Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen Cousin!Reader (ft. Aegon)
Description: You're a Targaryen princess with a dragon, a seat on the small council, and a hole in your wall that looks directly into the Crown Prince's chambers. You should seal it. You should forget what you've seen. You should definitely stop watching your cousin fuck his way through King's Landing's noblewomen.
But you don't. And when Jacaerys starts looking at you like he knows, like he's been waiting for you to break—well. That's when things get complicated.
Genre: voyeurism, jace likes to fook, he definitely knows you're watching, fucking your cousin (it's targaryens what did you expect), why does everyone want to marry him, angst with your hand between your thighs, oblivious pining except he's not oblivious at all, im not sorry, SLOW BURN, VERY VERY SLOW, he hasnt even kissed you and its been 30k words, that type of slow, why do u want to fuck. every cousin........... porn with heavy plot
WC: 28k (100k projected) also on ao3 (where it will be updated!)
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
You hadn't meant to discover the hole in the wall—a gap where the stone had crumbled between your chambers and his. It was small, barely the width of your index and middle fingers, hidden behind the carved wooden screen that stood in the corner of your room. You'd only found it when you'd moved the screen aside to retrieve a dropped pearl earring, and there it was, a sliver of forbidden sight directly into the heir's private quarters.
You stared at it for a moment longer, crouched onto the floor with the pearl still in your palm.
Rotted mortar, you thought. Old stone. The Red Keep is falling apart in places no one bothers to look.
The right thing would have been to call for the servants, have it sealed with fresh mortar. To forget you'd ever seen it, like a proper lady would.
That first night, however, curiosity won. Just a glance, you kept telling yourself. Just to see if it truly looked into Jacaerys's room or if your eyes had deceived you in the dim candlelight.
They hadn't, and your breath caught in your throat as soon as your eye found the gap. His bed was perfectly visible—the heavy posts of dark wood, the deep crimson coverlet embroidered with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. And there, tangled in those sheets, was your cousin.
Worst of all, he wasn't alone.
Turn away. The thought flickered through your mind even as you stayed perfectly still, silver hair spilling over your shoulder and onto the floor in waves as you leaned closer. Your heart hammered against your ribs. You knew what the right choice was. You simply weren't making it.
The woman beneath him was dark-haired, flushed, with her mouth open as Jacaerys pounded into her from behind, and you realized with a strange twist in your stomach that this was far from his first time. The rumors that swirled through the Red Keep were true, then. The Crown Prince, for all his duties and noble bearing in the daylight hours, was as much a creature of appetite as any Targaryen before him.
You, on the other hand, had never even been kissed. Never been touched. Good noble ladies waited for their wedding night, and common fucking was for the common whores—thank you for that wisdom, cousin Aemond.
His hand fisted in her dark hair, pulling her head back as he drove into her cunt with a rhythm that was almost borderline brutal. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed off the stone walls, punctuated by her breathy moans and his low groans of pleasure. You could see the sheen of sweat on his shoulders, the flex of muscle beneath his skin as he gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises.
"Fuck," he growled, and the vulgarity of it—hearing such words from the lips of the Crown Prince—sent a forbidden thrill down your spine. "You take me so well."
The woman whimpered something you couldn't quite hear, and Jacaerys laughed—dark and satisfied. He leaned forward, pressing her face into the pillows as he changed his angle, and her muffled cry of pleasure made heat pool low in your belly.
Your hand had somehow found its way to your throat, fingers pressed against your racing pulse. This was wrong, so utterly wrong. You sat here, watching your cousin rut like a beast in heat, and worse—far worse—your body was responding to it. Your thighs pressed together on their own accord, seeking friction you had no right to want.
Leave. Now.
You started to pull back from the gap, but then Jacaerys pulled out suddenly, flipping the girl onto her back with easy strength, and you caught a glimpse of him fully—his flushed cock, hard and completely shameless. He spread her thighs wide and thrusted back into her cunt in with one smooth stroke, and a gasp tore from your throat before you could stop it.
Your hand flew to your mouth, palm clamping hard over your lips. The pearl earring—forgotten, still clutched in your other hand—slipped from your fingers and hit the stone floor with a soft clink that sounded deafening in the quiet of your chamber.
You froze, heart hammering, terrified the sound had somehow carried through the wall.
But Jacaerys didn't pause, didn't look toward the gap. He was too focused on the woman beneath him, and you—gods help you—you couldn't look away.
"Look at me," he commanded, and something in his voice—the authority, the certainty, the want—made your breath catch. The woman's eyes snapped to his face. "Good girl," he murmured, and thrust deeper.
The words sent heat flooding through you, pooling low into your belly. You felt it between your thighs—a pulse, an ache, something you had no name for. Your hand was still clamped over your mouth, but you couldn't move, couldn't think, could barely breathe—
The sharp knock at your chamber door made you jerk back from the wall as though it burned you.
"My lady?" came Lysa's voice, muffled through the heavy oak. "We've come to prepare you for supper."
You stumbled back from the screen. Your hand pressed against your cheek—Seven Hells, you were boiling. "A moment," you called out, breathless, hating how your voice wavered in the otherwise silent room.
You smoothed your skirts with trembling hands and tried to compose yourself before crossing to open the door. Your three ladies-in-waiting filed in—Lysa, Maryse, and young Elaena, their arms full of silks and jewelry boxes. They were good girls, all of them. You'd chosen them yourself—daughters of minor houses who actually seemed to like you rather than seeing you as a political opportunity. The last thing you needed were the usual vultures, daughters of great lords who'd spend more time reporting back to their mothers than actually being useful.
"You look flushed, my lady," Maryse observed you with immediate concern, setting down the silks onto the dressing table. "Are you well?"
"Quite well," you lied, settling into the chair before your mirror. Your reflection was damning, your silver hair mussed, falling loose from where you'd been pressed against the wall. Your cheeks were flushed, pupils blown wide and dark, emphasizing the violet haze. You looked exactly like what you were, a woman who'd been watching something she had no business seeing. "The fire was burning too hot. I've only just opened the window."
Lysa moved to begin unpinning your hair, her fingers gentle, yet ever so clever, as they worked. "I see my lady. The cook's boy told me the funniest story today," she began, and you felt yourself relax into the familiar rhythm of their chatter.
This was safe. This was normal. Unlike whatever madness had possessed you just moments ago.
Elaena brought forward the gown, it was a beautiful collection of pale red silk that caught the candlelight like dawn breaking over the Narrow Sea. The bodice was fitted, the neckline modest but elegant, with delicate embroidery along the sleeves that fell into drapes. It was a gown befitting a princess of dragon blood, though you sometimes forgot that's what you were.
As your ladies worked, Lysa plaiting your hair into an intricate crown of braids, Maryse threading deep crimson rubies on fine silver chains to weave through the silver, Elaena carefully lacing you into your gown—your mind wandered despite your best efforts.
You could still see it. The flex of Jacaerys's shoulders, the way his head had fallen back in pleasure. The sound of his voice, rough with need and desire.
Seven hells.
"Tilt your head, my lady," Lysa murmured, and you obeyed, watching in the mirror as she secured the final braid with a dragon brooch of white gold and rubies, its eyes tiny chips of garnet that seemed to glow due to the candlelight.
Your hair fell in a waterfall of silver down your back, nearly to your calves, the braids creating an ornate crown that framed your face. The rubies caught the light like drops of blood, and for a moment you understood why men wrote songs about Targaryen women. More specifically, why their chantee’s were filled with tales of you.
"Beautiful," Maryse breathed, stepping back to admire their work.
You were beautiful. You knew this, had always known it—it was simply a fact, like knowing the sky was blue or fire was hot. But beauty felt like a strange, useless disease when your mind was still full of images it shouldn't hold.
When your thoughts were consumed by your cousin, the heir to the Iron Throne, and the way he'd looked lost in pleasure with a woman who wasn't you.
The private dining hall was already warm and loud when you arrived, filled with the low hum of conversation and the clatter of serving plates. This was your favorite meal of the week. no courtiers to impress, no performers to sit through, no need to smile politely while some lord droned on about his son and why he’s worthy of your hand. Just family. The table could have seated fifty people easily, but tonight it was just the twelve of you, which somehow made the hall feel bigger and emptier at the same time.
Rhaenyra sat at the head in a gown of black and red, her crown set aside for the evening, silver hair braided simply. Daemon lounged beside her, looking more like a dangerous cat than a prince consort. Down the table, Alicent sat with her children scattered among Rhaenyra's, Aegon laughing at something Jace had said, Helaena showing Baela her embroidery. A year ago, they'd been on the brink of war. Now they broke bread together like it had never happened.
"There she is," Aegon called out as you entered, already half in his cups despite the early hour. "Our lovely cousin, late as always."
"I'm not late," you replied, taking your usual seat between Helaena and Baela. "You're simply too eager for the wine, Aegon."
Aegon clutched his chest in mock offense while Helaena reached for your hand beneath the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. She said nothing—she rarely did in company—but her smile was soft and genuine. You squeezed back, wishing she'd been born your sister instead of your cousin. She understood silence, understood that sometimes you just needed to exist quietly in a world that never managed to simply shut the fuck up.
"You look beautiful tonight," Helaena murmured, so quietly only you could hear. Her green eyes—so unlike the rest of the Targaryens—studied your face with an intensity that only she had. "Red suits you. Like fire. Like blood."
Before you could respond, the servants began bringing out the first course, and your attention was pulled elsewhere. You reached for your wine, grateful for something to do with your hands, and that's when you saw Jacaerys sat across the table and down two seats, between Luke and Joffrey. He was dressed formally in a black doublet with red embroidery, his dark hair still damp as though he'd bathed recently. He looked every inch the Crown Prince—composed, attentive, laughing at something Luke said.
He looked nothing like the man you'd seen less than an hour ago, flushed and shameless, fucking a woman whose name he probably didn't know. Or didn't care to remember.
Your cheeks heated at the memory, and you quickly looked down at your plate.
Gods, were you that much of a prude?
"How was your afternoon, my dear?" Rhaenyra suddenly asked you, her voice carrying easily down the table. She'd always been kind to you, treating you more as a daughter than a niece. Your father's sister, mourning the brother she'd lost, had perhaps seen something of him in you.
"Quiet, Your Grace," you managed, hoping your voice sounded normal. "I spent most of it reading in my chambers."
"Always with your books," Daemon observed with amusement. "You're worse than the damn Maesters."
The conversation flowed easily after that—talk of the day's small council meeting, Aegon's latest exploit (falling asleep during a petitioner's complaint), Helaena's new collection of butterflies. You participated when required, but part of your attention kept sliding back to Jacaerys despite your best efforts.
He caught you looking, which was more embarrassing than usual. His eyes narrowed, and for one horrible second you were certain he knew. Knew what you'd seen. Knew you'd watched. Your stomach dropped and you bit your lip hard enough to taste copper and looked away. When you risked another glance, he was already talking to Luke again, the moment forgotten.
It wasn't until the second course that Rhaenyra cleared her throat in that way that meant an announcement was coming. The table quieted immediately, all eyes turning to their queen.
"I've been thinking," she began, glancing at Jacaerys with obvious affection, "that our heir is now two and twenty. More than old enough to take a wife."
Across the table, Jacaerys kept his expression perfectly neutral and composed. But you saw his jaw tighten, saw the way his hand clenched briefly around his fork before he forced himself to relax.
"It's time we began seeking suitable matches," Rhaenyra continued. "I've already received inquiries from several great houses—the Arryns, the Starks, even a letter from the Triarchy expressing interest in an alliance."
"The Triarchy?" Daemon barked a laugh. "What would they offer, a wife who smells of spices, counts coins and wouldn't know what to do with a cock if you handed it to her with instructions?"
"They offered three ships of gold and exclusive trading rights," Rhaenyra replied dryly. "Which is more than most houses can promise."
"I won't marry for ships," Jacaerys said quietly, and something in his tone made you look at him once more. His expression was still composed, but there was a hardness around his eyes.
"You'll marry where it serves the realm," Rhaenyra said, though not unkindly. "As I did. As all rulers must."
"You married for love the second time," Jace pointed out.
"The second time, yes." Rhaenyra smiled at Daemon. "But first I did my duty. And you will do yours."
The tension at the table was palpable. Alicent looked uncomfortable, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Aegon was watching the exchange with barely concealed glee—always happy when someone else was being pressed into marriage talk instead of him.
"We'll host a series of feasts," Rhaenyra continued, her tone allowing no argument. "Let the eligible ladies of the realm come to court. Let Jacaerys meet them, dance with them. Surely among them there will be someone suitable."
"How many feasts?" Luke asked, grimacing. "I hate feasts."
"As many as it takes," Rhaenyra replied. "We'll begin preparations the following morrow."
Your stomach dropped. Feast after feast, watching Jacaerys dance with simpering ladies who would fall over themselves for the chance to be queen. Watching him smile that charming smile, knowing what you now knew—that he was skilled at pleasing women, that he knew exactly how to make them fall at his feet.
"How exciting," Baela said beside you, though her tone suggested she found it anything but. "More opportunities to wear uncomfortable gowns and make pleasant conversation with people who hate us."
"They don't all hate us," you murmured, though your heart wasn't in the defense.
Across the table, Jacaerys stared at his wine cup like it might provide him with answers. You almost felt bad for him. If anyone at this table had no chance of marrying for love, it was him. Not that he seemed particularly interested in finding one person to settle down with, but still, your point stood.
"Well then," Aegon raised his cup. "To Jace's upcoming nuptials. May his future wife have the patience of a saint and the deafness of a stone."
Despite the tension, several people laughed, and Rhaenyra shook her head with exasperated fondness. "Perhaps we should have music," she suggested, gesturing to the musicians who always waited in the shadows during these intimate suppers. "Clear some space. Let us remember we're still young enough to enjoy ourselves."
"An excellent idea," Daemon agreed, already rising. He offered his hand to Rhaenyra with a theatrical bow that made her laugh.
The servants quickly moved the table back, creating a space for dancing as the musicians struck up a lively tune. It was informal, nothing like the rigid court dances you'd endure at the upcoming feasts—this was just family, moving together without judgment or ceremony.
Luke grabbed Rhaena's hand first, spinning her into the space with more enthusiasm than grace. She laughed, steadying him when he nearly tripped over his own feet. Joffrey tried to convince Helaena to dance, but she demurred with a gentle shake of her head, content to watch from her seat.
"Dance with me," Baela demanded, pulling you up before you could protest. "Before one of the boys asks and proceeds to step on our feet."
You let yourself be drawn into the movement, falling into the familiar pattern. Baela was a good dancer—all the Targaryen children were taught from youth that grace in the ballroom was as important as grace on dragonback. You switched partners as the song changed, first with Aegon, who was surprisingly light on his feet despite the wine, then with Luke, who apologized three times for nearly stepping on your hem, which you found adorable.
"You're doing fine," you assured him with a smile, and he grinned back, boyish and sweet.
When that dance ended, you found yourself passed to Jacaerys.
Your breath caught as his hand found yours, the other settling at your waist. His palm was large and warm against your back, steadying you. You could smell him now, clean linen and spice. Could see his eyes up close, brown with flecks of amber in the firelight. Could see, really see, how stupidly beautiful he was.
"Having fun?" he asked as he led you through the steps, his tone pleasantly neutral and polite. The exact same way he'd speak to any cousin at a family gathering.
"Yes," you managed, hoping your voice sounded normal. "It's nice, having everyone together like this."
"Mm," he agreed, spinning you smoothly. "Rarer than it should be. Though I suppose it'll be even rarer once I'm shackled to some lord's daughter who'll expect me to sit through needlepoint demonstrations."
He was trying to make it sound like a joke, but it came out flat. Like he'd already accepted this was happening and hated every second of it.
"Maybe you'll find someone you actually like," you offered, though the words tasted bitter on your tongue.
A laugh, short and bitter. "Maybe. Though I doubt the great houses are sending their daughters for love matches. They want a crown, not a husband."
"Then perhaps you should look for someone who wants neither," you said before you could stop yourself.
Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, something that might have been interest flickering across his face. "And where would I find such a creature? They seem to be in short supply."
Before you could respond—before you could make an even greater fool of yourself—the song ended. Jace released you with a small bow, perfectly proper, and turned to offer his hand to Rhaena for the next dance.
You stepped back, your heart still racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the exertion of dancing. He'd been so normal. So completely indifferent. There was no awareness in his eyes, no sign that he saw you as anything other than his cousin, someone to dance with at family gatherings and exchange pleasantries with at supper. Which was as it should be. You should be relieved and instead, you felt something uncomfortably close to disappointment.
"You look troubled," Helaena's soft voice came from beside you. She'd moved so quietly you hadn't noticed her approach. "Like a bird that's flown into a window."
You turned to her, finding those strange green eyes studying you. "I'm fine," you said automatically.
"The spider watches from the corner," Helaena murmured, her gaze distant in that way it sometimes got after one of her vision spells. "But the spider doesn't know it's caught in a web of its own making."
"Helaena—"
But she'd already drifted away, drawn by something only she could see, leaving you standing at the edge of the dancing with her cryptic words echoing in your mind.
The spider watches from the corner. Seven hells, your poor, dear, earnest cousin knows you’re a pervert.
You watched Jacaerys spin Rhaena through the steps, laughing at something she said. Watched him dance with Baela next, then with his mother, the perfect dutiful son. He never once looked your way again and you told yourself that was exactly what you wanted.
The dancing continued for another hour before Rhaenyra finally called an end to the evening. "Early council meeting tomorrow," she announced with apologetic warmth. "And I need at least some sleep if I'm to endure Tyland Lannister's complaints about the damned grain tariffs."
The group began to disperse—Aegon stumbling slightly as Aemond steadied him with the patience only a brother could have, Luke and Joffrey arguing about something as they headed toward their chambers. You walked back to your chambers with Helaena and Baela, their soft conversation a comfortable buffer against your own churning thoughts. When you finally reached your door, you bid them goodnight and slipped inside, leaning back against the heavy oak with a shaky exhale.
Your ladies had been by earlier, the room was tidy, the fire banked low, your nightgown laid out across the bed. Everything was peaceful and ordinary. Your gaze immediately drifted, unbidden, to the corner where the carved screen stood.
You shouldn't. You absolutely shouldn't. But your feet carried you forward anyway, your hands moving the screen aside with trembling, eager, perverted fingers.
Empty. Fuck.
His room was dark save for a single candle burning on the bedside table. The crimson coverlet was smooth and undisturbed. The heavy curtains drawn back from the windows to let in the moonlight. No Jacaerys. No woman writhing beneath him. Nothing but silence and shadows.
You sat back on your heels, a strange mix of relief and something else—something you refused to name as disappointment—settling in your chest.
Where was he?
It was late, well past the hour when most of the castle had retired. Perhaps he'd gone to the Street of Silk, unwilling to bring his entertainment into the Red Keep on a night when the family had gathered. Perhaps he was in someone else's bed entirely, some lady's maid or kitchen girl who'd caught his eye.
Perhaps he was being discreet, something he clearly hadn't bothered earlier today. The thought dissipated as quickly as it came, no, maybe he was being discreet. Thoughtful, even. Of course, he'd been perfectly discreet earlier too, it was your fault for being a creep.
You pressed your palm against the cold stone, staring at that empty bed as though it might offer answers. The image from earlier was still burned into your mind—the flex of his shoulders, the sound of his voice rough with pleasure, the casual way he'd commanded that woman's body like he owned it.
Your cousin. The heir to the Iron Throne. The boy you'd grown up with, who used to let you win at cyvasse when you were children, who'd shown you how to skip stones across the fountain and laughed when you both got yelled at for it.
When the fuck had he turned into that? When had he learned to move like that, to take someone apart with his hands like it was easy?
And why, by all the Seven, couldn't you stop fucking thinking about it?
You pushed away from the wall, suddenly furious with yourself. This was madness. Dangerous, stupid madness that could only end in humiliation or worse. You needed to forget what you'd seen. Needed to seal that hole in the wall and pretend it had never existed.
Starting tomorrow. You'd call the servants first thing in the morning and have it filled with mortar. Tonight, tonight, though, you would sleep, and you would not dream of your cousin's hands, or his voice, or the way he'd looked so beautiful while lost in pleasure.
You climbed into bed still wearing your red silk gown, too tired to call your ladies back to unlace you. The rubies in your hair pressed uncomfortably against the pillow until you pulled them free with impatient fingers, letting your silver hair spill loose around you.
Sleep was slow to come. When it finally did, you dreamed of dragons and fire, of flying on Cannibal's back while something nameless chased you through the clouds. And in the dream, when you finally turned to face it, it had Jacaerys's eyes.
You did not look through the hole the following morning.
The temptation was there—gods, it was there, a constant itch beneath your skin as your ladies dressed you. But you kept your eyes firmly away from that corner, focusing instead on the monotonous task of standing still while they laced you into your gown.
It was white today, or perhaps the palest blue, the color seemed to shift in the light like a sort of moonstone. The bodice was scaled like dragon armor, each piece of fabric layered and stitched to create the illusion of protection. Gold chains draped across your shoulders and down your bare arms, cold against your skin. More chains hung from your waist, swaying gently when you moved. The sleeves were sheer and flowing, doing little to ward off the morning chill.
"You look like a goddess," Elaena breathed as she stepped back to admire their work.
"I look like I'm about to freeze to death, thank you very much," you replied, though without any real complaint.
Your hair was left mostly loose today, falling in silver waves down your back, with only two small braids pulled back from your face and secured with a dragon clasp of white gold. It was simple and appropriate for a small council meeting where you needed to be taken seriously.
The walk to the council chamber was embedded into your brain, your slippered feet silent on the cold stone floors. Guards nodded as you passed, servants stepped aside with murmured greetings. You were known throughout the Red Keep as kind, perhaps too kind for a Targaryen. You stopped to ask the head cook about her daughter's fever, remembered the name of the stable boy's new puppy hound, listened when the washerwomen complained about the state of the linens.
Your father had been like that, or so Rhaenyra told you. Loved by the smallfolk, remembered fondly even years after his death. You hoped it was true. You hoped you carried something of him beyond just his silver hair and violet eyes.
The council chamber was already half-full when you arrived. Lord Corlys sat at Rhaenyra's right hand, his age showing more each moon but his mind still sharp as any of the younger council members. Daemon lounged in his seat with typical irreverence, picking at his nails with a dagger. Grand Maester Gerardys shuffled through papers, and several other lords whose names you'd long since memorized filled out the remaining seats.
Rhaenys was there too, your mentor in all things draconic and strategic. She caught your eye as you entered and gave you a subtle nod of approval. She'd been instrumental in convincing Rhaenyra to let you train, to let you learn the ways of war despite your aunt's maternal protests.
"Good morrow, niece," Rhaenyra greeted you warmly as you took your seat. "I trust you slept well?"
"Well enough, Your Grace," you replied, ignoring the knowing look Daemon shot you. He always seemed to know when someone was lying, the bastard.
You'd earned your place at this table through years of study—history, law, trade routes, military strategy. While other noble daughters learned needlework and song, you'd buried yourself in the library, devouring every tome you could find. Knowledge was power, and you'd wanted to be useful. Wanted to matter beyond being another pretty Targaryen to marry off for alliances.
And then there was Cannibal. Your sweet baby boy, Cannibal.
You'd claimed him at two and ten, a feat that had shocked the entire realm. The wild dragon, the one who'd killed and eaten other dragons, who'd never been ridden—you'd walked up to him on Dragonstone's smoking beaches and simply asked. And he'd lowered his massive black head and let you climb onto his back.
The bond between you was unlike anything the Dragonkeepers had seen. You could feel him, always, a presence at the back of your mind, dark and fierce and free. Sometimes you knew his thoughts, or at least his intentions. When he wanted to hunt. When he wanted to fly far from the castle and its confining walls. When he missed you, though he'd never admit it, that damned proud creature.
He was out there now, somewhere over the Bay of Blackwater or perhaps the Kingswood. You could feel him, distantly, content in his solitude.
Vhagar was different—ancient, massive, slow with age but no less deadly. Aemond insisted he had full control of her, but you'd seen the truth when you flew near them. Vhagar tolerated Aemond. She hadn't fully accepted him, not the way Cannibal had accepted you. It would take years, perhaps decades, before that bond truly solidified.
If Aemond lived that long. Vhagar was known for her temper.
And Cannibal—Cannibal was larger still. Nearly the size of Balerion the Black Dread himself, or so the Dragonkeepers whispered when they thought you couldn't hear. Black as a night sky with none of the stars, with eyes like green flame and teeth as long as swords. He'd never accept the Dragonpit even if he could fit, which he couldn't. He roosted where he pleased, in sea caves along the coast, in the ruins of old Valyrian outposts, anywhere that gave him space and freedom and solitude.
"Shall we begin?" Rhaenyra's voice pulled you from your thoughts. She waited until everyone had settled, then gestured for Grand Maester Gerardys to start with the day's business.
The first hour was tedious, grain shipments from the Reach, trade disputes with the Free Cities, a complaint from House Royce about border incursions from mountain clans. You paid attention, offered your thoughts when asked, but your mind kept drifting.
Don't think about it. Don't think about him.
"There is one more matter," Rhaenyra said as the meeting drew toward its close. She looked around the table, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before moving on. "I've decided that Jacaerys should begin attending these meetings regularly. Starting the following morrow, he'll be joining us."
A few eyebrows raised, but no one protested. It made sense, he was two and twenty, the acknowledged heir, soon to be married. He needed to understand the workings of the realm he would one day rule.
"Will he be given a formal position?" Lord Corlys asked, ever practical, ever scheming.
"Not immediately," Rhaenyra replied. "Let him observe first. Learn our ways, then we'll see where his talents might be best utilized."
Daemon snorted. "His talents are best utilized in the training yard and the—"
"Daemon," Rhaenyra cut him off with a warning look, though her lips twitched with suppressed amusement.
You felt your cheeks heat and kept your eyes fixed firmly on the table. In a week’s time Jacaerys would be here, sitting in one of these chairs, probably directly across from you. You'd have to see him regularly, maintain professional courtesy, pretend you hadn't watched him fuck a woman senseless.
Gods have mercy.
"Any objections?" Rhaenyra asked, looking around the table.
Silence. What could anyone say? He was the heir and none of you were about to tell the Queen that her son wasn't allowed in the Small Council. That seemed like a great way to lose your head.
"Good. Then we're finished for today." She stood, and everyone else rose with her. "Same time in three days. Try not to let the realm burn down before then."
The council members began to file out, but Rhaenys caught your arm as you moved to leave.
"Walk with me," she said, and it wasn't really a request.
You followed her out into the corridor, down a side passage that led into the city and the Dragonpit. She said nothing for a long moment, just walked with that regal bearing she'd never quite lost, even after being passed over for the throne.
"You seem distracted," she finally said.
"I'm fine."
"You're lying." She stopped, turning to face you with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. "What's wrong?"
For a wild moment, you considered telling her. I accidentally discovered a hole in my wall that looks into Jacaerys's chambers, and now I can't stop thinking about what I saw, and I think I'm losing my mind.
Instead, you said, "I'm just tired. The dancing went rather late last night."
Rhaenys studied you for a long moment, clearly unconvinced, but eventually she nodded. "Very well. But if something is bothering you—truly bothering you—you know you can come to me."
"I know," you said softly. "Thank you."
She squeezed your shoulder once, then continued down the corridor, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the distant sound of dragons roaring in their pit.
You stood there for a moment, staring at nothing, and wondered how in seven hells you were going to survive sitting across from Jacaerys in council meetings. Wondered if he'd look at you the same way he'd looked at you while dancing—politely indifferent, completely unaware of the effect he had.
Wondered if that was better or worse than the alternative.
You found yourself wandering toward the kitchens, drawn by the familiar sounds of clattering pots and raised voices. The rest of the castle felt too quiet after council meetings, too full of people watching their words. The kitchens were honest, they were steaming hot, loud and smelling like fresh bread and meat.
"My lady!" Jessamyn looked up from the massive hearth, her round face flushed from the heat. She'd been head cook for as long as you could remember, ruling her domain with an iron ladle and a sharp tongue. "What brings you down here? Shouldn't you be off doing princess things?"
"Princess things are dreadfully boring," you replied, stealing a piece of candied lemon from a nearby tray. "I'd much rather be here."
"Oi, those are for tonight's supper!" But Jessamyn was smiling, swatting at you halfheartedly with her wooden spoon.
The kitchen staff had long since grown accustomed to your presence. You'd been sneaking down here since you were a child, preferring the warmth and chatter to the formality of the upper floors. Here, no one cared that you were a Targaryen. Here, you were just the girl who always burned her tongue on the stew and asked too many questions about how to make proper gravy.
"How's Mara's fever?" you asked, hopping up onto a cleared section of the work table.
"Broke this morning, thank the gods." Jessamyn's expression softened. "That tea you brought from the Maester helped, I think."
"Good. I'm glad." You watched as two scullery maids argued over the proper way to pluck a chicken, their debate growing increasingly heated. "Should you be concerned about that?"
"They'll sort it out," Jessamyn said dismissively. "Or they'll stab each other with the bloody kitchen knives, and I'll have two fewer girls making my life a misery. Either way."
"You staying for midday meal?" one of the kitchen boys asked hopefully. "We're making that venison stew you like."
"Can't today. I'm going to the Dragonpit."
"Your beast finally coming back?" Jessamyn asked, pulling a tray of bread from the oven. "Haven't seen him in what, near a fortnight?"
"Twelve days," you confirmed. Cannibal preferred his freedom, and you'd never been one to cage him. He came when he wanted, and you would not have it any other way. "He's out past Blackwater Bay somewhere. I can feel him."
"Feel him," one of the maids muttered. "Still sounds like madness to me, my lady."
"It is madness," you agreed cheerfully. "But it's a very useful madness."
You stayed a while longer, listening to the kitchen gossip, who was bedding whom, which lordling had insulted which servant, the general consensus that the upcoming feasts were going to be a right fucking nightmare to prepare for. Apparently, Rhaenyra had requested swan for one of them, and Jessamyn was already composing angry speeches about the impracticality of cooking swan.
"Tough as old leather and mean as sin," she complained, gesturing violently with her ladle. "But does Her Grace care? No. She wants swan because it's elegant. I'll give her elegant—I'll serve it so tough she'll break a tooth on it."
"I'll speak to her," you offered. "Suggest something else."
"You're a good girl," Jessamyn said, patting your cheek with a flour-dusted hand. "Too good for this lot of pompous cunts, if you ask me."
Eventually, you took your leave, stealing one more piece of candied lemon on your way out just to hear Jessamyn's exasperated shout behind you.
The walk to the Dragonpit took you through the city streets, and you pulled your cloak up to hide your distinctive hair. The smallfolk knew you by sight anyway—you came this way often enough—but it was easier not to draw any attention. A few people nodded as you passed, and you nodded back, trying not to think about how different you were from most nobles who never set foot outside the Red Keep's walls without a full escort of gold cloaks.
The Dragonpit loomed ahead, ancient and crumbling in places despite the best efforts to maintain it. The Dragonkeepers bowed as you approached, their respect tinged with something like awe. They still spoke in hushed tones about the day you'd claimed Cannibal, about the wild dragon who'd finally accepted a rider.
You came here even though your dragon never would. Cannibal was too large. He'd never fit through the Dragonpit's entrance even if he wanted to, which he decidedly did not. But you came anyway, to see the other dragons, to speak with the Dragonkeepers who understood what it meant to be bonded to such creatures.
"My lady," the eldest keeper greeted you. "Still no sign of your beast?"
"He's hunting in the Kingswood," you replied, moving past them into the cavernous space.
Some of the other dragons were here, Vermax in his usual corner, Arrax further back, Syrax sunning herself near the entrance where the light streamed in. They all shifted as you entered, great scaled heads turning, sensing you the way dragons always sensed Targaryen blood.
But none of them called to you the way Cannibal did. None of them were yours.
You could feel him now, distant but present in your mind. He was flying over the Kingswood, hunting deer or perhaps wild boar. Satisfied. He sent you an impression—not words, but feeling—of wind and height and the joy of the chase.
Umbās lenton, ñuha riña, you thought at him in High Valyrian, not knowing if he could truly hear your thoughts the way you felt his intentions. Māzigon lo jorrāelagon.
Stay free, my boy. Come if needed.
You stood there in the Dragonpit for a while, watching the other dragons, feeling the heat of their breath and the weight of their ancient eyes. Vhagar wasn't here either—she was too massive, kept in the fields outside the city where she had room to spread her wings without crushing half the buildings in King's Landing. But even Vhagar was smaller than Cannibal.
"He burns green, doesn't he?" one of the younger keepers asked, approaching cautiously. "Your Cannibal. Green flame."
"Yes," you confirmed. "Like poison made fire."
The keeper shuddered slightly. "I've never seen anything like it. Most dragons burn orange or red, sometimes gold. But green and his size. Seven hells, my lady, he's near as big as Balerion was."
"Bigger, perhaps," you said softly. "He's still growing."
The thought should have terrified you. Instead, it filled you with something like pride.
Supper that evening was a grander affair than the intimate family meal from the night before. The great hall was filled with lords and ladies of the court, the high table crowded with Targaryens and their most favored bannermen. Musicians played from the gallery, servants moved between the tables with platters of roasted boar and honeyed duck, and the wine flowed freely.
You sat between Baela and one of the Velaryon cousins whose name you could never quite remember, making polite conversation and trying not to let your gaze wander too obviously across the hall.
Jacaerys, much to your surprise, wasn't there.
His seat at the high table sat empty, and when you'd asked Rhaenyra about it as casually as you could manage, she'd simply said he was indisposed. Daemon had smirked into his wine cup at that, and you'd felt your cheeks burn.
Indisposed. Right, your arse.
The meal dragged on, course after course, toast after toast, Lord Whoever droning on about trade agreements until you wanted to scream. You smiled and nodded and said the right things, all while your mind churned with thoughts you had no business thinking.
Where was he? Out in the city again, finding another willing woman to warm his bed? Or perhaps he'd brought someone here, to his chambers, and simply hadn't wanted to risk being seen at supper with the smell of sex still clinging to him.
Gods, you needed to stop. This needed to stop, permanently, and immediately.
By the time Rhaenyra finally dismissed the court for the evening, you were wound tight as a crossbow string. You said your goodnights to Baela and Helaena, declined Aegon's slurred offer to continue drinking in his chambers, and practically fled back to your own rooms.
Your ladies had already been by, the fire was lit, your sleeping shift laid out. You should call them back to help you out of your gown. Should prepare for bed like a sensible person and get some actual sleep before tomorrow's duties.
Instead, you found yourself moving toward the corner where the carved screen stood.
Don't, you told yourself firmly. Don't be a fool.
But your hands were already pushing the screen aside, your knees hitting the cold stone floor as you pressed your eye to the gap.
Empty. Again. Damn, damn, damn.
The room was dark save for moonlight streaming through the windows. The bed undisturbed, the coverlet smooth. No candles lit, no sign of life. You sat back, frustration coiling in your chest. Where in the seven hells was he?
You should go to bed. Should stop this madness before it consumed you entirely. But instead, you paced. Back and forth across your chamber like a caged animal, your silk skirts swishing against the floor. Every few minutes you'd stop, kneel down, check the hole again.
Still empty.
This was pathetic. You were pathetic. Waiting like some lovesick girl for a glimpse of a man who didn't even know you existed beyond being his cousin at family suppers.
He danced with you, a small voice whispered in your mind. He smiled at you.
He smiled at everyone. That was what princes did. And once again, you checked.
Empty.
"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, pressing your forehead against the cool stone. This was going to drive you mad. You needed to seal this hole, needed to forget you'd ever found it, needed to—
The door to his chamber opened and you froze, eye pressed to the gap, heart suddenly hammering.
Jacaerys entered first, and he wasn't alone. Your throat tightened, and for a split second, you told yourself to look away, to be decent for once. Instead, you pressed harder against the gap, like that might somehow get you closer.
The woman who followed him through the door was decidedly not a servant or a whore from the Street of Silk. Her gown was fine silk, deep green with gold embroidery at the sleeves. This was expensive, well-made, the kind only highborn ladies wore. Her dark hair was pinned up elaborately, though a few strands had come loose, and when she laughed at something Jace said, the sound was refined.
You recognized her after a moment—Lady Cassandra Baratheon, one of Lord Borros's daughters. She'd been at court for the past month, ostensibly to foster closer ties between Storm's End and the crown.
Apparently, she'd been fostering ties of a different sort.
"Wine?" Jace asked, moving to the table where a pitcher sat waiting.
"Please," Cassandra replied, and there was an ease between them that spoke of familiarity. This wasn't their first time together. Not even close.
Something hot and ugly twisted in your chest. Jealousy, perhaps, though you had no right to it.
Jace poured two cups, handed her one, and they stood there for a moment just talking. You couldn't hear the words through the stone, but you could see the way Cassandra touched his arm, fingers trailing down from shoulder to elbow with the intimacy of someone who'd done it before. The way Jace leaned in closer, his head tilted as he listened to whatever she was saying, a small smile playing at his lips.
And then he kissed her, and you inhaled sharply, pulse suddenly pounding everywhere, your throat, your wrists, between your legs.
It started slow—almost tender, really. His hand came up to cup her face, thumb stroking along the line of her jaw as their mouths moved together in a way that suggested they'd learned each other's rhythms. Cassandra made a soft sound, stepping into him, and her fingers tangled in his dark hair, tugging slightly.
Pervert, pervert, pervert.
Your eye stayed pressed to the gap in the stone. Your hand, seemingly of its own accord, had drifted to press against your stomach, just above where heat was beginning to pool low and insistent.
Jace backed her toward the bed, still kissing her, his hands starting to work at the laces of her gown. She helped him, both of them fumbling slightly in their eagerness despite clearly having done this dance before. You watched as layer after layer of silk fell away and onto the floor, first was the overdress, then the underdress, then the stays—until she stood in just her shift, the thin fabric clinging to curves that made your throat go dry.
"Gods, you're beautiful," Jace murmured and you could read the words on his lips even if you couldn't quite hear them through the stone.
Cassandra smiled, reaching for the fastenings of his doublet. "You say that to all of them, my grace."
Your jaw clenched. So you were right. There were others. Many others, probably.
"I mean it with you," Jace said, and you wanted to scream at Cassandra not to believe him, that those were just pretty words he knew how to wield.
But Cassandra seemed to believe him, or at least didn't care if it was true. She pushed his doublet off his shoulders, her hands running over his chest, fingernails scraping lightly over skin, and Jace groaned—a sound you felt echo between your own thighs. He pulled her shift over her head in one smooth motion, and then she was naked before him.
She was beautiful, that you could admit that even through the haze of jealousy burning in your chest. Full breasts, a narrow waist flaring into hips that Jace's hands immediately claimed, skin like cream in the candlelight. Dark hair spilled down her back as Jace turned her around, pressing kisses down her spine, and you watched his mouth trace the path of her vertebrae one by one.
"Jace," she breathed, arching back against him, pressing her bare arse against where you could see he was already hard beneath his breeches.
Your own breathing had gone shallow. Your hand pressed harder against your stomach, wanting to move lower but not quite daring. Not yet.
Jace took his time with her. His hands mapped every curve, every dip and swell of her body. He cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they peaked and she gasped. Kissed the side of her neck, teeth scraping against the tendon there in a way that made her shiver. Slid one hand down her stomach, between her thighs, and even from here you could see how she bucked against his touch.
"Please," Cassandra whimpered, and the desperate edge to her voice made your breath catch.
"Patience," Jace murmured against her skin, but there was dark amusement in his tone. He was enjoying this—enjoying making her wait, making her beg.
When he finally guided her onto the bed, she went willingly, eagerly, spreading herself out on the crimson coverlet like an offering. Her thighs fell open without prompting, shameless in her want, and you could see the glistening evidence of her arousal even from your hidden vantage point.
Jace shed the rest of his clothes—unlacing his breeches with quick movements—and your mouth went dry at the sight of him. You'd seen him before, that first night, but somehow this felt different. More intimate. You could see every line of muscle in his stomach, the dark hair trailing down from his navel, the thick length of his cock jutting proudly from his hips as he climbed onto the bed.
Your hand finally, finally, slipped beneath the waistband of your smallclothes.
Jace settled between Cassandra's thighs, bracing himself above her on his forearms, and for a moment they just looked at each other. Then he pushed his cock deep inside her—slow, so agonizingly slow—and Cassandra's head fell back with a moan that you felt echo through your own body.
“Your grace—-hhhhh,” she moaned.
Your fingers found the wet heat between your legs, already slick and aching. You bit your lip hard to keep from making a sound.
"Fuck," Jace groaned, his hips rolling in a steady, measured rhythm. "You feel perfect. So tight and wet for me."
"Harder," Cassandra gasped, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red marks. "Please, your grace, I need—"
He gave her exactly what she wanted.
The gentleness evaporated like morning mist, replaced by something raw and almost brutal. Jace pulled nearly all the way out before slamming his cock back into her, and Cassandra cried out—pleasure and pain mixing in her voice in a way that made your fingers circle faster over your clit. His hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back to expose the long line of her throat, and his teeth found the skin there, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp.
"Is this what you wanted?" Jace growled, his voice low and dangerous in a way you'd never heard before. Not gentle, princely Jace. This was something darker. "This what you've been thinking about all through supper? Sitting there with your father, making polite conversation, while all you could think about was having my cock inside you?"
"Yes," Cassandra sobbed, her body arching to meet each brutal thrust. The obscenity of the words, the rawness of it, sent liquid heat flooding through you. "Gods, yes, don't stop—please don't stop—"
Your fingers worked faster, your other hand coming up to muffle any sounds threatening to escape your throat. You could feel your own wetness coating your fingers, could feel the tension building low in your belly as you watched Jace fuck Cassandra with single-minded intensity.
"Greedy little thing," Jace muttered, but there was dark satisfaction in his tone. His free hand moved between their bodies, and you knew exactly what he was doing when Cassandra suddenly cried out sharply, her whole body going rigid. He was circling her clit with his thumb while he pounded into her, giving her pleasure from two directions at once, and the thought of it—the thought of him doing that to you—made your legs tremble.
"Jace, I'm going to—oh gods, I'm going to come—"
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice rough and strained. "Come on my cock. Let me feel you, sweetling."
She shattered. Her whole body convulsed, back arching off the bed, mouth open in a silent scream before the sound finally tore from her throat—his name, over and over, like a prayer. You could see the way her cunt clenched around him, could see the exact moment the pleasure crested and broke over her.
Your own fingers moved desperately, chasing the same release, imagining it was Jace's hand between your thighs, Jace's cock filling you, Jace's voice in your ear telling you how good you felt. But Jace didn't stop. He kept fucking Cassandra through her peak, relentless, using her body to chase his own pleasure as she whimpered and clutched at the sheets beneath her. Her sensitivity must have been overwhelming, but he showed no mercy, just kept driving into her with brutalness.
He was so undeniably good at this, at fucking whores, noble ladies, at driving his cock into their cunts and making them squeal beneath him from the pleasure.
