

“My roses were white.” You tilt your head at him with a raised eyebrow. “That’s a pretty stark difference to just ignore.”

“Maybe he’s trying to make a name for himself,” Spencer throws the idea out into the air at your observation, seemingly undeterred by your criminal history now that his head was submerged in the case.

“Then be original.” You face furrows with a roll of your eyes. “Don’t copy somebody else’s idea, it’s not that hard,”

“That’s enough,” Hotch’s voice cuts through the conversation, his arms crossed over his chest. “We’ll discuss the details on the plane.”

Hotch picks up one of the open files on the table and tucks it under his arm. “Wheels up in thirty, i’ll meet you all there,”

A gesture of his head for you to follow him later, and he’s exiting the conference room with you on his tail.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You walk right past Hotch’s seat as you board the jet, opting to take a seat directly opposite the genius doctor that had managed to capture your attention in the conference room.

He looks up awkwardly as you sit down, not exactly sure what he’s supposed to do. Should he start a conversation with you? Should he continue reading his file and pretend he can’t feel your eyes pouring over his features like you were sizing him up.

He doesn’t have to think for too long.

“What’s your name?” Your tone lacks any social grace, but he supposes he can’t blame you. It’s not like it’s your fault you don’t feel or express your emotions in the same way that the majority does.

“It’s- uh- Spe- Spencer,” His awkwardness really shines through his tone, left hand scratching at his right elbow as a self-soothing strategy.

Two seconds into a conversation and he already wants to dig himself a hole and hide in it for the rest of eternity.

“Spencer Reid- Doctor Spencer Reid,” He purses his lips into a line once he’s settled on his full title, but it doesn’t stop him from blurting out more in his effort to get all of his thoughts out of his head. “Spencer’s fine though…”

“Doctor? Of what?” You skirt past his awkward introduction in your pursuit to know more, and he’s grateful that his completely lack of social skills doesn’t scare you off like it would most people.

“Well- I have PhDs in Mathematics, Engineering, and Chemistry,” Spencer tucks his hair behind his ear, his file falling over the side of his lap into the gap between his leg and the arm of the chair. “But i also have bachelor’s degrees in Sociology and Psychology,”

He shuts himself off after his over-winded explanation with a purse of his lips in your direction.

“I have a bachelor’s degree in Psychology,” Spencer’s eyes practically light up at your words, completely forgetting that you’re a convicted serial killer and instead hyper-fixating on your academic interests.

“Really? Did you do a Bachelor of Arts or Science?” You can almost feel the enthusiasm radiating off of his body as he leans forward in his chair slightly.

“Science,” You tap the side of your head with your finger and Spencer thinks he understands. It’s the same reason he studied psychology himself.

Because he was different.

Because his brain worked in different ways than other people.

He couldn’t even imagine how much more severe it was for somebody like you.

“How do you know so much?” Your tone isn’t chastising. It’s not questioning his knowledge because he’s ’too young’ or ‘doesn’t look like someone who would be an expert’ in niche academic areas. You genuinely just wanted to know.

“Well- I have a 187 IQ and an eidetic memory,” You’re eyes followed his as he explained his intelligence to you, chasing them to ensure the two of you maintained eye contact. “And I have a reading speed of 20,000 words per minute,”

You hum at his answer, seemingly satisfied as you lean back in the jet seat.

The silence between you doesn’t have time to get awkward before Hotch is calling the team’s attention to go over the details of the case thus far.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer spends most of his first night in Los Flores on a laptop.

Garcia almost has an aneurism when he asks her if he could borrow one of hers.

It takes him almost 30 minutes to figure out how to use it, face lit by the harsh white light of the screen and softened slightly by the warm yellow of the lamp on his hotel bed’s side table.

Once he manages to pull up the internet browser he spends the next multiple hours researching. Pouring over every news article and journalist report that he can about the 2004 Malibu case that had you in its centre.

The 2004 ‘Malibu Rose Killer’. One of the most prolific serial killers in California’s history.

Eighteen people dead in just ten days. An extremely rapid escalation that held no victim pattern of any kind.

A spree that only stopped when the police found both of your adoptive parents dead after a welfare check concerning your father not turning up to work. Your two first victims.

You’d told the courts that it was a manic breakdown. A symptom of your previously undiagnosed sociopathy. That you weren’t in your right mind when it happened.

It worked to a degree, swerving you of a death penalty, but the fact that your parents’ crime scene had shown signs of recognition for your actions halted your defence quite a bit.

Instead of slitting their radial artery and leaving them to bleed out, you’d severed their spines from the brain stem whilst they slept.

And instead of piercing their eyeballs with two roses, you’d instead chosen to lay one in between their two bodies instead.

That was enough for the prosecution to say you had at least some knowledge of the severity of your actions, and so instead of being carted off to a psychiatric prison you were left in a regular old high security prison to serve two consecutive life sentences for the murder of your parents with an annual mental assessment.

He assumes that’s why you agreed to be here. To gain a lenience on your sentence.

He didn’t know why he found your story so fascinating, but he knew that he’d only be able to refrain from asking you questions for so long.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Spit it out.” Your words snap Spencer out of his thought-filled dazed, blinking at you as he slowly regains his senses.

“Huh?”

“Spit it out. Whatever you have to say to me.” Your tone, as he’s come to expect over the last few days, is very flat and straight to the point, clearly agitated at his eyes lingering on you for what you’d deemed too long.

You walk around the small table at the Orange County’s Los Flores police station with your arms crossed, confined there for the majority of the case as to not possibly initiate any ‘aggressive urges’ that might spawn from seeing a replica of your past crimes.

Spencer’s left hand absentmindedly scratches at his right elbow at your glare, clearing his throat and averting eye contact with you, both out of embarrassment of his unintentional staring and self-preservation towards your proclivity to get angry without real aggravation. “I- It’s nothing really,”

Your head tilts at him, your eyes telling him enough that your patience was waining and that you would get whatever he was thinking about out of him.

“I uh- did some reading… about your case-” Your expression morphs into an emotion that he can’t quite place at his confession, and he feels an overwhelming pressure to keep explaining himself as well as to just sew his mouth shut so he can’t say anything.

“And?”

“And… um- there was a part about it that didn’t really make sense to me,” He’s thrown himself in the deep end now, any hope of changing the topic of conversation long gone as he watches your eyebrow quirk in curiosity.

“Your parents…” Spencer’s eyes scan your expression intently as he mutters out the words, gauging your reaction to his words before he dares to continue.

“What about them?” You remain indifferent if not mildly compelled by the line of thought running through his head, and he’s internally relieved that he hasn’t pressed any of the wrong buttons in your fragile emotional state.

“Why?” Spencer mirrors the short, straight to the point wording that you seemed to be so fond of, and he can see you blank expression waver slightly at the question, like you weren’t sure how to answer it.

He watches the wrinkle in your brow become more prominent, how your eyes seem to loose focus and flicker around the room, the way you subconsciously shift from one foot to the other.

He’s not entirely surprised by your reaction. Sociopaths were very capable of harbouring emotions like everyone else. Anger, happiness, sadness, love, and even fear. Even if the intensity of them and the way they were expressed was different.

Right now your expression read as confusion mixed with mild apprehension, like you were considering whether or not you wanted to answer his question.

You still didn’t seem angry, which he was grateful for. He might have been a qualified agent, but that was with the exception of him not having to pass a physical examination.

And he really didn’t want to risk having to physically defend himself against someone who managed to kill eighteen people in the span of ten days because he’d accidentally said the wrong thing.

“They didn’t deserve to live with the knowledge of what I was going to do,” You tone is a lot less apathetic as you come to your answer, stopping intravenously to collect your words.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrow at your answer, not quite sure what to make of it.

“My turn,” Your eyes scan Spencer’s facial features, watching how Spencer’s eyebrows raise as you don’t give him time to compute your answer. “Do your higher ups know you’re an addict?”

The question is blunt, clear, and lacks any subtlety whatsoever despite the two of you technically being in a public place, even if you were the only people in the room.

Spencer’s eyes snap towards yours, surprise written all over his face. “You- I- Uh-“ His mouth falls open and closed like a fish as he tries to string a coherent sentence together, blinking at you with wide eyes.

How did you know that?

He falls short of an answer to your question, his eyes questioning you silently.

“Does your team know?”

Spencer shakes his head slowly. “If they do no one’s ever mentioned it..” He doesn’t know why he’s exposing himself to you like this, but theirs something in the look your giving him that tells him that he can’t lie to you.

“What great friends.” Your voice is practically dripping in sarcasm, and Spencer can’t help but subconsciously agree with you.

He’d waited and waited for someone to recognise that something was off with him. That he wasn’t all there.

But instead of it being one of his coworkers, some of which he’d known for years, it was a sociopathic serial killer that he’d known for 37 hours and 16 minutes.

Lucky him.

“They have more important things to worry about,” His hand returns to scratching at his elbow through his shirt, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

You raise your eyebrow at him, clearly intrigued by the misfortune riddling his life; Almost as if it was a private viewing of a feature film made solely for your entertainment.

“Stop doing that.”

Spencer raises his eyes towards yours once more at your words, wide and glossy and making him look like a pathetic little puppy who’d been told off for tearing up a couch cushion.

You wonder how deep that patheticness goes.

“Don’t scratch. It’s annoying to watch and it’ll make your withdrawals worse.” You depart from the room before he can give you an answer, shutting the door harshly behind you as you spot Hotch in the main foyer of the station.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I’m bored.” You swing your legs over the edge of the table you were sat on. You’d spent the last four days confined either to the hotel room you were sharing with Hotch or the small meeting room the OCPD had reserved for the BAU during the case.

You wanted a change of scenery. Desperately. You could only deal with monotony for so long.

At least back in your cell you activities you could engage in.

Instead you were just stuck as a fact checker for the details of each victim.

Five people had died now. Following your victim pattern to a T.

The first a young white man. The second a middle aged white woman. The third a male black college student. The fourth and fifth a young gay couple.

It agitated you. What happened to originality? Get your own random victims.

“You can accompany Morgan and I to the coroner’s office,” Spencer offered you a pursed smile at his suggestion, partly because he knew you’d be able to see more differences between the originals and recreations in person than through photos and partly because he wanted to crack you open.

He wanted to know everything about you. He wanted to know what made you tick. How you rationalised your crimes. How your sociopathy developed.

He was in deep. And his brain wanted answers.

“Absolutely not.” Morgan shot down the idea immediately with a stern shake of his head. “There is no way in hell we are bringing them with us,”

“They might catch something that we won’t be able to,” Spencer’s rationalisation wasn’t exactly wrong. Even in copy cat murders the offender always left a piece of themself behind. Something of their own personality rather than the killer they were trying to replicate.

It could be so tiny that no one would recognise it. Apart from the original offender of course.

“They might catch the bright idea to try and attack somebody.”

“Oh please-“ You roll your eyes at Morgan. “If I was going to have another mental break at seeing a recreation of my past endeavours I would have had it already,”

Morgan narrows your eyes at you calling your murder spree your ‘past endeavours’. You hadn’t published a book or painted some mural. You’d killed eighteen people.

“Reid’s right,”

He doesn’t have time to get angry at you.

“Hotch-“ Morgan looks completely betrayed.

“There’s only so much they can do to help us from here. We want to stop this before anyone else gets hurt.” Hotch’s tone is stern, leaving no room for argument.

“And if they do spiral out of control,” Hotch’s eyes flicker between Morgan and yourself. “I trust you’ll be able to take care of it.”

Morgan mutters something under his breath about ‘stupid hierarchies’ and how much he hated your guts as he left the meeting room with a huff, although more composed than you thought he’d be.

“Are you ready to leave?” Spencer’s question snaps you out of your revelling over Morgan’s distaste for you, although your small smile of satisfaction doesn’t falter as your eyes meet Spencer’s.

“Let’s go Doctor. I’m ready to get out of this beige abomination.”

You push yourself off the table and leave out of the same door that Morgan had, Spencer following closely behind you.

He was oddly grateful about your decency to respect his title, and it only made him want to read you like a book even more.

- part two !!

#unsub!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #asks 🫶

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targaryenluvs · 10 months

Note

Idk if you are taking requests currently, but if you are…

Could you write a similar fic to our little dove, where Coriolanus doesn’t kill Lucy. I would’ve loved to see more of them arguing over who gets to spend time with the reader, and all three of them spending time together.

Or maybe a different ending where Lucy takes reader to pick up katniss with her. And whilst Coriolanus is in the cabin lucy convinces reader to run away with her… but Coriolanus finds both of them and takes them to the Capitol with him.

OUR LITTLE DOVE,, ALT ENDING

pairings: dark!lucy gray x fem!reader, dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader, coriolanus snow x lucy gray

summary: you reunite with your dear songbird after the games, but it seems the capitol has followed her home, and taken an interest in the two of you. but it seems lucy gray is willing to share you with a certain peacekeeper, even if you aren’t.

a/n: here’s for all who wanted a different ending! the full fic is here ( our little dove )this is just a detour for everyone who wasn’t happy with the ending! DONT READ IF YOU HAVENT READ THE FULL FIC!!!

the trek back to town had you dying. it usually didn’t take so long but with coriolanus’s arm practically glued to you, the sun beating down on your trio and your dress sticking to you? fainting seemed very fun right now.

the entire routine was rushed, food stashed, no goodbyes to your family nor friends, just lucy and coriolanus wanting you on the train asap. they’d sprung their plan of going back to the captiol on you quite abruptly once you reached town but at this point you had no hope in your body of escaping them. so you obliged and followed like a lost puppy.

being in the capitol was worse.

you were completely and utterly alone. coriolanus was busy running the country, lucy was always working and you always seemed to be stuck on your windowsill. staring out onto the streets as the world passed you by. stuck in a prison of marble and luxury.

at first you had to endure lucy and coriolanus’s never ending arguing, always over you. when you still had an inkling of freedom. “are you kidding me? you chose what she wore yesterday lucy. will you just back the fuck off?” lucy’s jaw was dropped open, “excuse me? she was my-” coriolanus’s head tilted back as he dragged his hands over his face, “oh my god how many times are you going to use that? who the hell got her here huh? who provides for all of us? sure as hell not you. now don’t make this any harder. she’s wearing the red dress.” you sat there the whole time, just waiting for someone to notice you.

it always led back to you. but apparently kidnapping you and uprooting your life wasn’t enough since after time the duo fed off of eachother, delusions enlarging. seemingly everyone was out to get you, be with you, but you were theirs. coriolanus wasn’t president long enough yet to go around killing people without raising suspicion and alert towards him and as much as people did respect him, he couldn’t exactly go around killing everyone who looked at you and lucy even if he wished to. so he settled for the next best thing. keeping you away from them, out of reach.

and here you ended up, alone.

you had everything you’d ever dreamed of yet it all meant nothing. you were a shell of your old self and the two of them knew it. but all they cared was that you were with them. whisperings of the president having two lovers were imminent, lucy gray the victor, and the other. the unknown. and you weren’t sure if they’d ever know you. if anyone knew who you were, what you looked like let alone your name. even the staff of your prison did what was necessary, nothing more nor less. food, water, changed bedsheets and drawn baths was all the interaction you had with people that weren’t corio nor lucy.

you wanted to die, anything was better than living the same day over and over. the little flickers of hope came in the form of broken promises whispered during the dark nights, barely heard over the heaving breaths originating from yourself and the other two. promises of people, of the sun and temporary escape from here. but you’d learnt not to believe them.

“sweetheart, it’s not good for you to sit there all day. come, eat.” coriolanus asked demanded from the doorway of your library. the book at your feet long forgotten. coriolanus led you to the dining room where lucy was already eating. “there you are baby. somethin’ wrong?” lucy’s eyebrows were creasing as she took you in, empty eyes, emotionless face, slumped shoulders. you were nothing like the girl from twelve.

y/n l/n. sweetheart to almost everyone. a smile on her face as she went about her day. opening up to people and allowing others to lean on her. making sure her friends were okay when she noticed the slightest shift in feelings. always the lover. the carer.

but the girl who stood in front of her was so different and it broke her heart.

but she knew if she wanted to repair you she’d have to let you go. and as the three of you cuddled together in bed, your soft breaths lulling coriolanus and herself to sleep, she knew it was worth it, as long as you were here.

how selfish! she thought, but at the end of the day.

you’re our little dove.

#hunger games x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x lucy x reader #lucy gray x fem!reader #lucy gray x reader #lucy gray baird x reader #dark!lucy gray baird x reader #dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

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james-bucky-barnackle · 14 days

Text

Froyo

Synopsis: During a premiere red carpet with Drew, an interviewer’s question accidentally reveals that a seemingly ordinary dinner was actually Drew’s attempt at a first date covered by two random tiktoks. Pairing: Drew Starkey x Actress!Reader Word Count: IDK I'm too sleep deprived to count A/N: I know I still owe you guys a Gwayne Hightower fanfic, but the chokehold Drew fucking Starkey has on me is insane. btw, I realized this is the second time I've created a fic based on real people vs the normal Marvel character thingy I do. And to be honest, there's gonna be a lot more... so maybe I should make this a series considering they're all triggered by an interview and Y/N's always an actress lol. ALSO at the end, there's a poll on what you think should happen next, and best believe I'll do my best to write that.

There’s an edit circulating on TikTok of you and your co-star Drew Starkey from your red carpet interview together. You’re both starring in an Amazon limited series about college classmates who become close after witnessing your professor’s murder and are now on a shared mission to solve the crime. You’ve known him closely for a year now, but have been following his career even before that. I mean, who wouldn’t? The man is gorgeous. But of course, you couldn’t let him know that.

As shooting began, the two of you grew closer, and you decided to be professional and put that whole fascination aside. You’ve both even dated other actors and celebrities, which have also been topics for gossip channels and paparazzi photos. Despite all that, you’ve hung out plenty, mostly in groups but also during breaks in filming—often grabbing lunch and coffee together.

Today, you and Drew are laughing as you finally see the edit that’s been at the top of both your PR’s nightmare list.

You’re dressed in an elegant beige gown, skin-tight and slightly sheer, which Carrie Bradshaw would definitely call the naked dress. Your hair is pulled back in a low bun, bangs effortlessly framing your face. You’ve just arrived at the red carpet, taking your time to chat with interviewers. The first few questions are light, mostly about how fun it was working on set and, of course, what you're wearing.

After a few minutes, Drew catches up to you. He’s in a baby blue suit, sepia shades covering his eyes, smelling incredible. His presence is like a tight, warm hug—well, a little tighter on your chest. His voice sends tingles down your spine as he whispers, one hand casually placed on the small of your back.

“What did I miss?” He smiles at you and the interviewer.

“Oh, nothing much, I was just telling Amelia how you’re always late to everything.” You smirk, shooting a playful look at the camera. Amelia, your interviewer, raises her eyebrows dramatically, playing along. Both of you laugh as Drew backs away, feigning offense.

“I’ve been here since like—” He starts to defend himself.

“Like five minutes ago,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Valid,” he agrees with a shrug, laughing.

Amelia continues her interview, moving on to ask about the possibility of a second season.

“I mean, yeah, I’d love to do a second season, for sure,” you nod, glancing at Drew, who’s nodding along, letting you take the lead. “But I’m not sure if it makes sense, since it was originally written as a one-season story. For that to happen, someone might have to die again so Kelsea and James can investigate something new.”

Kelsea and James are the names of the characters you play—who, of course, end up dating on the show.

“So you’re saying someone has to die for the two of you to get back together on set?” Amelia jokes, her deadpan delivery only making it funnier.

“I mean, I don’t know!” You laugh. “You’re twisting my words, Amelia!”

“I honestly think you just don’t want to hang out with me anymore, Y/N,” Drew chimes in, a playful pout on his face. “I’m hurt.”

“Is that why there wasn’t a second date?” Amelia asks, teasingly. Her tone is light, but the question lands hard. Drew’s eyes widen in surprise, his smile freezing as if even he didn’t see that one coming. He covers his mouth, trying not to laugh while you stand there, looking utterly confused.

“Second date? What?” You laugh, trying to figure out if this is some sort of red carpet joke you weren’t briefed on. You glance at Drew, who’s just shaking his head, still grinning but not offering any explanations.

