#kprosenet

[kisskissbanggang]

What You Don’t Know pt. 3 - The Finale

[25Min Read/7.6K Words - College Au - Jisung x Female Reader - NSFW/Smut, 2/3 Plot - Femdom, Dom/Sub, Finding Kinks, Hair Pulling, Handcuffs, Minor Edging, Minor Cock-Slapping, Mutual Bondage, Bad Conflict Resolution, Drinking Buddies, Talking Things Out, Past Relationships, Friends to Lovers(?)]

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“Jisung,” you bristled, “you and I haven’t even agreed to be You and I.”

Jisung impatiently folded his arms. “Say no or come out with me tonight. Stop trying to fuck your way out of this if you actually care about me. This can be our little secret, but I won’t be your little power trip.”

You folded your arms as well, matching him in frustration as you considered what Jisung was proposing. If you went out with him that night, he might push you to confront some feelings you really didn’t want to. If you didn’t go out with him that night, however, you could see your friendship quickly dissolving. “Fine,” you huffed. “I’ll be at the bar tonight.”

What a terrible idea. 

It had completely eluded you that tonight a live band was playing at the bar, and the energy inside was maddening. The guys wanting to go out on a Monday made way more sense all of a sudden. Minho beamed at you as you walked into the bar. 

“My, don’t we look pretty tonight,” he teasingly complimented you, and you grimaced as you shoved him in retaliation. 

“Don’t start,” you grumbled, “I’m not having the best day.”

“You, too? How funny,” Minho grinned as he put a beer in your hand. “Jisung’s been pissy all day.”

“What a coincidence,” you marveled sarcastically as you pulled up a stool at the bar. You didn’t even want to look at Jisung sitting at your usual booth, let alone sit with him. You missed the days when you didn’t feel anything towards him. It would be better than feeling whatever this was. 

“Why do I even try?” Minho laughed in disbelief as he clapped you on the back. He shrugged before he abandoned you to simmer alone. You did watch now as Minho walked over and pointed you out. Whatever Jisung said in return, Minho had the same reaction as he’d had with you, laughing and shaking his head as he left to go actually have fun with everyone else. This was going to be a waiting game, you figured. Jisung would have to make a move if he insisted on you coming out, but you didn’t get much of a chance to see if he’d follow through. The strongest scent of girlish perfume hit your nose and you recoiled as you noticed Stephanie was here, for the first time in a couple weeks, and currently having way too much of a good time as she sauntered up to you. 

“Hey!�� She greeted over the music. Her tube top looked obnoxiously good on her. You cracked an inert smile and raised your beer in acknowledgment. “Jisung looks really good tonight,” she gushed as she leaned into your space. “So do you.”

“Thanks,” you nodded stiffly. “What’s up? You never talk to me.”

Stephanie shrugged cutely. “Well I’m talking to you now. Did you and Jisung come here together?”

You regarded her ingratiating smile. “Together? No,” you began carefully. “Why?”

“No reason,” Stephanie shrugged again, “he just looks really good tonight, like I said. And so do you. So I wondered if you came here together. That’s all.”

Her smirk was constructed purely from trouble before she waved and walked away, and right over to Jisung still sulking in the booth. You still couldn’t make out what was being said, but you could clearly see Stephanie point at you as well, and when Jisung leaned in to ask something, she shook her head before helping herself to the booth and sliding in beside him. Jisung looked across the bar at you now, and you were tempted to kill him right there and then as he shrugged at you, looking falsely helpless and clueless as Stephanie instantly leaned into his space. 

You were subjected to watching Jisung get cooed over and pawed at for the next twenty minutes. Stephanie was relentless, really going at him and apparently emboldened by how aloof he was suddenly acting with her. Now you were thrown into a spiral of really wondering what you wanted with Jisung, and any one of those thoughts instantly made you feel queasy, especially as Jisung kept looking at you. She was awful, really — but you knew she really wasn’t, even as she whispered in Jisung’s ear and played with the strings of his hoodie. You knew she was just seeing him as available, and she was only up to her old business. After all, you said it yourself that you didn’t come here together. It still hurt to watch though, and it drove you crazy that you knew exactly why. But you would tough it out. You would sit and watch that jerk get fawned over even if it lasted all night, because he couldn’t be allowed to win this easily. 

Until Stephanie made her move. You could almost hear the conversation play out from across the bar, with her swearing how much she missed him and caressing his knee under the table, promising she’d been thinking of him when she’d really done no such thing. You’d sworn you’d heard it plain as day, so it shouldn’t have surprised you when she kissed him. It surprised Jisung, too, and that was even more inexcusable since he was there contributing to the conversation. 

It was Stephanie’s turn to be shocked as you stalked across the bar, entered the booth from the end she wasn’t occupying, and grabbed his hand to pull his attention away.

“Excuse you,” she balked, but she didn’t even try to interfere. 

“Can we talk?” You asked him bluntly, voice covered in sugar to contrast with your vice grip on Jisung’s hand. He had the audacity to smirk as he excused himself from the table and followed you. You pulled him along to the back door of the bar, back by the bathrooms, and shoved it open to enter the dark alley behind the building. Jisung’s smirk lasted until the moment he was out in the cool of the night, and his hand sharply tugged on yours to wheel you around. You defensively pressed back against the wall. He knew you hated being surprised from behind. You didn’t even like back hugs or taking it from behind. Trust issue or not, Jisung knew better.

“I can’t fucking believe you!” He scoffed.

“I can say the same,” you shot back. 

“What’s not to believe?! We’re not together, remember? But I guess you’re possessive when it’s convenient.”

“And you’re so quiet when it’s convenient,” you snapped. “You definitely seemed to want me while her tongue was in your mouth. You probably would’ve gone home with her if I hadn’t—“

Your ranting was cut short as Jisung kissed you hard against the wall of the alley. His hands gripped your waist tight and wouldn’t let up until you weaved your fingers into his hair and yanked. Jisung’s knees instantly buckled but he fought against it, his lips still on yours until you pulled him off of you. The grossest part of it was how much you instantly wanted him in that moment, even with how hurt you both were. Jisung was pushing this, and you were pulling away, literally so as you clawed your fingers into his hair and got him off of you. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Jisung?” You asked coldly.  

“Don’t accuse me of not wanting you when you won’t even talk this out.” He stared you down in the dark alley, trying hard not to shiver as you craned his head back. You manhandled him around to shove him back against the wall now, and his shocked cry turned into a surprised moan as your other hand took a serious grip on his cock and you kissed him back. 

“You’re being such an ass about this,” you growled, emboldened as you could feel him trying not to tremble. 

“And you’re being so immature about this,” he bit back, and it dug into you in a way you didn’t want to admit. Every time Jisung tried to say something more, you shut him up as you massaged him hard through his jeans. He didn’t stop trying to fight through it, though. “Did I make you upset, ma’am?” Jisung grinned sarcastically against you. His lips tasted of vitriol. “What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

His taunt made you freeze. Suddenly, you could see how this looked: both of you angry, upset, and undeniably wanting each other. You abruptly let him go. All you were doing was trying to stitch together this whole mess with flimsy lust. “You did,” you nodded seriously in an attempt to be open. “You did make me upset. This isn’t as easy as I was wanting.”

Jisung scoffed. It was apparently too little too late for you to be vulnerable. “Fine. Allow me to make it easier.” He was rough as he shouldered past you and made his way down the alley. You watched Jisung walk out to the street, silhouetted by streetlights as he made his way back towards the house. 

You were livid as you stormed back into the bar to pay your tab and get the hell out. This whole night had been a terrible idea already and now it was worse as you pushed your way through the crowd to leave out the front, only to run face first into someone opening the door at the same time. You shoved whoever it was back only to find Chan facing you. 

“Hey!” He shouted over the music, his annoyance abruptly turning into concern. “Are you okay?”

“No!” You called back. “I’m going home. I’ll see you, okay?”

Chan quickly turned and followed you as you elbowed past him out the door. He caught up with you on the sidewalk. “Do you want a ride?”

You paused, shifting uncomfortably as you silently nodded. He was handsome in his work clothes, his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened. The sickening sensation of tears brimming in your eyes was distressing. Thankfully, Chan didn’t ask any questions, instead opting to wordlessly herd you towards and into his car. He sighed as he put the car into drive and headed in the direction of your apartment. “I’m sorry you’re not having a good night,” he offered. 

“It’s fine. It’s stupid anyway,” you grumbled, feeling miserably embarrassed to have your friend see you like this. 

“It’s not stupid, I assure you,” Chan consoled. “Try to calm down, okay? Here.” Chan reached down and slipped his heavy water bottle out of his bag and into your hand. You regarded it thoughtfully as you took a sip, followed by a deep breath. 

“Isn’t this mine?” You asked, looking at the water bottle in your hands, your thumb tracing over the stickers adhered to it and the dents made in it over time. “You still have it?”

“Of course,” Chan chuckled. “You let me keep it, didn’t you?”

The short drive was painfully quiet but you were thankful for it, watching streetlights pass overhead and trying to ease the feeling of apparently hurting Jisung so badly. It felt lonely to approach your apartment, and you were silently grateful as Chan made no rush to get rid of you so he could head back to the bar. He leaned back in his seat and looked at you, almost as if he were checking on you again.

“Thanks,” you began awkwardly, despite gracefully setting a hand on his, “for being here for me.”

“Of course,” he assured you with a humble smile. His hand reassuringly squeezed yours. “You look really good tonight, by the way.”

“You think so?”

“For sure,” he nodded seriously. “When was the last time I saw you in a dress, let alone this dress? It’s my favorite.”

You felt your face heat up in a familiar way, and you couldn’t help but enjoy just hanging out with Chan again. This had been easy, too, before it wasn’t anymore. His hand was warm in yours and it felt good to be around him again. 

“I missed you,” he said quietly. “I miss just hanging out. I’ve been meaning to call you.”

“I know you’re busy,” you reassured him, “but I missed you, too.”

“That’s the thing,” Chan bit at his lip. “I’m not going to be nearly as busy anymore. I’m finally getting my promotion.” 

“You are? That’s great!” You congratulated him, and you truly meant it. Chan has been working like crazy since the day he started at his job. “I can’t wait to actually see you more,” you grinned. 

Chan nodded, and it took a second longer than it should have for you to feel his pause in the stark silence of his car. The second you did, though, Chan had already leaned over the center console, his hand that wasn’t holding yours softly cupping your face as he gently pressed his lips to yours. His kiss was just as filled with muted affection and infatuation as the last he’d shared with you ages ago, but this wasn’t right. You reflexively shoved your hand against his chest, the heel of your palm sliding up until your hand landed on his throat. Chan hummed out a soft groan, misconstruing your defensive move for one of your games you used to play. He was thoroughly confused as you corrected your hand placement and shoved him off. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, brows furrowed with concern. 

“You jerk,” you laughed miserably as you went to open the door. 

Chan grabbed back onto your hand. “What’s wrong?” He repeated. 

“You don’t get to just swoop in when you’re ready to settle down!” 

“What do you mean?! We’ve been waiting—“

“We?” You asked him, bewildered at his assumption. “We? I stopped when you wanted to back then, but now you’re saying we have been waiting for this? You didn’t even ask me what’s wrong tonight!”

“Fine,” Chan sighed as he sank back into his seat, “you’re right. I wrongly figured you still prefer to divulge that on your own. What do you want to do? You’re in charge.”

“That’s the entire problem!” You lamented. “Jisung keeps saying I just want to be in charge, like I’m actually just exercising some power trip on him, and now I probably chased him off forever.”

“Jisung?” Chan blinked. “What does he have to do with this? Why does he keep saying that?”

“Because it’s a million times easier to just fool around instead of wanting to admit I want anything more,” you grumbled as you buried your face in your hands. “So I’m just using him instead of actually talking to him.”

“Oh jeez,” Chan heaved out a held breath as he finally realized what was going on and pulled you into his arms across the center console, “is that what this is about? Come here.” Chan affectionately rubbed your back as you shoved your forehead into his shoulder. “I’m sorry I kissed you. I’ve been in tunnel vision for—“

“Forever?” The jab may have been rude, but he knew he had it coming. 

“Yes,” he nodded forlornly. “For a pretty long time, at least. How long has this thing with Jisung been going on?”

“Not long,” you admitted, “maybe a month or two.”

“Do you like him?”

“I do,” you grumbled. He nudged you as he finally released you from his embrace. 

“And he feels the same?”

Your sigh multiplied as you nodded. 

“And, let me guess, he wants to make it serious?” Chan nodded as you chewed on your lip in hesitance. “And you’re scared to make that move. I see. That explains why he’s been so off lately.”

“What do I do?” You frowned. Chan patted your hand. 

“Sounds pretty easy to me. You already share feelings. What are you afraid of?”

“I just wanted something easy,” you explained, and you finally heard how whiny that sounded out loud. 

“Doesn’t sound like that,” Chan shook his head. “If you wanted something easy you would’ve laid that line down already. You’re indecisive for once because you don’t want things to change.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“I’m afraid so,” Chan nodded earnestly. 

“I hate this,” you glowered. 

“I know. But it can’t be easy all the time.”

You and Chan both sat in renewed silence before you nodded with determination. Something was pressing in the back of your mind before you could leave, though. “Were you really wanting to try again? You and I?”

“It doesn’t matter now, but yes,” Chan softly smiled. “I’m just sorry I missed my shot, but I’m glad you sound like you know what you’re doing with Jisung.”

Chan sat and took it as you leaned forward to kiss his forehead before you stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk. You ducked back down to look at him. “It doesn’t matter now, but things might’ve gone differently if you got that promotion a few months ago. Thanks for being there for me tonight.” You watched, still feeling a bit bruised as you waved to Chan driving off back down the street. 

Jisung went back to ignoring you in class the next day, and you knew he would continue to if you didn’t do something fast. You had one plan in place. You had sat with your draft —a piece you were finally getting a chance to write after conceiving it ages ago — and carefully edited the whole thing with Jisung’s corrections and suggestions in mind. It took you the better part of the night, but you had no desire to sleep anyhow. It would have to look markedly different for him to be tempted to leaf through it right away. 

With bated breath, you sat in class, painfully anxious as you added your draft to the pile on its way to the front of the room. It seemed to take forever, passing from row to row until it finally reached Jisung in the front, and he immediately drew out his requisite blue pen to check if he had everyone’s work while the professor continued on with his usual droning. He flicked through papers, and you wanted to scream every time he paused to unstick a page or look for a missing bibliography. This didn’t feel unlike passing notes in high school and you hated it. You were suddenly wondering if he already reached your paper and perhaps you just missed it. 

Except you hadn’t. Jisung very clearly found your draft in his pile, apparent as he set down the whole stack in his hands to flip through the pages once again, but more carefully. He did a double-take, and then another one, and then he looked through the papers and notebooks and pens on his desk as if there was some other reason he found a sticky note stuck to the back of the first page: See me. Jisung easily found your eye in the lecture hall, looking cute in another dress you hadn’t worn in a long time. As opposed to the sweet little skater dress with the knee socks that you donned back at the bar, today you sported a somewhat more mature number, something fitted and flattering with tempting buttons down the front, and he subtly nodded. 

It was hard to tell how Jisung would arrive at your apartment. He could be coming in hot, ready to rail against you again for not opening up to him for so long and blowing your chance. He could be beside himself, or nonchalant, or any number of things as you paced your apartment. It would turn out he would still surprise you, instead looking impressed he even found you, and that was when you realized: Jisung still hadn’t come over since you’d become friends.

“Hey—“ he awkwardly greeted, barely waving before you stepped aside and let him in. He looked annoyingly cute in his lightweight hoodie and jeans. 

“Hey,” you returned. You were unsure if you were happy or relieved or nervous to see him. “I’m glad you came. We need to talk.”

“We do?” Jisung smirked. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he curiously looked around your small apartment. “That’s a first.”

“Come on,” you sighed, “I’m trying here. Let me try, please.”

“I’m not stopping you,” Jisung shrugged, still attempting to look indifferent even as he paused to look at photos or little knickknacks you had sitting around. You decided you would make it easier and step into your bedroom yourself, letting him know it was alright to follow you into your space. It was cute watching him look around and get to know you more just by being allowed inside. You paused as he gently picked up a teddy bear off your dresser with the smallest look of amusement on his face. 

“Something funny?” 

“No,” he grinned as he set the bear back down, “not like that. I was just, er… well, after what we’ve done and from how I’ve known you, your place is so — I have no idea what word I’m looking for — normal?”

“Were you expecting a dungeon?” You giggled as you were caught off guard. 

Jisung finally laughed out loud. “No, if you must know. But this is, well… it’s cute. It’s nice seeing your place.”

“I’m glad you could see it,” you smiled, “only Minho’s been in my room before.”

“Really?” Jisung asked incredulously, even turning more to face you as you sat on the bed. 

“Really,” you nodded earnestly while you leaned under your bedside table to pull out an inconspicuous card box. “And I’m still kinky at home, I just keep my place organized unlike some people.”

“That was uncalled for and I should leave,” Jisung cackled, even as he stepped closer to see. You set the box on your lap and opened it to reveal your toys and restraints, some familiar and some not. He peered inside, smiling playfully as he drew out the cuffs you used on him the week before. “Why are you showing me this? Why did you want to see me?”

“I wanted you to see that I trust you,” you admitted, “even if it’s been really hard for me to start this conversation.”

Jisung seemed to consider this, his eyes drifting from you, your dress, to the cuffs in his hand. You playfully plucked the restraints from him and closed one end around his right wrist. A sideways smile urged him on as he pulled the other set of cuffs from the box and did the same to you. Now you matched. 

“Okay,” he softly relented, still not wanting to meet your eye. “No more running then. And you already started off just fine. Now tell me what changed between then and today.”

“Well, Chan said you’ve been seeming off yesterday—“

“Yesterday? Chan wasn’t there yesterday,” Jisung did look at you now as he asked blankly. 

“What? Oh. He came after you left and gave me a ride home,” you shrugged. 

“He gave you a ride home?” Jisung pressed. “Did anything happen?”

“Not really,” you shrugged awkwardly again, “I mean, if I’m being honest, he kissed me, but—“

“He what?!” Jisung exclaimed. “Oh, that fucking prick, I can’t believe—“ It was surreal to see him so worked up. 

“Jisung, I don’t—“ you attempted as he paced your room in a frenzy, narrowly avoiding you each time you tried to take his hand. “Would you calm down?!”

“I told that asshole it was about a girl at school,” he raved, “because how dare I try to respect that you’re a weird subject with him?!”

“I’m a weird subject with him? Jisung, it’s not like I knew Chan still had feelings—“

“How could you not?! Literally the whole house knows! Like first that dick kisses you and then he gives me a ride to your place today? That antagonistic piece of shit,“ Jisung hummed in simmering discontent as he whipped his phone out and began typing furiously. 

“Jisung, you don’t need to—“

“Look, I get it,” Jisung babbled as you helplessly followed him out into the hall, “he’s stupidly good looking and he has a car and a great job and you’ve been friends for a long time but—“

“Jisung!” You snapped, finally getting a hold of whatever you could, namely the hanging cuff around his wrist, and clicked the open end around your free hand before tugging him close to snatch his phone out of his hand. “If you’d shut up for five seconds then you would know I told Chan about you right after he kissed me, and he had no idea about us and immediately backed off and he felt bad.”

Finally, Jisung was silent as he gawked at you, his wrist still hanging limp where it was connected to your own now. “He didn’t know about us? What did you tell him about us? Or me?”

“What did I— well, I mean, I told him the truth,” you floundered as you reflexively stepped back. 

“What truth?” Jisung prodded. Now he tugged on the chain between you himself, even as you backed away again. He quickly brought up the hanging end of the cuff on his other wrist and snapped it onto you before reeling you in. “Come on, I know you hate leaving things unsaid,” he insisted as he brought you closer again. “You can do this.”

“Fine!” You erupted. “I want to be with you, you jerk! I want to hang out even when we’re not fooling around, and I think about you all the time, and you make me happy even when you annoy the shit out of me… and I would hate if that changed things,” you frowned, even more so as he gave a small, surprised laugh. 

“Is that what this is about?” Jisung asked, his disbelieving shaded with some relief. “All that would change is maybe we would do some couple stuff.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“The point is I want to do couple stuff with you,” Jisung insisted. 

“I do, too,” you readily agreed, only wishing you could sound more sure. “It’s just hard to—“

“You do? You actually want to do that stuff with me?” Jisung cautiously asked. “Then what’re you afraid of?”

You sighed in an attempt to breathe in any confidence you could before you looked down at both your wrists cuffed to his own. “Honestly, as simple as it sounds… I’m afraid of losing what you and I have.” He watched as you drew up your hands and rattled the chains a little to make your point. Jisung’s expression was cryptic: part stunned, part something else you couldn’t quite place before he stepped forward, determined. You backed up with a start, the wall of the hallway pressing against your back as he pulled at his left wrist, your right being pulled along by the cuffs connecting you as he led it back and up the nape of his neck until your fingertips nestled deep into his hair. In your surprise you dropped his phone in your hand, the device landing on the floor with a clatter. The ghost of your tentative breath was nearly a gasp on your lips as his hand closed around yours, guiding you to grip hard onto the follicles at the root. A soft groan emanated from low in his throat as you tugged on his hair, the action familiar by now but the feelings associated with it suddenly feeling more full, more weighty as his knees predictably buckled. He visibly felt that same shiver fall down his spine as it always did. You could do this, he seemed to silently encourage you, you could have this. 

First, though, you needed Jisung to see that you wanted it, that you wanted him. A new energy surged through you, from the pit of your belly and pulsing along your nerves as you now pushed back against the wall of your own volition, releasing your hold on his hair to instead softly cup his face and pull him to you. The chains keeping you together meant the Jisung now gently held onto your wrists as he tried not to fall into you in your silent apartment. He watched, rapt as you shifted gears so suddenly but so smoothly, and he was still just as ready for you to do whatever you wanted to him as you met his gaze. The pause between you was sweet, intrepid, and just the smallest bit nervous as you finally brought him close to kiss his lips. 

Jisung’s eyes fluttered closed as he savored it, almost like he was afraid this was a lapse in judgement on your part until you deepened your kiss and let out the smallest satisfied hum. Now you could do whatever you wanted to him, and he was dying for it. As he glimpsed at you the moment you pulled away from his lips, he was already tipsy, almost drunk on you, his eyelids heavy and his pupils blown out. You tipped him back onto his feet a little before you led his chained wrists to your waist, then your hips, and slowly down under the hem of your dress to your thighs. His fingers thought faster than his brain did as the pads of his fingertips absently soothed over your skin, erupting in goosebumps as he touched you until you yanked back on the cuffs and made him fall into you again. It felt like a return to form as you teased him closer and closer to your panties — until he brazenly pulled at the cuffs himself and dipped his fingers between your legs, over the thin fabric separating him from you. He cracked the most mischievous grin before you jammed down on the cuffs and surprised him into losing his balance and buckling. Jisung groaned as he landed on his knees, just a little dazed but still wearing that same playful smile. 

“What,” you sneered, “you think you can get away with being a brat now?”

“No, ma’am,” Jisung earnestly shook his head despite his smirk, “but I trust you enough to try it out.” 

“Let’s see if that pays off for you,” you taunted as you pulled your panties aside for him. “Now get to work.” To really rub it in, you pushed Jisung back by the forehead as he went to dive straight into you. He swallowed a breath as you looked down at him expectantly. “Words, sweet boy,” you chided, “don’t make this worse for yourself.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded when he seemed to suddenly become much more compliant, “thank you, ma’am.” Jisung looked up at you with his big eyes glazed over as he licked you up, nosing aside your panties to get deeper into your folds with a practiced effortlessness. It was your turn for your knees to buckle, the wall pressing into your shoulders as you let out a content sigh. Jisung groaned at your pleasure and grabbed onto your thighs as much as the cuffs would allow for leverage. Your arousal scorched through you from your chest to your fingertips when you realized how good it was to be with Jisung again, and like this it felt even more satisfying as he eagerly laved at you. A familiar head rush took hold and you knew that there was too much you wanted for you to risk losing momentum from an orgasm knocking you out. 

Jisung was barely lucid as you pulled his tongue off you again, still so focused on his task and returning to it until his hands followed yours up your thighs and under the hem of your dress. You took his fingers, placing them on your panties and pushing down until you nodded for him to take them off for you. He helped you step out of them as you leaned down to help him reach with the cuffs still pulling you along, and you pulled him back up to bring your fingers to the top button of your dress. He watched, mesmerized as you led his hands to replace yours again and take care of the rest of the delicate buttons that traced a line down the front of your dress. His fingers were almost careful, his breath measured as he slowly exposed you.

“Perfect, sweet boy,” you breathed. “Your turn now.” You were met with a surprised gasp as you shoved Jisung back onto his ass and followed him down to the floor of your hallway. Your apartment was so small that you were practically in the kitchen and the bathroom and your bedroom from this spot, and Jisung almost braced himself as you knelt between his legs. “Well?” You asked teasingly. “I said it’s your turn.”

Jisung was still confused until you took his hands and placed them on the zip of his hoodie. Of course, with the cuffs on, neither of you would be able to get much more undressed, but a soft rush of excitement still coursed through you as Jisung did as he was told and unzipped his hoodie. 

“Belt, too,” you softly commanded with a nod. 

“Can I get another kiss, first, ma’am?” Jisung smirked. “I really liked that last one.”

“Belt first, sweet boy,” you emphasized. He complied, his slim fingers working his belt free, but not without next grabbing onto your wrist and tugging you close to steal a quick kiss. It was barely anything, and you loved it, but you pushed your hand against his chest to flatten him back out on the floor with a groaned curse. You burned, sort of adoring this new level to your playing. Jisung seemed to love it too as you wrangled him into your grip: one hand in his hair and the other working his jeans open to grab onto his cock. As painfully sentimental as it sounded, you’d missed it.

Jisung cried out as you shifted around to kneel on his chest, one knee on his ribs and the other still on the floor as you began to massage his length to full hardness. The moment he tried to thrust into your hand, you lightly slapped the head of his cock and he hissed out a sharp breath. “Sit still, brat,” you warned. 

“Come on,” Jisung begged, his eyes shut tight as you did it again, “I missed you, it’s so good.”

“What’s so good?” You teased before batting his cock again. “Being such a brat that I keep on slapping your cock? That can be arranged.”

“No no,” Jisung ardently shook his head, “please ma’am, please touch me. I’ll be good, just please touch me again.”

“Say you’re sorry,” you pouted, already poised to slap his cock again. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” your incredible, sweet boy immediately replied as he pressed his hips back into the floor. “I’m sorry for acting out, and kissing you without permission, and for not sitting still—“

“Perfect, sweet boy,” you simpered, “that was a good apology.”

Jisung’s head relaxed back onto the floor as you closed your hand around his warm cock again and began stroking it in earnest. His hushed whines and obscenities under his breath were heavenly, perfect notes in your ears after recalling them in frustrating daydreams for the past week. Even in just that short time, you truly realized how much more you wanted Jisung than you had first thought. Looking at Jisung stretched out on the floor of your tiny apartment and doing his best to behave while you massaged his blushing erection, you couldn’t believe it took you so long to admit you wanted to be with him. Jisung’s eyes were shut tight enough to furrow his eyebrows in the sweetest way, so utterly lost in the moment in a way you can’t just will into existence, he had to fall into it, and you would be an absolute fool to not recognize how handsome he was in the midst of it. Your gaze drifted down his heaving chest, down to where the hem of his shirt had ridden up a bit to reveal the soft definition of his abdomen, and ultimately down to his length that was agonizingly dripping, leaking precum, and you couldn’t take the sight anymore; you needed him. 

“What’re you doing—“ Jisung dazedly asked as you let him out of your grasp. Rather than finish his question, however, Jisung gasped in surprise as you swung a leg over his hip to seat yourself on his lap. He was thoroughly trembling by now, and you missed that sensation.  

“Good?” You checked in on him real quick as you eased the smooth head of his cock against your dripping entrance. 

“Yes ma’am,” he obediently replied as you slowly dipped him into your depths. A sigh erupted from you, instantly revealing how much you’d wanted Jisung back inside of you, and you quickly laced your fingers into his for leverage as you began to roll your hips against his own. You couldn’t believe how much you’d missed fucking Jisung in just a few days. With the right angle, you could grind your soaked clit against him, and your feverish moans electrified him in the cutest way. Jisung writhed under you, coming undone from how much he loved being with you, being used by you while knowing he actually had you. He was keening and sighing and moaning sweetly with each groan and gasp that escaped you as you rode him, your undulating hips almost working him up too fast in combination with how much groundwork you’d already laid out. This realization, however, was unsatisfying for some reason, until you understood why. It was rare, but sometimes you did crave pressure against that little button of nerves inside you instead of directly against your clit, and you couldn’t reach it from this angle. 

Jisung was a mess as you eased off him. “Wait, what’re you—“ he nearly repeated, babbling until you soothed him. 

“Good?” You asked, making him jump as you grabbed back onto his cock to pump his slicked length a few times. He whined at your touch before he could finally give a tepid nod. “Say you’re good,” you implored. 

“Good,” he nodded heartily, even more so as you let a glistening string of saliva fall from your lips onto his hard member and stroked it faster before letting go completely. Jisung threw his head back and cursed at the absence. “Fuck,” he croaked, “more, more—“ You smiled warmly as Jisung sat up as much as he could without pulling you down in the process, and you leaned a hand forward to give him some leverage to see what he would do. Your chest swelled as he leaned up, fervently kissing your jaw before looking up at you with those big eyes. “More, ma’am, please,” he earnestly begged, and you felt he more than earned it now. 

“Jisung,” you called softly to him, getting his attention fast, “you want it?”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded seriously. He was curious as you helped him sit up more until he was up on his knees with you, enough so that it caught him off guard as you closed your eyes and leaned close to briefly kiss his lips again. He groaned appreciatively into you until you pulled away, but the curiosity resumed as you took one of your cuffed wrists and ducked under it, twisting around until Jisung was bear-hugging you from behind. “Ma’am,” he suddenly piped up behind you, “are you sure?” Even then, he couldn’t resist responding as you ground your ass back against his cock. 

“Jisung,” you groaned wantonly, and let yourself lean forward against the wall, “fuck me.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jisung readily complied. With a little adjusting, you felt the head of his cock nudge back against the sensitive opening of your pussy, and you both let out a renewed sigh of pleasure as you tested this new angle. You were surprised to find that despite any of your misgivings or trepidation, that Jisung’s length fit up inside you almost precisely like this, massaging right against that spot if you arched your back just right. Jisung thrust eagerly into you, the both of you panting for breath and breaking out in a minor sweat as he fucked you from behind in the hallway. With his hands still connected to yours, he held fast onto your arms for leverage but remained as gentle as he always was, still just as doting as he kissed and nuzzled along your shoulders and nape of your neck while he murmured grateful little proclamations into your skin. 

Even with your arms crossed and held down by his own, you still felt safe against Jisung, and it was easy to fall headlong into this spike of arousal contributing to the incredible head rush you were experiencing. The sounds of your combined moans worked in tandem with his thrusts to push you closer and closer to the edge, while Jisung apparently wasn’t far behind with how his fingers squeezed into your arms. You knew he would be too behaved to ever ask for it, though. You leaned your head back against Jisung’s shoulder as he worked his hips against you. 

“You’re doing so good, sweet boy,” you purred. Jisung whimpered as he tried not to jump the gun. “You’re going to make me cum like this. But I can’t—“

“What?” Jisung interrupted, almost crazed. You patiently shushed him in an attempt to soothe him. 

“I can’t cum,” you goaded him, “without telling you the rules first. I won’t cum unless you fill me up when I do.” 

“Oh fuck,” Jisung hissed behind you. “Anything, ma’am, fuck—“

Jisung was a wreck as he worked you over, thrusting and grinding his cock right into your spot as your impassioned moans quickly grew more feverish. “God, Jisung,” you pleaded, “make me cum, you’re going to make me cum—“

“Yes, ma’am,” Jisung panted, “I’m going to —god, fuck—“

Your hands clutched for each other as you both erupted in a cascade of emphatic cries and moans once you climaxed together. The warmth that so instantly filled you made you melt back into Jisung’s embrace, almost like you’d fall right through the floor if he let go. Instead, he held you for a moment to ground himself before he reached for the safety latch on the cuff on your right wrist. It snapped off with a rattle, and even that felt as much like an absence as when he eased his withering length out of you. Jisung was gentle as he helped you to sit and rest back against the wall while he unlatched the other cuff. He lightly massaged both your wrists, even taking a moment to feel out and crack the joint between your thumb and wrist on both hands. His dazed eyes still heavily lidded, he softly kissed both your palms before returning them to your lap and finally took both cuffs off of himself. The cuffs were set on the floor with a soft clatter and you shared a look now, suddenly just a bit bashful in your post-orgasm haze. 

“Good?” You smirked. 

“Good,” Jisung languidly nodded, and accepted your hands on his face, drawing him close for a chaste kiss to his lips before helping him down next to you to snuggle him into your arms. You relaxed on the floor of the short hallway in your tiny apartment, still shoddily half-dressed, half-exposed as the both of you were. Jisung was curious as you leaned over to grab his phone you had originally dropped on the floor. You took a cursory glance at the device, making sure you hadn’t damaged it in all the commotion before you dialed Minho’s number. 

“What’re you doing?” Jisung wondered. 

“What?” Minho’s voice came through on the third ring. 

“Min,” you greeted casually, “when are we going out again? I have things to tell you. There’s something you don’t know.”

“What’s it about?” He asked shortly, apparently unfazed that you were calling from Jisung’s phone. 

“About me and Jisung,” you replied. Jisung was looking up at you now, almost impressed. 

“What about you and Jisung? Is this about what happened with Stephanie the other night?”

Jisung’s eyes widened curiously, possibly matching your own. “No, why? What do you mean?”

“I mean, I set her on her plan to talk to him because I was tired of you two not saying anything; I didn’t think she’d make a total ass of herself.”

You and Jisung stared at each other. “No,” you babbled, “it’s not that. I was just going to say—“

“Hey!” Felix’s voice interrupted. “Is Jisung gonna go to your place more often? I haven’t had the room to myself in ages. Like, I try to give you two space and everything, but—“

“Is that where they are?”

“Yeah, that’s where Chan said he dropped him off—“

“What’s going on?” Chan cut in now. “Are they actually admitting it?”

“Enough!” You announced, attempting not to get distracted with Jisung nearly having a fit of giggles beside you. “Alright. Next time we go out, we’ll explain everything.”

“Are there parts we don’t know?” Minho asked, bemused. 

“You could fill books with what you don’t know,” you laughed, quickly ending the call to get the last word in. Jisung smiled at you affectionately as you carefully got up to your feet and offered him a hand.

“Am I heading home, then?” He asked as he let you help him up.

“Nope,” you shook your head, “bedroom.” Jisung stared at you like he was expecting a punchline. 

“Bedroom? Why the—“

“Bedroom,” you nodded with a grin while you pulled him along, “or else I’m going to fall asleep right here in the hallway.”

Jisung beamed at you as you led the way to your bed. “Yes ma’am.”

[catchlalune]

When We Collide

authors note: YEs hello!!1 I’m back at it again with the angst because I really don’t know no better. Super special thanks to Mama Bel aka @skzctnightnight​ for being a super awesome beta reader and giving me some awesome feedback (and otherwise encouraging me to finish this lol) also this is a request for my love Clem aka @pockpop​ (who also came up with the title) 

Pairing: Female! Reader x Joshua Hong

CEO! Au, Enemies to lovers, mentions of college

Word Count: 3.9k (literally two words away from being 4k)

Warnings: this deals with unhealthy forms of expression, and a bit of an unhealthy relationship, if this is something that triggers you please for the love of bob DO NOT READ. I am not responsible if you ignore this warning.

You liked listening to Joshua Hong begging for you, more specifically for your assistance. The desperation in his velvety voice, the pout of his pretty pink lips, the wetness of those catlike eyes. Absolutely delicious. Any more desperate and he would be writhing under your cute black kitten heels. 

"And just why should I help you?" 

"Oh come the fuck on, you know why." It's half of a whine and half of a growl and it almost makes you shiver.

"Okay, maybe I'm crazy but did I just hear you say that aloud?" You narrow your eyes at him. 

Joshua is on the very precipice of losing his shit, falling over the edge into anger. And Joshua Hong is a very patient man; it seemed you were the only one who could ever get him like this. You reveled in the idea that on your word and your word alone his very sanity hung in the balance. Good, he sure as hell deserved it. 

You hated Joshua Hong with a stern bitterness that left a nasty taste in your mouth whenever you looked at him. It hadn’t even always been like this, but when he started to change so did your feelings for him. 

In college you two were close, albeit not nearly as close as he and Jeonghan but close enough in your own right. You two were proverbially glued to the hip until he switched into his business major, but he hadn’t started to change until senior year. He’d been working dutifully on his startup project and the many hours you used to spend together would dwindle to minutes, then seconds, and finally only passing glances of tired smiles in between lectures or study groups. Joshua didn’t even show up to group outings with the rest of you anymore. Jeonghan and Vernon had tried to make excuses every time but even they stopped trying to justify his absences and eventually Joshua was nothing more than a small blip on everyone's radar. This was the first time the image of him turned rancid in your mind. 

You had witnessed Joshua’s character development in his college years along with the rest of them, the shy freshman who came straight from Church choir practices into a much more outgoing sophomore, then a funny charismatic leader and finally into someone who flaked on his friends. Did he ever even consider you all friends? You knew switching majors would be hard for him especially in his third year, he had so much to make up but if you knew Joshua Hong you knew that his intelligence and patience would make up for any momentum that he lacked. Maybe it was your fault, you had encouraged him to go for it and in doing so encouraged the downfall of your relationship. 