"Too much," she gasped, but her hips were still rising to meet his, her body betraying her words. "Y-your grace, it's—fuck—it's too much—"
"You can take it," he said, and there was something almost cruel in his certainty. "You always take it so well for me."
His rhythm grew erratic, desperate. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched, the muscles in his arse flexing with each thrust. He was close—so close—
Your own pleasure was building, that familiar tightening, that pressure mounting—
Jace pulled out suddenly, wrapping his hand around himself and stroking once, twice, before he came with a groan that sounded almost pained. His seed spilled across Cassandra's stomach in thick ropes, marking her, claiming her, and the sight of it—the raw, animalistic possession of it—sent you tumbling over the edge.
You bit down on your palm hard enough to taste blood, muffling the sound threatening to tear from your throat as pleasure crashed through you in waves. Your fingers didn't stop, working you through it, drawing it out until you were shaking and oversensitive and barely able to see through the haze.
When you finally came back to yourself, gasping and trembling, Jace was cleaning Cassandra with gentle touches that seemed almost absurd after the brutality of moments before. She was boneless against the pillows, looking thoroughly debauched, her hair a tangled mess and her skin flushed pink.
"Stay," Jace said quietly, pulling her against his chest.
"I shouldn't," Cassandra murmured, but she was already nestling into him, her head tucked beneath his chin. "If someone finds out—"
"Let them find out. I don't care."
You wanted to laugh at the lie of it. Of course he cared. He just didn't care enough not to fuck her. Within minutes, Cassandra's breathing had evened out into sleep, her body going lax in his arms. Jace stared at the ceiling for a long while, his expression unreadable in the dim light. One hand stroked absently through her hair, gentle in a way that made your chest ache.
Then he turned his head slightly—and for one heart-stopping moment, his gaze seemed to land exactly where you knelt. Directly at the wall. Directly at your hiding place.
But that was impossible. He couldn't see you through solid stone. Couldn't know you were there, hand still between your thighs, lips swollen from biting back your moans, watching him like some desperate, pathetic creature.
You jerked back from the hole anyway, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs. Your whole body was trembling—from the release, from the fear of discovery, from shame so acute it felt like it might choke you. You'd just brought yourself to peak while watching your cousin fuck another woman. While imagining it was you in that bed, you he was whispering filth to, you he was making come apart on his cock.
This was sick. Wrong. You were sick and wrong and yet, deep down, you knew, with terrible certainty, that you'd be back tomorrow night. And the night after that. Until this madness either consumed you or destroyed you entirely.
You barely slept that night.
Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him, his shoulders, his body, his thick cock, the way his hand had fisted in Cassandra's hair, the rough timber of his voice as he'd commanded her to come. And beneath it all, the shameful memory of your own hand between your thighs, chasing pleasure you had no right to feel.
When dawn finally broke, you were grateful for it.
Your ladies dressed you in silence, perhaps sensing your foul mood. The gown today was the palest blush pink. The bodice was fitted with embroidered silver thread in delicate patterns that caught the morning sun. The neckline dipped low, modest enough for court but still flattering, drawing the eye. Long flowing sleeves of sheer silk hung from your shoulders, gossamer-thin, moving like water with each gesture. The skirts were layers upon layers of the same pale silk, creating an almost dreamlike effect as you walked, the fabric seeming to float around you.
The walk to the council chamber felt longer than usual. You nodded to the guards, smiled at passing servants, and tried not to think about the fact that Jacaerys would be here today. His first small council meeting. Sitting across from you for hours while you pretended you hadn't watched him fuck Lady Baratheon into the mattress last night.
Gods give you strength.
The council chamber was already filling when you arrived. "Good morrow, niece," Rhaenyra greeted you warmly as you took your seat.
"Your Grace." You settled into your chair, arranging your skirts, trying not to look at the empty seat that would soon be occupied.
Others filtered in quick waves, Lord Bartimos Celtigar, Master of Coin; Ser Steffon Darklyn, Commander of the City Watch; a handful of other lords whose presence was required. The table filled, voices murmuring in low conversation.
Then the door opened again, and Jacaerys entered.
He looked... gods, he looked perfect. Rested and put-together in a way that seemed deeply unfair given what you knew he'd been doing until late into the night. His doublet was his usual black with red embroidery, his dark hair neatly combed, and when he smiled at his mother, it was warm and genuine and completely utterly unbothered.
"Apologies for my lateness," he said, taking the empty seat directly across from you.
Of course. Of course he'd be directly in your line of sight.
His eyes met yours for a brief moment—polite, pleasant, utterly indifferent—before moving on. No recognition. No awareness that anything was amiss. He had no idea what you'd witnessed. No idea that you'd spent the night with your hand between your thighs, imagining it was you in Cassandra Baratheon's place.
"Let us begin," Rhaenyra said once everyone had settled. She gestured to Grand Maester Gerardys. "The reports from the North, if you would."
Gerardys cleared his throat and began reading, something about increased wildling activity beyond the Wall, requests from the Night's Watch for additional men and supplies. You forced yourself to pay attention, to nod at the appropriate moments, to look anywhere except at Jacaerys.
It was going to be a very long meeting. The discussion moved from the North to the Stepstones, where Daemon's efforts to hold the islands remained precarious at best. Then to trade disputes with Pentos, grain shortages in the Reach, and a particularly tedious debate about tax collection methods that made you want to throw yourself from the nearest window.
Jacaerys contributed thoughtfully when asked, his observations intelligent and well-reasoned. He'd been well-trained for this, you realized. Rhaenyra had made sure her heir would be ready to rule, ready to navigate the complexities of statecraft. Of the Realm.
Ready to be the perfect prince while fucking half the women in King's Landing in his spare time.
"There is another matter," Rhaenys said, her voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts. She was looking at you, and there was something in her expression that made your stomach clench. "The matter of our dragons and their war-readiness."
The table went quiet.
"The realm is at peace," Lord Corlys pointed out carefully.
"For now," Rhaenys replied. "But peace is a fragile thing, as we all learned during the—" she paused, choosing her words carefully, "—recent troubles. We cannot afford to be complacent."
"What are you suggesting?" Rhaenyra asked, though her tone suggested she already knew.
"That we ensure our dragons are battle-ready. That we train them for war, even if we pray that war never comes." Rhaenys turned her sharp gaze fully on you. "Cannibal, in particular, has never been tested in true combat. He's large, powerful, but wild and untested."
Your jaw tightened. "Cannibal doesn't need testing. He's—"
"A wild dragon who's only known freedom," Rhaenys interrupted, not unkindly. "I'm not questioning your bond with him, child. I'm suggesting that bond needs to be forged stronger and that will only come through discipline."
"You want me to train him for war," you said flatly.
"I want you to prepare him for the possibility of war." Rhaenys leaned forward slightly. "With drills and formation flying with the other dragons. Learning to respond to commands in the chaos of battle. These things take time and practice."
You wanted to argue. Wanted to say that Cannibal would never tolerate such constraints, that he'd sooner eat the other dragons than fly in formation with them. That forcing him into drills and formations would break something fundamental in the bond between you, the trust that came from respecting his need for freedom.
"I don't think it's a good idea," you said carefully. "Cannibal isn't like the other dragons. He's larger, older in his ways. Trying to force him into formations could be potentially dangerous."
"Dangerous for whom?" Daemon asked, sounding genuinely curious rather than mocking. "For you, or for the other dragons?"
"Both," you admitted. "Cannibal doesn't play well with others. He never has. That's why he lived alone on Dragonstone for so long, why he—" you stopped yourself before saying ate the other dragons, because that seemed impolitic in the moment. "Why he prefers solitude."
"All the more reason to socialize him now," Rhaenys countered. "Before we're in the middle of a battle and he decides another dragon looks appetizing."
A few uncomfortable chuckles around the table. It wasn't really a joke, not one you found particularly funny.
"What about Vhagar?" you asked, grasping for any argument. "She's larger, older. Is Aemond expected to fly formation drills with her?"
"Vhagar is already battle-tested," Rhaenys replied. "She fought in Aegon's Conquest, in the wars since. She knows what's expected. Cannibal has only ever known hunting sheep and being left alone."
It stung because it was true. For all his size and power, Cannibal had never been to war. Had never been asked to do anything more demanding than fly when you called and let you sit astride him while he soared through the clouds.
"What does Her Grace think?" you asked, turning to Rhaenyra. Let the Queen make this decision, let it not be your choice to potentially damage the one pure thing in your life.
Rhaenyra studied you for a long moment, her expression deep in thought. "I think Rhaenys makes valid points. But I also trust your judgment when it comes to your dragon. If you truly believe this would be harmful rather than helpful, I'll take that into consideration."
It was a careful, political answer. She was giving you an out, but also making it clear that refusing would require solid justification, not just childish objection.
"I'll think about it," you said finally. "Perhaps we could start small. Test his tolerance before committing to full formation drills."
"A reasonable compromise," Rhaenys agreed, though she didn't look entirely satisfied. "We'll begin in a week's time. Simple exercises first."
The knot in your stomach tightened, but you nodded anyway.
"What about Vermax?" Daemon asked, his gaze sliding to Jacaerys with lazy interest. "The heir's dragon should certainly be included in this training."
"Vermax and I train regularly," Jace said, and there was the slightest edge of defensiveness in his tone.
"In the training yard, yes," Rhaenys replied. "But have you ever taken him into simulated combat? Flown him through fire and smoke? Tested his response time when startled?"
Jace's jaw tightened. "No."
"Then you'll join us as well," Rhaenys said, brooking no argument. "All dragonriders of fighting age. Baela, Rhaena, Aegon if we can pry him away from his cups long enough."
"Then it's settled," Rhaenyra said, her tone making it clear the discussion was closed. "Rhaenys will oversee the training regimen. All dragonriders are expected to participate." Her eyes found yours. "Including you, niece. I know Cannibal prefers his solitude, but this is necessary."
You bit back a dozen more arguments and simply nodded. "As you command, Your Grace."
The meeting dragged on for another hour, more reports, more discussions, more decisions that needed to be made. Through it all, you were acutely aware of Jacaerys sitting across from you. The way he listened intently when others spoke. The way his fingers drummed absently against the table when he was thinking. The way he looked so effortlessly princely while you sat there trying not to remember the sound of his voice, rough with pleasure, commanding Cassandra to come for him.
Finally, finally, Rhaenyra called an end to it. "Same time in three days. Try not to let anything catch fire before then."
You stood quickly, eager to escape before—
"Walk with me?" Rhaenys said, appearing at your elbow.
Of course because the gods clearly thought you hadn't suffered enough today. You fell into step beside her, following her out of the council chamber and down a side corridor. She said nothing for a long moment, just walked with that regal bearing she'd never lost, even after being passed over for the throne.
"You seem troubled," she finally said.
"I don't think Cannibal will take well to this training. I'm worried it will damage our bond."
Rhaenys studied you for a long moment, clearly unconvinced that was the whole truth. "He'll adjust. The bond between you is strong enough to weather some discomfort."
"It's not just discomfort. He's not like the other dragons. He's—"
"Wild. Yes, I know. But wildness can be channeled, shaped, without breaking it entirely." She squeezed your shoulder gently. "Trust me, and more importantly, trust him. Trust that your bond is stronger than a few training exercises. He did choose you, at the end of the day."
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.
"Now," Rhaenys said, her tone shifting to something lighter, "I believe Helaena was looking for you earlier. Something about her insects?"
Right. Helaena. Safe, sweet Helaena who wouldn't ask probing questions about why you looked like you hadn't slept properly in days.
"Thank you," you said quietly. "For everything, Aunt."
Rhaenys smiled, though there was something sad in it. "Go. Spend time with your cousin. The gods know there are precious few people in this world who'll love us without wanting something in return."
You found Helaena in her chambers, which were somehow both cluttered and organized in a way only she could manage. Jars and terrariums covered every surface, each containing some specimen or another, there were butterflies, beetles, spiders, things you couldn't even name. It was entirely Helaena.
"You came," Helaena said, looking up from where she was carefully transferring a large iridescent beetle from one container to another. Her silver-gold hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore a simple gown of pale green that brought out the unusual color of her eyes. "I wasn't sure you would."
"Of course I came." You settled onto the cushioned bench beside her workspace, careful not to disturb anything. The layers of your pink gown pooled around you like flower petals. "What have you found, dear cousin?"
Helaena's face lit up in that rare, genuine smile she reserved for the things she truly loved. "A stag beetle. Look at his mandibles, aren't they magnificent?"
You looked. The beetle was indeed impressive, its horn-like mandibles nearly as long as its body, gleaming black with hints of deep purple when the light hit them right. "Beautiful," you agreed, and meant it.
For the next hour, Helaena showed you her collection, explaining in her soft, sometimes disjointed way about each specimen's habits and characteristics. You listened, grateful for the distraction, for the simplicity of her enthusiasm. Here, there were no council meetings or dragon training or inappropriate thoughts about cousins.
"Lord Cregan Stark sent me a letter," Helaena said suddenly, interrupting her own explanation about moth wing patterns.
You blinked. "Did he?"
"Yes. He's coming to court for the feasts. The ones for Jace." She was studying a moth wing with intense focus, not meeting your eyes. "He asked if he might call on me. To discuss insects."
Something in her tone made you pause. "Ah, I see, insects."
"He's interested in the wildlife of the North. The creatures that survive the cold. The ice spiders." Helaena finally looked up, and there was something almost vulnerable in her green eyes. "Do you think that's really why he wants to call on me?"
Oh. Oh.
Cregan Stark was young, newly Lord of Winterfell after his father's passing two years past. By all accounts he was honorable, strong, kind, everything a northern lord should be. And if he was expressing interest in Helaena...
"I think," you said carefully, "that Lord Cregan would be very fortunate if you agreed to speak with him. About insects or anything else, dear cousin."
Helaena's cheeks flushed pink. "He's very kind in his letters. Patient and he doesn't mind when I ramble about things most people find boring. He even sent me a preserved ice spider specimen from beyond the Wall. Said he thought I might like to study it."
Your heart softened. A man who would hunt down rare specimens for Helaena's collection was a man worth considering. "That's incredibly thoughtful, Hel."
"Mother says I should consider marriage eventually. That I can't hide in my chambers with my insects forever." Helaena's voice was quiet, tinged with something like resignation. "But most lords look at me like I'm mad. Like I'm something to be pitied or fixed."
"Then they're fools," you said firmly. "You're brilliant, Helaena. Anyone with half a brain can see that."
"Lord Cregan doesn't look at me like that. At least, not in his letters." She turned back to her moths, a small smile playing at her lips. "He asks questions. Real questions about my observations and theories. He doesn't just humor me."
"Will you see him when he arrives?"
"I... I believe I might." She looked back down at her specimens, fingers gentle as she adjusted a butterfly's position in its case. "It's strange. I never thought—I mean, I never imagined someone might actually want to court me. Not really."
"You're a princess of the blood," you pointed out. "Half the lords in Westeros would trip over themselves for the chance."
"They'd trip over themselves for the crown and the alliance," Helaena corrected softly. "Not for me. But Lord Cregan, he talks to me like I'm a person. Not a prize to be won or a madwoman to be managed."
You reached over and squeezed her hand. "Then I hope he lives up to his letters. And if he doesn't, I'll feed him to Cannibal."
Helaena laughed, a rare, bright sound that made you smile despite everything. "The wolf meets the spider in the dark. The spider weaves while the wolf watches. But which one catches which?"
Another one of her strange pronouncements. You'd long since given up trying to decipher them.
"What about you?" Helaena asked, suddenly aware of her surroundings again. "Will you dance with any lords at the feasts?"
Your stomach dropped. You'd almost managed to forget about the upcoming feasts, the parade of eligible ladies who would be throwing themselves at Jacaerys while you watched from the sidelines.
"I doubt it," you said lightly. "You know I prefer the edges of the room to the center of attention."
"The spider watches from the corner," Helaena murmured again, and something in her tone made you look up sharply. "But the spider doesn't know it's caught in a web of its own making."
Helaena suddenly moved on, returning her attention to her beetles, humming softly to herself. Leaving you to wonder if she'd just made an innocent observation or if she somehow knew exactly what you'd been doing in the dark corners of your chambers.
You stayed with Helaena until the sun began to set, letting her soft voice and gentle presence soothe the jagged edges of your thoughts. Here, at least, things made sense. Here, you could almost forget the madness consuming you.
Almost.
When you finally took your leave, pressing a kiss to the top of her silver head, she caught your hand.
"Be careful," she said quietly. "Webs are sticky things. Hard to escape once you're caught."
You had no answer for that. The walk back to your chambers was quiet, most of the castle beginning to prepare for the evening meal. When you reached your door, you found your ladies already waiting.
"We've prepared a bath, my lady," Lysa said with a smile. "Thought you might want to wash before supper."
Gods, yes. Perhaps hot water and lavender oil could wash away the tension coiled tight in your shoulders, the restless energy that had plagued you all day.
"Thank you," you said, letting them usher you inside.
The tub had been set up near the fire, steam rising from the water in lazy curls. Your ladies helped you out of the elaborate pink gown, unlacing the bodice and lifting the layers of silk away until you stood in just your shift. Then that too was removed, and you stepped into the blessed heat of the bath with a sigh.
"We'll be just outside if you need anything, my lady," Maryse said. "Call when you're ready to dress for supper."
You nodded, already sinking deeper into the water, letting it cover you up to your shoulders. The heat seeped into your muscles, and for the first time all day, you felt some of the tension begin to ease.
You closed your eyes, breathing in the scent of lavender, trying to empty your mind of everything, council meetings, dragon training, Helaena's cryptic warnings, and most especially the memory of brown eyes and dark hair and hands that knew exactly how to make a woman fall apart.
Stop, you told yourself firmly. Just stop.
For a few blessed minutes, you succeeded. The water, the warmth, the quiet—it was almost peaceful.
Then something moved at the edge of your vision. You opened your eyes and looked toward the rim of the tub. A spider. But not just any spider, this thing was massive, easily the size of your palm, with thick hairy legs and a body that seemed to pulse as it crept along the wooden edge of the tub. Moving toward you.
The scream tore from your throat before you could stop it, pure, primal terror that echoed off the stone walls.
You shot to your feet, water sloshing over the sides of the tub, your whole body shaking as you tried to scramble away from the creature. But the tub was slippery, your feet finding no purchase, and you nearly fell before catching yourself on the edge.
"My lady!" You heard Lysa's voice, muffled through the door, and then—
The door burst open, but it wasn't your ladies who came through first.
It was Jacaerys. He must have been passing in the corridor, must have heard your scream and thought, what? That you were being murdered? Attacked? He rushed in with his hand on his sword hilt, eyes wild, clearly ready to face down whatever threat had made you scream like that.
And then he froze. Because you were standing there, in the middle of the tub, completely and utterly naked. Water streaming down your body, your silver hair plastered to your back and shoulders, every inch of you exposed in the firelight.
For one endless, horrifying moment, neither of you moved.
His eyes went wide, his mouth falling open slightly as his gaze traveled down and then snapped back up to your face. You could see the exact moment his brain caught up with what he was seeing, the way his cheeks flushed, the way his throat worked as he swallowed.
"I—" he started, his voice rough. "I heard you scream, I thought—"
"SPIDER!" you shrieked, pointing at the creature that was still making its way around the rim of the tub, seemingly unconcerned with the chaos it had caused. "There's a massive fucking spider, Jace!"
Jace's gaze followed your pointing finger, and you watched him take in the admittedly impressive specimen currently terrorizing you.
"That's, yes, that's a spider," he said, somewhat stupidly.
"I KNOW IT'S A SPIDER!" you yelled, still frozen in place, acutely aware that you were naked and he was staring and your ladies were probably right behind him in the corridor and this was literally the worst thing that had ever happened to you.
Your ladies burst in then, Lysa and Maryse and Elaena, their faces panicked, clearly thinking you were dying. They took in the scene, you, naked in the tub. Jacaerys, standing there looking like he'd been struck by lightning. The spider, innocently crawling.
"My lady!" Lysa gasped, immediately grabbing a linen cloth and rushing forward to wrap it around you.
But the damage was done. Jacaerys had seen everything. Every curve, every inch of skin, every part of you that should have remained hidden beneath layers of silk and propriety.
Damn the Gods. Damn you, this is your punishment for being a pervert.
"I'll just—" Jace stammered, backing toward the door, his face now bright red. "I'll—the spider—sorry—I thought—"
He practically fled, the door slamming shut behind him. You stood there, wrapped in the linen cloth, shaking for entirely different reasons now.
"Oh gods," you breathed. "Oh gods, he saw me. He saw—"
"It's all right, my lady," Maryse said soothingly, though she looked rather scandalized herself. "It was an accident. He heard you scream and thought you were in danger."
"I AM in danger!" you gestured wildly at the spider, which had now made it halfway around the tub. "That thing is massive!"
"It's just a spider, my lady," Elaena said gently, moving toward it with a cloth. Within moments she'd captured it and was carrying it toward the window. "See? Harmless."
Harmless. Right. Unlike the memory now burned into both your and Jacaerys's minds of you standing bare-arsed naked in a bathtub while he stared at you like a man who'd forgotten how to breathe.
"We need to get you dressed," Lysa said firmly, already moving to pull out clothes. "Supper will be starting soon."
"I can't go to supper," you said, your voice rising. "I can't face him after—after he just saw me naked."
"You have to go to supper, my lady," Maryse said, not unkindly. "If you don't, everyone will wonder why. And rumors will start."
Worse rumors than "the princess screamed bloody murder over a spider and her cousin saw her naked"? You doubted it. But she was right. You had to go. Had to face him. Had to somehow sit through an entire meal pretending that nothing had happened while knowing that Jacaerys now knew exactly what you looked like without clothes. While knowing that you'd seen the look in his eyes—surprise, yes, but also something else. Something heated that had flashed across his face before embarrassment took over.
"Fuck," you muttered under your breath.
"Language, my lady," Lysa chided gently, but she was already helping you out of the tub.
This was going to be the longest supper of your entire life.
The great hall was already filled with lords and ladies when you arrived, late enough that most people were already seated. The musicians were playing something lively from the gallery, servants moved between tables with wine and platters of food, and the general hum of conversation and laughter filled the space.
You wanted to sink through the floor and disappear.
Somehow you made it to your seat at the high table without tripping over your own feet, a minor miracle considering how unsteady you felt. You'd been dressed in a gown of deep purple silk, your ladies working quickly to make you presentable. Your hair was still slightly damp at the ends, but they'd managed to braid it back in a way that hid the worst of it.
Baela was already seated beside you, laughing at something Rhaena had said. On your other side, Helaena was staring at her plate with that distant expression she sometimes got. And across the table Jacaerys sat beside Lady Cassandra Baratheon.
He was leaning toward her, saying something that made her laugh, that refined, ladylike laugh you'd heard through the stone wall. His hand rested on the table close to hers, not quite touching but near enough to be intimate. He looked perfectly composed, perfectly at ease, like he hadn't just seen his cousin naked less than an hour ago.
You grabbed your wine cup and drank deeply.
"You have no idea," you muttered into your cup.
The meal began, course after course of roasted meats and honeyed vegetables and fresh bread. You pushed food around your plate, barely tasting anything, hyperaware of every movement Jace made across the table. The way he smiled at Cassandra. The way she touched his arm when she spoke. The easy familiarity between them that spoke of more than one night together.
"All right, what's wrong?" Baela asked finally, setting down her fork and turning to face you properly. "You've been sulking since you sat down. Did something happen at council?"
"No," you said quickly. Too quickly.
Baela's eyes narrowed. "Then what?"
You glanced around, making sure no one else was listening. Then you leaned closer and whispered, "Jace saw me naked."
For a moment, Baela just stared at you. Then she burst out laughing—loud enough that several people turned to look.
"Shut up, this is not funny!" you hissed, your face burning with shame.
"It's a little funny," Baela managed between gasps. "How in the seven hells did that happen?"
You covered your face with your hands, mortified beyond measure. "There was a spider. A huge one. He was in my bath and then I screamed and he must have been in the corridor and he came running in thinking I was being murdered or something and I was just—standing there—completely bare-arsed—hh"
Baela was practically crying with laughter now, her hand pressed to her stomach. "A spider," she wheezed. "You're telling me the mighty dragonrider who claimed Cannibal, who sits on the small council, screamed loud enough to bring the heir running because of a spider?"
"It was a very large spider," you said defensively, though your own lips were twitching despite your mortification.
“And, so, he saw everything?" Her voice went low and suggestive, bringing a finger to her mouth and biting the tip of it as her lips curved into a smirk.
"Everything," you confirmed miserably. "Full frontal view. Nothing left to imagination."
"Oh gods," Baela wiped at her eyes. "And what did he do?"
"Stood there like a fish for about three seconds, went bright red, stammered something about the spider, and then fled like the castle was on fire."
"That's amazing," Baela said, still grinning. "That's the best thing I've heard all week."
"I'm glad my humiliation amuses you," you said sourly, but you couldn't quite hold onto your irritation. It was sort of funny, in a horrifying, want-to-die sort of way.
"Look at the bright side," Baela said, taking a sip of her wine. "Now you know he's definitely seen you naked. That's more than most ladies can say about the heir before marriage."
You kicked her under the table.
"Ow! I'm just saying—"
"Well don't," you muttered, risking a glance across the table.
Jace was still deep in conversation with Cassandra, his attention completely focused on her. He hadn't looked your way once since you'd sat down. Was probably trying very hard not to look at you, considering what he'd seen.
Your stomach twisted, he'd seen you naked—completely, utterly exposed—and less than an hour later he was here, flirting with the woman he'd been fucking just the night before. Like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing. Which of course you didn't. You were his cousin, a political piece on the board, same as everyone else.
The fact that you'd watched him through a hole in the wall, that you'd brought yourself to come while imagining his hands on you instead of Cassandra—that was your problem. Your shame to carry, your degenerate shame.
"You're doing it again," Baela said quietly.
"Doing what?"
"Looking like you want to kill someone, dear cousin." She followed your gaze across the table. "Ah. Lady Cassandra."
"You know she's not the only one, right?"
You blinked. "What?"
"Jace." Baela kept her voice low, casual, as she cut into her meat. "He's got quite the appetite, from what I hear. Half the ladies at court have warmed his bed at some point or another."
Your stomach twisted even though you already knew this. Had seen it.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Baela shrugged, a wicked grin playing at her lips. "Just saying, if you ever wanted to... you know. Sample the goods before he's shackled to some boring highborn wife, now's your chance. He's not particularly discriminating."
You nearly choked on your wine. "Baela!"
"What? I'm just saying.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm told he's very talented, Lady Cassandra certainly seems satisfied."
"I am not having this conversation with you," you hissed, your face burning.
"Your loss." Baela sat back with a laugh. "Though honestly, I don't blame you for looking. He's annoyingly pretty for someone with such common blood. Those brown eyes, that hair, he’s very brooding hero of a song, isn't he?"
"You're drunk, Baela."
"I'm tipsy," she corrected, "and you're deflecting."
"I'm not interested in Jace," you said firmly. "Not like that anyways."
It wasn't entirely a lie. You weren't interested in romancing with Jace. You didn't want his love or his devotion or whatever pretty words he whispered to the hoards of women in his bed. You just wanted, gods, you didn't even know what you wanted. To stop thinking about him, probably, most likely. And certainly to stop seeing his fucking gorgeous face every time you closed your eyes.
"Whatever you say," Baela said breezily, clearly not believing you but willing to drop it. "I'm just saying, the man's going to be married off soon. If you wanted a taste, the window's closing."
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. "You're impossible."
The conversation moved on, Rhaena leaned over to tell you both about some drama involving a lady-in-waiting and a stableboy, and you forced yourself to laugh, despite your gaze kept drifting across the table.
You didn't look through the hole that night.
It took every ounce of willpower you possessed, but you left that carved screen exactly where it was and climbed into bed fully clothed, too exhausted to even call your ladies back to help you undress properly. Sleep came fitfully, plagued by dreams of brown eyes and smirks and the memory of standing naked in a bathtub while your cousin stared.
When you woke, sunlight was streaming through your windows and someone was pounding on your door.
"My lady!" Lysa's voice, urgent and harried. "You need to wake! The lords are arriving and you're expected in the courtyard within the hour!"
Right. The festivities. The celebration of Jacaerys coming of age, of finding him a suitable bride. A full day of feasting and tournaments and watching eligible ladies parade themselves in front of the heir to the throne. Wonderful, just wonderful. Despite yourself, you managed to drag yourself out of bed and let your ladies descend upon you like a flock of determined birds. They stripped away yesterday's rumpled gown, scrubbed you with rose-scented soap, and set about the elaborate process of making you presentable as they did every morning.
The gown they'd chosen was magnificent, it was a midnight blue silk that seemed to shimmer between black and deepest sapphire depending on how the light hit it. But you shook your head.
"No. The white one with the gold and red."
Your ladies exchanged glances but didn't argue. They brought out the dress you'd requested, white as fresh snow, with gold embroidery that traced patterns of dragons and flames across the bodice and down the flowing sleeves. Red accents caught the light like drops of blood, rubies sewn into the neckline and waist. The skirts were layers upon layers of silk and gossamer that moved like water, the train long enough to pool behind you like a bride.
It was a statement, really, like Alicent’s green gowns. A reminder of who you were, a Targaryen, a dragon rider, not someone to be overlooked even as every other woman at court tried to catch the heir's eye. Your hair was left mostly down, falling in silver waves to your calves, with elaborate braids woven through and secured with gold and ruby pins shaped like dragon claws. By the time they finished, you looked like something out of a song.
You barely heard the compliments ringing from your ladies tongues. You were already moving toward the door, trying to steel yourself for whatever fresh hell today would bring.
The courtyard was flooded when you arrived. Banners from a dozen different houses snapped in the morning breeze, there was Stark, Tully, Arryn, Lannister, more. Lords and their retinues filing in through the gates, their daughters dressed in their finest, all of them here for the same purpose.
To win the favor of the Crown Prince.
You spotted Cregan Stark immediately—he was hard to miss, tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair and grey eyes that seemed to take in everything. He was a gorgeous man, and currently he was speaking with Rhaenyra, his manner respectful but not obsequious. A good sign, if Helaena was genuinely considering him. But it wasn't Cregan who made you pause. It was the way every male head in the courtyard seemed to turn as you descended the steps.
Lords, knights, visiting dignitaries, they all looked. Some with open admiration, others with more subtle interest, but they looked. You were used to attention, had grown up beautiful and aware of it, but this felt different. Or perhaps you were just more aware of it now, after everything.
"Seven hells," you heard someone mutter—one of the Tully boys, you thought. "Is that—"
You kept your chin high and your expression serene as you made your way through the crowd. Lords bowed as you passed, their sons stared, and you pretended not to notice any of it. Rhaenyra stood on the dais with Daemon beside her, already holding court. Jacaerys was there too, looking infuriatingly well-rested in black and red, his attention on whatever Lord Corlys was saying to him.
"Cousin," Aegon appeared at your elbow. "You're causing quite the stir. I think Lord Tyrell's son just walked into a pillar because he was too busy staring at you."
"Good," you said flatly.
Aegon laughed. "That's the spirit. Make them all suffer, my dear cousin. "
"Come," Aegon said, tugging at your elbow. "We're expected to stand there and look pretty while Father's old bannermen parade their daughters like prize mares. Should be entertaining enough."
You let him guide you to where the rest of the family was gathering. Rhaenyra sat in the place of honor with Daemon beside her, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Helaena was tucked between Baela and Rhaena, already looking overwhelmed by the crowd. And Jacaerys stood at the center of it all, the sun around which this entire day revolved.
"How many do you think there are?" Aegon asked, settling in beside you with his cup. "I'm counting at least fifteen eligible ladies, and those are just the ones I can see from here."
"Shouldn't you be paying attention?" you asked. "You're supposed to be looking for a wife too."
"Gods, don't remind me." He took a long drink. "Mother's been at me for months about it. Apparently being six and twenty and unmarried is some sort of tragedy."
"Is it not?"
"It's called having standards," Aegon replied airily. "Low ones, admittedly, but standards nonetheless."
Rhaenyra stood, and the courtyard quieted. "Lords and ladies," she began, her voice carrying across the space. "We are honored by your presence here today as we celebrate my son and heir, Prince Jacaerys, and his coming of age. Many of you have traveled far to be here, and we welcome you all to King's Landing."
Polite applause. Jace smiled that princely smile, gracious and warm.
"Today marks the beginning of festivities that will last the fortnight," Rhaenyra continued. "Tournaments, feasts, and celebrations in honor of the Crown Prince. And perhaps, by the end, we will have even more to celebrate."
Meaning a betrothal.
"But first," Rhaenyra gestured to where several young ladies stood with their fathers, all of them dressed in their finest, "we have been honored by requests from several noble houses to present their daughters to the Prince. We welcome them now."
"Here we go," Aegon muttered. "The parade of the desperate."
"Aegon," you hissed.
"What? I'm not wrong."
The first girl stepped forward, a Lannister, judging by her crimson gown and golden hair. She was beautiful in that polished, perfect way. You’re certain her Father, and all the other lords of Casterly Rock told her she was destined for greatness. She curtsied deeply before Jace, her father presenting her with all the pomp and circumstance House Lannister could muster.
"Lady Cerelle Lannister," the herald announced. "Daughter of Lord Jason Lannister of Casterly Rock."
Jace took her hand and kissed it, saying something that made her blush and smile. You watched him be charming, watched him perform the role of interested suitor with practiced ease.
"She's pretty," Aegon observed. "Bit too much like looking in a mirror for my taste, all that gold hair and self-rightesnous."
"She seems nice enough."
"Nice and boring are often companions," Aegon replied. "Trust me, I know from experience."
The next girl was from House Tyrell, tall and willowy with dark curls and a nervous smile. Then a Tully girl with auburn hair and freckles. Then another, and another. Each one more beautiful than the last, each one curtsying and smiling and trying desperately to be memorable.
"This is torture," Aegon said after the sixth introduction. "How is Jace keeping that smile on his face? I'd have run screaming by now."
"It's called duty, you idiot."
"It's called martyrdom." He drained his cup and gestured for a servant to refill it. "You know what the problem is? They're all the same. Pretty, accomplished, perfectly trained to be queens. Where's the personality? The fire?"
"You want fire, marry a dragon rider," you said absently, watching as yet another lady—this one from the Stormlands—was presented to Jace.
"Excellent idea. Marry me."
You turned to look at him, startled. "What?"
"Marry me," Aegon repeated, gesturing expansively with his cup. "You're a dragon rider, you're beautiful, you already know all my worst qualities so there'd be no nasty surprises. We could get drunk together and ignore all our duties. It'd be perfect."
"You're not serious."
"I'm never serious. But the offer stands." He took another drink. "If all else fails, if the realm goes to shit and we're all desperate—you and me. We could do much worse."
You studied him for a moment. Aegon was handsome, you could admit that. Pretty in the way Targaryens often were, with his silver hair and sharp features. The drinking was a problem, and the complete lack of ambition, but he was kind in his way. Honest, at least, which was more than most lords could claim.
"If all goes to hell," you said slowly, "and we're both desperate and alone. I suppose I could do worse than you."
"High praise," Aegon said with a grin. "I'm touched. Truly."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late. I'm already planning our wedding. We'll serve nothing but wine, scandalize the Faith, and let our dragons eat anyone who complains."
Despite everything, you laughed. It felt good, like releasing some of the pressure that had been building in your chest since yesterday. Then, another lady was presented, a Manderly girl from White Harbor, plump and pink-cheeked and clearly terrified. Jace was gentle with her, you noticed. He was patient and kind.
"He's good at this," you said quietly.
"He's had practice," Aegon replied, and there was something almost bitter in his tone. "Perfect Jace. Perfect heir. Does everything right, fucks everything that moves, and somehow still manages to look like a hero from a song."
"Jealous?"
"Absoloutely." Aegon studied his cousin across the courtyard. "I love Jace, don't get me wrong. But he's playing a game he doesn't even realize he's in. All these ladies throwing themselves at him, and he thinks it's because he's charming. Because they like him."
"That's not why?"
"They like his crown," Aegon said flatly. "They like the idea of being queen. Jace himself? He's just the pretty vessel holding the thing they actually want."
You said nothing, watching as Jace smiled at the Manderly girl, made her laugh despite her nervousness. Was Aegon right? Did all these women only want the crown? Did you? No. You wanted—gods, you didn't even know what you wanted. But it wasn't his crown. It was him. The way he moved, the way he sounded, the way he looked when he was lost in pleasure. That had nothing to do with thrones or politics.
Which somehow made it worse.
"Lady Floris Baratheon," the herald announced, and your attention snapped back to the courtyard.
Another Baratheon girl, younger than Cassandra but with the same dark hair and sharp features. She curtsied beautifully, and Jace took her hand with the same courteous attention he'd given all the others.
"How many fucking Baratheon daughters are there?" Aegon muttered. "Lord Borros must spend half his time just keeping track of them all."
"Four, I think."
"Four. And they're all here trying to land the heir. Ambitious bastard, isn't he?"
You watched Floris smile up at Jace, watched him be charming and attentive. Was Cassandra here somewhere, watching this? Did she care that the man who'd been in her bed two nights ago was now entertaining her younger sister?
Did Jace care?
"This is going to be a very long fortnight," you said.
"Agreed." Aegon raised his cup in a mock toast. "To surviving it with our dignity intact."
"I'll drink to that."
He grinned and passed you his cup. You took it and drank deeply, letting the wine burn down your throat. It was going to be a very, very long fortnight indeed.
Several torturous hours later, you and Aegon were both well into your cups and had devolved into something resembling badly behaved children.
"I'm sorry," Aegon wheezed, barely containing his laughter, "but did that last one actually curtsy to his horse first before approaching Jace?"
"She did," you confirmed, your own shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles. "She absolutely did. I saw it, cousin."
"Maybe she thought the horse was the heir. Can't blame her—Vermax has better hair than Jace does."
You snorted wine through your nose, which only made Aegon laugh harder.
"You two are being disgraceful," Baela hissed from your other side, though her lips were twitching. "Show some decorum."
"Decorum is for people who aren't dying of boredom," Aegon replied, reaching for another cup from a passing servant. "We're performing a public service, really. Someone has to make this bearable."
"By getting drunk before noon?"
"Exactly. See? She understands."
You were about to respond when movement at the courtyard entrance caught your eye. Another arrival, late enough that most of the formal presentations had concluded. But this wasn't some minor lord with a daughter to parade. This was someone who commanded attention simply by existing.
He was tall—taller even than Cregan Stark—with broad shoulders and the kind of build that came from actually using a sword rather than just wearing one for decoration. Dark hair, though not as dark as Jace's, fell to his shoulders in waves that somehow looked artfully disheveled rather than unkempt. And his face—
"Oh no," Aegon said, following your gaze. "Oh, that's not fair."
"Who is that?" you asked, unable to look away.
"Trouble," Aegon replied. "That's Lord Dalton Greyjoy. The Red Kraken himself."
The Red Kraken. You'd heard stories, of course. The young Lord of the Iron Islands, who'd claimed his seat at six and ten after his father's death and had spent the years since becoming a legend. A reaver, a warrior, and by all accounts, devastatingly effective at both. He was dressed simply compared to the other lords—dark leather and salt-stained cloth rather than silk and velvet—but he wore it like armor. Like he had nothing to prove. Salt-and-pepper scruff covered his jaw, and when he smiled at something Daemon said, you caught a glimpse of white teeth.
"He's supposed to be in the Iron Islands," Aegon muttered. "What's he doing here?"
"The same thing everyone else is doing here," Baela said dryly. "Paying homage to the Crown Prince."
But Dalton Greyjoy wasn't looking at Jacaerys.
He was looking at you. His eyes—grey-green like storm-tossed seas—found yours across the crowded courtyard, and he didn't look away. Didn't pretend he hadn't been staring. Just held your gaze with the kind of bold confidence that should have been offensive but somehow wasn't.
Then he smiled. Slow and deliberate and knowing, like you'd shared some private joke.
"Oh, dear cousin, he's definitely trouble," Aegon said. "Look at him. Looking at you like—well, like Jace looks at literally every woman who crosses his path."
"Shut up," you muttered, but you didn't look away from Dalton.
"The Red Kraken," Baela mused. "Now that's interesting. He doesn't usually come to court. Prefers his islands and his ships from what I hear."
"And his salt wives," Aegon added. "Rumor has it he's got three. Or is it four now? I lose count."
"Salt wives aren't real wives," you said absently, still holding Dalton's gaze.
"Try telling him that."
Dalton was moving through the crowd now, making his way toward the dais where Rhaenyra sat. Lords parted for him—whether out of respect or wariness, you couldn't tell. Maybe both. There was something dangerous about him, something wild that expensive clothes and courtly manners couldn't quite hide. He knelt before Rhaenyra with surprising grace for someone so large. You couldn't hear what he said, but whatever it was made Daemon laugh, actually laugh, which was rare enough to be noteworthy.
Then Dalton stood, turned, and those storm-grey eyes found yours again. And the huge bastard, well, he started walking toward you.
"Oh shit," Aegon said gleefully. "Oh this is going to be good."
"If you say one embarrassing thing—" you started.
"Would I do that?"
"Yes. Regularly, you arse."
Dalton Greyjoy stopped in front of you, and up close he was even more imposing. Taller, broader, with the kind of presence that made the air feel heavier.
"My lady," he said, and his voice was rough, like he'd spent too many years shouting orders over storm winds. "Lord Dalton Greyjoy, at your service."
He didn't kneel. Didn't bow. Just stood there looking at you like you were the only person in the entire courtyard.
"Lord Greyjoy," you managed, trying to remember how to be polite while several cups of wine deep. "Welcome to King's Landing."
"Is it?" He glanced around at the crowd, at the elaborate decorations, at the general excess of it all. "Seems like a lot of trouble for a party."
"It's a celebration, my lord," you corrected.
"Of the Crown Prince coming of age. Yes, I heard." His lips quirked. "Eight and ten years to grow up. We do it much faster in the Iron Islands."
"Everything's faster in the Iron Islands," Aegon interjected cheerfully. "Living, dying, marrying your cousin, certainly fucking your cousin."
"Aegon," you hissed.
But Dalton just laughed. "Your cousin speaks truth, if not tact. We're a practical people."
"Practical," Aegon repeated. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Among other things." Dalton's attention returned to you, and the intensity of it made your breath catch. "I've heard stories about you, Princess. The girl who claimed Cannibal."
"They're just stories."
"Are they?" He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "I heard you walked up to him and asked him nicely. That he bowed his head and let you climb on his back like a trained horse."
"More or less," you admitted.
"Terrifying or impressive. I haven't decided which, my lady."
"Can't it be both?"
That smile again, sharp and interested, like a predator seeking its prey. "I suppose it can. I like that."
There was something in the way he looked at you—direct and unashamed—that felt different from the courtiers with their careful glances and veiled intentions. Dalton Greyjoy looked at you like he knew exactly what he wanted and saw no reason to pretend otherwise.
"Are you here for the tournaments, my lord?" you asked, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground.