You lower your voice, leaning towards him, “What is she—what date?” You chuckle awkwardly, trying to maintain your cool, though the confusion is clearly written all over your face. Drew glances at Amelia, then back at you, and you can tell he feels a little bad now.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of awkward silence, Drew admits, “When we got dinner and froyo.” He says it so nonchalantly that it takes you a second to process.

“That was a date?!” you whisper-yell, smacking his arm, your jaw practically hitting the floor. “You said it was just dinner!”

“I know!” Drew laughs, his cheeks turning a little pink. “I said that because I thought you didn’t like me back! I was sending out signals!”

“What signals?” you ask, still reeling from the shock. “That’s unfair, you said it was just dinner! I feel so bad—I didn’t know!” You place your hand on his arm, squeezing it apologetically. You’re both laughing now, but you’re also genuinely flustered.

“I did tell you!” Drew protests. “I said, ‘Do you want to have dinner with me?’ And you were like, ‘Are we bringing Madz along?’ And when I said no, you were like, ‘Why?’”

“That is not enough, Drew!” You laugh, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Your PR team is probably dying, but at least this little moment might boost some publicity for the show. You actually remember the video Amelia might be referring to; your assistant had sent it to you a few months back. You found it interesting and even funny because you honestly thought it was just a fan shipping the two of you together—cutting together videos and photos of you and Drew when you were out to eat. You try to recall what that day was like and pick apart whatever signals Drew was referring to, but you really can’t remember anything different from the way he’s interacted with you since you two first met.

You realize the gag has gone on long enough and decide to wrap it up before the awkwardness can escalate further.

“Amelia, I’m so sorry about this,” you say with a dramatic sigh, trying to regain your composure. “Even while confessing his undying love for me, he’s still late. Men, what can you do?”

Drew, still chuckling, wraps an arm around you and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his way of apologizing. You feel a warmth settle over you, even as your mind is still catching up to everything.

The camera flashes pop around you, and suddenly, those TikTok edits of you looking perpetually confused start to make a little more sense.

When the premiere starts, halfway through the screening, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. You check your makeup, but instead of heading straight back to the theater, you decide to take a moment. The whole "date reveal" situation has thrown you off more than you realized, and you need a second to process it. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, replaying the interview in your head. You haven't had the chance to talk to Drew about it since, and the thought lingers in the back of your mind. You don’t want another clueless moment to make it into the tabloids.

You wash your hands, fix your makeup, and prepare to head back out. But as you step through the door, you see Drew standing there, waiting.

“Well, look who it is—the jokester,” you say, crossing your arms with a mock grin. “Here to ask me out on another one-sided date?”

Drew smirks, stepping closer. “Huh? What are you talking about? I’m just here to pee,” he teases, nudging your shoulder.

“Not funny,” you mutter, rolling your eyes but feeling a smile tug at the corner of your mouth.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” His smile softens, and for the first time since the red carpet, you can tell he actually feels a little guilty. “I really am.”

“You should be!” You huff, but your tone is playful now, your annoyance melting away as you meet his eyes. "That was so long ago."

Drew takes a step closer, and you suddenly become very aware of the quietness around you. It’s just the two of you now, the noise of the premiere distant, almost forgotten. His gaze flickers to your lips for just a second, and your heart skips a beat.

“Y/N…” He hesitates, like he’s trying to find the right words. “About that second date…”

“You mean actual first date?” you correct him, raising an eyebrow, trying to keep your cool.

Drew pauses, then chuckles softly. “Yeah,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Actual first date. What do you think?”

You stare at him, caught off guard. You weren’t expecting him to just put it out there like that. His easygoing nature usually means he hides behind jokes or avoids direct confrontation. But now, with no cameras, no noise—just you and him—he’s being sincere.

“You know,” you say, your voice quieter now, “if you made it clear the first time, I still would’ve said yes.”

Drew’s eyes widen slightly, and a smile slowly spreads across his face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, feeling a mix of relief and excitement. “Really.”

His grin widens, and there’s something boyishly excited about it, like you’ve just given him the best news of the day. “No froyo this time, I promise.”

“Good,” you laugh. “Because that wasn’t a date.”

“Duly noted.” He steps closer, his hand brushing yours, and this time it doesn’t feel accidental. His fingers curl around yours lightly, the touch sending a spark through you.

“You know, we could leave early,” he suggests, glancing back towards the theater. “Skip the rest of the screening, maybe grab some dinner… somewhere where I make it clear it’s a date.”

You bite your lip, considering it, but your eyes narrow playfully. “And deal with the wrath of our PR teams later? You must love living dangerously.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You make a good point. But I promise, after all the photos, after all the interviews... we’ll do this right.”

You nod, smiling at him. “I’ll hold you to that.”

With that, you both walk back into the theater. His hand lingers on yours for a moment longer before he finally lets go, and even as you take your seats for the rest of the screening, the air between you has changed.

You glance at him once more, feeling that familiar warmth return, only this time, it’s not confusing or awkward.

The noise of the film dims around you, though you’re still hyper-aware of the room, the hundreds of eyes on the screen, and the occasional flash from the press in the back. Drew leans back in his seat, arms crossed loosely, but he’s not watching the movie either. Instead, he looks over at you, catching your eye.

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and you quickly face forward, pretending to focus on the movie. But then, from the corner of your vision, you feel him move slightly closer. The tension that was always there, that you’d pushed aside so many times, is undeniable now.

After the premiere ends, there’s the usual round of applause and the hum of people slowly rising to leave. Drew stands up first, offering you his hand, and even though you can stand up just fine on your own, you take it. There’s something about that gesture that feels significant—like you’ve crossed a line you didn’t realize you were approaching until now.

You’re both still in work mode, nodding and smiling at the industry people you pass, but the moment you’re outside, the cool night air hitting your face, Drew turns to you, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Alright,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “How do you feel about grabbing that dinner tonight?”

You blink, caught off guard by how fast he’s moving. “Tonight? We just got out of the premiere,” you laugh, though there’s excitement bubbling under the surface. “I know, but if I wait any longer, who knows what crazy schedules we’ll get caught up in again.” He steps closer, his smile genuine, warm. “I’ve waited this long to actually do it right. What’s a few more hours?"

“Alright,” you say, a grin breaking through. “Let’s do it. Dinner—our actual first date.”

His eyes light up. “Great. I know a place.”

The restaurant Drew takes you to is tucked away, quiet and intimate, and you laugh at how quaint it is, most of the other diners are old enough to be your grandparents. You feel comfort knowing most of them don't have phones let alone know who the both of you are. For all they care, you could be two kids coming home from a costume party just ending the night with a bite.

“So,” you say as you both sit down, menus in hand but neither of you really looking at them. “This is what a proper date feels like, huh?”

Drew leans back in his chair, grinning. “Better than froyo, right?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Significantly better.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence, the kind where you both just look at each other and realize this is happening—really happening. You’re on a date with Drew, and it’s not some PR stunt or a casual hangout. It’s real. And for the first time, you’re letting yourself want it. "You think they're wondering why we're over dressed?" You hide behind a menu. "Overdressed? Excuse me? This is what I wear everyday." Drew retorts, making you chortle.

“So,” you say, resting your chin on your hand, “What’s the plan after this? Froyo?”

Drew chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

He grins, eyes glinting with that same playful energy you’ve always liked. “Well, I’ll make sure tonight’s memorable enough that it overshadows that.”

Check my other stuff out too? | M A S T E R L I S T

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#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #the way this man has me on a chokehold #fanfic #drew x reader #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey x you #actress!reader

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jaystardust · 4 months

Text

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ MY STUPID BIRTHDAY

Pairing: Park Sunghoon x reader

Genre: fluff, a bit of angst, childhood friends to enemies to lovers, apparition of Jake, Sunoo, Jungwon and Minji (nwjns)

Warnings: slight humiliation, mention of food (tell me if I forget something)

Summary: in a world where every day counts, some days stand out more than others. for y/n, that day is her birthday, a day she shares with her best friend Sunghoon. but at their joint 16th stupid birthday celebration, an incident fractures their friendship

Words count: 3,9K

A/N : it's my first time posting a fic here, i had this idea popping into my head and decided to write something, idk if I will continue to write others in the future but I had so much fun writing this !! i hope you will enjoy it ( I don't really know if it is good or no tbh 😭😭), don't hesitate to give me some feedback or request something 💗

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365 days a year, sometimes even 366 days…you can say it's a lot.

Of all the days in the year, you chose your favorite. Some people like to choose Christmas or Halloween, while others prefer to be original and choose the day when the cherry trees blossom or the first snow falls. But you preferred to keep it classic, a day that might be banal for some, or cliché for others because your favorite day of all was your birthday.

What made this day so magical for you was the fact that you had the chance to share this date, so exceptional in your eyes, with your best friend Sunghoon. And that's why you became friends.

Sunghoon had come into your life at elementary school, arriving in the middle of the year and looking very shy. You remembered his arrival so well because he came to class on your so-called birthday, your 7th to be exact. On that day, your mother had baked your favorite cake, so you could share it with your classmates and blow out your candles, knowing that this day was so special to you.

When the cake arrived, you noticed the sparkle in the new kids's chocolate orbs. Curious to know if he shared your taste in pastries, you asked him if he was looking forward to tasting it. "Do you like strawberry shortcake cake too? They are my favorite!", the boy who seemed so silent didn't answer at the time and just looked at you. Surprised by his reaction, you tilted your head to one side and wondered why he didn't answer.

Ignoring the boy's attitude, you took his hand in yours and led him to the cake. “You can blow out my candles with me if you like!”, at the sound of such a friendly proposal, an expression you couldn't quite determine formed on Sunghoon's face, and his cheeks took on a crimson hue.

Not understanding his reaction once again, you thought he didn't want to. “Oh, you don't like birthdays?”. The young brunet lifted his head and shook it vigorously, at which point he answered in an almost inaudible voice, “No, no...I like birthdays. Today's my birthday too…”.

Hearing such a statement, you couldn't help but jump up and down with joy at the idea of sharing such a precious moment with your new friend. Sunghoon, on the other hand, couldn't help hiding his face, rather embarrassed by so much attention suddenly focused on him. Seeing him so shy and embarrassed, you took his hand so that he could be at your side. “Let's both make a wish and blow out our candles, okay?”. You offered him a smile that revealed the tooth you'd lost last week and closed your eyes before making your wish. While the boy's wish remained unknown, you wished that from now on you'd be able to spend every one of your birthdays by his side... a day so precious to you

From that moment on, you and Sunghoon became inseparable. Birthdays became a shared celebration, a tradition that solidified your bond year after year. But as you grew older, things began to change. The simplicity of childhood was replaced by the complexities of adolescence, and the once-easy friendship began to face challenges neither of you could have anticipated.

High school brought about a shift in your dynamic with Sunghoon. New friends, different interests, and the inevitable misunderstandings began to drive a wedge between you two. It was subtle at first, a missed text here, a skipped hangout there. But over time, the cracks widened until a full-blown argument erupted on the day of your joint 16th birthday.

It had been brewing for a while, the tension palpable. Sunghoon had become more withdrawn, focusing on his new friends, sports, and studies. The clash came over something trivial—an unfortunate event that happened during your birthday celebration.

At the long-awaited moment of blowing out your 16 candles, after wishing that things could work out between you and your best friend, Sunghoon had the wonderful idea of pushing your head into your birthday cake...in front of all the people who were invited. And what a shock it was to see one of his new friends named Jake laughing, holding up his phone to film the scene. “ Well done man! You nailed your bet, I didn't think you would!”.

After that, voices were raised, harsh words exchanged, and for the first time, you found yourself dreading your birthday. What a stupid birthday…

—

Years passed, and the distance between you and Sunghoon grew. From friends to enemies, it seemed. The shared birthday, once a symbol of your bond, now felt like a cruel reminder of what you had lost. Both of you were too stubborn to reach out, too hurt to mend the rift. So you ended your high school days this way.

College was supposed to be your fresh start, a new chapter free from the tangled mess of your high school drama. You had looked forward to it for years, dreaming of new experiences, new friendships, and the chance to redefine yourself away from the shadow of old wounds and betrayals.

The campus was everything you had hoped for—bustling with life, offering endless growth opportunities, and filled with the promise of adventure. But as fate would have it, the one person you wanted to leave behind, Sunghoon, was also here. Seeing him across the quad that first week sent a chill down your spine. Memories of your 16th birthday, the argument, and the subsequent Cold War came rushing back, tainting what should have been an exciting new beginning.

When your mutual friends first proposed the joint birthday party, you couldn't believe your ears. "It'll be just like old times," Sunoo said, completely unaware of the emotional landmine they had stepped on. Your heart sank. The idea of celebrating your birthday with Sunghoon felt like opening an old wound. The 16th birthday incident left a scar, a painful reminder of how someone you once trusted implicitly could hurt you so deeply.

Despite your protests, your friends were relentless. They saw the good memories, the fun, and the laughter from your shared celebrations. They remembered the duo that was inseparable and believed that one party could bridge the gap. To them, it seemed like a simple solution to rekindle a cherished tradition.

"Come on, it's just one night," Minji, your closest friend, pleaded. "You both deserve to have fun. It’ll be great, just like before."

You shook your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "It's not that simple, Minji. There’s a lot you don’t understand."

Minji sighed, her expression softening. "I get that you two had a falling out, but it was so long ago. People change, y/n. Maybe Sunghoon isn’t the same person who did that...stupid thing."

"It's not just about the cake," you snapped, then took a deep breath to calm yourself. "It's everything that happened afterward. He just...he wasn't there for me. We were supposed to be best friends, and he let me down."

Jungwon, another friend who was also part of your mutual circle, chimed in. "Y/n, we're not asking you to be best friends again overnight. Just give it a chance.”

You looked at them, feeling the weight of their words but also the burden of your memories. "I don't know if I can handle it," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "What if things get worse?"

Minji put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "We've all seen how happy you two were back then. We just want to see you both happy again, even if it's just for one night. Can you try, for us?"

You hesitated, the memories of the laughter and joy you once shared with Sunghoon conflicting with the bitterness of your last encounter. The sincerity in your friends' eyes made it hard to refuse outright.

"Okay," you finally said, the word feeling heavy on your tongue. "I'll do it. But if things go south, I’m leaving. I can’t relive that nightmare."

Sunoo's face lit up with relief. "Thank you, y/n. We promise it’ll be worth it."

Jungwon grinned, giving you a thumbs up. "You won't regret it. We'll make sure it's an awesome party."

—

The first meeting to discuss party details was an exercise in tension. Sunghoon, once your shy and endearing best friend, now exuded an air of arrogance that made your blood boil. He walked into your living room with a confident swagger, greeting everyone casually, as if the years of animosity between you two didn’t exist.

"So, what's the plan?" Sunghoon asked, locking eyes with you for a moment. His gaze was steady, but you could see a flicker of something—regret, nostalgia?—before it vanished.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. "We need to decide on the venue, decorations, food, and the guest list," you replied, your tone clipped.

"Great, I was thinking we should go big," Sunghoon said, leaning back in his chair. "A large venue, lots of music, and a huge guest list. It’s our 21st birthday after all."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Of course, you'd want that. I was thinking of something more intimate. Close friends, good food, a relaxed atmosphere."

Sunghoon smirked, his eyes challenging. "A small gathering? That’s boring, y/n. People want to have fun."

"Fun doesn't mean a circus," you shot back, your irritation evident.

Jake, sensing the rising tension, intervened. "Hey, why not meet in the middle? We can have a decent-sized venue but keep the guest list reasonable. And mix up the music so there’s something for everyone."

You and Sunghoon exchanged a reluctant glance, and to your surprise, he nodded. "Fine. That works for me."

You sighed, feeling a bit of the tension ease. "Okay. But I’m in charge of the decorations."

Sunghoon chuckled. "Deal. As long as I get to handle the music."

The rest of the meeting was a series of compromises. Despite the occasional bickering, you managed to make some progress. However, the tension from years of unresolved issues loomed over every decision, making even the simplest tasks feel burdensome.

—

One afternoon, after another heated argument over the party's theme, you found yourself alone in the library, trying to finalize the details. Memories of happier times with Sunghoon flooded your mind—his shy smile, the way he used to get excited about your shared birthdays, and the countless hours spent talking about everything and nothing.

You were lost in thought when Sunghoon walked in and sat across from you. "Look, I know we have our differences, but we need to make this work. For our friends," he said, his voice surprisingly sincere.

You sighed, nodding. "Yeah, you're right. Let’s just focus on making this a good party."

Sunghoon looked relieved, and for a moment, you saw a glimmer of the boy you once knew. "I remember how much you loved those fairy lights. Maybe we can use them for the decorations?"

You were taken aback by his suggestion. "You remember that?"

"Of course I do," he replied softly. "Those birthdays meant a lot to me too."

In the days that followed, you fell into an uneasy rhythm. Despite the bickering, there were moments when the old Sunghoon resurfaced. One morning, he brought you your favorite coffee, remembering your order perfectly.

"Here," he said, handing you the cup. "I figured you could use a break."

You took it, surprised. "Thanks."

Another time, he helped you with particularly tricky decorations. As you struggled with a set of lights, he appeared beside you, effortlessly untangling them.

"Let me help," he said, his voice gentle. "You always hated doing this alone."

These small gestures made you wonder if there was still something worth salvaging between you two. Could it be that beneath the layers of hurt and pride, the bond you once shared was still there, waiting to be rekindled?

—

Just as you began to hope for reconciliation, everything came crashing down. Walking past the student lounge one afternoon, you overheard Sunghoon talking to Jake. Their voices were casual, filled with the easy camaraderie of old friends, but what you heard made your blood run cold.

"Yeah, she's still unbearable," Sunghoon was saying. "I don't regret pushing her head into the cake at all. Honestly, I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

The words felt like a dagger to your heart. Any progress you thought you’d made, any hope for a rekindled friendship, shattered in an instant. You turned and walked away, not wanting to hear another word. The small gestures, the moments where you thought the old Sunghoon was resurfacing, all felt like lies. The betrayal was raw and overwhelming, stirring up all the old hurt and anger you had tried so hard to move past.

That evening, you decided to confront Sunghoon. The emotions you had kept bottled up were boiling over, and you needed to let them out.

“Sunghoon, I overheard what you said to Jake,” you began, your voice trembling with suppressed anger.

Sunghoon looked up, confusion and worry flashing across his face. “Y/n, what are you talking about?”

“You said I’m unbearable and that you’d push my head into a cake again,” you replied, each word laced with the pain of your resurfaced wounds. “I thought we could maybe get past what happened, but clearly, you haven’t changed at all.”

Sunghoon’s face fell, and for a moment, he looked like the boy you once knew, the boy who had been your best friend. “It’s not like that,” he started, his voice soft and pleading.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you snapped, cutting him off. The anger in your voice masked the hurt you felt. “We’ll go through with this party for our friends, but after that, I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Sunghoon’s shoulders slumped, and he took a step towards you, desperation in his eyes. “Y/n, please. Let me explain. It was a stupid joke. I didn’t mean it.”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “A joke? You think that’s funny? Humiliating me, and then saying you’d do it again? That’s not a joke, Sunghoon. That’s just cruel.”

“I was trying to fit in with the guys,” Sunghoon said, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean any of it. I’ve been an idiot, but I don’t want to lose you again.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache, but the pain of his words was still too fresh. “You already lost me, Sunghoon,” you whispered. “A long time ago. And this just proves that you don’t care.”

Sunghoon reached out, but you stepped back, putting distance between you. “Y/n, please, don’t do this. We’ve come so far.”

You shook your head, feeling a mix of sadness and anger. “No, Sunghoon. You might think we’ve come far, but we’re right back where we started. I can’t keep doing this.”

With that, you turned and walked away, leaving Sunghoon standing there, looking lost and broken. The weight of your decision settled heavily on your shoulders, but you knew it was the right choice. You couldn’t keep reopening old wounds, hoping they’d heal. You needed to move forward, even if it meant leaving Sunghoon behind.

—

The rest of the preparations were a blur. You avoided Sunghoon as much as possible, communicating only when absolutely necessary. Every interaction was charged with tension, a constant reminder of the unresolved issues and the hurt still lingering between you. The memories of the overheard conversation haunted you, making it difficult to focus on anything else.