After everyone graduated and Joshua really got his startup up off the ground he had tried to weasel himself back into your lives, and everyone welcomed him with open arms. Well, everyone save for you. It seemed you were the only one that remembered his betrayal, the only one that felt your blood boil every time he talked about his business ventures and traveling around the world. He had tried so desperately to talk to you one on one but you had successfully thwarted off his advances at catching up time and time again. You, the person he has always held so dear, you, who he felt knew him the most intimately. You who he wanted by his side the most, who he tried to be the best he could be for. He had thought there had always been an unspoken attraction and tenderness between the two of you, but maybe he was wrong, maybe it was just him. Joshua wasn’t sure why there was deep set contempt in the depths of your eyes when you looked at him. Especially not when he had loved you so dutifully, so gently.

There is something distinctly venomous about someone who is generally in a caring and kind disposition being cold to you that makes it feel all the more malicious and cruel. Even more painful is it when it is the person you would lay your life down for. Words that were normally displeasing became heated bullets firing one after the other: scorching, heavy, and stone solid in their weight. Every single time you spoke to Joshua your words were laden with a potent distaste he had no idea you even had in you, you had always been so soft and warm with him. He now knew what it meant to scorn someone who was kind, if only he knew what he had done. 

This continued on for years until the present, the iciness of winter melting into the rebirth of spring to the solid wall of heat that was summer into the cool refuge of autumn four times over. The relationship between the two of you only became worse with the passage of time, the minimal group outings you all had with him always ended with a scathing remark from you towards him. He grew to expect the animosity, and deemed that maybe you hating him was ultimately better than not speaking to him at all. He had put up with it for so so long, trying to get back in your good graces in the best ways he knew how but all his plans backfired. Joshua was floundering in his relationship with you and subsequently all of his friends. He felt it, every time he saw one of you he felt it. 

The tension was always bubbling in the air, so frustratingly out of reach but so real and tangible he could taste it like arsenic in his mouth. In this moment, Joshua sits across from you as you glare at him without any regard to his feelings. He thinks he can finally reach up and grab it. If atmospheres could be seen this one would be as thick and as black as any bottomless abyss. The wait of words not said heavy and suffocating. Hearts beating slow, breath easing in and out in silent whistles of timidness and the reluctance can be the vile taste on their tongues. No one ever wants to speak of how heavy bad things are, because if it is spoken it is real. No one ever wants to be seen as a villain and so they do not speak in this instance, because if they speak it they are real. But you have to say it because this is not a movie, it is not a book and you and Joshua are oh, so real. 

“You’re one of them.” 

There's a pain in both of your chests, hearts writhing in agony at the words you spit out in your frustration. You didn’t like sitting here in this stupid big office in this stupid comfy chair with his stupid presence. 

“You take that back right now (Y/N).” 

His eyes are hard and set and finally you see a semblance of the man you used to know, used to love. 

“No. You don’t get to tell me what to do, I am not one of your lackies. You’re an absolute greedy piece of shit.” You stand from your comfortable perch right after you say it but he stands with you, eyes just as defiant. 

“I said, Take. It. Back.” He reiterates, spite leaking into every punctuated syllable. 

“You asked me for my honesty Mr. Hong, so I gave it to you. Now if you’ll excus-”

“Explain it to me then.” 

“What?” You’re sure you give him a dumb look but he just swallows, you can tell by the way his adams apple bobs and he fixes you with another glare. 

“I said explain.” 

You have to laugh at that. What was there for you to even explain? If he hadn’t gotten it by now he never would. But, you indulge him anyway. 

“You think your cute little attempts at flaunting your wealth over us is welcomed? Do you think your never changing ‘gentlemanly’ act is wanted? We know you so much better than that.” Your words cut at him like razor blades, sharp and serrated and leaving trails of stinging hatred in their wake. 

“What? All I’ve ever done was-”

“Was constantly paid for everything? You never show interest in our group activities and when you do come you treat us like children. ‘Oh you don’t have enough money for this? Let me help you.’ ‘This bill is way too high! Let me pay it.’ ‘I saw you looking at this but it’s so expensive! Let me get it for you!’ Do you know how tiring it is to constantly be coddled? To constantly be reminded that no matter what we do we most likely will never have a sliver of the wealth you do? You’re rich, that’s good for you but some of us like to work hard and save up for the things we want! Some of us like pooling our money together and paying for an extravagant meal! It makes us feel good to know we can have some luxuries, it reminds us of just how hard we’ve worked!”

Your voice was loud now, biting and steadily shoving into his chest pushing him back down to his seat. 

“But I-”

“And the way you act towards us all? We’re supposed to be your friends but you don’t come to us with anything! You don’t tell us when you’re tired, you don’t tell us when you’re hungry, you don’t tell us when you’re hurting! You haven’t for six whole years! You faded out of our lives then thought you could waltz back in like nothing happened! Like you hadn’t discarded us for your fame and success. You think you’re lonely Joshua? You think you’ve been ostracized by us? Have you ever stopped to think for a single second that you did it to yourself? That in your clamoring for acceptance you pushed away the only people who accepted you before you had money?” Your chest heaves, face hot with the admission of your feelings. 

Finally it dawns on Joshua that the emotions he had mistaken for hatred in your eyes for all these years hadn’t been hatred at all, but pain. An unmistakable hurt that could only be left by someone you thought the world of. You had thought the world of Joshua Hong and he had let it slip between his palms to land directly on your chest. 

His mind is too clouded to notice the way you spit out fuck you into the clean air of his office and turn on your heels. It was hours before he looked up, the sun was starting to set, making the sky a pretty palette of pinks, oranges, and purples. The echo of your footfalls that had long since gone in the recesses of his mind, the air still smelled faintly of your scent and it drove him right back to the brink of insanity.

Joshua Hong was very tired, and very very lonely. The only words of comfort to him were the ones you left swirling in the air before you left him to sit there in a worn out slump. 

☆☆☆☆

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you to talk to her.” Jeonghan speaks to Joshua over the edge of his crystal shot glass, eyes burning into him like the taste of soju burned down their throats. Joshua was another bottle away from being absolutely shit faced. The ambience of the bar leads them into a false sense of comfort, the billowing streams of smoke from ashtrays and smells of cheap booze lingering in the air as they relaxed into the uncomfortable steele of the bar stools. The Tipsy Fox wasn’t the most savory of establishments, the lights were always so dim you could barely make out your own hands if they weren’t five inches away from your face, though the bathrooms were always modestly clean they wouldn’t be that way for very long, it didn’t have a no smoking policy so the air was always thick with the smell of tobacco amongst other things-never mind the fact it was always humid. 

In plain words: not fit for a billionaire. Not that Joshua had really cared about his image much after the conversation the two of you had. It had been nearly a month by now and though Vernon and Jeonghan had offered solace in their company they had definitely relayed that they most definitely had the same ill feelings though not quite as intense as you. He confronted (or more like cried to) everyone else later that night after your conversation and it left his soul feeling weary. Woozi and Minghao had chided him and when they listened to his reasoning they had asked if he had even listened to your words. They were not as forgiving as Jeonghan and Vernon (especially Minghao, who was what seemed to be your new best friend? When had that even happened?) but not nearly as stingy as you had been.

Over the course of the month there were some hard feelings and some disagreements but nothing that wasn’t able to be ironed out with long open-minded conversations. Finally everyone had come to the agreement that if he worked harder at just being present in general then it might restore the friendships much faster. They were so patient and so willing to speak with him he felt like you had completely blind sided him. He flip flopped between understanding the logic behind your ill feelings towards him and not getting how you could be so uncompromising when everyone else was. The latter was what he was feeling at the moment confiding in Jeonghan. 

“I just don’t understand Han, how do I fix it if (Y/N) won’t let me?” 

There’s a few beats of silence before Jeonghan sighs and pours each of them another shot. Joshua downs it as soon as it’s filled and Jeonghan sucks his teeth. He made a mental note to not pour anymore drinks for him. 

“Shua, you’re both going to drive me insane. Why can’t you two just talk to each other like adults instead of putting me in the middle of it?” The question is more rhetorical than anything else as he mutters it to himself but Joshua still hears him, a faint sparkle lights up his brown eyes. 

“She talked to you about me?” 

Jeonghan shifts back in his seat and gives his friend a long hard look. The dim lighting only made the bags under his eyes appear darker but he still looked good, Joshua always looked nice. His eyes shift past Joshua to your visage which draws more than just his glance as you walk into the dingy bar. 

Even for a normal person you'd look like a mirage, silky green dress hugging your frame like a dream and face made up in a natural look. You carry yourself with an air of confidence that you've hardly ever done. Jeonghan could tell you were more than feeling yourself tonight. 

It doesn't take Joshua long to catch the way Jeonghan was no longer paying attention to him so he turns to the direction his friend is looking and he swears his heart almost falls out his ass. You have finally crossed the bar to them and for a second Josh forgets all the years and pain and thinks you'll be settling in next to him for a long conversation about whatever for however long. Even with you wearing the color he most despised you look simply ravishing. His face heats up, feeling absolutely touch starved as he takes in the way your hand curls around your glass after getting your drink. How long has he been staring that you've had enough time to order and receive it?

“You know, it’s impolite to stare.” You don’t spare him a glance, instead sipping the cool drink from the glass in your hand. 

“How can I not when you’re so pretty?” You stop, glass half way raised to your lips with the feeling of fire etched beneath your skin. 

“I am so sorry, he’s really drunk right n-”

“I’m not drunk, I just thought she should know.” 

Jeonghan was trying to fix it, and had Joshua just let him there wouldn’t be this weird tension hanging in the air. They watch as you finish bringing your drink to your lips and take a large gulp before placing it on the polished wood to look at Joshua. 

Again, you don’t exchange words but you do take him in wholly. From the disheveled look of his silky cream colored button down (that had three buttons undone), to the messiness of his blue hair he was currently carding his hand through, to the faint flush on his cheeks, the way his black slacks fit his thighs, all the way to his eyes- brown and full of so much unspoken you had a feeling if you let the words fall out of his lips they would tumble around for hours. Yes, Joshua Hong was a sight. Ethereal sitting in an old bar while lighting the place up, you wondered if he felt the hungry stares from everyone else. For a moment you forgot all the ill feelings, feeling just as hungry as they looked. 

You finish your drink before standing with a sigh. 

“Come on, you need to sober up...before you do something stupid.” 

Jeonghan and Joshua blink at you before the former tries to suppress a smile, he fails miserably. 

The Tipsy Fox isn’t the most savory of establishments but it leads to a long night of you three eating hangover soup together as Jeonghan tells really bad jokes to get everyone to laugh. And when it is finally over after the sun begins to peek its head over the top of the horizon and you are alone in your bed with a full tummy you think about how it reminds you of the past. You wouldn’t admit it out loud but it feels so good your heart melts and feels a lot less frozen. You really wish you could hate Joshua Hong. 

☆☆☆☆

The next time you two meet it’s been a week since your heart has begun to thaw and you weren’t expecting to see him here at all, had you been you definitely would be wearing something much more flattering. But the more important thing was, how had he even remembered this old place? An old run of the mill rinky dink bookstore surely could’ve been easily forgotten by someone who probably didn’t even have time to read books anymore. Did he have time to read books anymore? Is that why he never had time to speak to any of you? 

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” Josh flashes you a warm smile that makes that fire ignite under your skin again.

 He couldn’t have come at a worst time, here you are sat on a stool (courtesy of the store owner) in leggings and an oversized sweater with a copy of Song of Solomon perched between your fingers. In an effort to look uninterested in his presence you languidly run your gaze up and down his body before looking back at the pages. Hopefully the sweat on your palms wouldn’t make the hardcover slip right from between them. Was this always the effect he had on you or had it just been because of that spark you felt a week ago?

“That makes two of us.”

“Toni Morrison is a good author.” 

You have to pick your head up to look at him not expecting the two of you to talk over each other, a wave of confusion crossing over your features. Joshua on the other hand just laughs, he wears that particular shade of mirth well. It makes your stomach churn. 

“You weren’t expecting me to be here either?”

“She is a good author.” 

 You crinkle your nose and Joshua laughs even harder. His laughter warms up the quiet store in a way that has the owner popping her head in the aisle with a small smile of her own. An old woman much older looking now than she was when the two of you were still in college. Back then things had been much easier, and the hole in the wall bookstore was a safe haven even when you didn’t need to study and the library was packed. The two of you had just happened upon it on a random late afternoon walk and it had quickly become your place. A little pocket of normalcy in the chaos of campus life, a place that when you stepped in felt as though space and time was at a stand still. 

Now, Joshua sits across from you at the small table the two of you used to use to study waiting for your tea to cool as the old woman talks your ear off about how Joshua had been a faithful regular and even bought the property when she had been in danger of losing it all. She doesn’t leave until your cup is finished and Joshua has nearly melted into the cushy chair beneath him. You stare at him for a while before you say anything again. 

“You remembered?” 

You remember telling Joshua once that you would love it if the two of you could buy it from the old woman one day so you could run it in your old age. He had agreed heartily but you were sure it was just from the mixture of exhaustion and alcohol the two of you consumed. It was only a passing comment though you had definitely meant every word of it. 

“I remember everything about you.” 

You bristle at the comment, how could he say something like that so nonchalant and act as if he hadn’t? 

“You don’t mean that.” 

He takes a long sip of his tea and takes his time setting down the porcelain. The look he gives you is a mixture of sad and weary and you almost wish you hadn’t said it. Normal people would have sighed or shown any form of displeasure, but not Joshua Hong. He sits with you and stares with a level amount of patience that makes you itch. 

“How could I ever forget something important to someone I love?” 

“You don’t-”

“Please, I’ve always loved you. Do you think I’d be sitting here if I didn’t? You may not believe me but I’ve always told you in my own way, though I’m not very good with those words.” 

You swallow thickly feeling like a piece of cotton is lodged in your throat and won’t move. This was not something you were prepared to do today. 

“The way you expressed your pain wasn’t very healthy but the way I dealt with my career wasn’t very healthy either. Shutting each other out and not talking hasn’t been working for the last six years, so can we try something different?” 

His voice is pleading, forcing you to look into his eyes. Had you made him look like that? Did you look the same? You could feel the wet stinging at the corners of your eyes now, threatening to spill over and splatter against the table top like silent gun shots full of repressed emotions. 

“Something different?”

His lips tilt upwards at your question, finally feeling like he was making some progress. 

“Why don’t we start by meeting here every Wednesday to read together and talk about our feelings and then once we’ve both gotten better coping mechanisms we try something more?” 

It doesn’t even take you half a minute to answer him. 

[kprose-net]

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What You Don’t Know pt. 2

[15Min Read/4.3K Words - College Au - Jisung x Female Reader - NSFW/Smut, 2/3 Plot - Femdom, Dom/Sub, Finding Kinks, Hair Pulling, Handcuffs, Drinking Buddies, Bad Communication Skills, Past Relationships, Friends to Lovers(?)]

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Lectures with Professor Brown were never boring once you started fooling around with Jisung. It used to be that your mind would wander, getting distracted while the old man droned on, but now this was the highlight of your day — and it was all because of his TA. You drummed your pen against your notebook, catching Jisung’s eye as he handed back papers. He gave you the smallest hint of a knowing smile when he handed you yours. You immediately flipped through it to review and you caught your prize: a little note stuck to the back of the front page that simply said see me.

Maybe what you did with Jisung after class could be considered his “office hours.” Everyone knew full well that Professor Brown liked to go for an afternoon walk after class to the soccer field and have a late lunch when the weather was nice, but you were privy to the exclusive information that it also meant Jisung was all alone in his little workspace just outside the professor’s office. And now you were both all alone, with Jisung’s face obediently buried between your thighs under his own desk while he worked to make you cum. You’d been experimenting with restraints lately, and at this moment Jisung’s hands were currently cuffed to his chair you’d helped yourself to, the restraints digging into his skin and leaving the cutest marks. 

You wove your fingers into Jisung’s hair and tugged, trying hard to keep you both quiet in the narrow hallway connecting the lecture hall to all the offices of the professors who shared it. Jisung whined, his cuffs clattering against the metal arms of the chair as you clicked up the intensity on the little vibrating egg you’d strapped to his erection. He knew there was one rule today during your little game: don’t cum before you do. Sometimes the rules were different. Sometimes he couldn’t cum until you said so, or within a time limit, or there was the time you made him wait three days and he actually cried — but today the rule was to just hold out until you finished. And if he did he would get a treat. 

Lucky for him, Jisung was dangerously close to his goal, even if he was still desperately rutting his hips against nothing, trying to get reprieve of any kind from the stimulation on his dick. Still, his quick tongue never faltered, and you bit hard into your knuckle as you finally came, your thighs squeezing on Jisung as your climax coursed through you. You heaved out a content sigh as you came down, but you were mindful to be sympathetic to his beleaguered whimpers. Jisung was thankful as you unfastened his cuffs and got up so you could manhandle him back into his chair at his desk. You watched him wait, patient and good as you cuffed only one wrist again. He was cute with his pants around his ankles, his feet drawn together pigeon-toed before you pried his knees apart so you could kneel between them. 

“Do you want to cum?” You simpered as you finally regained your breath, and Jisung incoherently babbled as you grabbed the base of his cock. “Words, sweet boy,” you reminded him as you firmly massaged his length. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jisung gasped, nodding desperately as you took your time unstrapping the vibrator from his cock, “I really want to cum. Can I please cum?”

“You think I should let you?” You teased. Jisung’s free hand was dutifully clutched around the arm of the chair simply because you hadn’t directed him otherwise. You flicked your tongue over the head of his rigid cock in your massaging grip, making him tense and curl his knees up a little before you pinched his leg, silently reminding him to sit still. 

“Please, ma’am, please let me,” Jisung begged, “I’ve been good, please let me, ma’am, I’m so close.”

“You are?” You playfully questioned him, making Jisung whimper and whine even more. He was at the point where he was trembling now, which was quickly becoming your favorite thing about teasing him. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” Jisung pleaded. His knee still bounced erratically no matter how much he tried to keep still. 

“Fine,” you shrugged with a grin, “cum.”

“Oh, fuck—” Jisung choked out with a shiver as he suddenly did what he was told and came, right as you wrapped your lips around his cock. You hungrily swallowed down the hot load on your tongue, mostly to relish in how Jisung cried out as you would not let off his exhausted cock until he begged. 

Still, you took your time helping Jisung come back down to earth when you’d had your fun. You gently unlocked the handcuffs still connecting him to the chair and massaged his wrist a little, even cracking the joint between Jisung’s thumb and his wrist that tended to lock up when he was tense. Jisung watched, dazed eyes heavily lidded as you softly kissed his palms and returned them to his lap. You stood now to stretch your knees back out after you pulled your jeans back on, stroking your sweet boy’s hair back from his forehead. He reflexively leaned forward, resting against your hip as he caught his breath. His hand absently ran up the back of your leg and you gently pushed him off as he reached the top of your thigh. While you loved those fleeting touches in the moment, you were starting to cross the threshold back into the real world. 

“That was really good,” Jisung panted with a tired laugh, “but what now? Do you want to go get coffee or something?”

You couldn’t hold back your grin as you brushed your fingers back through Jisung’s hair and down to tip up his chin. He looked up at you, eyes shining as you dotingly used your sleeve to swipe at some of your juices still on his lip. 

That’s what was so nice about Jisung. He always bounced back, even if he needed a minute first, or even if he needed twenty minutes in your arms watching animal videos. He was always mindful of you. He was attentive in the best ways. Most of all, though, he kept everything easy. It was easy to lay in Jisung’s bed like you found yourself later that afternoon, legs tangled together as you browsed on your phone and he played his guitar. It was easy to order coffee because you both liked iced americanos. It was easy to go shopping or study together because he knew when to make suggestions and when to take them. Most of all, though, it was easy to do this because Jisung didn’t put any pressure on you to put any label on this other than friendship, and the boys didn’t know your little secret. At least, you were sure they didn’t. Felix did clear the room whenever you came over, but you were thinking it had more to do with how their shared bedroom in the old house was small enough that anyone else in there would make it stuffy and unbearable fairly quick. Minho was regularly waggling his eyebrows at you, but he also managed to keep his nose in his own business on principle, and that just contributed to how easy this was. The rest of the boys really didn’t give any signs of knowing whatsoever, and that kept the status quo to your liking. You didn’t hold hands, you didn’t kiss outside of sex, and you didn’t stay the night. There wasn’t any confusion. This was easy. 

You had somehow ended up reclining with your head on Jisung’s thigh when your phone buzzed, notifying you that your food had been delivered downstairs. The plan had originally been to go get some takeout, but the prospect of just hanging out inside was so much more enticing. You nudged Jisung’s knee as he lazily strummed his guitar, a hobby of his that you couldn’t let yourself get too invested in. Getting interested in Jisung’s playing meant it wouldn’t be long before you wondered if he ever thought of you while he played. 

“Go get the food,” you playfully whined. Jisung pinched your earlobe until you swatted him off. 

“You jerk,” he accused, “was that an order?”

“Go get the food, please.”

“Not in a million years,” Jisung shook his head, “I’m still distraught over telling the barista ‘You, too,’ when she told me to enjoy my coffee.”

“Fine, your majesty,” you dramatically conceded as you slid off the bed and jogged down the stairs. The doorknob rattled right as you reached for it, startling you. You sighed out a laugh as Chan opened the door, your food in hand. 

“Met the delivery guy,” he grinned, “I hope you tipped him.”

“You’re back early,” you observed thoughtfully. Normally Chan wouldn’t be expected for another few hours. 

“Oh, should I leave and come back at my usual time?” Chris quipped and made to step back out the door. “I can just take this with me.”

“No no!” You exclaimed with a giggle as you wrestled the bag of food out of his hands. Chan dropped his work bag on the couch and followed you into the kitchen as you grabbed some utensils. He hung out at the doorway of the kitchen, taking a drink from his hefty metal water bottle while he watched you grab a couple beers out of the fridge. You rifled through the drawers for a bottle opener, grumbling as all you kept coming up with was an inordinate amount of bottle caps. Chan walked up, careful not to sneak up behind you and wordlessly stretching out a hand and offering to open the drinks for you. He capped his water bottle, took one beer from you, and wedged the cap under the lip of the metal vessel to snap off the bottle cap. You were impressed as he repeated the maneuver with the other beer. He proudly smiled and took a drink of it himself, coughing out a laugh as you punched his arm. “That wasn’t for you, you pig!”

“It’s my fee!” Chan snickered while he set down the bottle and retrieved a new beer to open it for you. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” you smiled. “Just hanging out with Jisung upstairs. What’re you going to do with all this extra time in your day?”

“Not sure yet,” Chan shrugged before he brightened up, apparently having an idea. “You want to hang out when you’re done hanging out with Jisung? We haven’t gone out in forever, just the two of us.”

“You don’t mean tonight, do you?” You asked curiously. “We’re all heading out to karaoke once Min gets off work and Changbin gets out of his late class, remember?”

“That was today?” Chan asked in bewilderment. “What day is it?”

“Thursday,” you smirked as you patted his shoulder. “You’re coming out, right?”

“Of course!” Chan assured you. “I could use some company and a nice time. But we should hang out one of these days.”

“For sure,” you grinned, picking up your bottles and food and heading back up the creaky staircase to Jisung’s room. 

Later that evening, Jisung sat across from you at your table at the karaoke bar. Thankfully, you agreed that always sitting next to each other was weird, and this way Minho could gossip in your ear under the noise or the bar and make fun of other patrons as usual. Right now, however, he had his sights firmly set on making you miserable.

“Jisung looks cute tonight,” Minho spoke in your ear, “did you pick out that hat for him?”

“I did,” you nodded as you sipped your beer, “what about it?”

Jisung perked up. “What? I heard my name.”

“I was admiring your hat,” Minho grinned his Cheshire grin. 

“Oh. Thanks!” Jisung nodded and raised his glass in acknowledgment before going back to flicking through his phone. The others were up by the stage, cheering on Changbin as he’d had just enough drinks to start singing ballads. Minho, however, stayed right by your side. 

“You’ve been hanging out together a lot lately. Something I should know?”

“Nope,” you shook your head emphatically. “We just like hanging out together.”

“Gotcha,” Minho nodded in ardent understanding. “So Jisung won’t care if I just—“ You jolted as Minho boldly wrapped an arm around your shoulder and leaned in, challenging you with his eyebrow raised. 

“Nuh-uh,” you replied coolly, “because we just like hanging out together.”

Jisung caught your eye, raising his own eyebrow and putting his face back in his phone. As Minho continued to tease and bother you, talking right in your ear as he held you close, Jisung kept his nose in his screen. Finally, a commotion approached as the boys came to the table. 

Chan grabbed your hand to pull you away. “You’ve just been watching all night! Come sing with me.”

“I’m waiting on some food,” you made a quick excuse, and Minho knew it. Before he could out you, you put his glass back in his hand and pushed it to his mouth. “Besides, Minho’s been wanting to join you!”

Minho choked on his beer as he was about to call you out, but you clutched his face in both hands and held him still so you could plant a sloppy, wet kiss on his cheek and wish him luck. Predictably, Minho was so grossed out by the gesture that he instantly relinquished you, and the boys quickly extracted him from his chair and herded him towards the stage. Chan nearly stayed behind, but Minho reached back, snatching his sleeve and pulling him along. 

You found yourself alone with Jisung at the table, feeling weirdly similar to the first night you’d really met. Jisung sighed, got up, and grabbed your empty glasses to get a new round without saying a word. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, playing with the damp cardboard coaster in front of you as you waited. What was with the weird look Jisung gave you? Minho played with you like that all the time. Out of all your friends, you were most physically “affectionate” with him, except for maybe Chan back when he wasn’t always working. As for Chan, what was with the weird looks he’d been giving you, too? He didn’t look any more stressed or tired than usual. In fact, Chan looked great. He actually changed clothes to come out, ditching his necktie and oxfords for his much comfier preference of a dark hoodie and some sneakers. It almost made you wistful, remembering going out for junk food when he first got his shitty car, or staying up late together and helping him with his graduation projects. But in the end he landed a great job, and he found a great house to  rent with his friends. Maybe he worked too much, but that wasn’t much of a problem. The only problem right now was the weird look he was giving you tonight. Honestly, you were more than likely overthinking it. Chan was always too busy, even when you first met and you had to make excuses to hang out while studying. He was probably just feeling cooped up at work and feeling a little wistful himself. 

Jisung cleared his throat as he set a fresh beer in front of you. For once in his life, he looked thoroughly annoyed. You tugged on his sleeve, which he promptly pulled away. 

“What’s up with you?”

“It’s nothing,” Jisung shook his head. He put on a good smile until you sighed as he sat back down. Thinking playfully, you kicked up a foot onto his chair from under the table, landing right between his legs and barely resting against his crotch. 

“Tell me what’s up,” you tried again, now as you teasingly tapped the sole of your shoe against him. Jisung covered up his full shiver by pretending to crack his neck. 

“Fine,” he sighed, “you’re not as quiet as you think you are. What’s up with you and Minho?”

“Gross,” you laughed, “me and Minho? There’s nothing up with us. He was giving me a hard time because you and I hang out so much.”

“Right. About that.” Jisung took a deep breath and exhaled hard through his nose. A thud reverberated through you where your heart sank. You knew that look. You nearly pulled your foot away, but he held onto your ankle.  “I haven’t asked yet, but what exactly are we? We don’t hold hands, we don’t kiss outside of… well, you know. You’re having a good time, right?”

“Me? Of course,” you nodded emphatically. “This is great, and that’s why I haven’t wanted to name this. Isn’t this fun?”

“Of course it’s fun,” Jisung nodded as well. “Is that why you haven’t wanted to tell the guys?”

“Well, yeah,” you admitted, “we’re always in each other’s business. I know for a fact Seungmin has a crush on the girl working in the student cafe because I’ve seen him there six times in the last three days. Changbin is desperately trying not to fail two of his classes while juggling his internship so he can graduate on time. Jeongin didn’t make the tennis team because he slept in because he was up studying the night before. Everyone knows everyone’s business, and you and I… it’s between you and I.”

“Can you and I be You and I, then?” Jisung asked suddenly. “It can still be between us.”

“Why do you want to?” You asked defensively. The thought of opening up like that with Jisung was terrifying, honestly. You hadn’t been in a “real” relationship in ages, and the closest you’d gotten since then was whatever three ring circus you and Chan had going on, and look where that had gotten you. This was easy. It needed to stay easy. 

“Uh,” Jisung floundered. For some reason, he didn’t seem to predict needing to explain himself. Nevertheless he sat up straight, his hand still on your ankle as he played with your shoelaces. “I want to because I really like you,” he said with determination. “You’re pretty and you’re a great friend and you’re fun to be around. When we fool around I still want to hang out after. I want to hang out with you all the time, actually.”

Your face heated up tremendously at Jisung’s words, but it made you want to back up, not come closer. He looked like he meant it and you recoiled at the thought. You wanted Jisung, you wanted him like crazy, but you had so much on your mind. Graduation was coming up, work was work, and the lease on your apartment was ending in the summer. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to move after graduation. Choosing to stick by Jisung just sounded like it would complicate everything, and that wasn’t even taking feelings into account. This wasn’t even to say how satisfying fooling around with Jisung was. It was mutually attentive, mutually gratifying, and easy. He loved the way you were in charge and you loved being in charge. But who would be in charge in a relationship? Being together would complicate things, more likely than not. 

“I—“ you stammered, eyes glued to the foam on top of your beer. “I need to think about it.”

“Maybe I should’ve found that out before we started doing this on a regular basis,” Jisung sighed while shaking his head. He gently pushed your foot off his chair and got up, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets before he walked out. 

For the first time since you met, Jisung left you on Read that night when you texted to see if he got home alright. The next morning in class, he refused to make eye contact with you as you turned in your latest draft with his suggestions in it, and you didn’t catch him anywhere on campus the rest of the day. The weekend didn’t look any more promising. It was driving you mad, sitting around your apartment and noticing Jisung clearly be online and elsewhere, clearly hanging out around Minho when you called him while you were taking a bath. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Have you seen Jisung?”

“Have I seen — What, do you want to-? No? — Yeah, I’ve seen him. He’s just busy.”

He was just openly avoiding you and it made you furious. It made you upset at how much you wanted him. It made you miss him and how nice it was to be around him. Most of all, though, it made you want to get his attention, see if any effort would catch his eye and open up an avenue to hash out some of these inconvenient feelings between you. 

You felt petty as you regarded the dress you’d picked out on Monday. It was cute, something simple and short, but undeniably flattering. You tried to think of when you last wore the little skater dress, and marveled at the realization it had to have been ages ago, back when you were trying to catch someone else’s eye. Something had invariably changed since then, because you certainly didn’t have the patience for this as often anymore, but you felt invigorated as you sat down and put on a full face of makeup. Jisung already thought you were pretty without it, so maybe this would push him to make his opinions known. Maybe it could even make you express some of your own. 

He certainly seemed to be considering something as he stared at you in class, apparent even from where he sat at the front of the lecture hall. You expected a sneaky text message, or maybe an IM, but in the end he got you in the one place that really let you know how he felt. He returned the drafts that had been turned in on Friday, and you flipped through the stack that had been passed down the aisle to find yours. Staring back at you was a litany of red pen brutalizing your draft, and a sticky note attached to the front of your bibliography. See me.

You waited for the lecture hall to empty and for Professor Brown to clear out before you gingerly opened the door at the front of the room. Jisung was slouched into his chair at the end of the hall, arms folded across his chest and looking clearly agitated. You took a deep breath as you approached him and set your bag down beside his desk, pumping yourself up to be open. 

“So,” you carefully began, “was my paper always bad or were you just blowing off steam?”

“Blowing off steam,” Jisung admitted, eyes downcast as he kept finding himself staring at the hems of your knee socks. 

“I do want you, I hope you know,” you explained, almost challenging yourself as much as you were challenging him. “I want you so much.”

“I know that much at least,” Jisung placated, and he finally slid his chair back from his desk to face you. You nodded seriously, taking the opportunity to reach for his hand on the armrest. His hand was warm in yours but he remained wary.

“I know you know,” you confirmed, and you stepped closer until you were standing between his knees. His fingers absently toyed with your socks, and you took the opportunity to sit on his lap. Jisung froze at the sudden gesture, and even more so as you affectionately stroked his hair away from his forehead. The feelings swirling around your head refused to come out, but damn it if he didn’t look so cute trying to focus. “I’ve missed you all weekend. Did you miss me?”

“Maybe I did,” he shrugged in an attempt to look nonchalant, trying not to intrepidly bounce his knee as you led his hand to the top of your socks. Regrettably, playing around seemed leagues easier than talking now. 

“Did you think about me?” You prodded. The rapid beat of your heart eased as Jisung seemed to start melting his icy facade and he nodded again. Your chest welled with the force of your stroked ego; you’d successfully changed the subject and bought a fast track to forgiveness. 

“Maybe I did,” he repeated, but his wandering eyes gave him away. 

“Come on,” you pouted, “tell me.” Jisung bit at his lip before you shifted around, now straddling him in his chair, and his eyes widened as you wordlessly implored him. 

“Why should I?” He struggled out, especially as you subtly rolled your hips against his. Jisung seemed to have finally wised up to your impulse, but now you wanted it, and you would try to get it. 

“Because I thought about you,” you smiled softly, glad to be having a grip on the situation again. “I thought about you every night, and I was so lonely without you.”

“Right,” Jisung scoffed now, shaking all his temptation off and disgruntled as he herded you off his lap. “You know what? Prove it. Come out with me tonight. The guys will be there, but that’s exactly what you want, right? You want you and I to be a little secret?”

“Jisung,” you bristled, “you and I haven’t even agreed to be You and I.”

Jisung impatiently folded his arms. “Say no or come out with me tonight. Stop trying to fuck your way out of this if you actually care about me. This can be our little secret, but I won’t be your little power trip.”

You folded your arms as well, matching him in frustration as you considered what Jisung was proposing. If you went out with him that night, he might push you to confront some feelings you really didn’t want to. If you didn’t go out with him that night, however, you could see your friendship quickly dissolving. “Fine,” you huffed. “I’ll be at the bar tonight.”

What a terrible idea.

[kisskissbanggang]

Hello Stranger

[14K Words/1Hr. Read - Teacher!Bang Chan x Admin!Female Reader - Fake Relationships, Guest Appearances, Fluff, Smut, Slow Burn, New Teachers, Vanilla, Office Sex, Allusions To Troubling Subjects]

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You should’ve expected a phone call when you read the email. At least then you would be somewhat prepared for the verbal lashing you were currently receiving from one of your greatest teachers. 

“I’m sorry, but — wait, you know what? No I’m not, I’m not sorry — but I am not staying here with this dumpster fire waiting to happen! He’s wrecking the department — Johnny, let me talk — and I didn’t even want him here to begin with. Congratulations, ma’am, you torpedoed my program I worked so hard to build.”

Doyoung paused, waiting for you to call his bluff, to appeal to his good side as usual. He was right. He’d done so much for his school — for the district, really, and this was getting out of hand. Johnny could be heard behind him, the poor principal having apparently had his desk phone wrestled away from him to begin with. 

“Mr. Kim,” you spoke into the phone, mustering all the confidence you had in you, “what do you want me to do? I mean it. Tell me what you want.”

“He goes or I go,” Doyoung dramatically laid out into your ear. Johnny could be heard trying to console the raving teacher before Doyoung apparently ducked him every few seconds. “I’m losing my mind. I have 150 students becoming fucking hypnotized and they’re influencing their peers like the plague.”

“Besides losing either of you,” you carefully negotiated, “what do you want me to do? I value your input; I always have. Dig into the meat with me here, please.”

“I will not teach beside some noble renegade who wears hoodies to class and asks his students to call him by his first name. I won’t teach in the same building, nor in the same school. This is dangerous, and you know it is. For all the money you’re throwing at PR this year you could be putting it in your students.”

You hated that Doyoung was right. This was not a great start to the year. A sigh escaped that you had not meant for, and Doyoung audibly steeled himself on the other end of the receiver. He was waiting now. 

“I’m coming down there,” you announced. Apparently Johnny heard you, a god fucking dammit being heard behind Doyoung’s shoulder. Doyoung, however, was sated. 

“Fine,” he replied, but he didn’t sound fine. He sounded like he was surprised he got anywhere. “I’m sorry I got so upset.”

And like that, Doyoung hung up. You slumped down in your chair, having been pacing your otherwise pristine office for the past 15 minutes which had felt more like 15 hours. You were fussily rearranging your desk, trying to calm yourself back down when your assistant finally felt it was safe enough to poke her head into your office. 

“Ma’am—” Yeji greeted before you held up a hand to stop her. You pinched the bridge of your nose in exasperation. 

“How many more calls this week?”

“Only four,” she replied. A relieved sigh softened your tense shoulders as she set the personnel file you requested on your desk. 

You felt so old now, run ragged by all the mayhem, but it wasn’t so long ago that you were young yourself. Even then, you still were according to most standards. You were the youngest assistant superintendent to ever serve the district, a set of magnet schools within the city comprised of one private Montessori primary school, one public STEM-focused junior high, and one private-public hybrid high school of the arts. You pined for the ultimate position, but that chair was long occupied by Mr. Simmons, a token favorite of the school board. He called you dear and was always acting like some big man pitying a little girl. However, this didn’t mean you hadn’t tried like hell to make an impression. 

Your first three years had been a terrific uphill trajectory. In year one, you brought on Doyoung to replace the retiring choir teacher and head of the music department at the high school. To date, he’d brought in more accolades than his predecessor did in twice the time. For your second year, you collaborated with your junior high on an agricultural enrichment program that offset food costs district wide to the point you could improve offerings in all three cafeterias. This year, you re-established the district PTA. Doyoung’s rabid Booster Club and the parents of the junior high’s robotics team made up the first meeting, and more and more parents had joined since. 