"Among other things." He straightened, hands clasped behind his back in a posture that should have looked casual but somehow seemed coiled, ready. "I'm here to see what all the fuss is about. The perfect prince, the eligible ladies, the great game of marriage and alliance." His eyes glinted. "And to see if the Dragon Princess lives up to her reputation."
"And does she?"
"I'll let you know," he said, and it sounded like a promise. "May I have the honor of your company at the feast tonight, my lady?"
Before you could answer, Aegon cut in. "She'd be delighted. Wouldn't you, cousin?"
You shot him a look that promised murder, but Dalton was already bowing, actually bowing this time, though it looked faintly mocking. "Until tonight, then."
He walked away, and you could feel his absence like a physical weight. You were certainly going to kill Aegon, kill him and feed him to Cannibal.
"Well," Aegon said into the silence. "That was something."
"I hate you."
"No you don't. I just got you a dinner companion who isn't boring. You should be thanking me."
You should probably be worried, you thought. Dalton Greyjoy had a reputation that made even Daemon look respectable by comparison. But, nonetheless, instead you felt intrigued.
Which was probably dangerous. Definitely dangerous. But after days of watching Jace parade around with other women, of feeling invisible and foolish and consumed by wanting something you couldn't have. Maybe dangerous was exactly what you needed.
The remainder of the day had been a blur of increasingly bold lords and their sons trying to catch your attention. You'd smiled politely through it all, deflected propositions both subtle and explicit, and tried not to drink so much that you'd embarrass yourself at tonight's feast.
You'd failed at that last part.
The great hall had been transformed for the evening, there were now thousands of candles which casted everything in warm golden light, musicians played from the gallery, and long tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats and exotic fruits and wine from across the known world. The air smelled of smoke and spices and the musk of too many sweaty bodies pressed close together. You'd kept the white gown from earlier, the gold and red embroidery catching the candlelight as you moved. Your ladies had refreshed your hair, re-pinning the braids and adding fresh ruby clips, but otherwise you looked much the same as you had that morning.
Which apparently was more than enough, judging by the way heads turned as you entered. Dalton Greyjoy was already there, lounging at one of the lower tables with a cup in his hand and that same confidence he'd worn earlier. He saw you immediately—like he'd been watching the door—and stood.
"Princess," he said as you approached. "Come, sit. I've claimed the best seat in the hall."
"Have you?"
"Good view of the wine." He gestured to the seat beside him. "And now a better one."
You sat, aware of how he took up space without apology, all broad shoulders and long limbs sprawled in a way that suggested he'd never learned courtly posture and didn't particularly care to either. A servant poured wine, and Dalton took his cup, drinking deeply before setting it down with more force than necessary. "Seven hells, that's good. Better than the piss we brew on Pyke."
"I'm sure."
"You've never been to the Iron Islands." It wasn't a question.
"No."
"Good. It's a miserable place. Cold, wet, smells like dead fish and shit." He grinned. "But it's mine."
There was something about the way he said it, simple pride, no need to justify or explain. Just fact that sprung a buzz in your chest.
"You're far from home," you observed.
"Aye. Your aunt summoned, so I came." He reached for a piece of bread, tearing it apart with his hands. "Hadn't planned on it, but then I heard about the festivities. The Crown Prince coming of age, all the pretty ladies competing for him." His eyes slid to you as he brought the bread to his mouth, tongue darting out to catch a crumb at the corner of his lips. He raised an eyebrow. "Thought it might be entertaining."
"And is it?"
"Getting better." He popped the bread in his mouth, still watching you while he chewed. "Tell me something. That dragon of yours—Cannibal. Is it true he ate three dragons on Dragonstone before you claimed him?"
You reached for your wine. "Two that I know of for certain. Possibly three."
"Fuck me." But he sounded impressed rather than horrified. "And you just walked up to him?"
"More or less." You took a sip, watching him over the rim of your cup.
"You're either the bravest woman in the Seven Kingdoms or the maddest." He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he studied you."Probably both."
"Most people say it was foolish."
"Most people are cowards." He picked up his wine again, draining half the cup in one go. "I respect it. Taking what you want, consequences be damned. That's how you survive in this world."
The food kept coming—course after course. Servants appeared with platters of roasted duck, honeyed figs, spiced lamb. Dalton ate like a man who wasn't sure when his next meal would be, unbothered by the elaborate presentation. You picked at your own plate, more interested in the conversation than the food.
"You fight in the tournaments tomorrow?" you asked.
"Planning on it. Need to work off some of this." He gestured at the feast. "Can't spend all day drinking and eating without swinging a sword eventually. I'll go soft."
You doubted that. There was nothing soft about Dalton Greyjoy. You let your eyes drag over him, shoulders, arms, the way he took up space.
"Who do you think will win?" you asked. "The tourney, I mean."
"Not me," he said with a shrug. "I'm a better sailor than jouster. Give me a deck that's moving under my feet and I'm deadly. Put me on a horse in full plate and I'm just another idiot hoping not to fall off." He paused. "Your cousin, probably. The pretty one. Jacaerys."
Your jaw tightened slightly. "Jace is skilled."
"Aye, I've heard. Trained by the best, naturally." There was something in his tone—not quite mocking, but close. "Born with every advantage. Dragon, crown, looks that make ladies go weak. Must be nice."
"It has its challenges."
"I'm sure." He didn't sound particularly sympathetic. "Still. I'd take his challenges over mine any day."
A commotion near the high table drew your attention. Jace was standing, Lady Cassandra Baratheon beside him, her hand on his arm as they moved toward the dancing. You watched them go, watched her lean in to say something that made him smile, and your stomach dropped. Your hands curled into fists in your lap.
"There's a look I know," Dalton said quietly.
You turned back to find him studying you, those storm-grey eyes too sharp. He was leaning back in his chair now, one arm draped over the back of it, completely relaxed.
"What look?"
"The one that says you want to set something on fire but you're too well-bred to do it." He tilted his head, watching you like a hawk. "What's he done to earn that?"
"Nothing. I don't—"
"Right." He drained his cup in one swallow and stood, extending his hand across the table. "Come on then."
"Where?"
"To dance. You're sitting here stewing and it's making me uncomfortable." He wiggled his fingers impatiently.
"I'm not—"
"You are." He stepped closer, hand still out. "And if I have to watch you watch him dance with that Baratheon girl for one more second, I'm going to start breaking things." His fingers curled slightly, beckoning. "Dance with me, Princess. Give the court something else to gossip about."
You shouldn't. You really, truly shouldn't.
You took his hand.
He pulled you up—quick enough that you stumbled slightly—and steadied you with a hand at your elbow before leading you onto the floor. Other couples were already moving, swirling past in a blur of silk and jewels. His hand settled at your waist, lower than was strictly proper, fingers spread wide against your back and he pulled you into the rhythm without missing a beat.
He moved with surprising grace for someone who'd just claimed to be better on a ship than a dance floor.
"You lied," you said, looking up at him. "You're good at this."
"I said I'm better on a ship. Didn't say I was shit at dancing." He spun you, sudden enough that you stumbled into his chest. His hand tightened on your waist, steadying you. "My mother made sure all her sons could dance. Said it was the one civilized thing we'd learn."
"Was she right?"
"Aye. Rest of it's all fighting and fucking and sailing." He said it casually, leading you back into the steps. "Not much call for poetry and courtly manners on Pyke."
You shouldn't have laughed, but you did, it was sharp and genuine, the sound surprising you. Something about his bluntness cut through all the careful political bullshit you'd been drowning in for days.
"That scandalize you?" he asked, grinning down at you. His teeth were very white against his tanned skin.
"No."
"Good. I'd hate to waste time pretending to be something I'm not." His thumb pressed against your waist, and you felt it through the silk. "Life's too fucking short for that."
The music swelled around you, violins rising. He pulled you closer, definitely too close now, close enough that you could feel the heat of him through your dress, definitely crossing into improper territory. But you didn't pull away. Just let him guide you through the steps, let yourself focus on the pressure of his hand, the solid weight of his shoulder under your palm. Anything other than Jace and Cassandra somewhere else on this floor.
"Better?" Dalton asked, voice low enough that only you could hear it over the music.
"What?"
"You stopped looking like you wanted to commit murder.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I'm taking that as progress."
"I never—"
"You did." He spun you again, pulled you back in. The smile on his face had an edge to it now. "Whatever he did, whoever he is, he's not worth it, Princess."
You wanted to argue. Wanted to defend something you couldn't even name, couldn't admit to yourself. But Dalton's hand was warm and steady against your waist, his grey eyes fixed on yours like you were the only person in the room, and for just a moment, just this one dance, you let yourself pretend. That you weren't obsessed with your cousin. That you hadn't spent the last three nights watching him fuck other women through a crack in the wall. That you were just a woman dancing with a man who looked at her like she mattered.
The song ended far too soon.
Dalton stepped back, but his hand stayed at your waist, lingering, his fingers flexing once against your ribs before he let go. "Thank you for the dance, Princess."
"Thank you for asking." Your skin felt cold where his hand had been.
"I'll be fighting tomorrow. In the melee, not the joust, I told you, I'm shit on horseback." That grin again, cocky and so sure of himself. "Come watch me get my ass kicked by men in fancy armor."
"I might."
"You will." He said it like it was already decided, so much so, that you almost believed him. Then he bowed, properly this time, deep and formal, and walked away, disappearing back into the crowd.
You stood there for a moment, heart still racing from the dance, or maybe from the way Dalton had looked at you, all that damned confidence and heat and completely unbothered by the surrounding propriety. Your skin still tingled where his hand had been, that deliberate pressure at your waist.
He was handsome. You could admit that, at least to yourself. Rough around the edges in a way that was completely unlike the polished princes and lords you'd grown up around. Dangerous-looking. The kind of man your mother would warn you about. The kind you apparently couldn't stop thinking about for entirely different reasons than you should.
You pressed your fingers to your waist briefly, then dropped your hand. This was stupid. You were being stupid about two different men now, which seemed like an achievement in poor judgment.
When you finally turned to head back to your seat, you found Aegon waiting, leaning against a pillar with that knowing smirk plastered across his face.
"Well," he drawled, pushing off the pillar to stand beside you. "That was something."
"It was a dance."
"That wasn't just a dance." Aegon took a long drink from his cup, eyes gleaming with amusement. "That was him fucking you with your clothes on."
Heat flooded your face. "You're drunk."
"I'm always drunk. Doesn't make me wrong." He gestured with his cup, sloshing wine dangerously close to the rim, toward where Dalton had disappeared into the crowd. "Be careful with that one. He's not like these simpering southern lords. He takes what he wants."
"I'm not."
"I know. I'm just saying." Aegon leaned in closer, lowering his voice even though no one was near enough to hear. "The Red Kraken's got a reputation, and certainly not the fun kind like mine."
You looked back toward where Jace was still dancing with Cassandra, her head thrown back laughing at something he'd said.
"Maybe I need a reputation," you muttered.
Aegon raised his cup. "Now that's the spirit."
"Come on," Aegon said, tugging at your sleeve like a child. "Let's get out of here before someone tries to make us be social again."
"Where are we going?"
"Does it matter?" He was already pulling you toward the edge of the hall.
It didn't, not really. The hall was too hot, too crowded, the air thick with wine and perfume and the cloying smell of too many bodies pressed together. Too many people pretending to be things they weren't. You let Aegon pull you through a side door, the sudden quiet of the corridor making your ears ring.
Down one hallway, then another. Your footsteps echoed off stone. Up a winding staircase, too narrow and steep, the kind that hadn't been used in years. You recognized it dimly as leading to one of the old watchtowers, the ones that overlooked the bay.
"Aegon, we're going to break our necks," you said as he stumbled on a step, catching himself against the wall.
"Good." He kept climbing. "Better than dying of boredom down there."
The tower room at the top was small and forgotten. Dust motes floated in the moonlight streaming through narrow windows. There were a few old weapons which hung on the walls, all rusted, decorative, and completely useless. The windows looked out over King's Landing, the city spread below like a carpet of flickering lights.
The sounds of the feast were distant here, muffled by layers of stone and height. You could barely hear the music anymore. Just the wind, and the sound of your own breathing still coming fast from the climb.
Aegon collapsed onto a bench beneath one of the windows, wine cup still in hand, sprawling back against the stone. You leaned against the opposite wall, pressing your shoulders into the cool stone. The breeze coming through the window felt good against your flushed skin, cutting through the wine-warm haze in your head.
"This is better," Aegon declared, gesturing broadly with his cup. "Much better. No one up here but us and the ghosts."
"Are there ghosts?"
"Probably." He took another drink, throat working. "Old tower like this? Someone definitely died here. Hopefully doing something more interesting than attending a feast."
You laughed, the sound strange and too loud in the small space, bouncing off stone. Your head was spinning pleasantly, everything soft and blurred at the edges. The wine had settled warm in your stomach, making your limbs feel loose and heavy. You slid down the wall until you were sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, your dress pooling around you. The stone was cold against your back even through the silk.
"You danced well with the Kraken," Aegon said after a moment. His eyes were on you now, sharper than they should be considering how much he'd drunk. "He looked like he wanted to eat you."
"He looked like he wanted to dance."
"Same thing, with that one." Aegon tilted his head, studying you. His usual smirk had faded into something more serious. Almost sober. "Do you like him?"
"I barely know him." You picked at a loose thread on your dress.
"That's not what I asked."
You considered it, head tilted back against the stone. Did you like Dalton Greyjoy? He was attractive, certainly. Bold. Honest in a way that cut through all the bullshit.
"I don't know," you said finally. "Maybe. Does it matter?"
"Suppose not." Aegon was quiet for a moment, swirling the wine in his cup, watching the liquid catch the moonlight in wave-like ripples. Then, without looking at you: "Can I kiss you?"
You blinked, certain you'd misheard. "What?"
"Can I kiss you?" He did look at you now, and there was something almost vulnerable in his expression beneath the wine-flush. "I want to kiss someone. And you're here. And you're pretty. And you won't make it mean something it doesn't."
You should say no. Should laugh it off, make a joke, change the subject. This was Aegon—your cousin, your friend, the perpetually drunk prince who took nothing seriously.
But your head was spinning and your chest still ached from watching Jace with Cassandra, and Dalton's words kept echoing in your mind—life's too fucking short.
"Fuck it," you said, the words coming out steadier than you felt.
"Is that a yes?"
"It's a fuck it." You pushed yourself up slightly, meeting his eyes.
Aegon set his cup down on the bench and stood. He wasn't quite steady on his feet, swaying slightly as he crossed the small space to where you sat against the wall.
You had to tilt your head back to look up at him as he stopped in front of you, close enough that you could smell the wine on his breath, the faint scent of whatever oil he used in his hair. Up close like this, you could see everything. The wine-flush high on his cheekbones, the slightly glazed look in his purple eyes—Targaryen eyes, the same shade as your own. The way his chest rose and fell, breathing faster than the short walk across the room warranted.
He was handsome. The thought came to you clearly, like you were seeing him for the first time. When he wasn't making an ass of himself, when he wasn't performing for the court or drowning in his cups, when you actually looked at him, Aegon was undeniably, unfairly handsome.
"You're sure?" he asked, and his voice had gone quieter. Careful. Like he was giving you one last chance to back out, to laugh this off and pretend it never happened.
Your heart was pounding. "Stop asking and just—"
He dropped to his knees in front of you.
The movement brought him to your level, purple eyes locked on yours. His hand came up, hesitant at first, then surer, cupping your jaw. His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, and you realized you were holding your breath.
Then he kissed you.
It was nothing like you'd imagined kissing would be. Not that you'd spent much time imagining it, or maybe you had, late at night, alone in your bed, but those fantasies had been vague and shapeless. This was real. This was Aegon's mouth on yours, warm and wine-sweet and surprisingly gentle. His other hand found your waist, steadying himself, or maybe steadying you.
For a moment, you froze. Didn't know what to do with your hands, with your mouth, with any of it. Then something in you gave way. Your hands came up to grip his shoulders, solid, real, there and you kissed him back.
Aegon kissed like he did everything else, without any restraint, without second thoughts, just pure unfiltered fucking want. His mouth was hot against yours, tasting like wine and something hungrier, and his hands cupped your face like you were something precious he was afraid of breaking. He pressed closer, and you made a sound, and his tongue swept into your mouth.
Oh.
Your hands gripped shoulders because you needed something to hold onto, needed to ground yourself before you floated away entirely. He was solid under your grip, all lean muscle and warmth, so much warmer than you'd expected. When he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, to take more, something low in your belly clenched hard enough to hurt.
This was wrong. This was Aegon. Your cousin. Your friend who you'd watched get drunk at a hundred feasts, who you'd laughed with and plotted with and shared secrets with. Who you'd never, not once, not ever, thought of like this.
But his mouth was moving against yours with a desperate kind of hunger, and his hands had slid from your face down to your waist, fingers digging in as he pulled you closer, pulled you against him. And your body was a traitor. Heat was pooling between your thighs, your breath coming in short gasps, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his doublet like you needed him closer, needed more.
One of his hands moved lower, gripping your hip, and you gasped into his mouth. He swallowed the sound, kissed you harder, like he wanted to crawl inside you.
When he finally pulled back, breaking the kiss to breathe, forehead pressed against yours, you were both panting. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and his lips were red and swollen.
"Well," Aegon said, his voice rougher than usual. "That was—"
You blinked at him, trying to catch your breath. His breath warm against your lips. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb tracing along your jaw in a way that made your knees weak.
"I'd like to do that again," he murmured, and there was something in his voice, something hungry and real beneath the usual bravado.
Your heart was pounding. His thumb was still moving against your skin, slow and deliberate, and you could feel the heat of him everywhere he touched. He was everywhere at once, and for the first time in your life you weren't looking at your cousin Aegon, you were staring at someone with pure, unfiltered want.
"Yes," you breathed.
He kissed you again—harder this time, more certain. His hand tightened on your waist, yanking you fully against him, and you could feel everything. The hard planes of his chest, the lean muscle of his thighs, and—gods—the unmistakable ridge of his cock pressed against your hip through layers of silk and leather.
You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, tongue sliding hot and slick against yours. His hips rolled forward, slow, deliberate and the pressure of him grinding against you sent heat shooting straight between your legs.
Your knees actually went weak. If he wasn't holding you up, you'd have collapsed.
Your hands found his hair—silver silk between your fingers—and you pulled. Hard. He groaned, deep and guttural, and ground against you harder in response. You could feel yourself getting wet, the slick heat gathering between your thighs, soaking through your smallclothes. The knowledge that he was hard, that you'd made him hard, made you clench around nothing.
"Fuck," Aegon panted against your mouth before his lips dragged to your jaw, your throat. His hand slid down from your waist to your ass, gripping hard, pulling you tighter against him. "Fuck, you taste so good. Smell good. Feel so fucking good."
He thrust his hips forward again, the thick length of him dragging against your belly, and you both made sounds that were almost pained.
You should stop this. Should push him away before this went too far. This was Aegon, your cousin, your friend who you'd grown up with—
His teeth scraped the sensitive spot below your ear and you whimpered. Actually whimpered like something desperate and needy, your hips rolling forward to meet his next thrust without your permission.
"That's it," he breathed against your skin, doing it again, sucking a mark into your throat that you'd have to hide tomorrow. His hand on your ass squeezed, angling you so when he ground forward again, the pressure hit directly against your aching cunt. "Gods, feel what you do to me? Feel how hard I am for you?"
"Aegon," you started, voice breaking, but you couldn't finish because he was kissing you again, deeper, filthier, his tongue fucking into your mouth while one hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat and the other kept your hips pinned against his.
He found a rhythm now, rolling his hips against yours in steady, deliberate thrusts that had you panting into his mouth. Each movement dragged the hard length of his cock against you, the friction even through all the layers making you want to scream, want to hike up your skirts and feel him properly, skin to skin, want things you'd never let yourself want before.
You rolled your hips back, meeting him, matching his rhythm, and he groaned like you'd hurt him.
"Fuck, yes," he panted. "Just like that. Gods, you're so, I can feel how wet you are even through—"
He thrust harder, and you felt it, the heat of him, the thick ridge of his cock grinding directly against your clit through the soaked silk between your legs. The sensation made white spots burst behind your eyelids.
This wasn't gentle. Wasn't sweet or romantic or any of the things you'd imagined in your naive fantasies. This was pure animal want, raw and desperate and hungry. Fueled by too much wine and too many things neither of you wanted to think about. His body moving against yours like he wanted to crawl inside you, like he couldn't get close enough even though you were pressed together so tightly you could barely breathe.
Your hand slid down from his hair to his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath your palm, then lower, reaching between your bodies toward the hard heat of him—
He caught your wrist. Held it. Both of you froze, breathing hard, hips still pressed flush together.
When you finally broke apart, gasping, flushed, his hair completely destroyed from your hands and your lips kiss-swollen and red, Aegon let out a shaky laugh against your neck.
"Gods," he breathed, forehead pressed to your shoulder. You could still feel him hard against your hip, could feel the answering wetness between your own legs. "We're idiots."
"Probably," you managed, your voice coming out hoarse. Wrecked.
"Definitely." But he wasn't pulling away. His hands were still on you, his body still pressed close, and you could feel him, still hard, maybe harder, against your hip. The evidence of what you'd just done. What you'd almost done. "This is a terrible idea."
"The worst."
"We should stop."
"We should." But your fingers were still twisted in his doublet.
His hand flexed on your hip, thumb pressing into the bone. "One more?"
You pulled him down by his hair and kissed him again. This time there was no hesitation. There was no pretense of this being innocent or simple. Just heat and hunger and his hands sliding down to grip your ass through your skirts, hauling you against him so hard you felt the breath leave your lungs.
You could feel the thick, insistent pressure of his cock grinding against your belly. He rolled his hips, slow and filthy, and you whimpered into his mouth. You wanted release.
"Fuck," he groaned against your lips. "You're going to kill me."
Your back hit the wall—you didn't even remember moving—and suddenly he had leverage. His thigh pushed between yours, spreading your legs, and when he ground forward this time the friction was devastating. The hard muscle of his thigh pressed directly against your cunt through the layers of silk, and you were so wet you knew he could feel it, knew the fabric had to be soaked through.
"Oh gods," you gasped, head falling back against the stone.
Aegon's mouth was on your neck immediately, sucking hard enough to mark, teeth scraping. His hands gripped your ass, pulling you down harder onto his thigh, helping you grind against him.
"That's it," he panted against your throat, moving his leg in rhythm with your desperate rolling hips. "Fuck, you're so wet. I can feel you through everything. Can feel how much you want this."
You should care about the bruises he was leaving. Should worry about questions and propriety and what this meant. You didn't care at all. You just needed more, more, and more.
"Aegon," you gasped, and his name coming out of your mouth broken and desperate seemed to undo something in him.
He kissed you again, dirty and deep and filthy, all tongue and teeth, while his hips pressed forward, grinding his cock against your hip in time with how you were riding his thigh. One hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back so he could kiss you deeper, the other still gripping your arse and guiding your movements.
"Could fuck you right here," he groaned into your mouth, hips thrusting harder. "Pull up these skirts, sink into you against this wall. You'd let me, wouldn't you? You're so fucking wet you'd take me easy."
The image, Aegon inside you, filling you, fucking you against cold, dirty stone, made you moan and grind down harder. You were drowning in sensation, the taste of wine on his tongue, the heat of his body burning through the fabric, the devastating pressure between your legs, the thick hardness of him grinding against your hip.
"Yes," you heard yourself gasp. "Yes, Seven Hells."
Reality as sudden as a wave crashing against rock, rippled back through you.
What the fuck were you two doing? What were you saying?
You must have tensed because Aegon pulled back, really pulled back this time, stepping away and putting actual space between your bodies. The loss of contact left you cold and aching. You were both wrecked. His lips were swollen and red, his hair completely destroyed, his pupils blown so wide his eyes looked black. There was a wet spot on his thigh from you. You could see the obvious bulge straining against his breeches.
You probably looked worse. Your lips tender and kiss-bitten, your smallclothes absolutely ruined.
"Yes. Back. To the feast." He ran both hands through his hair, dragging it back from his face, somehow making it look even more fucked. "Where we've been having perfectly appropriate cousin conversations."
"Very appropriate."
"The most appropriate." But he was looking at you like he wanted to shove you back against that wall and finish what you'd started. His eyes dragged down your body, lingering on your swollen lips, the marks on your neck, the wrinkled silk of your dress, before snapping back up. "Fuck, your hair's a complete disaster."
"So is yours."
"I'm always a mess. You're supposed to be the put-together one." He reached out, fingers trembling slightly as he tried to tuck a few loose strands back into place. The touch was gentle now, almost tender, so different from five minutes ago when he'd been fisting his hand in it and pulling. "There. Almost presentable."
You caught his wrist, held it. His pulse was still racing under your fingers. "Aegon, please."
"Don't." He pulled away, stepped back entirely, hands dropping to his sides and curling into fists like he didn't trust himself not to reach for you again. "Don't make it something. It was just—we're drunk. That's all."
"Right. Drunk."
"Very drunk." He looked around, spotted his abandoned wine cup on the bench, picked it up and stared at it like he'd forgotten what it was for. Then set it back down. "We should go. Before I do something even stupider."
"Like what?"
His eyes met yours, and they were still dark. Still wanting. His gaze dropped to your mouth. "Don't ask questions you don't want answered, cousin."
Your breath caught. Heat pooled low in your belly again, that ache between your legs flaring back to life.
He saw it on your face—saw the want there—and made a pained sound. "Gods, don't look at me like that. We need to leave. Now."
"Okay," you managed.
"Okay." But he didn't move. Just stood there, chest rising and falling too fast, hands still clenched at his sides.
Finally, with visible effort, he offered you his arm, the gesture exaggerated and courtly in a way that didn't quite hide how badly his hand was shaking. "Come on. Let's go back before someone sends a search party and finds us looking like we've been—" He stopped and swallowed hard. "Just. Let's go."
You took his arm, fingers wrapping around his forearm, and you could feel the tension in him. The muscles were tight, coiled, like he was holding himself back. Together you made your way back down the winding stairs. The descent was precarious, both of you still drunk, still unsteady, but now for different reasons. Your legs felt weak. You could feel the slickness between your thighs with every step, a constant reminder of how close you'd come to, god, fucking your cousin. The cousin that was right there, is still right there.
You stumbled on a step and Aegon caught you, arm wrapping around your waist to steady you. The touch lasted a second too long. His fingers pressed into your hip, right where he'd gripped you before and you both froze.
"Careful," he said roughly, then let go like you'd burned him.
"Are we going to be weird about this?" you asked as you reached the bottom, voices from the feast growing louder.
"Are you?"
"No."
"Then neither am I." He squeezed your hand where it rested on his arm, the pressure firm and grounding. "It was just kissing. Doesn't have to mean anything."
"Doesn't have to mean anything," you repeated.
Liar, something whispered in the back of your mind. You could still feel him hard against you. Could still hear him saying he wanted to fuck you against the wall. Could still taste wine on your tongue. But when you made it back through the side door, slipping into the edges of the feast and immediately caught sight of Jace across the hall, still with Cassandra, his head bent close to hers as she whispered something in his ear, and you felt that familiar twist of want and jealousy knife through your chest.
And beneath it, something new. Something confusing.
The memory of Aegon's mouth on yours. His hands on your body, gripping and pulling and claiming. The way he'd made you forget everything else, forget Jace, forget propriety, forget your own name, for those few desperate moments.
And worse of all, the way you'd liked it.
You slipped away from Aegon as soon as you entered the hall, murmuring something about needing the privy. In truth, you needed a moment. Needed to look at yourself, assess the damage. Your chambers weren't far. You practically ran there, heart still pounding, skin still flushed.
Your ladies were waiting, they'd been dismissed earlier but Lysa had stayed, dozing in a chair by the fire. She jolted awake when you burst in.
"My lady! Are you—" Her eyes went wide, taking in your disheveled hair, your swollen lips, the very obvious marks blooming purple on your throat. "Oh."
"I need—" You gestured helplessly at your neck. "Can you please?"
"Of course." But she was grinning as she hurried to mix a paste, calling for Maryse and Elaena.
They appeared quickly, and the moment they saw you, the reaction was immediate.
"Ohhhhh," Maryse breathed, eyes sparkling with delight.
"My lady!" Elaena giggled, pressing her hands to her mouth.
"Don't," you warned, but you could feel yourself flushing deeper.
"Was he handsome?" Lysa asked, dabbing the paste carefully on your neck to lighten the marks. It wouldn't hide them completely, but it would help.
"I'm not discussing this."
"Ohhhhh, he was," Maryse decided, starting to fix your hair with deft fingers. "Look how red she is."
"Was it romantic?" Elaena asked dreamily, adjusting your dress, smoothing the wrinkles.
"It was—" You stopped. What could you even say? "It was nothing. Too much wine."
All three of them made knowing sounds, soft "mmhmms" and "of courses" that said they didn't believe you for a second.
The rest of the night blurred together in a haze of wine and music and laughter. You danced with Aemond, too stiff and proper, unlike his brother, but surprisingly skilled. He didn't speak much, just guided you through the steps like an ever-so-graceful swan, his one good eye tracking everything in the hall like he was cataloging threats.
"You're drunk," he observed.
"Very."
"Good. You're less insufferable when you're drunk.”
"You're a delight as always, cousin."
His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you'd ever seen from him. "Enjoy your evening, Princess."
Then Daemon cut in, stealing you mid-step with the kind of casual arrogance only he could manage.
"Having fun?" he asked, spinning you perhaps a bit too fast.
"Trying to."
"That Greyjoy boy's been watching you all night." Daemon's grin was sharp. "Wondering if he's going to do something stupid."
"Aren't we all doing something stupid tonight?"
"Fair point." He laughed, and for a moment you could see why Rhaenyra loved him despite everything. "Don't get yourself killed, niece. Your aunt would be very put out."
"I'll do my best."
Even Rhaenyra danced with you—a slower song, her hands gentle as she guided you through it.
"You look happy," she said softly. "That's good. I worry about you sometimes."
"I'm fine, Your Grace."
"Rhaenyra," she corrected. "When it's just us, I'm Rhaenyra. Your aunt who loves you."
The wine made your eyes sting. "I love you too."
She pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Go enjoy yourself. You're young. These nights don't come often enough."
So you did. You drank more wine, letting the warmth of it blur the edges of everything. Danced with lords whose names you didn't remember and didn't care to learn. Laughed at Aegon's increasingly ridiculous jokes, though you were careful not to stand too close to him, careful not to let your eyes linger.
Every time you saw him across the hall, you remembered. His mouth on yours. His hands gripping your ass. The way he'd ground against you like he couldn't help himself. The things he'd said, could fuck you right here, that still made heat pool between your legs when you thought about them.
And every time you saw Jace, still orbiting Cassandra Baratheon like she was the sun and he was caught in her gravity, you felt that sick twist of jealousy. But now it was complicated by guilt. By confusion. You'd dry-humped Aegon in a tower. You'd been ready to let him fuck you against a wall. And part of you had liked it. Had liked the way he looked at you like you were something he desperately wanted. Had liked feeling wanted, period.
But you still couldn't stop watching Jace. Couldn't stop wondering what his hands would feel like instead of Aegon's. Couldn't stop thinking about the hole in your wall and the things you'd seen through it.
You were a mess. A complete disaster of a person. So you drank more. Let yourself forget, just for a few hours, about holes in walls and wanting things you couldn't have and the fact that you'd apparently developed an extremely inconvenient attraction to not one but two of your cousins.
By the time you decided to retire, the hall was spinning pleasantly and your feet ached from dancing. You waved off your ladies, they were enjoying themselves too, giggling with guards and flirting with servants and made your way through the corridors alone.
The castle was a maze at the best of times. Drunk, it was nearly impossible.
You climbed stairs, turned down hallways, all of it familiar but also somehow wrong. Your chambers should be here? No, maybe down this corridor. Or was it the other way?
Finally, you found a door that looked right. The wood was the same, the handle in the same place. Close enough. You pushed it open, stumbled inside, and didn't bother with candles. The room was dark and quiet. Just kicked off your slippers, fumbled with the laces of your gown until they loosened enough to breathe, and collapsed onto the bed.
The sheets smelled clean. Felt soft. Maybe a bit different than usual but your wine-soaked brain didn't care enough to question it. Good enough, you didn’t give a god’s damn.
You were asleep before your head fully hit the pillow.
Jacaerys was tired, wine-warm, and ready for bed when he finally escaped the feast.
Cassandra had wanted him to stay longer, had made that very clear with the way her hand kept finding his arm, the lingering touches, the invitations in her eyes that he'd politely ignored. He'd begged off with excuses about an early morning. The tournaments started tomorrow, and he needed at least a few hours of sleep before climbing into armor and trying not to get killed in front of the entire court.
He climbed the stairs to his chambers, his thoughts already on collapsing into bed. Maybe he'd been too indulgent tonight. Too much wine, too much dancing, too much of Cassandra's cloying perfume that now clung to his clothes and made his head ache.
He pushed open his door, stepped inside, and froze.
Someone was in his bed.
His hand went to the dagger at his belt, pure instinct, trained response, his body tensing as his eyes fought to adjust to the darkness. The figure was small, curled on their side facing away from him. Too small to be a real threat. Too still.
Then he saw the hair. Silver. Spilling across his pillows, catching what little light came through the window. Long and unbound, the way he'd never seen it during the day when it was always properly pinned and braided.
His heart stopped. Started again, too fast.
It was you.
"What the—" The words died in his throat. He stood there, hand still on his dagger, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
You were in his bed. His bed. Fast asleep from the look of it, your breathing deep and even, completely unaware of his presence. Jace's eyes adjusted further, and he could make out more details now. Your slippers discarded on the floor near the foot of the bed. Your gown was unlaced and loose around your body.
Very loose. His breath caught as his gaze traced the line of your form. You'd clearly tried to unlace the gown yourself, drunk fingers fumbling with the ties, getting it open enough to breathe easier before collapsing into bed. But you'd only managed to loosen it, not remove it, and now the fabric had shifted in your sleep.
The neckline had slipped down your shoulder. Lower. Low enough that he could see—
Jace's mouth went dry. Your breast. Half of it bare, skin luminous in the moonlight, the curve of it visible where the silk had fallen away. If you shifted even slightly, if the fabric slipped just a bit more… stop, stop right fucking now.
He looked away quickly, heat flooding his face, his chest, lower. His heart was hammering now.
Don't look. Don't be that person. She's asleep. She's drunk. She doesn't even know where she is.
But his eyes were drawn back like a lodestone to true north.
Your leg had escaped the tangle of silk too. One bare leg stretched out across his sheets, the gown rucked up to mid-thigh, higher on the side where you'd rolled slightly forward in sleep. Smooth skin, the elegant line of your calf, the curve of your knee. If he looked, and gods help him, he was looking, he could see almost to your hip where the fabric had bunched.
He could see the shadow between your thighs. Jace's cock stirred in his breeches, and he felt shame burn through him immediately after.
Stop. Stop looking at her like this.
But he couldn't move. Couldn't look away. You were sprawled across his bed like some kind of vision, your lips were parted slightly, your breathing deep and peaceful. You looked nothing like the proper, put-together princess he saw every day. Nothing like his cousin who barely spoke to him, who avoided his eyes at dinner, who seemed to go out of her way not to be alone with him.
You looked undone and vulnerable. Beautiful in a way that made his chest ache and his blood run hot.
He took a step closer without meaning to. Then another. Until he was standing beside the bed, looking down at you.
This close, he could see more. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, your bare chest, your nipple was just barely hidden by a fold of silk, the fabric draped across it so precariously that each breath threatened to expose you completely.
Jace's hands clenched into fists at his sides. His breathing had gone shallow.
What was wrong with him? This was you. His cousin. A princess. A woman who clearly had no idea where she was or what she looked like right now. And he was standing here staring at you like some kind of pervert, getting hard while you slept completely unaware.
He needed to—he should—
Wake you. Get you back to your chambers. Cover you with a blanket at the very least. Do something other than stand here like an idiot with his cock half-hard and his mind conjuring images of what it would be like to slip into that bed beside you, to pull you against him, to—
No.
He forced himself to step back. To look away. To think like a rational person instead of a man who'd drunk too much wine and found a beautiful woman in his bed. You shifted in your sleep, making a small sound and rolled slightly onto your back.
The movement made everything worse. The gown slipped further. Your breast was fully exposed now, pale and perfect in the moonlight. He could see your nipple, could see the way it had hardened slightly in the cool air of the room. The silk had ridden up higher on your leg too, and now he could see the dark shadow at the apex of your thighs. Gods.
Were you even wearing anything under that gown?
Jace turned away sharply, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes like he could scrub the image from his mind. His cock was fully hard now, straining against his breeches, and he felt like the worst kind of person. You were drunk. Asleep. Completely vulnerable. And here he was getting hard looking at you, thinking thoughts he had absolutely no right to think.
He needed to cover you. That was the first thing. Before he did anything else—before he even tried to figure out what to do about this situation—he needed to make you decent.
Jace grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed, hands shaking slightly, and carefully, so carefully, draped it over you. He tried not to look. Tried not to let his eyes linger on all that bare skin before the fabric covered it.
He failed. The image was burned into his mind now. Your breast. Your leg. The shadow between your thighs. The way you looked spread out in his bed like some kind of offering.
Stop it. She's your cousin. She's drunk. This is wrong.
But his body didn't care about wrong. His body only knew that you were here, barely clothed, looking like every fantasy he'd never let himself have. And you had been a fantasy. He could admit that now, alone in the dark with you unconscious and unaware. He'd noticed you. Had tried not to, had told himself it was inappropriate, but he'd noticed. The way you moved. The rare times you smiled. The intelligence in your eyes during council meetings when you thought no one was watching you listen.
He'd just never let himself think about it. About you. Not like that. Now he couldn't think about anything else.
Jace ran both hands through his hair, gripping it hard enough to hurt, trying to ground himself. Trying to think. Okay, good. You were covered now. That was good. Next step was to figure out what the fuck to do.
He should wake you. Should get you back to your own chambers before anyone found out you'd spent the night here. Before servants came in the morning and saw you in his bed. The scandal alone would destroy you. Would destroy any chance you had at a good marriage, would ruin your reputation entirely.
He couldn't let that happen. But waking you meant... what exactly? Touching you? Shaking your shoulder? Explaining that you'd drunkenly stumbled into the wrong room and passed out half-naked in your cousin's bed?
Gods, you'd be mortified.
Maybe it was better to just let you sleep. You were clearly exhausted, clearly drunk enough that you'd mistaken his chambers for yours. In the morning, when you woke, he could pretend he'd just arrived. Could act surprised to find you there. Give you a chance to slip out quietly, save you the embarrassment of a confrontation.
Yes. That was better. Kinder. It had nothing to do with wanting to keep you here a little longer. Nothing to do with the selfish, possessive part of him that liked seeing you in his bed, wrapped in his blankets, surrounded by his scent.
Liar, something whispered in the back of his mind.
Jace ignored it. He'd sleep somewhere else. The chairs by the fire, maybe. Or, there, is eyes landed on the small couch in the corner near the window. It looked deeply uncomfortable, probably meant for sitting and reading rather than sleeping, but it would have to do. He couldn't exactly climb into bed next to you. That would be, well, he didn't let himself finish that thought.
Decision made, he moved quietly toward the corner, trying not to make any noise that might wake you. He'd need to grab a blanket from the chest at the foot of the bed, maybe a pillow.
Something caught his eye. A small gap in the wall near the floor in the corner. He'd never noticed it before, why would he? It was just a shadow among shadows, easy to miss. But now, looking directly at it, he could see it clearly.
A hole. Small, where the mortar had crumbled away between the stones. Jace frowned, crouching down to examine it. Old damage. The kind of thing that happened in castles this ancient, centuries of settling stone.
He should probably mention it to someone. Get it sealed up. Curious, he leaned closer, peering through the narrow gap to see where it led.
His breath caught. It was a room. Your room.
He could see the edge of a bed with a distinctive purple coverlet—the same one he'd seen when he'd accidentally walked in on you in your bath. A dressing table with jewelry scattered across its surface, glinting in the moonlight. Books stacked on a side table. A carved wooden screen positioned in the corner, partially obscuring his view but not completely.
The hole looked directly into your private chambers.
Jace sat back slowly, his heart starting to pound for entirely different reasons now.
This gap in the wall—it went straight through to your room. A perfect line of sight from his corner to yours. Which meant theoretically, someone could look through it. Could see into your private space. Watch you dress, sleep, bathe, lord knows what else.
His jaw clenched hard, a surge of protective anger rising in his chest. Had some servant discovered this? Some guard with ill intentions? The thought of someone watching you while you were vulnerable, unaware, made his blood run hot.
But then again you'd never mentioned it. Never complained about feeling watched or unsafe. Never called for anyone to repair the wall. Which meant either you didn't know about it.
Or you did know, and you'd chosen not to say anything.
Jace turned slowly to look at you, sleeping peacefully in his bed, utterly unaware of his racing thoughts.
The hole was low in his corner. Easy to miss unless you were looking for it, unless you happened to be right here in this spot. But on your side you'd have that screen. Would have moved it at some point, maybe looking for something, and found the gap.
Would have realized where it led. His heart was pounding now, thoughts spiraling.
No. That was insane. You wouldn't. You barely looked at him most days, avoided him at meals, seemed to go out of your way not to be alone with him. But you'd also been acting strange lately. He'd noticed it, couldn't help but notice. The way you flushed when he was near. How you avoided his eyes, like looking at him directly was too much.
And this morning. Gods, this morning when he'd walked in on you in your bath. You'd screamed, yes, but there had been something else in your expression. Something beyond just shock. You'd looked almost guilty, almost. At the time he'd thought he was imagining it. Had assumed you were just mortified at being seen naked. But what if it was more than that?
What if you'd been watching him through this hole, and suddenly he'd burst into your room, and you'd realized how close he was to discovering your secret?
Jace's breath came faster. He thought back over the past few days. The way you'd been flushed at dinner after he'd brought that woman back to his chambers. The way you couldn't meet his eyes the next morning. How you'd seemed distracted, distant, like your mind was somewhere else entirely.
Had you been watching him fuck her? The thought should have made him angry. Should have felt like a violation, an invasion of his privacy.
Instead, heat shot straight to his groin.
His cock, which had softened slightly while he'd been trying to figure out the logistics of where to sleep, was suddenly achingly hard again. He pressed the heel of his hand against his cock through his breeches, trying to will it down, but it was useless. The image was in his head now and wouldn't leave.
You. On the other side of that wall. Eye pressed to the gap. Watching him with some nameless woman, watching him fuck her, watching every thrust and hearing every sound.
Getting wet while you watched.
Fuck. Because you would have, wouldn't you? If you'd been watching—and gods, everything pointed to you watching—you wouldn't have kept coming back to that hole unless it was doing something for you. Unless seeing him like that, uninhibited and raw, was turning you on.
His proper, untouchable cousin. Getting yourself off while spying on him through a crack in the wall. Jace's hand tightened involuntarily on his cock and he had to bite back a groan.