Despite the strained atmosphere, you channeled all your energy into making sure the party went off without a hitch. Your friends noticed the strain but chose to focus on the upcoming celebration, hoping the event would mend the rift.

The party was in full swing. Music blared, lights flashed, and people danced and laughed. You kept your distance from Sunghoon, mingling with friends and trying to enjoy yourself despite the heavy weight on your heart. The venue was beautifully decorated, with fairy lights casting a warm glow over the scene. Everyone seemed to be having a great time, but you couldn’t shake the hurt and betrayal lingering in your mind.

Minji caught you alone near the drinks table and pulled you aside. “Hey, how are you holding up?”

You forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just trying to get through the night.”

She gave you a sympathetic look. “I know things have been tough, but maybe tonight can be a fresh start?”

You sighed, looking over at Sunghoon who was laughing with some friends. “I don’t know, Minji. It’s hard to forget everything that happened.”

“I get it,” she said softly. “But I’ve seen how he looks at you. I think he genuinely wants to make things right.”

Before you could respond, someone called Minji away, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

As the night wore on, you found yourself on the balcony, staring out at the city lights. The cool night air did little to soothe your turmoil.

You heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Sunghoon approaching. He looked hesitant, his usual confidence replaced by a tentative vulnerability.

“Y/n..” he started, his voice soft. “Can we talk?”

You crossed your arms, trying to protect yourself from more hurt. “What is there to talk about, Sunghoon?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a jerk, and I know I hurt you. But you have to understand, Jake and I… we have a complicated relationship. I was just trying to impress him, but it was stupid, and I regret it.”

“Why should I believe you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because,” he said, stepping closer, “I miss you. I miss us. And I know I’ve screwed up, but I want to make it right. Not just for tonight, but for good.”

You looked at him, searching his eyes for any hint of deceit. “You think just saying sorry will fix everything? You humiliated me, Sunghoon. You made me feel like I meant nothing to you.”

“I know,” he admitted, his eyes downcast. “I’ve been an idiot. I let Jake’s influence get to me, and I hurt the one person who mattered most. But I swear, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make it up to you.”

“Why now?” you demanded, your voice rising. “Why should I trust you now?”

“Because I’ve realized how much I’ve lost,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “And because I don’t want to lose you again. Not when we’ve been through so much. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m asking for a chance to prove I’ve changed.”

Something in his voice, in his eyes, made you want to believe him. The sincerity, the vulnerability—it all felt genuine. And maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to forgive and start anew.

“Okay,” you said softly. “But this time, no more cake pushing.”

Sunghoon laughed, a genuine, warm laugh that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, things could be okay again. “Deal,” he said, offering his hand. “Let’s make a new wish together.”

As you shook his hand, you felt a spark of hope. You both walked back into the party, side by side, and your friends immediately noticed the change. Minji gave you an encouraging smile, and Jake looked pleasantly surprised. Their eyes seemed to convey a silent message of hope and reconciliation, urging you both to embrace this newfound chance at rebuilding your friendship.

Sunghoon led you to the table where the birthday cake sat, a beautifully decorated strawberry shortcake, just like the one from your childhood. The room quieted down as everyone gathered around, sensing the importance of the moment. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, a tangible sense of possibility lingering in the air.

Sunghoon turned to you, his eyes soft with sincerity. “Ready to make a wish?”

You nodded, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through you. “Ready.”

Together, you both closed your eyes, allowing the weight of the past to momentarily fade into the background. At this moment, there was only the promise of a fresh start, a chance to mend what had been broken between you.

“On three?” Sunghoon asked, his voice a gentle reassurance.

You nodded again, a small smile playing on your lips. “One, two, three.”

You both blew out the candles in unison, the room erupting in cheers and applause. For the first time in years, you felt that familiar warmth of the bond you once shared, slowly but surely being rekindled. The collective joy of the moment washed over you, melting away the layers of resentment and hurt that had accumulated over time.

—

The night continued with laughter and joy, the tension of the past giving way to the lightness of the present. You found yourself by Sunghoon's side more often than not, the ease of your interactions reminiscent of the friendship you had once cherished.

As the hours passed, you found yourself engaged in heartfelt conversations, sharing memories and dreams with Sunghoon as if no time had passed at all. The barriers that had once divided you seemed to dissolve in the warmth of companionship, leaving behind a renewed sense of connection and understanding.

At one point, amidst the laughter and chatter, Sunghoon leaned in close to you, his voice a whisper in the bustling room. “I’m glad we had this chance, Y/N. I’ve missed you.”

You met his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes echoing the sentiment in your own heart. “I’ve missed you too, Sunghoon. Let’s not lose this again.”

He smiled, a genuine expression of warmth and affection. “We won’t.”

At that moment, surrounded by the people you cared about most, you knew that this was more than just a party—it was a celebration of forgiveness, of second chances, and of the enduring bond between friends. As you looked around at the smiling faces and heard the echoes of laughter filling the air, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the opportunity to rebuild what had once been lost.

And as the night drew to a close, and the last echoes of laughter faded into the night, you found yourselves standing alone in the quiet embrace of the moonlit balcony. The world seemed to hold its breath, anticipation hanging heavy in the air as you gazed into each other's eyes.

Without a word, Sunghoon reached out, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that stole your breath away. And in that fleeting moment, with the stars as witness to your reunion, you leaned in, your lips meeting in a gentle kiss that spoke volumes of the love and forgiveness that had brought you back together.

Now, every day with Sunghoon, whether it’s 365 or 366, will be a reminder of the bond you share—a bond strong enough to weather any storm. As you melted into the warmth of his embrace, you couldn't help but reflect on the journey that had led you here, from the pain of this stupid birthday to the sweetness of this moment, where love and forgiveness triumphed over past hurts.

#sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #sunghoon imagines #fic tag #enhypen fluff #enhypen fanfiction #park sunghoon #enhypen angst #sunghoon angst

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ferrstappen · 1 year

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max, don't panic l Max Verstappen blurb

a/n: he'd absolutely stop his car bc 1) what's a couple of points for this man? he's going to gain them back while sleeping; 2) this man PROTECTS you cannot tell me otherwise.

also, pls if anyone knows how to turn this blog (sideblog) into the main? my main is full of Shawn Mendes fics and on a permanent hiatus so I'll take any advice pls. anyway... I tried my best bc for some reason driver!reader is not my fav trope? but anyway, hope you enjoy <3

genre: kinda dramatic? angst? idk. request is here.

warnings: car crash.

pairing: Max Verstappen x driver!reader.

max, don´t panic – max verstappen blurb

The private but not secret applied to you and your boyfriend perfectly. Even if you didn't walk around hand I hand in the paddock, you always arrived together, bright smiles, sometimes riding the same car or blinded SUV, even arriving on the same planes.

This wouldn't be exactly controversial, but giving the fact you both were Formula 1 drivers, Max for Red Bull and you for Ferrari, yeah, it was a big thing. Especially since you and another driver in Williams were the only girls, people's eyes were always on you, obviously laced with criticism, sexism and misogyny, and of course everyone was waiting and constantly asking about which driver was the most handsome, if something had happened between you or any of the male drivers.

It wasn't pretty.

So Charles Leclerc had to miss a triple header due to an injury which costed him a surgery, you were briefly promoted to the Scuderia from Haas. The only thing you or anyone in the garage heard during the last few days was why you, why not Ferrari's own reserve driver? why not a driver with more experience? of course the lacing question was, why not a male driver?

You didn't need the press and public to keep speculating as your last Sunday driving for Ferrari arrived, even if sports sites stated the only reason you were chosen was because of your "especial friendship" with Max Verstappen, because it didn't make any sense otherwise. Of course Max rolled his eyes every time he heard something about it, forcing to bit his tongue to tell someone to fuck off, the fact you had been dating for now nine months had absolutely nothing of your job and performance.

It wouldn't help your case very much, having to calm him down on your shared hotel room. Well, it wasn't exactly shared, you just left you room vacant and made it to Max's to spend the night, sleeping in his warm embrace and messy kisses, trying to not exhaust your bodies in order to not be overly tired during race day.

Now, Sunday. Oh boy.

Before pulling your helmet, you found Max's eyes across the garage, doing a small sign with your fingers which Max matched, a secret language reserved for the both of you, expressing your love and preoccupation in front of everyone who was oblivious to the love language displayed in plain sight.

Then the race started and it was ordinary; good weather, good pace. But during lap twenty something happened.

You didn't really register when an Aston Martin car made contact with your rear wing, making you lose control and also getting hit by a Mercedes on the left side, which sent you flying through the gravel.

Fuck.

Your eyes closed as you felt the car spinning, waiting to make contact with the wall, trying to relax your body and mind, knowing injuries would be even more serious after the impact if her body was limp enough. Then it happened, you stopped rolling, the sound of gravel and tires stopped; radio wasn't working, though it wouldn't really work since you couldn't find your voice.

Max was on other sector, Gianpiero telling him to expect a red flag. At the same time, his eyes fixed on the screen and noticed the unmistakable red car flying and crashing.

Max was a man prepared for anything on the race track. Seriously, you could throw anything at him and Max would remain calm and collected, his body and mind not having to even think before making a move.

But this... this he wasn't prepared for.

"Which Ferrari was that?" Max asked through the radio, voice masking a slight panic.

"I don't have that information, yet. I'll let you know, now focus on slowing down, please, red flag red flag,"

"Is the driver okay?" Max completely ignored the other instructions given to him.

"No word, Max. Please," GP was cut off.

"Please tell me who's Ferrari is it!"

"Sainz was on the pit, it's (Y/N)'s Ferrari. Max, you can't speed up,"

Max ignored him. Of course, he knew better than to get in the way of the safety car and medical cars rushing, also noticing a green figure trying to get closer to the car, also noting a Mercedes and Aston with damages.

"Max, come to the pit, please," GP had many many experiences dealing with Max, but this was new. "Max, you are not going to help, you will only obstruct and put the car and yourself in danger,"

Max was covered in chills, watching the wrecked Ferrari, trapped against the wall, no movement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is completely unheard of. This is by far the worst accident during this season, but Red bull's Max Verstappen drove his car towards the crash, ignoring the red flag and his engineer. We don't now what's going on, how is the driver, as you can see it's a mess," That's what the audience was hearing and watching.

Ignoring everything, Max prompted himself up, leaving the car and reaching the medical car, trying to get someone to connect him to the Ferrari radio, knowing her radio was probably dead.

Time stopped, and then he saw you being carried, barely conscious but giving a thumbs up, and he felt like he could collapse and cry and laugh, all at the same time.

"I'm riding with her," Max stepped inside the ambulance, knowing pictures were being captured and broadcasted of him kissing your temple and holding your hand.

#max verstappen blurb #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen au #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen angst #max verstappen x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 x you #f1 fanfic

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halohalona · 1 month

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Letting Go

Old memories resurface so Logan reminds you who is truly there for you.

Logan Howlett x Reader

a/n: the fics I'm starting to write are getting more and more self indulgent and the situations are getting hyper-specific. Not only do I want to be with Logan, on so many different levels, he's also become such a comfort character to me (or maybe it's just hugh jackman idk). ANYWAY, this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now so enjoy the short fic

masterlist

warnings/tags: more emotional hurt/comfort, Logan is probably a little or a lot ooc here, I wanna specify this is the movie logan and not the comics, betrayal? idk, I probably forgot a few details about Wolverine here

Logan noticed you've been quiet recently. Not only that but you've been avoiding him. One time when you rounded a corner of the mansion's many hallways you immediately turned back the way you came when you saw him. Did he do something wrong? Every time he tried to talk to you, you would run away.

He asked Ororo if she knew what was going on but she didn't know either. He asked Jean but she didn't know anything either, but he did find out that you've been avoiding everyone. Scott, Ororo, Jean, Hank— not just him. It even came to the point where he asked the professor himself and all he said was, “She needs her space.”

He was at the library looking for a specific textbook he needed for his next class when he heard sniffling from a secluded corner of the library— your corner. You told him once that you've pretty much claimed that part of the library for yourself since it was secluded and quiet enough that no one would bother you as you worked.

He slowly and quietly walked over. Sure enough you were there. Your laptop was in front of you, folders neatly stacked around you on the table, and your bag placed on the side facing the main library, likely to hide your face.

He sat in front of you, gently moving the folders to the side before speaking.

“Hey.” he said softly.

You jumped and quickly wiped your face but your head was still down. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you crying, of course I'm gonna go check on you. You've been avoiding me all week. Something's going on, and as your boyfriend I want to know.”

You don't say anything.

“Is this about Eve?”

Silence.

He leans back on the chair crossing his arms. “You know that was years ago right?”

Eve was a close friend of yours. You both have been friends for almost two years back in high school. She was someone who stood by you through your toughest times, and at the time there was a lot, specially since that was same point in your life your mutation decided manifest. But then you guess they got sick and tired of having to deal with what you were going through with you because one day you learned from your best friend, who was a mutual friend of yours, that she planned on cutting you off. You don't remember exactly what she said but one thing was clear to you, she no longer wanted any relationship with you, not even an acquaintance. What stuck with you was the promise she made a year prior: “If you think I'm gonna leave you, I won't,” which ended up being a lie.

It's been years, you know that it's time to move on, but every now and then it haunts you. You've been keeping people at arms length since then, not sharing much about yourself aside from the basics: name, age, and what you like to do in your free time. Although you've opened up a bit when you started dating Logan, you've share a few things about Eve, but you still hold back in fear of the whole thing to happen again.

“You have to let it go. I'm not saying this to be dismissive, I'm saying it because holding on to it will prevent you from finding people who actually care for you.” he unfolds his arms and leans on the table closer to you. “Like I've said before, if she was able to let you go so easily, then maybe she wasn't a good friend to begin with.”

He walks over to your side of the table and kneels beside you. Gently, he places his hand on the side of your face lifting it up to make you look at him.

“I know it hurts to be abandoned by someone you cared for deeply, but dwelling on what happened won't bring them back. It's time for you to focus on the people who genuinely care about you. Ororo, Jean, Hank, Scott, pretty much everyone in the mansion, and of course me.”

Your eyes start to well up again, a couple tears escape, sliding down your cheek. Logan gently brushes them away.

“I know she's told you this but when I say I won't leave you, no matter how hard things get, I mean it. I love you and I care for you, remember that.”

You look into his eyes for any sign of deceit and seeing none, he genuinely means it. So for the first time in years, you trust those words. You lean your forehead on his “I believe you. And thank you.” you whisper.

#logan howlett x reader #hugh jackman #logan x reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #xmen #marvel #mari cliffgate's writing

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koqabear · 1 year

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Pretty Privilege (and its complications…)

♫: California Gurls, Katy Perry // Icky, Kard

“You love your boyfriend more than anything; so much so that you decide to pay a visit to him while he‘s on duty, a perfect excuse to gawk at his perfect form and charming self. Unbeknownst to you (like always) the act only causes Taehyun to stress, forced to watch you attract attention like a magnet and have people flirt with you left and right— even your understanding boyfriend has his limits, you know.”

lifeguard!Taehyun x fem!reader

Genre: established relationship, beach au, fluff, smut

Word count: 9.6K

warnings: bimbo/ditzy/feminine mc, mc is called a queencard bc idk, mc gets horny every three seconds, mc has nipple peircings and insane pretty privilege, (I have nothing to say for myself.) everyone in this damn beach wants her, she gets hit on by both men and women. alcohol consumption, (no one gets drunk) use of pet names (baby, my girl etc.) and the words boyfriend/girlfriend, lowkey public indecency.. teasing, possessiveness, a little jealousy.

smut warnings: dom!taehyun, sub!mc semi-public sex, marking, thigh riding, degrading, possessiveness (again!), rough sex, biting, breast play, grinding, oral (f. rec) multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, strength kink, tae picks the mc up, praise, dacryphilia, creampie (lemme know if I should add anything!)

Notes: alternate title: my strange addiction (kang taehyun) this fic is nawt meant to be taken seriously!! (I blacked out halfway through writing and editing this) Can you tell that I have tropes that just have a deathly chokehold on me? Embarrassing…

Kang Taehyun feels his heart stop the moment he sees your car pull up.

A peaceful, thirty-minute break quickly turns into a meditation session the moment he sees your hot pink Porsche convertible pull up, straight from a Barbie movie as the fuzzy dice that hang from the mirror bounce around— even from the top of the hill where the parking lot is at, he’s still able to spot you with eerie ease.

You’re as energetic and bubbly as ever as you exit the car, laughing with your friends as you fail to notice Taehyun’s heated stare; your friends however, are much quicker to catch him, sharing knowing looks amongst themselves and laughing softly.

His face feels hot as he quickly looks back down, his gaze downcast as he goes to scroll on his phone as a distraction— like instinct, he opens Instagram, your newest story popping up on his feed as he finds himself gulping nervously.

Beach day!! >v< the picture is captioned, your bright smile practically blinding as you pose with your friends— you practically steal the spotlight with ease however, especially when you’re wearing a pink halter top with a Hawaiian flower pattern that exposes your breasts perfectly, the dip allowing your gold necklaces to rest in between.

God, Taehyun sighs, running a hand through his hair as he hears your bubbly laugh from a distance, it’s so difficult having such a hot girlfriend.

A hot girlfriend who’s practically an influencer, he adds, counting down the minutes before he has to go back on duty as he remembers how successful your social media page has become. You didn’t mean to do it on purpose— you simply wanted to document your life and style like any other person would— but it seems as though you attracted much more attention than you anticipated.

A few hundred thousand followers and plenty of sponsorships later, however, you quickly found yourself titled a true “queencard”— not that you wanted to be, anyway.

You took your newfound “fame” with a grain of salt however, living your life as normal and continuing to document your lavish and busy lifestyle— in turn, Taehyun asked you to keep your relationship on the more private side.

It wasn’t that Taehyun didn’t want to be seen with you; if anything, he adored showing you off, enjoying the way no one could take their eyes off you whenever you entered a room— off his girlfriend. He was very vocal about the love and pride he held for you, but he also preferred to keep his life away from the media. And like the angel you are, you accepted his wishes without any hesitation.

Like Taehyun, you absolutely adored your partner; you were quite obsessed with him, honestly. If he’d let you, you’d fill your feed with him, your camera roll that was already filled with pictures of him begging to be posted as your mind told you that he could be an influencer as well— because who were you kidding, he’s so smoking hot.

“Girl, you need to stop staring before you start drooling,” Chaewon says, helping Wonyoung unload the bags from the car as they begin to laugh and tease you. You simply whine at her comment, biting your lip before you force yourself to look away; how could someone look so attractive by just scrolling on their phone?

“I can’t help it,” you cry, taking a beach bag from Wonyoung in order to help, “he’s just sooo hot!”

“And you let us know every time,” Wonyoung laughs, nudging your side as she gestures toward the beach before her, “don’t you at least wanna get closer?”

Like an eager puppy, you nod, getting a head start as you walk down the steep path towards the beach; you can hear your friends yelling at you to be careful, but all you can currently think about is Taehyun— Taehyun and his rippling muscles, Taehyun and his tan skin that’ll be left exposed to the hot sun, Taehyun and his chain that you love to tug on when he’s on top of you…

Oh my god, you realize with dread, your thighs rubbing together as you stop to wait for your friends, I’m so horny right now.

The curse of having such a hot boyfriend— you literally got soaking wet from the very thought of him.

The last thing you would do is have your friends realize, however, much too embarrassed to let them in on your more intimate thoughts as you scan the beach, looking past the groups of people for a good spot to settle down; lucky for you, you find a spot between the lifeguard tower and a concessions stand.

“Here here here!” You yell, running towards the spot without hesitation as your friends are forced to keep up; you ignore the feeling of the sand slipping into your sandal pumps, much more distracted by the fact that you’ll be able to see your boyfriend on duty.

Taehyun, ever the innocent victim of your antics, remains clueless as to where you’re setting up at the moment; he sits at the tables on the other side of the concession stand, still scrolling through his phone as he counts down the minutes before he’s on duty once more— sighing, he looks up from his device, his eyes scanning the hill before him as he inevitably finds your car— he can’t help but frown once he sees that you’re no longer there.