So it only seemed fair that this year was your first true hurdle. It had been such an innocent decision: you took a proposed program from the junior high and adapted it for your high school students. A music production and distribution program was a clean, sleek idea that was sure to impress the PTA and enrich the lives of your students in their already affluent music department and work as a dual credit with the business side of the class. What you hadn’t betted on, however, was what exactly a young teacher could get into in a high school setting. 

Chris Bang wasn’t naive — you were sure of it, looking at his portfolio. He’d cut his teeth independently producing from a young age and gathering a loyal following online. This was a concept you understood well enough, but had a time and a half explaining to anyone older than you, it seemed. Anyone older than you, but also especially Doyoung, who was very fiercely proud of his hard work to get his double Masters in Choral Conducting and Music Theory at 21 and didn’t have the patience for homegrown prodigies. You couldn’t blame Doyoung, really, even with his dramatics. His competition choir was a force to be reckoned with — surprisingly disciplined, endlessly talented, and ravenously competitive — and now two of his students were wrapped up in all this, too, and that was just the extent you were aware of. 

You tapped out an IM to Yeji from your desktop, asking her to come back into your office, and she dutifully popped in a few seconds later. She pulled up a chair in front of your desk as you rested your head in your hands for a moment. “Tell me, Yeji,” you sighed, “what’s your read on this?”

“Well, ma’am,” she mulled it over, “it’s not great. It’s awful, really. But it’s hard to tell by now what’s real, what’s a cry for attention, or what feels real but is actually just the zeitgeist. You know how this is, what it can turn into.”

You did. You’d remembered your own whirlwind feelings at a similar age, even just out of high school. Strangers and dissenters had a hard time believing it, but before you had assumed the role of meticulously poised and proper, you were frustratingly belligerent and stubborn like many of your peers when you were younger. It was easy to recall how real, how present every moment was at the time, but you didn’t even remember the whole story now. In fact, you hadn’t thought of that story in ages, but you were suddenly reminded of the smell of pine trees and sugar, the cool electricity of being out past midnight. It was quite possibly the most excited you’d ever felt, but now you couldn’t remember the fine details, the corners sanded down to curves over time. To your students, these letters were the most exciting and dramatic thing to ever happen to them, and if they would remember the details later on would depend on how you handled the situation. 

The first letter surfaced just a week before, and online of all places. A full declaration of this girl’s undying love for Chris and all of the very, very, very inappropriate things she wanted to do with him, found in an envelope on the keyboard outside his office and posted online before he could ever see it. The next letter was eventually found two days later, apparently picked up from where it had missed the trash can: a 17 year old boy, feeling emboldened enough to finally profess who he was — gay, madly in love with Chris, and willing to risk it all. A third was stolen from a girl’s backpack from some bullies and she had been a wreck, so sure that Chris had picked one of the other two and she’d missed her chance. That girl hadn’t returned to school yet. Who knew what else was going on in the hallways, in the cafeteria and bathrooms, in the parking lot after school? 

Four more parents contacted your office, according to Yeji. Four more letters. And now Doyoung was threatening to quit, for added reasons you hadn’t even been aware of. You flipped through Chris’ personnel file, hoping not to find any red flags, but hopefully find any reason this spiraled out of control, anything other than tumultuous teenage life wreaking havoc on your students. 

Your sigh renewed in spades as you glanced at your assistant again. “Who do you remember most from high school?”

Yeji’s eyes were cast downward as she thought about it. “Other than my friends? Probably the student teacher in my auto class,” she blissfully reminisced. “The teacher would sleep half the time and the student teacher would just teach us whatever we wanted to know and what we needed to know for tests. I remember I had the biggest crush because of that.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Yeji gave an apologetic smile. “What about you?”

Her question knocked you off your feet for a moment. For some reason, you hadn’t been expecting it, but you immediately had an answer. “Aside from friends? Weirdly enough,” you began, “someone I didn’t meet until graduation.”

As sickly sentimental as the thought of it was, it was true. You didn’t even remember that boy’s name anymore, but you’d met exactly three times before you left for college. He had been hanging out by the bonfire on the beach at a grad party no one had expected to get so crazy. You couldn’t remember your conversation, but you could remember his bleached hair tucked under a beanie catching your eye as he sat by himself, his friends apparently wreaking havoc on their own somewhere. His lip ring was crooked, and in a fit of beer-buzzed confidence you’d fixed it for him while you talked about the phony gravitas of graduation. You’d almost kissed him, too, connecting over things that seemed way more kismet than they probably were when your friends finally made you walk home with them. 

You gathered up the rest of your patience and courage as you bid Yeji goodbye until your return and headed out to your car in the lot, making the tedious journey to the high school. The handsomely vintage architecture was charmingly modern inside the gates and within its walls, but not overly so. However, this also meant the school was a hike and a maze to navigate through to find the music department. You were distracted, though, missing a turn here or there and having to turn back a couple times now that you were suddenly remembering your clandestine romance from years ago. What was his name? It wasn’t even that long ago. Had so much really happened since then? You wracked your brain. He had a reasonably fresh and nice scratcher tattoo on his bicep, you remembered, but you couldn’t remember what it was for some reason, just like his name. He had to have said it in one of these memory bites. 

The second time you’d met, he’d been handing out flyers on the boardwalk for his own show at a rave in a warehouse on the other side of town, out where the beach met the woods. He’d seen you before you’d seen him, and he had popped up with a greeting of Hello, stranger. He had made you promise to be there, which is where you met the third and final time later that night. He greeted you again the same way. Hello, stranger. You’d thought it was cute then, and still did, which must be why you still remembered that detail, at least. He liked your shoes, your worn work boots you’d picked up at a thrift store and refused to get rid of despite all the times your parents asked. 

Those warehouse shows were always nuts, all sorts of vendors arriving who were willing to shack up with any event that passed through. He had bought you cotton candy from one of these vendors when you met him after his set and you chatted as you walked along the tree line, talking about his dreams of becoming rich and famous on his own terms. He kissed you, once, and you tasted his lip ring and spun sugar for weeks. You found yourself wondering now if he ever did become rich and famous. 

Doyoung gave you a passing glance in the hall as you stalked towards Chris’s classroom: he looked impatient but thrilled and, sure enough, well dressed in his usual suit and tie. You wondered if this new staff member was exactly what Doyoung was fear mongering. Maybe it was simply a difference in values. This was Chris’ first year teaching professionally, you remembered, and now you felt miserably guilty. What a horrible way to start a career. You hadn’t even visited your new teacher since he began, but just the door outside his room was a mess. Doyoung’s fretting made more sense now. Even though you’d only gotten four phone calls, Chris’s classroom door was plastered in letters. 

The door creaked and fluttered as you opened it and peeked your head inside. The room was devoid of any human presence. For a space that needed to serve multiple purposes, it was sparsely filled except for classroom materials and equipment. Regular desks and chairs filled the floor as opposed to risers or music stands like in the other department classrooms, but there was still a soundproof practice room in the back of the room, and only the recording equipment stored around the room gave any hint to the classroom’s purpose. To deal with the mess after the third letter, a sub was leading Chris’s classes in the library, but you at least expected to find him here himself, or at least some posters or framed photos. You peeked inside the small office at the head of the classroom, finding it just as empty as well, but with some more personality. A few extra milk crates of visibly nicer vinyl records for sampling and listening were stacked beside the desk along with a nicer record player than what was by his desk out in the classroom. Some books sat on a shelf with a modest cactus in the corner, and finally some photos: Chris shaking hands and smiling with tons of industry players and friends, and occasionally appearing in one of those hoodies Doyoung had been warning of. He did own suits, apparently. Multiple. And he looked good in them. 

A polite cough surprised you at the door of the office. 

You whirled around, the sun outside silhouetting Chris as he stared at you in his dimly lit office. “My office hours are cancelled this week. May I help you?”

It was your turn to cough, clearing your throat. He was certainly young. He was certainly handsome, his grimace pronouncing the charming dimples in his cheeks. He certainly didn’t dress like a teacher. Chris stood in the doorway of his own office, looking at you curiously in his hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. He even had a backpack hung on his shoulder and a bag of greasy fast food in his hands. He suddenly looked down at it, embarrassed. 

“I, er, wore out my welcome in the teacher’s lounge, it seems,” he sighed out a sullen laugh. “And I needed some fresh air.”

“Mr. Bang, I—“

“Call me Chris,” he insisted with a tired grin. Your heart shamefully thumped at how friendly and cute he was. It was easier to pretend you didn’t hear him. He stepped around you and dropped down into his desk chair. He silently gestured at his food, appearing to ask if you were alright if he ate while you talked. You nodded. He dug into the bag and cheekily offered you a fry. You coolly shook your head. 

“I’m sorry we have to meet like this, but as assistant superintendent—“

Chris sputtered, standing up from his chair as he choked down the fry he’d just put in his mouth. “Ma’am,” he gasped finally, “I didn’t—“

“I know,” you nodded again. You waved up a hand in understanding. “Please, sit back down. I wanted to come by and see how you’re doing, considering the current state of affairs.”

Chris stayed standing, uneasy and fidgeting. “Alright, what do you want? Is this it? Please don’t suggest I need an attorney, I don’t think I can handle it.”

“What?” You asked, surprised. 

“I’m sorry for snapping,” Chris lamented, “but I’ve gotten dozens of emails and messages through the school portal from parents and students asking me if I did anything, and it’s doing my head in.”

“They’re what?!” You hadn’t even considered anyone actually thought the teacher was guilty of anything. He nodded gravely. 

“Read the letters outside!” His demand came out brokenly as he pointed behind you. “They’re begging me and taunting me to do all sorts of shit. Confess, quit, fuck them — all sorts of awful trash that I never even imagined. I just wanted to teach. I don’t know why the hell this is happening to me.”

You had no idea about any harassment. This looked bad. It looked bad to your students, their parents, the staff — everyone. You pulled out your phone from your purse and brought up the PR rep’s number, now on your speed dial. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Of course I didn’t—“ he sputtered before you cut him off. 

“I wasn’t asking, Mr. Bang. You didn’t do anything and I believe you. A good superintendent would support good staff. Your first few months brought nothing but praise past my office.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Chris quietly said. He finally sat down as you dialed the rep. She would be by shortly. You found another chair hiding under a pile of books and cds and moved them so you could sit. Chris was looking at you oddly now as you hung up, sitting closer than you’d normally like in the small office. You shifted uncomfortably. Chris offered you a fry again before you stiffly refused once more. He shrugged and began inhaling his food in earnest. 

“Hungry?” You asked sarcastically, instantly regretting it. There was no sense in kicking him while he was down. 

“Emotional eater,” he clarified around a mouthful, equally sarcastic in your resumed awkward silence. You considered the young teacher in front of you. If you recalled the personnel file, he wasn’t just a brand new teacher, he was new to the area as well. A rumor apparently spread among the students and even some of your staff that he had been running away from something, but you never paid that any attention until you were actually in the same room with him. He caught you zoning out in his direction, an eyebrow raised as he paused on his mouthful of food, and you sheepishly pulled out your phone and checked your agenda until your rep finally found you hiding out together in the tiny office. 

Ryujin had become your go-to girl since the school year started but even more so over the past week. Public relations for a school district should never have to become very high-maintenance work, but Ryujin was quickly proving herself over-qualified for the job. She stood in the doorway, tall and cool in her confidence despite her short stature as she looked over the situation. 

“Stand up,” she simply directed Chris. 

He gave you a quick glance, not moving until you nodded. Chris set his food down and stood, hands in his hoodie pockets as Ryujin circled him. He warily shied away from her prodding as she pinched and pulled at his clothes, looking at tags and labels. She fiddled with the cute studs in his ears, tugged on the strings of his hoodie to draw him more to her level, and ruffled his dark, fluffy hair to look for showing roots or product. Ryujin looked at you now. “This isn’t so bad,” she told you decidedly. 

Chris was confused, left about ten miles behind the conversation. “Why—“

“What do we do?” You asked. Chris looked wildly between both of you as you decided his fate without him. “We’re dealing with harassment now.”

“Of course we are,” Ryujin nodded thoughtfully, “I mean, look at him.”

“Hey!” Chris rightfully looked offended, even as you held up a calming hand to settle him down. Ryujin impatiently waited for you to let her continue. 

“He doesn’t look like a teacher, he doesn’t act like a teacher, he’s under 30, and— I’m sorry— he’s cute. He was bound to get eaten alive when his students are only a few years younger than him and he has no experience.”

“So,” you reiterated, “what do we do?”

“He can go back to teaching,” Ryujin ruled, “but he has to look and act the part. No more first-name basis, no more street clothes.”

“This is so ridiculous!” Chris laughed in disbelief. 

Both you and Ryujin glared at him now before she continued. “He’ll have to make a statement first. I’ll write it, of course. He can speak at the next PTA meeting. But —“ she turned to face him for once, “you shouldn’t be alone. Do you have a spouse? A partner? Some boyfriend or girlfriend?”

Now you shared Chris’ confused look. “Why does that matter?”

Ryujin folded her arms. “I don’t mince words. Sympathy, mostly. For anyone worrying, he’ll clearly appear to have support. For anyone who is doubting him, he clearly appears to have a loyal and loving presence in his life that can attest to Mr. Bang never having any nefarious predilection for his students and never intending to inspire any regrettable actions. It’s ultimately a similar reason to why I suggested you should wear a wedding ring.”

Your face heated up once again at being outed in front of your staff member. Ryujin had suggested a fake wedding ring ages ago when you first hired her. The moment you were appointed, parents instantly began doubting you. Even Superintendent Simmons, a parent himself, questioned you at your third interview. How could you — a young woman with no spouse and no children of your own — ever deign to understand what it’s like to raise and nurture one? The sheer stubbornness that you felt in response to that sentiment made you refuse such a placating notion as a fake wedding ring. Chris seemed to notice your embarrassment before he piped up himself, almost seeming to want to change the subject back for your sake. 

“No,” Chris said simply, “I’m single and fine with it.”

“Look,” Ryujin rolled her eyes, “that is fine. Find a fake, then. It just needs to look real. It’s not fair, but these parents will assume you’re a better person if you’re not single in this situation. They need to see that you’re a loving and committed professional who just wants to teach and nurture young minds. The next PTA meeting is this Thursday night. Today is Tuesday, so you have a little time, but not much. Consider it, and I’ll have an optional line in your statement for whatever you decide. Do you have a suit?”

“For funerals and weddings,” Chris grumbled. 

“A sweater is fine then,” Ryujin shrugged. She put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “This is going to be fine. Let me know if you need anything.”

“You’re leaving?” You realized with thorough embarrassment that you sounded distressed. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” she sighed, “the Superintendent wants a meeting about his son or something. You will be fine. Keep me updated.”

Ryujin ghosted out the door as fast as she’d come, and Chris reeled. “The nerve! I can’t believe her, can you?”

“Yes,” you nodded seriously, “I can. She’s right.”

“Oh, come on!” Chris blustered. You stood back up now, gathering your bag in the crook of your arm and straightening the carefully pressed collar of your suit jacket. 

“I don’t want to see you have to end your career so soon, Mr. Bang,” you sympathized as you pulled out a business card from your purse and handed it to him. “Again, I’ve only heard good things about you until all this. Call me if you need anything. You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Things settled for one day. And then Thursday morning happened. Yeji was pale as you entered the office in the morning. 

“John called from his cell.” 

You checked your watch. First period was just starting at the high school. 

God dammit. 

You jogged into your office, grabbed the phone, and dialed him back. Johnny was out of breath. “I have a situation,” he panted into the phone. You could hear shouting behind him. Specifically, you could hear Doyoung shouting behind him. God dammit. 

The tires on your car screeched as you peeled out of the parking lot of the admin building, tearing across town and barely breathing until you passed through Johnny’s office on your way into the building. He was icing his cheek with a cold pack from the nurse, his tie loose and slack around his neck and his suit jacket haphazardly slung over the back of his chair. Before you could say anything, he just shook his head with a disappointed laugh before returning to work at his computer. You walked quickly through the hallway, students watching you from their first period classrooms until you reached the music department. Taeil, the band teacher, closed Doyoung’s door behind him as he saw you in the hall. 

“Ma’am,” the teacher greeted, thoroughly exhausted, “I wouldn’t go in there. We already called a sub for the rest of the day and I took Doyoung’s kids to the library for independent study.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moon,” you thanked him graciously, “do you have any idea what happened?” Taeil shrugged helplessly. His tie was crooked as well, his rolled sleeves uneven. You looked over at Chris’ room, open to the hall. Letters had shuffled off the door and onto the hallway floor. “Take care of Doyoung,” you instructed Taeil, “make sure he’s okay and that he gets home alright.”

Taeil nodded and let himself back into Doyoung’s classroom as you carefully approached Chris’. The room was dark, books and papers strewn across the floor. You cautiously switched on the light, only to find the teacher slumped in his chair at the head of the room, icing his own face with a metal water bottle. He silently glanced at you and sighed as you rushed over to check on him. You set your purse on his desk and gingerly pulled the water bottle away, sharing Chris’ sigh as you saw the bruise on his cheek. It felt a bit gross to still find him so frustratingly handsome in this moment. 

“What happened?” You softly asked him. Chris sank into the chair and gave a dejected shrug, helpless to recollect. And he didn’t get much of a chance to even try, as a commotion erupted in the empty hallway. Doyoung stood fuming in the doorway with Taeil futilely attempting to pull him away. 

“So you are here,” Doyoung grimaced at you before he shot a glare at Taeil, “why are you lying for her? Everyone is treating me like I’m insane and I’ve had it.” He stormed over, only stopped as you turned to press a confrontational hand to his chest. Doyoung had quite the busted lip. 

“Mr. Kim, I know tensions are high—” you began staunchly before Doyoung steamrolled you. 

“Do you?! Do you even know what happened?” He leaned to the side, staring daggers into Chris. “Tell her, you sorry excuse of a—“

“I’m telling you, Kim, just like I have been telling you,” Chris glowered, “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about! You’re the one who came in here looking to start a fight.”

“You’re a goddamn liar!” Doyoung shouted. You put your hands on his shoulders, making him look at you. 

“Tell me, then, Mr. Kim.”

Doyoung shiftily looked back and forth between the two of you. “Tell you what, ma’am?” he grumbled. “Tell you that I had the joy of overhearing one of my brightest students talking with her friends during zero period, bragging about fucking in his practice room? Tell you that she’s just a freshman? Tell you that I caught her and her friends giggling as she wrote her own fucking letter?” 

Doyoung pulled a crumpled piece of notebook paper out of his suit jacket and shoved it into your hands. You looked back at Chris, his shaking eyes horrified as he was apparently hearing this all for the first time. 

“I admit, I took matters into my own hands. I flew off the handle. Why, though, would I come to you with all this first, ma’am?” Doyoung pleaded. You recognized the helpless heartache in his eyes, hating how much he was losing his students. “You wouldn’t come to me first if I asked for your help. You’d go straight to him.”

You glanced down at the notebook paper in your hands, catching glimpses of curly, naive confessions, and you looked back at Chris again. He didn’t look guilty. You didn’t want him to be. You wanted this all resolved, as cleanly as possible before you possibly wrecked the year before winter break. You thought fast. 

“I did go to him first, Mr. Kim,” you conceded, quiet yet confident, “and I apologize if my actions come across as selfish, but this ordeal has caused quite the strain on mine and Chris’ relationship, even more so since it’s still fairly new.”

Doyoung backed up, aghast as his eyes flicked between the two of you again. His normally soft gaze was pure hellfire. “You’re kidding me,” he shook his head in disbelief. He had no interest in waiting for a confirmation before he turned to storm off, herding Taeil along with him. 

Chris was staring at you when you turned back to face him, shocked as he was at your sudden plan. “Why the hell did you do that?” 

You pulled out your phone to dial Ryujin, but before you actually sent the call through, you bored your eyes into Chris, who was still wincing past the bruise on his face. “You still didn’t do anything?”

“Never,” he adamantly shook his head. 

“Good,” you nodded. “We will need to talk before the PTA meeting tonight. My assistant will call you with details.” You plucked your purse up from his desk and shouldered it. Chris watched, still stunned as you made for the door. His continued stare made you pause, a hand on the door frame as you turned back to face him. “You’re innocent,” you explained, “but if you quit you’ll be proving everyone who’s doubting you right. It seems like no one is on your side except me, so if no one will do anything then I will. You’ll be fine, Mr. Bang.” With that, you regained your confidence once more to walk down the hall. You caught your breath before you tapped out a message for Ryujin on your phone. Somehow, you didn’t expect her to call you right away. 

“I’m sorry, but you what?!” Ryujin exclaimed, stooping you in your tracks from wherever she was. 

“You said he needs to find someone and make it look real!” You hissed, trying to keep your composure the best you could in the quiet hallway. 

“I didn’t mean you!”

You grumbled out a curse under your breath. “Well, it’s a bit too late for that clarification,” you bit out, “so what do I do now?”

Ryujin could be heard tapping on her cell phone as she spoke to you. “I’m on it,” she assured you, “and I’m sure you already figured you need to talk before the PTA meeting tonight. We need to make sure you’re on the same page. I’m forwarding you the statement I wrote. Hang tight, I’m going to meet you at your place.”

Chris frowned at the suit laid out on top of your couch after you’d extracted it from its garment bag. Ryujin had brought it, on loan from some unnamed resource, complete with notecards of her prepared statement in the breast pocket. “Why does this also feel like proving everyone right for some reason,” he said uncomfortably. 

“What exactly is wrong?” You sighed. Chris fidgeted. He looked out of place in your apartment, his soft black hoodie and worn jeans contrasting starkly with your minimalist and meticulously organized sanctuary. His brows were furrowed with impending panic, but he looked determined. 

“I’m nervous,” he bemoaned, “tell it to me again.”

“We met over the summer at a cafe downtown,” you explained impatiently. 

“That’s so soon for someone like you to be backing up a pariah like me,” Chris laughed, almost on the verge of breakdown, apparently. He was choking down a milkshake. He’d brought you one too, of course, but when you politely refused he took it as a consolation prize. It was incredible to you that he seemed to be in such good shape for how much food he put down. Or, you realized, maybe a catastrophe of this caliber wasn’t very common for him. 

“Put on the suit, Mr. Bang,” you urged, “please?”

“Oh my god, you need to stop calling me that if we’re dating!” Chan nervously laughed again.

“Look, I’ll be just fine, I’ll be able to fix it when we’re in front of people,” you insisted, “but you need to calm down.”

“Calm down? I’m having an entire escape plan thrust upon me and I’m trying to adjust.”

“Well,” you huffed as you found yourself meeting his level, “maybe you wouldn’t need this escape plan if you didn’t take such a lax approach to teaching.”

“Excuse me?” Chris asked, blindsided by your outburst. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know what people are saying!” You doubled down in defense, squaring up against him as you impatiently folded your arms. 

“Why don’t you tell me, ma’am, what exactly people are saying about me?” Chris stood defiantly, toe to toe with you and daring you to follow through. You took the bait. 

“You know exactly what people are saying,” you challenged him, “that you refuse to take the role seriously because it’s easier that way. You give these students too much freedom, and you’re encouraging them to act out. Who needs homework? Who needs textbooks? Who needs seating charts? They call you by your first name and think you’re their best friend, that you’re one of them, only older, just like they wish they were! They live and die by your approval because you seem so cool and you don’t seem like a teacher.”

“Oh, so I don’t seem like a teacher now?” Chris scoffed. 

“They certainly don’t respect you like one,” you snapped. A deep pause coursed through you both like a cold breeze before he burst. 

“Well you sure as hell don’t respect me like one, so why the hell are you helping me?!” Chris shouted. 

“Well,” you mocked, quickly losing grip, “here I was thinking it was the right thing to do!” You heaved out a frustrated sigh, throwing your hands in the air and finally turning away as you couldn’t stand to look at him. 

However, you may have glossed over the in-progress milkshake that had been in his hands, now currently all over his hoodie and on the spotless hardwood floor of your apartment. 

“Oh, great!” Chris laughed incredulously. “I sure look like I could use the help now, Miss Assistant Superintendent. Guess I’ll put on the stupid suit so I don’t make a bigger fool out of myself at my public execution tonight.”

Your face regrettably heated up as Chris frustratedly tugged his hoodie off over his head, his shirt following right after as he fished the pressed white shirt out from within the suit jacket. He had an admittedly nice figure, his toned torso never being hinted at through his comfy wardrobe. A set of tattooed compass roses on his upper arm caught your attention, and you wished you didn’t find it attractively endearing. “I don’t know why I agreed to this,” he ranted, “no one would ever believe I’d date a stuck-up, uptight, tyrant like you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” you fumed as you turned away, not wanting to get distracted, “except no one would believe I’d ever date an arrogant ingrate like you.”

Chris could be heard pacing behind you as he buttoned the shirt, apparently pausing at your mantle over the fireplace. “I bet you were a nightmare as a student, a real grade-grubber and brown-noser,” he grumbled, now seeming to have found your framed photos of you and your friends at graduation, first from high school and then from undergrad. “I’m going to hang myself with this godawful tie— is this you?”

You rolled your eyes as you walked over and snatched his tie out of his fingers to do it yourself. He’d already deftly changed his pants while you weren’t watching. “Sure, that’s me,” you muttered, “and no, I wasn’t a nightmare, thank you very much.” You paused as you felt a shift in his silence and glanced up at him. For the first time you noticed a subtle cologne on him, a gentle musk that was miserably attractive on him and you just wanted to get this over with even faster. Chris was giving you that indecipherable look again as you fiddled with the stupid necktie. From this close, you could see a cute little dot just under his lip, a telltale spacer that more than likely usually held a lip ring and—

Oh. 

Hello, stranger. 

Chris was gravely silent as he parked in front of your apartment later that night. The PTA meeting had been a disaster, starting the moment you left to travel back to the high school, where the meetings were held in the main theater. A loaded silence had staked itself between you the whole drive, and neither of you had reviewed Ryujin’s statement whatsoever. Nonetheless, you sat and stood close enough to each other during the meeting to be clear but not obscene in what you both were implying with your proximity, and you were faithfully beside him as he approached the podium. It was difficult to ignore the hushed whispers resounding through the audience. Chris’ brazen confidence was all but gone by now, fully broken as multiple hands immediately shot up to get a word in. Chris had forged ahead, though, even as his hands tried not to tremble around his notes. Ryujin’s statement didn’t mince words, just like her. He read out how his inexperience wrongly led him to take a more casual approach to teaching, how he’d recklessly and misguidedly inspired his students to put too much trust in him. He read out what a struggle this presented for both of you, being faced with accusations of such severity, and wishing to regain the trust of the assembled teachers and parents. The hands stayed in the air, and Johnny moderated question after question and Chris adamantly confirmed again and again and again that he had done nothing except naively neglect to put a firmer stop to all this. He was the one, and not Ryujin, to say that he should have brought the letters to Johnny’s attention and not simply ignored them, hoping the situation would stop on its own. More hands kept raising. Seemingly every parent belonging to a letter on Chris’ door was here wanting personal reassurance and, subsequently, a reason from him that their children were acting out. It felt like a never ending ordeal, a constant string of hurt and confused parents needing comfort. Johnny had no words for Chris when he finally ended the meeting, putting him out of his misery. Nothing else got done on the agenda that night. He only clapped a sympathetic hand to his teacher’s shoulder. 

You tapped out what happened in a text message to Ryujin. Her diagnosis was optimistic but tough, and in your continued silence in the car, you suddenly realized you were stopped in front of your apartment. Chris was quiet, zoning out at the wheel until you nudged him.

“Ryujin says we can still do this,” you encouraged him. “Enough of the parents should believe you. We just need to make sure the students and staff do, too…. as well as the board.”

Chris leaned forward, letting his head rest against the steering wheel. “I wish they didn’t have to believe me. They’re probably stressed as hell over this. This whole thing is such shit,” he muttered. “We don’t even like each other.”

“We don’t?”

“What?” Chris sullenly chuckled. “Just because we did ages ago?”

“I mean,” you shrugged, “I remembered that pretty fondly. I thought of that kiss all summer.”

“We kissed?”

Ouch. 

You sighed. “Fine then. You’re right. We don’t like each other. You’re cocky and naive and I’m…”

“Uptight?” Chris smirked, but he shut his mouth when you clearly didn’t appreciate the jab. “I’m sorry. I do appreciate everything you’re doing, you know. I just… I’m going through it.”

“I know,” you commiserated. 

“What do we do now?” 

“There’s a board meeting next Wednesday night,” you explained. “You can accompany me to that, and that’ll take care of them. Until then, we keep up appearances at school, now that we’re exposed.”

“How are we doing that?”

“I’ll figure something out,” you reassured him. “What’ll you do now?”

“Oh, you know,” Chris laughed tiredly, “probably go pick up a taco box and try not to ruin this suit.”

You nodded in understanding as you unbuckled your seatbelt and dug around in your bag for your keys. “No hoodies, okay?”

Chris nodded, watching as you stepped out of the car and fussily smoothed your skirt back down. “Do you need me to walk you up?”

“I can manage,” you grinned softly as you pulled something out of your bag. You handed him the offending note from that morning. “I didn’t do this just because I thought you didn’t do anything. This letter is addressed to a Chris but it appears to actually be a student named Christian S.”

“Oh,” Chris grimaced, “isn’t he Superintendent Simmons’ son? I have him in fourth period. He’s one of the first chairs in Taeil’s concert band. He’s sort of… gross, sometimes, about girls. I can’t say I’m surprised, but I’m still disappointed.”

“You alright?”

“I should’ve done something,” he muttered as he sank back into his seat, still staring at the letter. 

“Don’t start with that,” you lightly admonished, “it’s not always easy to know when to interfere.”

“Thank you,” Chris said quietly. 

“Of course,” you said with a small smile. “Goodnight.”

Johnny and Doyoung did a double-take as you walked into the music department the following day at lunchtime. It only made sense to you that if Chris was trying to dress up more, you’d match him by dressing down more. Your requisite suit and heels were switched out for a simple blouse with some tailored jeans and flats. That alone was a huge step for you, considering you even refused to dress down for the annual Welcome Back picnic for the district staff every year. You felt uncomfortable despite still looking clean and poised, but leagues more approachable apparently, proven as students’ passing glances lingered on their way to the cafeteria. Johnny’s look was simply one of surprise, but Doyoung’s was nothing but bitterness. Even Chris, as he happened to prop open his classroom door when you walked down the hall, was curious to see you looking so casual and chipper as you strutted up to him with a bundle in your arms. He was surprisingly handsome, wearing a blazer over a simple t-shirt with some slim jeans and sneakers — better, but not quite there. He couldn’t help a small smile as you theatrically revealed what you had brought: his cleaned hoodie and shirt folded and draped over a bag of takeout to split. 

“Hungry?” You asked sweetly, but hopefully not overdone. A couple of students walked past, their eyes boring into you. Chris looked unfazed, took the hoodie and shirt from your hands and, with a quick look down the hall at Doyoung and Johnny, beckoned you into the classroom with a nod.

“Starving,” he answered with a grin, and even gave Johnny a cheery wave as he promptly shut the door again behind you. “What are you doing here?” He quietly asked you, the dazzling facade of confidence instantly crumbling. His panicked surprise wasn’t lost on you. 

“We need to keep up appearances like I said. It’s Friday, you’re going through a hard time, and you’re eating like you grew another stomach. I brought us something to eat,” you explained, pushing the bag into his hands. 

“You—“ Chris looked dumbfounded, eyes darting between you and the food in his hands, “— brought me lunch?”

“Yes? What else was this supposed to be? I’m your girlfriend, for all intents and purposes.” You led Chris back into his own office and helped yourself to a seat. “We also need to brush up on our relationship in case anyone asks.”

“Fine,” Chris nodded as he dug into his food. “Let’s study, then. I’m guessing you went to college right after we met, and I’m sure you taught at least a little before this.”

“Grade schoolers,” you nodded, “it was good but not for me. I never asked about your accent.”

“You did, actually. That first time, so that’s probably why you don’t remember. I grew up in Sydney, moved here before junior year in high school. Do you live by yourself? I didn’t see a roommate or any cats.”

“I live by myself,” you confirmed, “I gave up on roommates around the time I took this job. No time for pets, either. I guess I’m too uptight.” Chris winced as you continued. “Yes, I’m aware of it; I guess I’m just sensitive. Did you find a good place in the area?”

“Yeah,” Chris said thoughtfully, “cute little house. You should probably see it sometime.”

“You bought a house?!”

Chris’ ears reddened. “Yes? Again, it’s little. A couple bedrooms, a couple bathrooms. Lots of work to be done on it, but it’s all mine. Here, look.” You watched, momentarily stunned as he fished his phone out of his pocket and clicked it open. He pulled up a surprisingly adorable photo of Chris in front of a humble little house, holding what you could only assume was his dog you didn’t know he had. “Cute, right? Her name is Berry. You should meet her.”

“I’m so sorry,” you shook your head in advance, “but you could afford a house? What brought you to teaching anyway?”

“Producing was good, but not for me,” Chris meekly bit at his lip, “I always wanted to try teaching what I know, and thankfully your team brought me on while I’m still earning my degree.”

“So one day you just decided to be an educator?” You asked dubiously. 

“Didn’t you?” Chris seemed more cagey now, more defensive. 

“Sure, but maybe this explains your approach to teaching.”

Chris sighed hard and set his food down. “You know what? I knew you were bringing it back to that. Here I was thinking we were on a little better footing after last night. My approach to teaching came from thinking of what I wanted when I was these kids’ age. I wanted someone to treat me with respect and value my opinion and talk to me like an adult.”

“Right,” you nodded, “but that acceptance clearly looks like an invitation to some students.”

“An invitation to what? The other staff are always saying how closed off their students are, but they’re not like that with me. They’re proactive, they’re independent, they’re thoughtful, they’re excited to be here.”

“What about students who aren’t yours?” You challenged him with your stare. It would’ve looked better in a suit. “Your students are in love with you — some of them literally — and it makes them act out with their other teachers, even students who aren’t yours are citing you as their inspiration. Terrific and capable teachers are being defied simply because they’re not you. Admit this is easier for you than establishing and upholding boundaries.”

Chris listened, but he scoffed nonetheless. “Fine. It’s easier. I’m terrified of these kids but I want them to like me and trust me. But even if I assign them homework and treat them like they’re children, that still won’t solve how the teachers don’t trust me.”

“They will,” you impatiently assured him. 

“Even Doyoung?”

“Why do you care?!” You gave a stunned chuckle. 

“I mean he punched me in the fucking face yesterday,” Chris shrugged. “Is it true you two dated?”

You gaped at him, stunned. “Why do you care?” You repeated. Chris nonchalantly shrugged. “Are you jealous?” You were provoking him on purpose, but there was no use in pretending you weren’t disgusted with this line of questioning. 

“No! We don’t even like each other.” Chris was floundering, now facing his desk more than you. “I’m a naive and arrogant asshole and you’re an uptight ballbuster who sold out, remember?”

“Sold out?” You guffawed, standing up now. “Who the hell do you think you are?! I grew up.”

“Right, well—“ Chris barked as he got up to square off against you. “Did you grow into a stuck-up busybody who is more worried about how she looks than how she’s doing?”

Chris’ ears were burning scarlet as you bristled at his words, but he still walked you to the door as you stormed away. “That was too much. I’m sorry,” he apologized sheepishly before he opened the classroom door into the hall. 

“Go fuck yourself, Mr. Bang,” you quietly gritted out, despite your saccharine smile in case anyone was watching. “I’m helping you and then I’m never speaking to you again.”

You were right back in your suit jacket and skirt on Monday, having stewed all weekend over how much more you hated doing this with Chris now. Worse, you hated feeling like he was right. He was shamefully attractive and smart and funny and charming and as much as you hated it — he was right. Somewhere between getting your teaching degree and getting offered your job, you’d become incredibly jaded by the people around you, but not without reason. Even now, the only people who went out of their way to make sure you didn’t feel like you were some child were Ryujin and Yeji… and Chris. Doyoung had, too, which was why you had dated briefly, but now he had joined everyone else in babying you like you were bound to fail. That wasn’t even mentioning the board, made up of all men from old money who mostly seemed to hire you for humor and bragging rights. Even still, this wasn’t even mentioning Superintendent Simmons, who talked to you like he was a lion with a mouse in its paws. 

So, sure, you had reasons to be aloof around the people surrounding you, but Chris’s nagging was starting to bother you. Yes, you were leagues more organized and fastidious than you had been growing up, and you even took some solace in sprucing up your space, but you also had to recognize you were quick to do that instead of facing problems at times. It was easy to organize the kitchen for the fourth time or clean out your closet, but it wasn’t always easy to deal with adult problems. You took great pride in your appearances, because looking capable helped you feel capable, but did that mean you were? It was difficult to say, almost as difficult as deciphering Yeji’s bemused look on your way into the office on Monday. 

A gorgeous bouquet of flowers was sitting on your desk. You curiously walked over, plucking the small envelope from within the buds and gently prying it open. 

Hello Stranger,

1. Are these still your favorite color? You mentioned it years ago so I could be wrong. 

2. I’m sorry about Friday again. I know I’m a hot-head and what I did was terrible. You’re not stuck-up, and you’re not a tyrant. When I think back to that summer, I thought we were on the same page, and now you make it look so easy while I feel like I’m completely lost and failing the whole time. I appreciate you helping me. Thank you. 

A stiff sigh fell from your lips as you looked at the note in your hands, with Chris’ dumb, nice handwriting giving you a feeling you couldn’t quite place. You quickly paged Ryujin and Yeji into your office. Once both girls were sat waiting for you, it was time for the dreaded question.