He looked at you again, sleeping peacefully in his bed, completely unaware that he'd figured it out. That he knew. How many times? How many times had you watched him?
That first woman, the dark-haired serving girl. Had you seen that? Seen him bend her over the bed, seen the way he'd made her moan? And the one after. The minor lady whose name he'd already forgotten. Had you watched him spread her legs and bury his face between her thighs?
Gods, had you touched yourself while you watched? Slipped your hand beneath your nightgown, fingers finding your clit while you watched him make other women come? His cock throbbed and he had to close his eyes, had to breathe through the wave of lust that crashed over him.
This was wrong. He shouldn't be thinking about you like this. Shouldn't be getting hard imagining you watching him, wanting him, touching yourself to the sight of him with other women.
But he couldn't stop. Because if you had been watching—and everything in him said you had been—what did that mean?
It meant you wanted him. Maybe didn't want to want him, maybe fought against it, but you did. Why else would you keep going back to that hole? Why else would you watch him fuck other women if not because you wished it was you?
The thought made him harder, made pre-cum leak from the tip of his cock, dampening his smallclothes. He tried to remember the past few nights, tried to think through the wine-haze of who he'd brought back and when.
He'd also been with Cassandra. Right here in this room, in this bed where you were sleeping now.
Had you watched that? His breath came out shaky. He'd been showing off tonight, he could admit that now. Cassandra had been impressed by his title, his dragon, the crown he'd someday wear. She'd made that clear. And maybe he'd wanted to impress her in other ways too. Had made it last longer than usual, had made sure she came twice before he'd let himself finish.
Had you been on the other side of that wall, watching him with her? Watching him kiss her, touch her, spread her legs in this very bed? Watching while your heart twisted with jealousy?
The idea shouldn't thrill him as much as it did.
Jace pressed his palm hard against his cock, trying to calm down, trying to think past the lust fogging his brain. His hand came away damp, he was leaking badly now, his cock throbbing with need.
Stop. Get yourself under control.
He forced himself to breathe. Slow, deep breaths. Forced himself to look away from you sleeping in his bed, tangled in his sheets, still half-exposed despite the blanket he'd draped over you.
This was insane. He was standing here hard as iron, thinking about his cousin watching him fuck other women, getting off on the idea of you wanting him. He needed to calm down. Needed to think rationally about what this meant and what, if anything, he was going to do about it.
Jace forced himself to turn away from you entirely. Grabbed the blanket he'd originally intended to use and moved to the couch in the corner, as far from the bed as he could get in the confines of his own chambers. He stretched out on the too-small surface, the blanket pulled up to his chin, and willed his body to calm down. Willed his cock to soften. Tried to think about anything other than you watching him through that hole.
It didn't work.
Every time he closed his eyes, his mind conjured images. You with your eye pressed to the gap. Your hand sliding beneath your nightgown. Your lips parting as you watched him fuck someone else, wishing it was you. His cock throbbed, still achingly hard, and he shifted uncomfortably on the couch.
This was impossible. He couldn't sleep like this. Couldn't lie here all night with his cock straining against his breeches and you barely ten feet away, half-naked in his bed. He sat up, running both hands through his hair in frustration.
He needed to leave. Needed to get out of this room before he did something monumentally stupid. Like climb into that bed with you. Like wake you up and ask if you'd been watching. Like find out what sounds you'd make if he gave you something real to watch.
Fuck.
Jace stood, moving as quietly as possible, and grabbed his cloak from where it hung by the door. The Street of Silk would still be busy at this hour. He could find someone, anyone, to take the edge off. To fuck this desperate need out of his system so he could think clearly.
He paused at the door, looking back at you one more time. You'd shifted again in your sleep, the blanket slipping down to your waist. Your silver hair spilled across his pillows like you belonged there.
Tomorrow. He'd deal with all of this tomorrow. Would help you back to your chambers, act like the perfect gentleman. Would decide what, if anything, to do about that hole in the wall.
But tonight, he needed to leave before he lost what little control he had left. Jace slipped out into the corridor, closing the door softly behind him, and headed for the castle gates.
To read the remainder of part one (I ran out of space on here), please go to AO3 end of this part is Chapter 5: Consequences. Thank you for reading!
⊹ overview - pairing: professor!seungcheol x student!reader
genre: college au · SMUT
themes: power dynamics, secrecy, obsessive attention, quiet yearning, subtle domination
cw: sexual content (MDNI), fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, breeding kink (?), cum on body, suggestive language, emotional tension, professor-student dynamics (fictional and, most importantly, consensual)
minors do not interact!
summary: you were just a student with curiosity but he noticed more. every glance and touch pulls you into something forbidden.
from kai: i think i spent the last 10 hours trying to write this. that hugo boss pic of him destroyed whatever sanity i had left.
now playing: wRoNg - zayn malik
it’s late on a wednesday night when you find yourself still on campus. the rain had started while you were tucked away in the library, headphones in, half-reading, half-dozing. by the time you looked up, the halls were nearly empty, shadows stretching long under the fluorescent lights.
you clutch your notebook against your chest, deciding to wait it out, maybe wander until the storm softens. that’s when you notice it. his lecture hall door open, a faint yellow glow spilling into the hallway.
professor choi seungcheol.
the name alone is enough to make every head in the room snap up. there’s something about him that doesn’t feel real. the easy way he shrugs his coat off, the crisp shirts rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms, the watch that glints when he writes across the board. he speaks clearly, measured. when he leans against the desk, arms crossed, voice low and smooth, even the air seems to still.
girls whisper about him in every corner of campus. they trade stories: how someone tried to slip their number into his briefcase, how another lingered after class just a little too long. the endings are always the same: he rejects them politely, without a crack in his smile. sorry, that’s inappropriate. please focus on your studies. he makes it sound final, untouchable.
and that's exactly what makes his kindness a torment. because with you it's different. one day, you dare to raise your hand to answer a complex question, your trembling voice echoing in the silent room. and he doesn't just agree, but his eyes light up with genuine interest.
“excellent point,” he says, your name coming out as a soft note from his mouth. “a truly sharp insight.” it's always like this: a precise praise for an answer, a slight nod of approval when you debate a colleague, a smile that seems reserved just for you.
these fragments of recognition are like crumbs you avidly collect even knowing they keep you hungry. he rewards you for being exactly what he asks: a brilliant and dedicated student. and the thin line between being the best student and being just another girl who desires him dissolves more and more.
so you learn to admire from a distance. you don’t linger. you don’t dare. you sit in the middle rows and watch him command a room with ease, pretending your pulse doesn’t spike when his gaze sweeps briefly over yours.
it should stay like that.
you hesitate. you could just walk past.
instead, your knuckles tap against the frame.
“come in,” his voice calls, smooth as ever.
he’s there behind his desk, tie loosened, hair a little mussed like he’s been running his hand through it. glasses balanced low on his nose. it’s enough to steal your breath.
“still on campus?” he asks, glancing up.
“yeah,” you murmur, stepping inside. “i was studying. waiting for the rain to stop.”
he hums, leaning back in his chair. “dedicated. most students would’ve left hours ago.”
you laugh nervously, lifting your notebook. “actually, i… uh… had a question about the reading. thought maybe you’d…”
his mouth quirks. “always so studious.”
his gaze lingers as you flip open your notes and suddenly you’re hyperaware of every move. how you tuck your hair behind your ear, how your pen wobbles in your grip.
you stumble through your question, words tumbling out too fast. but he listens patiently, chin propped against his hand. when you trail off, he leans forward, voice softer now.
“you’ve got the right idea,” he says, eyes scanning over the notes angled between you. “but you’re overcomplicating it. it’s a simple cause-and-effect.”
you nod quickly, chewing your lip, scribbling down his words even though you’ll probably remember them. it’s easier to focus on the page than the steady weight of his gaze.
“do you… want me to show you?” he asks after a pause.
your head snaps up. “show me?”
he smiles, small and reassuring, like he’s done a thousand times in class when students hesitate. “the maps. i’ve got a few in my office that make this period easier to understand. visual context.” he gestures vaguely, as if what he really means lies somewhere deeper. “unless you’d rather figure it out on your own.”
“no… i mean, yes, i’d like to see.” you sound a little too eager, but he only nods, pushing himself to his feet.
you follow him out, footsteps echoing against the empty hallway. the storm outside thrums against the windows, a steady drumbeat that makes the silence between you sharper.
he unlocks his office door and nudges it open with his shoulder. the room is smaller than you imagined, lined with books and folders. he flicks on the lamp at his desk, the light warm against the dark night outside.
“make yourself comfortable,” he says, moving toward a cabinet in the corner. he pulls open a drawer, flipping through rolled maps until he finds the one he wants.
you hover near the desk, fingers brushing over the polished wood, over the stacks of neatly arranged essays. it feels too intimate, standing here where he spends his nights.
“here,” he says, unrolling a large sheet across the desk. his sleeve brushes your arm as he smooths the edges. “see? the borders shift here. people forget how quickly things changed.”
you lean closer, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you. he traces a line on the map with one finger, his voice low, calm, explaining.
you try to follow the geography, the dates, but it’s hard when your focus keeps slipping to the way his hand dwarfs the paper. the way his profile looks under the lamplight, strong and impossibly close.
he glances at you, catching you staring. not in a way that scolds. more curious, almost amused.
“does that make more sense?”
you nod, too quickly. “yeah. it… does.”
“good.” he says, but he doesn’t move back. instead, he stays angled toward you, leaning one hand on the desk, effectively caging you between his body and the edge of the map. his tone is still easy, still warm, but there’s something else threading beneath it now.
“you’re quieter than usual,” he observes. “am i making you nervous?”
your throat tightens. “no… i mean…”
his mouth curves slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “don’t worry. i don’t mind. you focus better when you’re quiet.”
his hand lingers near yours, fingers drumming softly against the desk. a casual rhythm, like he isn’t aware of how close he is.
“you’ve been keeping up with the material better than most,” he says, almost to himself. “sometimes i think you’re the only one actually listening in there.”
you laugh quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “maybe i’m just better at pretending.”
his eyes flick to you, sharp, amused. “hm. i don’t think so.” he leans a little closer, voice dropping in volume though the room is empty. “you don’t pretend well. i’d notice.”
your pulse skips, the words threading too fine a line between casual observation and something heavier. you focus on the map again, nodding like you’re still following his explanation.
“right here,” he continues, fingertip tracing another line across the faded paper. “this is where everything shifts. it’s subtle, but once you see it, you can’t unsee it.”
your eyes follow the curve of his finger, but your awareness is elsewhere. how close he’s standing now, the heat radiating off his body, the low timbre of his voice.
you swallow. “do you… stay this late often?”
he huffs a small laugh, rolling his sleeves higher on his forearms. “more than i should. grading, prep, answering questions like this.” his gaze slides to you again. “not that i mind.”
the way he says it... it shouldn’t mean anything. it probably doesn’t. still, your stomach twists, tight and restless.
“students don’t usually come by after hours,” he adds, tone thoughtful. “you’re the first this semester.”
“really?”
he nods once. “most prefer to email. less… personal.”
your breath catches at that word. personal.
for a moment, the only sound is the rain hammering against the window, the distant growl of thunder.
then he moves. not away, closer. he shifts behind you, reaching across the desk as if to adjust the edge of the map. the motion is innocent, practical, but his chest nearly brushes your back, his arm stretching over your shoulder. you stiffen at the proximity, every nerve alive.
“see here?” his voice is right at your ear now, lower than before, smooth as velvet.
you nod, unable to find words.
his hand rests flat on the desk beside yours, and suddenly you’re boxed in, his body a wall of warmth at your back. you can feel the rise and fall of his breathing but his closeness is anything but casual.
“most people overlook things like this,” he says, tracing a line on the map with deliberate care. “but you… you notice.”
you bite your lip. “i just… pay attention.”
"you have a different kind of focus," he says, stopping beside you again. "the kind most people lack. it's rare."
you laugh softly, hiding the tension in your throat. “maybe that makes me… weird?”
he watches you for a moment, as if weighing something invisible. his gaze isn’t harsh or imposing, just methodical.
you fiddle with your pen, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear again and he notices.
“not weird,” he corrects smoothly. “different. interesting. the kind of student who sticks in your mind.”
he moves around the desk, reaching into a neat stack of papers. “here,” he says, pulling out a folded copy of the map and holding it toward you. “thought you might like your own.”
you blink, surprised, and take it carefully. “oh… thank you, professor.” your fingers brush his briefly and you immediately pull back, heart hammering.
“don’t mention it.” he replies smoothly, a small smile tugging at his lips. his eyes linger on you just a second longer than necessary.
you fold the map again and tuck it into your notebook. suddenly aware of how quiet the office feels, how the storm outside presses against the windows. he leans back slightly against the edge of the desk, arms crossed loosely, watching you as if he’s taking note of every subtle movement. “sometimes staying a little longer… pays off.” he says, voice low, almost teasing.
you feel it then, that subtle shift in the air. the warmth closer, the way his gaze seems to weigh you, to test the space between you. it’s still polite but… something has changed. there’s a spark in his eyes now, something that hints at curiosity beyond the map, beyond the lesson.
he tilts his head slightly, as if giving you the chance to respond. “i like seeing students who go the extra mile,” he continues, tone casual. “ones who don’t leave just because it’s late. shows… determination.”
you flush, unsure if it’s pride or the way he’s studying you. noting the flush on your cheeks, the way your hands grip the notebook. “i just… wanted to understand better.” you murmur.
“of course.” he says softly, stepping a little closer under the guise of adjusting a paper on the desk.
you open your mouth to thank him again. to retreat into the safety of student-and-professor formalities, but he speaks first. his voice a low murmur that seems to vibrate right through you.
“you know,” he starts, his eyes dropping to the map between you before returning to your face, “i saw you in the library. before you came here.”
your breath hitches. “you… you did?”
he gives a single nod, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “headphones on, completely lost in your own world. you were biting the end of your pen.” he mimics the gesture subtly with his own thumb. “it’s a habit of yours, i’ve noticed. you do it in class when you’re concentrating hard.”
the admission is so intimate, so observant. he hasn’t moved an inch but he’s somehow closer than ever.
you feel the need to break the tension, to laugh it off and say something about the reading. but the words die in your throat as he straightens up.
all traces of the reassuring professor vanish. his posture changes, becomes more dominant, more… real. the casual lean is gone, replaced by a straight-backed confidence that makes the small office feel even smaller.
he lets out a soft sigh and runs a hand through his hair again, making it even more deliciously mussed. when he looks at you, his smile is different. more knowing and utterly breathtaking.
“let’s stop this.” he says, his voice losing its academic polish and gaining an honest edge.
your eyes widen. “stop… what, professor?”
“this,” he gestures between the two of you and the forgotten map. “the pretense. you’re a bright woman. you didn’t come to me just for a history lesson on a wednesday night in a storm.” he takes a purposeful step forward. “and i didn’t bring you in here just to be a good professor.”
“i brought you in here,” professor choi continues, his gaze dropping to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes, “because from the moment you tapped on that door, looking all flushed and hesitant... i knew i wouldn’t be able to focus on another damn thing until i found out if the curiosity i see in your eyes in class is just for my subject…” he pauses, his voice dropping to a low, visceral rumble, “…or if it’s for me.”
the air vanishes completely from your lungs. every piece of gossip, every campus whisper, every story of polite rejection. all of it incinerated by the sight of him. not professor choi. just seungcheol.
your heart is pounding so hard you're sure he can hear it. you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. what are you even supposed to say? 'no, of course not'?
he sees the hesitation and pure want in your eyes. it's all the answer he needs.
“that's what i thought.” he whispers, his voice dropping lower. then, he closes the distance between you.
it's not a jerky or violent movement. it's inevitable. his hand comes up and for a second you think he'll cup your cheek. but he doesn't. his fingers just trace the shape of your jaw in the air, a hair's breadth from your skin. the heat coming off his hand is a phantom touch, a promise of something more.
“the other girls...” he says, his voice low with the gravity of a historian examining a primary source, “they didn't come for the history. they came for the story they could tell about themselves. the professor they conquered.” he takes a step that closes the distance between your worlds. “but you... i see in the margins of your essays. the questions you ask that the textbooks don't answer. you don't want to conquer anything. you want to understand.”
his hand comes down, not on you but on the one white-knuckling the notebook against your chest. his fingers wrap around yours and the hardcover feels suddenly flimsy and insignificant.
he gently pries the notebook from your grip and lets it fall to the desk, forgotten amongst the parchment and papers. your personal space is gone. you are enveloped by him, by his essence. coffee, old paper and that woody cologne that now just smells like man.
he tilts his head, his lips dangerously close to your ear. and the next words aren't a whisper, they're a rough confession.
“i spent the last thirty minutes in that lecture hall just staring at the door, hoping you’d be brave enough to knock.”
your body shudders. his arm locks around your waist, pulling you flush against him. no more doubt. the desk hits your back and he steps into the space between your legs. his body a warm, solid wall.
the bridge of his nose brushes your temple. his breath is hot against your skin.
“so show me,” professor choi demands. his voice a mix of an order and a plea, as his free hand finally tangles in your hair. not with force but with possession. “show me all that curiosity was worth it.”
that raw need in his eyes breaks you. the fear of crossing the line burns away under his touch. he’s laid himself bare and you’re not about to let him regret it.
a new courage hits your blood. you don’t just let him hold you. you lean in.
your hands come up. one presses flat against his shirt, right over his racing heart. it’s just as wild as yours. the other slides into the hair at the back of his neck. he shudders hard against you, a low groan tearing from his throat.
“this what you wanted, professor?” you whisper, your mouth a breath from his. you’re not a student anymore. you’re his equal.
hunger drowns the shock in his eyes.
so you close the last bit of space.
you kiss him.
it’s not a questioning kiss. it’s an answer. it’s a confession. it’s every stolen moment of admiration, every whispered fantasy given form. your mouth moves against his with a certainty that leaves no room for doubt. showing him with every shift of your lips that yes, the curiosity was always for him. only him.
his mouth crashes into yours like he’s been starving for this. tongue sliding against yours, tasting every breath you give him. you can’t keep from moaning into it, from letting him devour you until you’re dizzy.
his hands are anything but idle. one grips the edge of the desk behind you, anchoring himself as his other drags down your side, rough through the fabric of your shirt until he finds the curve of your hip. he squeezes hard, like he needs proof you’re real under his hands.
when you gasp against his lips, he doesn’t slow. he takes the opportunity, deepening the kiss, swallowing every sound you make until you’re left trembling against him.
the sharp edge of the desk digs into the back of your thighs when he nudges you up onto it. the movement is decisive, the kind that tells you he’s not asking. your notebook and the scattered papers crumple beneath you.
“fuck…” he mutters against your mouth, almost like it slips out before he can control it. his lips trail hot down your jaw, nipping at the tender skin of your neck. “you know how many times i’ve imagined you right here? spread out on my desk?” his teeth graze over your pulse point before he sucks lightly, leaving heat in his wake.
your hands clutch at his shoulders, desperate for balance. he’s everywhere. his breath, his weight, his words filling every corner of your body.
his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, dragging upward slowly, knuckles brushing over the sensitive skin of your stomach. “i shoudn’t be doing this. tell me to stop.” he says, voice low, but it doesn’t sound like a question. it sounds like a challenge.
you don’t. you can’t.
your silence is all the permission he needs.
he pulls your shirt over your head in one swift movement, discarding it carelessly onto the floor. his eyes darken at the sight of your bra, his hand immediately cupping you over the fabric, thumb circling until your back arches into him.
“fuck, look at you...” he groans, kissing across the top of your chest. his teeth catch the strap of your bra, tugging it down with his mouth, slow and filthy.
your breath hitches when he finally takes one nipple between his lips, tongue flicking and sucking until you’re gasping, grinding helplessly against his thigh pressed between your legs.
he pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, lips wet, eyes dark. his hand skims lower, dragging down your stomach, teasing the waistband of your skirt. he pauses, thumb dipping just under it, not moving further. “what do you want from me?” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours, the weight of his stare making your skin burn.
your chest heaves, words tumbling out on a shaky breath. “i want you. please, professor c—”
“seungcheol,” he interrupts. “call me by my name here.”
his mouth leaves your chest reluctantly, lips dragging up until he’s at your ear again. his breath is hot, controlled, but you can feel the restraint in it.
“keep quiet,” he murmurs, barely more than a breath against your skin. “someone could still be around.”
you nod quickly but the sound that escapes you when his hand finally pops the button of your skirt betrays you. his palm presses down over the damp heat of your panties through the fabric and you clamp your teeth on your lip to keep from moaning too loud.
he notices. of course he does. his mouth brushes your jaw, voice low and rough. “that’s it. keep it in for me.”
the zipper comes down slow, torturous, and then his fingers are inside, brushing over your soaked panties. he exhales sharply, a quiet curse under his breath. “already this wet?”
you shift helplessly on the desk, thighs parting wider as he hikes your skirt up, exposing you. his knuckles trace the thin line of lace, teasing, before he curls two fingers under the fabric and pushes it aside.
the first touch of his fingers on your bare cunt makes your whole body jolt. you grab his arm on instinct, nails pressing into his sleeve as his thumb finds your clit and circles deliberately, steady pressure that has you trembling almost immediately.
“so sensitive,” he whispers against your temple, his lips ghosting your skin with every word. “been holding this in for a while, haven’t you?”
you bite down harder on your lip, a muffled whimper escaping despite yourself. he doesn’t give you relief. if anything, he slows down. drawing lazy circles over your clit until your hips lift off the desk in search of more.
he chuckles low, breathy, but it’s gone in an instant when he pushes a finger inside you. your jaw falls open, no sound coming out, just a sharp gasp of air as your walls clench tight around him.
he watches your face, completely focused. his thumb never leaving your clit while his finger curls inside you. “that’s it. just like that.” he mutters, voice still low, more to himself than to you.
when he adds a second finger, stretching you, the wet sound of it fills the office, obscene against the storm hammering outside. you slap a hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that wants to break free, your other hand fisting his shirt so tight you’re sure you’ll wrinkle it beyond saving.
he leans down, lips brushing your ear again, and whispers, “good girl.”
your body shudders at the quiet praise, at the rhythm of his fingers thrusting deep, curling just right. his pace builds with a precision that makes your thighs tremble, his thumb rubbing tight circles until your stomach knots, your whole body teetering on the edge.
he feels it. he must, because his pace grows more insistent, fingers moving harder, faster, the wet slap of it filling the small space. he murmurs against your skin, almost inaudible, “come for me. let me feel you.”
your walls flutter around his fingers, your body begging for release, but you force yourself to push his wrist back, breath ragged against his neck.
“wait,” your voice is barely a whisper, shaky but clear. “i don’t want to just… i want to feel you.”
he freezes for a moment, chest rising hard against yours. his eyes search your face before his jaw tightens.
he pulls his fingers from you slow. your body clenches at the loss, your slick dripping over his knuckles. he wipes it against your thigh, rough, as if to mark you.
then his hand are on your shoulder, turning you around before pressing you forward. your chest meets the cool wood of his desk. papers scatter beneath you, some sliding to the floor but you don’t care.
his body crowds behind yours, the heat of him burning through your back. he grips your hip firmly, dragging you toward the edge of the desk, until you’re arched just the way he wants.
“stay down.” he murmurs, voice rough but low, just for you. his palm presses gently between your shoulder blades, holding you there.
you whimper into the crook of your arm, muffling the sound when you feel the blunt press of his cock through his trousers against your ass. the friction is enough to make your eyes roll back.
he exhales harshly through his nose, grinding once, slow and heavy, like he’s savoring the tension. “you have no idea how long i’ve thought about this.” his hand squeezes your ass, thumb dragging down to spread you open just enough for him to see the mess between your thighs.
the sharp sound of his zipper being pulled down makes your whole body tense in anticipation.
you tilt your head just enough to catch his gaze over your shoulder, your voice wrecked but firm. “please. i need you, seungcheol.”
his expression breaks into something almost feral, restraint hanging by a thread. he strokes himself once, the wet tip of his cock dragging deliberately over your folds, coating himself in you.
“so wet i don’t even need to prep you more...” he whispers, pushing just the head in before pulling back. your body jerks with the tease, nails digging into the wood of the desk.
“don’t tease.” you hiss, barely audible, and he smirks against the nape of your neck.
then, with one steady thrust, he pushes inside. slow but unrelenting, every inch stretching you until he bottoms out. your mouth falls open in a strangled cry, muffled quickly into the crook of your arm.
“fuck,” he growls low, his forehead pressing briefly between your shoulders as if to ground himself. “so tight.”
he draws back almost all the way, then slams forward again, the desk creaking under the force. one hand stays locked on your hip, the other dragging up your spine, fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back just enough.
“keep quiet,” he breathes harshly against your ear, punctuating his words with another sharp thrust. “or someone’s gonna hear who you really belong to right now.”
his thrusts start deep, each one driving the desk forward a fraction across the floor. you bite into your forearm to muffle the sounds spilling from your throat, but the way he hits that spot inside you makes it nearly impossible to stay quiet.
his grip on your hip is bruising, dragging you back into him with every snap of his hips. the wet slap of skin against skin fills the office, obscene and loud enough that your heart stutters in fear someone might hear.
his hand leaves your hair and slips over your mouth, palm covering you, his chest heavy against your back. “shhh,” he mutters, breathless, almost broken himself. “be good for me. just take it.”
your eyes flutter shut as he fucks you harder, deeper, angling his hips until you’re seeing stars. every time he pulls out, you clench around nothing, desperate. and then he’s slamming back inside, making you whimper into his hand.
the pace builds. rough, relentless. his teeth graze the curve of your shoulder, biting down just enough to make you jolt, a strangled moan caught under his palm.
“fuck, you feel unreal,” he grits out, voice cracked with the effort of holding back. “so tight around me...” his words cut off into a groan when you clench down, walls fluttering desperately around his cock.
your body trembles, slick dripping down your thighs, the messy sounds filling the room as he drives into you from behind. you can’t hold it anymore. the pressure spirals tight, unbearable.
you arch against him, nails raking over the wood of the desk. “i’m...” you try to speak, but it comes out broken, muffled under his hand. your body is screaming for release.
he feels it, the way you’re pulsing around him. and his thrusts only get rougher, harder, fucking you into the desk like he wants to tear you apart and put you back together.
the coil inside you snaps. your orgasm crashes through you in violent waves, your whole body shaking under his weight. you moan into his hand, muffled, desperate, as your walls clamp down on him so tight it nearly drags him over the edge too.
“that’s it,” he growls low against your ear, hips stuttering but never slowing. “cum for me. soak my cock.”
you collapse against the desk, body trembling, thighs shaking as the aftershocks roll through you. he keeps moving, chasing his own release, pounding into you even as you whimper from the overstimulation.
his hips slam forward once more, deep. and you can feel the way he’s trembling against you, his chest flush to your back, every muscle in his body tight with the effort of holding on.
you’re still shaking, your body sensitive from your orgasm, but you can feel it. he’s close, so close, his cock twitching inside you, his thrusts erratic.
“inside,” you whisper, voice broken and muffled into your arm. “please, inside me.”
his breath stutters, a sharp groan ripping from his chest, like your words just shattered whatever control he had left. his grip on your hip tightens almost painfully, and for a moment you think he’ll give in.
but then he pulls out, rough and sudden. fisting his cock in his hand as he spills across your lower back and the desk in hot, messy streaks.
“fuck—” he gasps, chest heaving, forehead pressed to your shoulder as his release shakes through him.
you whimper at the emptiness, at how desperately you wanted to feel him stay inside.
he laughs, breathless, brushing his lips against your ear. “you know i can’t do that,” he murmurs, voice wrecked but teasing, “not here, not now.”
his hand slides down your side, soothing, grounding after the roughness. “you’d ruin me if i did.”
the air between you is hot and heavy, the scent of sex clinging to the room. he leans back just enough to look at you, still bent over the desk, your skin marked with his fingerprints, your body trembling.
“don’t look at me like that,” he says softly, playful despite the rasp in his voice. “i barely managed to pull out as it is.”
he exhales slow, shaky, like he’s coming back to himself and the first thing he does is grab a handful of tissues from the corner of his desk. gently, almost reverent, he wipes over your skin, cleaning the mess he left behind. his touch is careful, different now. soothing where minutes ago he was all rough edges and urgency.
“sorry,” he murmurs, voice low, thumb brushing lightly over your hipbone. “shouldn’t have lost it like that.”
you shake your head, still catching your breath and he gives you a small smile before helping tug your skirt back down, smoothing the fabric as if it might erase the evidence.
he straightens his shirt next, tucking it back into his trousers, then turns to fix your hair with his fingers, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. it’s almost absurd. how soft he is now, compared to the way he just fucked you into the desk.
you’re both nearly done recomposing yourselves when
knock knock.
“professor? you still in there?”
your heart drops to your stomach. you freeze, wide-eyed, while he instantly schools his expression into calm.
“yeah,” he calls back, steady, like nothing’s wrong. “just finishing up.”
there’s a pause outside the door, then footsteps recede down the hall.
he lets out a quiet laugh, though his hand is still resting firm at your waist, grounding you. “close call.”
once everything looks presentable, he hesitates at the door, glancing back at you. his voice dips, softer. “wait a few minutes before you leave. don’t want anyone to start guessing.”
you nod, still catching your breath and he leans in to press a lingering kiss to your lips. it’s nothing like the frantic heat from before, this one is sweet.
when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “i don’t want this to just… stay here,” he admits, voice low, honest. “let me take you out. somewhere that isn’t… a desk.”
the corner of his mouth quirks, eyes crinkling as he steals another kiss, softer this time. “deal?”
you can’t help but smile, warmth curling in your chest.
“deal.”
the handle clicks, the world rushing back in as he steps out, leaving you alone in the heavy silence of the office. heart racing, lips tingling, the promise of something dangerous and thrilling lingering in the air, like the start of a secret you’re suddenly desperate to keep.
DILF!James Potter, who somehow manages to make every quiet evening in the café you work in feel like the world paused just for him, walks in like he owns the place. Tall, broad, effortlessly magnetic, he has that kind of presence that makes your chest tighten and your brain short-circuit in the worst, most delicious way.
His hand is wrapped around his son’s tiny fingers, guiding Harry gently through the empty tables. The boy looks like a whirlwind passed through, curls sticking up in every direction, glasses sliding down his nose, cheeks rosy with excitement.
They always come during the quiet evenings. It is almost unfair how peaceful the café becomes the moment they step inside, like the world softens just for them. Or maybe it is just James. He has that kind of presence, warm and grounding, the kind that makes you think fuck, how is a man allowed to be this attractive while trying to order ice cream?
And it is always the same order; one scoop of chocolate in the small blue bowl — Harry’s. You grab it without thinking, muscle memory by now. James only ever gets a coffee, sometimes, on the days he looks a little more tired than usual. But today, it’s just the ice cream.
Your thoughts are absolutely not on the dessert, though. They’re on his hands. His forearms. The way his shirt sleeves are rolled up just enough to show tan skin and veins that have no business looking that good.
James Potter was no ordinary man. Not even close. He was the kind of attractive that made people double-take without meaning to — the kind that made your coworkers go quiet the first time he walked in, whispering behind the counter about the dad with the glasses.
Even now, months later, your coworkers still find themselves stealing glances at him whenever he walks in, pretending it is nothing. The girls by the window do not bother hiding it, their eyes openly following him as if the world itself paused for his presence.
And yet, despite all that attention, despite the small crowd of silent admirers he unconsciously attracts, he remains simply James Potter—a kind, steady regular who comes in with his son, orders the same chocolate scoop, and smiles at you as though you were just another part of his routine.
Not that it matters. You know you have no chance. He is at least fifteen years older than you, impossibly out of reach, and far too alluring. He is just a customer. A devastatingly attractive one whom you absolutely should not be imagining in ways that have nothing to do with ice cream.
You set the bowl in front of Harry, and the kid doesn’t even pretend he’s going to wait. He digs in instantly, the spoon clattering against the ceramic as chocolate smears across his cheek like war paint. It pulls a laugh out of you before you can stop it, he’s just impossibly sweet and adorable.
James watches his son with this soft, unguarded tenderness that hits you square in the ribs every single time. Like nothing else in the world exists for him in that moment except making sure Harry doesn’t drop the bowl or fall out of the chair.
And it shouldn’t be allowed — how good he looks like this. How natural. How utterly at ease in a role that would make other men fumble.
He glances up at you, expression gentle, and your heartbeat runs faster. “Come on, Harry,” James says softly. “Say thank you.”
Harry beams at you. “Thank you, miss y/n!”
You crouch slightly to meet his eyes. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
His eyes flick up to you, warm and easy.
“Thank you, love.”
It isn’t even meant to be flirtatious; you’re sure he tosses that term at anyone without thinking.Yet it hits you low, like a pulse you can’t hide. His smile is slow and warm, a little too knowing, and you get the unsettling sense that he’s fully aware of how easily you unravel under it.
He probably is just being polite, but your brain is far too busy screaming holy fuck to care about logic.
You straighten quickly, because you can feel the heat crawling up your neck. “Of course. I’ll see you both next time.”
Harry waves with sticky hands as they head out. James places a light hand on the door for you as he leaves, something so small yet so fucking irresistible you almost groan.
The door shuts. The evening air slips into the café. They are halfway down the street when you realize you have been staring at the window like an idiot.
You sigh, muttering under your breath as you wipe the counter.
“Fuck me, he’s too hot.”
The next week drifts by slowly, the kind of slow that makes every shift feel twice as long. By the time evening hits, the cafe’s nearly dead. Only one couple sits near the window, finishing their last bites and murmuring quietly to each other.
You move between tables with a damp cloth, wiping down surfaces and pretending you are not counting the minutes until he walks in. It has become a problem, honestly.
The way you perk up when the door opens is humiliating. You hate how obvious it must be to your coworkers. You cannot help it though. James Potter does something to your brain, something indecent, something you probably need therapy for.
You are bent over a table when the bell rings. You straighten immediately. He walks in alone this time, tall and gorgeous in that unfair way, hair mussed like he kept running his hands through it, tie loosened around his neck.
No Harry.
Your heart kicks up.
“Hi, Mr. Potter,” you greet, smoothing your apron even though it is already perfect.
He takes his usual seat near the corner and gives you a soft smile. “The usual?” you ask gently, hands resting on your hips.
“Yes, please.” He taps his fingertips lightly on the wooden table, a small habit you have memorized without meaning to.
“No little Harry today?” You chuckle softly, though a fucked up part of you is already thinking oh god, it is just him tonight.
“Oh, no,” he replies. He leans back a little, looking relaxed in a way he rarely gets to be. “He is sleeping over at his uncle’s place.”
You smile. “Well, when you see him, tell him I said hi. I’ll be right back with your coffee.”
It takes barely two minutes to fix it exactly how he likes—rich, dark, a splash of cream. You try not to think about how embarrassing it is that you know his preference by heart, right down to the way he always warms his hands around the mug before taking the first sip. You bring it over and set it in front of him.
“Thank you.” His fingers curl around the cup, voice warm and a little tired, somehow making the simplest words sound devastatingly attractive.
“Of course. Let me know if you need anything else.” You turn to walk away, trying to seem professional even though your body is buzzing with awareness of him.
You barely take three steps before he clears his throat and calls your name.
You stop instantly and look over your shoulder, brows raised.
He sits there with the cup in his hand, cheeks faintly flushed, eyes soft and a bit nervous.
“Excuse me if this is an odd question,” he says, letting out a tiny laugh as if he is embarrassed. “But… when do you leave?”
Your pulse jumps.
“At six,” you answer slowly, stepping a little closer. “May I ask why?”
***
“Oh—fuck…” You gasp, head tilting back while your eyes struggle to stay open. It is pathetic how desperate you feel watching the way he fills you, thick and deep, every thrust making your stomach tighten.
Your hands slide up your chest, squeezing your breasts because the extra pressure sends sharp, dizzy waves of pleasure straight to your core.
James’s low chuckle vibrates through you. He looks down between your bodies, watching with a hunger that makes your skin burn as his cock disappears inside your soaked, greedy cunt.
One of his hands is planted beside your head for balance, the other gliding over your waist, your stomach, your ribs—touching you like he owns every inch.
“Listen to you,” he mutters, voice rough and amused. “Being so loud when the flat upstairs is probably awake.” His hand tightens suddenly at your hip, dragging you closer so he can bury himself deeper. The shift forces a shocked, breathless cry out of you and your back arches helplessly.
The angle is obscene. You feel every inch. You feel ruined.
Your thighs tremble as you try to breathe through it, cunt clenching around him with no shame. James moves his hand slowly up your stomach again, the heat of his palm making your insides twist even tighter.
Then his fingers snap against your cheek in a sharp, unexpected slap.
A stunned cry tears from your throat, the sting blooming across your face as your mouth falls open.
Before you can even catch your breath, James hooks his thumb between your lips, forcing them wider, pressing deep into the soft flesh inside your cheek.
“That gets you going, doesn’t it?” he says, tone thick with dark satisfaction. “Taking it like a filthy little thing who doesn’t know how to behave.”
Your cunt tightens violently around him, betraying you instantly. A broken moan falls out around his thumb, and your hand scrambles down between your legs, fingers circling your clit with frantic, needy pressure.
James laughs, quiet and breathless, biting his bottom lip as he watches you come apart for him. His thrusts get harder, sharper, punishing.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Touching yourself for me like you’re starving for it. Bet you’d love it if someone heard. Bet you want someone to hear how fucking desperate you are.”
You choke on another moan, hips grinding to meet his every push, completely undone.
“It feels… fuck—James, it feels so good—”
A satisfied sound rumbles in his chest, his forehead dropping to yours like he wants to feel every noise you make.
“Yeah,” he whispers, almost proud. “I know it does.”
Heat rushes to your face, your breath catching on a broken sound that absolutely gives you away. You try to rein it back in, but you can’t. Your body keeps chasing him, pushing up into every demanding roll of his hips like you’re starved.
A strangled cry escapes you, and your fingers grip him tighter, shivering as the heat coils tighter in your stomach, spreading outward, dragging every part of you along for the ride.
James’s grin is dark, filthy, like he’s enjoying every helpless, desperate second of it. “That’s it, baby. So fucking good… can you feel it building? Yeah, I know you can.”
Your moans hit new heights, loud, messy, shameless, and James leans closer, his hands roaming over you with total ownership, his mouth pressing against your skin as he whispers, low and hot.
“You feel so fucking perfect,” he growls, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So wet… so tight… how about I fill you up properly? Give you a baby? Make you mine, yeah? Make Harry a big brother?”
Your breath catches, a broken moan tumbling from your lips. “Yes… please… James…”
He chuckles low and dark, tugging your hair lightly to tilt your head back. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, a possessive glint in his eyes. “I’ll fill you up so good,”
Without warning, he flips you over, pressing you down onto the mattress with ease.
TAGS: Arranged Marriage, Business AU, Angst, Fluff
WARNINGS: Explicit Language, Smut (18+, MDNI, it’s mild but still), Pregnancy and Its Horrifying Symptoms, Author disregards her Anaphy units for the sake of plot, Author misses the province and projects it on every single one of her characters, Author does not know how divorce proceedings or real estate works
WC: 23.7k
SUMMARY: There wasn’t a single day in your marriage that Choi Seungcheol wasn’t sincere, even when you wanted him to do the exact opposite, even when it hurt. The most hurtful truth of it all? You’re his wife, but you’ll always be the other woman.
A/N: Guys, this final part is genuinely just for closure so please don’t expect too much 🥹🙏 (I say that and somehow still ended up with 23.7k words LMAO, but honestly this story could’ve ended at PT.1).
PART 1 | PART 2 (CURRENT)
Choi Seungcheol doesn’t know what’s true anymore.
The drawers beside his are empty, the toothbrush holder in the bathroom has an open space for one, the sheets beside him are cold, and the house is deafeningly quiet. The only thing Seungcheol has known this past week is silence, but he’s come to realize that there is no peace to be found.
Seungcheol walks through the world like a man pulled by strings, by forces beyond his control. There’s an ache in his soul that’s begging him to stay, to rest, to stop, to feel, but his brain is telling him to move until the exhaustion makes him numb. He thinks it’s the only way he can live with himself: half-awake and half-dead as he burnt himself out trying to forget.
Everything’s a blur. The days bleed into each other, one after another like a nightmare with no end. None of it feels true, and every single fiber of his being wishes that none of it was. Because if it was true, that would mean that the papers on his desk were just as true as your absence.
Petition for Divorce
Those three words have branded themselves into Seungcheol’s eyelids. He sees them even when the rest of the world is black.
Seungcheol didn’t want this marriage. It had ripped him from the woman he loved, had ripped from that little city that gave him freedom. If anything, the papers on his desk should have him jumping for joy and booking the next flight to Charles de Gaulle. This was his way out.
Seungcheol didn’t want out.
Seungcheol wanted to go back in, wanted to go into your house, lean into your touch, and fall back into your arms. He wanted to wake up next to you, eat your half-burnt meals, go on endless vacations with you, watch your hairs turn grey together, and sit your tombstones next to each other, no matter how morbid that sounded.
You never know what you have until it’s gone. Seungcheol used to think that was a load of shit until it happened to him.
The right thing to do would be to sign those papers and let you live your life after all the hurt he put you through. You deserved someone who was sure about you, not someone who only realized they were in love you when you’ve already packed your bags and left.
Sohee was nostalgia.
She was slow, calm, and comfortable. With her, Seungcheol could feel at ease. Running around and playing in the garden with Sohee had been his escape from the clutches of his overbearing mother and his strict father. In his adulthood, that had blurred into morning strolls and midnight entanglements in Paris.
“Hyung, did you ever even love Sohee?”
Maybe he did at one point. He wouldn’t have sworn promises against her lips and cared for her son like his own if he didn't. However, he thinks that love died a long time ago. When the novelty faded and the nostalgia died and bared the bones of their relationship, Seungcheol found that the only thing keeping that relationship alive was his stubbornness to ensure that his promises remained true.
“If you wanted to fight for her, you would’ve done it.”
Somehow Mingyu knew him better than he knew himself. Because the man was right. Seungcheol was nothing if not stubborn, and if he really loved Sohee as much as he claimed he did, he would’ve ripped the marriage agreement with his bare hands and fucked off to the lively alleys of Paris, never to return to the cold streets of Seoul… But he didn’t.
Seungcheol loves you.
There was no need to cling to the happy memories of a boy who mistook familiarity for love. Choi Seungcheol didn’t need to clutch onto those happy memories when he was with you because he was living through and creating them with you. If Sohee was a happy memory, then you were the future he wanted to see. A future he lost.
A future that he’d fight against all odds for just to bring back.
Seungcheol’s respect for your decision only lasted for two weeks before the void in his soul became too much to bear. Stubbornly, he refused to let you go, not without a fight. You could scream at him, throw things at him, and kick him out, and he’d take all of that over going away quietly and live a lifetime wondering what it would be like if he had fought for you.
This was him honoring the aching longing in his chest.