Where could you have run off to, he wonders, walking over to the headquarters in order to go back on rotation— he’s unable to stop thinking about you, already dreading how much of a distraction you’ll be to him as he makes his way over to his platform— only to stop, his breath stuttering as he sees the very sight he’s been dreading. (See: fantasizing.)

You’re wearing that same denim mini-skirt that always drives Taehyun crazy— actually, you’re not even wearing it anymore, his teeth sinking into his lip as he watches you strip innocently. The bikini bottom you wear matches your top, the same pink with the Hawaiian flower pattern; the shameful excuse of a bottom barely covers you, yet you don’t really seem to notice as you tie a sheer beach skirt around your hips.

Dangerously, you pull your shirt over your head; and if Taehyun wasn’t flustered enough by your bottoms, the matching top definitely did the trick— how it barely managed to cover you almost impressed Taehyun, his mouth drying as he took note of the way you tied all the strings into cute little bows, adorning your hips and back as your friends complimented you over the cute set— puffing your chest out proudly, Taehyun swore he almost fell to his knees as he took note of the piercings that poked through the thin fabric.

Oh god. He’s screwed.

You and your friends are quick to set everything up; you’re eager to lay back against the towel as Wonyoung runs to the ocean, yelling at the two of you to go with her as she laughs with joy.

“No thanks, I’ll stay here,” you say, getting comfortable as you stretch under the sun, the warmth making you smile as you reassure Chaewon, “Actually, I think the place over there has a mini bar— I might go get a drink.”

With one last goodbye and a yell along the lines of get me one, I’ll meet you there! Chaewon leaves, sand kicking up behind her as she begins to chase after Wonyoung; the two look beyond happy as they enter the water, the sight endearing as you finally get up.

Unbeknownst to you, Taehyun watches like a hawk; he couldn’t get his eyes off you even if he wanted to, the sway of your hips and the shining sun on your skin much too enticing as he watches you leave, bitterly taking note of the way the men nearby begin to drool over you.

Taehyun isn’t an insecure person— he’s far from it, and he knows damn well that you’d choose him over any other man on this beach. But he’s also tempted to run after you, to claim you as his and show everyone just how much you like him— but he remains professional, feeling his ears turn red as he snaps out of his lewd fantasies.

You haven’t even talked to him, but he’s already feeling desperate for you.

Being a lifeguard has its perks— today’s perk comes in the form of his tall seat, being able to get a good look at the whole beach, and you. More specifically, the way you cutely lean against the counter of the bar, pouting like always as you take a second to stare at the menu.

“So…” you trail off, pursuing your lips before you’re smacking your lips, tapping your ID rhythmically against the wood as you feel the worker staring at you intently, “I’ll just have two margaritas. And a water. Please?”

The worker before you is bright and quick to work as he nods, stumbling over his feet for a second before he’s making you your drink; you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone work so fast as he hands you your order, sliding over an ice cold water bottle as well.

“Thank you! How much do I owe you?” You exclaim, placing your purse over the counter as you begin to dig for your wallet; only for him to interrupt you, stuttering out a quiet Oh, wait, as you look up at him with innocent doe eyes, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s on the house,” he smiles, watching as you can only let your jaw drop at his words; unsure of what to do, you glance back at your order, left speechless as you take a second, only to look back up at the worker in surprise.

“Really?” You ask breathily, tilting your head as you lean in closer to read their name tag— Jay simply nods, smiling sweetly as they reassure you that you don’t need to pay, “Oh, you’re so sweet!”

You’re laughing at the way Jay turns slightly red, surprised at his kind act as you ask one last time if it’s really okay— he reassures you once more, opening his mouth to say something before another customer is approaching, taking his attention as he reluctantly leaves your side.

Taking a sip of your drink, you can’t help but feel the smile stuck on your face as Chaewon finally appears to join you; she’s soaking wet as she stands with you under the shade of the bar, thanking you with a cute smile as she takes the margarita you hand her.

“How much? I’ll pay you back,” Chaewon says, gesturing at the drink before her as you simply shake your head in response.

“No need. It was free!” You say, giggling at the way Chaewon looks at you incredulously.

“Free?” She echoes, watching as you only nod eagerly in response, “how?”

“Dunno,” you say, licking at the rim that’s dusted with sugar, “that Jay guy was just really sweet!”

“Or attracted to you,” Chaewon muses, nudging you playfully as she gives you a mischievous grin— she laughs as you shake your head defensively, painfully unaware of your pretty privilege as you fail to notice the way Jay glances back at you, clearly hoping to talk to you again.

“I got this for Wonyoung,” you say, gesturing to the cold water bottle that’s currently dripping over the counter, “gonna go give it to her, wanna come with?”

Chaewon shakes her head, gesturing to her unfinished drink as she tells you to go ahead; watching you go ahead, she waits for you to get out of earshot, turning to the employee before she’s narrowing her eyes at him.

“Can I get a water please?”

Without another glance, Jay nods— “That’ll be one-fifty.”

Barking out a laugh, Chaewon grins, proving her theory right as she watches Jay turn red from the realization that she caught on— being friends with you proved to come with more benefits than she realized, she thinks, biting back another smile as she goes to drink her margarita. Turning around, she watches you fondly— and more specifically, the way you begin to walk past the volleyball game that’s going on, making your way back to your setup as the men playing begin to take notice of you.

“Hey baby,” a man calls out, drawing your attention as you simply hum politely in response, “Why don’t you come play with us?”

You can only muster out a soft laugh at that, shaking your head as you ignore the way your body begins to heat up from all the attention; shyly, you refuse their offer, unsure of what to say as you feel their eyes taking you in slowly.

“Oh, I’m not that good,” you say, shaking off their amused laughs as you hold Wonyoung’s water bottle close to you, feeling the perspiration drip onto your forearm, “I probably wouldn’t be very useful on your team.”

Your response is genuine; you know you’re not good at volleyball after countless failed attempts to learn, much more content sitting on the sidelines and watching your perfect boyfriend absolutely dominate during his games— the thought is enough to have you fighting back a fond smile, brought back to reality by the way the man talking to you takes a step closer to you.

“ ‘s okay, I can teach you,” the man grins, spinning the volleyball expertly in his hands as his teammates nod in agreement. You’re unsure of how to refuse them now, but a sudden sharp whistle is taking all of your attention as your head whips to the source of the sound.

You practically feel like an overexcited puppy as you spot Taehyun, on duty and scolding a group of teenagers for who-knows-what. Without another thought, you run over to him, leaving the group of men who can only call for you to wait— their words fall deaf on your ears as you feel your heart beating faster, calling out his name and watching as he finally spots you running over to him.

“Hyun!” You say, waving cutely as you watch him smile fondly at you— you think your heart could burst as you practically jump into his arms, feeling him stumble back from the impact as you throw your arms around his neck fondly.

“Taehyun!! Baby, hi!!” You say, bouncing on your feet as you pull away to pepper kisses on his cheek; all he can do is laugh as he falls victim to you, muttering a soft “okay, okay” as he pats your back fondly.

“Baby, baby, I’m still working,” Taehyun reminds you, watching you pull away with a small oh right, that tumbles from your lips. His hands are still on your waist as his fingers trace over the fabric of your beach skirt, and you can’t help the way you burst into giggles as you take him in.

“What, what’re you laughing at?” He asks, brows raising as he tilts his head curiously; you can only shake your head, wiping the bottom of your lip as you attempt to calm down.

“My lip gloss is all over you,” you say, watching as he simply laughs at your comment, his dimple on display as he reaches up to rub at his cheek— it barely works, but he doesn’t seem to mind much as he finally lets go of you.

“Did you get yourself a drink, pretty?” He says, nodding his head at the water bottle you hold in your hands; you nod, smiling happily as you recount the events that happened in your head.

“Yeah, the worker there is super sweet,” you gush, glancing back at where you see Chaewon still leaning against the counter, waving at you happily as you’re quick to return the gesture, “he gave me my drinks for free.”

“Did he now?” Taehyun asks, raising a brow at you as he watches you nod innocently. Glancing back at the shop, he sees Jay, who can only avert his eyes and hide from his sight. Looking back at you, his gaze softens as he takes in the way you practically glow under the sun, “that’s very nice of him.”

Taehyun wishes nothing more than to be able to go back off duty and enjoy his time with you; instead, he needs to wait another four hours before he can properly show you just how happy he is to see you— unbeknownst to you of course, much too eager to be outside on such a nice day as you ramble about things with no clear end in sight.

“I need to go back to work, baby,” Taehyun sighs, smiling at the way you begin to whine immediately, “I know, I know— I wish I wasn’t working today either.”

Bringing you in closer, he places a soft kiss on the tip of your nose before he’s taking a step back, the dazed smile you send him enough to have his heart fluttering as he returns it without a thought.

“ ‘m just happy I get to see you.”

His words clearly affect you as you attempt to stutter a response, hitting him with a whine the moment he tries to laugh at you fondly— you can tell he’s reluctant to leave, but the same group of teenagers as before seem to be causing a ruckus once more as he sighs, bidding you goodbye before he’s off.

You can only stand and stare with dismay, pouting as you watch him turn his back to you— his toned, broad back, with a waist so small you’d do anything to wrap your arms around it— or even better, your legs…

You groan as the same dangerous train of thought begins to hit you, your eyes squeezing shut as you force yourself to turn around— to walk straight to where Wonyoung lays without glancing back at your boyfriend, the task much harder than you’d think as you hear his sharp voice scolding the group of teenagers.

He sounds so hot, you think to yourself, wanting nothing more than to run away with your man and have him fuck you stupid behind the concession stand, oh my god, I want him so bad.

“Wow, this thing is freezing,” Wonyoung says, taking the water bottle from your hands gratefully. Watching as you slump down next to her, Wonyoung pauses, trying to guess what might be wrong before she follows your line of sight.

“Ah,” she mutters, taking a long drink from her water before she sighs, “Are you sad you can’t talk to your boyfriend?”

“He’s being professionalll,” you groan, throwing a hand over your eyes as you lay back, the pout forming on your face second nature at this point, “I just wish he’d stay over here!”

“It’d be a danger to the public if he just stopped doing his job,” Wonyoung reasons, watching the way you reluctantly agree with her, “plus, it was your idea to visit while he was on duty.”

“I didn’t think he’d look so fucking hot!” You admit, crossing your arms over your chest in defeat as Wonyoung simply laughs in amusement. Opening your eyes, you’re surprised to find Chaewon looming over you, a smile on her face as she takes her seat on her towel beside you.

“You always think he looks hot. Also, the bartender over there totally wants you.” Chaewon pipes up, calling Wonyoungs name as she gestures to the water bottle in her hands before gesturing back to the mini-bar.

“Don’t tell me,” Wonyoung says, staring down at the item in her hand as Chaewon nods in confirmation, “wow, that’s pretty impressive.”

“It’s nothing, he was just being nice!” You refute, ever an airhead and your friends simply shake their heads in response, “It’s true!”

“He didn’t bother looking back in my direction once you left,” Chaeryeong points out, glaring playfully at Wonyoung who laughs at her comment, “not to mention, those guys playing volleyball were literally drooling over you.”

“Wait, I saw that— I was kind of scared for a second,” Wonyoung admits, Chaewon nodding along as she confesses that she was about to jump in when you finally managed to escape, “you’re so lucky you managed to leave before things got weird.”

To be honest, you stopped listening around that last part— well, it’s not like you weren’t listening, it’s more like you weren’t really contributing to the conversation as you take notice of Taehyun, more specifically the way he’s playing with a child around the shallow end of the ocean, watching as he manages to make the child laugh, his eyes bright and fond as he takes good care of the toddler.

The sight practically has you melting, and you’re forced to bite your lip to suppress your smile— but then again, you’ve never really been good at hiding things— especially with the way you find your friends looking in the direction you are, the two of them sporting knowing smiles as they exchange a look.

“Oh girl,” Wonyoung sighs, going to lay on her back as she puts on her sunglasses, “you’re drooling again.”

Shit, you totally were.

-♡-

The next three and a half hours pass by painfully slowly— for Taehyun, at least.

It seems that you’re finally able to take your eyes off him after a period of adjustment, and he’s able to watch from his post as you enjoy yourself in the ocean, splashing around with your friends as the three of you have fun and remain carefree.

Carefree is probably one of the last words Taehyun would use to describe himself at the moment— it was a given that being a lifeguard was unpredictable and difficult, but being on duty while having his hot girlfriend that attracted attention like a magnet there with him was next-level.

He couldn’t even begin to count the number of times someone managed to hit on you in the past hour— from what he saw, at least— it was ridiculous, really, even more so because you were never able to pick up on it. Ever.

Taehyun couldn’t take his eyes off you for one second without a new person approaching you; he chalks it up to both your beauty and the fact that you’re one of the most approachable people Taehyun has ever met.

He’s never been happier to own sunglasses than today— or else you definitely would’ve caught him watching carefully as a random woman your age offered to put sunscreen on you, your friends back in the ocean as you opted to take a moment to rest under the sun instead.

“Your swimsuit is so cute,” she told you, her voice filled with a flirty lilt as it managed to travel to Taehyun’s ears; you had been as clueless as ever, holding your top up with your hands as you allowed her to untie your string and lotion your back— he tried to give this random stranger the benefit of the doubt, but it was really difficult to with the way she massaged you gently and leaned over to speak into your ear.

“Are you single?” The implications of her words barely registered in your head before thoughts of Taehyun were overpowering your brain, a smile involuntarily tugging at your lips as you tried to hold back your giddy giggles in order to answer.

“She’s not.”

You could feel the woman’s hands still on your shoulder as the two of you looked up, your smile only widening as your eyes met Taehyun’s— at least you think, he was currently wearing sunglasses. (Which he looked really hot in, of course. You think you would’ve jumped on him by now if it weren’t for the risk of you flashing the entire beach.)

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman behind you said, laughing nervously as she quickly went to stand; you couldn’t help but be confused by the way she hurriedly said goodbye to you, but all your questions were answered once you turned around to meet Taehyun’s irritated face, his brows pulled together in a frown as he let out a soft tsk.

“Hyun, are you jealous?” The question is enough to have him snap out of his daze, blinking wildly behind his shades before he’s pushing them up and onto his head, pushing his wet hair back and exposing his forehead as he did; looking down at you, he can’t help but soften at the sight of you and your cute wide eyes, letting out a soft chuckle before he’s patting your head fondly.

“No, I’m not.”

You watch as he settles down behind you, taking the previous woman’s spot as he murmurs for you to turn around. You’re facing forward once more, taking in the pretty sight of the beach as you shift on your knees, sitting back on your legs as you wait for him to do something.

“You looked pretty jealous,” you muse, looking down to watch as he takes the sunscreen bottle that was left at your side; the smell of the lotion fills your senses once more as you hear him open it, squeezing some on his palm as the sound of his airy laugh reaches your ears.

“Well, it’s not exactly nice to watch another person feeling up my girl,” he reasons, watching as you straighten up at his comment, “why didn’t you ask your friends for help baby?”

“Mmmh, they’re busy and she offered to help,” you confess, shivering at the feeling of the cold lotion against your shoulders, “and she was not feeling me up.”

Unbeknownst to you, Taehyun can’t help but feel frustrated at your comment— your naivety made it difficult to make a point sometimes, and this was one of those moments as he was unable to stop the deep sigh that escaped him.

“She wasn’t?” He asks, and you can’t help but gasp as you feel his touch become further; fingers digging into your flesh, massaging your shoulders tenderly as he leans in close to whisper into your ear, his hands roaming your body so slowly you think you might melt, “so what do you feel now that I’m doing it?”

Horny.

“I… I feel like I’m in the wrong,” you admit, stuttering softly as he begins to come back up to your shoulders, his dainty hands going past your collarbones and down your arms; slowly, he makes his way down, leaning forward as he does so until he’s pressed firmly against your back— his firm chest against your back, his hands reaching for your own as he interlocks his fingers with yours.

You can feel his hair tickle against your neck as he presses a slow kiss against the back of your shoulder, biting your lip as you fight back the desperate whine that threatens to escape from you.

“Glad you realize,” he laughs softly, letting go of you and sitting back as he takes a moment to inspect the beach; you can’t help the sadness that fills you as he begins to stand, only to pause as he notices your dejected state.

“Do you need any more help?” He asks slowly, watching as you nod happily before you’re laying down across the towel; he thinks he might lose his job as you look back at him, batting your eyes prettily as you send him a coy smile.

“Do the rest for me?”

Taehyun hesitates. On one hand, it wasn’t very professional of him to lotion up his incredibly gorgeous girlfriend while on duty— not that the public was aware of the fact that you two were together, anyway— but on the other hand…

“How could I say no to you,” Taehyun sighs, kneeling at your side and taking the lotion bottle from you as he decides fuck it— he has half an hour left anyway.

Your skin is warm to the touch; both of you are sighing in contentment the moment his hands meet your skin, massaging the lotion into the rest of your back as he tries to remain as professional as possible.

You, on the other hand, are not doing that great.

If there’s one thing that tests your self-control more than anything, it’s Taehyun— especially Taehyun that has his hands all over you, his touch firm and soothing as he begins to massage the back of your thighs— if he sees you squeeze them together, he doesn’t bother to let on, your mind fogging with horrible and lewd thoughts that would have your boyfriend red and flustered within seconds.

The last of your resolve crumbles the moment his fingers ghost over your waist; dipping under the skimpy string of your bikini bottom, reaching toward the back before he begins to cop a feel— you can feel your breathing begin to pick up as he’s moving up, tickling against your sides before he’s reaching past your top; fingers massaging against the sides of your breasts, cupping what he can before he’s squeezing coyly. Flustered, you bury your head into your arms, listening to the way he laughs teasingly, his hands drifting away just as quickly as they appeared before he’s going to ask you if you’re alright teasingly.

“I need you,” You whine, the words muffled against your arms as you dig your head deeper into your arms.

“Hmm?”

This seems to be your last straw; sitting up, you scramble to keep your top on as you turn around to face Taehyun, taking him in in all his sun-kissed glory, sure that you look beyond flustered and destroyed by now.

“Taehyun, I need you so bad,” you whine out, scooting closer to him as you watch his eyes widen with your unhinged rambling, “I’ve been trying to be good this whole time and distract myself, but it’s so fucking hard because I’ve been wet from just looking at you— Hyun baby, I’m so hmmf—!”

Taehyun is impressed by how easily you’re able to fluster him— he’s sure his ears are completely red as he presses his palm firmly against your mouth, taking in the way you look at him with wide, teary, and fucked out eyes.

He takes a deep breath in order to control the dangerous feeling of desire that flows through him.

Exhaling deeply, he takes a second to look at the clock posted by the headquarters— he feels his body relax with relief as he slowly pulls his hand away from you, giving you a warning look before he gestures at the time.

“Fifteen minutes,” he says, leaning in and muttering the words in his deep, glorious voice, “can you be good for me for another fifteen minutes?”

You think you might die if you don’t take him right now.

“Yeah,” you breathe out shakily, watching as Taehyun laughs at your pathetic state.

“Good,” he says, standing up and getting ready to leave before another lifeguard realizes he’s been talking to you this whole time, “just wait for me, baby.”

You’re a bit dejected as you watch him leave you, back to being his perfect and professional self as he spots abandoned swimming equipment from the rental shop; he can feel your heated gaze on him the entire time, forced to stifle a laugh as he glances back in your direction curiously— you’re shamelessly staring, a pout on your face as you carefully re-tie your top once more.

Please, you think to yourself, choosing to lie back against your towel and clear out your thoughts, your eyes fluttering shut as you take a deep breath, please let these next fifteen minutes pass quickly.

-♡-

Taehyun knows the exact second his fifteen minutes are up— only because you trot up to him like an excited puppy, your beach skirt flowing in the wind as you wave at him excitedly.

“Will you let me clock out at least?” Taehyun asks, letting out an amused laugh as you immediately attach yourself to his side; you give him a quick nod of your head in response, telling him to lead the way as you refuse to leave him anytime soon.

“Missed you so much,” you say, eyes sparkling as Taehyun can only throw his head back and laugh in bewilderment at your comment, “I’m serious! It’s hard to keep my hands off you, Hyunnie.”