“What do people think of me?” 

Both girls looked like they’d seen their lives flash before their eyes as you sat at your desk and did some quick typing. When you showed them your screen, they both gasped. There was you, all acne and unfortunate appearance choices at your high school graduation. “It’s not a loaded question,” you promised, “think of it more as a confirmation. I think I’m trying too hard to hide this person.” You gave the girl in the photo a sympathetic look. She was bright, funny, and brimming with potential — even you could see that. 

Yeji surprisingly sighed out her answer first. “The other office staff were still whispering about you when you hired me. They said you just wanted to hire other young women to look progressive.”

All three of you rolled your eyes at the sentiment before Ryujin piped up. “The board does like you… because they think you’ll do their bidding. They think you’re ruthless. The teachers think you have an iron fist. The Superintendent? Well, you know how he feels.”

A sour grimace pulled at your lips. “Why don’t I like any of that?”

“Is it because it’s not what she would want?” Yeji thoughtfully asked you as she nodded in the direction of the photo on your computer screen. You thought back to what Chris had said, about wanting to be the person he wanted around at that age. It was such a trip, thinking of what that girl would do if she saw you now. She’d give you a belligerent sneer and close herself off from you because you were a cold witch and you knew it. The girls watched as your shoulders softened, sinking into your chair as you pulled out your phone and found Chris’ number that Yeji had fetched for you. 

>>Thanks for the flowers. I’ll be by tomorrow so we can try this all again before the board meeting dinner on Wednesday. 

There were decidedly less stares as you walked down the halls of the high school again the next day when the lunch period began. You saw Johnny try to catch your attention out of the corner of your eye, but you simply waved as you passed his office. You had a sneaking suspicion it was about your outfit. As opposed to Friday’s jeans, you felt much more comfortable being more comfortable as opposed to someone you thought you should be. The pencil skirt remained, only now in a cozier dark pallet and much comfier material. The biggest changes were pairing the skirt with a soft flannel shirt and a smart pair of suede oxfords. You felt exposed in how dressed down you were again, but Chris’ surprised smile as you stood in the doorway of his classroom reassured you. He looked good, his hair moderately styled back and wearing another smart blazer over another old band tee. You could see he was even wearing chinos today, still managing to coordinate them with some worn boots not unlike the pair you used to own all those years ago. It was a good look, one that made you a bit more bashful than you had been already. 

“Hello, stranger,” you cheekily greeted from the doorway. 

“Hey,” he smiled back, motioning for you to come in. 

“Hungry?” You asked, fishing a bag out of your purse and placing it in his hands. He peered inside as you set your purse on his desk. 

“Are these—?”

“I felt so awful this weekend,” you sighed as you leaned against his desk, still unable to keep from straightening stacks of his papers, “and especially after yesterday. I couldn’t think straight so I cleaned my apartment and made you some cookies.”

“You made me cookies?” He asked incredulously before taking a bite. You could’ve sworn his eyes actually sparkled for a moment. “Alright, these are so good there’s no way you still can’t think straight.”

“You’re right,” you nodded. “Just like you were already right, about almost everything. But you left one detail out.”

“What’s that?” Chris grinned around a mouthful of cookie.

“You make it look pretty easy yourself,” you smiled softly. Chris raised an eyebrow. 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I know you do,” you laughed, “but it’s true! You’ve already done just fine in an industry of your choosing and impulsively decided to become an educator? And you just happen to be financially smart enough to have a house already? It’s reckless but it’s admirable.”

Chris choked on the last of his cookie, his dark hair falling out of place as he composed himself. “I, er, should be up front about that.”

“About what?”

“About deciding to change directions,” Chris sighed. “I had a giant proposal on my hands. I could have had my own company and my own team, but it was a huge investment entirely depending on me and my success. I froze up. I had enough. It felt way too big. I got rid of my fancy apartment, I got rid of my suits and watches, and I just moved.” A sigh fell from Chris’ lips as he folded his arms. He couldn’t meet your imploring stare. “I wish I could do what you do,” he continued. “I want to march headfirst into every single thing no matter what people think of me.”

A surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it. You covered your mouth as your face heated up. “I’m terrified,” you explained. “Just like you were scared to take that chance, just like you and most of us are reasonably scared of these kids — I’m terrified. I’ve worn suits to attend sports events and picnics with the staff from how terrified I am of them.”

“Well, you look really good today,” Chris beamed at you, but the distracted nuance of his gaze didn’t let it last long. You playfully sat back on his desk, trying to keep his mood up. 

“I feel good today.”

“I lied, by the way,” Chris sheepishly blurted. “I know we kissed that night. I thought about it all the time. I didn’t go out with anyone for almost a whole year, I thought about it so much. If you knew I still remembered, I would be too tempted to get distracted. But I’m getting distracted anyway, so I thought you should know. You look really good today.”

A flattered smile pulled at your lips as you reached for Chris’ hand where it rested on the desk. His hand was warm and gentle in yours and he looked up at you, silently gauging your look to see if it was alright to lean up more into your space… when your phone buzzed with a message. It was Johnny. 

>I was trying to get your attention when you came in. Simmons is here TOURING THE MUSIC DEPARTMENT. Get that time bomb out of there NOW.

But it was far too late. Superintendent Simmons could be heard talking to Doyoung in the hallway. Chris watched curiously as you whirled around just in time to catch them appearing in the open doorway.

“Yes, Mr. Kim, I’d love to hear your plans for the year but— ah, hello, dear!”

You winced at the use of the word “dear” but fought it back. “Superintendent,” you nodded cordially, “what’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to take a stroll through the department,” the older man coolly insisted, his hands in the pockets of his suit. “I also thought I could finally meet young Christopher here since I wasn’t sure if he was accompanying you to the meeting tomorrow.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Your question was stated friendly enough, even as you subtly waved a calming hand back to Chris to keep him back. 

The Superintendent shrugged. “You know how it is, dear. My son takes his class but I haven’t even met the man before. We’re certainly not exempt from being aware of current goings-on and I wanted to see who all the fuss was about.”

“Do I live up to your expectation?” Chris suddenly asked, unmistakably indignant as he came forward. 

“Seeing as my expectations were of a naive, insubordinate, carpe-diem-prescribing kid,” Simmons smirked, “then yes.”

“Excuse me, Superintendent,” you huffed sharply, “but I do not appreciate you speaking to Mr. Bang that way, first as one of my staff members and second as my partner.”

“Oh-ho!” Mr. Simmons threw his head back with a laugh. “Your partner? How unbecoming of you, dear. Now, I would normally do the professional courtesy of discussing this in private, but as you always deem it appropriate to throw a fit, I’ll do it here— you know we need to terminate Mr. Bang. Too much liability.”

A wildfire ignited behind your eyes before you quickly jumped into action. If you had a moment to spare, you would’ve considered the possible consequences. “Mr. Simmons,” you spat, “you know for a fact there are liabilities just as big, if not bigger, right under your nose, just like I know for a fact Mr. Bang is in possession of a confiscated note containing quite the insinuation that your son Christian is having a very close and troubling relationship with one of Mr. Kim’s most promising freshmen.”

You hazarded a look behind you and Chris returned it, petrified. It was a low, risky blow, but an apparently fair one as Mr. Simmons’ eyes grew wide. He stubbornly shook his head. “Christian is a smart boy who is studying hard and has no time—“

“—Christian turned 18 over the summer and wants to have as much fun as he can in high school before he goes to college,” Chris finally spoke up. “He’s said as much in class, and if I recall correctly, that girl is 14. I can show you the letter. He met her at a party that she doesn’t remember but all she knows is she is woefully in love with him. As your son’s teacher I’m a mandated reporter if I think this is an unsafe situation for either of them.”

“You want to play executioner with a man you admitted you just met? Fine,” you warned. “But just like your gossip, you’re not exempt from this, either.”

At that moment, Doyoung sheepishly poked his head into the open doorway, politely coughing to get the attention of Mr. Simmons, who was now sputtering until his face had turned red. “Mr. Superintendent,” Doyoung timidly spoke up, “perhaps you would like to come discuss those plans—“

“Fine time for you to decide to act like a teacher,” Simmons growled towards Chris, before he thrust a fat finger into your chest. “This isn’t done, dear. He’s on thin ice, and now you are, too. Let’s see how long it can hold both of you.” Superintendent Simmons turned on his heel, marching out the door past Doyoung and towards his classroom. Doyoung leaned into the room, giving you both a look that remarkably appeared to be sympathetic support. “Are you alright?” He quietly asked. 

You nodded shallowly, still a bit stunned. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Kim.” Chris was seemingly dazed as you turned to face him. “Mr. Bang, can I see you in your office?” 

Chris barely nodded himself, having gone pale during your confrontation, and Doyoung silently wished you well before closing the door behind him and trotting down the hall after the older man. You clutched onto Chris’ sleeve and pulled him into his office, guiding him in before you quietly closed the door. 

You realized you were breathing heavily, chest rising and falling hard with adrenaline as you looked behind you to check on Chris. He was staring back at you, almost shocked, even as you gently took his hand again to make sure he was alright. His fingers had turned clammy where they squeezed yours, and you shared a brief silence, recovering and staring at each other until he finally spoke up. 

“You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

“Yes, Mr. Bang,” you nodded, leaning back against the door and pulling him a little closer. You felt a bit lightheaded. “I wanted you to finish your thought from before we were rudely interrupted.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded dutifully, now cutting right to it as he followed your hand in his to press against you where you leaned against the door. His lips hesitated a mere breath away before he finally kissed you, deep and seemingly driven by every kiss he’d wanted to give you since that night years ago. You could’ve sworn you tasted cotton candy and his lip ring again, maybe even smell evergreen trees if you weren’t mistaken by his cologne. It was electric, re-energizing enough that Chris seemed to finally realize what just happened outside in his classroom. 

“Holy shit,” Chris gasped like he just came up for air. “Did I just threaten the—“

Chris’ frantic recollection persisted even as you continued to kiss him. “Did you just warn the superintendent that he is better off tending to matters closer to home in more need of his attention? Yes.”

“Holy shit, I’m going to be fired,” Chris lamented, but even still he let his lips run over your jaw, falling into you and pressing you into the door. 

“No, you’re not,” you shook your head as you cupped his face in your hands to make him look at you for a moment. “He would’ve said so. He knows this is bad and it’s going to be a pain to deal with.”

“Wait, you don’t want me to—“

“Report? You just said you should. Honestly, Mr. Kim probably would’ve already if he read the letter more closely in the first place.” You held his gaze as you led his hands around your waist and he quickly got the hint, wrapping around you and diving back into you. “Am I still a ballbuster?” You breathlessly chuckled. 

He nodded heartily as he nibbled and kissed your neck. “I love it.” Chris hesitated as he pulled away from your throat, almost asking permission as he kissed you hard against the door, his tongue hot and needy against yours as he almost knocked the breath out of you. 

“Mr. Bang—“ you gasped, and you felt him shiver in the cutest way. He seemed emboldened to let his hands get a little braver, following your hint when you led them to the waistband of your skirt, and he fumbled with your shirt as he untucked it and began unbuttoning it. It was a bizarre sensation, feeling so vulnerable to someone you hadn’t known long but had been thinking of for years, and maybe you weren’t the only one. Chris’ breath seemed to catch in his throat as he leaned back enough to see, his hungry eyes falling on you as he pulled open your shirt and became impatient for more. You gasped again as he pushed you back against the door, his strong hands now tenderly roaming down your chest and groping your breasts as he kissed you before he came back to the waist of your skirt again. His confidence seemed to be returning in full now as his hands firmly ran down your thighs to the hem of your skirt, his lips trailing down your chest and nuzzling your cleavage as he gingerly lifted it. Another gasp caught in your lungs as his fingertips wandered up your legs and paused, his trepidation even spreading to the extent that he seemed hesitant to kiss you again. You reached up to gently cup his face, his cheek warm against your palm as you tried to see what could possibly be wrong in this moment. Out there, sure, that was all understandable, but in this tiny office there was no reason for anything to be wrong. 

“Mr.—“ you began softly, instantly cutting yourself off as you realized. Oh. “Chris,” you began, more confidently now, “are you alright?”

He sighed out a small laugh before he finally kissed you again. “I am. I just missed you, is all. I’ve been thinking about you. It’s still hard to believe any of this is happening, so Mr. Bang is going to be fine for my students but I’d much prefer it if you and I are more personal than that.”

“I can do that,” you grinned, that stunted gasp from earlier finally coming back and completing as Chris finally let himself caress you under your skirt, getting as personal as you both were yearning for. His fingertips were firm but slow, purposeful as they teased the hem of your panties but continued over them to feel you between your legs, making you so aware of your heat against his hand. He smirked as you shivered at his touch, and you felt your face heat up. “Sorry,” you laughed breathlessly, “it’s been a while.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Chris assured you, finally gasping himself as you regained your mental footing and let your hand drop, trailing down his chest to get an exploratory grip on his growing erection in his pants before you brought him back to kiss you again. His muffled sighs and moans grew feverish as you teased him through his clothes, up to the moment he pressed your hips back against the closed door. You watched curiously as Chris’ lips ghosted down your chest and stomach until he was on his knees for you, dangerously close to nuzzling your damp heat until you let yourself subtly roll your hips towards his mouth. He took the cue to instantly pull the thin fabric aside, just enough that he could dip his tongue into your folds. 

Chris couldn’t take his eyes off you as he lapped you up, one hand holding your panties aside and the other clutching onto your bared thigh as you squirmed and mewled for him. Your fingers stroked back through his hair as he held you tight and hungrily licked until he just happened to hit the perfect spot. That, of course, was when he stopped, leaning away and his shiny lips pulled into a mischievous smirk. “I need you so bad,” he drawled, “I’m getting impatient.”

“You?” You giggled sarcastically. “Impatient? Impossible.”

Nevertheless, Chris rocked back onto his feet and pulled you over to his desk before he sat you on top of it, gently pulling your knees apart to step between them. “Are you sure?”

“Definitely,” you nodded. “Do it.” 

Chris grinned shyly as he unbuckled his belt and brought his pants down enough to reveal his hard cock, groaning as you brazenly grabbed his length and pumped it a few times in your hand before guiding him into you. You both gasped in tandem now as you were stretched open, and your legs quickly found purchase around his hips as he kissed you again, the faintest taste and scent of your wetness still on his lips. He filled you out unexpectedly, prodding deep into you in this angle and his girth just wide enough at the base to make you whimper each time he bottomed out. 

“God, this is so good,” Chris groaned against your lips, “you’re so good. I’ve thought of this so many times.” His groans and whispered curses were hot in your ear as he fucked you on the desk, and you were both lost in this endless moment while you both sounded like you were steadily climbing your respective peaks until you noticed his prolonged smirk. 

“What’s so funny?” You jokingly accused. 

“Nothing,” Chris shook his head with a breathless smile, “I’m just surprised. I honestly expected you to be a little more in charge.”

“Oh, am I not as dominant as you thought?” You pouted for effect, seeming to only convince him for a second before you kicked him back into his chair anyhow and willingly taking his bait. He watched, his hands clutching the armrests with intrepid excitement as you dropped onto his lap. “Is this more what you had in mind?”

“Actually, yeah,” Chris nodded hungrily as you raised your hips, just enough to pull your panties to the side and grind your soaked pussy against the head of his cock. You both sighed in pleasure at the sensation as you took your sweet time dipping his length into you just the slightest bit, your lips parted to barely kiss him the whole time you teased yourself against him. He actually waited patiently as you barely rolled your hips lower into him, even as he began to get impatient again. “Heh, hey,” Chris laughed under his breath, “aren’t you gonna—“

“Whatever happened to your lip ring?” You asked him, teasingly oblivious to his question. 

“My wha— oh, that?” Chris was almost delirious trying to rock his hips up into you. “Don’t laugh, but I didn’t think it looked very professional when I first interviewed. I already wasn’t wearing it out to events and meetings, so not wearing it to school made sense.”

“I’m not going to laugh,” you smirked as you playfully pretended you were about to kiss him over and over, your lips ghosting over his own time and time again as his cock surreptitiously tried to work deeper into you, “but that’s ridiculously funny. You’re literally still wearing your earrings, and don’t try telling me that’s different. Weren’t you waiting for something, by the way?”

“Was I waiting—? Come on, aren’t you going to…?”

“Aren’t I going to what?” You asked innocently. Chris’ head lolled back against the head of his chair in exasperation. 

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” His question was quiet, almost as if he were shy to be saying it out loud, but he asked it nevertheless. 

“Sure,” you shrugged casually, “are you going to wear that lip ring for me sometime? I want to see if it has the same effect.”

“Anything, if you’re that easy,” Chris quipped, even as he was unable to hide the excited tremble in his voice. 

“I’m easy?” You asked, eyebrows raised as you finally sank deep onto Chris’ erection and kissed him again. His muffled groan was thick, laced with satisfaction as you began to ride him in earnest. The hot moans falling from his lips echoed your own impassioned whimpers, only growing more feverish as you angled your hips down, enabling yourself to grind your clit down against his lap. By now you were so lost in it that were thoroughly soaked through your panties you were still wearing.

“Are you sure you’re not easy?” Chris chuckled exhaustedly, even as he nuzzled against your heaving cleavage and gripped tight onto your hips. It was his turn to whimper as you desperately ran your fingers through his hair to clutch onto him as you felt your peak coming fast. Chris must’ve not been far behind, considering the way he sweetly groaned your name against your skin, as if to personally coax out your orgasm. 

The air between you was hot, static, and the way Chris held you was surprisingly affectionate. Despite how much ire and sarcasm had been slung between you previously, now you were both rendered speechless, your staccato breaths falling heavy in the spaces between your sighs and moans. Giving in to Chris didn’t feel like giving up like you had been afraid of for some reason. Reality seemed to be that he may even be quite fond of you, maybe even more than you’d previously imagined, despite how much you did or didn’t change. He obviously wanted to do more than kiss you, and now it seemed he wanted to do more than just fuck you. Chris’ fingertips dug into your hips as he thrust up against you, and you suddenly caught yourself meeting his gaze. The feeling was mutual, apparently, the blown out arousal in his eyes probably echoing your own impending orgasm slowly rising up your spine and making your head spin. He seemed to catch this as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight and pressing his lips to your throat as he pistoned his hard length deep inside you, the head dragging along your sensitive walls and daring you to cum.

So you finally did. It hit you hard, giving you barely a moment’s notice for you to grab onto Chris, wrapping your arms around his neck as your core shuddered, radiating out to your quaking thighs and trembling fingers as your heightened moans hit a fever pitch. This, of course, was the final straw for Chris, his orgasm not far behind yours as he tensed up, palms pushing flat against the small of your back as he rutted into you with a broken groan. He uttered a sharp curse under his breath, eyes squeezed shut with the force of his own climax spilling into you as you finished riding out your own on his lap. 

It felt like an eternity, wrapped around each other, faces buried in each other’s shoulders as you both fought for breath and you finally realized how cramped it was straddling Chris in his desk chair, the armrests uncomfortably digging into your legs. As if to mitigate this silent complaint you had, Chris gently began to ease you off of him as he simultaneously pulled you to him for a tiredly satisfied kiss. The bright lights in your eyes finally dulled and the imaginary cotton in your ears finally fell out, letting the sound return to normal. You could hear the low drone of the air conditioner, the muted hum of the hard drive in Chris’ laptop, the clatter of the classroom doorknob outside turning open—

Chris heard it, too, with how he bolted upright with you in his lap. You both stared at the door of his office in terror; this was no way for the assistant superintendent to be found, in post-orgasmic bliss with her legs wrapped around a teacher who was still in a heap of trouble, and you had no chance of escape. Footsteps could be heard approaching before Chris quickly pushed at your retreating knees, apparently on the same page as you when he helped you slide off his lap and under his desk. You scrambled forward to grab at his chair and wheel him close as he desperately stuffed himself back in his pants and tried to make himself presentable. A knock came at the door and Chris quickly wiped the accumulated perspiration off his brow. 

“Come in—!“ he coughed, trying to sound chipper and casual, and as if he didn’t just orgasm with you barely two minutes prior. He gave you one crazed look to make sure you were alright shoved under the desk before the door to his office gingerly opened.

“Hey—“ 

Doyoung?

“Mr. Kim!” Chris sat up a little straighter, inadvertently kicking you in your shin in the process and nearly making you curse out loud. You reflexively punched him in the knee, making him jump as he tried to appear natural. “Is everything alright?”

“What, with me? I’m fine. It’s just...” Doyoung sighed, apparently not moving from where he awkwardly stood in the doorway of the tiny office. “Was it true, what you said about the superintendent’s son?”

“It was,” Chris said solemnly. “Would you like to see the letter again?” His question was genuine, any ill feelings towards the other teacher seeming to have dissipated by now. Your ears perked up as Chris leaned forward. You could hear papers shuffled overhead. He still had it? You could hear a piece of paper being handed to Doyoung, whose sigh only multiplied. 

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, “that’s so…”

“I know,” Chris commiserated. “Will Samantha—“

“I’ll talk to Sam,” Doyoung resolved, “but first, about the other day, I’m sorry about—“

“Mr. Kim, you don’t have to apologize,” Chris insisted, “tensions were high, you were upset, and you were protecting your student. If you’d like to help me report this I’d appreciate that. You’re a good teacher.”

“So are you, Mr. Bang,” Doyoung conceded sheepishly. “Maybe you can join me in the teacher’s lounge for lunch tomorrow.”

“I’d like that.”

You could hear the smooth heel of Doyoung’s oxford turn to leave and Chris backed up from the desk. The sigh of relief you both let out revealed that you had apparently been holding your breath. He slumped back in the chair before leaning forward to offer you an assisting hand. 

“Oh, one more thing—“

Chris snapped upright in his chair, accidentally kicking you again before his knees knocked into the top of his desk. He grinned through it as he attempted to look nonchalant again. “Yeah?”

“So,” Doyoung began stiffly, “you and her are, like… a thing?”

“Er,” Chris floundered for a second. “Yes. Why?”

“Why? Oh, I mean, it’s nothing,” Doyoung fumbled, “I meant, I guess, is it serious?”

Chris’ Adam’s apple could barely be seen bobbing with his sudden gulp from your vantage point, and you didn’t blame him. Serious? It wasn’t a stretch to imagine his ears turning beet red again. Your thighs were beginning to get sore where you were folded under the desk. “No! I mean, not yet,” Chris said, his stammer matching Doyoung’s now. “I want it to be, though. I really like her. Why?”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. You felt like such a sucker, but why did you also feel so smitten? 

“No reason,” Doyoung laughed politely. “I’m happy for you. For both of you. She looks different with you, you know? You look good together. See you later.”

The door finally clicked closed and you both waited for the classroom door to do the same before it was Chris’ turn to let out the breath he’d been holding. He sighed heavily, melting into his chair before sliding back. His gentle hand reached down to help you out from under the desk. You held his hand, his fingers warm in yours as he met your gaze. “Hello, stranger,” he grinned, “did you have fun under the desk?” Chris fussed with your clothes, helping smooth your skirt back out and buttoning your blouse back up before he realized you were staring at him. He suddenly looked concerned, sitting up as he tried to make sense of your expression.  “What? Is everything alright?”

“You want this to be serious?”

Chris almost flinched as he defensively tried to figure out your tone. He settled for getting back up from his chair and squaring up against you once again, arms folded matter-of-factly like he anticipated a confrontation. “You know what? I do.”

“This isn’t even real, Chris,” you smirked, flattered by his sincerity. “We don’t even like each other, remember?”

He let out an exasperated laugh. “Holy shit, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Go ahead, then, tell me how we aren’t real.”

“Well,” you smiled, “you haven’t asked me out, for one thing.” 

It seemed Chris finally caught up to your game. “Fine,” he sarcastically scoffed. “Would you like to go out with me some time?” 

“Sure,” you playfully shrugged with a smile. “How about now? Are you hungry?”

Chris was amused as he pulled you close into his arms. “You know what? I’m actually not.”

[kisskissbanggang]

The Sabotage of Simkung House pt. 5 — The Finale

[Stray Kids Multi Fic - 40Min Read/11.2K Words - Bang Chan x Female Reader - Non-Idol!au, Variety!au - NSFW/Smut, Plot - Reverse Harems, Variety Shows, Unfolding Plot, Suspicion, Scheming, Hostages, Overstimulation, Playing Pretend, Camboys, Secret Hook-Ups]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Masterlist | Feedback

>>I’m watching the raw feed did I just see you leave?

>>If you don’t want to get us in a mountain of trouble you need to get back to set NOW. 

You sighed at Felix’s berating on the screen in your hand, shifting uncomfortably in your heels where you stood in the cool night on the sidewalk. The house was only a block behind you. Looming. You took stock of what you had on you. You had the clothes on your back, your phone, and your apron balled up in your first, with your panties still shoved in the pocket. As if you hadn’t been thinking on your feet most of this time already, you needed to come up with something fast. You kept walking. 

>I had to leave. You saw what happened back there. 

>>NOW. 

>I walked off in such a frenzy that I’m lost like a complete idiot. Please come get me. I don’t want to get in trouble. 

You weren’t lost. You remembered a cute cafe that might be open late a few blocks away. If you hurried you could get there with enough time to look like you were waiting. 

>Please Felix? I need you. 

You paused on the sidewalk now. If Felix didn’t get back to you, you would need a new plan. 

>>Okay. Tell me where you are and stay put.

Somehow, Felix took longer than expected to come get you, but the reason became apparent as a company car rolled up. For some reason you had been expecting him to come by himself instead of in a company car with a driver. Felix didn’t roll the window down, instead beckoning you inside with a curt wave of his hand. You looked grateful as you sat beside him and let out a giant sigh as the car lurched forward. The time on your phone let you know you’d only been out of the house for an hour. Felix was dressed casually, still in a buttoned shirt with jeans. You could imagine him back at his place, languidly watching the raw feed after an already long day of work. 

“Thank you, really,” you gushed, “I was freaking out.”

“Me, too,” Felix exhaustedly laughed. He reclined limply against the back of the seat. “What happened, exactly?”

“It was stupid,” you sighed, and you weren’t exaggerating now. “Hyunjin and Jisung got into a fight. Over me. It was so childish.”

“Well, then, congratulations.” 

“Congratulations? Is that sarcastic?”

“Nope,” Felix shook his head, “you may have lost 60 million each since they found out about each other, but you remember that secret prize level I told you about?”

You gawked at Felix, leaning up against your seatbelt. “That’s cruel.”

“That’s true,” Felix grimaced. “You got 70 million won each because they fought over it. It’s cruel, and it’s true, and you signed up for it without asking more questions.”

You sank back against the seat, miserable. “I wonder why Jeongin didn’t intervene.”

Felix shrugged. “He was probably being careful.”

“Is that part of why the boys don’t know who Jeongin is?”

His shrug renewed. “He really is only there for you and the equipment. The boys are taken care of.”

You had to think quickly if you wanted more answers, better answers, answers that could help stoke this fire that was burning up under you. The questions that had been stacking up had to tip over at some point and you were resolved to find out what you could, however you could. As for right now, the most pressing issue was how the hell anyone in this supposedly on-the-level production let you sleep with Jisung under the impression that he wasn’t a virgin. You felt taken advantage of, but Jisung was flat out exploited. No first-time performer knows what they’re getting into as is, and Jisung knew even less. You wanted answers, and you were going to get them. You sympathetically put a hand on Felix’s. 

“How about you? Are you taken care of? I appreciate you coming to get me.”

“I’m just doing my job,” Felix shook his head as he eyed your hand. “I would do anything for you.”

The car pulled up to the front of the house. You checked the time on your phone and took a solid, confident breath before you pulled on a sweet smile. “Do you want to come inside? The boys are all going to be asleep by now. I still have my mic pack and I don’t want to go to the attic by myself in the dark.”

“Er,” Felix bit at his lip, considering you as you opened the car door and waited, “no problem.” He took your offered hand and let you lead him up the steps to the front door. 

As quiet and dark as the house was, you still didn’t expect to find the attic completely silent as you opened the door. In all the excitement, Jeongin must have taken the opportunity to leave and try to find you. You closed the attic door before taking Felix by the hand and leading him to a small couch in the corner that the assistants and writers normally lounged on during downtime. Felix watched you carefully, even as he let you seat him on the couch. His breath cutely caught in his throat as you sat beside him, leaning into his space and letting him get the idea as your lips ghosted over his. It was almost sweet, nearly innocent, with how he instantly grew hard from your hand just resting high on his thigh. 

Felix almost squealed as you roughly grabbed onto his erection, only silenced by your hand clamped over his mouth. He stared at you wildly in the dimly lit room, his whimpers muffled by your palm. 

“What the hell kind of gonzo operation are you running here having me sleep with a virgin without any prior knowledge?” You hissed. Felix bit into your hand and slid out from under you. He landed on the floor with a thud and you quickly pounced on top of him, wrestling him around until you got a hold on him. You whipped Felix’s belt out from his jeans and lassoed it around his wrists behind his back before manhandling him up, grunting as you shoved him onto a chair from in front of the control console. With a confrontation like yours and a response like his, there was no way this was some huge misunderstanding. 

“Who’s a virgin?” Felix panted. 

“Jisung,” you growled, eyes narrowed. 

“He never mentioned that to us,” Felix shook his head. 

“Right, and none of them watch porn,” you scoffed. Felix shrugged helplessly. You spied another cord to bind Felix’s tied wrists to the chair backing. Finding two more in the grip’s toolbag, you were able to bind his ankles as well. He wasn’t even struggling, but you couldn’t be too careful. “I have more questions, and I’m sure I’m not the only one,” you warned, when you heard a buzzing emanating from Felix’s pocket. You reached forward, digging into his jeans for his phone. It was a text from Jeongin. 

>>I could’ve sworn I was on her trail. 

You eyed Felix and he stared you down, challenging you and ultimately unable to stop you as you began typing. 

>It’s fine. I found her. I don’t see your stuff at the house so I’m guessing you took it. Get some rest and I’ll deal with this.

>>Are you sure?

>Yes. I got it. 

“You stay put,” you warned.

“What’s stopping me from calling for help?” Felix smirked at you, unimpressed until you casually unfurled your apron, dropped in the scuffle, and pulled out your used panties. You stuffed them in his mouth before you found a roll of gaff tape.

“I saw a roll of packing tape over there,” you taunted, “tell me how many cameras and mics are in the house and I’ll use that instead.”

Felix’s knee bounced nervously as he stared at the gaff tape in your hand. He pathetically spit out your panties. “Your show doesn’t have any dedicated mics, only the on-board audio on the cameras. Three each in the common areas and your room, one in each hallway, one in each bathroom pointed away from the toilet, one in the laundry room, and one in each bedroom.”

“Night vision?”

Felix shook his head defeatedly. 

“That’s such shitty coverage,” you smirked, “and here I was thinking there were more I hadn’t noticed.”

“Nope,” Felix grumbled, “just a tight budget.”

“You stay put,” you directed as you strolled over to the table on the other side of the room and grabbed the roll of packing tape, “and you stay quiet.” 

You shucked off your heels and softly clicked the attic door closed behind you before you navigated your way through the dark house. Thankfully, being here and getting so familiar with the set over time helped you know where everything was, every jutting edge and squeaky spot in the floor. You didn’t predict that your paranoia would make every creak of the house unsettling, though. 

Chan was bleary-eyed and bruised as he opened the door, and nearly exclaimed when he realized it was you. You pressed a serious finger against his lips as you pushed him back into his room and shut the door behind you. He watched curiously as you looked around his room until you came to his desk. You surreptitiously knocked over a wireless speaker while reaching for the lamp and quickly dropped a blanket onto the fallen device, adding a pillow for good measure. 

“Did you know there was a camera hidden in your room?” You asked. In the light you could see Chan was actually still icing a bruise on his chin from the brawl earlier. He stared. 

“Sure, but I was told the crew would always let me know me when it’s on.”

“Apparently not,” you shook your head. “I need your help. I have a problem.”

“Anything,” Chan eagerly said as he stepped forward earnestly. You stepped back away. He winced, almost as if he was burned by an iron he didn’t realize was still hot. 

“I need to know what you know. I need to know I can trust you.”

Chan bit at his lip before he tiredly sat on the bed. He reached for his hoodie and pulled it on over his bare chest, zipping it up and snuggling into it. The sigh he let out felt preparatory. “I thought you looked familiar on the first day,” he began carefully, “but I wasn’t sure. I’d only ever seen parts of your face at once, you know? And I had to lie through my teeth and scrub my portfolio clean to even get this gig, like I already graduated two years ago, but I still said I’m younger in case they wanted younger. The big thing they sold me as the hook was that there was going to be a staff member casted to try and trip us up during the show. I thought that was exciting. And everyone thought it was the cook, because of course they did. And, I don’t know…”

“You thought it was me?” You smirked. The cook was outrageously villainous-looking, with severe features and a ridiculous mustache to boot. 

“Yes, I thought the cook was too obvious,” Chan admitted shamefully, drawing his hands up into his sleeves before burying his face in them for a moment. “So I kept my distance. That morning you joined us for yoga, I knew it was you, and you were plotting something, I was so sure of it. Later that night I went to go see if I could find anything out and—“

“Me and Changbin?”

“You and Changbin,” Chan rubbed his face in his hands again. “And I knew for sure that I recognized you, because of, you know… your moaning. I at least know how you sound. It was unmistakably you, but I couldn’t tell you I’m me. I thought it was a crazy coincidence, being here with you, but I was afraid of anyone finding out and me getting kicked off the show.”

“So you knew it was me. What then?” You asked patiently as you pulled out the chair for his desk. There wasn’t a ton of time, but you had time for this.

“The next morning we had that challenge right at dawn. And we all had hints planted for us when we woke up, and you remember Minho had the red herring?”

You shrugged, vaguely remembering something along those lines earlier in the series. Chan charged on. 

“The hints could’ve only been planted overnight, and you were, er, busy. You went to bed and I didn’t hear you come out before I gave up and went to sleep.” 

You watched, almost touched by how clearly Chan was upset with himself, refusing to look at you as he fidgeted with his fingers, the zipper of his hoodie, your necklace he was still wearing.

“Originally, when Changbin was first wondering about you, I made up that thing about you wanting more screen time. I just didn’t want him to flirt with you. I didn’t want your big break to be filled with guys being creeps.”

“How ironic,” you mused. 

“The more I saw you flirting with the guys, the more weird I felt about it. Something felt so off, and I was so on edge and paranoid, that I started to wonder if maybe you were that person, maybe you did want extra screen time or something. I had the brilliant idea to confront you in the attic, but I didn’t expose you or anything, I was only making an ass out of myself because I knew you were telling the truth as soon as you said it. I knew I was wrong. I was just being an asshole.”

A thought suddenly came to mind. “So the other night? When you were listening in on me?”

Chan flopped back into his bed in exasperation. “I was trying to see if it was a good time to talk, hopefully apologize.”

He sat back up, his head falling right back into his hands. You gingerly leaned forward to pick his head up. You’d imagined this, something like this, innocuous touches like this. It was odd to think just a night ago you didn’t know you’d actually be doing this with someone you’d known for years but never met. 

“I’m so sorry,” he lamented as he leaned into your hand, “I hope I didn’t ruin acting too much for you. I’m an awful friend.”

“No,” you sighed, and you meant it. “I wanted to expand my acting resume, sure, but you knew I’d been wanting to try expanding my AV career more. I took the gig mostly for that.”

“What do you mean?” Chan stared blankly at you, head lifted from your hand. You stared back. 

“What do you mean?”

“What does this show have to do with your AV career?”

You shook your head, flabbergasted. “It doesn’t have anything to do with it. At least, your show doesn’t. Mine entirely does.”

“Your show?”

Chan leaned forward as you leaned back, both of you with your lips parted in grand-scale confusion until you realized. And then you were furious. 

“I told you I have a problem. You need to come upstairs. Right now.”

You pulled Chan along by the sleeve in the dark hallway and back up the stairs to the attic. He almost yelled when he saw Felix tied and gagged in the chair. You shut the door behind you. Chan was frozen, hand over his mouth in surprise. This looked bad, you realized. You took out your phone and played an audio clip. Felix’s voice crackled out of your phone, explaining how much money you’d won for inspiring the fight earlier that night. Chan’s face was cryptic. 

“Do you know who this is?” You asked him. Chan barely shook his head as he still tried to process everything. “He knows who you are. Felix is the assistant to the executive producer of my show. Maybe yours, too. I have no idea, since I’ve never met either of them.”

“What exactly,” Chan murmured, “is your show?”

“Simkung House,” you sighed, arms folded. You felt so tired, so sore. “One lucky housekeeper has to try and seduce five young bachelors during a show they’re filming, without them finding out about each other.” You peeled off Felix’s gag and pulled your panties from his lips to drop them on the floor. “And tonight I fucked a virgin without my knowing.”

Chan watched the deep frown etching into your face. You could see his fists clenching by his side. “Who—“

“Jisung, apparently,” Felix rasped with a weak smile. “Tonight’s episode is yesterday, so tomorrow our paying audience is going to watch you take that nice right hook to the face he gave you.”

The slap Chan landed across Felix’s cheek reverberated in the attic before you could stop him, pressing your hands into the rough rise and fall of his chest as he seethed. Chan still elbowed past you and grabbed Felix by the collar of his shirt, pulling him against his bindings. “I have some questions,” he growled, “the first being why you didn’t get talent that actually fucking do porn.”

“Nice guard dog,” Felix laughed meanly as he looked at you, “does he do any tricks?”

“Yeah, I know a pretty fucking good one,” Chan gritted as he cocked his hand back into a fist this time. 

“It wasn’t my fucking idea,” Felix spat, “but performers like her cost too much. The execs decided it was easier to hide clauses in your contracts.”