This was him honoring your last request.
“My last request is that we have to talk to each other if there’s a problem. No matter how big or small it is.”
—
Kwon Soonyoung thinks he’s going to shit himself.
He was on lunchbreak, peacefully chewing through the food he bought from the convenience store across the company building. He was laughing at some stupid TikTok video that he just knows is frying his brain when Choi Seungcheol walks in with a fire in his eyes and hell in his stride.
Oh shit.
Soonyoung swallows the half-chewed pork in his mouth and nearly chokes, but dying from a blocked airway was the least of his concerns when his boss’ husband—soon-to-be-ex-husband (?)—walks into a room looking ready for a confrontation.
Oh god, what was he going to say if Seungcheol asked him where you were? You specifically instructed Soonyoung not to tell Seungcheol, after all.
“Mr. Choi!” Soonyoung greets the man with enthusiasm like he isn’t about to piss his pants, shit himself, and vomit from the fear that Seungcheol’s sheer presence instills in him. “What brings you here?”
“I’m looking for Y/N,” comes Seungcheol’s reply, his eyes flickering around the office to stare at all the little trinkets lying around. Soonyoung notes that his eyes seem to linger on the framed picture from your honeymoon. “Is she out? I can just come back if she is.”
Seungcheol’s gaze feels like an all-seeing eye, and Soonyoung panics. Immediately, the truth slips from his mouth before he can bite his tongue and think of an excuse, “Ms. L/N is on an indefinite leave.”
Good job, Kwon Soonyoung!
Seungcheol’s strong brows furrow and the corner of lips dip into a frown. Soonyoung resists the urge to flinch when Seungcheol speaks again, “Since when?”
“It’s been a week, sir,” Soonyoung replies. He hopes you can forgive him for telling Seungcheol the truth. In his defense, your husband was terrifying! And Soonyoung had a feeling that if he lied to Seungcheol today, the man would still find out the truth someday, and Soonyoung’s neck would be on the line.
“Did she say why?” Seungcheol asks as he picks up the picture frame on your desk. Soonyoung notes the way the man’s eyes seem to soften at the sight of the picture in it.
“No, sir,” Soonyoung says as he shakes his head. He didn’t have to worry about lying for this one because he really did have no idea. You had just packed your things, rendered your tasks, then never returned to the office. You were still involved, technically, but only when it was urgent, and only remotely.
“Where is she now?” Seungcheol drops the frame and Soonyoung’s stomach drops with.
Well, now was the time he really needed to lie. This was the one thing you didn’t want anyone, especially Seungcheol to know. You had only told Soonyoung because he was your trusted secretary, and he needed to know where to run in case things at the company went to shit and he couldn’t reach you via the phone.
“I don’t know, sir,” Soonyoung hopes he sounds convincing.
Seungcheol clicks his tongue, and Soonyoung swears that he felt it in his soul. It’s probably why you’re divorcing this man, he thinks. The man had a serious case of pretty boy face, but holy shit, he was terrifying.
“I doubt that, Mr. Kwon,” Seungcheol says, dark eyes piercing straight into Soonyoung’s terrified ones. “I’ll find out for myself.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Soonyoung bows deeply.
“I understand,” Seungcheol’s shoulders slump as he sits on the edge of your desk. The tension in the room disappears, and in its place is defeat. Soonyoung almost feels sorry for the man. “Is she doing well, at least?”
A ping coming from Seungcheol’s phone cuts through the air, and Soonyoung watches as Seungcheol pulls out his phone and starts typing away.
“She’s still responding to work e-mails, sir,” Soonyoung replies vaguely. He doesn’t know how you’re doing considering the fact that you don’t really divulge anything about your personal life. That and the fact that he’s always found it difficult to read you. You weren’t the type to wear your heart on your sleeve. You were kind and seemingly outgoing, but Soonyoung always feels like there’s something more beneath all that. “I could ask on your behalf.”
There’s a satisfied look on Seungcheol’s face when he pockets his phone and looks straight at Soonyoung. It’s a little horrifying, if Soonyoung was being honest.
“There’s no need Mr. Kwon,” Seungcheol replies with a wave of his hand as he pushes himself from the edge of your desk. “I’ll ask her myself.”
Oh shit.
—
Boeun is peaceful.
It’s a little lonely, but you think that’s your upbringing talking. Compared to the concrete jungle of Seoul with its towering buildings and light pollution, Boeun boasts sprawling greenery and stargazing opportunities. It’s a stark contrast to the world you grew up in.
It’s terrifying sometimes. Moving to a completely different place meant that you knew no one. You have no one to turn to in case things go awry. You could get murdered in the middle of the night, and no one would know until someone from Seoul came looking for you. The closest neighbor you had lived a few hundred meters away, a kind old lady named Park Soonja who had brought you vegetables and fruits from her garden after she heard someone new was moving in. In the week you’ve been here, she’s made sure to check up on you every morning as a part of her routine after finding out that you were pregnant.
It’s a little sweet.
Fuck, were you seriously going to cry again? You’d rather not. Especially not when you were just about to put on your shoes and grab your things for your first prenatal visit. The last thing you wanted to do was to show up in Dr. Lee’s office with red eyes and a shallow reason for it.
Once you’ve locked your doors, you’re quick to get into your tiny Hyundai and start driving to the hospital situated a few kilometers away from your house. It’s a quick drive with minimal changes in direction, a complete 180 from Seoul’s noisy traffic and mind-boggling turns.
When you get to the hospital, the staff is quick to point you in the direction of Dr. Lee’s office. You were her second patient for the day, and the appointment was still ongoing, so you still had to wait.
You take a seat on one of the plastic chairs outside, eyes trained on the clock at the end of the hallway as you watch the hands change at every minute that passes. Some part of you couldn’t help but feel sorry for yourself.
Honestly speaking, this wasn’t how you expected your first pregnancy—or any of your pregnancies, really—to go. There was something about sitting in an empty hallway that just gnawed at your heart and left you aching. It took two of you to make that child, but somehow here you were, alone.
It hurts.
It hurts to think of what your life would look like if you had stayed behind and told Seuncheol the truth. Would he be there to hold your hand and ease your worries? Or would he shun you and the child inside you? You don’t think he’d do the latter. He wasn’t that horrible.
Seungcheol just loved, and you couldn’t fault him for that. Your marriage had ripped Seungcheol’s love apart and fed from the blood that seeped from their broken hearts to come into fruition, and you reaped it. You don’t know why you expected things to work out when doom already lingered in your marriage from the very start.
To add insult to injury, Dr. Lee’s door opens, and a couple bearing the widest smiles exits. The woman is glowing as she cradles her bump, her husband’s arm wrapped around her like a shield from all the world’s dangers. He’s holding a copy of the sonogram, adoration practically dripping from his eyes as he stares.
You lower your gaze. Looking at them physically hurt when all you could imagine was what Seungcheol would look like in his position. Would his smile be as bright? Would he hold you with as much care?
“Ms. L/N?” One of the nurses calls out, and immediately, you snap from your thoughts.
“Yes, that’s me,” You reply as you stand up from the chairs.
“Please proceed inside,” The nurse bows with a smile as she gestures for you to come inside.
You bow in response and head into Dr. Lee’s office.
“It’s good to finally see you in person, Ms. L/N,” Dr. Lee greets, the wrinkles around her eyes becoming more visible as she gives you a bright and kind smile. “Please, take a seat.”
Gingerly, you take a seat, hands folded over your lap as you observe her scan through your records. Her desk is neat despite the stack of papers. The only thing that seems to have her personal touch on it is a picture of her with a young woman in a toga who looked like her carbon-copy. Her daughter, probably.
“Are we waiting for anyone?” Dr. Lee looks up from her aged computer to stare directly at you.
Once again, you’re briefly reminded of the fact that you were alone in this. You had no one to turn to, no one to come with you, and no one to hold you through it all.
You swallow the lump in your throat and blink back the tears you know are forming. With a tight smile, you speak, “No, doc. It’s just me today.”
And tomorrow, and the day after, and the week after, and every other foreseeable time period in the future.
It’s just you.
It’s terrifying, lonely, and freeing all at once.
Dr. Lee’s eyes turn soft with knowing, but she doesn’t comment further. It’s something you’re thankful for. “Let’s get started then.”
The visit goes smoothly under Dr. Lee’s care. She’s very accommodating throughout the whole process, and she carefully guides you through each and everything you need to know at that point of your pregnancy. After a physical, urinalysis, ultrasound, and a blood draw, your appointment finally wraps up and Dr. Lee is sending you off with a smile and a sonogram.
“Remember to eat well and sleep a lot, Ms. L/N,” Dr. Lee says, patting you on the back as she walks you out of her office. “You need a healthy mom for a healthy baby, after all.”
“I will, Doc,” You smile at her, clutching the sonogram to your chest as you blink away the tears.
“Call me anytime you have a concern, okay?” Dr. Lee says. “Even if it’s the middle of the night. I really don’t mind.”
You laugh shyly, “Doc, you’re too kind—“
“Nonsense,” Dr. Lee waves you off. “Us women have to stick together when everyone else has failed us.”
The picture on her desk briefly flickers in your mind, and suddenly, it clicks.
With a teary smile, you bow to her. “I will, Doc. Thank you.”
“Drive safe, Ms. L/N.”
When you get home, the first thing you do is set your bag on the side, sit on the floor, and take out the sonogram. It’s small, you think. A tiny white bean in a sea of black and white. It hits you, all at once, that it’s all real. This is real. In a few weeks that bean will grow and your stomach will swell, and after 32 weeks, you'll be holding your child in your arms.
A sweet, innocent child with no knowledge of the world.
Would they take after you? Would you spend the rest of your life nurturing your own reflection and making sure that they live a life better than yours? Or would they take after Seungcheol? Would you spend the rest of your life looking at that child and be tormented by the features you fell in love with? Would you spend the rest of your life haunted by the what ifs and what could’ve beens?
It didn’t matter, you would see this through the end. You haven’t even met your little baby, but you already knew that you’d give them the world and more.
That night, you fall asleep on your bed, sonogram on your side and the promise of a better future in your mind.
—
Like every other day, the first thing you do when you wake up is to empty your guts in the toilet before heading to the kitchen. Cooking was honestly the last thing you wanted to do considering your nausea, but you were no longer eating for yourself. You were eating for two now.
Despite not being the best cook, solitude has forced you to become self-sufficient, and you can proudly say that you had a better sense of what to do in the kitchen. You’re still not good, but at the very least, you no longer have to settle for eating something raw or completely burnt.
You’re staring at the ingredients in the refrigerator when a knock at your door snaps you from your musings. There’s only one person who’d be knocking at your door this time, so without bothering to look through the door viewer, you open the door.
“Good morning, halmeoni,” You greet Soonja with a smile. “Come in, I was just about to cook breakfast.”
“You haven’t cooked? Perfect,” Soonja, despite her age, still has the strength and stubbornness of a fiery young woman. She shuts the door behind you, and immediately guides you to sit down at the dining table. “You stay put. I’ll cook you breakfast.”
You’re quick to protest, attempting to grab the pots from her hand, “Halmeoni, I can still move you know—“
“I know, but let me help,” Soonja scolds with a light swat at your hands. “I know how hard the mornings can be at this time.”
With an empty stomach but a heart so full, you watch as Soonja works her way through your kitchen. She pulls out various ingredients you wouldn’t even think of touching, but somehow all the things she’s throwing in still looks appetizing.
When Soonja finishes, you’re quick to pull out bowls and dishes for two as she sets her freshly cooked dishes on the trivet placed on the table. Quickly, you scoop the food into the dishes, and by the time you’re done, the two of you have your portions of miyeokguk, gyeranjjim, and rice.
“You didn’t have to get some for me,” Soonja says. “This is supposed to be your food.”
“I just…” You’re a little embarrassed of your next words despite knowing that Soonja would be the last person on Earth to judge you. “I didn’t want to eat alone.”
You don't miss the way Soonja’s face seems to fall. If there was anyone who knew what loneliness was like, it would be her. Soonja was, after all, already widowed, and her children had lives of their own in the city.
“Dear, I’ll eat breakfast with you every day that I’m free if you want me to,” Soonja says as she sits on the chair across from yours and grabs her spoon. “Let’s eat. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
The rest of breakfast passes by in a blur of lighthearted conversation and stories from Soonja’s youth. Before you knew it, Soonja already had to leave for her meetings at the town hall with a few of your other neighbors.
“Thank you for breakfast, halmeoni,” You smile as you watch Soonja who’s putting her shoes on.
“No need to thank me, dear. It was my pleasure,” Soonja replies as she wraps her arms around you in the warmest hug you’ve received in weeks. “Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t lift anything that’s too heavy, and don't overwork yourself.”
“Yes, halmeoni,” You reply, rubbing her back up and down before the two of you pull away. “You might be late to the meeting if you keep worrying about me.”
“Exactly, so don’t make me worry, okay?” Soonja says as she waves goodbye.
“I won’t, I promise.” You nod, returning her wave.
Once your door is shut, you’re quick to walk into your little office to open your laptop for any pressing concerns from the company. There wasn’t much to see, something you're thankful for. You could probably take a quick walk around the town given the lack of—
Your phone rings.
Secretary Kwon
Immediately, you pick up the call.
“Hello? Is everything alright, Soonyoung?” You ask, fingers tapping anxiously at the wood of your desk.
“Yes, Ma’am! The company is doing fine.” Soonyong replies, and that somewhat eases you. However, that still doesn’t explain why Soonyoung is suddenly calling you. “I actually called to talk about the divorce papers you sent to Mr. Choi.”
Your heart drops. Had he signed it? It’s stupid, you think. You’re the one who filed for divorce, but somehow, the idea of Choi Seungcheol signing those papers actually terrified you. Deep down, even when you chose to push him away and run to the middle of nowhere, you still loved Seungcheol.
The words weigh your tongue down as you speak, “Did he sign it already?”
“Mr. Choi burned them, Ma’am,” comes Soonyoung’s reply. “We could just send him another one to show your efforts in contacting him, then Atty. Chwe said the court could grant a default judgment if you still want to pursue the case.”
Why would Choi Seungcheol burn those papers when it was his one-way ticket to starting over with the love of his life? There was no logical explanation for his behavior. You had honestly thought that Seungcheol would immediately agree and make the divorce process easier, but you have a feeling that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
You think of the entire process: the numerous court visits you would have to do, the lengthy terms you would have to discuss, and all the other time-consuming, soul-draining legal processes you would have to go through. It would be difficult to do all of that when you were pregnant and all the way in Boeun.
“Ma’am? Are you still there?”
Kwon Soonyoung’s voice forces the racing thoughts in your head to halt.
“Yes, sorry. I was just thinking,” comes your reply. “I assume this process is going to take a while if I decide to pursue it?”
“Yes, unfortunately,” Soonyoung replies.
“Okay,” You bite on your lip and wonder if you’re really going to say whatever it is you’re about to say. In your defense, you had done what you could, and Seungcheol stubbornly refused to play his part. You weren’t about to stress yourself out when running away from it all until you were strong enough to face it was a viable option.
Mind made-up, you continue, “Tell Atty. Chwe that I won’t be pursuing it anymore.”
—
If you thought the 8th week of your pregnancy was bad, the 9th week was somehow worse.
Your symptoms had you reaching a whole new low. The nausea was so bad that you barely ate, and anything you did eat was quickly vomited into the toilet. Not only that, but your mood was all over the place. One minute, you’d be crying because your jeans wouldn’t zip up properly due to all the bloating, and the next thing you know, you’re irrationally angry at the table that made you stub your toe.
It was horrible.
Soonja tries to help. The sweet old lady makes sure to drop by and check-in on you, and on the days she has no commitments in the morning, she even eats breakfast with you. While all her efforts helped, none of them ever truly eased the physiological pains your pregnancy brought. The only thing you can do is lay on the couch and hope that your hormones will have mercy on you. Sooner rather than later, you hope.
You’re lying on the couch, extremely miserable while you watch some drama play on the television, when a knock on your door disturbs you. Your eyes flit over to the clock on the wall, and you note that it’s half past 3. It’s too hot outside for it to be Soonja. While you didn't doubt the old lady’s health, no sane individual would choose to walk under this heat unless they really needed to.
A little annoyed, you stand up from your couch and walk towards your door. Whoever it was, they better have a good reason for disturbing you. You were already so comfortable on the couch, and the nausea was just starting to ease up. Now, you’re back to square one.
With a furrow between your brows and hell on the tip of your tongue, you pull the door open.
“Hi.”
The door is immediately slammed shut.
Why is he here? How did he find you? What happens next? What the hell do you do? Thousands of thoughts run through your mind as you stare at the door. Your heart is pounding at its cages, threatening to jump out if you don’t make up your mind on whether you would fight or flee. You were torn. You’re not sure if you wanted to slap the man or kiss him on the mouth.
He stood behind that door, and you’re not sure if you wanted to open it again or keep it shut forever.
He calls out your name, muffled but somehow your ears pick up on it clear as day. You hate the way your stomach flips, hate the way your heart still seems to jump in his presence. Because despite the hurt and hardship, some part of you was still hopelessly, stupidly, unconditionally in love with the man that did nothing but break your heart. You hoped that part of you would just die, but for some reason it wouldn’t.
Slowly, you breathe in, focusing on the way your diaphragm expands as the air fills your lungs. You needed to be rational about this. There was no room for love or longing when so much was at stake.
With a slow exhale, you open the door.
Choi Seungcheol stands before you with apologetic eyes. His hair is shorter now and his body somehow broader, but the look in his eyes is just as miserable as the day you left him, if not more. You have to fight every single fiber of your being that’s itching to reach out and soothe the ache in his soul. It would be stupid to do that when you couldn’t even ease the one in yours.
“What are you doing here?” You’re surprised that your voice comes out stable despite the painful stabbing in your heart and the crushing weight on your shoulders.
“I heard you lived here now,” Seungcheol answers, and you don’t miss the way he seems to look a little unsure, uncertain. Good, he should be. “Can I come in?”
“No,” You say firmly. “Seungcheol, do the two of us a favor and just agree to the divorce. That way, I can live my life as I always have and you can go to Sohee—“
“I don’t want to,” You don’t miss the way Seungcheol’s jaw hardens and fists clench. “I don’t want to go to Sohee.”
“Then what do you want?” You can’t help the way your unbothered facade breaks into exasperation. You were tired, hormonal, and nauseous, and the heartache and confusion Seungcheol brought with him only made you feel worse. You just wanted this over with.
“Your third request,” Seungcheol stares you dead in the eye as the words leave his mouth. “I’m fulfilling your third request.”
Your eyes narrow at Seungcheol as you speak, “What?”
“You said you wanted our marriage to work,” Seungcheol says, taking a step forward, an action that has you stepping back and holding onto the door. You ignore the way Seungcheol’s eyes seem to fall. “Your third request was that we have to talk about our problems, no matter how big or small.”
“Seungcheol, why are you doing this?” You ask, eyes searching through Seungcheol’s face for an answer, a glimpse into his thoughts. “We married out of obligation, and I’m giving you a way out. You love Sohee—“
“I don’t.” Seungcheol says it firmly, like he’s never been more sure of anything in his life. He had said it with so much conviction that you didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t how you expected this conversation to go. In fact, you didn’t even expect this conversation to happen at all.
“I did, at one point, I did love her,” Seungcheol says, hand shooting out quickly to hold onto the wall to prevent you from slamming the door in his face. Quick thinking on his end, really. You were about to do just that if he hadn’t put his hand in the way. “But not anymore, not after you. I don’t think I’ve been in love with her for a while.”
You don’t believe him. You know Choi Seungcheol doesn’t lie, but the words falling from his mouth were too outrageous.
Eyes narrowed and heart closed, you speak, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“I love you,” Seungcheol says it like a plea, desperation lacing his words as he looks into your eyes like he’s in search of some sign. “I know it’s difficult to believe, but I really do—“
“You’re right, Seungcheol.” You stare at the man before you, eyes hardened despite the trembling in your soul, the ache in your bones that’s telling you to hope. You hoped once, and look where it brought you now. “I don’t believe you, so go home.”
Seungcheol is undeterred despite your unfeeling words, “It’s not the same without you.”
“Then learn to live with it,” You hiss through gritted teeth, patience snapping and eyes tearing up. “I learned to live in Sohee’s shadow. Learn to live in my absence.”
Seungcheol’s mouth opens to respond, but you beat him to it.
“I loved you, you know?” You whisper, voice wavering as your eyes go blurry. “I only ever watched you from afar when we were younger. Even then, I accepted that it would just be a stupid little crush.”
“I was happy when I heard that it was you that I was getting married to instead of some shitty old man who’d make my life miserable,” You wipe at the tear on your cheek before Seungcheol’s hand even reaches your face. “Do you know what it’s like? To be in love with someone who’s in love with someone else? I settled for second-best to keep you, and that was my mistake.”
You can’t quite decipher the gleam in Seungcheol’s eyes as he speaks, “I’m sorry.”
“That’s all you ever say, but it never really fixes things,” You reply, hand reaching for Seungcheol’s to pry his fingers from the wall. “Go home.”
“What do I need to do for you to believe me?” Seungcheol cries out desperately, hand refusing to move. “I know I was being stupid. I know I hurt you, so please. Give me the chance to make this right.”
“I’m done,” It’s all you say before mustering all of your strength to push Seungcheol’s hand away and slamming the door shut.
You walk away from the door, refusing to look back. You don’t know if you can keep your walls up and your heart guarded if Seungcheol kept talking the way he did. You don’t know why he’s doing this. Infatuation? Possible. Comfort? Most probably, but whatever it was, it wasn’t love.
Seungcheol will realize it soon, and he’ll get over it. It’s better for you to keep to yourself while Seungcheol sorts his feelings lest you become collateral damage yet again.
That afternoon, you curled up on your sofa and cried until you exhausted yourself to sleep.
When you wake up, the sun is already beginning its descent. Sunlight filters through the open window, bathing your living room with an orange glow. It’s sunset now, Seungcheol must have already left.
The thought makes your chest ache, but you refuse to dwell on it. The longer you thought about it, the more it would hurt. It would be in your best interest to keep yourself busy to prevent Seungcheol from constantly invading your mind.
Slowly, you get up from the sofa and head towards your kitchen to look for something to eat. When you get there, you find that there’s nothing in the fridge that you want to eat. Your eyes flicker to the little note stuck to the fridge, and you realize that you forgot to do your groceries today (you blame it on Seungcheol’s unexpected arrival).
Amazing.
You would have to eat out tonight. You really were not in the mood to buy various ingredients and take on the mental labor of coming up with recipes. Luckily, one of your neighbors ran a small restaurant, and it was only a few meters away from Soonja’s house, so it was technically within walking distance. You could get dinner and exercise all at once.
With a newfound motivation, you’re quick to grab your trusty tote bag and put on your shoes. You pull the door handle, and with a swing, the world is bared—
“What the hell?!” You shriek out, heart jumping and body jolting as you stare at Seungcheol who’s back is turned to you, sitting on the steps leading to your door. “What are you still doing here?”
Was he outside the entire time?
Seungcheol is quick to turn at the sound of your voice, sweat on his reddened skin as he looks at you with pleading eyes. At the sight of his face, you’re quick to realize that he was, indeed, outside the entire time.
“One month,” Seungcheol breathes out desperately as he stands. “Give me one month to make it up to you, and if you still hate me, I’ll agree to the divorce.”
It’s unfair, you think. The odds are in Seungcheol’s favor because you didn’t hate him. Yes, you were hurt, heartbroken beyond comprehension, but you didn’t hate him. A week or two apart would not change years of pining, of silently hoping. However, despite the unfairness, you still think that this is the easiest solution.
You just had to stay strong for a month.
A month of silence, avoidance, and concealing. You have to ensure that Seungcheol never gets too close because if he does then you don’t think you can push him away again. Not only that, but if he got too close and found out about your pregnancy…You’d never be able to get rid of him. Seungcheol and his sense of honor coupled with his stubborn streak would never leave you alone. He’d feel obligated to stay, and that was the last thing you wanted.
“Fine,” You relent, refusing to acknowledge the way Seungcheol’s face seems to light up. “Do what you want, but you have to be gone in a month.”
Seungcheol nods, “I’ll do my best to last longer than that.”
“I doubt it,” You mutter, walking past Seungcheol and down the steps of your house.
“Where are you going?” Seungcheol ignores your words, and instead shuts your front door before running after you.
“Getting dinner.” You keep your replies short because you know that if you gave Seungcheol more than that, he’d find a way to wriggle his way into your heart like a parasite before leaving an empty space once he inevitably leaves.
“Can I join you?” Seungcheol asks as he walks next to you, hands in his pockets and eyes a little unsure.
“You’re already here,” You shrug. “Do what you want.”
You don’t know why Seungcheol smiles at that.
—
Choi Seungcheol was going to do it right this time.
It’s the only thing running through his head as he watches the way your eyes light up with every bite of the bibimbap. Sometimes you’ll look his way, and your eyes seem to fall, and while it left an ache in his chest, he couldn't help but be happy as well because at the very least, you were looking his way.
It’s a small step, but a step nonetheless.
Despite your cold attitude towards him, Seungcheol finds himself filled with hope. The words ‘I loved you’ were on repeat like background music in his mind, and though the words were in past tense, Seungcheol takes comfort in the idea that you loved him once.
He’ll make you do it again, and this time, he’ll be with you through it all. No matter what it takes.
“Is the food good?” Mr. Kang, the owner of the little restaurant as Seungcheol learned half an hour ago, asks as he stops by your table, eyes locked onto Seungcheol.
“Yes, sir,” Seungcheol says as he smiles at the old man. “It’s my first time eating bibimbap this good.”
And Seungcheol wasn’t lying. Something about the flavor of the bibimbap in his bowl had Seungcheol feeling like he was right at home.
“My wife made it,” Mr. Kang boasts with the brightest smile on his face. “Say, are you Y/N’s husband? It’s my first time seeing you here.”
“Yah, you have such a good-looking husband. You should be showing him off!” Mr. Kang teases as he claps Seungcheol on the back.
Seungcheol can only laugh, eyes trained on the way you roll your eyes with a small smile playing on your lips.
You look more beautiful when you’re happy, he thinks.
“Don’t compliment him too much, Mr. Kang. His head might grow bigger than it already is,” You reply with a teasing smile.
“I have to give credit where it is due,” Mr. Kang replies. “You should keep an eye on this one. The neighborhood aunties might snatch him up with how handsome and reliable he looks.”
“They can try, sir,” Seungcheol responds, eyes locked onto you. “But my heart will always be her’s.”
Seungcheol doesn’t miss the flustered smile on your lips that you try to quickly conceal with a cough. He hasn’t seen it in a while, and god, it was doing things to his heart.
“What a lovely couple you two make,” Mr. Kang smiles warmly. “My wife and I used to be just as sweet back in the day, but we’re even sweeter now.”
Mr. Kang pulls out a chair and sits beside the table, and the rest of dinner was spent listening to him recite his love story from start to present. You’re listening intently, but Seungcheol finds himself tuning the man out. The only thing he can focus on is you. Seungcheol thinks he won’t be too different from Mr. Kang when he gets older, head filled with nothing but the love of his life, head filled with nothing but you.
By the time the two of you finish eating, the sky is already dark.
“Well, I’ll let you two go,” Mr. Kang laughs as he stands from his chair. “It’s getting late, and I’m sure Y/N needs as much sleep as she can get.”
“Thank you for the food, Mr. Kang,” You bow lightly and Seungcheol follows suit.
“Aigoo, it’s nothing. If anything, I should be thanking you for eating here so often,” Mr. Kang says with a wave of his hand. Then, he turns to Seungcheol, “Take care of your wife, okay? Don’t stress her out, and make sure she’s always eating properly. It’s a lot of hard work and adjustment considering that it’s your first, but it’s worth it in the end.”
Seungcheol sees the way you freeze and the way Mr. Kang seems to stare fondly at the graduation picture of his son that’s on the wall. He feels like there’s something more to Mr. Kang’s words that he’s missing, but he just can’t seem to put his finger on it.
“I will, sir,” Seungcheol replies with a smile. “You don’t have to worry about her.”
Seungcheol would spend the rest of his life making sure you were happy and safe.
When the two of you arrive back at your house, Seungcheol grabs his things from the trunk of his car and brings it inside. He can’t help but be overwhelmed by guilt the moment he steps into your house.
You’ve been living in this small house, all alone with no one to look after you, cook for you, or even keep you company. While Seungcheol didn’t doubt your ability to adapt and be independent, he can’t help the ache that grows in his chest when he realizes that his actions had forced you to accustom yourself to a life like this.
Shit, he really did have a lot of making up to do.
“The couch is yours,” You inform him, and Seungcheol can only look at the tiny space you’re pointing at. Fuck, he thinks, that’s going to be so uncomfortable. “My room is there if you need me.”
After that, you walk away, and Seungcheol is left alone in your living room. Honestly, he had expected worse. He had expected you to not let him in, and he was fully considering sleeping in his car parked outside the house, so a couch was a huge upgrade. However, that still doesn’t change the fact that he wants to sleep beside you. Hell, he’d be fine with sleeping on the floor of your bedroom as long as he could keep an eye on you and make sure that you were sleeping soundly.
Baby steps, he thinks. He’ll get there eventually.
With a heavy sigh, Seungcheol sets his bag on the side and then moves to take a shower. After that, he heads to his assigned couch. It’s small, he notes. If he stretched to his full length, his calves would have to be on the armrest while his feet dangled in the air. The idea makes Seungcheol wince, and he’s quick to curl up on the couch and throw one of your round pillows under his head.
It’s painful, miserable, and wholly different from what he’s accustomed to, but he thinks it’s so much better than not having you around at all. He’d gladly sleep on the ground outside as long as it meant that you’d only be a few meters away.
Seungcheol catches the scent of your perfume on the pillow under his head, and for the first time in weeks, he finds himself fast asleep.
—
It’s half past 10, and you’re still wide awake.
You were torn. Were you being too mean or not mean enough? The couch is small, and even you have to curl up just to comfortably fit in it. Not to mention the fact that it gets cold in Boeun at night, and you didn’t even give Seungcheol a blanket. The guilt gnaws at you as your brain is filled with mental images of Seungcheol curling up in odd, uncomfortable positions just to rest. He had driven all this way, stayed out in the sun for hours, and walked a considerable distance just to accompany you, and now he’s forced to sleep in a couch that can barely contain him.
Unable to bear the guilt, you’re quick to throw the covers off yourself and head to your cabinets to get an extra blanket.
Quietly, you open your door and walk with slow, measured steps towards the living room, careful to avoid the areas that you know will creak under you.
Soft snores echo through the darkness of your living room, and you find that Seungcheol is curled up on the couch with one of the living room pillows clutched tightly to his chest. He looks… peaceful. Slowly, you pad over to where he is, gently covering him with the blanket. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
You can’t help the way you linger, crouching beside the sofa and tracing Seungcheol’s face with your eyes. He looks the same and yet so different all at once. His soft, gentle features didn’t change, save for the dark circles under his eyes that you were starting to feel even more guilty for. He’s a little more tan, you guess you could blame that on the fact that you had left him on your doorstep under the afternoon sun. His hair is shorter, and you find that it only makes him even more handsome than before.
Unable to resist, you brush the hair away from his forehead. You’ve missed this, that much you can admit. Missed being in his presence, missed touching him freely, missed hearing his smooth voice, missed his comforting scent… You missed Choi Seungcheol.
You wanted to believe him, you really did.
At your touch, Seungcheol stirs, head leaning towards your hand that you’re quick to pull away. Not wanting to wake him up, you stand up and immediately disappear into your room, heart racing and eyes welling up.
You don’t think you can survive a month of this.
When the birds start chirping in your window, you’re quickly hit by that familiar, stomach-stirring nausea that never fails to make your mornings miserable. Immediately, you’re running out of the bedroom, throwing the bathroom door open, and emptying your stomach into the toilet bowl.
The sound of rushed footsteps alarms you, and it’s only now that you’re remembering that you weren’t alone in the house, not anymore.
Fuck fuck fuck—
“Y/N?”
You’re hit with another horrid wave of nausea. One problem at a time, holy shit. You ignore Seungcheol, too caught up in the feeling of acid burning your throat.
Seungcheol is quick to crouch behind you, one hand holding your hair back and the other rubbing your back up and down soothingly.
Fuck, what were you going to tell him? You couldn’t exactly blame Mr. Kang’s cooking considering the fact that you and Seungcheol ate the same thing, and you didn’t really want to turn the sweet old man’s restaurant into a scapegoat. His beloved wife cooked that after all, and she was one of the sweetest ladies you knew!
When the nausea eases into a milder version of itself, you wipe at your mouth, and Seungcheol is quick to bring you a glass of water to rinse your mouth.
“Are you still sick?” Seungcheol asks as he hands you the glass. You can see the suspicion in his eyes. It’s faint, but it’s there. “You were throwing up the last time we saw each other, and you’re still throwing up now.”
You freeze at that, your body going into fight-or-flight at Seungcheol’s line of questioning.
“Have you gone to hospital?” Seungcheol asks, wiping away the sweat on your forehead. “Y/N, be honest with me. We need to get you checked, that might be something serious—“
“I went already,” You cut him off, lightly pushing his hand away. “It’s just stomach flu.”
One truth, one lie.
Seungcheol doesn’t seem satisfied, but he doesn’t pry. “Go rest, I’ll make you breakfast.”
You’re quick to protest, “I’m fine—“
“No,” Seungcheol is firm this time. Unlike yesterday where he just bent to your every whim, Seungcheol seems to set his foot down on this one. “Argue with me on anything else, but don’t stop me from taking care of you. Now rest, or I’ll force you to.”
Why did this man have such a strong sense of responsibility?
Unable to argue, you flush the toilet over and over until no traces of your morning disaster remain. After that, you brush your teeth and quickly settle into the couch in the living room. From where you’re seated, you have a clear view of Seungcheol moving around in the kitchen.
His back is turned to you, and his attention is completely focused onto the food he was preparing. You’re free to look at him all you want. Free to admire his broad back, free to see the way his arms flex when he reaches for something, and free to pretend like everything’s okay.
When you see Seungcheol set the plate on the table, you’re quick to walk over and see what it is.
“Eat up,” Seungcheol says as he hands you a plate with bread, scrambled eggs, and slices of fruit. “It’s all I could make with the ingredients you have. I’ll go grocery shopping later so if you have a list, just give it to me.”
You frown at that. Did he not want you to go with him?
Seungcheol seems to read your mind because he’s quick to continue, “I’d take you with me, but you need to rest.”
“I’m fine, though,” You reply. You don’t know why you’re arguing so hard on this considering the fact that staying far away from Seungcheol works in your favor. “I’m just a little dizzy.”
“Y/N, trust me when I say that I would love nothing more than to go grocery shopping with you,” Seungcheol replies with a heavy sigh. “But I’m not risking your health like that.”
“Fine, whatever,” You mumble out petulantly before taking a harsh bite out of the bread and chewing angrily at the fact that Seungcheol wouldn’t indulge you. First, he says he loves you, and now all of a sudden, he doesn’t want to be around you? Well, fuck him! He can go screw himself—
Wow, you needed to get a grip. Your hormones were not doing well today.
Seungcheol seems amused at your little tantrum, a small smile playing on his face as he sets his own plate down on the table and sits across from you. “We’ll go together next time when you’re feeling better.”
“Do it alone,” You hiss out before angrily biting into the apple slice.
Seungcheol snorts at you petulance, digging into his own food with an annoying smile on his face. What was he so happy for? You were aching, miserable, nauseous, and annoyed, and he was over here smiling like an idiot. Is he even trying to win you over like he said he would?
“I’ll miss you, though?” Seungcheol fake pouts.
“I don’t care,” You reply, hoping that the harshness of your tone will be enough to mask the fluttering in your chest. “Suffer, for all I care.”
Seungcheol only laughs, seemingly endeared by the attitude you were sending his way. He’s gone insane, you think. One night away from his stupidly expensive mattress, and it’s already getting to his head.
“You’re cute when you’re angry,” Seungcheol says and you’re quick to narrow your eyes at him.
“Are you trying to piss me off?” You ask, the annoyance in your tone clear as day.
“Is it working?” Seungcheol asks with a self-satisfied smirk that has you wanting to reach over and fight him.
“Yah, Choi Seungcheol—“
A familiar knock on your door cuts you off, and the teasing look on Seungcheol’s face is quick to turn serious.
“Who’s that?” Seungcheol immediately asks, standing up after you as you walk towards the door.
“My neighbor,” You reply. “She usually stops by in the mornings to join me for breakfast.”
With a pull, you open the door, and before you stands Soonja with a tupperware of food.
“Oh, who’s this?” Is the first thing Soonja says as she registers the unfamiliar presence looming behind you like an overprotective guard dog.
“My husband, halmeoni,” You reply. Soonja doesn’t know the entire story. The only thing she knows is that you had a huge fight, and you never wanted to see him again. She didn’t know about the arrangement, the other woman, and the fact that Seungcheol knew nothing about your pregnancy. “Seungcheol, this is Ms. Park. She’s one of our neighbors.”
“Yahhh, I can see why Y/N married you,” Soonja smiles. “Your child is going to be one hell of a looker with parents like the two of you.”
A freezing cold washes over your body at Soonja’s words.
“You’re too kind, ma’am,” Seungcheol laughs, completely unaware.
You’re quick to ease up at that. The comment must have flown over Seungcheol’s head. Maybe he thought it was a hypothetical situation. Yes, that must be it.
“Aigoo, call me halmeoni,” Soonja says to Seungcheol. “Here, it’s a good thing I brought multiple servings. The two of you can share it.”
“You’re not staying?” You ask, as you take the tupperware from Soonja.
“I would love to, dear, but I have a meeting at the town hall this morning,” Soonja replies in an apologetic tone. “I’ll make sure to drop by tomorrow, don’t worry. I have to get to know this handsome husband of yours after all. But I really do have to get going, okay?”
“We’re looking forward to it, halmeoni,” Seungcheol says as he waves the woman goodbye.
“So am I!” Soonja cheerfully calls out from behind her.
When you shut the door, Seungcheol is quick to send a teasing grin your way. “I like her.”
“You just met her?” You raise a brow at him as you walk to the kitchen with the tupperware in hand.
“She said we’d make pretty babies,” Seungcheol shrugs. “That automatically wins my approval.”
The mention of children has you pausing for a second before you’re quick to recover, pulling the refrigerator door open to put the tupperware inside. “Those were definitely not the words she used.”
“Same meaning, so it counts,” Seungcheol replies in a tone that tells you he’s about to bicker with you.
You would have indulged him in the past, but this time, you don’t. There was no room for familiarity, no room for hope. Things had to be nipped in the bud before they grew out of control.
“Whatever you say,” You relent, and you watch the way Seungcheol’s expression falls.
You can do this.
It’s just one month.
—
After a week of living under the same roof, you and Seungcheol have established a new routine.
In the mornings, Seungcheol makes sure to have breakfast prepared before you wake up. You eat together, and while you’d prefer to avoid that sort of proximity, the hopeful look on Seungcheol’s face as he serves his latest creation on the table has guilt gnawing at your bones. Seungcheol always makes sure to strike up conversation, and it comes so naturally that you often forget that you were trying to avoid interacting with him. Sometimes Soonja would join, but her visits had gotten shorter when she realized that there was finally someone looking after you.
After breakfast, the two of you would go your separate ways. Seungcheol would stay in the living room and handle his business remotely, and you’d hide away in your little office and attend to any concerns that Soonyoung deems major enough to require your intervention.
When lunch comes around, it’s your turn to cook, and Seungcheol makes sure to shower you in compliments. It’s a little embarrassing, but some part of you glowed underneath the praise. You had gone from serving Seungcheol burnt food to decent quality dishes, so it was an achievement on your end.
After lunch, the two of you lounge in the living room. Which seems counterproductive on your end, but the TV was your designated source of entertainment for the afternoons, and it just so happened to be situated in the area that Seungcheol frequented. However, some part of you knows that you stay there because you crave that man’s presence like a drug you shouldn’t be taking.
That continues on until dinner, where Seungcheol takes the responsibility of cooking, again. Similar to the other mealtimes, Seungcheol makes sure to talk your ear off. It’s a little unusual, you think, how the roles suddenly seem to be reversed. Seungcheol, who used to listen to you talk endlessly, was now the one doing the talking, if only to fill the silence you desperately tried to enforce. Something you were clearly failing at.
After dinner, you would go out for a quick walk, and Seungcheol, unable to sit still at the idea of you walking alone outside in the dimly lit streets, is quick to rush after you despite your insistence on the fact that the streets were safe and that you were fine walking alone.
You were getting used to it all, and that was dangerous.
It had only taken Seungcheol a week to get you to talk more, to get you used to the domesticity of everyday life with him in this tiny house planted in the middle of a quiet town. It had only taken Seungcheol a week to get your walls to start chipping.
You were absolutely fucked.
The more time you spent with Seungcheol, the more you found yourself believing in the idea that maybe he really did love you. Why else would he endure the couch and the back pain that came with it? Why else would he wake up early in the morning to cook you breakfast despite the decline in his sleep quality? Why else would he try so hard to talk more despite having a more reserved nature?
No explanation made sense unless you included love into the mix.
You didn’t know what to do anymore.
The most practical solution would be to believe Seungcheol. You could fix your marriage, return to the city, and raise your child with a complete family. It’s the ideal outcome, but it’s easier said than done. Some part of you will always be haunted by Seungcheol’s drunk murmurings, haunted by a faceless woman that had come before you. Dealing with that would make you bitter, and becoming bitter would inevitably affect the people around you, including your child.
You throw the covers off you, frustration fueling your form as you walk out of your bedroom to go to the kitchen. You had a feeling that the storm in your head wasn’t going to let you sleep anytime soon, and it sucked because sleep was your only escape from the nausea, fatigue, and ache.
There’s a soft glow coming from the kitchen, and the sound of keyboard clicks gets more distinct the closer you get to the kitchen. When you get there, you’re met by the sight of Seungcheol seated at the dining table, fingers typing away on his laptop.
The keyboard clicks pause when Seungcheol spots you.
“Why are you awake?” Seungcheol asks softly, watching as you pad into the kitchen. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Yeah,” You reply coldly, moving past Seungcheol to get a glass from the cupboard and a pitcher of water from the refrigerator. The indifference in your tone even has you flinching, and the guilt in you only grows. Why the fuck was Seungcheol making it so hard to push him away?
Seungcheol, already used to it, only watches you with concern. “Are you okay—“
“Why are you still here?” You finally snap, turning around to look at Seungcheol with the most hateful look you can muster. “Seungcheol, I’m already treating you so horribly, so why won’t you just leave? You don’t even have to be here!”
The sight of Seungcheol goes blurry as your eyes fill with tears. You know your anger is misplaced. You know it’s your guilt, your frustration, and your inability to trust his sincerity that’s ripping the words from your throat and throwing them straight at Seungcheol who’s done nothing but save your marriage since his arrival. Seungcheol was doing everything right. He was patient with you even when you were short with him. He was kind despite the indifference you showed him. Seungcheol was trying his best while you gave him your worst, and he still wouldn’t fucking budge.