“Don’t worry, I feel the same,” he hums, slowing his steps to place a gentle peck on your cheek, “Wait for me? I’ll only be a moment.”

Nodding happily, you tell him you’ll go get him a drink— you know he could use it, taking in his tired steps as he walks back to headquarters with a sigh— turning around, you spot your friends already at the bar, waving you over as you make your way to them happily.

“He’s finally off?” Chaewon asks, watching as you nod with a bright smile on your face, “that’s good. You two can spend some time together now— especially now that the sun is beginning to set.”

“Not that you weren’t already,” Wonyoung teases, watching as you try to defend yourself with useless stutters as she continues to poke fun at you.

“I— can I just get a water?” Giving up on trying to win the argument, you turn back to the same worker from earlier, watching as Jay jumps in surprise the moment your eyes meet his.

“Oh, of course,” he mutters, placing the ice-cold refreshment before he clears his throat, face turning red as he avoids eye contact with you, “you don’t owe me anything, we’re closing soon and the register is already locked.”

Letting out an embarrassed laugh, you can’t help but glance at your friends, feeling your face become hot as they send you sly looks; Jay seems to be just as flustered as you, bowing politely before turning around and resuming his closing tasks— biting your lip, you suppress another laugh, your friends already mouthing things along the lines of I told you so, as you simply push them playfully, looking around to see if Taehyun has come back yet.

“This for me baby?” Taehyun’s hand is warm on your waist as he appears behind you, looking over your shoulder and smiling as you eagerly hand him the water bottle in return.

He’s quick to drink, much thirstier than he realized as he practically begins to gulp it down; he can feel your stare on him the whole time, fighting back a smile as he closes his eyes in an attempt to ignore it.

He looks like a model, you think, watching him fondly with hearts in your eyes; the day hasn’t looked nicer than it does now, the beach almost empty now that the sun has almost set and the weather growing cooler as the waves crash against the shore, the golden rays of the sun practically leave Taehyun glowing. Playfully, he pushes you away, unable to hold back his laugh any longer as he scolds you to stop staring! You can only laugh sheepishly as you try to deny doing so, but you know he’d never believed you from how clingy you’ve been with him all day.

“You’re so sweet Jay,” Taehyun smiles, the said male practically jumping out of his skin at the mention of his name; turning around slowly, he laughs awkwardly, meeting eyes with Taehyun, who snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer as he tilts his head teasingly, “for not charging my girl. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jay stutters, eyes downcast as he feels his face burning from the attention, “figured it was for you, so I didn’t bother ringing it up.”

Taehyun only hums in appreciation at the man’s comment, slightly irritated at the way he’s able to lie through his teeth so easily; turning away from him, he takes the chance to look at you, smiling fondly and leaning in for a chaste kiss that has you melting against him.

“Gross. Get a room you two,” Chaewon scoffs, covering Wonyoung’s eyes playfully as the two tease you endlessly.

“Gladly,” Taehyun smiles mischievously, rolling his eyes at the way your friends gag in response, pulling you against him as you steady yourself with a hand on his chest, “mind if I steal her away from you guys for a bit?”

“Go ahead,” Chaewon says, waving the two of you away with ease, “bring her back in one piece, please.”

I’ll try, is all Taehyun says, pulling you along and laughing at the way you eagerly follow along with one last goodbye to your friends, clueless to the way Taehyun’s jaw ticks with annoyance as he pulls you away from your friends— and right towards headquarters, making his way to the back of the building, secluded by trees and the hill you came from.

“Tae, what’re we doing here—?” Your sentence is briefly cut off with Taehyun’s mouth against yours, the kiss harsh and desperate as you quickly become a mess of spit, moaning weakly against Taehyun’s mouth as he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip.

The string of saliva that connects you two as he pulls away has you whining breathily, steadying yourself with two hands placed firmly on his shoulders as you allow him to corner you, walking backward as his firm hold on your hips forces you to be pressed against the wall.

“You drive me so fucking crazy,” he growls in frustration, attaching his lips right under your ear as he begins to suck— you’re gasping in response, clinging onto him desperately as you already feel your knees become weak. Pulling away from you, his dark gaze meets yours, heated and sharp as he takes in your fucked out state.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to have my pretty girl get flirted with by everyone that lays their eyes on her?” He asks, shifting your hips towards him as he slots his thigh between yours with ease, “to just watch it happen because she’s too much of an airhead to realize what’s happening in front of her?”

The whimper that escapes you from his words is downright embarrassing; but it’s enough to have Taehyun’s lips back on yours, eager to keep you quiet as his fingers begin to play with the strings of your bikini.

If there’s one thing Taehyun is an expert at, it’s pleasing you with every part of his body— which is exactly why he’s able to have you turn into a mess under him in seconds, flexing his thigh and bouncing it as his strong hands force your hips down on him more; he’s controlling your every movement, his grip on you bruising as you wonder if it’ll leave a mark on you later.

“You’re already wet,” Taehyun muses, feeling the way you claw at him uselessly, throwing your head back against the wall as you try to set the pace yourself, only to fail miserably, “barely took anything and you’re already dripping all over me.”

The pleasure becomes overwhelming as Taehyun begins to litter kisses all over you, biting at you softly as he slowly begins to make his way down to your breasts; with a breathy moan, you jut out your chest, the sight making Taehyun let out an airy laugh as his eyes flicker back up to your face to watch your expression carefully.

“Such pretty tits,” Taehyun grins, kissing on top of the fabric as he watches your eyes flutter shut, his eyes flickering back down to the metal that pushes against the thin top, “which ones are you wearing today baby?”

“The ones you got me,” you reply, biting your lip as you open your eyes, clouded with lust as you grind a little harder against Taehyun’s thigh, “the heart ones.”

His warm mouth against your breast is enough to have you letting out a sigh of contentment; a hand immediately threads itself in his hair as you feel his tongue laving over your nipple through the fabric, tracing the jewelry carefully as you jut your chest out to him in response. His hand comes up to slip itself under the fabric of your swimsuit, grabbing your breast and squeezing teasingly before he begins to circle your other nipple.

You feel dizzy, his touch practically everywhere as your eyes flutter shut, trying your best to keep your noises to a minimum as you bite your lip— but it’s useless, especially with the way he’s practically on you, his warm body on yours as you’re able to feel his erection against you.

Whining hopelessly, you let go of his hair, allowing your hand to trail down as you get a good feel of his body— his strong muscles, his abs that flex in anticipation as you begin pawing at his swim shorts.

“Please please please,” you cry, slipping a hand past the barriers and stroking his dick slowly, your hips picking up the pace as you hear him groan lowly into your ear, “please fuck me Hyun, I need you so bad and I’ve been waiting so patiently for you…”

“Have you?” Taehyun asks, relishing in the way your hand struggles to keep a pace, shivering slightly at the way you tighten your grip on him for a second, “because all seen today is the way my little attention whore of a girlfriend can’t survive if my eyes aren’t on her for a second.”

“Did you have fun seeing the way everyone else drooled over you?” He asks, pulling your hand away from him harshly before he’s stepping in between your legs, hooking one of them around his waist before he begins to grind against you, “did you like seeing me jealous, sweet thing?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you gasp, feeling him prod against your entrance as he unties your beach skirt with deft fingers, the cloth fluttering to the ground as he begins to grind against you harder, “I didn’t know—!”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” He mocks, taking pity on you for a second before his gaze is hardening again, “you never know, dumb little thing.”

It’s almost shameful how hard your pussy clenches at his words; you’ve made a mess of your bottom as Taehyun groans, eyes catching the way you’ve left a damp spot already.

“God, you really can’t control yourself, hmm?” He asks, cooing at you softly as he takes in the way you’ve already begun to tear up. The sound of distant voices has him pausing, and you feel as though you’re afraid to breathe as your wide eyes meet Taehyun’s.

“Did Taehyun leave already?” The voice is immediately recognizable as Taehyun narrows his eyes, listening to Yeonjun, one of the other lifeguards on rotation today, talk to someone else.

“Yeah… he left a few minutes ago,” Jay responds, and you can’t help but raise a brow as Taehyun takes a step away from you, about to mouth what are you doing? before he’s sinking to his knees before you, throwing a leg over his shoulder as you can only watch helplessly.

“With that one girl?” Yeonjun asks, your eyes widening as you glance over in the direction the sound comes from; you’re quickly brought to the man in front of you as he begins to litter kisses all over your inner thigh, biting the skin softly as he murmurs eyes on me. Shakily, you nod, letting out a shaky breath as the conversation from the two filters back to you two once more.

“Yeah, you saw her?” Jay says— Taehyun’s nimble fingers are undoing the ties of your bottoms with such ease that you can’t help but gasp as the fabric slips off, your pussy left for display as your boyfriend takes in how needy you are with a satisfied smile.

Taehyun’s tongue is warm and teasing as he circles it over your clit, letting his spit coat you freely before he’s pressing firm kisses against your bud— you're forced to slap a hand over your mouth as he begins to suck on it, his tongue running over the sensitive bud as you feel your thighs shaking around his head; his hair is wet and ticklish as it touches the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and you’re forced to concentrate in order to not let an embarrassing sound slip from your lips.

“Man, of course I did— she was fucking hot,” Yeonjun’s confession is enough to have Taehyun working harder, fingers prodding at your entrance and eagerly stretching you out as you choke back on a moan— in any other situation, you would be loud enough that Taehyun would have to stop to tease you about it, but the thought of either of them hearing you was much too mortifying as Taehyun began to slowly pump his fingers.

Your body said otherwise, however.

“I saw you give her those drinks for free,” Yeonjun teased, and you listened to the way Jay simply groaned at the reminder; you, on the other hand, were forced to remain quiet, your eyes rolling to the back of your head the moment Taehyun added a third finger, picking up his pace and bringing you closer to your high as you began to rock your hips against his face subconsciously, feeling his tongue beginning to wander as it licked all over your pussy— curling his fingers, you sighed, feeling the way he flattened his tongue against your clit before he began to pump his fingers once more.

“I thought I’d try to make a move on her or something,” Jay confesses, the embarrassed tone to his voice not lost on you as you feel yourself grow hot— your hand presses harder against your mouth as you reach down to thread your fingers through Taehyun’s hair, pulling him closer against your pussy as you subtly try to communicate that you’re close; he seems to get the hint as he does his best to keep his ministrations up, your eyes squeezing shut as their conversation continues to flow into your ears.

“But that was before I knew she was his girl,” Jay says, sighing as Yeonjun replies with an incredulous seriously? “Yeah, you should’ve seen the way he looked at me when he caught on, man. I was scared for my life.”

You’re sure you know how Taehyun was looking at him— at least, if it’s any resemblance to the way he looks at you now, his eyes filled with pure possessiveness and anger that it has you coming undone in seconds, a weak moan escaping through your hand as you squeeze your eyes shut. Taehyun helps you ride out your orgasm diligently, the lewd sounds of his tongue cleaning you up making you flustered as you cover your face in embarrassment.

He’s sucking teasing marks all over your inner thighs once more before he’s standing back up, prying your fingers apart gently as he whispers for you to look at him; your eyes are needy as you blink up at him, and Taehyun swears you’ve never looked more beautiful as you practically glow before him, his eyes darkening at the reminder that you’re all his— his coworkers could only dream of getting close to you, let alone having you in the position he does now.

“My pretty girl,” he sighs out, smiling at the way you throw your arms over his shoulders, bringing him in closer until you’re pulling him in for a tender kiss— it doesn’t last long however, your breathy whines making Taehyun press against your cunt once more, feeling how much wetter it’s gotten as he begins to kiss you senseless.

“My girl,” he repeats, pulling away to trail his kisses down to your neck, beginning to suck carelessly as he feels you reach down to pull his cock out, “all mine. Mine.”

His sudden possessiveness is new to you as you can only remain pliant under him, allowing him to do whatever he wants with you as he finally aligns himself at your entrance; biting your lip, you bury your head in the crook of Taehyun’s neck, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel him tease you— rubbing the head of his cock up and down your slit, feeling the way you clench around nothing as he grinds against you subtly— it’s enough to have you digging your nails into him, whining into his ear that you need more as you feel his tip begin to nudge at your clit; you think you might lose it as you feel his precum drip all over your cunt, your hips shifting toward him involuntarily to try and chase the feeling.

Your mouth is falling open the moment he’s entering you; stretching you out, sliding in inch by inch as he feels your pussy fluttering around him uncontrollably— he can feel the way you’re gasping against his skin, and he’s hooking your leg over his waist once more as he presses you firmly against the wall of the building.

You’re shaking like a leaf against him; whining for more, biting and kissing at his skin absentmindedly as you grind against him, your cunt dripping and sucking him in as the thought of keeping quiet slowly escapes your mind.

It’s enough to have Taehyun tugging you back, pulling on your hair teasingly before he’s planting his hand firmly over your mouth— his eyes never leave yours, the conversation of the two men nearby muddled in your ears as Taehyun begins to move.

It’s slow at first, the grind of his hips against yours allowing his cock to hit deep into you, the wet sounds of your cunt around him making you feel slightly shy before the thought is completely thrown out the window— you could care less of what’s happening around you as he begins to thrust roughly against you, your body rocking from the motion and your eyes threatening to flutter shut as you feel his cock hit against your sweet spot; but you refrain from doing so, much more entranced by his gaze as he slowly begins to pick up the pace, the sounds that come from you getting more difficult to muffle as you feel yourself getting overwhelmed by the pleasure.

The reminder that there are two people that could hear you has you looking over to where they stand, feeling your heartbeat pick up from the anxiety as you eye that direction carefully— you’re quickly snapped back to reality the moment Taehyun is jerking your head back to him gently, tightening his hold on you as his gaze darkens.

“Eyes on me,” he whispers, rolling his hips just the way you like as though to make a point.

Eyes on him. Eyes only on him, you think, struggling to think anything coherent as his hand reaches up to pull your breasts out from your top, the flesh spilling out and beginning to bounce freely from the way Taehyun is fucking you— the heart jewelry that adorns your nipples shine at him, the sight making your boyfriend let out a weak moan as you feel him twitch inside you.

“So lucky to have you,” Taehyun sighs, reaching over to your other leg as he briefly lets go of your mouth— not before taking one of your hands and placing it over your mouth, pressing his hand firmly over your own as he gives you a stern look— and he hoists you up, leaving you completely at his mercy as he begins to bounce you on his cock, the feeling making you slap your other hand over your mouth as you eyes roll back from the pleasure.

“Stupid little airhead, only has eyes for me,” he rambles, laughing quietly to himself before it breaks out into another moan— he’s practically driving you into the wall behind you as he fucks into you roughly, able to set a much faster pace as he watches your tits bounce in his face lewdly, “god, so glad to have you all to myself— you’re perfect, cute little pussy was made for me.”

You clench down on him at that, feeling as though you’re going crazy from the pleasure— that, and the way your boyfriend looks, feeling your nails dig into your cheeks as you take in his messy, wet hair, his tan skin and muscles that flex from using his strength on you, and his face that’s contorted with pleasure as his lips become bruised with how much he’s biting on them— in an effort to keep himself quiet, he hovers over you, placing his head directly next to yours so he can moan and whisper to you freely.

“Wanna cum?” He asks, feeling the way you’re beginning to clench uncontrollably; frantically, you nod, tears beginning to pool in your eyes as you look at him with pure desperation in your eyes.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he grins, knowing that you’re too fucked to even speak correctly, “mine, and only mine.”

You’re trying to choke back on your sounds as you wonder if doing that is even possible— then he slows down, grinding into you and burying his cock as deep as possible as it begins to kiss your cervix— coyly, he leans down, his hair tickling your collarbone as he wraps his mouth around your breast; circling your nipple with his tongue lewdly, covering it in his spit and tracing over the heart-piercing before he’s blowing air on it— you’re shaking from the feeling of him, unsure of how you’ll do what he asks without blowing your cover completely.

“Hyun…” you whine out quietly for him, sniffling as he slows down his pace, almost stilling inside you as he watches fat tears run down your cheeks with cruel eyes, “Hyun, I’m only yours— I only want you, no one else, promise I only think of you, love you so much…”

The way you’re hiccuping from the effort to choke back on your sounds has Taehyun groaning, taking a deep breath in order not to come before he’s pressing his lips firmly against yours— then he’s resuming his pace, watching as you quickly quiet yourself as your body bounces from how hard he’s fucking you.

It’s too much— you’re falling apart the moment he’s bringing a hand over to circle your clit, supporting you against the wall and holding you up with his other arm as he watches you fall apart, his mouth opening in a silent moan as you tighten around him, pleading breathily for him to cum inside as you do so.

“Yeah? Want me to fill you up?” He asks, riding out your orgasm as he buries his head into your neck, “have you dripping with my cum while other people try to flirt with you? Give you a little reminder of who you belong to, fuck…”

With one last harsh thrust, he buries himself deep in you, finally coming undone and filling you up with his hot cum as you moan against your hand— the harsh bite he leaves on the juncture of your neck has you whimpering weakly, hands becoming limp and falling against his chest as he presses the rest of his body against you, holding you up as the two of you pant and try to regain your composure.

“You’re too good to me,” Taehyun finally sighs out, placing soothing kisses over the place he bit you, listening to the way you laugh softly in response. You’re throwing your arms over his neck as one of them moves to his nape, pulling him away from your neck and bringing him in for a sweet kiss— you’re reluctant to part as you speak, unable to hold back from pecking him between your words as you do so.

“You’re too good for me,” you say, pausing to give him a kiss, irresistible as always as he laughs breathily at your words, “you’re always putting up with me.”

“Not your fault you’re irresistible,” Taehyun smiles, watching as you grow shy under his comment despite the fact that he’s still bottomed out inside you, “I still love showing you off.”

“I wanna show you off too, you know,” you pout, hitting his chest gently before you’re pausing, biting your lip uncertainly as you tilt your head, “if you’re okay with that.”

Taehyun realizes quickly what you’re referring to, unable to stop the fond laugh that escapes him as he takes a second to think.

“Sure. I’d like that.”

It takes a second of you celebrating cheerfully to finally sober up and ask Taehyun to put you down— your legs are wobbly as you feel your face grow hot, his cum immediately leaking out of you as you whine in embarrassment for him to not stare— he can only shake his head in amusement at your antics, helping you clean up with the only thing he’s able to find at the moment.

“Wait, that’s my favorite beach skirt,” you whine, not putting up much of a fight as Taehyun kneels before you, your leg thrown over his shoulder as he cleans you up, placing gentle kisses along your inner thighs as he does so.

“I can wash it,” he replies, unable to hide his grimace as he tucks it away in his pocket; the sight is enough to have you giggling, readjusting your swimsuit and fixing your appearance before you’re hiding behind Taehyun, asking him if his coworkers are gone yet.

“The coast is clear,” he hums, scanning the nearly empty beach as he spots your friends sitting by the ocean, chatting idly amongst themselves.

“You don’t think they heard us, right?” You ask, blinking at him innocently as the belief that you did a good job keeping quiet runs through your head— the sight is enough to have Taehyun soften, letting out a sigh before he’s nodding his head.

“Yeah. You were so good for me.”

Taehyun knows better, though— but he doesn’t really mind, because now he knows that he won’t have to worry about either coworker flirting with you the next time you come to the beach.

1K notes · View notes

beefboyandbabygirl · 1 year

Text

Girl Code (18+)

pairing: student!jihoon x student!reader

genre: college au, angst, smut (MDNI), lotta crack, friends to...?

description: when you and your friends find out jihoon's been writing down everything you've off-handedly said about "girl code", you simply have to know why.

warnings: brief bondage/restraint, heavy insecurity on readers part, self-doubt, dirty talk, pet names, dom!uzi, sub!reader, desperation, oral (f. receiving), praise (f. receiving), muscly uzi, unprotected sex (dont do it guys....), pining, bad writing, red velvet are your friends, theyre super fun, mingyu is excluded badly, he just wants to b a part of it :(

quotes from my creative director (@joshibambi): "i am simply a hole for him", "pussy? wet. heart? pounding. me? yearning", "every1 talks ab sapphic yearning but what ab just. jihoon-yearning?",

wordcount: 12.0k

a/n: idk why but this is deffo not as good as my previous works. n e way also sorry to @onlyseokmins bc i promised her a seokmin fic WHICH IS STILL COMING i just felt like this was kinda genius and needed to happen first ok bye

It’s mid-spring, and the world is blossoming and flowering around you. Grass sprouts greener, plants drink in the heavy rainfall and flowers are blooming, slowly unfurling their pedaled heads to crane into the beautiful sky. At odds with nature, people walk the street to be drenched in the downpour, only to be dried off by the shyly peeking sun, and to have freckles surfacing on their skin and hair, getting frizzy from the humidity, when they’re biking along the streets. It’s serene, it’s natural. You’re reminded to love the place that birthed and fostered you.