“Oh,” Chan scoffed, “so I could’ve gotten more money if you pricks were on the level.”

“Felix,” you stepped in, “what’s the bigger reason for you to use no-names and actors who never did AV’s? It can’t just be for authenticity. There’s too much liability. They don’t know how this all works.”

Felix wriggled in Chan’s grip as he eyed you warily. “Liability isn’t an issue if you sign it all away. Control and authenticity, that’s what we wanted. You were the most knowledgeable of the cast aside from maybe him and even then you both didn’t check all the clauses closely enough. Liability was defined as consequences and results of the show, and we’re absolved. None of you have good management, if any.”

Chan dropped Felix back into the chair, roughly enough that he tipped onto the floor with a crash. Neither of you paid him much mind as you leaned back against the console table with your arms folded. Chan was fuming as he paced with his hands on his hips. “You used her, and you used us, so give me a good reason why we shouldn’t walk right this second.”

“Because of your contracts, idiots. If you talk or walk, no one gets their winnings, on either show, and the producers have the right to sue for damages.”

“Winnings? We’re mostly getting tuition and grants,” Chan retorted.

“Not her,” Felix grinned. “She has 500 million won on the line.”

Chan’s head whipped toward you, slack-jawed. You nodded. In comparison, it was insulting. You looked up at Chan, who stopped his pacing to look at you. “You ever bundle up a bunch of blankets to look like you’re still in bed and then sneak out?” 

“Sure,” Chan said, distracted by clearly wanting to beat up Felix still turtled on the floor, “why?”

“The cameras don’t have night vision. I’ll cut the lights in case anything is still on, and you get the boys. Don’t use your flashlights. We all need to talk.”

You walked over to the breaker box on the wall and opened it, flipping everything off but the attic. Chan nodded, giving Felix a wary look before creeping downstairs. 

Felix let out a disgruntled sigh below you. “Didn’t you slap the shit out of him earlier? I saw it in the raw feed. I thought you hated him.”

“No, I’m just mad at him,” you grumbled. 

“Hyung, it’s three in the fucking morning,” Changbin tiredly groaned as the boys filed in behind Chan. He had his arms crossed over the thin tank top barely shielding him from the cool air of the attic. Minho was still wearing a sleeping mask, pulled up onto his forehead. Hyunjin was sporting a dark bruise on his cheek to mirror the one on Jisung’s. Both the younger cast members looked particularly hurt, but in different directions — Hyunjin’s contempt versus Jisung’s heartbreak. All four boys froze as they took notice of you standing over Felix tied up on the floor. 

“Apparently,” you sighed, “we’re not all on the same page. This is Felix.” You looked down and matched his nasty look. “Explain, dirtbag.”

Felix muttered under his breath before grumbling out the story as you all understood it — who he was, you were, the separate shows, the shady contracts, and your exorbitant prize at stake. You and Chan filled in the other pertinent details. The hurt in their eyes was heartbreaking, realizing they’d been played when they thought they each had your attention all to themselves. Bruised egos and hurt feelings and fear all around. They’d all shot porn without knowing it, and most of them had already had their scenes broadcasted. The boys all stood astounded and silent as Felix finished his story until Minho finally piped up, towards Chan. 

“Hyung, they told you there would be a saboteur and you still didn’t think it was the cook?”

“It was too obvious!” Chan reeled, “and none of you knew?”

The boys collectively shook their heads.

“We were trying to make sure you would take the lead in the show, but we didn’t predict you to make it interesting by being stupid,” Felix sneered up at Chan, cut off into a yelp as he kicked at the chair. 

“So if any of us walk, we all lose everything?” Changbin asked. 

“Fine,” Jisung muttered, “you all do what you want, but that’s what I’m doing.” He turned to walk down the stairs and the remaining boys exchanged looks. 

Chan folded his arms. “I think it’s the best thing to do, too. We’ve all been used.”

“No,” you shook your head, “we may have all been used, but I think the best thing to do then is wring these monsters dry. I’ll split the prize money.”

“Is that all?” Hyunjin glowered before Changbin shushed him. 

“If you can all last today and finish the show, then I can, too,” you assured them. “I’m sorry for everything.”

“It sucks,” Minho shrugged, “but we understand. I do, at least. You were playing the game. You just didn’t know you were playing by yourself. I’ll stay.” Changbin and Hyunjin grumbled in reluctant agreement. 

You gave Minho a grateful smile. “We should get some rest then. I’ll talk to Jisung.” 

The boys sleepily trudged back downstairs but Chan hung back and detached Felix from his chair. Felix spilled onto the floor, wrists still tied. Chan rolled him onto his stomach with his foot before dropping down to sit on his back, trapping Felix against the hardwood. 

“I know your plan now,” Felix grumbled into the floor. “What’s keeping me from outing you?”

“Because you’re just an assistant,” you pitifully shook your head at Felix as you lowered to squat down in front of him. You spoke in plain English now. Felix was the first to fixate on your multiple languages, and you’d always assumed it was at least partly spurred on by his own. Chan’s eyebrows quirked at the switch. You reached forward and grabbed Felix’s bound wrists, pulling them up and away from his back enough to make him grunt in discomfort. Chan watched, half curious, half goading as you kept a firm hold on him. “You’re just an assistant, Felix, and we’re not the only ones held hostage by this show. You’re such a good boy for the Big Boss that the moment something goes wrong, he’ll pin everything on you.”

Felix struggled hard under Chan’s weight and your hold. “Fuck you! I’ve put a lot of time into this—“

“Exactly, Felix,” you chided. You did drop his wrists now but lifted his chin to look at you. His English was cute. It was too bad he was a creep. “You put so much time into both these shows. You helped with casting and keeping production on time and within budget, you probably helped with costuming and product placement and location scouting and writing. You have your hands in a lot of pots. What I have are multiple texts of you being a flirty creep. And I have you recorded saying you would do anything for me and even come into the house with me.”

“Pig,” Chan shook his head disgustedly as he lifted Felix’s wrists behind his back himself this time, straining him until Felix cried out and you slapped Chan’s hands off. 

You brought Felix’s chin up to look at you again. “If you’re proud of your work, then let us finish the shows. You’ll get your credit. If this ever does come to a head, I’ll destroy the recording and say I was encouraging you to flirt with me from our first meeting. But if you rat on us, the Big Boss will throw you to the wolves when we tear this down and there will be no help for you.”

Felix looked hard into your eyes, the pain of his choice apparent as he reluctantly nodded. You waited patiently for him to say something. 

“Fine.”

You reached forward to untie Felix and motioned for Chan to let him up. Felix cracked his neck and massaged his wrists. You found yourself fixing the collar of his shirt as Chan carefully watched. “Thanks, Felix.”

Felix held his hand out expectantly and you thought he meant for you to shake it before you realized you were still holding his phone and belt. You placed them back in his hand, hoping the deadly look in your eye reminded him how serious you were. He sighed miserably, looking between you and Chan before silently turning to walk downstairs. 

Now it was just you and Chan. You collected your panties from the floor before you walked over to the breaker box and flipped everything downstairs into the proper place. Your feet were sore as you slipped your shoes back on. 

“I know I said we should walk,” Chan said as he gathered the bungee cords and put the chair back in its place, “but I admire you splitting the money.”

“Could’ve had more to split,” you tersely shrugged as you took the cords from him and put them back where you found them. You gave him a pointed look. Chan winced as you breezed past him and down the stairs. 

You could’ve checked Jisung’s room to find him, but your feet brought you down to the study. Sure enough, there was Jisung, looking over the books on the shelves. 

“You going to miss it?”

“Sure,” Jisung shrugged, “it’s my first show. Just last month I found out about the audition after my improv show one night, and now I’m being humiliated in front of a paying audience.”

“Jisung,” you lamented as you set a hand on his shoulder. He regarded it warily. 

“I know you were just playing the game as you understood it,” Jisung sighed, “but my pride is hurt. All those people are going to watch me lose my virginity and get into my first fistfight.”

“That was your first? You don’t punch like it was your first,” you gave a light smile, and he eventually returned it. 

“If you’re giving me a performance review, did I seem like a virgin?”

“Not at all,” you shook your head, “you’re great. You keep surprising me.”

“Thanks,” Jisung said quietly. 

“Help me make this work,” you pleaded. “It’s not enough, but we’ll take home some extra money for our trouble. Please stay, and then you can forget about me and the show forever. I’ll leave you out of the aftermath as much as possible.”

Jisung meditated on it for a moment. “What if I don’t want to forget about you?”

“Then I’ll come see you when you go back to doing improv, maybe sit in on your campaign back home,” you reasoned sweetly, and it made him give up a wider grin. 

“I’ll stay, then,” Jisung decided. “After all, it’s just acting.” You let out a thankful sigh and cautiously drew Jisung to you, careful that he might still be cold to you, and gently hugged him close. As he eventually returned the gesture, you softened and kissed his cheek goodnight before heading downstairs. 

A glint in the light of the basement caught your eye as you neared your bedroom. Chan’s necklace hung on the doorknob. You held it in your hand, the light material heavy with the events of the day. There were still DM’s from Chan you hadn’t even read yet, and you eyed your phone suspiciously from where it sat on your blankets as you changed for bed. Finally, you allowed yourself to look through your notifications. You felt oddly bashful as you scrolled too far, up to the video he’d sent you the other night. Words were escaping you, attached to feelings that hadn’t even picked a shape to form into. However, you knew something needed to be said.

>I may have been too mean up there. I understand why you were being a dick for the most part. 

>>I have been such an asshole. I’ve been out of line since day one.

>You were playing your own one-sided game, too. And with an extra obstacle thrown in. 

>>Thanks for not saying anything to the guys, by the way. 

>Too many surprises for one night. Do they even know you speak English?

>>Do they know YOU speak English? They know I’m older than I said, but I don’t think they know I’m older than you. They don’t know my real name. 

>Well I know you speak English, and I know you’re older than me. Do I get to know your real name?

>>Chris. 

>I like that. It’ll be weird to get used to, though. 

>>How about Chan is an asshole, but I’m Chris. 

>Nice try. Get some sleep. 

>>I should’ve told you the moment I was sure. I’m sorry. Goodnight. 

🎥🖤🎥🖤🎥🖤🎥

What little sleep you’d received couldn’t even be bolstered by the incredible amount of coffee you swallowed the next morning. You caught Chan doing the same over the lip of your mug and he choked on his coffee, ears reddening as he went to finish getting ready. The other boys looked just as puzzled at Chan’s outburst. Minho was quiet as he slid up next to you at the counter in the kitchen, letting the rest of the room talk over him. 

“Porn, huh?” He wasn’t judgmental, he wasn’t rude. He was simply curious. He watched you carefully nod into your mug. “It’s good? You enjoy it?”

You nodded again. “Do you mind?”

“No,” Minho smiled, “I’m a little jealous, but that’s not your fault. I’m just glad you didn’t sleep with Hyunjin just because you wanted to. He’s been so dramatic about the whole thing.”

You tried not to laugh too loudly, settling instead for another helping of coffee. 

“Who was best?” Minho smirked at you. “Objectively speaking, of course. Was it Channie-hyung?”

You did laugh now, but tried to keep it down. You shook your head. “I didn’t sleep with Chan.”

“Ah,” Minho smiled, “so I was probably the best.”

The two of you shared a snickered laugh between you before you set about the rest of the day. Truly, it was a bizarre experience. You and the boys all shared looks like you all knew something was running in the background. They were hyper-aware. Some of their actions and banter seemed stilted, distracted. Jisung had to run a line five times because his mind was so firmly somewhere else. Not to mention Minho and Changbin would not stop looking at you, and Chan was back on his trajectory of nervously avoiding you altogether. 

Chan also happened to be where you were the most lost. You were still hurt, of course, that hadn’t changed, but you were conflicted. Here was this guy, this friend, this confidant that you’d known for so long, but now an unexpected series of events put a strain on that relationship, on that trust. You were confident that guy was still in there, but you couldn’t quite make an estimate on when you would be open to returning to that. Despite all logic saying otherwise, you almost hoped it would be soon. However, if he kept avoiding you, whether for shame or shyness, you wouldn’t get it in the near future. 

You were still keeping up appearances, even so close to wrapping the show, taking care of the odd chore here and there and helping the boys pack. You were heading to Jisung and Hyunjin’s room to fix the beds when a hand shot out from the bathroom and grabbed you. Changbin held a finger to his lips as he did the same to yours while Minho leaned over and turned on the shower to its hottest and hardest setting, quickly filling the room with steam and the minor roar of running water. The three of you were huddled by the toilet, with Changbin letting you go so he could sit up on top of the tank and Minho leaned against the sink. The boys signaled for you to be quiet until the door opened again. It was Hyunjin. All three boys reached for their mic packs to turn them off and Hyunjin crowded in beside you. 

“You didn’t sleep with Channie-hyung,” Minho said quietly as he eyed the camera, apparently hidden in a vanity light over the mirror. 

“Yeah,” you ogled, “so?”

“So, noona,” Changbin explained, “that puts us in the odd predicament of—“

“We want that money,” Hyunjin blurted. 

“We want that money,” Minho confirmed.

“What?!”

All three boys pounced on you to quiet your outburst. 

Minho was the first to pipe back up. “Noona, you said it yourself. You want to wring these monsters dry. We’re not exactly doing that if you don’t run away with all the money you can. Don’t you want to win?”

“I am not sleeping with Chan,” you laughed tepidly. 

“Why not? He’s crazy about you,” Hyunjin reeled, “at least, I hope he is with how he acts about you. Otherwise he’s a lunatic.”

“Well I’m not crazy about him,” you insisted. 

“Then it’s work! It’s work like you were hired to do in this stupid game,” Changbin persisted. “What did Chan-hyung ever do to you?”

“Aside from being a creep?” You deadpanned. The boys all looked a bit guilty. You knew they were right, but you hated how much personal bullshit was in the way. “Besides, what would you even be doing with your shares? Hyunjin, you’re fucking rich.”

“And I’m very fucking close to being cut off by my parents when they find out where I’ve been this whole time,” Hyunjin retorted, “which is not at a couple conventions for school like they currently think.”

“Jisung isn’t rich,” Minho pressed, “he wants to open a game bar with his friends and needs a starting investment. I’m not rich either and while I would appreciate tuition to finish culinary school, tuition won’t help me move to Japan to keep training.”

“Well?” You looked at Changbin, exasperated. “Go on, then, tell me the awesome thing you’re doing with your share.”

“It’s a nest egg for my physical therapy doctorate,” Changbin admitted. 

You let out a thorough groan. “Well, I can’t do it,” you flippantly explained, “and even if I did, I don’t have a plan.”

All three boys beamed at you, but Minho looked particularly proud. “We do.”

🎥🖤🎥🖤🎥🖤🎥

Finding Chan wasn’t difficult once you figured out his game. Whatever his reason was for avoiding you, you at least knew he would be doing his laundry again before he finished packing. You listened carefully in your room, waiting for footsteps to travel from his room down to the basement. This lined up with how you were sure you caught him coming down here earlier in the day. You stepped lightly, trying not to let your heels click on the floor as you let yourself in. Sure enough, there was Chan, oblivious as he finished loading his laundry into the dryer. It took him shutting the door to the machine to finally see you still standing at the doorway. You quietly pulled the door closed behind you. 

Chan stood, surprised and silent while he waited for you to do something, say something. His eyes were on your fingers, watching as they gathered at the top of your blouse and plucked open the top button. Chan gulped. His throat apparently ran dry. 

“What’re you—“

“Oppa,” you said clearly as you eyed the camera in the back of the room, “I’m sorry for yesterday. I was so intimidated when you revealed your age to me, but I know you only told me because you want to trust me. I want you to know you can. I trust you, too.”

It was cheesy and ridiculous and entirely unsubstantiated, enough so that Chan was bewildered as he checked the settings on the dryer and surreptitiously scanned the room to find the camera you were clearly acting for. He found it, nestled amongst the detergents and cleaning products on the shelves lining the back of the room. Chan rigidly turned back to see you undo the next button on your blouse. He visibly swallowed again before he started the dryer, the machine instantly broadcasting a solid hum as he warily approached you. 

“What’re you doing?” He asked quietly as you worked at the third button. His ears burned crimson when you switched off your mic pack and drew him close, sliding your hands around his waist and doing the same for his, flicking the tiny black switch. 

“I trust you,” you breathed, “do you trust me?” Chan nodded timidly. You looked up at him, your gaze meeting his and you could swear you could hear your heart thumping. Maybe his, too. You leaned forward first. He hesitated. His fingers swept your hair back like they had the previous night, only cautiously now. The pouty lips that inspired his username were parted, almost as if Chan wanted to say something, but instead closed the gap between your mouths as he finally kissed you. 

You’d pictured this more than a few times, being kissed by Duckie — Chris — Chan — but you still hadn’t predicted how passionate this would feel, how he would groan low in his throat the moment you reciprocated as if he’d been craving it. 

“Are you sure?” Chan murmured. He waited for your shallow nod before he kissed you again, his firm hands gently pressing you against the door and his parted lips grazing your neck. “Any rules?” 

“Yeah,” you smirked, “make it look good.”

“Got it,” Chan laughed quietly, but even then he was surprised as you pushed him back and started working at the buttons of his shirt. He charged ahead and pulled off his blazer and shirt for you, dropping them to the floor and you found yourself suddenly confronted once again with this chest that you were very familiar with. You attempted to convince yourself that you were just making it look good, but you knew damn well that the camera could not see as you took a moment to run your hands over him, letting your fingers roam the dips and planes of his body. It was a surreal experience, walking your fingers along the lines of his arms, his torso, his hips, previously only committed to memory from pictures and videos. Chan capitalized on your distraction to take over in finishing undoing the buttons of your shirt, but even then his hands hesitated to open your blouse more until you finally came back around and did it for him. 

If Chan was going to be as gentle as you predicted, you’d known you would have to wind him up. You had reviewed the entire Rolodex of mental notes you’d taken since knowing him before even coming in here, and hopefully it would pay off. Mostly, you’d hoped it would successfully rile him up, but you had to admit you mostly wanted to see his focus set entirely on you. Your hands swept up his arms to his neck to pull him close for another deep kiss, the speed of the gesture making you fall back against the door with him in tow. Chan instantly grunted at the move, especially as your knee rubbed up against his thigh. His hands were quick to respond, and you gasped as he grabbed your leg, wrapping you around him so he could press against you. He paused as he felt the garter holding up your stocking, intrigued by the discovery. Chan leaned away, enough that you could see his impressed smirk. You’d tried to remember every piece of lingerie, every hairstyle, every nuance of your makeup he’d ever complimented, just in case he’d needed any extra convincing, but that apparently wasn’t so necessary as he dropped your leg and pulled you along to back you up against the washing machine. 

You were excited to see if Chan could think on his feet as much as you had been, and he didn’t fail to surprise you as he hazarded a quick glance at the camera to make sure you were both positioned at a good angle for coverage before he reached forward and brazenly unzipped your skirt. He watched with satisfaction as the garment fell to the floor, better revealing your garters and the panties that smartly complemented your bra. His gaze wasn’t just hungry, it almost looked affectionate, and you didn’t even know what to do with that realization before he thankfully interrupted it by easily picking you up and pushing you on top of the washing machine. Chan swept your hair back before he kissed you again, his hands gliding over around your waist and behind you to unclip and slip off your bra. You let out a content sigh as his lips trailed over your neck and shoulders, only stopping as he caught you unbuckling his belt. Chan kicked off his shoes and slacks, but suddenly put a hand on yours as you dipped your fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs. 

“I swear to god,” he laughed into your shoulder as he kissed you there again, “do not make me get naked on this show.”

You couldn’t contain your giggle and Chan quickly stifled you with another kiss to your lips, planting a trail of kisses down your chin and throat, down between your cleavage and down over your stomach before his warm breath ghosted over your soaked pussy. He tugged your panties off and let them drop to the floor before he grasped at the straps of your garters on your thighs, spreading you open and slinging your legs over his shoulders as he finally placed a kiss to your soft pussy lips. Your groans echoed each other as his tongue explored you, getting to know you on this new level as his hands hungrily grabbed onto you, rubbing affectionate little circles into your thighs with his thumbs. Somehow, it almost seemed like Chan also remembered some notes of his own as you felt his fingers probe against your entrance. He wasn’t fast with the thrusting digits, just like you liked it, as he slowly scissored them in and out of you in contrast with his quick tongue.

Chan held you down as you writhed against his mouth and fingers, easily making you sit and take it while he worked you into a breathless mess, and you could feel the seeds of an orgasm being planted. You quickly dismissed the thought; getting too caught up in the idea would put too much pressure to finish, especially with him. This, however, didn’t seem to be an issue that occurred to him as he continued to goad you into cumming, his other hand snaking up your belly and between your breasts to gently grip your throat. He didn’t squeeze, he really only placed his hand possessively around your neck — just the way you wanted it. You might’ve casually mentioned that to him, once, months ago, and that realization was what sent you over the edge into a shuddering orgasm, whining and whimpering as you threaded your fingers into Chan’s hair and tugged since he still wouldn’t let you grind your hips against or away from his tongue. 

Chan finally pulled back, chin glistening and a satisfied smirk on his face as he came up for air and stood to straighten his back out. You caught your breath while you looked him over, his flushed cheeks apparent even through his light makeup and still contrasting with the pretty shade of pink that had spread through him, down to his chest and further down still to Chan’s rigid erection still concealed in his boxer briefs. From prior knowledge, you were sure his length was blushing as well and fit to leak precum at any moment. You caught each other’s eye, exposed in ogling each other and inexplicably bashful from it before you broke the tension and sat up on the washing machine to hop off onto the floor. Chan watched, patiently curious as you switched places now and pushed him back against the machine. His pupils were blown wide with arousal, taking in the sight of you pulling out his cock into your warm grip and, sure enough, it was cutely red and leaking the moment you felt it bare in your hand. Chan choked out a shivered moan as you gently stroked him. 

You leaned up now, meeting his gaze before you kissed him deep, your tongue languidly swiping against his before you pulled back, just enough to make a show of letting a single drip of saliva fall from your lips and onto his cock in your hand before massaging it onto his length — just the way he liked it. Chan leaned forward, resting his head on your shoulder as you firmly stroked his cock, his moans almost pretty and restrained as he clenched his fists. He apparently didn’t want too much, his head leaning back once as he let out a thick groan before he grabbed your hips again, now impatiently bending you over the washing machine. The soft, slick head of Chan’s cock pressed up against your sensitive pussy lips before prodding into your entrance. You could hear him let out a steady breath, punctuated with his gripping fingers on your hip as he teased the length inside you. He bottomed out with a content sigh and, with the angle figured out, he pulled at your elbow to hold you back against his chest as he finally fucked you. 

Chan was precise as you felt his fingers slide down your torso and between your legs to toy with your clit and you gasped, a sharp tingle of overstimulation shooting straight through your hips. 

“Wait, wait,” you gasped, “too much—“

“I know,” Chan murmured as he dragged his lips along your shoulder and up to your throat, “I want to try something.”

Your nails dug into his arm as he softly stroked your clit, still soaked from his tongue as he fucked you. You knew exactly what he was trying. Again, ages ago, you had told Chan about the first time a guy got you to cum twice and you didn’t have to fake it, and it was by doing exactly this, fucking you from behind as he played with your clit. Chan almost growled against your neck as he worked you over, his turgid length hitting you at the right angle where he had you stood up like this so he could rub up against your most sensitive spot. You knew this had to be loud as hell, Chan groaning and you whining as his cock rammed into you, but you found it hard to worry about being heard when all that currently occupied your thoughts was white noise. The only thing you could focus on was Chan and fucking Chan, and fucking Chan while he intently worked to make you cum again. 

“You feel so good,” he panted behind you, and it wasn’t a revelation, it was a confirmation. You wondered, for a moment, if he’d been thinking of this just as often as you had, if he casually thought about it every once in a while as you had for years now. 

“You feel so good,” you gasped, even more so as his other hand moved up to gently hold your throat again. It hadn’t even occurred to you that another orgasm was actually building in you again until that pot boiled over, and Chan cursed and moaned out loud as you whimpered through your climax on his cock, the depths of your pussy contracting around and constricting his length. 

Chan gently slid out of you and turned you around in his arms so he could lean you back against the washing machine to regain your composure. You allowed the exhausted kiss he pressed to your temple. He caught his breath as well, but he seemed preoccupied as you clung to him, your arms around his waist. It was for support, sure, but actually experiencing his presence like this was still a little surreal. His cock, streaked in your juices, was nudged up against your thigh as he held you. He raised a curious eyebrow as you lifted your leg and wrapped yourself around him as he had you do earlier. His eyes silently implored you as you reached down between your bodies to guide his slick erection back inside of you. 

He hesitated. Really?

You nodded. Yes. 

Between you still recovering from both orgasms and Chan still working on getting his, you both struggled out a moan as he rocked into you again, his persistently hard cock dragging along your sore walls. You were both a mess of tangled hair and perspiration. Chan held fast onto you, one arm around your waist and a hand still holding your spread leg around his hip, so intent to chase his peak that he wasn’t even opening up for the camera anymore. An odd sense of intimacy raised the hair on the back of your neck; it was just you and him right now. You reached for him, your fingers cupping his face and drawing him close for a shaky kiss. It was apparent from his eyes shut in concentration, his breathy gasps, his stuttered moans, that he wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer, but you knew you wanted to be the one to push him over the edge. 

You leaned back just enough that he could sense you looking up into his eyes, but still staying close enough that you could speak to him under your breath. He gazed at you under his heavy eyelashes, his eyes soaked in infatuation to the point of intoxication. 

“I want to try something,” you grinned exhaustedly. Chan couldn’t even muster the stamina to say something; he only nodded. Your fingers curled into his hair and drew him close, and your breath tickling his ear made him shudder. 

“Cum.”

Your one-word command seemed to send a shock through Chan as he gritted and groaned through his orgasm, starting at his hips and emanating through to his fingers clutching onto you as his weight collapsed against you. His hips stuttered as he rode it out, your exhausted pussy still responsive enough to throb and milk his cock of every drop of cum he probably ever saved for you. 

You held him like that, still dazedly stroking his hair with your fingers as he gasped for air where he was deadweight against your shoulder. Finally, Chan seemed to gain enough wherewithal to let himself slide out of you and finally grab his pants, digging out his phone to check the time. His eyes grew comically wide, blinking back to life as he realized he needed to put himself back together in time to film the formal finale when he was distracted by your fingers on his wrist. He looked pointedly at your hand there before his eyes followed your arm back up to your eyes, trying hard to make sure you wouldn’t forget this. His tense shoulders softened and he stopped where he stood, about to snatch up the rest of his clothes, and switched tracks to instead pull you close again. Chan stroked your hair back away from your forehead and kissed you gently on the lips when a crash came through the laundry room door. 

You both jolted as Minho came clambering into the doorway of the small room, dragging Hyunjin by the collar of his shirt. They were both interrupted by the sight of both of you, practically naked and still embracing each other. 

“You whore!” Minho theatrically denounced. He was aghast as he tugged Hyunjin to attention, who was currently distracted by your exposed form. “I was going to ask you why the hell I found your underwear in Hyunjin’s luggage while I was helping him pack, but I can see you’re a bit busy.” Minho even brandished the offending garment for effect. 

Chan warily eyed the boys and then you before the pieces locked into place. He surreptitiously shoved his cock back into his briefs before he marched forward. You watched as Chan snatched the panties from Minho’s hand and quickly wheeled around to confront you. 

“I’m sure there’s something I’m not understanding here,” Chan insisted, “I’m sure Hyunjin just stole these from you, right?” 

You were suddenly very glad you were mostly turned away from the camera in the back of the room as Chan’s sudden dramatics nearly made you crack. Thankfully, Hyunjin saved you before you could be caught laughing. 

“No, stupid,” Hyunjin sneered, “she let me have them after we fucked. Why do you think Jisung got all pissy with me last night? He fucked her, too.”

“Hyunjin, you fucked her?!” Minho reeled. Chan stepped forward, squaring up against Hyunjin in the doorway. 

“When?!” Chan interrogated as he dramatically balled his fist into the collar of Hyunjin’s shirt. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Hyunjin giggled, his shit-eating grin wide before Chan beat his other fist into the door of the laundry room. The three of you silently alerted to Chan’s outburst, feeling a touch more genuine than the rest of the charade. Admittedly, the finer details of when and where you slept with them all was a bit glossed over in your impromptu meeting the previous night.

“Tell me, you little shit,” Chan theatrically pushed him, getting back on the level, “you get one last chance to say you’re lying.”

“Chan, I—“ you piped up behind them. All three boys glared back at you and you nearly broke into a fit of laughter again. Chan turned his attention back to threateningly cocking his fist back. 

“You better admit you’re lying,” Chan warned, before Minho clapped a hand onto his fist. You quietly tried to grab your clothes as the boys hashed it out. 

“What good is that going to do? I slept with her too,” Minho admonished. Hyunjin and Chan turned to gape at you in disbelief. 

“Besides, I don’t need to tell you anything,” Hyunjin laughed as he turned his attention back to Chan, “she knows I was better anyway.”

“Or she pitied you,” Chan retorted. This was all so much more exaggerated than you’d imagined, and doubly so as he apparently struck a nerve with Hyunjin, who proceeded to headbutt Chan directly in his nose. He rocked back on his feet, a hand clapped over his nose as he cursed. You and Minho both gasped, unable to stop Chan as he reacted with a swift punch to Hyunjin’s stomach and sent him crumpling to the floor. Minho squared his shoulders against Chan as you sneakily began to get a little more dressed. 

“You fucking brute, I’ve had it with you—” Minho barked, and Chan got in his face. 

“Don’t be mad at me because I fucked her, too,” Chan shook his head, when Hyunjin got back to his senses enough to tackle into Chan’s knees. Chan dragged Minho down with him, and all three boys were suddenly in a scuffle on the floor, blocking you from leaving the laundry room. 

It didn’t look like it could get much worse until Changbin strolled downstairs, supposedly unaware of all the commotion. 

“Hey, we’re going to be filming soon—“ and Changbin was cut off as he witnessed all three boys wrestling and scrapping on the floor, with you still half-dressed behind them. Even as Changbin tried to break it up, the three boys accused him of sleeping with you as well and he was promptly dragged into the fray. 

It was getting out of hand fast when Jisung finally arrived down to the basement. He stood, paused at the bottom of the stairs, and you again nearly burst into a fit of laughter at how preposterous this whole thing became. Now as Jisung entered the conflict, the boys all slowed to a stop to regard him. Comically suspicious looks were cast all around, from the boys tangled in a bruised heap on the floor, to Jisung pulling off what was probably the best performance of his life looking utterly destroyed, to you as you did your best to look as guilty as you had been. To top it all off, Jisung quietly shook his head before silently retreating back upstairs. It was a scene straight from a drama. 

Seungmin came bounding down the stairs then, no doubt trying to find the cast and looking shocked at the scene he stumbled into. The boys all looked downtrodden, eyes shooting daggers as they untangled themselves and sulked back upstairs. Each of them caught your eye as they headed up, the small looks you caught ranging between bemusement to trepidation of if this would even work. Chan raised an eyebrow at you as he was finally able to grab his clothes. You were tempted to reach out, to try and tend to his nose still spilling blood, but he pulled away, seemingly in disgust as he gingerly pawed at it. 

“Holy shit,” Chan laughed quietly as he turned away from the camera, “I didn’t know they had it in them.”

The finale itself seemed like such small stakes after the brawl in the basement. All the boys had a quiet intensity to them, especially after the fit the production crew threw after they had shown up bruised and beaten. They refused to tell the staff what exactly they were fighting over, so now they just sat, bandaged and extra made up, while they waited to film. 

You had your own role to play, of course, the finale following some ridiculous plot where the ominous ‘headmaster’ had sent an inspector to expose a saboteur amongst their care staff. There was a chance for you, the chauffeur, and — of course — the cook to make your cases. You looked over all the boys as you stood before them, trying to decipher all their indecipherable looks. 

“I wish I didn’t have to prove my innocence to you,” you told them, and it was like the cameras and crew weren’t even there as you were all assembled in the dining room, “and I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt me or distrust me. I care for all of you.”

The line girl behind the camera was bewildered at your admission, entirely improvised from what was on the script, but the director waved to signal that you were alright. Each of the boys all seemed to soften, to relax a little for the rest of the scene. Chan had a guilty smile until it agitated his nose (which had apparently been dislocated and needed to be reset before filming, much to Hyunjin’s pride and chagrin.) Minho looked pleased, either with you or himself, while Changbin still looked a bit concerned and nervous. Hyunjin was just bored by now, his ideas of acting completely thrown into perspective by all this. Jisung was harder to pin, and you still felt ultimately responsible for whatever he was coping with. 

Obviously, the inspector spouted out a ton of exposition and off-screen reasoning before revealing the cook. Everyone looked the appropriate amount of scandalized before the cook was carted off by the inspector. The rest of the finale went just as smoothly, but felt so insignificant now. The boys looked humble and excited as they received their prizes and accolades, but everything was run through a filter. Did the staff see it like you did? The farewells after wrapping the show didn’t even feel final. Each embrace from them lingered, sharing meaningful looks that promised you would find them again, if only to make sure they got their cut. 

Felix arrived then, the red bruise on his cheek contrasting humorously with his blue suit. Seungmin, the other staff, and even the director gave him a previously unseen gravitas, greeting him and sucking up as if he were the Big Boss himself and not just his assistant. Felix curtly congratulated the cast for wrapping the show and offered them company cars for rides. Everyone exchanged glances before tersely declining. Felix nodded, understanding, and all five boys exited with looks back over their shoulders to you as they left you in the house. You heart thumped, almost in pain as you watched them go. 

The crew began to clear out as well, and soon it was just you and Felix, eyeing you suspiciously. The turnover was fast, a new crew rolling in right away  to set up. Jeongin cheerily greeted you before helping light the living room. Felix was still staring you down. You approached him warily. 

“Your face is going to get stuck like that,” you mused. 

“I can’t believe what I saw in the raw feed today,” he glowered. He waved over a gofer and asked them for a coffee before turning back to you. “You’re greedy, you know that?”

“You’re going to be fine, Felix,” you scoffed. Felix paused as a coffee was promptly placed in his hands and he regarded it, disgruntled.  

“I just have no clue what I’m going to do if I lose this job. I love my job.”

“Yeah, well,” you raised an eyebrow, “your job exploited some pretty great guys.”

Felix sighed, still gazing into his coffee cup. You took one step closer to him. 

“You were exploited, too, Felix. I’m sure you’re great at your job. Don’t waste it on these people.”

The sigh in Felix’s chest renewed. He hung his head before he finally looked at you again. “You look good, by the way.”

“I know,” you deadpanned.

You sauntered away in search of Jeongin, hoping he’d be the one with your pages and a breakdown of the finale. It was certainly less fanfare and a lot less setup than the boys’ finale had been. 

A host you’d never met before arrived and introduced himself, saying he loved working on your show as he shook your hand. Your finale was really an interview, where you got to pretend to be super proud of yourself and comment on the different cast members. The host’s questions were vacuous and no less exploitative than the rest of the show, and you spied Felix beyond the lights looking thoroughly miserable. 

Your finale felt meaningless as well, just another step towards washing your hands of this forever, and you were grateful when you wrapped and went to change. The only significant part of your farewell was seeing your bedroom emptied of your belongings. A soft footfall at the door alerted you and you turned, finding Felix there again. 

“I’m entirely on the wrong side, aren’t I?”

It wasn’t much of a question from him. You turned, now changed into a comfortable pair of jeans and a hoodie before you approached him. You set your luggage down, raising your hand to gently cup his face and careful to avoid the bruise Chan had slapped into him. 

“You’re on the wrong side,” you agreed, “but you can choose to be better. Maybe I’ll run into you again someday.”

“Maybe,” Felix nodded with a reluctant smirk. 

“Don’t stop being a fan, okay?” You grinned. Felix laughed before offering you a company car for a ride as he had with the boys. He wasn’t even offended as you laughed sarcastically and refused. You grabbed your bag and ascended the stairs. You walked into the living room. You walked into the foyer. You opened the front door. 

And you walked out onto the street. 

🎥🖤🎥🖤🎥🖤🎥

You picked a direction and walked. The house was only a block behind you, looming, when you found him. Chan sat atop his rolling luggage on the corner, flicking through his phone when he noticed you coming his way. He hopped off to greet you, only for you to breeze right past him down the sidewalk. Chan grabbed the handle of his bag and trotted after you. “Did everything go okay?” He asked as he kept up beside you. You nodded with a shrug. 

“Sure. Sorry I can’t talk long; I have to meet up with a friend.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” you nodded earnestly, “I need to return something of his.”

Chan watched curiously as you fished the pendant of his necklace out from under your hoodie where it hung. “Weird,” he smirked, “I had a necklace just like that.”

“Weird,” you agreed. “Who are you again?”

It was your turn to grin as Chan dramatically slapped his forehead. “Of course; I’m terrible with introductions.” He stopped you on the sidewalk and grabbed your hand in his to shake it. “I’m Chan, but my friends call me Duckie, and my really good friends call me Chris.”

You grinned as you shook his hand. “Ah, right, Chris. I thought you looked familiar. I have something that belongs to you.” 

Chan — Duckie — Chris — tried to restrain a bashful smile as you unclasped his necklace from around your neck and reached your hands up to clasp it around his. The moment it hung on him, his smile dropped. “I’m sorry again.”

“I know,” you nodded, “but you were there for me and I appreciate it.”

“I would do it all again if I had to,” Chris smiled softly. 

“What,” you mused, “take advantage of a sleazy production like this to run off with way more money than expected?”

Chris nodded heartily. “In a heartbeat.”