“I know I don’t have to be,” Seungcheol says as he takes cautious steps towards you, almost as if he was approaching a wounded animal that would snap and bite at any sudden movement. When you don’t run, Seungcheol risks another step, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. Tenderly, lovingly, Seungcheol wipes away your tears. “But I want to.”
Choi Seungcheol never lies, and that fact coupled with his touch, his words only serve to feed the growing ache in your heart.
The tears start flowing harder, your body shaking from the sobs that wrack through your body. The pain is visceral, ripping your heart into shreds while your head pounds from the numerous thoughts that sought escape from the confines of your skull. You’re so overwhelmed that when Seungcheol wraps his arms around you, you don’t think twice about burying yourself into his embrace.
“It’s okay, cry it out,” Seungcheol mumbles into your hair, body slacking against yours as he brings you deeper into his hold. “I’m here. I’m not leaving.”
His words only make you cry harder, fingers gripping tightly at the fabric of his shirt as you bury your face into his chest.
“I—I’m so—“ Your words are cut off when your body forces you to gasp for air between your sobs. You hate this. God, you hate this so much. “I’m s-sorry—“
It’s the only thing you can breathe out through the turmoil in your soul. It’s only a fraction of everything you want to say, but it took the entirety of your being just to wrangle the words from your throat.
“Don’t apologize. You don’t have to apologize,” Seungcheol shushes you, hand rubbing up and down your back to soothe your cries. “It’s my fault for not realizing sooner, for making you feel like you were lesser. I was so caught up in the past that I couldn’t see what was in front of me.”
Seungcheol pulls away a fraction from you, cupping your cheek to make you look up at him. “I love you, and I should’ve told you sooner.”
“But—“ You stare up at him, mind flooded by the memory of him murmuring Sohee’s name. “Do you remember the night you came home drunk? After that meeting with Mingyu?”
“I don’t remember much from that night,” Seungcheol says. “But… It wasn’t a good meeting. Why?”
“You said ‘I love you’ that night, and I thought it was for me,” You whisper weakly, voice shaking as you grip onto Seungcheol’s shirt. “But then you said her name, and Cheol, it hurt so much—“
You’re back to sobbing, tears falling onto Seungcheol’s shirt as you tuck your head underneath his chin. “I know you were d-drunk, and I shouldn’t make such a big d-deal out of… Out of it but—“
“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol’s grip around you tightens as he presses a tender kiss to the side of your head. “I don’t know why I said her name. I don’t even remember it, but I know that doesn’t make it any better.”
“Mingyu and I were talking that night, and I just…” Seungcheol breathes out a heavy sigh. “I was torn between staying true to my promises to Sohee and accepting the fact that I was in love with you.”
Hearing her name still made you feel like you were being stabbed over and over with a blunt knife.
“I can’t take it back. No matter how much I wish I could,” Seungcheol whispers desperately, like a plea for you to stay. “But let me prove to you that it’s all in the past.”
You pull away to look at Seungcheol only to be met by his teary gaze. Unable to resist, you wipe away at his tears, watching as he leans into and chases your touch like it was his only lifeline.
“Let me love you the way you deserve,” Seungcheol breathes out, pressing a kiss onto your palm that has your heart aching all over again at how desperate and tormented Seungcheol looked. “Please.”
Would it really be so bad to try again?
“I need time, Seungcheol,” You whisper through tears. “If we’re doing this—really doing this… We have to take it slow.”
“I’ll wait forever if I have to,” Seungcheol says with so much conviction that it terrifies you. “We can go as slow as you want us to, but please, don’t go where I can’t reach you.”
—
The moon is still high when Choi Seungcheol stirs awake.
Your bedroom floor is cold underneath him, hard surface only softened by the pillow he had taken with him from the living room. He had carried you to your bedroom after you cried yourself into exhaustion in his arms, and he couldn’t find it in himself to leave you all alone, so he slept on the floor. Sleeping on the bed felt like an intrusion.
However, none of that explained the weight on his arm and warmth pressed against him.
Seungcheol’s eyes flutter open, only to be met by the sight of your sleeping face. Alarmed, Seungcheol gently taps you. Why the hell were you sleeping on the floor? You were going to hurt your back at this rate!
“Y/N, why are you on the floor?” Seungcheol whispers gently as you stir awake.
Your eyes remain shut, and you only nuzzle deeper into Seungcheol’s warmth as you sleepily murmur, “I wanted to sleep beside you.”
Seungcheol should be concerned, should be worrying for your comfort, but those feelings are violently pushed aside by the giddy feeling in his chest. You wanted to sleep beside him? Fuck, you were so cute.
“Baby, you’re going to hurt your back,” Seungcheol tries to reason with you, but the arms wrapping themselves around you only serve to contradict his words.
“Cheol, just let me sleep,” You grumble, a furrow settling in your brows.
Seungcheol smiles. You really are stubborn when you want to be.
“I’ll put you in bed, okay?” Seungcheol says as he stands up to carry you.
“Don’t leave,” You whisper as Seungcheol sets you down on the bed and tucks you underneath the blanket.
“I won’t,” Seungcheol says as he slips underneath the covers beside you and pulls you into his arms.
For the first time in weeks, Choi Seungcheol finally feels at home.
When morning comes, Seungcheol feels like a brand new man. It’s the best sleep he’s had, even better than the sleep he had on your couch, and he thinks it’s because he’s finally where he’s meant to be.
Seungcheol turns his gaze to the clock on your wall. The hands point to 6:00 AM, and he has around an hour to prepare before you wake up like you usually do at 7:00. Selfishly, he promises himself 15 more minutes.
15 more minutes to watch you sleep.
15 more minutes to savor your warmth in his arms.
Seungcheol thinks you look like a goddess underneath the morning sun with your hair sprawled behind you and your soft cheek smushed against his arm. The urge to trace and worship each of your features with his touch, his lips is strong, but Seungcheol holds himself back. There were boundaries he needed to respect, and like a visitor in a museum who can do nothing but marvel, Seungcheol can only watch.
You were glowing.
Was it the love speaking? Maybe. However, Seungcheol genuinely thinks that something about the way you look was different. No amount of baggy clothes and lazy hairstyles could hide the glow on your skin and health in your features. Hell, even your hair looked so vibrant that Seungcheol was wondering if he was such a problem that time away from him made you look this good.
Not that you weren’t pretty before! You’ve always been beautiful, but something about the way you looked like a sleeping deity in his arms had Seungcheol wanting to build you houses and waging war on those that dare to speak of you with a tone lesser than devotion.
Fuck, he was whipped.
When the clock strikes 6:15, Seungcheol begrudgingly parts from you, careful to remove his arm gently lest you wake up before the time you usually do. Once Seungcheol successfully pries himself from bed, he walks to the kitchen and starts preparing breakfast.
Seungcheol grabs the rice cooker and starts preparing the rice, and once it’s on cook, he moves to pull out the seolleongtang that Soonja gave yesterday (bless her soul for always dropping off soups). He transfers it into a small pot and starts heating it up on the stove. Once those two have settled, he pulls out oranges and starts cutting it up into little slices before peeling the sides. When he finishes, he sets it aside and moves to watch over the rice and the soup.
The breakfast is kept light because Seungcheol knows you don’t have much of an appetite in the mornings. While your vomiting has lessened, your nausea was still there, and Seungcheol wasn’t about to aggravate your stomach with heavy dishes.
In all honesty, he’s getting extremely concerned. While you’ve reassured him many times that it was just stomach flu and that you’ve already gone to the doctor for it, he thinks that you’ve been sick for too long…
…Unless it wasn’t stomach flu?
“Is that the seolleongtang that halmeoni gave?” Seungcheol’s thoughts are interrupted when you come up beside him to look at the pot on the stove.
Maybe you were getting better. Seungcheol didn’t hear you puke, so maybe it really was just a bad case of stomach flu.
“Yes,” Seungcheol replies as he opens the pot to stir it. “Do you want anything else? I can cook something else if you want.”
“No, it’s okay,” You shake your head. “I like halmeoni’s cooking.”
Seungcheol pouts at that, turning to look at you with a deflated expression. “Do you not like my cooking?”
“I do,” You reply, but there’s a hint of teasing in your tone as you speak, “But I like halmeoni’s more.”
“Hey, that’s not a fair comparison,” Seungcheol grumbles. “She’s old. She has years of experience.”
“How rude, Choi Seungcheol,” You fake gasp. “You should never discuss a lady’s age like that.”
Seungcheol smiles at the way you seem more comfortable around him. You were joking now, engaging in lighthearted banter, and all those facts work to fill Seungcheol’s chest with hope for the future.
“Are you feeling better now? I didn’t hear you in the bathroom this morning,” Seungcheol asks absentmindedly as he shuts the stove off.
He doesn’t miss the way you freeze.
“A little dizzy, but it’s better than before,” You reply, busying yourself with pulling bowls from the cupboard to avoid Seungcheol’s gaze.
“Okay,” Seungcheol doesn’t press further. “But if it gets worse, tell me.”
“I will, dad,” You tease as you hand him the bowls, and Seungcheol only smiles. “Stop worrying so much.”
“I can’t help it,” Seungcheol grumbles as he fills the bowls with broth and some meat. He doesn’t add too much of the latter lest it irritate your stomach. “I don’t like seeing you sick or hurt.”
“I’m fine, I swear,” You reply before pressing a quick kiss on Seungcheol’s cheek and taking the bowls from him. “Let’s just eat, okay?”
He can only nod at you with a stupid smile on his face.
—
Seungcheol has two weeks left, and he honestly doesn’t know if he’s doing well or doing horribly.
You only ever have three states around him: clingy, horny, or angry. Seungcheol never knows which one is coming, and he either finds himself pleasantly surprised or absolutely horrified. Sometimes you’ll be screaming at him, and sometimes you’ll be rubbing all over him like a cat in heat (he doesn’t know how he’s been able to hold back). He honestly doesn’t remember you having mood swings this bad and this sudden, but he finds that it’s much better than your indifference.
“Cheol-ah, why’d you get up so early?” You’re pouting as you walk towards him bustling in the kitchen, arms wrapping around his torso from behind while you nuzzle your nose into his back. Seungcheol doesn’t miss the way you breathe him in like an illicit drug.
Clingy is the mood for the hour, he realizes
His favorite mood, really. Though the devil on his shoulder calls him a liar because his favorite obviously hor—
“Do you not want to sleep beside me anymore?” You whine out, and Seungcheol knows that if he doesn’t placate you, you’re going to start crying.
“No, no, not all, baby,” Seungcheol quickly takes the pancake off the pan and turns the stove off so that he can turn around and pull you into his arms. “I was making breakfast.”
“You should’ve woken me up,” You complain, cheeks puffing and lower lip jutting out in a pout. “I could’ve helped you.”
“I wanted you to get more rest,” Seungcheol explains. Fuck, you looked so cute, and you were just so soft in his arms. It was taking everything in him not to squeeze the life out of you.
“I had plenty of rest,” You huff out. “You just don’t want me around.”
“No, baby, I do—“
“Whatever,” You push him away, annoyed, and Seungcheol realizes that you’re now transitioning from clingy to angry. “Eat alone.”
“Y/N, you have to eat—“
“Save it, Choi,” is the only thing you say before walking back to the bedroom and slamming the door.
Wow, you were going to give Seungcheol whiplash with how quickly your moods change.
However, Seungcheol needed to be firm. He wasn’t going to cower in fear and let you skip breakfast. He wouldn’t fight you on anything else, but your health was non-negotiable.
Seungcheol knocks on the bedroom door, “Can I come in?”
“No,” comes your muffled reply from behind the door.
“Baby, you have to eat,” Seungcheol urges, hand on the doorknob.
“I don’t want to see your face.” The door does nothing to buffer the venom in your voice.
“I’ll cover my face while you eat,” Seungcheol suggests. “I’ll stay in the living room if you want me to, but you have to eat.”
It’s silent for a few seconds before the door swings open.
“Fine,” is the only thing you say to Seungcheol before you walk to the dining table.
Seungcheol, true to his word, quietly eats breakfast in the living room like an outcast as he stares at your back longingly. He can only hope that you switch to a better mood soon. You’re so moody that you could put a pregnant woman to shame.
That night, his wish is granted.
You had spent the whole day avoiding Seungcheol, and every chance encounter with him was filled with glares and petulant huffs. Seungcheol would honestly have been offended if he didn’t find the annoyed look on your face so endearing. Thankfully, something in your mood seems to shift after dinner.
Seungcheol is typing away to answer the last pressing email in his inbox when you take cautious steps toward him.
There’s guilt swimming in your eyes as you speak, “Do you want to walk with me?”
“Of course,” Seungcheol replies without a second thought, fingers clicking send before he closes his laptop. “Usual route?”
“Yes,” Your eyes immediately light up at Seungcheol’s quick response.
The air is cool against Seungcheol’s cheeks, the only source of warmth in the street being your hand in his. It’s quiet, but it isn’t suffocating. It’s nothing like the silence in his bedroom back in Seoul that presses and weighs down on the shoulders of all that enter.
It’s peaceful.
“Do you think we should move here permanently?” Seungcheol suddenly asks. He knows he’s getting ahead of himself. You haven’t even fully forgiven him, and he’s not sure if he’ll even succeed in getting you to trust him again, but no one could really blame him for dreaming.
“It’s too far from the city,” comes your reply. “It’s not practical.”
“I can make it work,” Seungcheol shrugs as he traces the constellations in the sky with his eyes. It’s a rare sight that he makes sure to savor whenever the two of you go out for an evening walk. The light pollution in Seoul made it nearly impossible to ever see the stars at night. “You seem happier here.”
“It’s… quieter,” You reply. “If I could go back in time and pick a place to grow up in, I think I’d choose this place.”
Seungcheol thinks of little Y/N from the photos your mother had shown him. He thinks of the pretty dresses, the bejeweled tiaras, and he wonders if you’d still be the same person if you had grown up living a more humble life.
“Do you not like it in Seoul?” Seungcheol asks, but he has a feeling that the answer is yes. You always seemed to be happier when you were far away from the city. Maybe he should start investing in properties in the countryside, if only to give you a sanctuary from the tumultuous lives you had in the city.
“Seoul has its charm, but it’s no place for a child,” You reply, and Seungcheol doesn’t know if he’s imagining things, but he feels like there’s something more to your words. “I think it forced us to grow up quickly.”
It did, it does. The city, regardless of what part you lived in, ages the soul too quickly. A person could only tolerate heartless corporations, blinding lights, and concrete prisons for so long before the city buried them alive.
If Seungcheol had a choice, he probably wouldn’t choose to grow up in the city either. However, it was too late for that, and Seungcheol can only hope that his children—if you wanted to have them—wouldn’t have to suffer the same fate. He’d raise them far away from the vultures of his world, raise them far away from the tragedy that lines the walls of your house back in Seoul.
He should probably sell that house soon.
“Let’s go back,” You suddenly say, and Seungcheol is quick to turn to you. “I’m getting a little dizzy.”
“Ok,” Seungcheol replies as he examines you. Your grip on him is getting a little weaker, and your footsteps are starting to drag. All of Seungcheol’s senses are suddenly on high alert as he realizes that you were definitely not looking good. “We’re only a few meters away, don’t worry.”
Seungcheol makes sure to hold onto you, gripping you tightly just in case something went wrong. You look like you’re about to pass out, and while Seungcheol was internally panicking at how faint you looked, he couldn’t let it show. He needed to have a level head to make sure that you got home safe and sound.
Everything comes crashing down the moment you arrive at home.
You’re crouching down to remove your shoes, Seungcheol only a step or two behind you as he watches you intently. You move to stand up as you speak, “Cheol, I might have to sleep first—“
Seungcheol is quick to catch your limp body, panic flooding through his veins as he realizes that you just lost consciousness. A million horrible scenarios are running through Seungcheol’s head, but he can’t let the panic win.
Immediately, Seungcheol is grabbing his keys from where it’s hanging near the door. He carries you to the car, lying your unconscious form down on the seat before he speeds to the closest hospital.
Fuck, what had happened to you? Was it the stomach flu? Was it just stomach flu? Did you get a misdiagnosis? Were you going to be okay?
Seungcheol rushes you into the emergency room, and the nurses there are quick to accommodate him. Luckily for you and for him, the hospital only catered to a small population, so they weren’t too busy that night.
The other nurses take you away to check on your condition while another nurse pulls Seungcheol aside to ask him the details of what happened.
“What happened to her, sir?” The nurse asks.
“We were just walking, and then she said she was dizzy,” Seungcheol says, recalling every detail he can in hopes that it will help the staff treat you faster. “We went home as soon as she said that, but she just fainted all of a sudden.”
“Did she hit her head while fainting? Are there any other injuries?”
“No,” Seungcheol shakes his head. “I caught her before she hit the floor.”
The nurse asks a few more questions, and Seungcheol answers them like he’s on autopilot. The only thing he can focus on is your unconscious form on the bed as a physician rushes over to you. His heart is pounding violently in his ears, fear flooding his veins as he tries to recall where everything went wrong.
Seungcheol doesn’t know how long he waits there, hunched over as his leg shakes violently from the anxiety gnawing at his stomach. Every single second was torture when he didn’t know how you were doing, but he knew better than to interere with the professionals.
You’ll be okay, you had to be. Seungcheol refused to entertain any other possibility.
When the doctor walks his way, Seungcheol is quick to stand.
“Good evening, sir. I’m Dr. Lee,” The doctor introduces herself. Seungcheol could not care less about the pleasantries, he needed to know if you were okay. “May I ask how you’re related to the patient?”
“I’m her husband,” Seungcheol answers quickly, and he doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but there’s a flicker of disdain in the doctor’s eyes before her face takes on that neutral, professional expression she was sporting previously. “Is she okay, doc?”
“Ms. L/N is fine, but her iron is a little low,” Dr. Lee replies. “The baby is doing well too, but we have to raise your wife’s iron levels to make sure that her pregnancy goes smoothly. She’s also going to need a lot of rest…”
The baby is doing well too?
The baby?
Seungcheol thinks it’s going to be his turn to faint. The doctor is speaking, but Seungcheol couldn’t hear her over the blood rushing through his ears and the violent pounding of his heart.
Everything suddenly made sense. The unpredictable swing of your mood, the healthy glow of your skin, the change in your scent, the constant vomiting—
You’re pregnant.
All the signs were pointing towards it, but Seungcheol was too fucking dumb to connect all of it together.
There’s a million emotions running through him all at once: happiness, fear, love, excitement, guilt, insecurity, hope, anxiety, adoration—Choi Seungcheol didn’t know what to feel first. Not only that, but Seungcheol was now plagued with a million questions as well. How long have you known? Were you hiding it? Why were you hiding it? Were you ever going to tell him? How did you cope with all of that alone? Would he be a good father when he couldn’t even be a good husband? Do you even want him around the child? What should he name them? Would they look like you? Like him?
What happens next?
“She’s scheduled for a visit soon, so make sure to attend that,” Dr. Lee says as Seungcheol’s attention finally snaps back to her. “I’ll put her on supplements, but I like to think that nothing beats proper nutrition, so please do try to make her consume more iron-rich foods.”
“I will, doc,” Seungcheol nods, finding himself filled with a newfound determination. He needed to do his best. He was taking care of two people now. “Do you have anything I could take a look at? A guide or something?”
There’s a smile on Dr. Lee’s lips as she replies, “I thought you’d never ask.”
Dr. Lee gives Seungcheol numerous educational pamphlets on pregnancy along with a list of resources he can check for himself. She tells him everything he needs to know to prepare, and Seungcheol takes each and every single word as gospel. There was no room for incompetence, not anymore.
“That’s most of it,” Dr. Lee finally concludes the long lecture, but Seungcheol still isn’t satisified. “Now, go to your wife. I’m sure she’ll wake up soon, and it’s best that you’re there for her when she does.”
“Thank you, doc,” Seungcheol bows gratefully. “I’ll make sure she eats properly and gets all the rest she needs.”
“You better, Mr. Choi,” Dr. Lee says it like a joke, but Seungcheol can sense the threat underneath it. “Ms. L/N is one of my favorite patients, so you better take care of her.”
Seungcheol only smiles.
When his conversation with Dr. Lee wraps up, Seungcheol is quick to take a seat on the chair beside your bed.
Now, he waits.
—
The first thing you see is Choi Seungcheol.
One of his hands is intertwined with yours, the other scrolling through his phone. He looks wholly invested in what he’s reading, brows scrunched and eyes focused like he’s reviewing for an exam.
Briefly, you pull your attention away from him, eyes scanning your unfamiliar surroundings only to realize that you were in the emergency room. What happened? The last thing you remembered was telling Seungcheol you were dizzy before the two of you got home and the world went black—
Oh god was your baby okay?
Seungcheol seems to feel the way you tense because he’s quick to turn his phone off and wrap you in his embrace.
“Fuck, don’t ever scare me like that again,” Seungcheol says, the relief in his voice mixed with fear.
“What did the doctor say?” You ask as Seungcheol pulls away and goes back to sitting on the chair beside your bed. Once again, one of his hands finds its way to intertwine with yours.
“She said you’re okay, but you need rest. Your iron is also low so we have to fix that,” Seungcheol replies, thumb rubbing back and forth on the back of your hand. Was it to soothe you or to soothe him? You’re not really sure.
You take in his words. How the hell were you going to ask if the baby inside you was fine without revealing it to Seungcheol—
“The baby’s okay too,” Seungcheol looks you dead in the eye as he says it.
Oh fuck.
You can’t read Seungcheol. Is he angry? Is he happy? Is he worried? He’s looking at you like he wants answers, and you’re looking at him with the same gaze.
“I’m sorry,” is the only thing that comes out of your mouth. You’re sorry for a lot of things, really. For not telling him, for making him find out this way, for endangering your child, for being so stubborn, for… Just everything. “Are you angry?”
“Not at you,” Seungcheol replies softly as he kisses the back of your hand, the warm, shaky breaths that leave him tickling your skin. “We’ll talk at home, okay? Right now, my priority is to make sure that you’re doing fine.”
You can’t help the way tears well up in your eyes as Seungcheol stands up. Softly, he cups your cheek, tilting your face to look up at him before he presses a soft kiss onto your forehead.
“I love you,” Seungcheol whispers against your skin. “I’ll go tell them you're awake so that we can go home.”
You can only nod and watch as Seungcheol rushes to the nurse’s station. The words wouldn’t leave you. You were too overwhelmed by everything to even form a coherent sentence. The emotions swirling inside you didn’t know which one of them would take precedence. Relief? Fear? Hope? Happiness?
After you wrap things up in the hospital, and Dr. Lee gives you a loving scolding, Seungcheol drives home. It takes the two of you a while, considering how Seungcheol was driving like an old man. You’re sure that he was only a few km/hr away from hitting the minimum allowable speed on public roads.
When the two of you get home, Seungcheol hovers behind you like an overprotective guard dog, eyes never leaving your form and body never more than three steps away. The only time he settles down is when you’re finally sat on the couch, but even then, you can see the way he’s eyeing the couch warily.
“Cheol, you’re acting weird,” You say as you give him the most judgmental side-eye. “I’m pregnant, not helpless.”
Seungcheol stares at you like your sentence doesn’t make sense, and you have to resist the urge to start fighting him then and there.
“I’m just worried,” Seungcheol grumbles as he takes a seat beside you on the couch. “Do you… Want to talk about it?”
You nod. You couldn’t run from the truth forever. It was only a matter of time before Seungcheol found out, and if you were being honest, you’re surprised that you were able to keep it a secret for this long.
“When did you find out?” Seungcheol asks, eyes boring into yours.
You tear your gaze from him, eyes falling down to your lap as you fiddle with your fingers. “Remember the night we fought? I found out before you came home.”
It wasn’t a fight, not really. It had been too quiet, too defeated to call whatever happened that night a fight.
It was a resignation.
You see the way Seungcheol pales at your words. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you leave? Y/N, you knew you were pregnant so why—“
“Because you still loved Sohee,” You cut him off, heart aching at the memory. “I asked you if you still loved Sohee, and the only thing you could tell me was sorry.”
“I don’t love her,” Seungcheol says firmly. “I was being stupid then, but you didn’t have to leave. Especially not when you’re pregnant. Y/N, do you know how dangerous that is?”
“I was doing just fine before you arrived,” You retorted, finally looking at Seungcheol with the harshest gaze you’ve ever thrown his way. Choi Seungcheol, of all people, didn’t have the right to question you. “And I left because I didn’t want to raise my child in a house where they’d always be second-best.”
You could practically hear the way Seungcheol’s heart breaks at your words.
Seungcheol open his mouth to reply, “They wouldn’t have been—“
“Yes they would!” You cry out, anger pooling in your eyes and pricking at your lashes. “It’s always been Sohee this, Sohee that. Every single part of that fucking house is full of Sohee even if you removed everything that reminded you of her.”
“Y/N—“
“You don’t need all those stupid things to remember her because you carry her everywhere with you like a fucking ghost,” You hiss out, standing up and stepping away fron Seungcheol. You know you’re being unreasonable. Seungcheol has apologized for it many times, has spent every single day since his arrival to show you how serious he was, but it was so difficult to let go. “You would have felt obligated to stay with me, but your heart would have always been with Sohee.”
“When are you going to let her go?” Seungcheol groans out in frustration as he stands up after you. “Y/N, I don’t love her anymore. I’m here, I’ll always be here. I’ve already buried Sohee in the past, so why won’t you let her go?!”
“A few weeks isn’t going to fix months of that bullshit,” You spit out angrily. You don’t know what you’re angry at, really. Was it at Seungcheol for making a mistake he’s been repenting for? At yourself for not being able to move on? At Sohee for ruining your life without even knowing? At the universe for dealing you with the worst cards possible? “This isn’t going to work, Seungcheol. Just leave.”
You’re afraid. Afraid that Seungcheol would actually pack up and follow your words. Afraid that you’re falling into that familiar pattern of self-sabotage. Afraid that you’re depriving your child of a father because you couldn’t bury that godforsaken woman in the past where she belongs.
Just when Sohee stopped haunting Seungcheol… She started haunting you instead.
“No,” Seungcheol says it with so much anger and conviction that it had you shaken. “I’m not leaving you.”
You move to walk away, but Seungcheol is quick to grab your wrist. Angry and afraid, you hiss, “You promised me. If I didn’t forgive you in a month, you said you’d agree to the divorce and leave—“
“It’s the only time I’m breaking a promise, then,” Seungcheol says as he looks you dead in the eye. “I let you go once, I’m not doing that again.”
“Fuck you,” You cry out as the sobs start taking over your body. “You promised! I hate you—“
Seungcheol only pulls you into his arms, repeatedly murmuring ‘I love you' into your head as you cuss him out and slam your fists into his chest over and over. He doesn’t give you the fight you’re asking for, he just endures. He takes your blows, your words, and returns it with a tenderness unmatched and the promises of a better future.
You sob into his chest, your anger dying down into a paralyzing fear as you desperately latch onto him. You don’t want him to leave, and that scared you. What if he hurt you again? What if you hurt him in the process? What if you could never let Sohee go? What if you became the reason all your greatest fears came true?
What if Seungcheol ends up hating you?
Seungcheol holds you until your sobs quiet down, holds you until the fire and fight in you dies. When you calm down, he carries you to bed and changes you into your pajamas, and you find that you’re too exhausted to protest or worry about anything else.
After Seungcheol changes into his own pajamas, he lies down beside you, silent, patient.
“I’m sorry,” You whisper out into the darkness of your bedroom, waiting with bated breath as you look at Seungcheol.
“Stop apologizing,” Seungcheol mumbles, the sheets rustling as he pulls you into his embrace. “I love you. No amount of fighting or screaming is going to change that.”
“You deserve better,” You reply. “You’re trying so hard to make it work, and all I do is run away.”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind the cardio,” Seungcheol jokes.
“I hate you,” You groan out, but you can’t help the way a bittersweet smile starts forming on your face.
“And I love you,” Seungcheol replies. “Stop worrying and get some sleep. Stress isn’t good for the baby, you know?”
Your heart stills at the reminder.
Well, that’s another issue you haven’t covered. Quickly, you’re sitting up and moving your gaze to meet Seungcheol’s.
“Are you okay with this?” You ask, and you can feel the fear creeping up on you again as the seconds pass.
“With what?” Seungcheol asks, sitting up as well before grabbing your hands.
“The baby…” You mumble, uncertainty gripping at your chest. “We didn’t exactly plan this, you know?”
Seungcheol snorts at that. “Bareback sex for days straight was just asking for it, if we’re being honest.”
You flush at the crudeness of his words, “Seungcheol, I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Seungcheol chuckles out. “Baby, I’m more than okay with this, with everything. Sure, maybe I wish that things happened with better timing, but… I wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.”
“You don’t regret it?” You ask, voice small as you tighten your hold on his hand. Seungcheol’s here, he loves you, he isn’t leaving.
“The only thing I regret is not being there for you sooner,” Seungcheol says. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to find out like that then have to deal with everything on your own.”
“Halmeoni and Dr. Lee looked after me,” You remind him. “It was easier with them around.”
“Still,” Seungcheol counters, guilt pooling in his eyes. “I should’ve been there.”
“You’re here now,” You say as you smile at him, hand letting go of his to smooth the crease between his furrowed brows. “That’s more than enough.”
“No, it’s not,” Seungcheol shakes his head. “I still have a lot to prove to you, and to our little one.”
Your heart practically melts at the way Seungcheol’s eyes soften when they fall onto your stomach.
“Do you think they can hear me?” Seungcheol asks.
“No, Dr. Lee said they don’t start hearing until 18 weeks,” You reply, watching as Seungcheol reaches out to trace your stomach with a feather-light touch.
“Perfect, I have a few more weeks to come up with a good apology,” Seungcheol jokes.
“Maybe we should stop apologizing,” You suggest, hand falling on top of Seungcheol’s as you look him in the eye. “Let’s make this work, Cheol.”
Seungcheol beams at that, and you don’t miss the way his eyes seem to glisten under the moonlight. “I can do that.”
You don’t know what comes over you.
Slowly, you lean forward, lips pressing against the corner of Seungcheol’s mouth to test the waters. You don’t miss the way Seungcheol’s breath hitches and his lids flutter. Unable to resist, you press another kiss onto his skin. This time, it’s on his chin.
“Fuck, don’t do this to me right now,” Seungcheol whispers shakily.
“Do what?” You tease, hands reaching out to brace yourself on his firm thighs. “I’m just kissing you.”
“You know it never ends with just kissing,” Seungcheol stares at you pointedly. “Y/N, I’m serious—“
Seungcheol chokes on his words when you press a kiss to his throat.
“Baby, you’re pregnant,” Seungcheol tries to reason with you as your fingers trail up his thighs.
You ignore his words, mouth capturing Seungcheol’s in a kiss that’s all tongue, spit, and desperation. Contrary to the hesitance in Seungcheol’s words, he’s quick to reciprocate with just as much hunger, if not more. He kisses you like he’s trying to eat you alive, like you’re the first thing he’s eaten in years.
However, reason seems to find its way to Seungcheol’s head through the haze because he quickly pulls away.
“Cheol, why’d you stop?” You whine out in complaint.
Seungcheol speaks to argue, “You’re pregnant—“
“Pregnant women are allowed to fuck, Cheol,” You pout.
“I know but we just got back from the hospital,” Seungcheol replies softly, hand carding through your hair. “I might make things worse.”
“You won’t,” You shake your head. “I trust you.”
“Y/N, don’t make this harder,” Seungcheol pleads.
“Fine, be like that,” You huff out petulantly before lying down on the bed and turning your back to Seungcheol.
“Baby,” Seungcheol coos as he slips behind you. “I’m sorry, come on. We just got back from the hospital. We can do it when I’m sure that you’re all better.”
You don’t reply, only pulling the covers around you tighter.
“Baby,” Seungcheol sighs as he wraps his arms around you. “Come on.”
“Just say you don’t want me,” You huff out. You’re being unreasonable, you know that, but your hormones were constantly all over the place, and they somehow decided that now would be the perfect time to make you all hot and bothered.
“I do want you, badly,” Seungcheol says. “But your health comes first.”
The fire in you dies. He had a point. “Fine.”
“I can still help you out, if you’d like?” Seungcheol whispers against your ear in a low tone that has your insides quivering. “No fucking, but my fingers should be fine for now, no?”
You can feel the way Seungcheol’s fingers are playing with the waistband of your sleep shorts.
“Please,” You breathe out, whining when Seungcheol pulls away.
Seungcheol sits against the headboard before he pulls you to sit between his legs, your back resting against his warm chest.
“Can you take your shorts off for me, baby?” Seungcheol whispers against your ear as he rubs his hands up and down your waist.
You’re quick to oblige, a gasp leaving your throat when Seungcheol’s fingers brush against your sensitive nipples.
“Oh, you’re so sensitive,” Seungcheol remarks, hands giving your chest one firm squeeze that shoots straight to your core. “Fuck, I can’t wait until these are leaking.”
A moan rips itself from your throat when Seungcheol pinches your nipples.
“Need your fingers inside, Cheol,” You moan, hand grabbing one of Seungcheol’s and bringing it down to your panty-clad mound. “Please.”
“So polite,” Seungcheol coos, hand slipping underneath your panties to rub through your dripping folds. “What happened to the brat that got us here, hm?”
You only moan, lost in the feeling of finally experiencing Seungcheol’s touch again. His fingers are rubbing sloppy circles onto your folds, each flick of his wrist sending fiery pulses through your nerves.
“You’re so wet, baby,” Seungcheol mumbles as he slips two fingers inside. He scissors them inside you, rubbing, prodding, and exploring like he’s looking for something. “So warm too, fuck.”
Your eyes roll back when Seungcheol’s fingers brush against that bundle of nerves inside you, mouth falling open to release desperate moans and whines as Seungcheol works you closer and closer to your high.
“You’re tightening up already?” Seungcheol teases. “Is my needy girl about to cum from a little fingering?”
“Yes, fuck!” You cry out, back arching as you feel your high get dangerously close. “Cheol, please, please, please—“
“Shh, baby just cum for me. I’ll get you there don’t worry,” Seungcheol soothes, fingers driving in and out of you with methodic strokes. “Cum for me baby, cum—“
“Cumming!” You cry out before your mouth falls open into a silent scream, body seizing as Seungcheol continues to fuck his fingers in and out of you to let you ride out your high.
By the end of it, you’re boneless in Seungcheol’s arms, breathing heavy and mind hazy with the aftershocks of your climax.
Seungcheol, like the filthy man he is, is quick to lick his fingers clean, and the moan that leaves him when your taste hits his tongue is obscene. “Fuck, I missed that.”
“Cheol, you’re hard,” You mumble through your sleepy, pleasured haze. You can feel him pressing against your back. “Do you need help?”
“I’m fine,” Seungcheol replies as he moves to lie the two of you down. “Just get some rest.”
“Are you sure?” You offer one last time, trying to fight the sleep that was slowly pulling you under.
“Yes, baby,” Seungcheol replies with a kiss to your forehead. “The sooner you get better, the sooner you can get all of me.”
You have never slept faster in your entire life.
—
Choi Seungcheol made one hell of a DILF.
If husbands were graded on how well they handled pregnancy, you think Seungcheol would get a 99.99%. The 0.01% is missing only because Seungcheol could be a little too overprotective at times. Ever since he found out about your pregnancy two weeks ago, he’s been nothing short of caring. Most of his days are spent catering to you, and when he isn’t fussing over you, he’s busy reading every single parenting book published in the last five years. He’s also extremely patient, and your mood swings are no match for his gentle words and touches.
Fuck, you wanted to jump this man so badly.
It’s a shame he’s so hellbent on holding back for your sake. You could take him! In more ways than one, but he refused to listen. The man constantly treated you like you were made of glass, and you were honestly getting tired of it. You were cranky and horny with a husband that could make it all better, but he refused to.
You’re considering lowering his grade to a 98%.
“I think we’re going to need a bigger house,” Seungcheol says as he walks into the living room. “This one is okay, but we’re going to need more room when the baby comes.”
“We already have a house back in Seoul, though?” You ask, brow raised in question as you flip through the channels. “Do we really need another house?”
Seungcheol freezes at that. “About that…”
You turn your questioning gaze to Seungcheol.
“What?”
“I put the old house for sale,” Seungcheol replies. “It held too many bad memories.”
You gape at Seungcheol.
To be fair, you didn’t like the house either. You’d set it on fire if given the opportunity, but to suddenly find out that Seungcheol had sold it…
Well, it was shocking.
You had other properties, of course. So finding somewhere to stay when you inevitably go back to Seoul wasn’t a problem, but Seungcheol had lived in that place for so long that some part of you felt bad that he had to let it go.
“Where will we live then?” You ask.
“I heard it’s quieter in Mingyu’s neighborhood,” Seungcheol says as he takes a seat beside you. “I’ve been asking my agent to look for some houses in the area, and I already have the list but… I was just waiting for the right time to tell you.”
“But you’ve lived in that house for so long, Cheol,” You reply, hand reaching out for his. “Won’t you miss that place?”
“No,” Seungcheol shakes his head. “It’s just a house.”
Seungcheol reaches for your stomach. There’s a little bump on it now that you’re 13 weeks in. Softly, he presses his palm on it. “The two of you are my home now.”
Your heart swells at Seungcheol’s words, tears pricking at your eyes as you press a kiss against Seungcheol’s cheek. “Do you want to look through the list together?”
Seungcheol beams at that, quickly pulling his laptop closer and opening it. “I’ve been waiting for this.”
The rest of the afternoon is spent scrolling through the list that Seungcheol’s agent sent. It was complete with pictures and even videos showing the features that each property had to offer. Some houses were too big, some were too small. Some didn’t feel right while some were only a few steps away from perfect.
There’s a constant back-and-forth between you and Seungcheol as you consider the pros and cons of each house. He was clearly taking this seriously, giving insight on things that even you failed to consider.
By the end of it, the two of you agree on a 4-bedroom house that had a large backyard and a small pool. It’s a little extra, but Seungcheol wanted nothing but the best for his growing family.
“We could check it out soon, if you’d like,” Seungcheol offers. “But I don’t mind staying here.”
You love Boeun, but you knew it wasn’t practical.
Your life was still in Seoul, and Boeun was just meant to be a temporary break from the city’s chaos while you gathered your bearings. You were always meant to leave this place, but knowing that doesn’t make the idea of departure any easier. You’d miss Soonja, Dr. Lee, Mr. Kang, and everyone who had been with you throughout your stay, but you knew that sacrifices had to be made.
Your job was waiting for you, your family was waiting for you, and you could only make those things wait for so long before they began chasing you all the way to this quiet town.
“Do you want to check it tomorrow?” You ask. The drive would be smooth since it’s a Wednesday tomorrow, there was even less traffic compared to if you’d go to Seoul on a Monday or a Friday.
“Already?” Seungcheol clarifies, a little baffled at how quick you were to ask. “I mean we can if you really want to, but… Isn’t it a little too soon?”
“Cheol, the two of us can only work from home for so long,” You reply. “Our life is in Seoul whether we like it or not.”
“Will you be okay?” Seungcheol asks, worry written all over his features.
“Of course,” You reply softly. “I’m going to miss everyone here, but it would be more practical to move now while I still have the energy to handle it all.”
“Okay. Happy wife, happy life,” Seungcheol presses a quick kiss to your lips before he pulls out his phone. “I’ll text Mr. Jang to set a visit for tomorrow afternoon, then I’ll book a hotel for the night. Is that okay?”
“That would be perfect,” You smile.
—
Choi Seungcheol thinks you look like a goddess in this light.
You’re looking through the house, listening to Mr. Jang explain the history and make of each area, and the only thing Seungcheol can do is watch as the sun shines on you through the glass doors leading to the patio and the backyard. It gives you a heavenly glow, and the bump of your stomach lightly poking from your dress only had Seungcheol wanting to worship the ground you walked on.
He could already imagine it. In a few months, you’d be seated in the little patio, cradling a little baby—he hopes it’s a girl—and cooing to her (he insists) in a soft loving voice. In a few months, he’d be rushing home from work to see his girls—Seungcheol is not letting go of that—and when he gets home, he’s going to give the two of you the tightest hug he can safely give and tell you how much he missed you.
Fuck, he can’t believe all of this is real. He might actually start crying if he dwells on it.
When you walk over to him with a smile, Seungcheol realizes that this is it. This is the house.
“Do you like it?” Seungcheol asks, one hand pulling you in by the waist and the other moving to cup your cheek.
“How soon can we move?” You ask him with an excited smile. “I can’t wait to decorate. Plus, we need to make sure that everything is baby-proofed. The sooner we get here, the sooner we can fix all of that.”
“Well, Mr. Jang, you heard the lady,” Seungcheol grins as he addresses his trusted agent. “How soon can we move in?”
“Well, it usually takes weeks, Mr. Choi, but considering the fact that you’re very close friends with Mr. Yoon, it will be very quick.” Mr. Jang answers. “I can give you the papers by Friday, and if you have any personal items that you’d like to move, then we can do that for you as well.”
Of course Jeonghan owned this place. Seungcheol sometimes forgets just how much land and property the Yoons own throughout Seoul. Maybe he should ask for a discount just to fuck with the man.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Jang,” You smile. “We’ll probably be able to move in next week since we still have some things to sort in the province.”
“No worries, madam,” Mr. Jang replies.
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Jang,” Seungcheol firmly shakes the man’s hand.
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Choi.”
When the two of you reach the hotel, you’re quick to give Seungcheol a hug. It’s tight, it’s warm, and it’s full of the love that Seungcheol has always longed for.
“I can’t believe this is real,” You murmured into Seungcheol’s chest.
“You like the house?” Seungcheol asks, falling back onto the hotel sofa and sitting you on his lap.
“I do,” You nod, wrapping your arms loosely around Seungcheol’s neck. “It’s like a fresh start.”
“It is,” Seungcheol replies as he presses a quick kiss to your chin. “I promised to do things right. I’m just fulfilling that promise.”
“I love you.” It falls from your lips and settles into Seungcheol’s unguarded heart.
Seungcheol would never get tired of hearing those words come from your lips. He could listen to it all day, everyday, for the rest of his life, and it would still send his heart into a frenzy.
“Not as much as I love you,” Seungcheol whispers before capturing your lips into a kiss.
Everything was finally falling into place.
—
Saying goodbye was always the hardest part.
Your seventh and last week in Boeun was spent thanking the people who had made your stay in the little town a wonderful experience.
The first stop was Dr. Lee.
“Time really flies,” Dr. Lee says wistfully as she takes in your words of parting. “I’ll make sure to coordinate with your new OB-GYN. I have to make sure my favorite patient is taken care of, after all.”
“Thank you for everything, Dr. Lee,” You say with a bittersweet smile. “I can’t thank you enough for all the care you’ve shown me.”
“Nonsense, dear. It’s my job,” Dr. Lee waves you off with a sad smile. “Make sure to update me every now and then, okay? I may not be your doctor anymore, but I will always be your friend.”