But that’s out there.

You’re sitting, bottom planted firmly on the sticky surface of Joshua Hong’s couch, looking distantly into artificially colored lights, flickering across the floor, where people are dancing on one another in skimpy outfits and makeup, and everything is very far from the moon and the flowers.

“The second one is a lie!” Seulgi yells over the music, cup of god knows what in her hand, and slurring her words.

Sitting on the couch and stools surrounding the coffee table is you, Mingyu, Soonyoung, Seulgi, Irene, Yeri and Jihoon.

“No, I know she likes anal!” Screams Soonyoung giddily (forever oblivious to his surroundings), receiving a glare from your roommate, Yeri. You were currently playing two truths and one lie, and attempting to discern whether Yeri was lying about being on television, lying about having black belt in taekwondo or lying about having tried anal. “It’s about whether or not she’s tried it!” Irene rolls her eyes and huffs. “My point still stands,” Soonyoung grins and eyes Yeri, and you watch somewhat disgusted, reminding yourself to ask her about it later.

You’re sitting next to Mingyu, utterly small next to him, and the two of you are only watching the scene unfold, sharing snickering glances when something funny happens. “I’ve never done taekwondo!” Yeri screams at Soonyoung, and you and Mingyu fall back in your seats laughing and slapping each other, when Soonyoung’s face drops for a moment.

“They’re so dumb!” Mingyu cries, and you nod buried in a decorative pillow.

“Screw this noise, I’m finding Junhui,” Hoshi mumbles, a little deflated from his loss. Then he’s standing up, cargo-pants and all, and trudging away, pouting over his shoulder when he hears the laughing continue.

Jihoon - who’s been incredibly quiet and observant throughout the night, only sipping a single bottle of beer, slaps his thighs. You’re hoping in his ever searching eyes he hasn’t seen the way you’ve been staring at him all night. Are you drunk or is he so complex and sexy, and wearing a t-shirt that shows his huge arms and pants that show his thick thighs? You’re almost certain you can chalk this up to only ever seeing him in sweaters that totally swallow him - almost. “I’m going too,” he announces, standing up and not leaving much room for argument.

“Why? I’ll be the only guy,” Mingyu whines, pout pushing out his bottom lip. You scoff. You know he loves feeling like he’s one of the girls. “Paper,” Jihoon says, and adds more, when he realizes he’s being so curt it’s almost rude: “Tomorrow. I have a paper tomorrow.”

The group seems to accept this, knowing the stresses of college are weighing on each of them heavily. But your eyes narrow. You’re not buying it.

You watch him sling his jacket across his body, biting back more words. He’s quiet, sure, but never this quiet. With how he’d slumped back in his seat all night, almost bent into himself, there must be something bugging him. Jihoon’s eyes meet yours. It’s a half a second, but you feel like he knows you’re on to him, the way he hides his face under his long, black hair again and turns his back to you. All of a sudden he’s hurrying away, excusing himself half-heartedly. You narrow your eyes even further and purse your lips.

“Be right back,” you say. Seulgi pouts.

You’re trudging after him, fussing with your hair all of a sudden and adjusting your dress and - God, you care so much how he sees you. But you suppose you care more that he’s okay. That’s why you’re squeezing through the dancefloor, getting grinded on by several anonymous bodies, before pushing out to the entrance and finally breathing air that wasn't coming directly from someone else’s mouth.

“Jihoon, wait-”

You catch up to him by the doorway, where he’s stopped his journey, to slip Vernon a bill for a ziploc of mediocre weed.

“Jihoon!”

Finally, he hears you and he turns to you, where you’re regaining your last leg from the mass of bodies. Vernon is apparently still sober enough (you wouldn’t have thought so) to understand time and place, so he gently pushes past the two of you into the crowd.

You’re not ready for the look he gives you. Eyes so sharp and face darkened from his shaggy hair, curling into his face, and frowning and furrowing his brows as if he couldn’t understand why you’re here.

It sends your out-reaching body slamming backwards. You’re shrinking away from him, eyes flitting downwards self-consciously. You consider your history with him for a moment, weighing it in a glass of vodka-cranberry. This is pathetic, you realize, and it feels terrible. You’re pathetic and desperate and clingy and why would you feel the need to ask him this.

And then one moment to the next you’re scolding yourself for thinking that way. For thinking it was wrong to reach out a helping hand.

Jihoon apparently has enough of you debating with the angel and the devil on your shoulder, because he speaks finally: “What is it?”

There’s a pause.

“Are you okay?”

Another pause. You watch Jihoon’s face soften in shock, mouth falling open for a split second, before he’s closing it again and looking away. The ziploc crunches in his fingers, when they tighten and he shoves it into his inner pocket.

“I’m good,” he says.

“Okay.”

And this time and even longer pause! You can barely take it, the way he looks at you, and it almost feels like he suspicious of you, like he’s trying to discern what you’re doing here in front of him.

“Have a good night,” you say. He nods slowly and begins to walk off, and you watch him and the way the moonlight fills the entrance, so you’re coated in for a moment. Then it disappears with a slam of the door. You let out a shaky sigh.

Why did you do that? Why would you even think to do something like that?

You decide against standing there for any longer, not allowing yourself to overanalyze it, and you turn around to go back to your friends. Yet again comes the song and dance of trying to navigate the most terrifying human cesspool, face scrunching up in disgust as you make your way back to the sofa, almost unscathed, except you think you accidentally got caught in an armpit.

“Y/n! Come quick, so you can be a part of this momentous- momentous.. Moment!” You hear Mingyu calling and when he’s finally in view, you realize something very, very terrible is about to happen.

Mingyu’s holding a leather notebook between his fingers - Jihoon’s notebook. It’s the one he’s always writing in; the one he shuts closed whenever anyone gets too close, the one he keeps tucked under his arm at all times; the one he’s inexplicably writing in, even if he’s blasted on Vernon’s weed. And it’s private and he’s somehow forgotten it.

“We’re not opening it,” you say immediately, power-walking back to your spot in the couch. Mingyu snaps his head towards you, and he almost looks offended at that. “What do you mean we’re not opening it, of course we’re opening it!”

“It could be private, Gyu!” You retort and Seulgi chimes from her spot on the couch: “I’m with Y/n.”

“No, what? Fuck you guys! We’re seeing what’s in that notebook!-” Irene spits. “Thank you!” Mingyu says.

“Yeri, it’s up to you,” you say, eyeing your roommate sharply, as you sit down again. The entire group turns to her, fury behind their retinas, and she gulps, shrinking a little.

“Me, I just…” she shrugs abashedly and trails off. There’s a moment where you think she’ll side with you and leave the poor boy alone. You have some semblance of faith in your friendship, and maybe, maybe she’ll back you-

“He’s a music major, it’s probably just angsty lyrics, now open!”

“Yes!” Irene and Mingyu gloat, and despite wanting to respect his privacy, you scoot closer to Mingyu (he scoffs at you, but does not mention it further, as he is itching with curiosity). With a solemn, heaved sigh, as if about to unfurl the world’s grandest mysteries, Mingyu’s large hand flips the book open.

There’s no justified way to put word to the shock that follows this. The first page reads:

“Girl Code Rule #1

Guys should bring flowers on the first date. Either lilies, roses or tulips. Depends on vibe.”

There’s a confused silence - as much as silence as you can get from a bass-boosted room of drunk college students.

“What?” Irene quacks in disappointment, leaning closer to read it again. “Why-.. Go to the next page.” And Mingyu does, turning over the page and the next couple of pages follow suit.

“Girl Code Rule #2

Whoever offered the date pays for dinner. First date should always be dinner, ‘none of the bowling crap’.

Girl Code Rule #3

Guys are more attractive the more hygienic they are.

Girl Code Rule #4

It’s an ick to wear skinny jeans. *Google what an ick is.”

They come one after another, each more confusing than the last, and it’s not until number 5, that the heavy, suffocating spread of realization begins blooming among you. Clarity - your minds open like leaves of a flower in spring.

“Girl Code Rule #5

The cinema on Attacca street is a nightmare and we hate them. Never go there.”

“That’s-” you begin.

“Us!” Yeri finishes, pointing her finger at the page but directing her eyes, wide and pupils small from shock, towards you. The group exchange gaping glances. It’s undeniable - the cinema thing is relating to an incident that had happened months prior. You refuse to go into detail, but it had gotten grim.

“These are all things we’ve said!” Seulgi snatches the book out of Mingyu’s hold, beginning to mindlessly scroll through the book with furrowed brows, etch growing deeper and deeper in outrage.

“That’s- This is crazy. That’s so not cool!” You shriek and Yeri nods in agreement: “Girl code is for girls only!”

There’s a general agreement on the outrageousness of this. That is, except for one big boy on the couch.

“I meaaaan,” Mingyu is looking a little sheepish sitting in the middle of you and Yeri and Seulgi and Irene. All eyes flit towards him, small and sharp. He’s talking slowly, lowly and carefully: “You guys have to have said it out loud while he was there, so you weren’t exactly being discreet…”

“Men don’t usually listen to women, we thought we were in the clear!” Irene hisses.

“No man has ever listened to me in my entire life,” Seulgi deadpans, looking at Mingyu from beyond the book. Mingyu throws his hands out, incidentally hitting Yeri in the face, and ignoring her pained groans when she falls back on the couch. “I listened. Just now. Check that off your list-”

“Why is he writing this down..?” You mumble, seemingly the only one grasping the gravity of the situation (although maybe there is none? You can never tell when it’s with him) and it truly is such a mystery. Was he attempting to pry open the minds of women? You don’t exactly think he has trouble finding dates, so you’re left a little at a loss.

“Let’s ask him-” Mingu says.

“He just left, dumbass,” Irene spits and you can tell she’s almost disgusted with herself for ever siding with him.

“Let’s ask him tomorrow, then, after class,” you say decidedly.

“Ugh, don’t talk about tomorrow..” Yeri groans, and you can see the regret settling in because why do all the hot guys throw weeknight parties? “Y/n, can we go home?” she asks and you’re nodding immediately.

“Seul?”

“Yep.”

And in the span of just a couple of seconds, your entire friend group is packing up, Seulgi stuffing the book into her tote bag. Mingyu’s still sitting, much smaller when you’re standing over him, and when he has that almost starstruck look on his face. “I’m so glad I’m a part of this, guys.”

“You’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” Mingyu counters, clearly thinking otherwise. He’s grinning stupidly. “Hey, wait, where are we confronting him tomorrow?” he calls out suddenly, but you’re already on your way out.

“GUYS! WHERE ARE WE MEETING?” _____________________________

You, Yeri, Seulgi, and Irene sit side by side on the middle-back row in class, eyeing Jihoon from the peaks. It’s a quiet, morning class, and the teacher rambles on while the four of you glare down at him. Or at least they glare. You hope it’s not noticeable how there’s something softer in your eyes - something almost tender. He’s fidgeting a little. Maybe he feels the pairs of eyes on the back of his black-buried head or maybe he’s noticed the book is gone and he feels the consequences coming.

It was certainly a strange situation to tackle. Mingyu did have a point, if it was a private conversation, you certainly had not discussed it as such. And even then, was there a crime in what he was doing? You just couldn’t understand how Jihoon possibly felt the need to garner all this information on women. He’d never had trouble picking up girls. You would know.

You shake the terrible, terrible thought away, when Irene speaks up: “The coward is all nervous.”

“Okay, let’s calm down. We can’t know he’s an evildoer, before we find out his true intentions.” Seulgi reasons, a hand soothing over Irene’s arm. Yeri nods softly. “God, I wish class was over.”

And suddenly it was. Well, twenty more minutes of suffering through a class that was totally lost, picked up by the pollen-saturated wind. Then the professor is excusing himself and wiping the board.

Never in your life had your group been so fast at packing up their things, pencils and computers shoved down bags, before you’re strutting (model-walking) over to Jihoon. “We need to talk to you,” Yeri says, once she’s in front of his desk, hand on the wood. Jihoon looks up from where he’s packing his bag, eyes peeking through the thick strands of hair. He nods. He knows.

As you wait for students to exit the class (Minghao giving Jihoon a confused grimace, before he squeezes out), you study Jihoon. He’s still sitting, and you’re all towering over him. His pale skin is glowing in the light and he purses his lip and bounces his leg - God, his thick leg - in nervous await.

Students are slipping out the door in droves and when the last, tired body escapes, Seulgi reaches into her bag and pulls out the leather-bound book. “We read it.”

“I figured,” he mutters. He’s avoiding your eyes, flinching a little when Irene slams her hand onto the book. “So, why have you been writing down the girl code?”

Jihoon sighs. His lips make a tight line, and you can see how he wonders what to say. The pause would’ve been more tense had you not had the girls with you.

“The girl code is for girls only,” Yeri supplies.

“Well, you weren’t exactly being discreet about it-”

“Just answer the question, Jihoon!” Seulgi snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. “This is, like, top-level strange.”

“Alright!” Jihoon throws his hands up in the air. His eyes flit to you, totally quiet and scratching your nails on the wooden table. You look away. He sighs a little. “I… It’s..”

You almost want to hug him when he buries his face in his hands, tugging at the ends of his hair.

“You can’t tell anyone.”

The four of you exchange glances.

“We won’t.”

He pauses.

“It’s.. IhaveacrushonthisgirlandIdon’twanttomessitup.”

There’s a beat, where the information glides cooly into your skulls and you begin to process. Jihoon - cold, cynical, loner Jihoon - has a crush on a girl and is trying to improve himself for her?

Holy hell.

“Jihoon!” cries Seulgi and Irene chimes in, equally as adoring and diffused: “That’s so cute, you should’ve just said something!”

There’s an uproar of coos and cries and oohs and ahhs and compliments being thrown at Jihoon and he just sits there, cheeks blazing bright red, although with a little, shy smile on his lips.

And then there’s you. It’s so dumb. Why can’t you help the slight disappointment that lowers on you, like the fog does in the blooming season? Why can’t you smile wider, happier for Jihoon? Why do you feel this way? Does it really take all this commotion for you to realize how much you want him? You half-smile and look at your shoes. Just as how your feelings blossomed like a flower in spring, you hope they, too, are destined to wither away once more.

“Congratulations,” you say to him, giving him a dignified nod. Jihoon looks at you for a moment, before he smiles tightly and thanks you.

“Jihoon!” Yeri says, and you know you’re about to hate her for what comes next: “We can totally help you with the crush!”

Jihoon’s eyes widen. “Really? I mean- you guys don’t have to-”

“No, no! You can come to our girls’ nights and we can tell you everything!” Irene cuts in, nodding in reassurance. Jihoon smiles to himself a little sheepishly.

“Who is it?” Seulgi asks, and you can tell her heart is triple its usual size.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Come on!” Seulgi begs, but Jihoon is steadfast. He gives her cheeky smile and shakes his head again. “No way. It’s my secret.”

“We can keep a secret!” Yeri begs, bending her knees in plea. You, unusually quiet, speak up again: “We can.”

There’s a pause while Jihoon looks at you again. He narrows his eyes and it’s almost like he’s trying to decode you. Maybe he’s noticed you’re just as quiet as he was, at that party. You hate yourself when your heart picks up at the thought of him caring about you.

Suddenly he’s snapping out of it and smiling and shaking his ruffled head of hair again. “No. If girl code was supposed to be a secret, then I don’t even wanna think about telling you.”

This time there’s no talkback, only somewhat embarrassed nods.

“We deserve that.” _____________________________

You come back to your dorm room that afternoon, and lie down in bed. Thoughts of Jihoon plague your mind and you feel disease-ridden, attempting to push away the thought with the same useless reminder: You should do your paper, gotta do your paper now, it’s due very soon…

But no matter how many times you tell yourself, you can’t overcome the crushing feeling in your chest, like your entire rib cage is being compressed.

You know when these emotions started. It was at the Halloween party, six months ago, and Jihoon had been wearing a cop-outfit and you, with a more humorous approach, a lobster costume (Mingyu was a chef). Somehow, he’d still found you sexy though, because he was laughing in the bathroom of Seungcheol’s frat house, ripping the costume off of you.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna fuck a lobster,” he’d said in between kisses, laughing again as he caught sight of the costume, discarded on the floor. You giggled. “Me neither. There are plenty of fish in the sea, you know?”

And he’d thrown his head back, still with that black hair, still in that sexy fucking uniform, and his nose all scrunched and adam’s apple bopping in time with his joyful laughter. “Stop making me laugh while I’m trying to get you wet!”

“I’m already wet,” you’d shrugged, “you’re hot.”

And before you knew it you were handcuffed and he was rutting into you against the sink. His cock was disappearing and reappearing from your pussy, hooked onto him like a vice. Groaning and listening to your withheld moans, he’d left the most sinful hickies along your shining neck, while mumbling desperate praises to you: “You’re so pretty, N/n, letting me have you like this, so fucking hot.”

You supposed you’d buried those feelings, because you felt so pathetic for catching feelings from a one night stand.

And it is pathetic. And you are pathetic, and desperate, and alone, and God, is it even Jihoon, or is it the way it suddenly feels like no one wants you?

“Stop that,” Yeri says suddenly, lying on her bed on the opposite side of your room. You tilt your tired eyes towards her. “What?”

“I can hear you thinking. What’s up?” She said nonchalantly, dropping her phone, that she’d been mindlessly scrolling through. Cheeks bunched up on your pillow and mascara smudging under your eyes, you look at her and sigh.

“Just tired,” you hum. _____________________________

Jihoon has been adopted. For a whole week following that incident, suddenly, your friends are taking him with them everywhere, and your safe space is invaded by his hair, his laugh, and his subtle cologne. It’s him with you during movie nights, it’s him during girls’ nights, and it’s him while you’re getting ready for a bar-night, all sitting in Irene and Seulgi’s pink-tastic room, doing makeup on the floor and on the desks and on the bed.

“I love your eye makeup,” Seulgi says to Yeri (it’s a pink number with glittery inner corners), under eyes totally covered in white powder, as she’s baking her makeup. Jihoon is sitting on the floor, hair tied up in two pigtails that Irene had given him. “Thank you, Seul.”

You’re doing your own makeup, working blush into your cheeks and trying not to look at him, the way he’s half-lying on the carpeted floor, looking absentmindedly into his phone. His thighs are huge, and he’s wearing gray sweatpants, and you think you’re going insane.

Irene (who’s done with her makeup before anyone else, always) looks up from her own phone. She narrows her eyes deviously. “Jihoon, what do you think of Yeri’s makeup?”

Jihoon snaps his head up, pigtails bouncing. “Uh,” he looks a little lost, when he turns his head over to Yeri, who smiles sheepishly, not totally understanding what was happening. “It’s nice.”

“Just nice?” Irene smirks, and Jihoon finally seems to catch on to the fact that this is some sort of test. Indeed it was, and you knew it from the moment Irene began to talk. Your eyes flit between them, sitting behind you in the mirror. “Can you elaborate on that?” Irene smirks.

“It’s…” Jihoon considers what to respond, almost nervous. “She looks better without makeup.”

“Son, no!”

“Never!”

“Absolutely not!”

It’s a cacophony from the girls, even a pillow is thrown at his head, which he dodges in shock. “Never say that to a girl, Jihoon! It’s rude!” Irene lectures, a finger pointedly thrown in his direction. When he doesn’t seem to get it, Yeri explains: “Imagine spending time on something, only for someone to say they’d wish you hadn’t done it all.”

Jihoon, who’s been bristling like a disturbed cat up until now, softens in understanding. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, our child, you’re learning,” Irene says, face turning back to her phone, as she apparently has lost interest in the conversation.