“Sure,” you giggled as you waved down a taxi, “and while we’re at it we can make our own show that’s actually worth watching.”

“I mean, I don’t see why not,” Chris retorted. He paused as he watched you load your bag into the taxi that pulled up to the curb. He looked like he missed you already as you pulled open the door and looked back at him. 

“Am I going to see you again?” He asked. 

“What a dumb question,” you laughed as you waved goodbye. “Call me next time you have to do some laundry.”

[kisskissbanggang]

Can You

[~10Min Read/3.3K Words - Sub!Jaehyun x Dom!Female Reader - NSFW 1/2 Plot 1/2 Smut - Office hookups, impromptu dom/sub, mutual pining, dirty talk, mild degradation]

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You’d never really looked at Jaehyun until he wore a suit to the office. Of course, you saw him nearly every day, but the day he dropped his messenger bag on your desk as he raced around, looking for his tie clip he’d left in the office last time he had a hearing, you truly noticed him for the first time. It wasn’t exactly in your job description to acknowledge how effortlessly tidy he kept his hair, or how neatly he kept the stubble on his chin smooth, or the natural charm of his dimples, but now you were trying desperately to keep your mind off of it after he ran to catch his Uber. Surely, you would forget about it, and not have to worry about disappointing your father, who’d pulled some strings with a friend to get you this job in Jaehyun’s office in the first place. 

But then Jaehyun came huffing back into the office at the end of the day, after his hearing, while you were on your way out. His suit jacket was slung back over his shoulder, with his tie pulled loose in his shirt collar. The look alone made your heart quake. 

“That ran way longer than I’d been hoping,” he laughed exhaustedly as he shrugged back into his office, “I’m so happy to get this stupid suit off.” 

“Want some help?” You laughed, instantly mortified at your outlandish remark. Thankfully, Jaehyun laughed. 

“Not tonight,” he chuckled, his shoulders appearing to relax as he thankfully seemed charmed by your joke.  

And you refused to think about it, wouldn’t have deigned to think about how Jaehyun would look taking that suit off when he got home that night, and how maybe you wanted to take it off for him. Instead, you returned back to your little apartment on the other side of the city and hopped into a freezing shower. 

Sure enough, the next morning Jaehyun strolled into the office in jeans and a sweater. 

“Well, you certainly look more comfortable,” you chirped politely. 

He let out a relieved sigh. “So much more comfortable. Can I please have some coffee?” You tried to look away from his cute smile as you nodded, his dimples pulling you in an untrustworthy direction. He shut the door to his office as he cued up some music on his speakers so he could get caught up on work. The thought of Jaehyun’s broad shoulders, the way he bit his lip when he was thinking — it was all hopefully getting pushed out of your mind as you took an extra long moment to pour Jaehyun some coffee. You peeked through the window lining his office door and looked back over your shoulder to check with his assistant real quick to see if Jaehyun was on a phone call before you softly rapped on the door. The sight of Jaehyun’s worn sneakers propped up on his desk distracted you for a moment before you responded to his smiling wave beckoning you in. He sat up in his seat, grinning gratefully as he took a brave sip of the hot brew in his favorite mug. 

“Sorry for whining,” he sheepishly offered, maybe emboldened by finally getting some caffeine in him. 

“I’m just surprised, is all,” you smirked, “I thought suits sort of just came with the whole lawyer thing, like a package deal.”

“Well, honestly, I totally used to be that guy at my last firm,” he admitted with a shrug, “but things change. There’s more important things than looking the part.”

“I agree,” you curtly smiled at him, trying not to look like a bashful schoolgirl as you breezed out of his office. 

The next few days, work consisted of you ghosting around and away from Jaehyun’s office, and trying hard not to be preoccupied by his comfortable sneakers casually kicked up on his desk as he seemed to be asking for coffee refills more often than usual. Of course, you did still have to bring him his personal mail everyday. Maybe that would be a fitting opportunity to get this dumb crush out of your system. You resolved to finally start making yourself clear without being unprofessional, that you would make it known to him that you understood where the boundary was and weren’t going to cross it. 

The following morning, the perfect chance came as you set a package on Jaehyun’s desk along with his coffee. Jaehyun quickly sat up and clicked off his Twitter feed. He’d apparently been looking up a girl. You knowingly tapped the package. 

“Secret gift for your girlfriend?” You prodded, just innocent enough to be passing small talk, but surely something that would let your intentions be known. Except Jaehyun laughed, which in this moment meant he choked on his coffee. 

“Girlfriend?!” He guffawed. “Lord, no. This is just an emergency tie to keep in my desk. I’m single, and I’m just fine with that. Are you?” The look in his eye was goading, teasing, and it lit a fire in you that you weren’t quite familiar with. 

“Oh, er—“ you stumbled over your words as you grabbed some napkins from your back pocket. You always carried some when fetching coffee for the partners, just in case something like this happened. It didn’t quite strike you as an odd move when you leaned over his desk to wipe up the sputtered coffee, but it was increasingly apparent as you noticed you were practically bent over Jaehyun’s lap. You both froze before you quickly snapped back up, apologizing profusely as you excused yourself from his office. 

You dreaded the rest of the day, wondering if this was it, if you’d grossly overstepped your boundaries while desperately trying not to without causing a scene. 

But nothing came. No yelling, no lecturing. In fact, your father called. He heard you were doing great. 

Honestly, it was easier to just ignore it, to just cage the butterflies in your stomach that came around every time Jaehyun made small talk or asked you to hold his calls, or ask for his fourth cup of coffee for the day. Jaehyun never overtly made a pass at you other than harmless jokes, and he never got too personal. It was easy to try ignoring him. All you really knew about Jaehyun Jung was that he was a young lawyer, and an incredibly competent one at that. He refused to divulge much else. His office had no pictures, no knickknacks — only his minimalist decor and tech, his diplomas and certificates, and one lone orchid that sat on his windowsill and he cared for religiously. As opposed to the older partners, his reference books were all on his hard drive. He didn’t go out, he refused to let anyone celebrate his birthday, and he only stuck around at the annual holiday party for the White Elephant and a single beer. To say Jaehyun was closed off was putting it mildly. He wasn’t an island — he was a fortress. 

Over the course of another week, you became so good at ignoring your schoolgirl crush on Jaehyun that it was as if it never happened. You could even resume life as normal, to a point that you found yourself knocking on Jaehyun’s office door with a fresh cup of coffee before he asked. He sat up with a start, planting his sneakers on the carpet as he eyed you. 

“I’m single, you know,” he blurted, “but I’m not looking.”

“That’s fine?” You raised a dubious eyebrow at him. “This is just a cup of coffee.”

“I, uh,” Jaehyun stammered, blindsiding you with his uncertainty before he pointed to the hook behind his door. “Can you take my suit to the dry cleaner’s? I was going to do it at lunch but I need to really review these exhibits before I have to present them tomorrow at my trial.”

You’d nodded dutifully, taking Jaehyun’s suit in its garment bag to hang on the coat rack by your desk until your lunch break. The faintest hint of Jaehyun’s cologne hit your nose and you grimaced before quickly hanging it up and pretending that no longer existed, either, or at least until lunch. 

Jaehyun didn’t even come to the office the following morning, no doubt having to go through his own practiced ritual before a jury trial. It wasn’t until later that day, just in time to close the office, that a group text came through the office. Jaehyun had lost. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise — Jaehyun never wanted this to get to trial in the first place — but everyone seemed pretty relieved to have to clear out. 

Except for you. You stared at the mountain of files to update on your desk. It was nice, honestly, to work with no coworkers and no phones ringing, just you and some quiet music to power through your work until you were ready to lock up the office. You were closing the door, by itself at the end of a winding hallway, when you felt a presence sneak up behind you. You whirled around, facing a very defeated Jaehyun, his sleeves rolled up and his tie hanging slack around his neck again. He regarded you warily, tiredly, in the seemingly cramped space of the hall. 

“You alright?” You softly asked. 

“I cannot wait to get out of this stupid suit,” Jaehyun sighed, an exhausted smile revealing his dimples. There it was. That dreaded longing. You just needed to hold it back, not make any rash—

“You want some help?” You smirked. 

God dammit. 

Jaehyun held your self-conscious stare. The two of you attempted to read each other, get any sort of handle on the situation. You decided this was it, you would briskly turn and leave and forget you were this big of an idiot, and hopefully he would as well. 

Except Jaehyun reached for you. He reached for you, his fingertips brushing over your waist and his lips grazing over yours before they pressed to your cheek, and ultimately the soft spot on your neck just below your ear. 

Your fingers grasped at his shirt, the metal of your office keys digging into your palm before you pulled him close, and pushed him back away. You were staring each other down again, now with the added layer of Jaehyun blushing through to his ears. The silence of the hallway was crushing. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaehyun shook his head as he pressed back against the wall in the compact corridor, “I meant it the other day. I’m not looking for anything. You’re gorgeous, and I can’t stop looking at you, and my caffeine intake has tripled in the past weeks, but I’ve… You have to understand. I’ve hurt people before.”

The ball was in your court, except this felt more like a grenade. Jaehyun was looking at you, and was asking you into his office lately just to see you and talk to you. And you quashed all these feelings, for what? For some high school nonsense like this?

“That’s fine,” you decided. Jaehyun stared, unblinking. 

“What?”

“That’s fine, Mr. Jung,” you nodded, teasing him with the title he’d instantly insisted you not use when you first started at the firm. His eyebrows raised cautiously as you slowly grasped his necktie and drew him close. “I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m not asking you to exorcise all your demons or martyr yourself. I’m telling you that if you want it, I’ll help you take that suit off.”

“You’re trouble,” Jaehyun laughed breathlessly. 

“You’re the one wasting time asking me to get you coffee when you could’ve been asking me out.”

You shut up Jaehyun’s surely clever retort as you yanked him close, this time giving him the proper kiss he’d deprived you of initially. To your relief, his lips responded in kind, his tongue following your lead as his hands searched your body, before landing on the keys in your hand. He quickly got the office door open, and you pulled him along, clumsily punching in the alarm code and letting Jaehyun desperately grope at you. Both your work bags dropped to the floor of the lobby, your coats landing on top of them as Jaehyun kissed you back through the dark office to his door. You still had a vice grip on Jaehyun’s tie, holding him close and making him accidentally push you hard against the door, a grunt reverberating through both of your chests. And his hands were in your hair, fretting over hurting you and making sure you were alright and kissing your face before you turned the knob to his office, sending you both tumbling inside. Making quick work of him, you shoved Jaehyun to sit back on his desk. 

“What’re you going to do to me?” He quietly asked, but it wasn’t timid. Jaehyun was challenging you, dipping a toe in the rapids. 

“I’m going to make you forget your ghosts for a little bit,” you explained as you swiftly slid off his tie. Jaehyun watched, intrigued and curious as you crawled onto the desk between his legs, but only to reach around him to rummage around in the drawers behind him. 

“Not very interested in me, huh?” He asked, as if he’d proven any sort of point before you scoffed. He went rigid under you when you sat back up between his legs, his recently acquired emergency tie in your hands. 

“Don’t be dumb,” you smiled in the scant moonlight streaming through the window lining the wall. “Of course I’m interested in you, Mr. Jung, but I’m a bit hung out to dry after seeing you’re all flash but no bang for the past couple weeks.”

“I resent that,” Jaehyun laughed weakly, his eyes pointed at your fingers lifting the hem of your skirt so you could straddle his hips on the desk. 

“Don’t argue,” you condescendingly shook your head, “you did plenty of that today. You asked what I’m going to do to you, and right now I’m going to work out this frustration you left me with.” Before he could respond, you firmly pushed Jaehyun back onto his desk before gathering up his wrists and wrapping one of his ties around them. 

Until he roughly jerked them away. You nearly scoffed, nearly teased, until you sensed a desperation — fear — in his action. 

“Jaehyun?” You asked gently. 

“I’m fine,” Jaehyun insisted as he got his breath back. “I just… can we not? Do that, specifically, I mean.”

You sat up on your knees, still perched over Jaehyun’s lap and frozen as you wondered where to go from here. 

“Jaehyun, baby,” you soothed as your hand gently cupped his face, “we can take a minute. We can stop.”

Jaehyun’s hands found your hips in the dark, gliding over them and pulling you close. “No, please,” he pleaded, his voice low in his throat and still coated with lust. “I can handle you.”

“That’s a strong choice of words,” you smirked, relieved to get the moment back when you caught Jaehyun’s fingers fumbling with the waistband of your skirt. He jolted as you slapped his hand off, getting his attention back so you could begin to unbutton his shirt. “Don’t be selfish,” you chided, “get mine, too.”

“Anything, princess,” he eagerly agreed, his fingers deftly plucking the buttons of your blouse open. Nevertheless, you grimaced at the pet name. 

“Call me something else,” you suggested, threading your fingers back through Jaehyun’s hair and tugging before letting them trail down to his exposed chest. You thumbed over his nipples and enjoyed how it made him squirm. His cock surged against you through his slacks. 

“Yes, baby,” he readily complied. “What now?” 

“Now you have to be patient,” you smiled. “If I don’t want to make you keep your hands to yourself, can you be good and sit still on your own?” Jaehyun eagerly shook his head. You slid down his lap a little, just enough to get your hands on his belt and unbuckle him. His breath caught in his throat as you got a hand around his warm length and his hands searched, reached, desperate for any other stimulation before he pulled you close to tug your bra down and hungrily tongue your nipples. Your grip massaged his cock at an agonizing pace, and Jaehyun was getting worked up much too fast to be dignified. 

“Please, baby,” he begged, “I need it. I need to fuck you.”

“Oh?” You laughed, “Since when?”

“For weeks now,” he wheezed. “I need you.”

“Really?” You grinned devilishly, lifting your hips just enough to pull your panties to the side, lewdly rubbing yourself to taunt him. He couldn’t take his eyes off you as you exposed yourself for him but wouldn’t let him have any. “You want to fuck me?”

“Please,” Jaehyun pathetically groaned, even more so as you took his turgid length in your hand and rubbed the head against your soaked heat. He tried in vain to keep from rutting up into your entrance. 

“Say it,” you commanded. 

“Say what?” Jaehyun desperately implored.

“Say thank you,” you grinned triumphantly, grinding your pussy down onto just the head of his cock as you roughly thumbed and pinched  his erect nipples. Jaehyun let his head fall back against the desk as you finally dipped him fully into you. You savored his shuddered groans of pleasure. Jaehyun still obediently kept his hands to himself, even as he uselessly babbled his endless thanks to you. “It’s so convenient,” you smirked, “having a good boy to keep his hands to himself on his own. It gives me a chance to get some work done around here.”

Jaehyun watched, captivated as your fingers dipped down to your clit and drew fervent circles in time with your pace on his cock. 

“Tell me you want to see it,” you ordered, breath ragged as you bounced hungrily on Jaehyun’s leaking cock. 

“See what?” Jaehyun panted, his fingers gripping tight to the edge of his desk. 

“Tell me you want to see me cum all over your nice suit,” you teased. 

Jaehyun moaned hard, cursing under his breath as he watched helplessly. “Please, baby,” he pleaded, “I want to see you cum.”

“Cum where?”

“I-I want to see you cum all over my nice suit,” Jaehyun confidently stammered. 

“Only if you fill me up,” you grinned valiantly. Your goading did the trick. Jaehyun’s head pressed back into the desk, his eyes screwed shut as yours did the same. Your body jolted, your pussy contracting and spasming on his spurting cock as you both cried out.  

Seemingly minutes later, you found yourself resting on Jaehyun’s chest, eyes groggily reopening as you let your thoughts fall back into place. You absently played with the bracelet around Jaehyun’s wrist where his hands had finally relinquished the desk, a simple and dainty set of chains that felt cool against the pads of your fingers. 

“Did you really want to do this for weeks?” You murmured into his chest. You cooperated as Jaehyun sat up with you in his arms. He gently buttoned your blouse back up, petted your hair back into place as he hazily nodded. 

“I did. I’ve wanted you, but I couldn’t bring myself to make that step. I guess I needed you to help me.”

“I’m glad I did,” you smiled modestly. Jaehyun pulled you close in his lap again, his nose buried into the crook of your neck. 

“And you were right.”

“Hmm?” You contentedly hummed. 

“You made me forget for a bit.”

You sat back, studying Jaehyun’s face for a sense of inflation or play, but found none. 

“Want me to do it again sometime?” The question was phrased lightly, but you meant it. If you could be with Jaehyun again, you would. He just had to want it. 

“Can you?”

[A companion series.]

[kisskissbanggang]

Prowl pt. 4

[30Min. Read/8.2K Words – Human!Jisung x Female Reader, Werewolf!Bang Chan x Female Reader  – Monsters!AU, Mostly Plot, NSFW/Smut – Vampires & Werewolves, Mysteries, New Characters, Suspense, Love Triangles, Jealousy, Developing Feelings, Questionable Coping]

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“Jisung,” you sighed, “I'm so tired.”

“Me, too,” Jisung agreed with an exhausted smile, “but you're the one that course-corrected us away from the university. Are you sure this is where she lives?”

“Positive,” you nodded, “I travelled with her on my way home for winter break the year I turned.”

There really was no need for you to be tired. You were fed, you were healed, and you didn’t need the sleep you were forced to go through every day. But so much had happened, so much was sitting on your shoulders that you were exhausted, almost dragging your whole body with every step you took. 

“How do you feel about seeing her?” Jisung asked, his noticing eyes making you realize you were bouncing your knee. 

“Nervous,” you contemplated as you stopped. “I wish I could call. The number was dead when I tried.”

“You’ll be fine. I bet she’ll be thrilled to see you.”

“How about you?” You prodded. “How do you feel?”

“About what?”

“About meeting her, about all of this, really.”

“Fine,” Jisung answered shortly, “nervous, but fine.”

It didn’t matter that you were fine to drive, either. Jisung insisted that you still needed rest, at least emotionally, but he was fading fast nonetheless. It was hard to believe, considering you looked amazing. A healthy glow adorned your cheek. Your hair shined. You looked good as new after what you’d taken from Chan. The same couldn’t be said for Jisung, who couldn’t stop fiddling with the stitches in his brow even though it agitated the black eye that was still in the process of fading. That wasn’t even counting the new bruises he’d found, one still burning a sickening shade of orange on his jaw or the spot on his arm where he’d been grabbed back at the store. He’d been up all day as you slept in his bed at Shepherd's, after you'd taken a much needed shower after everything that happened the previous night.

You’d awoken to Jisung laying right next to you, dead asleep with his bag packed and ready to go. He’d driven you back to your aunt’s, where you patiently lied that you were taking a trip with Jisung before you headed back to school, but you weren't quite sure what your relationship with him was, so your family absolutely didn’t need to know yet. And, yes, you had to leave now if you wanted to make progress on the road and have a whole day ahead. She’d understood to the best of her ability. Ever the romantic, she was a little hurt to see you go, but very excited to see you around someone you enjoyed. You had grabbed your things and watched as she waved you goodbye from her porch. 

So, now, miles down the highway and the sparse lights of town far behind you, the cacophony of white noise in your head from all these recent developments were dragging you to a standstill, and Jisung had run himself ragged. You sat up from where you were relaxed on the bench seat and slid over to place a reassuring hand on his at the wheel, your fingers sliding over the bandages still adorning his knuckles. The leather of the seat still had a faint ghost of the blood you’d smeared all over it the previous night; Jisung had apparently tried everything in his power to clean it off. 

“Jisung,” you softly encouraged, “you’re making great time. Now let’s sleep somewhere before you run us off the road.”

You would've settled for pulling off into a rest area, but Jisung pulled into the nearest motel that had a well-lit parking lot and all the lights on their sign working. He signed the register half awake, and now you were sidling up to your double room. You set your things down, collapsing onto a bed and shucking off your boots and coat, and Jisung sat across from you on the other mattress, distractedly watching as you stretched. You had noticed the air between you felt odd, ever since that night you spent together on the couch in the bookshop, but you never had taken the time to confront it. You had been surprised to find him dozing next to you back in his soft bed in his comically giant room at Shepherd's, and Jisung had even apologized as if he hadn't already seen you naked, you know, when you had sex just a couple nights before. 

Had a night like that occured in any life other than this one, you could’ve ruminated on whether the feeling staked between you was longing, or coping, or something else entirely. In any other life, you'd slept together once without truly discussing your feelings and were now faced with the uncertain emotional aftermath. But this wasn’t any other life, and in the time since you had slept together in this timeline, you'd fought, not taken his side, noncommittally kissed, and ultimately fucked the horrid wolf that got you into this. 

And probably killed him. 

Jisung seemed to catch your tiredly wandering eyes now and he got up to gently push you into bed, tucking you in under the covers. He sat by you, just feeling you near him until his eyes were on yours again. His gaze was soft, but it was short-lived, and your heart cloyingly raced as he leaned close. But Jisung simply kissed your forehead before kicking off his shoes, slinging his jacket onto the other side of the other bed and climbing in. He looked over to you again, some bizarrely thick tension making you wonder if it would be awkward to ask him to join you — for comfort, for affection, for anything. 

“I hope this is alright,” Jisung said softly from his side of the dark room once he switched off the lamp between you. “You’ve been through so much the past couple nights. You could use some rest.” He wished you goodnight and was instantly asleep, and you rolled over in bed to regard the light of the full moon dimming and making way for dawn. 

Chan could be dead by now. He couldn't have made it all day. 

Why did you care?

Your thoughts were so plagued with a never-ending chorus of All Yours with intermittent refrains of All Mine weaved through, that you didn't even notice as the night finally came to an end and you fell asleep. 

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

When even all the working lights of the motel’s sign were long behind you, you finally directed Jisung to a driveway hidden off a side road of a side road from the highway. It was a miracle you remembered this place, but how could you not? You could clearly remember Lia hugging you goodbye for winter break at the gate, sending you on your way in a car she’d hired to take you to the train station. Her cheeks had been bitten red in the crisp night, and she told you that everything would be alright when you saw each other again and she could continue teaching you how to live this life. But you never would see Lia again after that. She made some excuse to stay home after winter break, that it was best for her to stay away, but her occasional notes in the mail and small gifts reminded you she was still around. 

The driveway wound in curves that betrayed the straight beams of the car’s headlights, any meager assistance from dim lanterns lining the path rendered practically useless until, suddenly, the gravel road opened up to a fully paved circle drive. The house heading it was impressive, decently modern and handsome with sleek lines accentuating its humble grandeur. 

Jisung practically hid behind you, nervous to meet the woman from the journal you’d been assuring him wasn’t a ghost, and his hand twitched where it brushed against your arm when the door cracked open. Lia, perpetually waifish with her pin-straight, black hair down past her shoulders, regarded you with wide eyes and a beaming smile. 

“My sweetheart! I can’t believe it,” she breathed, already too excited as she swung the door open, “I’m so surprised to see you!”

Lia’s arms paused right before they flung around your neck to hug you, but you still felt her freeze. You backed away from her embrace as she warily looked Jisung up and down, who had now cowered away a few steps. 

“Who’s this?” Lia asked you, doing her best to be courteous. Her smile was made of ice. You knew you should’ve left Jisung in the car, that Lia was already tense around strange men, but he’d insisted that this was the right thing to do. 

“This is Jisung,” you carefully introduced, reaching over to snatch his hand and pull him closer, “he’s—“

“We share a mutual mentor,” Jisung coughed up and stood tall, “Adam Shepherd. I’m—“

“Get the fuck out.” Lia spat the words, eyes wild as she firmly stepped back through the door. Another girl ghosted in over her shoulder, her  cropped hairstyle and deadpan glare making the whole encounter feel more dire. 

“Lia,” the girl murmured, “what’s wrong? Who is this?”

“I said get the fuck out!” Lia cried as she tried to shut the door. You leapt forward to throw your arm up against it, when you heard a disconcerting clatter behind the large frame. Lia stepped back into view with a shotgun held down by her side. Jisung stepped forward again now, a protective arm trying to pull you back. “Sweetheart, I love you,” Lia’s voice wavered as she stared you down, “I love you, but you have to leave. I won’t accept any form of that monster — that maniac — apprentice or otherwise.”

“Lia,” the girl over her shoulder persisted, “we can’t be doing this.”

“After what that bastard did to me,” Lia seethed, “I hope he rots. If he were dead I would—“

“He is.”

Lia’s shaking eyes bore into Jisung as he piped up, but her stunned silence encouraged him to try again. Jisung warily stepped in front of you to gently take the gun from Lia’s hand. The girl over her shoulder quickly grabbed it from him to stow it back away. You watched, impressed and touched as Jisung slowly took her hand in his. “Lia,” he said warily, cautiously forming the name on his lips that he’d only read in the journal and heard from you before now, “I hate what Shepherd did to you. I promise you he’s dead. I saw it happen.”

Lia nervously bit at her lip, as if the news wouldn’t last. The air on the doorstep stagnated before, finally, she self-consciously swiped at the tears welling in the corners of her eyes and relinquished a small smile. “I’m glad you brought me good news,” she laughed, the exhaustion in her voice betraying the tension she was still holding. 

“Lia,” you began as you softly took her hand from Jisung, “I need your help. I’m sure you can guess why we’re here if we brought you this bit of good news.”

She nodded soberly despite the smile still pulling at the corners of her lips. “Anything for you, sweetheart. I’m just so happy to see you.”

Lia and the girl behind her stepped aside to let you and Jisung into the foyer, the refreshingly open layout showcasing a grand staircase and easily revealing ways towards other parts of the house. 

“I feel like I’ve been so uncharacteristically rude,” Lia apologized as she pulled the girl close, “I didn’t even make proper introductions. This is Ryu—“

“Joanne,” the girl corrected with a terse smile. She eyed Lia as if this was already known. “The girls and I decided we will be going by our chosen names.”

“Any particular reason?” Lia asked tiredly. You and Jisung may as well have vanished for how caught up in each other they became.

“Well, after last month—“

“Fine,” Lia decided, holding up a hand to silence her, “if it makes you all happy.”

“It does.” A voice from up the staircase startled you both as you caught three other girls peeking out over the banister in the dim entryway. Lia sighed, any grandeur from her introductions having been stripped away by now. She flippantly gestured to the girls. 

“This is Joanne. I picked her up shortly after you returned to school and I never could get rid of her. The pretty one with the ponytail is Ye— Lucy. She came along a little after Joanne. The pretty one with the button nose is Judy, and the skinny pretty one is her sister, Hu—“

“Yuna,” the younger girl chirped. Lia’s sigh multiplied, causing Yuna to shrink considerably considering her tall and lithe figure. “I didn’t want to change mine. And we know who you are,” Yuna beamed at you, “your picture is on Lia’s desk in the study.”

“Er,” you awkwardly grinned at all the girls, “well it’s certainly nice to meet all of you. This is Jisung.” You tugged him close, and this was the most shy you’d ever seen him. He sheepishly waved and you couldn’t help but think this was the most girls he’d ever been in a room with at once in quite some time.

“I’m…” Jisung tripped over his words and boots as he turned back towards the door, “... going to grab our things. From the car. I’ll be right back.”

Lia crooked a finger at Yuna as Jisung retreated back outside. “You, you little snoop, can help me get some firewood from out back while the girls get our guests set up.” Yuna sighed as she descended the stairs, dragging her feet all the way as she followed Lia out of the entryway. 

“Come on,” Joanne nodded in your direction as she headed up the stairs herself, “let’s get you a room.”

Joanne led you up the stairs and down the wing to your right. She thumbed back over her shoulder. “There’s another guest room that way, along with the study, Lia’s room, and Yuna’s room. Down this way is my room, Judy’s room, Lucy’s room, and your room.” 

Judy and Lucy tittered as they opened the door to your room, a handsome guest suite that was clearly serving double duty as a library of sorts. You’d finally had enough and smiled friendly enough at the girls. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh!” Lucy laughed. “We’re not that serious about the names. It just bothers Lia.”

“Sort of mean,” you defended, until you couldn’t hold back your smile anymore. “It is fun to get her all riled up, though. Why did she believe it?”

The girls all softened once they saw you could play along. “Yeji— Lucy — had a boyfriend come looking for her last month and it wasn’t too fun. The same shotgun scenario but much more dramatic.” 

Lucy nodded. “Ryujin — I mean Joanne — suggested choosing new names to use in town and such, and Lia thought it was sweet, so we’ve been bugging her with it ever since. She’s sort of like an older sister that way.”

The girls casually helped themselves to your bed as you shrugged off your coat and shoes. Meanwhile, Judy curiously peered out the window into the night, presumably at Jisung fiddling with your bags as he headed back inside. “How long have you been with your boyfriend?” She asked dreamily. The other two girls rolled their eyes, both smirking as your expression gave you away. 

“My—? Oh, Jisung isn’t my boyfriend. We’re just friends.”

Jisung popped up shortly after, bags in hand as the girls all turned to look at him. Lucy smiled and Judy blushed, but Joanne managed to laugh out loud. 

“What?” Jisung asked obliviously. “Is everything alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” Lucy grinned, “we’ll go make the other room more presentable, then.”

The girls all giggled and teased each other as they filed past Jisung down the hall and finally allowed him enough room to come in. He set your bag down on the bed, pointedly averting his eyes as you quickly found a comfy shirt to sleep in and tugged your top off over your head. 

“How’re you feeling?” You gently asked. 

“I’m fine,” Jisung shrugged. “Maybe a little awkward. New place and new people. How are you feeling?” He asked quietly, now suddenly shy as you shucked off your jeans to pull on a pair of lounge shorts. You studied the faint scar on your leg left from the stab wound that seemed so serious just a couple of nights ago. 

“Honestly? I’m feeling a bit left in the dark.”

Now that you were dressed, Jisung picked his head up, puzzled. “About what?”

“Seems like I’m the only one who doesn’t know what Shepherd did.”

Jisung exhaled deep. “I’m not ready. Obviously, Lia isn’t either. And now I feel like it’s her place to tell you.”

“That’s such bullshit!” You impatiently huffed. Jisung quickly waved for you to quiet down, gesturing toward the open door. The girls could be heard laughing down the hallway. “That’s bullshit,” you attempted again, quieter now, “I feel so useless when I don’t even know what I’m running from.”

“I promise,” Jisung tried to bargain with you, stepping forward to hold your folded arms, “we will get Lia to open up while we’re here. You need to hear it from her. Trust me, okay? I’m all yours.”

“Oh, sure. Then what’re you so afraid of?” You scoffed as you pulled away. Jisung grunted in annoyance. 

“That’s horseshit, don’t do that,” he snapped. “Why won’t you tell me what happened with the wolf the other night? Why won’t you tell me what happened with him before you came to the store a few nights ago? What’re you afraid of?”

“Excuse me,” you fired back, “but I think I can expect a little more from someone who says they’re all mine.”

Jisung sighed hard as he attempted to come up with the words in his cloud of frustration, when a light trio of giggles sounded at the door. You both froze. 

“Hey, Jisung,” Lucy gave a small, cheeky wave as she poked her head in, “how are you feeling? Lia never lets us bring donors home, and we’re a little hungry. Want to help us out?”

Jisung looked from the three girls, to you, back and forth a few times. 

“Do you mind?” Joanne asked you. Jisung watched as you shrugged. His expression was hard to read. 

“Why would I mind? Like I said, it’s not like we’re together or anything. He’s all yours.”

It appeared like Jisung deflated before he made one step towards the girls. Right on cue, they all swooped down on him, herding him out and back down the hall and towards his room, chattering and laughing all the way. 

It didn’t feel like you were upset with Jisung’s decision as you switched off all the lights except for the lamp on the bedside, but you were furious with yourself for feeling betrayed, for feeling almost jealous as he’d looked back over his shoulder at you on his way out the door. All you could reasonably do in this moment was simmer, laying in bed and suddenly feeling as exhausted as Jisung had been insisting you were. You looked out at the slowly waning moon fading. The gross burn of agitated loneliness was making your skin prickle, but now you were too stubborn to get up and look for some company. Besides, the person you wanted company from most was probably too busy currently contributing to the faint chorus of squeals and giggles quietly trailing in from down the hall. The only option that was to will yourself to sleep well before the sun was actually set to rise. 

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

The burning magenta and violet of sundown greeted you from your slumber, which inadvertently graced you with actually waking up bleary-eyed and not just snapping back into consciousness. Much to your dismay, your body still didn’t feel quite rested. You took your time slipping into the shower in the small en suite bathroom, standing under the stream in an attempt to develop anything else aside from pruned fingers. Perhaps, you figured, it was time to break your routine of pulling on some jeans and a t-shirt. Something needed to change in some feeble attempt to shake off this weird feeling hanging over you, even if it was small. You’d brought exactly one skirt with you to your aunt’s house, and it actually felt a little rejuvenating to slip it on over a pair of knee socks. You paired it with a simple sweater and looked yourself over, feeling more content actually doing something. 

Your footsteps echoed down the stairs as you padded down to the kitchen, following your nose towards fresh coffee. Lia sat perched on a stool at the breakfast nook. Her feet were curled up under her as she sipped at her coffee and absently flipped through an old photo album. She picked up her head as she noticed you and brusquely shut the album with its yellowed pages and leatherbound cover. Yuna looked over at you and smiled from where she stood at the stove as she slid a couple of eggs off the skillet and onto a plate. 

“So how did Lia find you?” Yuna asked curiously. Lia choked on her coffee. 

“You don’t have to answer that,” Lia reassured you. You waved her off with a laugh. 

“It’s fine,” you said, grinning as you sat beside her. “I got turned during a bad date, and I spent a few weeks as a whole new woman and never saw nor heard from that asshole ever again. Lia found me crying in the library. She didn’t even say anything. She just sat with me and held me.” You shifted in your seat, looking at the humble red of Lia’s cheeks as she gave you a small smile. “She helped me to get my work study job in the library, and she taught me what I needed to know to survive. And now I wish she’d tell me what it is I’m supposed to be protecting myself from, because no one else will.”

Lia’s blush drained from her face as she set her mug down. “Yuna,” she said, “go wake up the girls. They’ve slept in long enough.”

You both watched as Yuna sighed and dragged her feet out of the kitchen before Lia firmly set her hands on the album in front of her. “Sweetheart,” she began carefully, “I’m so happy you’re here, but I’m… it’s a hard story to tell. I’ll tell you once I’m ready.”

“Lia,” you feebly tried again, “please. I can’t keep not knowing what I’m running from.”

“I know,” she choked out. Her fingers nervously drummed on the countertop. “I know, and it’ll happen, but not right this second.”

Her hands were shaking as you took them in yours. “Lia,” you pleaded, “you have to—“

“No, she doesn’t.” Joanne stood defiantly in the doorway to the kitchen. “I’d appreciate it if you would knock it off. She was gracious enough to let you and your friend stay here; she doesn’t owe you any rushed answers.” 

“I just—“

“No.” Joanne said simply as she stepped forward and put a reassuring hand on Lia’s shoulder. “Do you have time? Will the world end if you don’t find out right this second?”

“No,” you stammered, “I suppose—“

“That’s settled, then. If you want to know so bad then go ask your friend. It’s bullshit he hasn’t already if he cares about you so much.” You looked at the girls, wondering what exactly felt different when they entered the room, when you realized they smelled like Jisung. The faint perfume of summer buttercups and fresh venison was almost taunting you, along with the healthy flush adorning all three girls’ cheeks. 

“Right,” you said skeptically. Lucy cocked an eyebrow. 

“It’s true,” Lucy said as she set the kettle on the stove. “He cares about you.”

“He wouldn’t stop talking about you last night,” Judy added as she rummaged through the cupboards for a teabag. “He said he felt bad for keeping things from you.”

“Then why won’t he tell me?!” You reeled in frustration, setting your head in your hands on the counter. 

“Because boys are stupid,” Joanne shrugged, “or it’s something he’s had to come to terms with on his own.”

“And if he says it’s not his place to say?” You sighed. 

“If that’s how he feels, then it looks like that’s what you’re up against. Either he tells you or you’re waiting until Lia is ready.”

You tersely apologized and excused yourself from the kitchen before heading upstairs to find Jisung. No light shone under the crack of his door, and as you gently turned the doorknob and pushed, you were confronted with an empty room. Jisung’s bag sat on an easy chair in the corner and the bed was somewhat made, but there were otherwise no signs of him. Next, you checked the study down the hall, the blankets that you assumed usually sat on the large couch and plush chairs in front of the fireplace piled up on the rug in a twisted heap. As clean as the lush rug was, you spied a faint ghost of a blood stain still haunting the polished hardwood floor beside it. You crinkled your nose at the prospect, and now you were humoring the idea of actually being jealous. The concept was foreign to you, having never needed to be confronted before, and certainly not like this. 

Your head swam as you pulled on a coat and ventured downstairs, when Yuna passed you in the hall and lightly suggested that you could check outside. The paths were well-lit and she’d already seen Jisung admiring the garden from her window when she’d woken up. The car could be seen in the open garage as you headed to the side garden. You stepped onto the back porch and saw two lamps on the ground leading towards a stretch of cobblestone heading out past the tree line. As you followed the winding path of lamps and lanterns, you were presented with a private inlet of a gorgeous lake. Jisung was silhouetted by the light of the moon continuing its slow wane in the night sky as he reclined on a worn lawn chair by the charming fire pit. Jisung didn’t turn to see you as you sat beside him, only feeling your presence as you both watched the gentle waves lap at the shore. 

“You look lonely,” you greeted. You were just fine staring ahead as well. 

“I feel lonely. More than usual.” Jisung sighed. He smelled different, too — a spring bouquet of girls who didn’t carry a mountain of baggage. Did they smell you on him, all mourning flowers and trouble if Chan was to be believed? You grimaced up at the moon as you settled back into your chair. “I looked around the house today while you were sleeping,” Jisung explained, “but snooping felt wrong. I found the view and wanted to check it out again when it was dark.”