“Of course,” You reply.
“And you,” Dr. Lee points towards Seungcheol. “You better take care of her after taking her away from us, you got it?”
Seungcheol looks a little embarrassed under the doctor’s scrutiny, but he smiles at her nonetheless. “I will, doc. You have my word.”
“Gosh, I really am going to miss you,” Dr. Lee says as she gives you a warm hug, one that you’re quick to reciprocate. “I know that Seoul is far, but make sure to visit, okay?”
“We will,” You declare it like you’ve never been more sure of anything. “I’ve grown too attached to this place to ever let it go.”
“Well, don’t miss us too much,” Dr. Lee jokes as she releases you from her hug. “Take care, you two.”
The second stop was Mr. Kang.
Honestly speaking, between the two of you, Mr. Kang was closer to Seungcheol than he was to you. After all, it had been them who had bonded greatly, with the older man constantly giving Seungcheol tips on how to become a good father whenever the two of you would drop by to eat.
“Just yesterday, you were eating bibimbap here,” Mr. Kang says in a bittersweet tone as he reminisces. “And now, you’re leaving.”
“Duty calls in the city, unfortunately,” Seungcheol replies sheepishly. “But we’ll make sure to visit, sir.”
“You do what you have to do for your family, boy. I understand,” Mr. Kang says as he claps Seungcheol on the back and sends a smile your way. “Take care of your wife, okay? And your kid too. Remember everything I taught you.”
“Don’t worry, sir, I have it all memorized,” Seungcheol jokes.
“Thank you for everything, Mr. Kang,” You thank the man with a quick hug. “I’m going to miss the food here.”
“Well, let’s eat then,” Mr. Kang says as he pulls the two of you to sit. “It’s your last meal here, so it’s on the house.”
You’re quick to protest, “Oh no, we couldn’t possibly—“
“Aish no, just eat, okay?” Mr. Kang cuts you off. “Consider this a parting gift from me and my wife.”
The last stop was Soonja.
This was the hardest, you think.
With slow steps, you walk towards the door of her house, heart cracking with each step you take. You do everything you can to delay it, to delay the inevitable moment where you’d have to say your goodbye.
When you reach her door, you turn to Seungcheol.
Your husband gives your hand a firm squeeze of support. There was nothing he could do to make this goodbye easier even if he wanted to.
With a deep breath, you knock on the door.
“Coming!” You hear Soonja’s muffled voice from behind the wood separating the two of you, her light footsteps echoing through the silent afternoon.
When the door opens, you have to resist the urge to cry.
“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite neighbors,” Soonja greets, giving the two of you a warm hug that only a grandmother could give. “Today’s the day you leave, right?”
“Yes, halmeoni,” You reply, voice shaking and lip quivering. You had been holding out so well throughout the day, and now, face-to-face with the woman who had taken care of you during your loneliest days, you find yourself falling apart. “We came to say goodb—“
A sob manages to break free from your throat, and Soonja is quick to take you into her arms.
“Aigoo, sweet girl, don’t cry,” Soonja soothes as she rubs your back up and down. “A sad mother is a sad child, so you have to be happy, okay?”
“I—I’m going to—“ Sobs and gasps cut through your words as you clutch the woman tighter. “I’m going t—to m-miss you—“
“I’m going to miss you too, dear,” Soonja smiles, though it’s bittersweet. “Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll visit when the little one is born.”
“You promise?” You ask, pulling away to look Soonja in the eyes. “I—I’ll cry if you’re not there.”
“Aigoo, look at this girl blackmailing me,” Soonja laughs as she smooths out your hair. “I promise, dear.”
“I’ll get someone to pick you up, ma’am,” Seungcheol says with a smile. “Thank you for taking care of my wife when I couldn’t be there.”
“It’s nothing,” Soonja waves your husband off. “Make sure that she’s always happy, okay? I’ll take her away from you if you ever make her sad.”
You laugh at that despite the tears in your eyes, “Hear that, Cheol?”
“That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” Seungcheol says firmly as he turns his gaze to you. “I’m going to make sure that my wife is the happiest woman alive.”
“Aigoo, your husband looks tough but he’s such a sap,” Soonja teases. “Come here, boy. Give this old woman a hug before you go.”
Seungcheol obliges, leaning down to give the old woman a hug.
You think you might cry again.
When they part, Soonja is quick to pull something from her pocket: a tiny notebook.
“A little souvenir,” Soonja smiles as she hands you the notebook. “It has all your favorite recipes in it.”
You’re quick to open the little cookbook. Tears immediately pool back in your eyes when you realize that Soonja had written down all the steps for all the dishes she cooked and brought for you during breakfast.
“Halmeoni, do you want to come with us?” You know the odds of her accepting are low, but you ask it anyway.
Soonja laughs at that, wiping away the tears that have pooled in her own eyes. “Thank you for the offer, dear, but this place is the only thing I’ve known my entire life.”
“Letting go is just as important as holding on,” Soonja adds with a smile. “One should always aim to strike a balance.”
Her words stay with you even after the trees have turned into buildings and stars have been obscured by towering skyscrapers.
“You tired?” Seungcheol asks when the car stops at a red light.
“A little,” You confess, eyes taking in the familiar city that you left behind seven weeks ago. It looks the same, and yet it feels like everything has changed.
“Hang in there,” Seungcheol says with a comforting squeeze to your thigh. “We’ll be home in 15 minutes.”
Home.
You left Solis Mane with an ache in your heart and dread in your stomach, and now you’re leaving Boeun… But it doesn’t feel the same. The ache is there, the longing for a world that had given you peace for even just a moment, but the dread is nowhere to be found. You aren’t dreading the city, you aren’t dreading the idea of home. In the spot that dread used to lurk in now lied hope.
Hope for a better future, hope for a better life.
You sincerely hope that it works out this time.
—
The future looks bright.
After a month of living in the house, Choi Seungcheol likes to think that the two of you are now well-adjusted to the new space and the new routine. Strangely enough, he thinks it was him who took a longer time to adjust to the novelty of it all compared to you.
You had quickly adjusted to the house, and now, there were little trinkets and decorations strewn around that all had your personal touch. Seungcheol considers it his favorite part of the house. The hopeful part of Seungcheol wished he could stay in the house and lounge with you all-day, all-week, however, business calls.
The moment the two of you came back, he had been bombarded with the responsibilities he had set aside. Thankfully, Seungcheol’s father had lessened his workload after finding out that his first grandchild was on the way, so Seungcheol only had to appear in the office every Monday and Friday. The rest of his week was spent working from home and doting on his beloved wife.
Unfortunately for him, it’s a Friday, so he was in the office. The only thing that kept him going was the idea that you’d be greeting him with a smile and a kiss before dragging him to taste whatever diabolical concoction your pregnancy hormones had you craving for the day.
Fuck, he’s so in love with you.
When the clock strikes five, Seungcheol is quick to pack his things. He’s taking long strides towards the door when a knock stops him in his tracks.
Fucking hell.
Annoyed, Seungcheol is quick to open the door. Lo and behold, before him stood Kim Mingyu.
“Hyung, are you leaving?” Mingyu asks, eyes locking onto Seungcheol’s bag.
“Yes, so make it quick,” Seungcheol clicks his tongue. “My wife’s waiting for me.”
“Ah of course, can’t leave a pregnant lady waiting,” Mingyu is quick to understand, having gone through a similar experience just a few months prior. “I’m just here to give you the invitation.”
Mingyu hands Seungcheol an expensive looking invitation bearing the Yoon Corporation’s logo.
“What for?” Seungcheol asks as he slips the invitation into his bag.
“My wife’s birthday,” Mingyu replies, a boastful, loving smile making its way onto his face. “You and Y/N are invited, though I think she’s more interested in talking to your wife.”
“I’ll ask Y/N if she’s okay with going,” Seungcheold nods. It would be good for you to go out and socialize in a smaller circle for now, and knowing Mingyu’s wife, the party would probably be limited to only a few people. “Where is this?”
“At our house, so it’s really just a small get-together,” Mingyu confirms. “We can finally grab a drink together, again.”
“Pass,” Seungcheol thinks of the last time he drank with Mingyu. It did not end well at all.
“Yeah, you’re right. My wife would probably kill me too,” Mingyu laughs. “But I hope to see you guys there, okay? I’ll let you leave now since you seem really eager to get home.”
“Thanks for finally noticing,” Seungcheol snorts, and Mingyu only rolls his eyes.
“Hey, my wife’s waiting for me too,” Mingyu grumbles as he presses the elevator button. “You and I are one and the same.”
Seungcheol only chuckles at that, but he can’t deny Mingyu’s words.
When Seungcheol finally parks into the garage of your house, he’s quick to exit the car, walk to the front door, and kick off his shoes.
On cue, the door swings open, and Seungcheol, like clockwork, pulls you in for a kiss that has his blood humming and his heart beating wildly. Just like the other times, there’s a shy smile on your face the moment you pull away.
“Do you really have to kiss me like that every time?” You complain as you pull Seungcheol in and shut the door.
“Why? You don’t like my kisses?” Seungcheol pouts, hands coming up to your hips as he gives you the most comically sad eyes he can muster.
“I do, but isn’t your kiss a little too… Inappropriate?” You reply, a little flustered as you avoid Seungcheol’s gaze. “What if someone sees?”
“Nothing wrong with a husband loving his wife, no?” Seungcheol teases, leaning down to whisper against your ear as one of his hands drops down to grab a handful of your ass. “I can get more inappropriate than that, really.”
You yelp when Seungcheol gives your butt another firm squeeze, your hand coming up to lightly swat at his chest. “You’re a dog, Choi Seungcheol.”
Seungcheol only laughs when you push him off and walk to the dining room, eyes trained on the way your hips sway and your butt jiggles.
Fuck, he really is winning in life.
You’re in your 18th week, and Seungcheol thinks you need to put him on a leash soon because it was getting harder and harder to resist you. In addition to that glow of yours, your bump was now more visible, and it had Seungcheol becoming this inexplicable mix of horny and overprotective whenever he sees it. Not only that but you were getting softer too, and Seungcheol had to stop himself from gnawing at your chest like a feral dog lest you get pissed and kick him to the couch again.
“What’s for dinner?” Seungcheol asks, already bracing himself for some diabolical combination that would probably make Chef Wen faint.
“Tonkatsu,” You reply, and when you see the shocked look on Seungcheol’s face, you’re quick to giggle. “It’s so normal, right?”
“Yeah,” Seungcheol laughs as he takes a seat beside you. “Are you sure it’s just regular tonkatsu?”
“I swear,” You reply as you draw a cross on your chest. “I woke up craving it so badly. I ate this for breakfast and lunch, and now I’m eating it again. Your kid is already taking after you.”
Seungcheol smiles at that. In a few months, he was finally going to meet your little baby. He was finally going to cradle them—her, the voice in Seungcheol’s head insists—in his arms. He’s going to lose sleep and want to tear his hair out, but it’s all going to be so worth it because he gets to do it all with you.
“My daughter has good taste,” Seungcheol boasts proudly, hand coming up to cradle your little bump. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll let you eat all the tonkatsu you want when you’re out of there.”
“Yah, we don’t even know what the baby is yet,” You pout at Seungcheol. “What if it’s a boy?”
“Then he’s a boy,” Seungcheol shrugs. “But I have a feeling that we’re going to have a daughter.”
“Well, I think we’re having a boy,” You huff out.
“Wanna bet?” Seungcheol grins as he strokes your stomach.
“Be prepared to lose, Choi,” You reply, determination in your eyes.
“I should be saying that to you,” Seungcheol teases before he presses a kiss to your stomach. “But put that aside for now, the tonkatsu might get cold.”
In all honesty, Seungcheol didn’t mind whether the baby would be a girl or a boy. He was going to shower them with so much love either way. However, he sincerely hopes it’s a girl. A cute little girl that takes after her beautiful mother in both looks and wit. A cute little girl he’ll spoil and clothe with the prettiest, frilliest dresses. A cute girl who’d be evidence of everything he’s ever loved and cherished, who’d be evidence of you.
That night Seungcheol makes slow, sweet love to you. You’re on your side, one leg raised, and Seungcheol is right behind you, slowly grinding in and out of you as he whispers words of devotion into your ear.
Seungcheol cradles you in his arms, face buried into the back of your neck as he soothes moans and whines from your soft, sensitive body. He takes his time savoring every drag and clench of your walls around him. Treating every stroke and plunge like it would be his last.
“Cheol, I love you,” You say with a breathy sigh as you clamp down onto his length, and Seungcheol is left with no other choice but to spill himself inside you, worshipping every inch of you with a desperate devotee’s lips who’s only lately found religion, ardor and adoration lacing every heated kiss.
The high isn’t explosive, it crawls, and it creeps until it overtakes all your senses and you have no choice but to surrender to its will. It’s nothing like the rough, passionate, back-breaking sex that you and Seungcheol used to have on that island. It’s raw, it’s passionate, it’s love.
Seungcheol could never imagine himself anywhere else.
—
The Yoon heiress had always kept a small circle.
Attending her birthday party was a privilege, and despite your constant desire to stay at home and nest, you weren’t about to miss out on this opportunity. She had personally invited you, after all, and from your last interaction—your wedding reception—she seemed like a very lovely woman. Thankfully, the Kim’s only lived a few blocks away, so getting there was a breeze.
When you arrive at the Kim family’s garden, the familiar woman is quick to greet you, and cradled in her arms is little Eunho who is the spitting image of his father.
“Happy birthday,” You greet the woman as you hand her your gift, and she takes it from you with thanks and a kind smile.
You don’t miss the way Seungcheol looks at the baby in her arms. Amazed, he speaks, “Wow, it’s like I’m looking at a mini-Mingyu.”
Mingyu’s wife only laughs, cooing at her son, “Eunho-ah, say hello to Uncle Seungcheol and Aunt Y/N.”
The little baby only tucks himself into his mother’s neck, shyly looking at the two of you from the corner of his eyes. You have to resist the urge to squeal and sob at how cute the little boy looked.
“Don’t be fooled you two,” Mingyu walks up to his wife from behind, a hand falling protectively around her waist. “He may look like me, but he acts exactly like her.”
“My genes have to fight somehow,” Mingyu’s wife jokes with a roll of her eyes. “The two of you are expecting right? How many weeks?”
“I’m 21 weeks in,” You reply, hand coming up to cradle your bump. Saying the words out loud makes you realize how far you’ve come, and you have to stop yourself from breaking into tears then and there.
“Only a few weeks left,” Mingyu’s wife smiles with understanding. “Please, do take a seat. I don’t want to tire you out.”
The little garden party is as intimate as you expected it to be. There were only a few people around, and even fewer that you could recognize. Seungcheol isn’t beside you since you insisted he bond with his old friends. Currently, your husband was with Jeonghan and Mingyu, with your husband and the former doing everything they could to gain the favor of little Eunho.
Thankfully, Mingyu’s wife sits with you, chatting with you like the two of you were old friends. It’s the complete opposite of the rumors about her that paint her to be some aloof individual that didn’t engage in polite conversation.
“Are you guys having a girl or a boy?” Mingyu’s wife asks.
“We haven’t checked, but Seungcheol’s betting that it’s a girl,” You reply.
“That would be so cute!” Mingyu’s wife exclaims with a smile. “Who knows, maybe we’ll be in-laws someday.”
You laugh at that, mind flooded with scenes from a future that you have yet to live through. Jokingly, you reply, “You’ll be the first to know if it’s a girl.”
“I’ll be counting on that,” Mingyu’s wife matches your joking tone. “Oh wait, my friend is here. Let me introduce you…”
Mingyu’s wife stands up to greet the woman that just arrived.
She’s not someone you know, and her features, while pretty, are completely foreign to you. That’s why it strikes you as odd when Mingyu’s wife leads her to your table and recognition floods her eyes.
“Y/N, meet my friend.” Mingyu’s wife introduces the woman. “She came here all the way from Paris.”
Paris, huh? You haven’t heard of that place in a while.
In the distance, you hear Mingyu call out for his wife.
“Oh, wait, excuse me for a sec,” Mingyu’s wife says apologetically as she moves to leave. “My husband’s calling me.”
“No worries,” You wave with a smile. “We’ll talk in the meantime.”
“I’ll be back soon, promise,” Mingyu’s wife reassures the two of you before she finally takes her leave.
Only you and the mystery woman remain.
“Hi, I’m Y/N,” You introduce yourself. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, Ms…?”
The woman smiles at you, but you don’t miss the sadness in her eyes. Something tells you that there’s more to her than meets the eye.
“You’re right, we haven’t,” The woman speaks, and you note that her voice is just as beautiful as her face. “I’m Sohee.”
That familiar sense of dread spreads throughout your body, and it feels like you’re being pulled deeper and deeper into freezing waters with no way to scream or cry for help.
You don’t know what to say.
You don’t think anyone is ever prepared to suddenly face their greatest fear on a cold autumn day in the middle of a birthday party.
Do you apologize? It doesn’t feel right considering how much you’ve suffered from the memory of her alone. Do you get angry? That doesn’t seem appropriate either considering the fact that she did nothing wrong to you. Do you pretend like you don’t know her? It’s too late for that considering the horror that has settled itself onto your face.
“Well, don’t look at me like that,” Sohee laughs to ease the sudden tension, but it does nothing of the sort. “I’m not here to cause problems. I’m just attending for my friend.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome,” You apologize, but you’re not sure how much of it you mean. You’re only human, and you can’t help but hold a little bit of resentment for the woman who had caused so many problems in your marriage. You were being unreasonable, you know that, but you like to think that’s why reason and emotion are two separate entities.
“It’s okay,” Sohee replies. “You’re handling this a lot better than most people would.”
The two of you are quiet for a while, neither of you knowing how to navigate the delicate situation at hand. You don’t owe her anything, and the same goes for her. You can only hope that Mingyu’s wife comes back soon to ease the tension.
“How many weeks?” Sohee asks all of a sudden, eyes locked onto your stomach.
“21,” You reply politely, but you don’t take the effort to lengthen the conversation.
“Oh, you’re almost there,” Sohee smiles softly. “Stay strong, it only gets tougher the closer you get to your due date.”
It’s silent again, and you have to resist the urge to cringe at the tension that weighs heavily in the air. You thought meeting Sohee would be a bit more eventful. You had envisioned it to have a little more screaming, crying, and arguing, but there’s none of that.
You don’t know which of the two you prefer.
“I called him, you know,” Sohee breaks the silence with something that sounds like a confession as her eyes lock onto your smiling husband in the distance. “When I heard that you sent him divorce papers, I swallowed my pride and called him.”
That familiar fear is back in your system.
“Why are you telling me this?” You ask her, heart pounding with dread as you wait for her next words.
“Closure,” Sohee answers. “It’s a little selfish, but I couldn’t live with the guilt of seeing you and not telling you.”
“What do you mean?” You ask warily, voice faltering despite your efforts to keep it leveled.
“You’re being so nice to me and it’s making me feel so bad,” Sohee replies. “I called Seungcheol because I wanted him back.”
Your heart drops, but the anger is quick to rise.
“Are you here to try again?” You ask, tone taking a bitter edge as you try to gauge the woman in front of you. “I’m sorry if you feel like I stole him from you, but don’t you think it’s time to let go?”
You weren’t about to let this woman ruin your marriage a second time. Choi Seuncheol did not spend the past few months reassuring you and loving you unconditionally only for you to surrender at first sight of a problem. You owed it to him to fight for him as hard as he fought for you.
“Like I said, I’m not here to cause problems,” Sohee says defensively in response to your accusations. “I know you didn’t steal him, and honestly, there’s nothing for me to let go.”
“The last thing I want to do is get in the way of a happy family all because of a misunderstanding, so let’s get one thing straight,” Sohee looks you dead in the eye as she speaks. “I did not let Choi Seungcheol go, he left me of his own accord. He chose to leave me for you, so if anyone should be bitter here, it’s me.”
Your eyes narrow at her words. She didn’t know you or the hell she put you through for merely existing. She doesn’t get the right to play victim while painting you out to be some villain that got in the way of her happy ending.
“I gave him a way to come back,” Sohee continues. “He broke my heart, and I still hoped that he would come back to me, but you know what he did? He told me to lose his number and move on because he was happily married to the love of his life.”
“So I’m sorry if I can’t be that nice to you,” Sohee breathes it out frustratedly. “I loved this man for years, and it only took a few months for him to act like I never existed.”
“I understand,” You try to keep your voice as neutral as possible despite the voices in your head urging you to fling every hurt and anger from the first few months of your marriage back at her. “I hope you find your closure.”
Every bit of that last sentence is sincere.
You really hoped that Sohee finds peace despite the pain her mere memory brought. She had given you the closure you needed, after all.
Neither of you were villains or victims, just people in love.
When you and Seungcheol get home, you can see the fear in his eyes, the dread that the two of you would fall apart the way you did months ago.
“I met Sohee today,” You whisper out in the darkness of your bedroom, and you don’t miss the way that Seungcheol freezes. “We talked.”
“What did you talk about?” Seungcheol asks, his hold on you tightening like he’s preparing for you to run away.
“Nothing important,” You reply, pressing a reassuring kiss to Seungcheol’s cheek. “I love you.”
All the tension leaves Seungcheol’s body at that, “I love you too.”
He didn’t have to ask, prod, or pry. It didn’t matter to him, and it wouldn’t make a difference. All that mattered was that you were still in his arms and not running away. Sohee’s words can remain forever a mystery so long as your love for him has clarity.
Seungcheol had the promise of a lifetime with you ahead of him, and that was more than enough.
—
BONUS:
6 years later…
Choi Seungcheol looks like he’s about to have a stroke.
Hwayoung, your lovely daughter, had come up to him with a flower in hand and said, “Daddy, look! Eunho gave me a flower.”
That singular statement had Seungcheol’s world falling apart, and it had been made worse when Hwayoung added, “I want to marry him! Like you and mommy.”
Unaware of the torment she subjected her father to, Hwayoung happily skips back to Eunho who’s playing with the flowers in your backyard.
“Baby, tell me I’m dreaming,” Seungcheol says, heartbreak in his eyes as he clutches at his hair. “It’s just a nightmare, right?”
“Cheol, you’re overreacting,” You roll your eyes at your husband. You’d think that someone died with how devastated he looked. “They’re just kids. It’s just a harmless crush.”
“My Hwayoungie is too young for crushes,” Seungcheol grumbles, eyes narrowing when he sees Eunho give his daughter, his beloved princess, another flower. “And why did it have to be Mingyu’s son of all the kids out there?”
“Eunho’s a sweet kid, though?” You try to reason out. “I don’t mind having him as my son-in-law someday—“
“Please don’t say that. You might actually give me a heart attack,” Seungcheol says, eyes still glued onto his princess and the little rascal hovering near her. “Mingyu’s a womanizer! Okay, retired womanizer, but still. It took a while before he settled down.”
“Cheol, they’re children,” You sigh. “I’m sure they’ll grow out of this.”
Seungcheol seems to loosen up at your words, shoulders slowly slacking as he leans back on his chair. “You’re right. I’m sure Hwayoung will realize that she’s meant for greater things. Boys should be the last thing on her mind.”
You’re already praying for Seungcheol’s soul. If he was going insane over this, you don’t think he’ll be able to handle it when Hwayoung grows up and actually brings home a boyfriend.
Rest in peace, Choi Seungcheol.
“Exactly, so calm down,” You laugh, pressing a quick kiss to Seungcheol’s cheek.
“How are my future in-laws doing?” Kim Mingyu’s voice suddenly rings from behind you. “Are they almost done? I have to take Eunho home.”
Seungcheol tenses at Mingyu’s words, “Kim Mingyu, you are never going to be my in-law.”
“Aw, why not?”
“My daughter is never marrying.”
“Shame, they seem to like each other.”
“Do you want to die?”
“Is that how you should speak to your future in-laws, hyung?”
“This piece of sh—“
And you’re back to square one.
A/N: And that concludes Imperfect love. Thank you for everyone who stuck to the end! I am finally debt-free (LMAO JK). Ily all and please stay tuned for any future works 🫶✨
eventual james potter x fem!reader; inevitable angst and annoyance as james slowly matures over his time at hogwarts. slowburn. total word count: 56.3K
Before you started dating Seungcheol, you had been best friends with him for all of your life. Simultaneously, Seungcheol has been best friends with Jeonghan - whom you despise. He has been your rival since first grade and not just in terms of Seungcheol’s friendship but everything else too. Academics, sports, and now the attention of one very special professor who could open every door you ever wished to open…
Pairing: Seungcheol x Fem!Reader x Jeonghan
Genre: Smut, Comedy, established relationship, enemies/rivals to lovers, academic rivals,
Warnings: Mentions of food, Jeonghan and reader are mean to each other (lol), pet names (sweetheart, darling, princess), poly themes
Smut Warnings: Car sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, creampie, manhandling, degradation (usage of the word: slut)
Word Count: 7.2k
Rating: Mature/Explicit
A/N: Hello, hello! This one goes out to @svtiddiess! I am your secret valentine, hehe. I hope you like it!! Had so much fun writing this so thank you for hosting this fun collab @ddeonghwa-s, you were amazing at organizing it <3 Also big shoutouts to my beta readers: @c-oupsie, @chanranghaeys & @gyubakeries, I loved all of your comments and input, thank you so much! and of course, once again big thanks to @aaagustd for the absolute masterpiece of a banner!
The cake smashing into your face was vanilla-flavoured. Most of it dropped to the floor two seconds after hitting you, but there was still a good amount of cream left all over your face.
How wonderful.
More cakes were flying around the room, joined by other types of food and you moved aside to shove the remaining dessert off your face, knowing exactly who had thrown it at you and started this whole thing.
Yoon fucking Jeonghan.
He stood a few meters away from you, a smug grin on his face as not even a single piece of food was on him. It looked like a shot in a music video; so many different dishes flying above and behind him, cupcakes and hors d'oeuvres, and even a whole lasagna. Somehow, none were aimed at him and none missed their target.
Shaking with rage, you looked to your side and found a perfectly fine-looking dish of tiramisu standing on the table. You grinned as you picked it up.
Jeonghan watched the tiramisu fly. He wasn’t quick enough to move out of the way as it landed right where you had aimed—his annoyingly pretty face.
“What on earth is going on?!” Seungcheol’s voice disrupted the moment and you were snapped out of the trance you’ve been in. Instead, it made room for the bitter reality of about 30 students throwing around and wasting perfectly fine food.
The towel in your lap was full of vanilla cream and felt extremely heavy - just like the rest of you. Seungcheol was pacing back and forth, his arms crossed and one hand resting on his chin. He looked troubled, he was troubled, and for good reason. His best friend and his girlfriend had once again proven themselves as nutcases.
“Just—” you started, but one look from him and you shut your mouth, pressing your lips together tightly. Your eyes quickly shot to Jeonghan sitting on the other side of the small office with a bored expression on his face.
Oh, great. Your relationship was crumbling and he was bored!
“So, let me get this straight.” Seungcheol finally began speaking and your eyes darted back to him.
“I leave the reception for my graduation for five minutes and you two start a food fight?”
“He started it!”
“You made me!”
“Oh my god!” Seungcheol threw his hands in the air. “Frankly, I don’t care who started this. All I care about is that I needed the two of you to behave like human beings around each other just for one evening. I just wanted to take my girlfriend out for this special occasion and have my best friend join us without any drama. Just once!”
His eyes were burning on your skin and you couldn’t help but lower your gaze, feeling your cheeks heat up from shame. He was right.
“Look, Cheol, I love you and all, but did you really think this was gonna work?” Jeonghan sighed, getting up from his chair and throwing the used towel on top of it, “She infuriates me just by existing.”
What a fucking douche.
Seungcheol took a deep breath.
“Jeonghan. You’re my best friend, you know that. But she’s my girlfriend and I truly do not give a fuck about any past rivalries. I just…god, I just need you two to act like adults. If not for the sake of each other then at least for the sake of me!”
The scoff Jeonghan let out made your blood boil. You knew Seungcheol was right and the fact that Jeonghan was so blatantly ignoring that…
You stood up as well, stalking over to the two men.
“I’m sorry, Cheol. You’re right. This wasn’t okay, we shouldn’t have started a food fight.”
Carefully, you tried to reach for his hand, but he hesitated, his pretty eyes not yet convinced.
“The two of you have to get over this grudge, or whatever the fuck is going on between you two. I don’t care if you do it by talking it out or fucking it out, but please. Just get it done.”
He turned around then, walking out of the room and slamming the door behind him.
It was silent for a while, just you and Jeonghan staring at the door with your jaws dropped and your cheeks hot. Did Seungcheol just—did he really say that? Something you couldn’t really describe began to form in your stomach, something like an ache mixed with need, and you began to shift from one foot to the other, not daring to look at Jeonghan.
Only when the man left in the room began to speak, did you let yourself gaze upon him.
“Did he really just suggest we fuck it out?” He asked, his head slowly turning to face you.
“Yup.” You nodded.
“Does he—? Do you—does that like, ever happen?” He continued, scratching the back of his neck.
“What? That I fuck someone I hate?” Your eyebrows rose and Jeonghan rolled his eyes.
“No, dumbass, that you fuck other people, period.”
“I don’t think that’s any of your concern.” Fiercely, you turned back around and walked over to the chair you sat on earlier, grabbing your purse.
“My best friend just offered me to fuck his girlfriend, I think it does concern me.”
Throwing your purse over your shoulder, you let out a scoff.
“Don’t be silly, Jeonghan,” you moved back to him, your eyes meeting his with a small smirk on your lips, “we both know you can’t handle me.”
Jeonghan’s mouth dropped once more, watching you, the girl he despised more than anything, walk out of the room and leave him with absolutely nothing to say.
Two weeks later, Seungcheol had finally gotten over the whole ordeal at his graduation reception. No one had really figured out who had started the food fight, so a punishment for the students had fallen through. Instead, cleaning personnel had been called in to get rid of the mess in the Eisenhower ballroom. Perks of attending a private university.
Getting your usual vanilla matcha latte from the small coffee shop inside the economics building, you listened to your best friend Seungkwan’s story about this guy he met at a club who just so happened to become the best one-night stand of his life.
“You don’t understand,” he said, “I need to see him again or I will die!”
Chuckling, you thanked the barista handing you your drinks.
“I doubt you’ll die, Kwan.”
He sighed.
“No, I will, I swear. How can I go on like this? Knowing I’ll never get dicked down that good again?”
“You didn’t get his insta or something?” Pushing open the door, you were greeted by the mild air of spring.
“No! That’s the issue, he doesn’t do two-night stands. He literally just fucks once and dips.”
You clicked your tongue.
“Sorry to hear that. Oh, did I tell you I finally heard back from Professor Jones?”
Professor William Percival Jones was the professor for international management. No one had ever come close to his level of expertise in the last twenty years. It was every student’s dream to be accepted into his internship program which only held one spot every semester. And while this term was almost over, the spot for the next had suddenly been posted again, so of course you had to apply!
Seungkwan didn’t seem too happy about the change of topic but he allowed it considering how important the whole Professor Jones topic was to you.
“And?” He asked, taking a sip from his white chocolate mocha.
“I’m in the next round!” You grinned widely, remembering the e-mail you got just last night. You had celebrated with Seungcheol—dinner, a movie, and you on all fours getting what you deserve.
“Congrats, bestie!” Seungkwan gave you a side hug, smiling at you, “You deserve it. Do you know who else is in the run?”
You shook your head. “Not yet. Gonna find out later this afternoon for the interview prep. But I’m not too worried about competition. How good can they be?”
Yoon fucking Jeonghan was the one to greet you when you walked into the interview prep room at 4pm sharp. Of fucking course.
“Oh, Y/N, fancy seeing you here,” his smirk told you well enough he already knew you were coming.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mumbled as you sat down on the chair next to him. There was no one else here besides the two of you.
“We’re the only two people who made it to round two,” Jeonghan explained, crossing his legs, “didn’t Cheol tell you?”
Cheol knew?! It was by pure self-restraint you didn’t jump Jeonghan and strangle him.
“I fear he forgot with all the sex he got last night,” you put on your most innocent smile, “How’s that going for you by the way?”
Jeonghan didn’t even seem fazed by your words. He just looked at you with yet another one of his bored expressions.
“How cute of you to think I don’t get to fuck whomever I like.”
Something about the way he said those words…they brought back that feeling from two weeks ago, when Seungcheol had asked you two to fuck it out if necessary. Clearing your throat, you averted your gaze, hating yourself for the way your cheeks began to heat up.
Thankfully, Jeonghan didn’t get to say anything else when the door opened and Professor Jones’ current intern walked in. You thought to remember his name being Vernon. He stalked over to the desk at the front, basically throwing his bag onto it.
“Congrats, you two are the finalists for the internship position,” he said, his sheer lack of enthusiasm almost comical.
He leaned against the desk now, a stack of papers in his hands. You watched him with slightly raised brows, wondering how on earth he got this job when he, judging from what you’re seeing right now, doesn’t even want to be here.
“The interview process won’t be as lengthy as it usually is, considering it’s already for next term. Please don’t ask me why Professor Jones isn’t just asking the intern for the term after to take over, it truly is beyond me. Anyway, it will still be hard and time-consuming. Normally, it would be at least one month of tasks you need to hand in, research, as well as possible curriculum changes. Anything innovative, basically.”
Vernon returned to you and Jeonghan, giving both of you half of the stack of papers he’d been holding.
“This file is basically your timetable as well as your tasks for the next two weeks. I hope you don’t have any other deadlines left this term or you’re, how should I say this, fucked.” He presented you with something like a pained smile. You felt the strange need to pat his head.
“Is that all?” Jeonghan asked, still that god-forsaken bored tone in his voice. Vernon shook his head, walking back over to the desk.
“Nope. Still got a surprise up my sleeve,” he turned around and opened his bag, pulling out yet another little stack of papers. Jesus, couldn’t they have e-mailed? What about the trees?
“Surprise quiz, woohoo.”
His woohoo sounded as dry as leaves in summer.
“Are you serious?” Jeonghan snorted, “A quiz?”
“Yup. To evaluate your knowledge on all things international management.”
Vernon handed out the two pages each (with the backs also containing questions) to the two of you and checked his watch.
“You have forty-five minutes. Good luck.”
It was worse enough being in almost every class with Jeonghan, but having to be in the same interview process was definitely going to take the cake. It had barely even started and it already felt like a competition—who was gonna finish the quiz first and who was going to do better?
Time seemed to fly by; answering all the questions to your best ability while checking on how far Jeonghan was, or at least estimating, considering he wasn’t close enough for you to get a good look at his paper.
“Five minutes left,” Vernon said then, sitting comfortably at the desk, his legs on top of it. He had been scrolling through his phone the whole time, once again making you question how on earth he had gotten this job. Had he really been through this same process? Seemed highly unlikely, if you were honest.
Quickly, you checked your answers again to see if you really hadn’t missed anything in terms of spelling, grammar, or content.
Just as you were about to get up, Jeonghan one-upped you and handed in his finished quiz to Vernon with one swift motion. Fuck those gorgeous long legs.
Grinding your teeth, you got up as well, giving Vernon your quiz approximately two seconds after Jeonghan. You tried to ignore the gloating look on his handsome face.
“Great. You’re dismissed then. I’ll email you about the results sometime tomorrow.”
How specific. Without saying goodbye, you grabbed your bag from the floor next to your desk, beginning to walk out and groaning when Jeonghan suddenly appeared right next to you.
“And once again I beat you. Doesn’t it get tiresome to always lose against me, sweetheart?”
Pure red anger made its way through your system.
“Doesn’t it get tiresome to always be an asshole, sweetheart?”
Jeonghan laughed raspily and for whatever reason you felt it right there in the lower part of your stomach. “Oh, darling. Assholes make it the furthest in life, haven’t you heard? They also finish quizzes first and leave pretty little things like you behind.”
Pretty little things?!
The two of you had barely made it out of the classroom when you swirled around to face him, your eyebrows knitted together and clear anger displayed on your face.
“Never would have guessed you’re proud of finishing first, Yoon,” you smiled, “but looking at you, I’m not surprised you are.”
He was in your space before you could blink.
“Believe me, princess, this quiz and the finish line would be the only things I’d finish first. In any other situation and especially in the one you’re thinking of right now, I would make sure to be the last to finish. I’d make sure you finish first, quicker and better than anyone else before."
Oh.
What?
Jeonghan’s lips were right by your ear and his hands found their place on the small of your back, and it was embarrassing how much this turned you on.
“You—You’re disgusting,” you somehow stuttered out and Jeonghan smirked again, parting from you and meeting his gaze with yours.
“Sure I am, Y/N. But so are you, isn’t that right?”
God, if only he would take those damn hands off your body and go far, far away. And if only you could speak, open your mouth, and say anything, really, anything at all! But it was like he had caught you in a trap, made you forget all your words and thoughts and replaced them with want.
“I love to see that I still have an effect on you, darling.” His face was so slapable right now. Smirk and arrogance and hotness that made you wanna scream.
“Are you turned on right now, hm? Wish for me to touch you? Maybe do what Seungcheol asked of us?” His breath on your face was almost enough for you to snap and just give in. But this urge was foreign. Foreign because it never made it past the wet dreams you immediately suppressed once you woke up. Never in a million years were you going to let him win, never would you ever let him know he did in fact have this effect on you, even now, even when you were with Seungcheol.
“Fuck off.” Finally, you managed to push him away. It wasn’t exactly with grace how you ran away from him, leaving him behind with the smirk never leaving his lips and the heat never leaving your body.
The heat hadn’t left you even an hour later when you found yourself in the backseat of Seungcheol’s car, his cock straining against his jeans and your thigh.
“Fuck, baby, what got you so worked up?” Cheol groaned when you bit his earlobe and shoved his jeans down finally.
“Stop talking, just fuck me, please.”
Your lips met his again and Cheol was happy to oblige. His huge hands grabbed your hips and pushed you further back, easily slipping between your thighs. He was bare now except for his briefs and he placed his bulge right between your drenched lips. The friction caused you to moan and gush another wave of slick into your panties.
Your boyfriend moved to shove his fingers beneath the fabric, swearing when he felt just how wet you were. Still obeying you, he didn’t say anything and instead pressed two of his fingers into you. You arched your back, your fingers finding the back of his neck.
“God, yes.”
He began to thrust into you with his fingers, lips finding yours once more as he shoves his tongue into your mouth. You happily accepted him, your own tongue beginning a fiery dance with his, all thoughts of Jeonghan slowly ebbing away.
Just that when you thought about how they were ebbing away…his words suddenly came right back to you.
“Are you turned on right now, hm? Wish for me to touch you? Maybe do what Seungcheol asked of us?”
Shit, he was so hot. So hot and infuriating and, fuck, Seungcheol just hit your sweet spot perfectly. You whimpered, nails digging into his skin and he chuckled lowly against your lips.
“Need your cock, please, please, please.”
Your desperation was out of the roof and Seungcheol felt himself twitch in his briefs, shoving them down the next second. His cock sprung free, angry and red at the tip with drops of precum inviting you to take it into your mouth. But there was no time, no, you needed to get this out of your system now.
You moved your fingers down, shoving your panties down your legs.
“God, so eager, my love,” Seungcheol smirked, jerking his cock off as he watched you.
“Yeah, need you now, Cheolie, please.” You panted, and when he finally lined up his tip with your core, it almost felt like an ascension to you.
As he pushed his whole length into you, Cheol wondered how it could feel this good every fucking time. Your pussy gripped him right away, sucked him in, made him feel like no other ever had. You were perfect for him, that was for sure.
When he thrusted for the first time, you moaned his name loudly, which only spurred him on. His hands grabbed your hips and your legs found their way around his back, his hips now beginning to move at a relentless pace. If you wanted to be fucked, oh he would gladly fulfill that want.
There were going to be marks left on his back, you were sure of it. Your nails dragged along his smooth skin as he fucked you, the windows slowly but surely beginning to fog up.
“Yes, fuck, just like that!” You cried out when he hit that sensitive part within you perfectly. He groaned and nodded, trying his best to continue fucking you just like that.
“You like that, hm? Getting fucked in the university parking lot? Couldn’t even wait ‘til we got home, my little slut?”
“N-no! Couldn’t wait, needed your cock right now, Cheolie!”
You said his name and had his cock inside of you, and while you loved him and the way he fucked you—right now, you weren’t really thinking about him. It was horrible and wrong, but you couldn’t help but wonder about Jeonghan and his words. He had said he’d be able to make you come better and quicker than anyone else. Was that true? Could he fuck you better than Seungcheol did right now? Hold you down the way Seungcheol was, drag his cock along your walls at the same speed and with the same delicious force?
“Fuck, you’re so tight and wet, baby, gonna make me cum,” Seungcheol moved forward, his hands now next to your head as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, moaning and groaning at the way you felt around him.
Would Jeonghan sound like that? Desperate and breathless as he fucked you? The image of Jeonghan on top of you filled your mind and made your breath hitch, your pussy squeezing hard around Seungcheol and bringing him over the edge, his cock twitching as he thrusted once, twice, and finally emptying inside of you. Ropes of white painted your insides, leaving you hot and wanting more. Thankfully, Cheol didn’t stop, no, he picked up the pace once more and finally, with the thought of Jeonghan cumming inside of you, you felt your orgasm rush over you, a high-pitched moan accompanying your high.
Cheol collapsed on top of you, both of your chests heaving.
Then, after some silence, Cheol slowly raised his head.
“Did you… just say Jeonghan’s name?”
The first task on your and Jeonghan’s list was easy enough: prepare a presentation on a specific topic and present it in front of Professor Jones, Vernon, and your competitor. Professor Jones had picked out topics for the two of you which made the whole ordeal even easier. No research of your own for a perfect topic, just good old finding information on the web and in the library.
The distraction was welcome, especially after that horrific incident in Seungcheol’s car where you had, well, done what you did. The thing about it that irked you the most was that Seungcheol wasn’t even mad at you. No, he had laughed at you. Laughed for days. He had even brought it up the next time you had sex, asking if you wished Jeonghan was here to see how good you were behaving for him. Like, hello? How could he do this to you!
(It didn’t matter at all that you had cried out a yes and begged Seungcheol to let Jeonghan watch you get fucked. No, that wasn’t important at all!)
You threw yourself into work for three days straight, the fourth being the day of the presentation. And it all went perfectly, smoothly even, without any problems - until the day of the presentation came and the powerpoint on the screen was not the powerpoint you had worked on for hours on end.
Projected onto the whiteboard in front of one of your idols, Vernon, and Jeonghan was a presentation that most likely had been made by a fourth-grader. Rainbow-colored Comic Sans wrote out the topic with pictures of unicorns around it forming a heart. This has got to be a joke.
And when you looked at your small audience, horrified and confused, you asked yourself how you hadn’t figured this out right away.
Jeonghan was smiling. Smiling as evil as the devil, if not worse. He had done this—swapped out your presentation at some point when you hadn’t been looking. Ice runs through your veins when you remember last night at the library, when you had left to go to the bathroom one more time before heading home, your laptop still propped on the desk. Jeonghan had been there too, further away, but not too far to come over and switch out presentations while you were gone.