You watch quietly with a bemused smile, having paused your ministrations on your face, brush held in the air before you. Jihoon’s eyes flicker over to you, an unreadable expression on his face. You meet his eyes in the mirror, pitch black and blank. You look away quickly.

You can feel him, still looking at you, and you feel self-conscious at the way you crooken your back to better focus on your face. What’s he thinking? That you look ugly? That your back is ugly? Your makeup?

“Are you okay, Y/n?”

You freeze. His voice is soft as ever, and you understand now, better than ever, why he’s a music major, because it’s so melodious and sweet in your ears. All eyes in the room snap to you and you eye them all in the mirror. “Yep.”

Yeri sighs, exasperated. “She’s been depresso for, like, a week.”

“I’ve been fine,” you correct, smudging out the pencil on your lid. “I’ve been fineeee,” Yeri mocks, making her voice nasally and high. You glare at her through the mirror, but all she does is stick her tongue out at you.

“I’m just stressed out, okay? I've got a lot on my plate,” you mumble bitterly, and it’s true, because every time you’re trying to do assignments, papers, write notes and focus in class, you think of him, and how he doesn’t want you. And one wrong thing leads to another, and then you’re thinking about how no one wants you, and you haven’t had a boyfriend since you entered college. And then it’s something about how you look, or it’s something about how you are, as a person, and you just sit at your desk with this terrible feeling in you gut, trying not to cry, or hoping that your sniffles don’t overpower Replay by Shinee blasting in Yeri’s headphones, as she’s eating crackers in bed, just a few feet away from you.

“Just talk to us if you need anything, okay?” Seulgi frowns and you smile at her, hoping it looks convincing. She nods at you, turning back to her handheld mirror. But alas one person stays staring at you. You avoid his eyes, trying not to look like you’re about to cry.

“I can arrange a spa day? We can get our toes done,” Irene asks, and she wiggles her toes in the air for emphasis. “Ooo, yes!” Yeri exclaims.

Finally, Jihoon’s attention is ripped from you, wincing at the thought of another person handling his feet. “Can I skip out on that, maybe?”

Irene scratches her chin, pretending to think about it. Then she says, bluntly and directly: “Nah.”

_____________________________

“Let me come with you to the spa!”

“No! Jihoon, walk faster,” like a mother, Seulgi is grabbing Jihoon’s wrist and dragging him further from the tall, huge man behind you. Mingyu is following you all like a dog, whining and crying, and pouting. “Please, guys! I don’t wanna go with Seungcheol and Jeonghan, they’re mean!”

“Spa day is for girls only!” Yeri yells over her shoulder, as the five of you stumble away from Mingyu, crying out to you. “What about him?” Mingyu yells and points.

“Don’t listen to him, sweetie,” Seulgi tells Jihoon and he nods very seriously. “He’s our adopted son! Now shoo!”

Finally Mingyu gives up the chase, and you disappear behind the outerwall, beginning down a busy street towards Irene’s favorite spa. “I don’t get how you’re friends with that guy,” Irene says, elbowing you, and you both snicker. “He’s a pup,” you shrug.

The streets are filled with people, the sun is shining, and it’s spring, and everything should be great, because you’re with your friends. But he’s here too. Swallowed up by his hoodie, pitch black in a sea of colors, he’s still here and his very presence has you tense, and yearning for the touch of a masseuse. The streets that had grown so familiar, that you thought you had learnt and mastered, had become so foreign, and you’re trying to escape into yourself, trying to find a backdoor out of the constant blabbering, teaching Jihoon the importance of gossip and female communication and companionship. These are your friends. The sadness eventually musters into frustration.

Soon enough, you’re sighing so hard you think your soul escapes with it through your mouth. A spa-worker begins massaging your feet, and working her thumbs into your sore soles. Irene laughs at your reaction, two seats over. “Told you all you needed was a spa day!” she beams. Yeah, a spa day and maybe a new friend group that wouldn’t adopt the guy who you should certainly not be around!

And speaking of him, he’s sitting in the chair right next to yours, grimacing and flinching back from the disdained worker.

“What are you gonna tell her?” Yeri quips, smiling at the end of the row. Jihoon takes a second to snap out of his constant flinching, looking over at her nervously. “Oh, uh…”

The girls are all looking at him expectantly, but you’re squeezing your eyes shut and wishing your ears could shut too.

“Probably, like.. ‘Hey, I like you, would you maybe wanna go out on a date sometime?”

“Pssh!”

“Absolutely not!”

“As if!”

Jihoon is a little flabbergasted.

“Here’s what you’re actually gonna say,” Seulgi leans over in her chair towards him, directing him with a finger in her armrest. You hear Jihoon scramble in his chair, and you know he’s taking out that stupid notebook again.

Seulgi lowers her voice to mimic his, when she talks again: “‘Hi, crush, how are you?’ Wait for her response… Then: ‘I’ve always thought you were very beautiful. Your very presence takes my breath away. I would like to take you on a date, would that be okay with you?’ And be suave about it.”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAH.”

Yeri and Irene burst into laughter, hitting the armrests of their chairs and covering their bright smiles with their hands. Even you snort in amusement. “What?!” Seulgi exclaims, outraged. “What’s so funny about that?”

“Nothing, I just-...” Irene wafts herself, trying to ease away that tears of glee that spring in her eyes. “I can’t imagine any man, let alone our son, saying that to a woman.. Wow.”

“It’s good! I would be flattered,” Seulgi defends herself viciously. Yeri snorts from her seat: “It’s not a drama, Seul!”

“Well!” Seulgi scoffs, twisting her upper body to face Yeri now. “Maybe I would like my life to be a drama, thank you very much!”

Their argument continues viciously, insults and laughter being thrown at each other left and right and you can almost begin to tune them own, letting the feeling of pads on your feet and a gentle, cool brush on the nail lure you to sleep.

Then there’s a hand on your forearm. You peek an eye open and see him - God, it just has to be him - leaning over his chair to gently grasp you. He looks at you through lashes, and he’s so sincere that it kills you when he says: “I can tell you’re not okay.”

You’re a little taken aback, one second prior you were being lulled to sleep and now he’s talking to you, so low, so seriously, while the girls try to attack each other behind him. You wish your heart isn’t suddenly galloping, and you wish his warmth on your arm and radiating onto you isn’t so nauseating. “I-”

“Don't say you are, when you're not. You’re very obvious, you know?” he hums, smiling softly when he sees you flush from his intense gaze. You avert your eyes nervously. “Uhm. I just.. I don’t really want to talk about it, Hoon.”

You flick your eyes back up to his to survey his reaction. His expression softens at the nickname, and he holds your gaze for a moment longer, before he nods in understanding, all the warmth of his closeness disappearing, when he sits back down in his seat.

“That’s okay,” he smiles at you in reassurance, and your heart leaps, and you can’t help but think that he doesn’t need anymore training to make his crush - whoever the lucky girl is - completely and totally happy for several lifetimes.

He’s a beautiful, sun-beamed flower, where he sits, light flitting through the store-front windows. You’d be happy for several lifetimes. If only he wanted you. _____________________________

“What is going on?!”

It’s Mingyu, and he’s somehow found you, as you’re trudging out of your latest class, suddenly hot on your trail and outraged about something or other. “What?” you mumble, heading to the cafe near the end of the hall.

“With Jihoon?! Why does he get to be your son when I don’t?!” Mingyu wafts his arms and pouts and you cringe, leaning away from his loud voice. “Ugh…”

“I need to know why he was writing that girl code stuff, Y/n. Why is he suddenly allowed at girls’ nights, when I’ve been trying to get in for months?!”

You take a turn into the cafe and sigh at how crowded it is, immediately placing yourself in line, Mingyu right behind you. “Calm down,” you say, just wanting a sandwich and maybe some peace and qui-

“I will not!” he snaps back, brows furrowed and a determined look on his face. You look up at him, pursing your lips in thought. Did Mingyu deserve to know? Maybe. He had been trying to get into girls’ nights forever, always going on about being ‘an honorary member’.

“I’m not sure I can tell you- Hey, can I get a tuna sandwich, please?” You say, quickly turned to the clerk behind the counter. “I won’t tell anyone, pleaseee- Can you get me one of those too? Thanks.”

You’re handed your sandwiches, and you hold both of them, drifting over to a table by the window, both of Mingyu’s hands on your shoulders and his voice in your ear: “Please, please, please, pretty please with the sugar on top?”

You plop down in your seat, simply exasperated, and hand him his sandwich. He’s settling himself down when you answer: “Okay.”

“Yes!” Mingyu fists the air in victory, mumbling self-assured under his breath: “Begging always works.” You snort and take a big bite of your sandwich.

“Stop eating and tell me!” he whines. “I’m hungry– Hey!”

Mingyu snatches the sandwich right out of your hands and grins at you deviously, dancing with it. You hate him. You hate him, but it is a little endearing.

“Jihoon has a crush on some girl and he’s been writing down the girl code in an attempt to understand women,” you deadpan, and when Mingyu’s mouth and guard drops, you snatch your sandwich back and begin gulping down hungrily.

“Are you shitting me?!” You shake your head.

“So, that's why he's allowed at girls’ night?” You nod your head.

“So, that’s why you’ve been so down?” You almost choke on your food.

“What?”

“Because you like him,” Mingyu says seriously and, with a totally stunned look on your face, you shark down the bits of sandwich in your mouth painfully. “How do you know that?!” you cry, head suddenly snapping in seventy different directions, relief washing over you, when none of your or Jihoon’s friends are around.

“Because you’ve been acting all weird around him since you fucked at Seungcheol’s Halloween party,” Mingyu shrugs. You wave your arms wildly.

“How do you know that?!” Whining, you throw yourself back in your seat, and bury your head in your hands. This couldn’t be happening. Your delicate secret, the one that could have - should have - simply faded away into summer, was now out and open, and you look out the window, and it’s spring.

“I know everything,” Mingu says ominously, giggling evilly.

“Mingyu, I will fucking kill you.”

“Fine! I needed to pee and you guys were super loud,” Mingyu pouts and takes a bite of his own sandwich. “No need to be so rude.”

“I can’t believe you know,” you groan, head collapsing on the table. Mingyu, forever and always silly, finally softens and frowns. You’re scattered.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No,” you say. Then, a moment later (in true Girl Code fashion) you’re lifting your head from the table and burying it in your hands: “I just. I don’t know, Mingyu. I feel so pathetic for liking him after a one night stand! And now he’s doing all this for another woman and he’s with us all the time…I haven’t had a boyfriend in college, Mingyu. I just feel so…” There’s a pause, when you’re trying to find the right word, and Mingyu stops breathing, looking at you and fearing the worst. Then comes the word, ripping itself from your lips:

“Unlovable.”

Mingyu’s frown deepens. Big, puppy Mingyu who’s always silly and happy, just slumps in on himself. “You’re not unlovable,” he mumbles, sounding genuinely disbelieving. You scoff.

“Thanks, Mingyu, it’s just.. That’s how it feels,” you admit, running a hand through your hair and looking at your half-eaten sandwich on the table. Mingyu’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks up again, he’s determined, and you can discern almost immediately that there’s no escaping this plan. Or he’ll for God’s sake start begging again.

“I’m going to wingman you,” he’s nodding to himself, and you can see the plan falling into place in his head, “I’m gonna wingman you and set you up with my friend at the party on Saturday!”

“Please, don’t,” you groan half-heartedly, but a piece of you brightens with hope, with summer, like maybe this was the thing you needed to get over your schoolgirl-crush on Jihoon.

“No,” Mingyu responds simply. “This is happening.” _____________________________

Indeed, it is happening.

The frat house is practically bumping with each beat of whatever pop song is playing over the speakers, and you lean into the rhythm that reverberates in the kitchen table beneath your fingers.

You somewhat wish that you hadn’t been as excited for this as you were, that you hadn’t spent hours picking out the perfect pink dress and doing your makeup, and that you aren’t hopelessly dependant on Mingyu (of all people) to find you a fuck. But you are. Putting on that dress and hoop earrings and doing your hair and declining Yeri’s invitation to the girls’ (and Jihoon’s) pre-party, you feel like you’re scrambling, like constantly falling through the air, flailing for something to ground yourself on.

Now, scanning over the tinted lights and the dancing people and feeling the slight, warm buzz of vodka in your blood, you know you need this. And still, you combat that slight anxiety, the insecurity that you hadn’t felt in years - what if Mingyu couldn’t find a single guy that wanted you?

Mingyu doesn’t seem worried though.

“Okay! We just gotta figure out who to set you up with. Take your pick,” he places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing and gauging your reaction. Your brows furrow as you shrug. Somehow, even when half the guys are objectively hot, you can’t say you find yourself drawn to any of them. You don’t linger on the feeling, fearful that maybe you’ll realize all the things they’re missing, the things they’re falling short of, are just Jihoon’s traits. “I don’t know, man. I just-..”

Mingyu senses your struggle and elects to give you his excellent guidance. “Alright, well you could do Joshua?” He’s pointing somewhere in the crowd, and sure enough, you notice Joshua, majoring in communications or something like that. “He’s a star: total hottie, super smart, sweet and considerate, and-”

“And he fucked Yeri,” you deadpan, head lolling over to look at Mingyu disapprovingly. Mingyu’s mouth falls open: “What?!”

“Yeah, like, two months ago!” you argue, wafting your hands. Mingyu’s mouth stays open, and he’s seemingly totally appalled by this.

“What?! Okay- nevermind. How about him?” He points his long limbs again, and this time you notice-

You narrow your eyes confusedly. Hopefully Mingyu was not trying to set you up with the biggest player in your year? “Jeonghan?!”

“What? No, the guy beside him, dickwad,” he playfully smacks the side of your head as you refocus your eyes. Indeed, a blonde guy is standing next to Jeonghan, seemingly whining at him. “Who’s he?”

“Lee Chan. Super sweet, great bod, a little dumb, but very doting-”

“Is he a freshman?!” you cry, almost as if it were a crime. Mingyu huffs. “You’re not making this easy, you know?!”

“I’m not dating or fucking a freshman,” you cross your arms and Mingyu senses the air of finality in your words. He sighs, slumping behind you for a moment, before he spots something across the room.

“Wonwoo! What about him?” he doesn’t even bother pointing at this point, simply tilts your head towards the man, who was currently talking to Seungcheol a little ways from the kitchen. You spot him. You suppose you’d always been a little curious about Wonwoo. From what you’d seen of him in passing, he was sweet and polite, absolutely gorgeous and extremely smart. You nod solemnly.

“I could- I could see that,” you say and Mingyu’s eyes light up. He bounces victoriously, punching the air. “He’s great, you’re- you’re gonna love him,” Mingyu delights and before you can even get another word in, Mingyu’s yelling across the room: “Hey, Wonwoo! Wonwoo, scootch over here!”

Your eyes widen in shock. “Wha- we’re doing this now? Just, on the fly? No warning?”

“It’s fine,” Mingyu waves you off, eyes trained on where Wonwoo is now walking towards you.

“Do I look okay?” your voice is wavering nervously. You still can’t help how you feel, even in your dress and your makeup. Where had all your confidence gone? The confidence with which you’d literally fucked Jihoon in a lobster-costume? Even the thought of him stings. Mingyu’s confident facade falters for only a split second at the vulnerability in your tone. His gaze softens and he looks at you: “You look great, N/n. Calm down, Wonwoo’s super nice.”

“Hey, Gyu,” Wonwoo’s voice is cool, as he approaches Mingyu. Standing in front of you and Mingyu, he briefly scans you, then acknowledges you with a nod and a sweet smile. “Wonwoo, hey, you know, I was just wondering if you’ve already done the history paper?”

Wonwoo is unamused. “I’m not doing your paper again, Mingyu.”

“Oh well, shucks, that’s simply too bad,” Mingyu (poorly) feigns annoyance and defeat, before he’s grabbing your shoulder. “Anyway, Wonwoo, have you met my very good friend, Y/n?”

You fake a smile, hoping the absolute pain of the current interaction was not showing on your face. If you’d known Mingyu was this bad at wing-manning, you would’ve gladly put up with his begging instead. You want to crawl into a hole and die, because based on Wonwoo’s smug smile, he has a pretty good understanding of what’s happening.

“Whoops, look at the time!” Mingyu looks at his wrist. He is not wearing a watch. “Damn, I guess I gotta go and- and leave my two good friends alone with each other, such a shame, uh, anyway!” As he speaks he backs further and further from you, trying to ignore the glare in your eyes, before he’s bolting at his last word.

There’s an awkward silence as soon as Mingyu’s gone. You feel like an unshelled turtle. You purse your lips and stare at your heel-clad feet.

“So, Mingyu was trying to wingman you?” Wonwoo’s voice is deep and bemused. You look at him in horror, trying to think of a way to salvage the situation.

“Yeah,” your breathe, and he immediately begins laughing. “Sorry about that, he was- he was just trying to be helpful, although it’s hard to defend him right now.”

“He’s wingmanned me before, too,” Wonwoo muses and, thank God, this was actually a good thing. You find a balance on the common ground. “Really?” you grin, looking up at him.

“Yep,” Wonwoo admits, “safe to say I did not get my dick wet.”

You laugh hard, and it feels like a switch has flipped inside you, restarting your joy-generator, because you’re laughing and hitting Wonwoo’s arm, and he’s smiling because he’s just made a pretty girl laugh.

“He’s so bad!” you say when you’re done laughing. “Everytime!” Wonwoo drawls, “Everytime he pulls that shit and he’s never wearing a watch!”

You and Wonwoo laugh together, throwing (good-hearted) snarky comments about Mingyu around, and your cheeks are rosy and shining in the kitchen-light. Finally, party still bumpin’ and pumpin’ in the near distance, your laughter dies down and you’re both half-leaning against the counter. Wonwoo looks down at you with a smug smile.

“What?” you ask, growing insecure again under his gaze. He hums.

“So you asked for me?”

“Hm?”

“When Mingyu was wingmanning you,” Wonwoo reminded you, tilting his head. “You asked for me?”

“I-” you stutter, and your heart clenches nervously, because if things had been right, if things were different at least, you would have asked for Jihoon. It’s this gut-punching guilt. It feels wrong to use him, Wonwoo, to overcome Jihoon. “He was laying down my options.”

“Options?” Wonwoo quips, brow raised questioningly, but he doesn’t interrogate further. Instead, he leans his head down, so he’s much, much closer to you, breathing hitting your face when he whispers: “But you wanted to fuck me. Isn’t that right?”

You gulp. His presence is almost suffocating. Avoiding his eyes, you flicker them onto the dancefloor, where-

Where Jihoon is storming out of the house.

You squeeze your eyes shut - something Wonwoo thinks is out of embarrassment, from the question he’s just asked you - and try to refocus on Wonwoo. Try to ignore how the thoughts about Jihoon come bubbling in your head. It was probably something with his crush. You want to do nothing more than comfort him, hold him, steal away every bad thought he may ever have.

You open your eyes, hoping that somehow seeing Wonwoo’s face would fill you with a need for him - him, and not Jihoon - but seeing him in the low lighting only serves as a reminder that Wonwoo is not him.

“I’m- I’m so sorry, Wonwoo. I gotta go. I’m really, really sorry-” you say suddenly, and immediately you’re scurrying towards the door. Wonwoo frowns, eyes following you in your path. “Did I- Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No, you were hot!” you say absent-mindedly, before you’re disappearing into the entrance, and then further along, out the door.

Wonwoo stands alone at the counter, still somewhat leaned towards your ghost in front of him, and shakes his head in confusion. “What the fuck?” _____________________________

“Jihoon?”

You exit just in time to see him, stomping on the other side of the road, armless denim jacket wafting in the wind. It’s spring, just warm enough that you’re not freezing, but still cold enough that you curl your arms around yourself. Your hair blows gently. It smells distantly like flowers.

He turns around at your voice. When he does, you know your suspicions were right. He looks so defeated. His gorgeous long hair, that usually only makes you clench your thighs together, is limp and drags him downwards. His arms hang similarly at his sides, fists clenched at the bottom, causing veins to ripple along the forearms. He stands just below a street light, spot-lighted, as if on a stage.