You suddenly imagined how tired and alone  Jisung must’ve been at all times to keep up with Shepherd, let alone you. In these colder months, the day only lasted about nine hours, but during the summer there would be no way he could sleep more than half the day away. What did he do with all that free time? You suddenly pictured Jisung spending all his extra hours reading or cleaning at the shop, or lounging in front of the large windows of Shepherd’s manor. Maybe riding his motorbike up and down the coast. Alone. Your heart ached. Jisung deserved closure, friends, a new life that didn’t involve running from trouble. 

“Sometimes I wonder if this would be easier if I were like you.”

“What?” You stared, surprised with how casually he’d said it. 

“I think about it,” he said, still pensively looking out at the lake, “even more lately. Shepherd offered years ago. He said we could get an assistant for the both of us, maybe two.” A thick shiver ran down his spine and you caught him react to it out of the corner of your eye. “Who knows how I’d be involved now if I took him up on it?”

“Jisung,” you shook your head, “this is even lonelier. This arrangement Lia has isn’t normal. If you aren’t well-connected or rich — and Lia is both — everyone is practically on their own.”

“You’re not on your own,” Jisung lightly retorted, “you have me.” He jumped as you gently took his hand into your own. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I keep wanting to protect you. After the other night… I don’t know what happened with you and Chan, but… I mean, I’m glad he got you out of there, but…” Jisung sighed deeply, his chest sinking as he sat back in the chair. “I guess what I’m saying is I’m glad you’re safe, and I’m sorry I’ve been keeping things from you. I hope you understand.”

Jisung flinched as you leaned forward and gently tugged at the collar of his jacket, revealing a myriad of bites. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine they formed a constellation down his chest as well. If he had any from you still, they were masked now. As he turned to face you, his eyes flitted down towards your exposed knees under your skirt, and you suddenly felt like a teenager again, uselessly pining over a boy that was better off without you, even as he was comically noticing you looking different. His pulse jumped as your fingers brushed over his healing wounds. Maybe he felt the way you did the previous night, praying to a false god that you’d kiss him.

“Did you at least have fun?” You lightly teased. 

“Don’t make fun of me,” Jisung sighed, but a relieved smile still cracked out. He suddenly laughed in exasperation as he buried his face in his hands. “It was so awkward.”

You didn’t have to walk back to the house alone, thankfully, as Jisung walked beside you with his hands firmly in his pockets. The rest of the night was kept fairly casual, and Jisung was even able to get some extra rest. You considered that maybe he’d diagnosed your need for more sleep based on his own. He awoke once more after a moderate nap and ventured downstairs, where he found you sitting in front of where Lia was perched on the living room couch as she brushed your hair. This was one of Lia’s favorite pastimes. You’d forgotten how much you loved this kind of attention, but Lia never did, especially considering that the girls all seemed to love it as well. Lucy sat atop an easy chair, wrestling Yuna’s hair into a ponytail resembling her own after she apparently already wrestled Joanne into a perfect bun. Even though she looked thoroughly nonplussed, Joanne still hummed contentedly as she flipped through a magazine. Outside, the soft whisper of rainfall began, and it was nice to see the moon retreat for a bit. 

Jisung watched quietly from the doorway, not quite able to hide his surprise as Judy dusted some rouge onto your cheeks. You couldn’t blame him; making yourself up hadn’t exactly been a priority since you first came to stay with your aunt, but it was nice to feel pretty for a change. Judy made a kissy face at you, poking out her lips as she brandished a lipstick before she meticulously swiped it on for you. Jisung had helped himself to another easy chair in the room and set a book he’d pilfered from the study onto his lap when Lia suddenly stopped her brushing. You felt her slim fingers dip into the collar of your sweater, gently pulling the soft knit aside to run her fingers over the scar of Rand’s bite. 

“Sweetheart,” she lightly chided, “what happened to you?” The girls looked from Lia, to your scar, to Jisung, making him jolt. He held his hands up in innocence, helplessly babbling as he motioned for you to say something.

“I said you’d be able to piece together why we’re here,” you sighed forlornly. At the rate you’d been going, you could only scare Lia so much before she threw you out. 

“So this is…” Lia’s tone was metered, like she needed to pace herself. You looked to Jisung who warily nodded his encouragement to you. 

“It’s a wolf bite,” you admitted, holding no one’s gaze but Jisung’s. “A pack leader tried to claim me.” 

“Typical,” Joanne muttered as she set her magazine down. To your surprise, Lia shushed her. 

“Joanne,” she admonished as she looked you over, “we don’t generalize.” Joanne blushed before sheepishly picking up her magazine again. Meanwhile, Lia kept poking and prodding. “How long ago did this happen?”

“A few nights ago.” 

Jisung’s eyes were still searching you, and as you tried to search him in return, all you came back with were questions. 

“Really?” Lia wondered, almost casually. “You look so good and healthy I never would’ve guessed. You must have fed pretty well right after or this could’ve been so much worse.”

Jisung was almost silently daring you in this wordless stand-off you were having. Why was it making you nervous? You took a deep breath and committed. 

“I did.”

Jisung got up with a start, the easy chair squeaking on the hardwood floor as he stormed off. The girls all watched, bewildered at the outburst, but waited until he could be heard ascending the grand staircase in the foyer. 

“What was that about?” Lucy asked. 

“He doesn’t like who I fed on,” you sighed, eyes downcast towards your lap, “and I don’t blame him.”

“You should talk to him,” Judy sympathetically suggested as she scooped up her cosmetics into her bag. 

“Or you could give him space,” Joanne added. You groaned. 

“Whatever I do, I need to think about it,” you decided. “I’ll head upstairs, too, then. Thanks for hanging out.” You gave Lia a firm hug and waved to the girls before turning and heading upstairs as well. 

You paused at the top of the stairs, listening to the rain pound outside. Down one direction was Jisung’s room, where the light dimly shone beneath his door. You promptly turned heel and walked the other way and into your room instead. It felt cowardly, but how could you even begin to confront this? You weren’t even sure Jisung had any room to be jealous. You weren’t together, and you did what you needed to do to survive. Whatever the small voice was that had dominated you that night was apparently sated, and it was difficult to feel like you could be held responsible for everything you did to appease it. In fact, the more you thought about it and mulled it over, the more frustrated you became. Jisung had to have known that you fed that night, or else you wouldn’t be in as good of shape. For that matter, where did Jisung get off acting like that when he was just fooling around with the girls the previous night? Surely he didn’t even realize how hypocritical he looked. 

You were annoyed as you rummaged through your bag for some comfy clothes and makeup remover when a soft knock sounded at the door. Time seemed to slow as your fingers hovered at the door, only kept by the metronome of rain pattering against the window. 

The second you turned the smooth brass knob, the door swung towards you as Jisung barged his way in, his hands in your hair and his lips on yours the second he crossed the threshold until you shoved him off. You swiftly shut the door behind you and turned to face him. Your lipstick was smeared across his mouth.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You quietly berated him. 

Jisung leaned back against the dresser in the room, chest heaving in his adrenaline. You pictured him working up the energy and courage to do this back in his room before coming here. “Just say you fucked him.”

“Why does it matter?” You sputtered. 

“If it doesn’t matter then why are you so defensive? I know you had to have fed that night, but you wouldn’t even tell me that. What else aren’t you telling me? Just say you fucked him.”

“Holy shit,” you laughed in disbelief, “are you being serious right now? I’ve asked you multiple times how you’re doing and you keep insisting you’re fine!”

“Just say you fucked him!” 

“Fine!” You snapped. “I fucked him. I fucked him that night the library got robbed and I went looking for him again, and some detective pointed me towards the shore and I found you. You happy?”

“And the other night?” Jisung squared up against you indignantly.

“Yes, you jerk,” you spat, knowing very well that you were just working each other up, “I fucked him!”

Jisung stared at you, his fists clenched on the lip of the dresser before he grabbed your wrist, yanking you close as he furiously kissed you again. The only difference was this time you fully accepted, even as Jisung turned you both around and pressed your hips into the dresser with his own. Your smeared lipstick on him blended to contrast with his skin flushed with arousal. Your fingers curled into his hair, but not without brushing over the healing scars of his bites. Jisung grunted as you shoved him back, but he held fast to your waist even as you forcefully tilted his head back to see his throat better in the moonlight streaking in through the rain on the window. Your thumb traced over the marks and he caught the look in your eye.

“You’re jealous,” he remarked with a triumphant smirk. You defensively shoved him again and he drove forward, pushing your hips back onto the dresser to set you on top of it. He pushed forward between your spread knees and you pulled at him, hopelessly betraying your need as you began to unbutton his shirt. 

“So are you,” you retorted. Jisung’s eyes narrowed before he grabbed you close for another heated kiss, his hands on your hips pulling at the hem of your sweater and tugging it off over your head. He paused, only for a moment as his fingers ran over Rand’s bite. 

“I’m starting to hate how much I want you,” Jisung said, almost a whisper but thoroughly a confession. This time you were the one to pull him close, getting the last few buttons of his shirt and yanking it open. His toned chest was bare aside from his scar; no bites. You grabbed his hand, turning the palm towards you and bringing it close to investigate. The only bites Jisung had were on his throat and wrists. He cupped your face, and his bandaged fingers were warm and gentle on your skin. His thumb affectionately, longingly, caressed your lower lip. Jisung’s eyes widened for a moment as you parted your lips and took the digit into your mouth. He playfully prodded at the retracted tip of one of your canines. Jisung hissed out a groan as you began softly sucking on his thumb between your lips. He watched, almost hypnotized as he rolled his hips against yours. “I can’t believe you fucked him,” he quietly lamented. 

You moaned around his thumb, letting him have his hand back as you pushed his open shirt off of him. “Jisung,” you keened, “I’m sorry. I want you.”

Jisung paused, the silence only moderated by the raindrops outside. “What about him?”

“What about him? I’m here, with you. I’m all yours.” You had hardly allowed yourself to consider it, and perhaps it was the haze of lust and infatuation burning into you, but it felt so right to say that you would say it as much as he wanted. 

Jisung was electrified at your admission, both of you moaning into each other as he dove back into you. His lips were on yours, his breath and tongue hot in your mouth as both of you whimpered and whined, before he dipped down to kiss and nip at your neck. 

“Say it again,” he pleaded. 

“I’m all yours.” You moaned, your head pressing back against the large mirror sitting on top of the dresser as Jisung kissed his way down to your breasts. His tongue teased and taunted your pert nipples while his hands pushed your skirt up enough to start sliding off your soaked panties. Jisung looked up at you as he dropped to his knees and you watched intently as he placed the softest kiss to your damp heat. His first taste brought out his hunger, and Jisung spread your legs further to greedily taste you even more. You hooked your legs over his shoulders, your fingers gripping into his hair as he enthusiastically worked you over with his tongue, when you heard it. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he moaned quietly against you, and you were sure he said it in the heat of the moment, but you had to know. Your fingers in his hair tugged him up to look at you from between your legs and he did, eyes sparkling and drunk. 

“What did you just say?” You asked as you caught your breath.

Jisung’s eyes widened as he realized what, exactly, he had just said. “I didn’t— I meant—“

“Say it again.”

Jisung nodded, blindly determined and brazenly wiping his chin with the back of his hand as he got up, kissing you hard as you wrestled with his belt before he grabbed your wrist. You watched as he swiftly dug his erection out and prodded it against your dripping entrance. With just the leaking head pushing into you, he was able to get his hand free. 

“You say it again,” he implored with a grin, snatching your other wrist as you tried to grind your hips onto his length, “you’re the one that fucked him.”

“I’m all yours,” you breathed. You were desperate to have him again. Jisung’s hands slid free from your wrists so his bandaged fingers could intertwine with yours. He pushed your hands back against the mirror as he steadily slid into you, both your gasps meeting between your parted lips as he kissed you again. His tight grip on you only lasted a few hard thrusts before his hands relinquished you to delicately cup your face. He kissed you deep and buried his nose in the crook of your neck, enveloping you in his soft scent of buttercups, of sunbathing deer as he thrust into you. 

“I love you,” he gently moaned, over and over, the desperate waver in his voice still apparent even as he muffled himself against your skin. He held fast to your legs wrapped around his waist as he effectually made love to you, his soft groans and gasps making you even dizzier than you already were when paired with the infatuated kisses he pressed to your neck and shoulder. As you felt his lips graze the mauled skin of Rand’s bite, something ignited as so thoroughly genuine about Jisung’s affection for you that you found your harried breaths hitting the marks left from the girls on his throat and finally feeling unfettered by it — here he was, here and all yours, thrusting hard and burying himself deep within you on the dresser. Jisung’s hand slipped between you where your hips met, his slim fingers deftly toying with your clit with each proceeding curse and groan uttered under his breath. 

Your hands held tight onto Jisung, gripping his arms or digging your nails into his chest or the toned expanse of his back — wherever you could get a hold on him as you climbed your peak. 

“Jisung—“ you whimpered, careful not to let your head loll back against the mirror even as Jisung fucked you harder. 

“Say it again, baby,” he pleaded sweetly. 

Jisung groaned sharply as you dug your fingers back into his hair and made him look at you.

“You’re mine,” you panted defiantly. 

His dilated eyes shined, glazed over and dark as a shiver coursed through him at your declaration. 

“You’re mine,” he retorted. 

Despite how much you willed it otherwise, your eyes still screwed shut as your orgasm rocked through you, Jisung crying out and kissing you wantonly as you felt him spill deep inside you in turn. Your shared kiss outlasted both your climaxes, both your shuddering hips remaining connected until Jisung finally pulled his wilted erection from you. Jisung kissed your lips, your cheek, your forehead before he retreated to the restroom to clean up. You followed, surprising him as you reached for his jeans and casually pulled them off along with any clothing he had left. He laughed languidly as he did the same for you, as well as taking a moment to pointedly take in your naked form before he affectionately pushed you into bed and crawled in behind you. 

“I didn’t sleep with the girls, by the way,” Jisung sleepily explained, his voice tickling the hair on your neck. 

“You didn’t?”

“Christ, no,” Jisung laughed as he wrapped his arms around you, “I was way too awkward about the whole thing.”

The rain outside made it easy to feel tired and comfortable in bed, but something was still keeping you from falling asleep even as the sun began to rise. 

“I killed him, Jay.” You said it quietly, uttering it into the pillow. Jisung’s hand twitched where it held you. 

“I know, baby,” Jisung said, almost surprising you into sitting up. His lips pressed to the back of your neck to soothe you. “I figured, at least.”

The white noise from outside took precedence over the room again. 

“Did you mean it, Jay?”

“Mean what?” Jisung was practically asleep behind you. 

“Do you love me?”

“I think so,” Jisung tiredly nodded against you. “I’m a little new at this, sure, but it feels right. I love you tonight, at least. I did yesterday.  And I probably will tomorrow.”

That was good enough for you, you decided, as Jisung snuggled more comfortably against you in your bed. You couldn’t smell the girls on him anymore, just like you couldn’t hear Chan insisting that you belonged to him before you killed him, and this waking dream was nearly too ideal. You didn’t belong to anyone, sure, but Jisung didn’t claim you; he only wanted you and made it almost too easy to want him as well. This wasn’t ownership if you were more than willing, and if this was real then you could consider accepting. 

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

The following night was the first time you’d thrown up in years — easily since you were first turned and living in constant stress and fear. The rain outside had seemingly never stopped, greeting you again as you snapped awake to a rebelling stomach. You lurched out of the bathroom, exhausted after repeatedly rinsing your mouth out and lazily picking up Jisung’s shed flannel shirt up off the floor, still there from the previous night and slipping it on. 

You weren’t surprised to find that Jisung wasn’t there, but it was refreshing to be confident it wasn’t for cold feet, but rather being understandably unable to sleep all day. Nonetheless, he still seemingly sensed you’d awoken as he opened your door, his borrowed book in hand once more as he greeted you with a smile. This was a little new for you as well, not feeling quite sure if you were ready for a kiss good morning or even a hug. Really, the previous night felt like an anomaly and may very well continue to for a few days. You considered asking him to join you for breakfast, maybe some coffee, when the rumbling of an engine cut through the downpour outside. 

You both peeked out the window, unable to make out much in the dim driveway through the rain-streaked glass except for a dilapidated cargo van idling on the gravel below. The girls could be heard downstairs as you pulled on last night’s panties and padded down the hall to the landing with Jisung trotting behind you. You buttoned up your borrowed shirt as Judy was seen down the stairs, leaning out the front door before ducking back inside. 

“Who is it?” Lucy asked as she and Joanne joined you on the landing. Lia and Yuna peered in from the direction of the kitchen. 

“Campers,” Judy explained, “it looks like one of them was hurt out on the trail and needs somewhere to stay until morning.”

“What’re you doing?” Joanne scolded. “Tell them to get the hell out.”

“But they need help,” Yuna shifted uncomfortably. She looked to Lia, who looked up at you. You looked to Jisung, who only shrugged back helplessly. 

“The nearest town is too far away,” Lia decided. “We’ll let them wait for an ambulance if they’re really in that bad of shape.”

Joanne and Lucy simmered as Judy ducked her head back outside before opening the door. 

“Thank you, seriously,” a stranger’s voice thanked her graciously as the door swung open. Your knees nearly gave out from under you. Your stomach lurched again.

The freckled boy from the pack — Felix — stood in the doorway, supporting Chan with an arm slung around his shoulder as the rain cascaded outside. Almost as if he sensed you, Chan looked right up the stairs at you. 

“My little fox,” he grinned, “I thought I smelled trouble.”

[To be continued.]

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[kisskissbanggang]

This Home is a Tomb pt. 1

[Stray Kids Multi Fic - 25Min Read/7.7K Words - Lee Know x Female Reader - Non-Idol!au, Thieves!au - NSFW/Smut, Plot - Unfolding Plot, Scheming, Grand Larceny, Friends to Lovers(?), Mysterious Characters]

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Mrs. Blackstone fired the last of her staff in the middle of the day, looking like a wreck in mourning. Maybe she was, you mused as you set down your binoculars, maybe she was upset that her meal ticket was gone. Maybe, you reluctantly lamented, she was truly distressed that her husband was missing. Minho reached between you and picked up the binoculars to take a look for himself. He was practically glowing on this beautiful day, contrasting hilariously with the storm clouds apparently raging on the hillside property you were currently watching. 

“What did the card say again?” Minho asked casually, mumbling around the cigarette hung off his lip as he watched Mrs. Blackstone throw out the last of the housekeepers and cooks. A butler and what appeared to be a gardener looked especially flabbergasted as they left the gigantic home. Mrs. Blackstone was parading around in a black sweatsuit, hair disheveled and makeup smudged around her eyes. You’d watched her devolve into this for two weeks now. You set down the sandwich in your hand with a grimace as you leaned over on your shared picnic blanket, trying to snatch Minho’s cigarette away. He expertly ducked away from your prying fingers. 

“You said you’re quitting,” you scolded. 

“Be nice to that sandwich, kid, I made that with love,” he smirked, “and I am quitting. It’s just taking me a bit. Now tell me what the card said again please.”

You sighed and rifled through your purse, pawing through the contents until you found the note you’d quickly scrawled. “The max of one month, starting tomorrow, but she’d written ‘UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE’ next to it.”

Minho nodded with satisfaction through the binoculars. “Even a month is a good long time.”

The whole series of events had been incredible thus far. You’d watched the Blackstone mansion from your secluded little vantage point in the park for a few weeks now. The first week went by dreadfully slow, with nothing of note happening in the giant house. You very nearly called it quits and moved on when Mrs. Blackstone began making crazed phone calls, trying to figure out where her husband was. Yesterday, she marched down to the mailbox at the end of the driveway and shoved a hold card she’d gotten from the carrier into the slot. You had fished out the card with a pair of forceps, copied down the information, and slipped it back inside before the carrier came back the next day. 

Minho suddenly sat up straight from where he’d been reclining and spying on your cozy spot on the hill, warmed by the balmy spring sun. His head barely cocked toward a sound you hadn’t heard yourself. “Someone’s coming,” he murmured, “lie down.”

You swiftly complied, laying back as Minho quickly rolled over, respectfully holding his cigarette away from you as he landed between your legs on the gingham picnic blanket. His eyes hardly met yours before they flitted closed and he kissed you. The passionate embrace only lasted until the shiny shoes of the park’s security guard reflected the sunlight across your face. 

“What do you kids think you’re doing?” He asked condescendingly. Minho sat up just enough to cheekily regard the persnickety old man. He waved the pair of binoculars in his other hand. 

“Bird watching.”

The elderly guard scowled. “Well, make sure you use protection. You can start by keeping the young lady’s knees shut.”

Minho almost reflexively barked out a retort as the guard turned to totter away, only stopped as you gave his arm a mindful squeeze. You rolled Minho off of you, waiting until the geezer was out of sight to cough out the cloud of smoke that had accidentally been blown into your mouth. Your friend gave you a weak smile, silently begging for forgiveness. 

“Did that poor girl have to suffer through that the other night, too?” You sneered playfully. Really, Minho had done beautifully, just happening to happen across one of the first of Mrs. Blackstone’s victims at a bar the other night and playing a handsome shoulder to cry on. The poor girl in question was so distraught over being brutally fired from her thankless job that she never noticed Minho sift through her bag once she was five beers in, and it never occurred to her to wonder why he was so curious about her job. Keys in hand, Minho gently tucked the girl into a taxi and paid for it the moment she tried to kiss him. 

It never occurred to you to be jealous of Minho and his endless list of dates, his catalogue of clandestine kisses. Minho was Minho, and he was your best friend, your confidant and business partner all in one. You had been waiting tables at an event Minho had been catering, and he’d found you on his smoke break, disgruntled and brooding by the dumpsters out back behind the venue over some asshat who’d made quite a rude pass at you. 

Minho had been Minho, walking right up to you and sympathetically nudging his foot against yours. “I can tell you right now they aren’t worth it,” he’d said. He had offered you his arm to lead you back into the kitchen, where he extinguished his cigarette on top of a filet mignon, covered it in wine sauce, and had it sent out to the jerk’s table. “Tiny rebellions, kid,” he’d smirked his little giddy smirk. “When you don’t have control, take it.”

It didn’t take long for you to become fast friends, the two of you cavorting through bars or having dinner together or just watching movies, but you were the one to suggest you try stealing. You weren’t even drunk. Minho had stared at you over his espresso in the crowded cafe. Tiny rebellions, you’d reminded him, and you needed quite the rebellion to quell the fire growing in you over the years. The first time you stole together, it was like an extra birthday, both of you growing a little more. That was the first time you kissed, an accidental peck as you embraced each other in your excitement once you returned to his apartment. You had found the control, you had found the power. You were both weirdly good at this, and this newfound skill felt like a waste to let sit by the wayside. Each night you stole you felt like a new woman, an optimized version of the person you were before. 

But it was a night like that first that would bring you to this grassy hill in a part of the city you never could’ve dreamed of living in. Of course, you and Minho still needed day jobs. The gala had taken place in the gaudy mansion you were now observing, and the event was verbose, all boisterous men and bored wives. To put it lightly, Mr. Blackstone was a pig. He was a horrid pig, and when Minho sympathetically nudged his foot against yours out back behind the kitchen this time, he found you in tears. He had spit out his cigarette and dropped to meet your eye where you sat on the stoop, his hands firm on your shoulders. “Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it,” he’d promised. Mr. Blackstone wouldn’t stop talking about this stupid mansion, this garishly luxurious home behind its tall gates, and that’s what you wanted. You wanted to ruin the pig’s  precious little house. 

Which brought you to this lovely afternoon, packing up your lovingly crafted picnic and watching the rest of the shitshow unfold. The Blackstone clan was comprised of the paternal figurehead, his alarmingly young bride, and their three children, currently pestering their frantic mother as she made them pack their things, promising they would have so much fun in Cancun, and maybe their daddy would join them but he is so busy with work. Surely, the kids had to have overheard the conversations with various friends and business partners, all of whom had tried to convince Mrs. Blackstone not to leave, to wait until her husband returned and not try to goad him into coming back or being the one to begin divorce proceedings himself. This seemed to be Mrs. Blackstone’s own little rebellion, and she was committed. You had counted the staff, and in addition to the frazzled mother and her young children peeling out of the driveway, the home was now empty, a corpse on the hill opposite yours sitting cold in the sun. 

You still wanted to wait until shortly before rush hour, when it wouldn’t be unheard of to see people out and about, but there wouldn’t be too many passerby to focus on you and Minho entering the grand estate. This meant you had time for final checks, lounging on the back patio of Minho’s humble apartment on the other side of the city. Final checks meant all the keys and codes were reviewed, your vehicles and contacts were secured, your alibis were prepared, and your extra supplies were gathered. You shared one beer on the back porch, just one send-off like this each time before you went out in case something went catastrophically wrong. Minho was handsome in the low sun, almost golden in this light. He one hand wrapped around the perspiring glass bottle and his other hand balled up in the sleeve of his light jacket, keeping him from reaching for the pack he promised you he wouldn’t touch again for the rest of the day. 

Your normally resilient partner was hesitant as you walked up to the gate. He wore one bag slung across his back. You carried one bag hanging from your shoulder. He fumbled with the keys that he would have to return to that poor girl someday, pausing as you rested your fingers on his. His hesitance was calculated. 

“This is the biggest place we’ve ever tagged,” he said quietly, staring at the gate code inscribed on the back of one of the keys. “It’s a fucking castle.”

“We can turn back,” you reminded him, “this is the last chance.”

Minho sighed. “Tell me we can do this.”

“I can do this because you can do this,” You soothed, your thumb gliding over the back of his hand where you held it. “We can do this. You look good, by the way.”

Minho laughed at the unexpected compliment. “I know. So do you, kid. I knew this dress was a good color on you.”

He smiled and tugged the skirt of your dress, almost as if for good luck. You were both dressed casually prim and wholesome enough to match the decoy bibles and missionary pamphlets sitting at the tops of your bags. This getup had thankfully only been needed once so far, but even then you’d cried laughing about it over beers that night. On this late afternoon, however, you both held your breath as Minho punched in the gate code. 

The walk up to the house was exposing. The lawn was barren, the only evidence of life being the tire tracks Mrs. Blackstone had left on the driveway in her mania. The doorbell had no camera, possibly due to the meager rent-a-cops patrolling the illustrious community and the fact that Mr. Blackstone was the worst kind of old man, dubious of any electronic device more modern than a television remote. When no answer came at the door, Minho set about to try two more times and you turned to watch the street beyond the grand lawn. Once you were both sure no one was coming, Minho intrepidly slid the door key into the lock and turned it, the old tumblers inside the mechanism clicking into place. You heard him let out a gulped breath behind you as he pushed the door open.

The foyer was dark, save for the modest light streaming in through the high window above you. Before you stood two staircases lining the walls before reconjoining at the landing. Just over your head was another slim walkway connecting both wings. Upstairs would be the bedrooms, the study, and a sitting room. The ground floor beyond the foyer held the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, and another sitting room. At one end of the mansion was an immaculate greenhouse overlooking the garden with an entrance on both floors, right next to the library. The backyard held the garden, the pool and jacuzzi, Mr. Blackstone’s treasured putting green, and the sizable garage, minus Mrs. Blackstone’s pretty car. 

Silence like the silence currently reverberating through the walls of the mansion felt loaded, heavy, like the walls in this monument of a house could swallow you whole. Each room you scanned and checked was vacuous, devoid of warmth in the declining sunlight falling in through the windows. Some rooms would be off limits, of course. You surveyed the whole house, but shut the doors to the children’s rooms, the library, and the greenhouse. As you went down the back hallway behind the kitchen and dining room, and descended into the staff quarters, you shut that as you left, too. The toys, the photos, all the staff’s belongings that suddenly made you incredibly nervous that they would be asked after — it all made your heart thump, but that was all fixed once the doors were shut. There was a basement beyond the door to the staff quarters, but that door wouldn’t even open. You would have to find a key, but in the meantime everything you wanted to forfeit was forfeited. You had standards. Everything else was fair game.

As you reconvened with Minho where you set up in the sitting room, he had already stripped off his proper cardigan and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to begin categorizing items. The toned lines of his arms still showed through his shirt, along with the gentle definition of his chest, but you kept yourself from getting distracted. You worked together, grunting and pushing the heavy couch and easy chairs to one side, rolled up the rug, and separated the rest of the items into piles you understood to be Leave, Fine, and Good. In case of emergencies, Good would be the pile to grab in each room. In this case, Good held a Tiffany lamp and a collection of painted plates. The furniture, while certainly valuable, could be left behind in case of proverbial fire. Minho had lined up a couple friends at the waterfront market to make a side trip after their restaurant deliveries to pick up a load in their big white box truck any time they were called upon. If anyone came sniffing, the whole neighborhood was wary enough of the Blackstone family that no one would question if you said you were specially hired to move the furniture while the house’s occupants were out. Hopefully it wouldn’t need to get that far, but you were at least thankful to be prepared. Truthfully, the real blessing in this scenario was with the house empty for the month and your fairly lenient work schedules, you could theoretically take as much time as you needed. 

Predictably, there were some things you simply couldn’t do yourself, like reaching a vase every once in a while or moving a particularly heavy lamp, but Minho would always appear over your shoulder to help, even when you didn’t want him to. From the night that brought you together to the night that would bring you to the mansion, Minho was fast to swoop in and protect you. It was odd, considering how he always insisted you were strong and independent, but he was always there. The moment you needed help pulling a clock off the mantle or lifting a heavy planter out of the way, he was there, even taking over in many cases. You almost never opened your own beer bottles, you almost never even cooked by yourself if he was around, insisting that if a chef was around then you needed to take advantage. You loved and appreciated your best friend, truly, but if Minho had any flaws it would start with how protective and doting he could be. 

Minho be damned, he was right — the house was a fucking castle. It was easy to fall into a rhythm as you moved through each room of the giant home, but it seemed endless. You and Minho progressed at a grueling pace but still only ended up halfway through the ground floor and halfway through the top floor by the middle of the night. Minho leafed through the racks of clothes Mrs. Blackstone had left behind in her closet. It went without saying that the husband and wife did not share a bedroom, and probably not because one of them snored. 

“I hate to say it,” Minho giggled as he pulled out a slinky gown, “but I bet Mrs. Blackstone wore this to her graduation… from high school.” The gown was gorgeous — floor length, deep gold with inconsequential straps and a gratuitous slit up the thigh —  but certainly too young for however mature the trophy wife was pretending to look now. You turned to look as Minho held up the gown against you on its hanger. 

“What?”

“Try this on,” he said thoughtfully, cocking his head as he looked at the dress against you. 

“Seriously?” You laughed bashfully. 

“No, I just feel like pushing,” Minho rolled his eyes and pushed the gown into your hands. “We need a break and we should eat. I’m gonna check out the kitchen. You better meet me down there in this.” His smile was grand, commanding, and you were eternally jealous for how easy he made it look. Minho turned to leave the closet but paused to quickly grab a pair of heels, check the size, and push those into your arms as well. 

You looked at the dress and shoes in your hands and then back to the open door of the closet, suddenly shy that Minho would see you shed your modest sundress and cardigan. You’d seen each other in various stages of undress before, you’d kissed multiple times by now, but as you dropped your current outfit to the floor of the closet, you were struck with the curious sensation of enjoying this kind of attention from your friend. The strict confines of the bodice of the dress wouldn’t allow for a bra, as reinforced by the meager padding in the bust, so this was left on the floor of the closet as well. The shoes fit just fine but were tall, the stiletto heels feeling treacherous as you tried them out. 

Minho was stretched out on top of the giant dining room table when you came down, the clicking of the heels he’d chosen making him sit up from where he’d been reclining with a bottle of champagne. He took a moment as he stared at you, swiping the back of his hand against his lips, still fizzing with the bubbling drink, and raised the bottle to you as a toast. It was dark in the cavernous space, the strict rules you both played by meaning you would only use as many lights as were necessary. In this case, it meant only a few accent lamps were on to illuminate you in your glitzy outfit. You made a coy curtsy in your gown before striding up to him at the table. Minho looked down at himself, still in his jeans and buttoned up shirt. 

“I guess I don’t quite meet the dress code,” he laughed. 

“No,” you shrugged, “but don’t worry about it. Everything that isn’t hers smells like him.”

“Hey, kid…” Minho’s sideways smile broke into a frown as he reached out for your hand. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t think so,” you shook your head with a reluctant smile, “but you better tell me you found something good to eat.”

Minho’s hand remained outstretched, so you kicked off the high heels and shifted the gown so you could climb on top of the ridiculously long table in the stupidly big dining room. “Close your eyes,” he grinned. You did as you were told when you felt Minho place the hefty bottle in your hands. “Alright, that’s the champagne,” he instructed, the quiet excitement in his voice endearing. He waited for you to take a sip, let the bubbles really coat your tongue before you swallowed. You knew this game. “You’ll never guess what I found.”

“Ugh, Minho,” you groaned in realization, “cheese?”

“Yes!” He exulted, and you could hear him shuffling around beside him. Everything sounded more open in the echoing room. You could sense his fingers near your lips. “Come on, I didn’t take you to all those wine tastings just to feel fancy. Guess the cheese correctly and you get a treat.”

Unable to roll your eyes as they were closed, you settled for a dramatically discontent sigh as you let Minho place a morsel on your presented tongue. You really tried to taste and play this game as Minho boyishly bounced beside you. “It’s creamy,” you pondered, “it melts in your mouth, it’s not super strong, but it’s… earthy?”

“Yes?” Minho was practically beside himself. 

“Brie? I heard you using a cheese knife.” You paused, waiting for his reaction. 

“No!” Minho guffawed. “Close. Camembert. But I suppose you can still get a treat.”

“Can I open my eyes yet?” You asked, facetiously bored by all this. 

“No, dummy,” Minho chided. You felt his hands grasp your knees and turn you on the table to face him. He tipped your chin towards him again when you felt his fingers pause. “Is this… lipstick?” The pad of his thumb lightly tapped against your lower lip. 

“I carry some in my bag for work,” you shrugged, “you’ve seen it before. I thought it looked good with the dress. Is it too much?”

“Not too much,” he said quietly, a whisper in this big room in this bigger house, “and I don’t think you were wearing this dress last time I saw you with it on.”

“I was still me the last time I had it on,” you teasingly countered.

“You’ve always been you,” Minho agreed. His thumb still hadn’t left your lip where he cradled your face. “You’ve always been you, and you’ve sort of become precious to me, I guess. More than anything I could steal.”

“Minho,” you smirked, his hand on your chin tickling a bit, “I’m not some diamond. And if I’m not getting my treat then I’m going back to work and I would love some real food.”

Minho’s silence was odd as you opened your eyes, almost like he was on the cusp of saying something. You searched him for what he was thinking but came up short. Surely a nice dress and a tube of lipstick wasn’t all it took to make Minho speechless, but here he was, suddenly dumb and watching you as you shrugged and slid off the table. You plucked your discarded heels up off the floor, carrying them in one hand and keeping the bottle of champagne in the other as you made your way back upstairs to return to Mrs. Blackstone’s room. 

You set the bottle down in front of the ludicrous three-way mirror in the corner of the room, this one only lit by a bedside table lamp, and looked at yourself in the dress, maybe even admiring. Even then, you still couldn’t see what all the fuss was about downstairs. Maybe your answer would come, possibly, as you noticed Minho behind you in the doorway. The silence of the house was squeezing you again as he strode across the hardwood towards you. 

“You have a problem,” he ruled. You scoffed. 

“I do? What would that be?”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Minho rolled his eyes, “tell me what it is and we can fix it—“

“That!” You excitedly pointed, catching Minho off guard, even making him take a step back. “You said I’m precious and you sure treat me like it. You’re always trying to fix everything and do everything and—“ you gestured obviously at the outfit you were currently wearing, “—even dressing me up but when I just put on some lipstick without your permission you’re suddenly impressed with me. You say you’re easy going but I know that’s only if everything is a certain way, including me. I’m precious to you because I indulge you and I’m dumb enough to enjoy it.”

Minho gaped at you, looking like a speechless fish the way he opened and closed his mouth in search of words, before he frustratedly whipped out his pack from his pocket, dug out a cigarette, and pursed his lips around it. He was a mix of indignant and helpless as he lit it and took a deep breath, for consternation and for the calming buzz, until you snatched the cigarette from his lips. You made him watch as you simply held it aloft and let it slowly burn down, wasting it in front of him. 

“The least you can do is talk to me and not hide behind this,” you pleaded sincerely. Minho sighed. 

“Fine. It’s a lot of that. I do those things, and I do it because I tell myself you like it, and sometimes that you need it, that if you keep running face-first into wherever your desires lead you, you won’t see where you’re going. These tiny rebellions are okay as long as I approve of them, apparently.”

“That’s fucked up,” you said, not bothering to mask the hurt in your voice. 

“It is,” Minho nodded earnestly. He gestured around him. “We do this just because you suggested it and I agreed. I don’t cook for you until you tell me what you want. I only dress you up in things I think you like—“

“But?” You prodded. Minho watched the cigarette held up between your fingers turning to ash, a de facto timer. 

“But,” he hesitated, “I do that because that’s what I relegated you to. I give you decisions to make and I’ve already approved the outcomes.”

“You’re an amazing friend, you know,” you sighed bitterly, “and I love you for it. You’re attentive, and thoughtful, and kind… but that’s a shitty thing to do.”

“It is.”

“Do you still think I’m precious to you?”

“Yes.”

Your growing confidence in your little spat suddenly shattered. 

“Don’t act so precious about it,” Minho reached forward, pinching the cigarette from your fingers and taking one good puff before he dropped it to the hardwood and stepped on it. “You practically are a diamond, but not for the reasons you already put in my mouth. I said you’re more precious than any paintings or jewels I can steal, and I know it’s not because you humor my unchecked need to be in control.”