“Leave me alone!” he yells out to you across the road, voice breaking halfway. This does nothing to dampen his demeanor - this tough front, this anger he suddenly carries. You still in the grass beside the road, looking at him pleadingly. He can’t hold your gaze.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, Jihoon,” you begin, choosing your words carefully. “But I can just.. Support you. You don’t have to be alone right now.”

This almost seems to piss him off more, clenching his jaw, sharply defined by the harsh shadows, and steering his head away from you, like a sunflower following the sun in the sky. It hurts your heart. The way he almost seems angry with you. And yet again you’re made to feel pathetic for following him out here. Like you’re on your knees and he’s standing there in front of you, spitting on you. Why does it hurt so much? You almost wish you’d stayed with Wonwoo - that you’d followed him to his room and let him fuck you and pretended you weren’t thinking about him the entire time.

“Shouldn’t you go back inside?” he’s prickling with hostility. “You seemed like you were having a good time.”

“Jihoon,” you say breathlessly. “None of us is having a good time if you’re not.”

Whatever cog you unturned, whatever screw you unscrewed, Jihoon’s tightly wound posture unwinds, and he softens and withers before you, one hand clamping over his eyes. You take this as a sign to move towards him, heels clicking on the asphalt warning him of your advance. It’s deadly quiet, save for the heartbeat of the frat house behind you.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally lowering his hand and looking at you. You smile sympathetically, relief flooding you, when he lets you gently place a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

The two of you begin to walk in silence, and you recognize it as the path that leads back to the dormitory. It’s calm, steps becoming rhythmic and breeze easing your muscles with its cool touch. You study his face as it’s lit and unlit by the systemic presence of street lights. You’re able to put your own feelings aside for him, to be a martyr, and to sacrifice yourself to comfort him. It feels like cutting your own throat to talk to him about another woman, a woman he loves, truly, but you know it must be done.

“So,” you muster finally. “What happened in there?”

He scoffs bitterly, looking at the pavement underneath his shoes. You frown. “Nothing happened.”

“Nothing?” you repeat, a little confused.

“I didn’t tell her.”

“Oh.”

You’re honestly not the best comforter, you realize, cringing and hoping you’re not making it worse by talking to him about it. You see the faint outline of the dormitory at the end of the street.

“Why not?” you quip quietly. His mouth makes a tight line. He breathes out shakily, and you fear you’re riling him up again by asking further.

“She was talking to some other guy,” Jihoon says, eyes flitting to yours before immediately ducking back to the pavement. You furrow your brows. Could it be you? That thought nurtures the spring garden in your stomach, the one you’d been trying to kill. But the insecurity that had come with it, and with him, only manages to squander that light.

“I’m sorry that happened,” you say softly, hand finding his arm, but he pulls it away from you immediately. Ouch.

“Yeah,” he chuckles without humor.

Finally, you decide to just shut up, to stop pushing him when he’s so vulnerable, but this time it’s Jihoon who doesn’t stop speaking. “You know,” he begins and again he’s laughing, but you can tell it’s only a cheap plaster for the pain in his voice, “I’d memorized that- that confession thing Seulgi made. And I followed all the- the style advice and the-” his voice breaks and he hisses at how pathetic it sounds. “Everything. I did everything,” he summarizes finally and when you look you see orbs of tears forming at his waterline, like the dew drops that sparkle on leaves in spring.

You don’t know what to say. It’s almost too hard to see him like this. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, but Jihoon shakes his head.

“Stop saying that,” his voice is harsher, groggier, thick and stained by the sobs in his throat. You pause your steps. You’re standing in the yard outside the dormitory now. Hundreds of windows become an audience to where you now stand before each other.

“Why?” you ask.

“Because-” he wipes the tears away aggressively, composing himself before he finally, finally looks at you. “Because you’re gonna make me think that you actually care.” His voice is suddenly laced with venom again. The hostility that you’d tamed returns and it’s so much stronger, more bitter. You’re taken aback.

“I-I do care? Why do you think I don’t care-”

“Oh, please, Y/n. You didn’t want me at your girls’ nights or at spa day or fucking whatever. You didn’t- You don’t care about my book or my crush or my-”

“I do care!” you interrupt, voice stern and much louder. “What, you think I follow you out of parties for fun? Because I don’t care about you? And yeah, maybe I didn’t want you at the girls’ nights, but what does that matter-”

“It matters because!–” he stops himself in his tracks, hand coming out to halt you. “Fuck it, wait here,” he orders, and suddenly he is trudging into the darkness of the courtyard. You stand still, flabbergasted, and thoroughly confused. It’s so dark you can’t even see what he’s doing, only hear him in the dirt, silhouette blending into the shadows. Then, he’s walking back to you and you finally see him.

There are flowers in his hands.

It’s a makeshift bouquet, held tightly in between his veiny, pale hands, consisting of flowers that grow in the courtyard, red, yellow and lilac. It’s a slow-burning realization as he stands himself before you, looking into your eyes with a sincerity that is laced with pain. You know this part of the girl code.

“Hi, Y/n, how are you?” he breathes, and his voice is shaking and he’s looking at you and practically begging you to play along - to indulge him, even if you would turn your back on him. You can hardly register anything but him and those flowers, because your surroundings, the moon, the stars, the shadows and the streets are overpowered by the blooming in your chest. A single flower unfurls the pedals of your heart until you are open before him. You meet his eyes.

“I’m good.”

He nods.

“I’ve always thought you were very beautiful,” it almost seems like it physically pains him to admit these breathless feelings. “Your very presence takes my breath away. I would like to take you on a date,” another pained, gulping pause. “Would that be okay with you?”

It’s as if time has stopped in this moment; how his chest rises and falls under his shirt, how his hair gently nuzzles his face, how his eyes blear out at you from underneath his bangs, how he glows in the moonlight, and how his hands shake around the stems of the flowers.

“Was I..” his voice is hoarse, “Was I suave about it?”

“Yes,” is all you can manage, because all those flowers that you had stomped into a half-death were coming alive again and this time it was more than welcome.

“Yes?”

“Yes, you can take me on a date,” you break into a wide smile and, upon realizing you probably look like an idiot, you lower your gaze and your warm, shining cheeks to the pavement. He gasps, and it’s probably the cutest thing you’ve ever heard.

“But- you and Wonwoo-?”

“Do you wanna know why I was even talking to Wonwoo?” you ask, and when you meet his eyes again, he’s also smiling. You can’t help but reach out a hand to wrap around one of his, still frozen in holding the flowers. He quickly maneuvers the bouquet to the other hand and intertwines your fingers. Your heart soars. “Mingyu found out that I was sad because you had a crush on someone - I didn’t think it was me, you know? So he promised to wingman me at this party.”

“Son of a bitch,” Jihoon whispers, and you laugh, feeling so floaty and lovely. “Don’t call him that,” you say, but Jihoon only smiles cheekily, eyes matching the crescent moon in the sky above you.

“No, I meant me,” he says. He looks down at the flowers and frowns. “Is that why you were so quiet? On girls night?”

You nod and he sighs. “I’m such an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. You’re so sweet,” you say genuinely, and Jihoon nearly melts at how much you mean it. There’s something so wonderful about the way all the words, that he would never use to describe himself, float around your head and sparkle in your eyes in this moment, looking up at him.

Jihoon needs to kiss you. He’s not sure he’s ever needed anything as badly. He rips his free hand from yours only to place it tenderly against your cheek, pulling your face and your warmth into him, bouquet held out at his side to allow you snugly in his chest.

His lips are so soft and his nose nuzzles your own, plush hair tickling your forehead, and his huffed out breaths dance along your cheeks. Your lips mod perfectly, unlocking the shackles with which that earth-shattering yearning had held onto you. The world is anguish but will momentarily and suddenly be interrupted, cleaved apart with a sudden gash, by a planet-killer: love.

You truly don’t mean to make it heated, hell, you’d be content just kissing him forever, feeling how his tongue prods at your lips and meets your own, but his sculpted chest under your fingers draws out a pathetic moan. His eyebrows spring up and he pulls back to look at you. You blush under his gaze, fiddling with your dress.

“Holy fuck, that was so fucking hot,” he gasps, lips swollen from your insistent sucking on them, panting into the night air. You brighten at his compliment. “Inside. Now. To my room.”

“You know, girl code says to not have sex before on the third date,” you say smugly, unprepared when his free hand pushes you back into his chest, and his lips drag over half of your face, finding home at your ear. His voice is a growl: “Fuck. Girl code.”

He begins a somewhat dramatic march to the front door and you can’t help but run after him, taking his hand, and seeing how he smiles at that feeling. He looks so happy. Your heart skips a beat, because it’s you - you’re the one making him so happy.

And he’s so hot, it’s all you can think about as he drags you along the corridors, how nice his arms look in the sleeves denim, how pretty his hair is, his fucking face, and the chest you just barely felt under your fingertips. You’re watching doors pass in a monotonous routine, jittery and unable to wait for the one that might be his, for him to take you through it, and for you to bloom, totally and perfectly under him.

“Fucking finally,” he breathes, voice gruff and much lower than you’re used to when he stops at his door, fishing for his keys in his pocket. It enters the lock and with a click, everything you fantasized about is opening to you.

As soon as you’re inside, he’s kicking the door shut and pushing you against the wall, nails gripping into your dress, when he finally drops the makeshift bouquet on his nightstand. He cries out into your mouth at the way your chest bounces from the impact, immediately capturing your lips in his again.

You can’t help the way you’re tugging at his hair, trying to ground yourself in the feeling of him, when he shoves a thigh between your legs. You moan into his mouth, rutting into him, while his wandering hands pull your skirt up you to pool around your waist. He pulls back to look at you, how your hips cant into his strong, big thigh, and how your pink, lacey panties cling to your wet pussy.

“Off,” he mumbles, apparently having decided that the simple tugging of the fabric of your dress won’t be enough. You turn around in a daze, not even uttering a word, simply shoving the zipper at the back of it.

Jihoon groans, he has to, seeing the way you stick out your ass to him, while your hand lay flat on the wall. You shake your hips teasingly at him, and his hands float to your ass, petting it and squeezing it in his fingers, and biting his lips because it looks so fucking good and plump, and there’s a wet spot in your panties. He grabs your hips and rubs his dick into you. You gasp at the feeling, nails scratching against the wall.

“You make me so hard, baby,” he says breathlessly, unable to help himself humping against you, pre-cum spilling from his tip. “Shit,” he grunts, and you’re squeezing your eyes closed at the outline of his dick pressing into your pussy.

Finally Jihoon collects himself and his cold hands drag the zipper down. The top of your dress loosens and slides down your shoulders, where Jihoon aids you in slipping it off. His hands spin you around, finally taking a breath to marvel your bare chest in front of him.

You blush, suddenly so bashful, when just before you were wiggling your ass at him. You curl your arms over your chest, but Jihoon’s own come to stop them. “No, no, no, no,” he tuts, almost sad, “why are you doing that?”

You don’t answer immediately, but apparently it’s not a rhetorical question. His hands intertwine with yours to prevent you from covering yourself up. “Uh, I don’t know,” you stammer sheepishly, “I don’t wanna, like, kill the mood or any-”

“You’re not killing the mood, pretty,” Jihoon whispers so, so achingly sincere and your heart hurts.

“Sorry, it was just-”

“Don’t say sorry,” he lectures, interrupting again. He tilts his head and he looks at you with a flaming intensity. “Try again.”

You pause, flustered out of your mind.

“I-I’ve just been feeling a little insecure lately, I guess,” you say and you’re positive your face is beet-red, but if it is Jihoon says nothing, only pouts and releases one hand only to direct your eyes back to his with a hand on your chin.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n,” he says and even when you seek it out, you can’t find even the slightest hint of lying in his voice. “I want to show you, but I can’t do that if you cover up. Understand?”

You nod, lips breaking into a little smile, that his heart becomes hot like the spring-sunshine. “Okay,” you say and he smiles brightly, releasing your chin from between his fingers.

He guides you onto the bed, but it’s no longer heated and rushed, it’s so soft and gentle, and he pulls off your underwear only after you whisper in agreement, and then he lowers himself into it, again, only allowing himself the pleasure when you whisper a strained yes and nod vigorously.

He fully makes out with your pussy - his lips are wrapped around your clit, licking and sucking it, and fucking moaning into it, sending vibration straight to the coil in your stomach. You’re moaning so loud, broken cries bouncing off the walls, while your finger wrap into his hair and your legs thrash. His tongue flattens against your folds, then dips down to trail around your slit.

“Jihoon!” you cry, hips bucking into his mouth. He groans again, releasing your pussy with a soft pop. “Fuck, baby, keep saying my name like that.” And then his face disappears in your pussy again.

And you do, everytime his nips and gums on your sensitive folds, tongue trailing back up to your nub to fully envelop it. He sucks, hard. And you think you might cum the second you look at him, because the image of his full head of hair buried in between your legs and lapping like a starved man is so pornographic, your head spins.

He might go insane from just the taste of you, he realizes, because even when you cry that you’re cumming, and your legs shake around his head and your pussy is soaked with your cum, he can’t bring himself to pull away, strong arms wrapping around stomach to still you as you begin to wiggle from the feeling of his tongue just continuing to lap at you.

“Jihoon! Fuck, t-too much,” you whimper and the sound shoots straight to his cock. He finally pulls away, eyes still trained on your pretty cunt, and the way it clenches around nothing. “Clenching so hard, sweetheart, only for there to be nothing, shouldn’t we fix that?” he hums, leaning down to trail his finger through your folds, gathering your wetness on its tip.

You whimper uncertainly, when he crawls back over your body, hair tickling your face when hovers just above you and he shushes your pathetic squeaks. He pushes the wet finger into your mouth and you suck obediently. “Shh, baby, just taste yourself on my finger, how can you be insecure with a pussy like that, hm?”

You cry around his single digit, tongue sliding over it eagerly. He wants to fuck your face, the way your pretty, plump lips wrap around his finger, but he’ll save that for another time. “Shh, baby, I know. You’ll be stuffed full of cock soon, don’t worry,” he rasps soothingly, and slips his drenched finger from your mouth.

Finally, he rips the denim jacket off, white tee following soon after, and you’re left, mouth gaping, at the how toned his stomach is, how big his pecs are and how fucking thick his arms are at his side.

“You’re so fucking hoot, Hoonie,” you drawl, making grabby hands to urge him back to you. He smiles at those words, even gains a small dusting of pink on his cheeks, but he shakes his head. “Gotta get my pants off, baby.”

“Hurry up,” you grin playfully, and he scoffs at you from where he stands, pants and boxers coming off in one fell swoop. “So needy,” he mumbles to himself, but you can tell by the overjoyed expression on his face, that he’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

His cock is finally freed, and your eyes float to it, drinking in the sight of him. He’s so pretty and so red, and a single vein creeps up its curved surface towards the oozing head. You gulp, eyes sparkling.

“Wan’ it in my mouth,” you mumble, where you’re now half sitting up and glowing from your first orgasm. Jihoon looks at you and laughs, as he climbs on top of you again.

His face hovers over yours, finger carding through your hair tenderly. He looks in your eyes. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He coos at you, eyes flickering to your lips for a moment, and you feel his cock twitch where it rests heavily on your stomach. “Not right now, pretty, I wanna fuck you.”

“You don’t have to cum-” you reason, mouth practically watering at the thought of having him in your mouth. He stops you though, hand still brushing through your hair, so delicately, as if you were a lily, or a rose, or a tulip.

“I’m not gonna be able to hold back if you look at me like that with my fucking cock in your mouth,” he whispers, and it’s so intimate, despite being so vulgar. How warm you both are, naked and holding onto each other and his dick is oozing onto your stomach and your pussy is leaking onto his sheets. “Like that,” Jihoon emphasizes, when you look up at him adoringly. You smile.

“Okay,” you say, a determined look on your face, “later then.”

He laughs. “Eager baby. Relax, you’re gonna get a pussy full of cock now, your mouth can wait.”

You wanna retort, say something snarky, anything, but you’re abruptly interrupted by the feeling of his cock pushing into you. You moan and your nails claw at his back, because it’s so big and so raw in your pussy, you feel that fucking vein dragging against your walls. “Shit, Hoonie. Fuck, fuck.”

He’s groaning too, hands on your waist and face in your neck. “So fucking tight, so pretty.”

You’re both panting when his cock is fully nestled inside you, sitting snug against your walls. You look up at him and he’s pretty, all flushed and lips swollen, and the sight makes you clench. He hisses, jerking abruptly, making the both of you moan.

“Fuck, baby, can’t just clench on me like tha-”

“Please, please, just fuck me now, can’t wait anymore!” you cry, clawing at him, nails raking over his flexed biceps, where he holds onto you. And he can’t help but fulfill your wish.

You honestly don’t know where he gets his stamina, because the second you’re done asking, he’s ramming into you so hard and so fast, your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open in a long whine. The whole bed is shaking from the impact, as his hips sheath and unsheath from your warm, welcoming pussy.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he drawls, hands trailing up from your waist to your bouncing chest, thumbing over your nipples. “Bet Wonwoo wishes he got to see you like this, hm?”

The way your pussy has his cock in a chokehold, the way you’re lying beneath, it has him fully dazed, and now he babbles all that comes to mind. “Yeah, but you’re mine, princess. No one else gets to see you like this, no one else can have you crying like this for their cock, right?”

“N-No one else,” you whimper, sopping cunt clenching and unclenching around his dick. “That’s right,” he pants, humid breath on your cheek, “Say you’re mine, pretty girl, say you’re fucking mine.”

“A-ah, ‘m yours, Hoonie,” you cry and he thinks he might cum just like that, at your blissed face, glowing beneath him, and your pussy sucking him in, and you obeying him thoughtlessly.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” he rewards you by dragging his hand down your stomach to rub your clit. Your whole body convulses into his, hands dragging over his big arms for support. “Come on, sweetheart, cum on my cock now.”

And you do, the tension in your stomach tightening beyond what you can take, before it finally unfurls, and it blooms, and it’s spring, and your squirting all over Jihoon’s abs, because God, he’s so fucking hot and he fucks you silly with his dumb, big muscles and his dumb, cute face.

The sight of your squirting, thrashing and shaking underneath him is all he needs. Jihoon shoots you full of his cum, making you feel so full and wet, before he finally halts his rutting hips, stilling on top of you.

You’re both panting. You’re sweating so much, your hair sticks to your forehead, and you’re gasping for air. Jihoon is still on top of you, holding himself up somehow, and licking at your neck appreciatively.

There’s a pause, where you’re basking in each other's warmth, and there’s so much love between you it’s almost suffocating. Then you're narrowing your eyes at the head of hair in your neck, growing suspicious.

“... Are you still hard?”

He laughs into your neck, peering up at you with a sheepish smile.

“Are you still open to that dick-sucking thing?” _____________________________

“So,” Yeri trails off.

You’re sitting in front of her, Seulgi and Irene at the campus cafe after a thorough round of congratulating you and Jihoon’s new relationship. They’d been both surprised and somehow not-at-all-surprised.

“He can’t come to girls night anymore,” Irene states the obvious, and immediately you, Seulgi and Yeri are nodding along.

“Thank God, I wasn’t the only one thinking that.”

“It just wouldn’t work,” you supply, agreeing.

There’s a pause. Seulgi pouts. “I can’t believe we don’t have a son anymore. They grow up so fast,” she says and she sounds genuinely sad about it.

You sigh a little, debating whether or not to play this card. Then you say: “I know someone who would like to be our son.”

“Oh, no..”

“Don’t say..”

“Yep,” you shrug, and then you hear him. Lumbering clumsily down the hall, like a galloping horse.

“I HEAR THERE’S A NEW POSITION OPEN DURING GIRLS NIGHTS!!!!! I MADE MUFFINS!!”

Mingu is running through the cafe, dodging stools and chairs like he’s on Ninja Warrior.

Irene frowns. “I guess he’ll do as our new son.”

“We can always kick him out if he gets too annoying,” Yeri shrugs, just in time for Mingyu to stand before your table with a fresh tray of muffins.

“Yes!” he cries with glee, voice incredibly high because he just can’t believe it.

“Begging always works!”

#svt smut #svt x reader #woozi smut #woozi angst #woozi fluff #woozi x reader #svt woozi x reader #lee jihoon x reader #jihoon x reader #jihoon smut #svt angst

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