You folded your arms expectantly. “Well?”

Minho tapped his foot, silently willing himself to just say what he was thinking. 

“You can’t be had,” he finally said. “You’re not mine and I can’t steal you and make you mine, so I don’t even try. It never felt right, but seeing you like this makes me feel so selfish. You’ve always been you and you don’t belong to anyone. You won’t. Even when I exercise these little power trips over you, you’re unchanged. You’re still you and you won’t be had.”

“You can have me,” you said simply, and you knew it to be true the moment you said it. Minho took your counter in stride, hardly letting his stunned expression last. “You just had to say so.”

“But can I keep you?”

“Why would you want to? Besides, you can’t be, either.”

Minho stared you down and you could feel yourself doing the same. If he loved you for being unyielding, he would have to make the move. 

And he did. 

Minho crossed the few steps between you to pick up where he’d left off on the dinner table, cradling your chin in his fingers and gently dipping his thumb into the red adorning your lips again. If he was looking for permission, you gave it to him, closing your eyes again like you were still waiting for your treat. His pervading hesitance radiated through his fingertips, and you opened your eyes once more. 

“What’re you waiting for? You’ve done it before.”

“This feels different,” Minho said, quietly, carefully, like he was convinced he was sleepwalking. Your fingers slid over his hand to pull him off of you. You studied his hand in your own before turning it over and pressing your lips to the back, leaving a print of a perfect kiss there. 

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me if you had me, is that it?”

Minho floundered for words again, but his reflexes were quick when you pulled one step back in an attempt to get another move out of him, stepping back enough to feel the static of the mirror almost touching the exposed back of your dress. He grabbed at your arm this time, pulling you close as he took more charge. 

The way Minho kissed you wasn’t like any he’d given you previously. He wasn’t kissing you like an accidental brushing of your lips, or like you were friends, or like you were pretending to be more. Minho kissed you like he had a lot on his mind that he was trying hard to forget about for a minute, both hands softly cupping your face like you’d fly away if he were any lighter with you. Each movement of his soft lips against yours, each cautious and exploratory prodding of his carcinogen tongue was a question that you were seeking to answer. 

Minho’s hands drifted down your neck, over your shoulders and down your arms before they wrapped around your waist, and the content sigh he let out took on a shade of pride once you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“What do you want?” Minho murmured against your lips. 

“You’re the one that craves control. Show me what you want,” you grinned into your kiss, knowing full well that you were taunting him, but you didn’t expect Minho to take the bait. 

The air was almost knocked out of you with how Minho pushed you back against the mirror by your waist, his eyes eating you alive in a way that had never been openly pointed towards you before. Your lipstick was smeared across his lips, and you saw him catch sight of himself in the mirror behind you. He neared you again, suddenly seeming so much taller as he placed one kiss to your neck and pulled back away. 

“Your turn,” he breathed. You gave a coy smile as you poked one finger into his chest to back him up before you reached over to the bureau where you had set your lipstick earlier. Minho watched impatiently as you turned and took your time reapplying it, playfully careful to swipe it on as if it weren’t smeared across your mouth from his kiss as well. You capped the tube and placed it back on the bureau before taking another excruciatingly long look at your handiwork before Minho’s hand was back on your elbow and turning you to look at him. His other hand bloomed open at your belly, spreading open and his palm flat pushing you back against the mirror once more. You reached for the collar of his shirt, slowly unbuttoning the next two buttons before tugging him close by the tip of the pressed seam. Your lips pressed one perfect kiss to his throat, just over his quickened pulse, and his hand still on your elbow squeezed in time with his low groan, as you pulled away and rested your back flush against the mirror. Minho eyed your lip print on his jugular in the mirror and crowded you again. 

Your feet were softly kicked apart to accept Minho pressing against you, and his small smile was so self-assured, almost cocky, as you brushed your fingers into his hair when he kissed you again. His hand traveled down your waist to your hip and finally down the slit of your gown to grasp and caress your bare thigh. Minho’s fingers trailed back up the inside of your leg and this — your best friend’s hand under your clothes, groping and touching you as he moaned in your ear — was surreal. His voice was low, throaty and almost sleepy as he touched you. 

“How far—“

“You’re the one getting what you want, Min,” you reminded him, watching him shiver as you teasingly flicked your tongue once against his lip. “Take it.”

Minho nodded automatically before his other hand ventured to grope your breasts. “I’ve never seen you like this before,” he marveled. 

“You never looked for it,” you smirked. 

“Well then,” Minho’s grin was darkly charming, seductively dazzling before he kissed your neck again, “let’s see what I’ve been missing.”

You moaned softly at Minho’s lips dragging along your throat, nibbling on you as his hands roamed your body. His legs caged one of yours, making it easier for him to take one hand and grasp your thigh to gently spread you open against the mirror. Your breath caught in your throat as Minho’s fingers pressed along the curves of your body, until he tentatively caressed your warm pussy through your panties and you both moaned then, his fingers prodding to meet your hips instantly rolling to meet him. 

“Oh, fuck, Min,” you gasped as he dipped his fingers beneath your panties. 

“You still want me to take it?” He asked, his hushed voice husky, thick with arousal as he teased your wetness. You nodded hungrily as Minho took his time to coat his fingers in your arousal before sliding one within your depths. His thumb pressed against your clit to draw steady circles against it and you were practically dumb where you leaned back against the mirror. Minho took the lead, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way and shrugging it off onto the floor, but not without first brazenly tasting his fingers as he pulled them from your panties. He took your hand and led you to the large bed against the wall and sat himself on the edge. Minho gave you a sly smile as he tugged on the skirt of your dress. “Let me see,” he sweetly demanded. 

You stood between Minho’s knees where he leaned back on his hands to watch you as your fingers pulled at the zipper running up the side of the bodice. The gown glided over your skin as it dropped to the floor, the subtle cool of the room instantly prickling your skin. Minho openly squeezed the outline of his hardened cock through his jeans before he pulled at your hips, bringing you close and looking up at you expectantly. His hands rested on the hem of your damp panties, and the moment he tentatively flicked his tongue over your aroused nipple, he easily stripped you of your last piece of clothing. As many times as you’d seen each other get dressed, he had never seen you naked. 

“Look at you,” Minho murmured around your nipple between his lips, “look how hard you make me.” 

“Min,” you pleaded quietly, “do something. I need you.”

Minho had a mischievous grin as he ran his hands up your thighs to your hips. “Settle down,” he smirked, “I thought I was taking what I want.” His hands pressed at your hips to back you up a step, and you could only watch as Minho slid off the bed and sank to his knees in front of you, before he ultimately nudged his lips against your glistening pussy. You gasped sharply at the sensation of Minho’s tongue writhing against your clit, and when his fingers resumed pumping into you, your legs were trembling as you struggled to stay standing. 

Finally, Minho pulled back to give you a small reprieve, and he looked up at you, his eyes and chin glazed in lust. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while now,” he drunkenly touted, and while he wasn’t ravenously licking you anymore, his fingers hadn’t stopped thrusting into you. Now his thumb drew those same lazy circles on your clit as he had before. 

“Minho, come on,” you urged. You needed more now that you’ve felt how much he wanted you. 

“What’s your hurry?” Minho smiled, darkly sweet as he kept his firm pace on you despite your desperate moans. “You wanted me to take what I want and I’m doing just that. I wanted to see you needy. I wanted to see you want me.”

“I do want you,” you eagerly nodded, “please, please hurry and give it to me.”

“Or what?” He taunted, and now he curled his fingers against your walls, roughly rubbing at your most sensitive spot and making you cry out. “If you want it so bad, you’ll have to take it for yourself, too.”

“Fine.” 

That was all the permission you needed. You pulled Minho’s fingers out of you and got a grip on his wrist, twisting his arm up so he’d be compliant as you tugged him up and shoved him back on the bed. Despite his shocked groans, he didn’t stop you as you easily unbuckled his belt and worked his jeans open, finally revealing his hard cock to you on full display. His length was beautiful just like the rest of him, blushing with a bead of precum adorning the tip as you got a grip on him. The moment you ran your tongue over the dripping head, Minho gripped the luxurious duvet on the bed to keep from instantly thrusting into your salivating mouth. He watched, dazed and entranced as you slid his rigid member deep between your lips. As you switched between sucking him and massaging his length in your hand, his eyes rolled back just the smallest bit, but now you craved to see it again. 

You were able to keep this up, working Minho into a frenzy as you alternated between licking and suckling his dripping length and jerking him off. Minho himself was a mess, eyes screwed shut and his hair matted with sweat to his brow as he kept having to stop himself from thrusting into your mouth. Finally, he broke. 

“Baby, please—” he moaned, the cockiness he’d upheld until now all but shattered. Baby? You’d always been kid despite your age, but never baby. Never babe, or sweetheart, or princess. You’d only ever been a kid to Minho, but maybe that changed, if only for now. 

“Whose turn is it to take it?” You mewled as you quickened your strokes on the head of his cock, and Minho hissed out another groan. 

“My turn,” he panted, “I’m taking what I want.”

“And what about me?” You playfully taunted. Minho growled as he sat up and grabbed your hand off his erection before he threw you back on the bed. He slid off and stood for just a moment to pull off the rest of his clothes, and you got to admire the graceful lines of his figure, always within your reach but never before quite within your grasp like this. His skin was still littered with your kisses, both planned and unplanned, and you admired them on him as he climbed back into bed and settled between your legs. Despite your shared warmth, his length radiated against your slick entrance. 

“What about you?” Minho repeated, hesitant like a step before a high dive, “You’re taking it, too.”

Minho placed another kiss, laden with too many disregarded thoughts, against your lips as he firmly thrust into your depths, and you both gasped and shivered against each other until he was flush to the hilt inside you. “Holy shit,” he groaned, his lips now dragging along your throat and shoulders as he began to rock his hips against you, “how come we’ve never tried this before?”

“I’m starting to think we just never considered it to be an option,” you laughed, breathless as Minho fucked you into the mattress. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you recognized you could be nearing an orgasm, and it was still a bit weird to realize this was truly happening. You’d imagined this, maybe once or twice, and you’d heard Minho with other women before, but nothing came close to what it felt like to actually be in bed with him. Maybe, you mused, he was coming to the same realization as he wantonly rolled his hips against yours. He enjoyed you like you were a home-cooked meal, and Minho was always the type of person to eat for satisfaction, not survival. 

“Oh, fuck,” Minho sighed against you, lost to his pleasure, “if we keep this up I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“What’ll make it worse?” You smirked, but it was quickly cut into a gasp as Minho sat up and pulled you with him as he sat back on his heels.

“Probably this,” he grinned mischievously, wrapping one arm back against your waist and his other hand resuming those same goddamn little circles on your clit and driving you mad. You writhed in Minho’s grip, your back arching into the bed as he stroked and teased your pussy. “Are you going to cum with me?” Minho teased you mercilessly. “Do I get to take that, too?”

“Only if you want it bad enough,” you managed to retort, cursing every single spark coming much too fast and finally giving way to your peak. Your climax was intense, making you see spots as you went momentarily deaf to your own gasps and cries. You were boneless, a useless ragdoll in Minho’s arms as the shockwaves went through to your fingers and toes and back again to hopefully restart your heart, and he wasn’t far behind apparently. Finally, Minho’s fingertips raked into your hips as he shuddered out a strangled groan and spilled into you. His eyes rolled back for only a split second before he collapsed on top of you, sucking in air as his stuttering hips began to slow to a stop, and he held you, trying to catch his breath as he lay inside you. 

“Holy shit,” Minho panted as he rolled onto your side, “I can’t believe we actually did that.”

Your mind was awash with what exactly you and your best friend had just done, and what — if anything — you would say to him, even as you stroked his hair, even as you affectionately rubbed his back. You thought. He breathed. 

You thought. He slept. 

And soon enough, you fell asleep as well. 

But even with a full night’s rest, you got right back to thinking as you awoke to the sound of birds outside in the garden. You hadn’t even drank any meaningful amount the previous night, but there was still a ringing in your ears and crust in your eyes. You sat up in the tangle of sheets that was once Mrs. Blackstone’s bed. First you recalled why you were naked. Then you blearily recalled why Minho was next to you in bed, also naked. The ash in your mouth finally reared its head after you were too busy to pay attention to it the previous night. The ringing in your ears was persisting. 

And you realized why you actually woke up. 

The doorbell had rung. 

You dashed out of bed, quick to grab the plush robe hanging inside the closet and slip it on when you ventured out to the landing. There was a grand window, large and ornate, looking out over the lawn, and out on the path up to the house was someone gesturing for whoever was at the door to try again. You peered closer at who, exactly, was on the lawn when a spark of recognition landed. 

The gardener from yesterday. He was instantly recognizable with his lithe frame and hair pulled up into a modest ponytail. 

What was he doing here?

The doorbell rang a second time, the ringing chimes making you jump. 

The gardener looked right at you, having apparently noticed the movement in the window. He waved. 

You rushed back into the bedroom, your bare feet slapping the hardwood as you shook Minho awake. He, too, looked like he was just remembering what happened last night even though you were both entirely sober. 

“Good morning,” he sleepily beamed at you, “am I imagining things or did we—“

“There’s someone downstairs,” you alerted him. Minho was quickly in emergency mode, jumping out of bed and lunging past his briefs and going straight for his jeans. 

“Where?”

You led Minho to the window just to where he could barely see the gardener still on the path out front, hands casually in the pockets of his light jacket in the morning sunshine. In heavy contrast, there was a tepid but constant, rhythmic knock at the door. It wasn’t rushing, it was simply beckoning. Minho’s darting eyes, trying to think of any and all options, probably matched yours as well. You were sure you could grab one Good pile and make it out the back door and over the back fence of the property if—

“See what they want.”

“What?!”

The knocking downstairs was taunting you. 

“See what they want,” Minho repeated, “it’s the gardener and probably another staff member. Worst case scenario, they want to beg Mrs. Blackstone for their jobs back, and we tell them she’s out of town. Best case scenario, they’re just here for their stuff and don’t care about us and who we are. We say we’re family or whatever and they shrug and leave and we’re fine. No staff ever sticks up for the boss.”

“I don’t know, Min,” you lamented, “I really think—“

“Kid, it’s going to be fine,” Minho reassured you, his hands firm on your shoulder. “Just go see what they want.”

The doorbell rang a third time. 

Minho began herding you down the grand staircase as you quickly brushed your fingers through your hair and bundled up your stolen robe extra tight. You hesitated at the doorknob and you closed your eyes for two seconds, soothing yourself. 

You opened the door. 

[To be continued.]

[catchlalune]

My Dearest Rose

a/n: hello again my starbursts! I hope quarantine is treating you well, please don’t forget to keep practicing social distancing! In the next installment of fics I may never finish writing is one very dear to me, I was having soooo much fun writing it but admittedly lost my steam. There are a lot of errors that I haven’t fixed and though the plot was thought out it was not completed in its entirety (obvi) it was maybe about 55% complete? But please give me some feedback and tell me if you like this style of song fic! (Also the very end is supposed to be very close to the very end of the story, I jumped around a bit whilst writting it!)

Pairing: Kim Woosung x Reader

Word Count: 3012

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Fantasy! Au, Cinderella! Au (Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella to be more precise)

Warnings: mentions of minor character death

The sweetest sounds I’ll ever hear are still inside my head

The kindest words I’ll ever know are waiting to be said

The most entrancing sight of all is yet for me to see, and the dearest love in all the world is waiting somewhere for me

The first time you meet him it is down by the public shoppes. He’s someone you’ve never met before and someone you are sure you’d remember due to the color of his hair, golden like inside of an iris’s petals.

 His eyes were so brown and so kind you had trouble responding to him when he spoke to you. 

“Miss? Are you alright?” You have to blink several times for his words to register in your head and when they do, you jolt and quickly look to the ground. 

“Yes, I think so.” You finally speak up as you gather the packages that were dropped when you were trying to not be trampled by the majestic horses and the beautiful blue carriage embroidered with the most astonishing golden detailing. 

“Those royals, never caring if they’re in someone’s way.” He comments as he begins to stack the packages for you and you quickly take them from him. 

“Oh, I’m sure they were going somewhere very important.” you reply sheepishly He doesn’t seem to buy that but gives you a gentle smile nonetheless. 

“Important enough to almost run someone over? I’m not sure about that.” He remarks, with a telling smile. You stop for a second just to think over his words, your brows furrowing as you turn from him. 

“Well, thank you, thank you very much.” You thank him meekly remembering you really are in a hurry, but before can make your getaway he frantically follows you. 

“Wait, what’s your name?” He asks, questioningly. You weren’t inclined to answer but you did nonetheless. 

“(Your name)? I like it.” The smile he gives you is charming, fit for a prince you think. 

“It grows on you I guess, if you’ll excuse me I really must deliver these now.” You can hear the fatigue in your voice as you say that and you turn to leave again but he continues to follow. 

“I can help! I do wish to speak to you some more and figure out what a man would need to learn in order to get in your good graces.” He says cheerfully and he takes the heaviest boxes from your arms before you can think about protesting. He just sets off in the direction you were headed.

“Well, I suppose I should know the name of the man that would like to know. And why he might be so adamant in helping out a girl he’s just met.” You sass as you jog after him.

“Let’s just say that he’s” a charming stranger.” He chuckles out, smirking.

“How charming can he be if he won’t answer a simple enough question as his name?” You ask as you stray away from him for a moment to drop off a package to the baker’s wife who was waiting outside of the bakery for you. She greets you with a wide smile and a warm muffin freshly baked. She sends you off with well wishes and a Tell your father thank you!

“How well do you know the people of this town?” You jump a little at the voice of the strange man to your left. 

“I’d feel more obligated to answer once I know how to address you.” You shrug. He laughs and shakes his head. 

“I thought I would be able to get away with not telling you but I concede. My name is Woosung.” He says pleasantly

“I’m not sure why you wouldn’t want to tell me if you want to help me but alright, it’s a pleasure to meet you Woosung.”  You say almost dropping a box. 

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine.” He replies smoothly. You want to smile at that but cover it up with a shift of the packages in your arms. 

“So it is.” 

With the help of Woosung you were able to get the deliveries done much faster than anticipated. Though he was a little strange and a bit over eager he was kind enough to help you with your task and see it through to the end. You decided it best to reward him by sharing half of your muffin with him. 

“It is much better when it’s still warm and with a glass of cold milk. My mother always thought so anyway.” You comment, remembering. He perks up at that while mumbling the question you so dreaded hearing with a mouthful of muffin, his stuffed cheeks making him look like a woodland creature. 

“Thought so?” 

“Yes, she passed when I was five. I remember bits and pieces but not everything.” You say. His shoulders slump and he gives you a sympathetic look. 

He replies. “I apologize for asking.” You were glad he didn’t say he was sorry for her passing, for you never really knew what to say after that in a conversation.

“There’s no need for an apology. I’ve learned to live with it now, my father had a girlfriend a couple years past and she was nice at first. Until she wanted me to call her mother then she got very mean. She made me do all the chores around the house alone and then at the end of the day would make me sleep in front of the fireplace as her two daughters took my room.” You state, seemingly unhappy with it.

“And your dad did nothing to stop it?” There was anger simmering underneath his tone. 

“He wasn’t around often. He may have been around for a week at a time before leaving for business trips. Until one day I begged him to stay or to take me with him and then he questioned why. My stepmother and sisters left very promptly after that.” Is what you respond.

“What do you do now?” He asks,with eyes that seem to be hanging off your every word. 

“Now I work with him. We moved towns after that and we are actually fairly new here. We own the flower shoppe right down there.” You point to the shop on the far side of the square that sat on the corner of the road. The bench two of you sat on having the perfect view of the quaint little store. 

“I’m not sure why I told you all this. But I think it probably has to do with having the same old routine all the time.” You continue.

“I understand that. Working tirelessly day in and day out doing the same old thing. It is nice to do something out of the ordinary once in a while.” He nods looking up at the clouds that lazily passed by. You were glad that at least someone could understand you. 

“Well, what about you?” Your question seems to startle him. 

“M-me?” Was that a stutter? He seemed so confident a moment ago. “My story is not very interesting. Just a boring family living in a boring place surrounded by boring people doing boring tasks.” He sounded a bit bitter about it. 

“That does seem a bit uninteresting.” You remark, letting it go for now, allowing the silence to settle comfortably over you both. Well, as silent as the ambience of the busy town square would allow. When the sun begins to lull he stands and stretches looking much like a cat, the thought makes you giggle and he grins in your direction. 

“Leaving so soon, Prince Charming?” He blinks at you, a bit startled. “You act so gentlemanly, it is something befitting of a prince.” You tease.

He shakes his head at this. “Oh hardly m’lady, I am not deserving of such a title.” He tilts his head then a small frown adorning his lips. They were a pretty pink color like that of a peach-colored rose. You then wonder. “Will I see you again?” 

“Perhaps, if you are ever in need of a bouquet.” He says smiling at you again, always such a dazzling occurrence. 

“I will make sure to need one in the future. Then, I’ll be going first.” Woosung says, you nod at him a small wave after until he turns his back and disappears down the cobblestone walkway.  

When you turn to make your back way to the store, your best friend stands before you a question in his eyes and his arms folded across his chest. 

“Oh! Dojoon, you nearly frightened me to death.” You squeak out, the hand over your heart could hardly calm its frantic beating. 

“Who was that?” He questions. You weren’t sure why but the tone in his voice had you a bit miffed. He was a nosy man but all in good faith. He was the first person you bonded with in town after landing a job in your store and you two were basically attached to the hip ever since. Usually you two would take turns delivering and working in the store, often alternating between the tasks. He probably set out to find you after you took longer than usual to get back.

“A charming stranger, that’s all.” You said, opening the door to your store, not really caring too much if it hits him as it shuts. 

“He has a name, doesn’t he?” He pushes. Dojoon had no trouble keeping up with your shorter strides. 

“Who has a name?” Your father's voice makes you jump for the third time that day. 

“No one, papa. How were the sales today?” You say, diverting the conversation.

 The attempt to change the subject worked well in your favor as your father and Dojoon were easily distracted by telling you animated stories of the days events. You only listened half heartedly, in the back of your mind you hoped -though a strange thought-that you would be able to meet the charming man once again. 

♧♧♧

After that encounter, Woosung came back the next day, and then the next, always incredibly charming and princely. The two of you spent so much time together you hardly noticed the changing of the seasons, summer turning to autumn, autumn to winter, the chill of the snow bidding its farewell when spring came and nestled its way into the trees, breathing life back into the nature around you. 

The two of you often spent time working together, if he didn’t help you with deliveries then he was helping your father with business matters or Dojoon with tending the flowers. If anyone enjoyed Woosung’s company more than you it was Dojoon. He was certainly skeptical at first until he met him and then they bonded well over their common interests in black roses and music. 

“Aye, did you all hear? The prince is giving a ball!” One of your regulars Mr. Windsong informs you with a bright smile. You notice Woosung stiffen next to you but you choose not to say anything about it. 

“Oh is he? I’m sure that will be very nice for the royals.” You reply to him flippantly, you weren’t very interested in the affairs of the rich. 

“You should be more interested,” Mr. Windsong motions for you to lean in so he can whisper in your ear,you humor him if only to get him to leave. “I hear he is to be picking a princess. Any lady he sees fit to marry so all of the eligible young woman in the land are invited.” 

“Trying to marry my daughter off are you?” You giggle at your father’s grand entrance bringing with him the lingering smell of cherry blossoms from the outside. 

“Oh no papa, he was just telling me about the ball the Prince is holding.” You watch as your father raises his brows and hands off a couple packages to Woosung to put away. 

“Oh the I heard about that too, apparently his parents want to marry him off. A little strange if you ask me, the King isn’t even past his prime yet.” The wind chimes tinkle as Dojoon steps in and Mr. Windsong steps out bidding everyone a farewell. 

“Perhaps his parents just want what is best for him.” The three of you turn your heads to Woosung whose mouth is slightly turned downwards. 

“Perhaps, but regardless it has nothing to do with me,” You get up from your perch behind the register and pick up a watering can to water some yellow carnations. “I have no interest in marrying a prince, let alone one I don’t know. Don’t you think marrying someone you hardly know is barbaric? What’s the use of marriage if not to marry someone you love?” You remark.

“Well we don’t know if the prince is being forced into it, he could not be.” Woosung adds, smiling at you but you sigh shaking your head slightly. 

“I’m not talking about the prince, I’m talking about the women. Why are we expected to just fall in love at the drop of a dime? Who cares if you’re a prince or a common man if you just expect us to just fall at the mention of fame and fortune?” You rebuttal.

If there was one thing Woosung was not expecting it was that. Your words caused his skin to flush, they were so cold. 

“Now dear, not all men are the same.” Sensing the tension your father steps between the two of you and Dojoon lets out a loud boisterous laugh. 

“Honestly, papa. I’m as mild and as meek as mouse, whenever someone gives me a command I obey. But the idea of being forced into marriage infuriates me. I loathe it, what am I to do if the one I marry forces me into it to? Will I ever get to be myself?” You question.

“Listen to me dear, I will not let that happen. No one will ever force you into anything ever again, not even me.” Your father sets a warm palm on your shoulder as reassurance and you nod at him. 

“I know, I just get scared sometimes thinking of life outside this shop. What if when you pass I’m married off to some evil man? Money does the worst things to people papa.” You can hear the “emotion” in your voice.

You watch as Dojoon steps forward with a crooked smile and shakes his head. “What am I chopped liver? I thought we made a pact that if you weren’t to be married by the time of your father’s passing that we’d-”

“Why are we speaking as if I’m about to meet the undertaker?” Your father interrupts, his question makes both you and Dojoon laugh. 

“Not at all sir!” Dojoon says, face flushed from laughing.

“It’s just, mama passed out of nowhere it seemed and if that were to happen to you too well I..I wouldn’t know what to do.” You prune at a patch of Forget-Me-Not’s as you say this, you vaguely remember your mother being fond of the baby blue blooms. 

☆☆☆☆

"I yearn for you, for your soft glances and your approval. I have never known a feeling quite like this, I only wish for you to extinguish the fire inside me. Please, tell me you care for me too."

You can't help but look at him from his confession, affairs of the heart were not something you were well versed in. But you'd be lying if you said his presence didn't alight a fire in you and snuff it out all at once. Its the tenderness of his voice and the way the moon reflects off the water on to his face that makes your breath quicken, at least that's what you tell yourself. 

"You know I care for you."

"But do you care for me? Does me being a prince make a difference? Tell me now, and I won't ever bother you again but you have to speak to me. Please do not shut me out." Woosung sounds desperate and you cant help feeling it's your fault for making him this way. 

The two of you sit there for a long while, him waiting patiently and you staring at the way the moon hits the water. You want to say it, want to speak your truth but admission is so hard and you are so weary. Regardless of the passage of time Woosung never moves from your side, he remains even when the chirping of early morning birds can be heard. He knows you, he understands. 

"I- I wish to-" Your voice comes out hoarse but Woosung doesn't seem to mind, he just hangs on every last word. 

When you turn to him you can see the adoration in his eyes, it was always there sparkling and bright. You could always feel it, the way he seemed to find your gaze in a crowded room always. The way with which he spoke to you, soft and steady. The way with which he bore his heart to you, slow with no pressure. It is all you can think about before pressing your lips to his in a kiss that would make Aphrodite squeal. 

The touch of his lips on yours is so right, he melts into it but does not move to make it go any further. It is languid and full of the emotions you both can not hope to ever put into words. It is full of the longing and of two beating hearts that call out for each other. Even then he remains as he always has. 

"Charming." 

"My dearest love, you are the charming one. And I will always be right here for you." He speaks the words like the whisper of a song as he taps the spot on the left side of your breast where you can feel a hammering. 

It's clear to you now that from the very moment you met at the shoppes all those seasons ago that he had always been for you, waiting and patient. 

[catchlalune]

To Lose (My First Love)

A/N: just angst from an rp I'll never finish, it was really pretty and I thought it would be so sad if it never saw the light of day.

Pairing: Kevin Moon x Reader

Warnings: none (aside from heart hurty)

Word count: 353

☆☆☆☆

She looks at him, eyes saddened and she thinks there may never be a man as beautiful as him. Ethereal just like the moon they both worshipped so dearly. The air between them is thick and cold like the night air and the heartache they share hangs in the air, it swings back and forth though no words are shared yet. She knows that he knows what she came to him for, she wishes for moment that she could give him the confession he so desperately craves.

"You know, you were my first love Kevin. There will always be a place for you, right here." She grabs his hand as if it's made of glass and places it over the left side of her chest. She can see the tears welling up in his eyes and it causes her vision to go just as blurry.

"I'm so sorry, you know I love you but I'm not in love with you...not anymore." She leaves out the part where she could say if only he had told her sooner then maybe things would be different but she cant bring herself to say it. Not when they both know, not when they both hurt.

She wishes to kiss him but she knows that would be wrong, just the thought itself is wrong. The energy between them is so longing, so tender, they both feel it so close their hearts are and yet so far. She can hear just how muddled his thoughts are, can feel the way he also wishes to kiss her. He begs for it even, though not with his words. He begs for more than just her kiss and it flusters her.

"I can't do that to you Kevin, I won't." The hand that still rests over the left side of her chest can pick up the way her heart flutters at his thoughts and feelings. Her right hand reaches up to caress his cheek as if he is made of glass.

To her he might as well be, for he is just as precious and twice as fragile in this moment.

[catchlalune]

Legend’s of The Deep: A Long Journey 

a/n: Hello all, I decided I needed a little break especially on my blog. So today I’m coming with another wip that may or may not be finished but I think this one will be entirely up to the feedback I get on this. There are some things to note, there are technically two main characters in this story but only one reader! As well as the fact that this was a story originally intended for someone I’ve fallen out with so the reader portion of her character is actually based on her and for all intents and purposes she is a white mc. This is like the first story I’ve ever posted with a white mc so I apologize to my poc readers but if this is something you guys really want to read (I had four parts planned, but I’ve only written two) then I’ll take this one down and really rework it! Anyway, sorry for the super long authors note! 

Word Count: 1,688 

Pairings: Hongjoong x (white) female Reader/ Seonghwa x (poc) female oc/ Reader x OC

Genre: Angst, Fantasy, Pirate! AU

Warnings: implied smut, mentions of blood and war, this will contain fighting and gore later down the line, alcohol, pirate slang (I did quite a bit of research to get the right slang for what I wanted in this fic)

Part 1: Solar Eclipse

It had happened mere days before they found them. A war in a family; in a relationship. Blades whizzing through the air, flesh torn and blood spilt. Unnecessary and foolish, all stemming from the selfishness of man. 

Greed was surely a deadly sin. 

Hongjoong wonders how they got here, he heard tales about these fearsome women. But at the moment they just look like women, far from the seas they knew with a deep set pain behind angry eyes. Well, at least the redhead was angry. The others eyes looked so soulless it almost unnerved him. Even being bound to her friend with eight swords pointed at them she looked as if she welcomed death. Well, if that's what she wanted he wouldn't give it to her. 

"Bring them." Hongjoong nods to Mingi and San after sheathing his sword. He hoped he wasn't wrong about this. 

♧♧♧♧

It surprised him how they had come with little to no resistance. He wasn't sure if it was because of the way their legs wobbled with the exhaustion of carrying them for days or the gaunt looks of their cheeks from the food he knew they had not eaten on their journey. 

It seemed they'd been ready to risk it all just a few hours ago, but as the minutes ticked by they remained bound and boneless. 

Thorne had not spoken for the entire week that they traveled and Y/N was starting to become extremely anxious for her. She wanted to smooth down her tangled hair and give her honeyed words of encouragement but she could not do that with wrists bound. 

She watched her closely instead, waiting with bated breath for a change in demeanor or a shift of limbs, but it seemed their experience had numbed her down to her very core and she no longer felt anything. 

A pang goes through her as she feels her stomach turn, gnawing at her innards for a crumb of sustenance. They left them there tied to the main mast for hours in the open air and sun. A dreadful mistake on their part, but they would have to wait to figure that out. 

"Drink." 

Y/N had been much too careless, too enthralled by the power that caressed her skin that came in the form of sunrays. She hadn't even remembered closing her eyes and definitely had not heard him approach them. 

"I- I don't mean to offend, but you must drink. You haven't all day." He presses the cool metal vessel to her lips and forcibly parts them with a gentle hand so that she will listen. She would've either way, but the way his skin raises gooseflesh when she looks at him intrigued her. 

Even as the cold of the water slips down her throat she gazes at him over the vessel. It makes him nervous, she can tell. Slowly her eyes slip over to Thorne and she sees the man with cat-like eyes and sharp cheekbones stand over her and watches as she takes a drink on her own. Y/N taps his hand twice to signal that she's had enough. 

"Will this get you in trouble?" Thorne is the one who asks, it takes everyone a bit by surprise. Her voice was rough and husky from misuse. 

"No, do not worry about our wellbeing." The one who forced her to drink speaks with a friendly smile, voice low and not at all what you would expect from such an amicable visage. 

"Our co-captain would like to speak with both of you." The one by Thorne speaks while loosing the ropes around their arms and waists. 

"What are your names?" 

“That is none of your concern.” 

“They should know, should they not?” The two men look at each other, one smiling and the other remaining indifferent to his shipmate's positive attitude. There is a small shift in the way they regard each other. 

"Wh-" 

"I'm Mingi and that's San." The smile never leaves his face, even when his partner fixes him with a quick glare. 

The interaction doesn't stop Y/N and Thorne from standing, stretching their limbs to help their blood circulate. There's a dull ache in both of their bottoms but it is insignificant to the weight of the cuffs around their wrists. They follow the two wordlessly though sticking close to one another. They pass more crew members who glance at them curiously, they never stop their work on cleaning the deck or singing their chantey but simply look on. Their eyes ask the questions that they could not. 

"Are you really the two of legends?" The co-captain wastes no time in their questioning. They had spent only a few minutes traveling deeper into the belly of the ship to make it to him. He sits at a bar taking a sip of what Y/N could only assume is something stronger than the water that was brought to them. The captain sits next to him, not even bothering to turn around in his seat to look at them. 

Mingi and San had already been dismissed and by the looks of it, no one was allowed into this area now. 

"What does it look like?" The redhead had no time for their questions and frankly was rather itching to use her powers. One look from Thorne quells the fire that burned in her belly. 

"It looks like you have a problem with answering questions," The captain speaks, voice authoritative and commanding as it echoes around the room.

"You should ask better questions." The reply is snarky and it makes Thorne sigh. 

"You like to gamble with your life?" The captain finally turns around. There's a smirk on his pretty pink lips but they all know the threat is not there. 

"If you wanted to kill us, you would've tried already." 

There's a pause, a beat of silence before the co-captain steps forward to let them out of their cuffs. The metal drops to the ground with loud thunks, almost leaving dents in the grooves of the wood beneath them. 

"Tried?" He asks as he takes his seat again, taking a sip from his cup that resembles a small barrel with a silvery handle. Thorne is the first to take a seat, she sits beside the co-captain and so Y/N takes the seat next to the captain. 

"You couldn't kill us, you wouldn't know how. Not effectively anyway, we'd just come back. Davey Jones will not keep us." Thorne answers them and it seems the tension in the room wooshes out. Like water rushing over rocks. 

"So, you want answers to your questions and we want answers to ours." There's a glint that flashes in Y/N's eyes and it causes the captain to chuckle. 

"Why don't you eat first." 

That night ended in a bit of bonding between both parties, bonding of minds but also of bodies. They had moved from the bar to the captain's quarters to retain privacy and ended up getting far more than any of them had anticipated. The night began with tension and ended with panting and the feel of skin on skin. There was no doubt that everyone on the ship heard them, but there was no real reason to care. 

"Sleep well?" Hongjoong asks in a smug voice that would've set Y/N's blood boiling had it not been for the dull ache between her thighs. 

Thorne was cuddled against her wrapped in the silk of the captain's sheets, a few bruises littering her neck. Some from Y/N and some from Hongjoong or Seonghwa. The latter is nowhere in the cabin but she figures it has to do with the fact that the sun was well above them. It's rays spilt into the large room from a small porthole window, illuminating it. The sunlight bounced off the gold in the room and caught on the silks, on the light wood of the desk and the glass of black ink that sat next to a quill on top of it. It showed the wardrobe and the crushed velvet of the rug that almost covered all the wood of the floor. A bookcase next to the desk also caught her eye, full of texts but also written documents. 

"You must've if you're in the mood to snoop." Hongjoong untangled himself from the two women and stands in the warmth of the sunlight. He is just as bare as he was the night before, superficial scars run along the expanse of his toned torso and back. He was thin but muscular and his attitude was certainly fit to be a captain's. He pulls on black trousers and a white shirt before shirking on his captains coat. "Whenever the two of you are ready, there will be breakfast waiting for you. Mingi will bring it to you in an hour if you don't come up." 

He leaves soon after his words, though not before laying out fabrics for them to cover themselves with. Y/N lays there for a few minutes before sleep embraces her again. 

The knocking on the door is incessant and it annoys her. She whines for a moment before the warmth of Thorne leaves her to open it. There's a choked sound, a murmur of a barely audible 'shiver me timbers' and the clinking of metal and porcelain before the door shuts just as quickly. Y/N doesn't move until Thorne strokes her hair, then her head pops out from under the blankets. 

"Let's eat." Thorne smiles at her, not flinching away from the gaze on her nakedness. 

"You must've surprised him." A giggle sounds from her friend then a hum as she hands her a plate. It is white and the rim is decorated with golden flowers. 

"Oh I'm sure, but he seems very easy to surprise. Much more your type." 

The two of them talk amicably while eating their food, Y/N relieved at her friend speaking more. She was worried she might have lost her to...them. Maybe after a few more weeks here she would be back to her old self.