You were going to kill him.
“Miss, what exactly am I looking at right now?” Professor Jones asked, adjusting the specs on top of his nose. You opened your mouth but closed it again.
“I—Sir, this is, uhm—” You sure as hell couldn't just blame Jeonghan. There was no proof and you’d sound absolutely bonkers. So, instead you clicked the next slide and found the table of contents. It had the same font and colors as the slide before, the transition between this and the last slide being a tornado. Oh good fucking lord.
Professor Jones wasn’t happy and didn’t let you finish the presentation. Instead, Jeonghan was the one to outshine you right away and you felt like your whole life was over.
But it wasn’t over. Neither your life nor this interview process and there was only one way to go on.
This meant war.
Jeonghan stood in front of you and Vernon, and Professor Jones was going off on him. You tried your very best to hide the smirk wanting to creep onto your lips.
“How on earth can it be that you’re sending me pornography, Mr. Yoon, instead of your research essay? Do you even know how inappropriate and unprofessional that is?!”
Ah yes, if Jeonghan thought he could swap out your presentation without any repercussions, he had thought very, very wrong. One moment of Seungcheol distracting his friend and, voilá, the attachment to his e-mail addressed to Professor Jones was conveniently swapped out to a doc full of naughty pictures.
“This is a fail, Mr. Yoon, I hope you are aware!” Professor Jones pointed at the free chair and Jeonghwan walked over and sat back down, defeated.
“How could this happen?” Vernon leaned to the side, looking at Jeonghan with genuine confusion.
Instead of answering, Jeonghan slowly looked up and turned his head to you. When his eyes met yours, you knew that he was well aware of how that could happen. Giving him a sweet smile, you prepared yourself to present your essay instead of Jeonghan.
This game between the two of you went on for the rest of the interview process. Jeonghan switched out the documents you were supposed to bring to the professor with a study on infidelity in unhappy marriages, knowing very well that Professor Jones’ wife had cheated on him three years ago. You told Jeonghan the wrong topic for your shared presentation, having him be completely clueless about the actual theme and standing in front of Professor Jonesand Vernon like a fool while you, conveniently, knew everything about each of your parts.
After that sacred moment of Jeonghan storming out once you were dismissed, you grinned to yourself proudly. Seungkwan walked in just then, looking after Jeonghan with his brows raised. He was well aware of the game you two had going on and was on a bet with Cheol about how long it would take the two of you to finally give in and just do it.
“I’ll be right there!” You waved at your best friend and he waved back, his eyes roaming the classroom he hadn’t been in before. Just that, besides you, there was another person he surely had been in before. And vice versa.
“Hansol?” He said, his eyes wide. Hansol—Vernon, looked up from his notes and his eyes widened.
“Seungkwan?”
Your eyes darted between the two, confusion displayed on your face. How on earth did they know each other? Wait, did he say Hansol?!
Professor Jones bid his goodbyes as well and left the room, just at the right time.
“Vernon is the best sex you’ve ever had?!” You almost yelled in disbelief, your thumb pointing at the intern behind you.
“Dude!” Seungkwan gave you an annoyed look, obviously asking why the heck you had to air that out in front of him.
“Wait, Vernon?” His face changed to confusion, much like yours earlier.
Meanwhile, Hansol-slash-Vernon packed his bag and swung it over his shoulder, a grin on his face.
“Best sex of your life, huh?” He walked over to Seungkwan, catching him off guard.
“I—well,uh,” Seungkwan didn’t know what to answer. He was too mesmerized by seeing him again, the man who had not left his brain, who he could not stop thinking about.
“Wanna grab dinner with me?” Vernon asked now, licking over his lips, his eyes darting to Seungkwan’s.
“Actually, we—”
“I’d love to!” Seungkwan interrupted you and, without giving you even another look, left the room with Vernon.
Wow, what about bros before hoes, huh? Oh, well. Not your problem.
What was your problem, though, was when you stopped in front of the closed door of the usual meeting room two days later and found a note pinned to it, telling you and Jeonghan to meet Professor Jones in his office instead of prep today.
Shit.
You arrived after Jeonghan, who was already seated on one of the chairs in front of Professor Jones’ grand mahogany desk.
“Wonderful, please take a seat.” Professor Jones leaned back in his chair, eyeing you and Jeonghan with one of his eyebrows raised.
After you did as asked, he clicked his tongue.
“I have been doing this job for twenty years and never during all this time have I encountered a pair quite like you,” he said, “Two of the brightest students in this field, maybe even this university, and yet that fact gets tainted by the rivalry you have going on. I don’t believe you two to be gullible enough to think I wouldn’t notice. Swapping out presentations and attachments to emails? Telling each other lies so the other looks a fool? We’re in university, I shall remind you, not kindergarten.” He rose from his chair.
“Sir—” Jeonghan began, but Jones held up his hand and made him halt.
“I am sure the two of you would both be capable interns next semester. Judging by the assignments you did hand in, as well as your grades and presentation skills, you might even be the best interns I’ll ever have. Still, this behaviour is unacceptable.”
He walked over to you and Jeonghan, his eyes scanning the two of you with severity.
“Which is why I have decided to let the two of you make that choice for me.”
All the blood drained from your face.
“What do you mean?” You asked, even though you were already sure of the answer. Professor Jones chuckled slightly.
“Oh, I think you already know, Miss. You and Mr. Yoon will decide who gets to be my intern next year. And while you’re at it, you will also resolve whatever problem you have with each other. I give you,” he looked at the clock hanging above the bookcase to your right, “exactly forty-five minutes. Good luck.”
Just as he was beginning to walk to the door, he turned around again.
“Ah, and if you don’t get to a conclusion, neither of you will become my intern. Just in case you were thinking of a loophole.”
He winked at the two of you, before finally leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.
Jeonghan and you stayed seated in silence for a while, contemplating the situation. This wasn’t really happening. He didn’t just lock you into his office (no, he did, you definitely heard a key turn) to talk it out.
You hadn’t been alone with Jeonghan since that day when he…well, when he had done that and you had, uh, done Seungcheol.
“What a cheeky little bastard,” Jeonghan mumbled now, getting out of the chair and pulling his hand over his chin. You watched him walk around the room, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach mixed with the urge to press him against a bookshelf and kiss him breathless.
You know the pit isn’t because of the fear of Seungcheol being mad at you for these thoughts. No, you know he is totally on board with you and Jeonghan fucking it out and…getting it done. It’s just that in all the years you’ve known Jeonghan he has always been your rival. Starting in first grade and lasting until now. How could you let yourself feel this way about someone you loathed? Or were supposed to loathe?
“Maybe he’s right,” you found yourself saying, heat back in your face, “Maybe we do need to talk this out.”
“What? Come on, don’t fall for this. This surely is another task. Yeah, I know I am great and I guess you’re fine too, but making this our final task? What the fuck is wrong with him?”
You stood up, hands balling to fists at your sides.
“You guess I’m fine too?” You repeated, scoffing at him, “I know your head is deep up your own ass, but you have got to give me some credit, Jeonghan. If it wasn’t for us having the same capabilities, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
It stung you when he laughed, his hands pulling through his hair.
“Oh really? We’re the same amount of capable? For fuck’s sake, Y/N, you switched out my essay with porn!
”And you switched my presentation out and made it look like a goddamn fourth grader made it!” You threw back at him, your eyes glaring at his face that looks just as angry as you feel.
“At least that didn’t involve fucking porn!”
“Don’t go and paint yourself as the victim, Yoon Jeonghan, you started this whole thing!”
“I did? I started this?!” He laughed again, “You can’t be serious. This is all your fault! You were the one who told Mrs. Perkins I had a cheat sheet underneath my desk in first grade!”
Your face grimaces in confusion. “Excuse me? I’m pretty sure you told the class I was still wetting my bed way before that happened.”
“Absolutely not. That happened after the cheating incident!”
There was nothing else for you to do than scoff time and time again. He was spewing utter nonsense! He had started this whole thing back in elementary school, not you. Definitely not you.
“I can’t believe you’re trying to pin this on me, Jeonghan, you’re such an asshole.”
“Yeah, we have established that, sweetheart, many, many times before.”
“Stop calling me that,” you took a step forward, your finger pointing at Jeonghan and heat basically radiating off your body. Jeonghan clicked his tongue.
“What? Sweetheart? You don’t like it?” He stepped closer too and just the same amount of heat was radiating off him.
“Do I look like I like it?” You asked back, staring at his face that somehow came closer with every passing second.
“Do you want me to give you an honest answer to that? Or just lie to keep up the picture that you’re not even slightly attracted to me?”
Your breath got stuck in your throat and your eyes widened at his words. How could he!
“I am not! I—I am not attracted to you, Yoon Jeonghan, I hate you!”
“Oh, yes, and I hate you.” Somehow he was right in your space then, his breath hitting your face, “But that doesn’t cancel out the fact that I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”
And then he kissed you.
Kissed you with every emotion he had ever felt for you: hate, envy, lust, love. Something within you snapped then, snapped and showed you a whole new world, a world in which this was your normal, your everyday. The realization was soon clouded by pure want, your fingers somehow ending up in his blonde strands, his body pressed flush against yours.
The kiss seemed endless and still not long enough, your hearts beating at the same speed when he pressed you against the large desk behind you. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered when his hands found their way from your back to your face, holding you so lovingly it made your knees weak.
Then, he changed courses. The softness turned hard, his hands wandering once more, back down and onto your ass, and your core met his, a small gasp escaping against his lips when you felt just how hard the softness had turned. He smirked before he deepened the kiss, pressing his body closer to yours, as close as humanly possibly.
Never would you have imagined the breaking point to happen inside Professor Jones’ office, and he probably didn’t expect this either when he locked the two of you in.
Jeonghan’s tongue was exploring your mouth now, licking against your own and causing goosebumps all over your body. So distracted by his lips, you only faintly noticed him lifting you onto the desk, neither of you caring about the cup with pens falling over when your ass hit the surface.
He stood in between your legs now, hands roaming over your legs while his mouth moved over your lips down to your chin and finally along your neck. Softly moaning, you shoved his jacket off his shoulders, waiting for it to hit the ground before you began to unbutton his dark green dress shirt. He sucked on your skin, licked over the spot and moved on, nimble fingers moving underneath your skirt to touch your sensitive skin.
“How wet are you right now, sweetheart?” He breathed then, a shiver running down your spine.
Not waiting for you to answer, he let his fingers slip underneath your soaked panties, his breath getting stuck in his throat when he felt how drenched you were.
“Fuck.” His lips found yours again, pulling you into yet another perfectly heated kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you pushed your hips forward, inviting him to fill you with his fingers. Really, you needed him to touch you or you’d probably die on the spot.
As if he had read your mind, he let his fingers glide through your folds before finally letting one of them sink into you, licking over your lips when he did and making you cry out in pleasure.
“Aren’t you a sensitive one,” he whispered, kissing you again. Had kissing always been this fun?
He began to thrust his finger inside you slowly, your panties being slightly in the way. Only when you began to whimper desperately, did Jeonghan take a few seconds to pull them down your legs, all while holding eye contact. You feared he was a little insane.
Back between your thighs, his hand grabbed the back of your neck, pushing you against him. Another kiss lured you into his embrace and your body began to shake when his other hand reached your core again, fingers softly sliding through your lips.
“Please, Jeonghan, please,” you pleaded against his lips then and he bit down on his own bottom lip when he finally pushed in two of his pretty long fingers. Your moan was only held back because he kissed you.
The pace changed yet again. He fucked you hard and fast with his fingers, while his tongue danced with yours, all of your thoughts consumed by him and him and only him. But you wanted more, wanted him fully, wanted to feel him inside you. Feel him throbbing and wanting and twitching. And so, your hands moved to his belt, quickly opening it as if you had done this a million times before.
He didn’t respond verbally, instead he helped you shove down his pants and briefs, his hard cock springing free. You allowed yourself to part from him for a second, admiring his length and biting down on your lip. The second was over soon enough when Jeonghan pulled his fingers out of you and instead grabbed his cock, bringing it to your dripping, waiting core.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve fantasized about this.” Jeonghan’s voice sounded like music to your ears and you pulled him closer by the nape, pressing another kiss to his mouth.
“I think I have an idea.” You grinned.
When he sank into you, his eyes were still fixed on yours and both your mouths hung open, ragged breathing coming out of them. And when he finally bottomed out, his forehead pressed against yours, neither of you could stop the moans from coming out.
His first thrust made the desk shake and the ones that followed did too. He felt insanely good inside you, filling you up just the perfect amount. The air around you felt hot and you held on for dear life, fingers digging into his nape as he fucked you rough and hard, hands on the small of your back.
“You feel so fucking good,” he breathed, lips finding your neck again. You threw your head back, legs fully wrapping around his waist now, his cock seeming to sink even deeper into you.
“And you fuck me so good,” you replied in a moan and he groaned, picking up the pace.
Not even for a second did either of you question the sounds of the desk, maybe causing people outside to be concerned. Too focused were the two of you on the way it felt to finally give into the tension that had built up for years and years.
“Yeah? Like how I fuck you on our professor’s desk? Like a naughty little slut?”
“Fuck, yeah,” Your pussy clenched around him and he chuckled, another hard thrust making the desk shake.
He was relentless, perfect, and just…everything. Maybe it was all of the anticipation or maybe it was just the insane arousal, but it felt better than almost anything you had ever felt.
You couldn’t stop the moans and the pleas for more, couldn’t help the climax that was nearing with every thrust. And when he brought his thumb down and began rubbing circles onto your clit, you most certainly couldn’t help the orgasm rushing over your body, your pussy spasming around his cock over and over again, begging him to fill you, to pump his cum into your awaiting heat.
Jeonghan came inside of you after three more thrusts and just in time for the door to open and Professor Jones hurrying in, Vernon in tow.
“What the actual fuck?!”
You had never heard the Professor curse before. You doubted anyone had ever heard him curse before. Well, shit.
Neither you nor Jeonghan ended up getting the internship, which was fine. All that really mattered was that Jones didn’t tell the dean and had you expelled. Perhaps Vernon had convinced him that it was basically his fault, too. If he hadn’t locked you in, you wouldn’t have fucked on his desk. Simple as that.
And in reality, Professor Jones wasn’t the scary part about the whole story, it was the fact you and Jeonghan had fucked and not just fucked but also felt as you fucked. So, yeah. It hadn’t been just sexual tension between the two of you. As much as you would have pretended it was, you couldn’t really do that anymore.
Not when he began to spend more time with Seungcheol and you, not when Seungcheol was so clearly on board with the idea of Jeonghan being a part of your life the same way he was. You had never allowed yourself to think of the situation with Jeonghan as anything more than attraction, and having this now…it felt like all the puzzle pieces had suddenly found their way together.
“I told you so,” Seungcheol said when you finally admitted to Jeonghan being your boyfriend. And when you rolled your eyes and looked at the new addition to the relationship humming a tune in the kitchen, you couldn’t even really be mad at him.
starring: svt leader and husband! seungcheol x wife! reader
aus: fluff, angst if you squint
warnings: none
synopsis: after a day out with her friends, Y/N can’t help but notice how beautiful they all looked with their luxury jewelry and bags. she’s not sure that she deserves such things… but her husband knows that she does.
word count: 693
A/N: this stemmed from my own longing for the Clair D Lune Christian Dior collection…
The faint glow of the screen reflected against Y/N’s face. She let out a soft sigh while scrolling, the prices only becoming more and more absurd as she reached the bottom of the Christian Dior page.
But I suppose… beauty is expensive, she mused.
Her mouse hovered over the Clair D Lune necklace. It was a simple piece, a thin silver chain with the signature CD, studded with diamonds, on it. But the price… $540.00.
She let out another sigh. She wasn’t usually like this, but, after spending the day catching up with her friends, Y/N couldn’t help but notice how seemingly all her friends had the most recent Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Celine, and Prada bedazzled their fingers, ears, and even their feet. As much as she was happy for them to be enjoying such things, there was a slight twinge in her heart as she returned home. Because a small part of her wanted to be able to find the freedom to just splurge as well.
She knew that money was not the issue… Seungcheol reminded her of that almost constantly. She simply wondered if she had the right to flaunt such jewelry, so openly. Even after getting married to one of the most famous and rich idols in the world, wealth was not something that Y/N was accustomed to.
She had grown up witnessing her family working hard for all that they had, with her dad working long, odd hours, and her mother rushing to make sure the household was maintained.
Before Y/N could delve deeper into her thoughts, the house lock beeped, signalling Seungcheol’s return home. She immediately slammed her laptop shut, not wanting Seungcheol to know what she was looking at.
“Cheol! You’re home!” she exclaimed as she made her way towards him.
He was still taking off his shoes as she approached, but, as soon as he was done, his arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground. Y/N let out a giggle before gently slapping him to signal to him to put her down.
“What were you looking at?” he whispered while nudging his head into her shoulder.
“Nothing, nothing important… taxes,” she muttered.
He hummed before following her into the kitchen but not before taking a mental note to check her laptop.
—
As soon as Y/N fell asleep, Seungcheol snuck back out to the living room. He sat down and opened her laptop, adjusting his glasses as he did so. He chuckled as he saw what website she was open to.
He had always tried to convince her to spend his money; now, he finally knew what she actually wanted.
—
A week later, Y/N made her way home after a long day of work. Her feet hurt, her arms ached, and all she wanted was to crash on the couch for a couple hours.
To her surprise, Seungcheol was already home. She smiled softly at seeing his relaxed state. As she approached, she noticed a small smirk on his face before he suddenly stood up and ran to the counter. Her eyes followed him to see him grabbing a rather large bag.
“Seungcheol?” Y/N mused with a small smile. “What are you doing?”
He simply smiled, both lovely dimples on display before grabbing her wrist and setting her down on the couch.
“I have a surprise! For you!” he practically squealed.
Y/N rolled her eyes, exhaustion apparent. “Seungcheol, please. I’ve had a long day, and I haven’t even had the chance to change—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Seungcheol practically shoved the bag into her lap. As her eyes focused on it, she noticed the emblazoned gold ‘DIOR’ shining on the white bag.
“Seung- Seungcheol? Is this…?” Y/N whispered.
“You deserve it. More than anyone I know,” he said with a soft smile.
As Y/N opened the bag, she noticed that it was more than one luxury item… Seungcheol had gotten her the whole collection: the necklace, the bracelet, the two earrings, and even a ring! But as she looked at him, she realized that the best gift? It was him.
pairings; fem! reader x jihoon | genre; smut, fluff, established relationship, minors do not interact | tw; fingering, pussy slapping, spitting, making out, reader is stressed due to exams, mention of caffeine | a/n; i very much need this lmao and to anyone who has exams coming up, you got this!!
“you said—hungh—only a few minutes!”
the wet sounds of jihoon's fingers fucking your hole fills your ears. your legs are spread wide apart and quivering under the pleasure he brings you.
“well, I didn't see you cum,” he says, though he's well aware that he's currently working on your third orgasm of the evening.
“but I did! ah—fuck, yes there!”
his curled fingers rubbing against that spongy spot has you seeing stars. you grind your clit on the heel of his palm, stimulating the little nub. your lips fall apart, letting out wanton, broken moans with no care. the only thought in your brain belongs to your boyfriend and his fingers.
“feels good?” he purrs, looking down at you with hooded eyes. you nod mindlessly with tears welling up in your eyes. the cold material of your study table feels good against your searing skin.
“good, can't have my baby get all stressed over an exam.”
you whine at the reminder of your dreaded test but it's pushed down when you feel the tight knot in your stomach. jihoon pulls out his fingers to deliver a slap to your cunt. you gasp at that, wanting more of it. he chuckles, looking at your expression.
“want more?” you nod again, absolutely no thoughts other than this god of a man.
he slaps your clit again and spits on it. a mixture of a whine and a gasp escapes your lips when he smears his spit on your folds and rubs your clit harshly.
that prompts you to sit up on your study table, hips bucking into his hands. your notes and books scattered away to avoid any damage to them.
“fuck,” he mutters, eyes skating over your glossy eyes and puffy lips. your eyes flutter shut as you tilt your head, leaning up to him. he takes the cue, and slots his lips on yours. his tongue slips past your lips with practiced ease.
his ministrations on your clit doesn't cease even as he pushes his tongue down your throat. you glide your tongue over his, savoring the warm, wet feeling of it. it only makes you more wet and horny.
your cunt throbs wildly and the knot only grows tighter. you grind your cunt into his hand, chasing the relief you so badly needed. he adds two digits inside you while continuing to thumb your clit. your moans are silenced to hums by his tongue.
and without warning, you reach your orgasm. it throws you over the edge and you curl your arms over his shoulders to prevent yourself from losing it.
his pace slows down as he gently pumps his fingers in and out of you. he breaks the kiss, pulling away to look at you. and the sight in front of him is mesmerizing.
your fucked out expression, your puffy, parted lips, your heaving chest, your quivering legs and your slick cunt. well, shit.
he hisses, feeling this cock throb under his pants but he controls himself. he did it to relieve your stress, not pleasure himself. he won't be selfish now but he can always be later.
with a kiss to your cheek, he walks to grab a towel. he presses the wet cloth on your cunt and wipes off your fluids. jihoon helps you put on your panty and shorts in your dazed state.
“sorry hun,” he presses a kiss to your forehead. “i couldn't help it.”
you chuckle, “it's fine.”
he hums and helps you sit on your comfy chair. your confused eyes follow him as he slips on his jacket and takes his purse. he flashes you a grin, “i'll go buy us some coffee and energy drinks. i'll pull an all-nighter with you, ok?”
you nod and smile, looking at him with literal hearts in your eyes. the apartment door shuts behind him and then only you allow yourself to squeal hit your head against the table.
a permanent smile etches on your lips as you flip through your study material, happy to have a boyfriend like jihoon.
Summary: after a fight, Jihoon didn't expect to receive notifications for a revenge. However, he's not complaining.
Note: having so much fun writing this with @hoshifighting please check lyla's blog here!
Welcome to the densworld woozi🧚♀️
Jihoon is a chill man. Very chill. He values his peace of mind so much that no one dares disturb him when he’s in the zone, writing music. His studio is his sanctuary, a place where time stops and the world outside becomes irrelevant. No one crosses that boundary. No one—until you came into his life.
A little bundle of surprise, Jihoon would say with a soft smile. You changed everything.
You love surprises. It’s something Jihoon figured out pretty early on, back when you were just dating. And now, after years together and tying the knot, he knows it’s not just something you like—it’s a part of you. You’re the kind of person who thrives on spontaneity. The joy in your eyes when you do something unexpected, whether it’s a small gift or a sudden change of plans, has become a familiar sight. Surprises are so integral to your personality that impulsivity became second nature to you, a habit you didn’t even realize you had.
And Jihoon? Well, he’s had to become well-trained in handling it.
It wasn’t always easy, especially in the beginning. Six months into dating, Jihoon was already struggling to keep his composure around you. You were a whirlwind of energy and unpredictability, and Jihoon was the type who liked things calm and structured—especially when it came to his work. But then you would send him something, like that photo on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, just as he was about to attend a critical production meeting. A suggestive caption accompanying a picture of you that left him flushed and flustered.
He spent the rest of that day with his head spinning, barely able to focus on anything other than you.
His team noticed, of course. They always noticed when Jihoon was distracted—because it was rare. They’d been with him for over ten years, watching him pour his soul into his music, dedicated and unwavering. But you? It took you mere months to have Jihoon wrapped around your finger. And the best part? Jihoon willingly let it happen. He wanted to be wrapped around your finger.
And as much as his members teased him, he didn’t mind. Jihoon had always been the calm one, the focused one, the one who could drown out the world when he needed to. But with you, he didn’t want to drown out anything. He wanted to hear your laughter in the background while he worked. He wanted to receive those random photos in the middle of his meetings, even if they made him blush.
Now, Jihoon finds himself in his studio. Not the one at home, but the company studio. It was unusual—his fellow producers were surprised to see him there at this hour. 10 a.m.? That’s too early for Jihoon to be at work, they thought, especially since he rarely left the home studio after getting married.
“Did you two fight?” Soonyoung asked, making a quick stop before his schedule.
Jihoon didn’t answer. He simply turned the volume up, drowning out Soonyoung’s voice. Soonyoung scoffed but left, convinced that the only reason Jihoon would be at the company so early was if you two had fought. He knew Jihoon too well.
"Stop working for a while, man. Give your wife a rest," Soonyoung muttered as he left the studio. Jihoon cursed internally. How could Soonyoung read him so easily?
The truth was, last night didn’t go well. It was one of those nights Jihoon wished he could rewind—just take it all back. He came home late again, far too late. The kind of late where the house was eerily quiet, and the only light on was the one in the living room. He didn’t even realize how long he’d been working until he saw the notifications on his phone—your texts, your missed calls.
His heart sank. The guilt hit him immediately, but exhaustion numbed him from fully acknowledging it. He braced himself as he turned the knob, pushing the door open, hoping maybe you had gone to bed. But there you were, sitting on the couch, arms crossed, your phone lying idle beside you. You weren’t saying a word, but your silence screamed disappointment. And Jihoon knew—he’d screwed up again.
He paused at the doorway, waiting for you to say something, anything, but you didn’t. The air between you was suffocating, thick with unspoken words. He could feel your eyes on him, and it made his stomach twist. He hated it when you looked at him like that, like you were waiting for him to care enough to explain himself.
But instead of apologizing, instead of doing what he knew he should have done, Jihoon snapped.
"I work for you! I work hard to afford the life you want! Why don’t you understand?!" His voice rose, frustration dripping from every word. He didn’t mean it to come out that way. He didn’t mean to make it sound like you were the problem, like you were the one pushing him to the edge. But in that moment, he was too overwhelmed to control it.
The silence that followed was deafening. He saw the way your face fell, the way your shoulders slumped as if his words had physically weighed you down. You didn’t even argue back. You just stood there, absorbing the blow, your eyes wide and hurt, like you couldn’t believe the person you loved could say something so cruel. Jihoon could see it—the disappointment, the pain, the betrayal in your eyes.
He knew you weren’t with him for his money. He knew that from the start. You never cared about his fame, his success. You never asked for lavish gifts or expensive things. What you wanted—what you always asked for—was him. His time. His presence. But Jihoon, in his frantic rush to meet deadlines and exceed expectations, had forgotten.
He was so tired. The stress had piled up to the point that it felt like he was suffocating under the weight of everyone’s demands. His work was relentless, the pressure from his team to deliver perfection was unending, and somewhere along the way, he started feeling less like a person and more like a machine. And in all of that, he had forgotten you were the one person who treated him like a human being. The only person who reminded him to eat, to sleep, to rest.
But last night, Jihoon saw something in your eyes he never wanted to see again—pain. He had hurt you, and the worst part was, you didn’t deserve it.
You didn’t even say a word as you left the room, walking away with that shattered expression on your face. He stood there, frozen, wanting to chase after you, to take back everything he’d said, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t think straight. The weight of everything felt too much.
Jihoon ended up sleeping in his home studio that night, staring blankly at his laptop screen, his mind racing with regret. He didn’t get any work done. How could he? All he could think about was the way you looked at him, the way your lips trembled like you were fighting back tears, the way you didn’t even argue because you were too hurt to speak. He hated himself for it.
The guilt gnawed at him all night, so by the time morning came, he couldn’t bear to be in the same house. He thought if he went to the company studio, if he just got out, maybe it would clear his head. Maybe he could focus on work and forget how badly he had messed up.
But he couldn’t. You were all he could think about. Even surrounded by equipment and projects, even as he tried to drown himself in work, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. The regret kept replaying in his mind like a broken record, and the truth settled in his chest like a lead weight—he could never stop thinking about you. He never could.
And now, sitting alone in the company studio, he could still see your face in his mind, the hurt he had caused, and it tore him apart.
"Jihoon…" His manager knocked on the door, pulling Jihoon from his deep focus. He turned his head toward the reflection in the glass and saw someone entering. Quickly, he put down his headphones.
"The bank called me," his manager said, concern lacing his voice. "Someone's been making a lot of purchases with your account, and they couldn’t reach you. So, I got worried."
Jihoon blinked, realization dawning as he remembered he had turned off his phone earlier to avoid distractions. He hurriedly switched it back on, and as expected, notifications flooded his screen. Among them were a surprising number of texts from you.
Curious, Jihoon opened your messages, and his eyes widened. You had sent him a series of photos—shopping bags piled high, receipts for luxury items, and then… a car. You bought a car?
Jihoon sighed, rubbing his temples as he scrolled through the notifications of credit charges—clothes, electronics, and more. Why did you decide to buy all of this in one day?
"Everything’s fine. It’s just… my wife," Jihoon said, a little embarrassed as he reassured his manager. "No one’s using my card without permission."
His manager chuckled, seeming relieved, before leaving Jihoon alone with his thoughts.
Just as Jihoon exhaled, another text popped up. A photo of you in a jacuzzi, clearly in some luxurious hotel, wearing a brand new red bikini. The caption that followed made Jihoon’s breath hitch.
You: Want to give me the life I want? Come here. Turns out, spending your money doesn’t satisfy me enough.
Jihoon sighed deeply, his face growing warm as he hurriedly turned off everything in his studio. It was no use—he’d have to go get his black card back from you. Or maybe get something else.
*
You feel the dash of cold air hit your skin as you lay back against the heated tiles of the jacuzzi, legs lazily draped over the edge. You can’t help the little smirk pulling at your lips as you scroll through Jihoon’s texts. He’s gonna kill you. Well, maybe not kill, but he’ll definitely be pissed off. The shopping spree, the car, the photos—God, you knew exactly what you were doing. Pressing his buttons like that, getting him riled up on purpose, all because he had the audacity to shout at you last night.
But, you’re done with his bullshit excuses. He can whine about deadlines and stress all he wants, but you’re not here for that. You’re here for him, and clearly, he needs a little reminder.
The door to the hotel room opens, and even with the sound of the jacuzzi jets bubbling, you hear it. He’s here. Your heart skips a beat as the familiar, steady thud of Jihoon’s shoes echo in the space. He doesn’t say anything at first, but you can feel the burden of his stare on you, heavy and unrelenting. His presence is like a storm, silent but brewing.
You stretch your arms above your head, not even looking up, knowing full well he’s staring.
“Took you long enough,” You hum, voice saturated by fake innocence, like you hadn’t been the one who set the whole thing in motion. “figured you’d be quicker if i spent a little more of your money.”
Silence.
Then, the sound of him setting something down—his keys? maybe his bag? You don’t care. You hear the shuffle of his shoes being kicked off, and that’s when you finally open your eyes.
Jihoon stands at the edge of the jacuzzi, arms crossed, jaw tight, his eyes dreary and locked onto you.
“You’ve got some nerve,” he finally speaks, voice low, a growl almost. “what do you think you’re doing?”
You shrug, acting like you don’t feel the tension. “Just giving myself a little treat. After all, i am your wife. Don’t i deserve the best?”
Jihoon doesn’t say anything, just stares at you for a moment longer before his hands move to his belt. Your eyes widen, mouth parting slightly. “Oh, you think this is funny? You think you can just spend my money, send me those pictures, and i’ll come running?”
“Well, you did come running…” You mumble as if you were talking to yourself.
Jihoon moves, and before you know it, he’s crouched beside the jacuzzi, fingers hooking into the strap of your bikini top, pulling you closer to him with little resistance. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice rough, “this is the last thing you’ll be wearing tonight.”
Before you can even form a reply, he tugs at the fabric, and the red bikini snaps, tearing with a sharp rip.
Jihoon stands back up, the smirk on his face teasing you in a way that gets under your skin. His hand casually tosses the torn bikini top aside like it’s nothing, he looks at you, riling you up on purpose. He doesn’t rush; he takes his time pulling off his shirt, his pants.
You narrow your eyes, trying to keep the annoyance in check, but he’s pushing your buttons. “Really?” you ask. “You had to rip it off just to mess with me? You’re such an asshole”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, taking a step closer until he's right in front of you again. He leans down, pushing you back into the jacuzzi, the water sloshing as your back hits the edge. “You look mad, but I bet you’re dripping right now.”
You can even think of a response, his hand slips into your bikini bottoms just as he sits down. His fingers brush lightly over your clit, not applying pressure, just teasing, circling it slow just to watch you squirm. You twitch under his touch, your legs parting on instinct, hips bucking just slightly. He’s not giving you enough, and he knows it.
“You like to play these games, baby?” he murmurs. “Teasing me, spending all my money. What’s the real reason, huh? Just wanted my attention this bad?”
You bite back a moan, refusing to let him win so easily. “Shut up,” you manage to grit out, but the breathlessness in your voice betrays you. His thumb starts rubbing a little harder, making the bud throb on his thumb. You feel your body arching toward him, a needy moan escaping despite yourself.
“No...” he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. “I wanna hear you say it. You knew I’d come running, right?”
His fingers press harder now, slipping lower, teasing your entrance without pushing in. Your hands grip the edge of the tub, eyes rolling back slightly as he continues torturing you.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” you hiss, your words catching in your throat as his fingers pick up the tempo. He’s still circling, still rubbing, but it’s not nearly enough. You need more, and he knows it.
“Oh, I’m annoying?” he growls softly, leaning his weight into you, fingers pressing harder, deeper, but still not giving you what you need. “What’s annoying is you buying cars and booking hotels like you don’t already have everything you want right here.”
Your legs spread wider, hips instinctively grinding down against Jihoon’s fingers as they tease your entrance. Your hand shoots up to grip his wrist, trying to gude his fingers in, but he stills the arm, cupping you. His other hand trails up your chest, stopping to toy with your nipples, flicking and squeezing them just enough to make you gasp. Then, wetting the valley of your breasts, his hand moves to your throat, wrapping around it in a firm grip, pushing your head back until it rests on the cold border of the jacuzzi.
“You’re so needy,” Jihoon mutters, watching as your mouth falls open, eyes half-lidded, breath coming out in shallow pants. You feel his thumb graze over your bottom lip, smirking as if he’s amused by just how desperate you’ve become. He hasn’t even given you what you want yet, but you’re already a mess for him.
Finally, his fingers push inside, just one at first, but the way your body responds—instantly clenching, your pussy practically swallowing his finger whole—makes him groan low in his throat. The water ripples around the two of you, splashing lightly against your skin as his movements grow rougher.
“God, you’re soaked,” he chuckles, voice almost mocking as his finger curls inside you, hitting that sweet spot making your hips jerk by their own. Even with the water swirling around, Jihoon can feel the heat between your thighs, the sticky slickness of your folds clinging to his fingers as he slides in another.
Your grip tightens on his wrist, trying to pull him closer, but he doesn't let up. Instead, his fingers work you harder, pumping in and out of you making the water splash with every push. The sound is obscene, the wet slaps of his fingers echoing in the room, blending with your suffered moans, and Jihoon's grunts.
You lift your gaze to him, lips parted, eyes pleading, practically begging for more. You look up at Jihoon with a needy expression that you know drives him crazy. But he just grins, slowing his movements slightly, his hand tightening around your throat.
“Aww, look at you,” he coos, voice soft despite the way his fingers are fucking into you hard, relentless. “Such a pretty little mess. You like this, don’t you? Me ruining you with just my fingers?”
You can’t form words, your head tilting back more as his pace quickens again, fingers curling deep, hitting the spongy spot that makes your vision blur. The water splashes harder now, droplets spilling over the edge of the tub as your hips buck in time with his thrusts. Your legs tremble, thighs shaking, and all you can manage is a soft whimper, your entire body arching toward him.
Jihoon chuckles again, watching you fall apart beneath him. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, fingers pumping in and out faster, thumb rubbing over your clit in quick circles. “You’re so fucking tight… taking it so well. What do you want, huh? You want more?”
Your breath catches in your throat, his words making your body ache. You nod frantically, too overwhelmed to say anything. The hand around your throat loosens slightly, giving you a moment to breathe, but he doesn’t stop. His fingers continue their brutal pace, fucking you deep, and you know he’s not stopping until you cum around his long fingers.
You feel your stomach flip when Jihoon curls his fingers and stills them, making your body arch off the jacuzzi edge as you instinctively reach for him, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him down to kiss you.
The kiss is brutish, dirty—his lips smashing into yours, teeth clashing as his tongue slips into your mouth. He sucks your tongue hard, biting down on your bottom lip in that way that always makes your legs tremble. You can’t focus, the pleasure building too fast, making it impossible to keep up with the kiss. But you try, you desperately try, your hands clutching tighter in his hair.
It’s only a matter of seconds before your body betrays you. You moan into his mouth, the sound low and drawn out, muffled by the kiss. You pull him closer, your grip tightening painfully in his hair as the pleasure crests, your body trembling as your back arches impossibly high.
Your nipples graze his chest, the sensation of your sensitive skin brushing against his, makes him shiver, his breath hitching as your slick cunt clenches hard around his fingers.
Your moans become more frantic, desperate, and you can’t keep kissing him anymore. Your mouth falls open, head tilting back as you gasp for air, your body seizing up with the strength of your orgasm.
Your pussy tightens around his fingers, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as you cum, the water splashing violently around you from the press of your movements. Jihoon smirks down at you, clearly proud of himself, fingers still thrusting into you even as you come down from your high. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, voice soft but teasing. “Cum all over my fingers.”
Your mind is still swimming in the hangovers of your orgasm when Jihoon suddenly pulls his hand away. You’re left panting, trying to catch your breath, but he’s already manhandling you, turning you around and pressing you into the edge of the tub.
“Get on all fours,” he orders. You don’t hesitate, your body moving on autopilot as you shift into position, knees pressing into jacuzzi, hands bracing yourself against the edge.
Jihoon’s grip is firm as he presses you down, making sure you don’t slip on the slick surface. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you steady while he strokes himself behind you. You glance back, seeing him gripping his cock, pumping himself slowly, the tip flushed red and dripping with pre-cum, some veins popping up when he cuts the blood circulation. The sight makes your mouth water.
He lines himself up with you, the head of his cock teasing your wet pussy, but he doesn’t push in just yet. Instead, he grabs your bikini bottom—what’s left of it anyway—and yanks it harshly to the side, exposing your swollen, sensitive folds. You feel the fabric digging into your skin, tight and uncomfortable.
Jihoon watches, mesmerized, as your pussy clenches around nothing, your body still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Slowly Jihoon pushes inside. He takes his time, savoring the way your walls squeeze around him, they way you slick starts to coat him too, your body struggling to accommodate his size. You whimper, fingers clawing at the edge of the tub, trying to keep yourself stable as he fills you inch by inch.
He moans deep in his throat, the sound oscillating through his chest as he bottoms out, his cock buried fully inside you.
You bite your lip, arching your back even more, desperate to take him deeper. “Jihoon… please…”
But he just chuckles darkly, pulling out slowly, only to slam back in, making the water splash around you both again. “Oh, you’ll get what you want,” he promises. “Just keep taking it like that.”
His fingers tangle in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp. The sharp pull has you arching back, your spine curving as he yanks you up against his chest, your back pressing flush against his front. The new angle makes his cock hit even deeper, your breath hitching as the tip grazes that swollen spot inside you.
Jihoon glances at the nearby mirror, his eyes glued to the reflection of your bodies. Your tits bounce with every thrust, soft and flushed, his eyes darken, watching the way your skin sticks to his, the way your body—though trembling—melts against him, sacrificing to the pleasure despite every nerve in your body wanting to tense up.
He moans suffered, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, feeling the warmness radiating off your skin. You’re burning up, both of you are, your bodies slick with sweat despite being submerged in water seconds after. Jihoon can’t help but bury his face against your neck, breathing you in, skin to skin, letting the sensation take over him.
“Fuck,” he mumbles against your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin, almost as if he's talking to himself. “I missed this. Missed you.”
His hips don’t stop, driving into you harder, your thighs shaking as you try to keep up, but your body is already on the edge. You’re clinging to him for dear life, your head falling back against his shoulder, mouth falling open as breathless moans slip out with every thrust.
“I’m sorry,” Jihoon suddenly murmurs, his voice softer now, tender. He keeps thrusting into you, but there’s an apology laced in every word, every snap of his hips. “I’m so fucking sorry… for everything.”
You don’t answer, can’t even if you wanted to. Your breath is caught in your throat, the only response you give is the way your body clings to his, melting further into his hold as his hands roam down your body.
He doesn’t expect you to answer. Maybe he doesn’t even need you to. He just keeps going, fucking into you like he’s trying to apologize through the way his body moves against yours. His grip loosens in your hair, his hand sliding down the curve of your waist, lower, until his fingers find the puffy bundle of nerves between your legs.
The second his fingers brush over your clit, your whole body tenses again, only to relax almost instantly as he starts rubbing teasing circles. You whimper, legs trembling, hardly competent to hold yourself up, and Jihoon groans into your skin, feeling the way you melt even more against him.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes, his voice raspy in your ear. “Always take me so well… fuck… so tight, baby… you feel that? You’re clenching around me.”
You don’t say anything, just a soft gasp escapes your lips, your head falling back further onto his shoulder, exposing the column of your throat to him. His fingers quicken their pace, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, every brush of his thumb over your swollen clit making you cry out.
“I know I fucked up,” Jihoon whispers, his forehead still pressed to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. "But I can’t stop… I can’t stop thinking about you. About this. About how good you feel around me.”
Your chest heaves with each breath, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as his hand continues working you, his other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you tighter, anchoring you to him. His fingers press harder against your clit, drawing tight circles that make your whole body twitch, every nerve ending alive and buzzing.
“Come on, baby,” he coaxes, his voice dipping into that familiar, filthy tone, the one that drives you insane. “Cum for me… I know you’re close. I can feel it. You’re squeezing me so fucking tight.”
You’re so close, your vision blurring as the heat in your core builds higher. Your body’s completely given in to him, to the way he’s fucking you deep and hard while his fingers expertly play with your clit, not giving you a single moment of respite.
And then it hits, hard and fast. Your back arches, body tensing as the orgasm rips through you, ripple after ripple of pleasure crashing over you as your pussy clenches tight around him. Your hands reach back, desperately grabbing at anything—his hair, his arms—trying to ground yourself as you moan out his name, breathless and trembling.
Jihoon groans at the feeling, his cock throbbing inside you as your walls pulse around him. “Fuck… that’s it,” he rasps, his hand slowing its movements on your clit, letting you ride out your high. He’s still buried deep inside you, his cock twitching, and he watches in the mirror as your body shudders against his.
He doesn’t pull out. Instead, he shifts you forward, placing you on all fours again, his hands steadying you as he lines himself up once more. His hand slides down to your ass, pushing your bikini bottom further to the side so he can watch as your tight puffy walls flutter around him.
Without delay, he starts thrusting again, his pace slow but deep, watching as your body tenses, clenching around him every time he sinks in.
Jihoon lets out a series of the neediest, whiniest moans you've ever heard from him, and it hits you differently—vulnerable, like you’ve broken through every layer he keeps guarded.
Then he sinks in fully and stops.
You slouch forward, your whole body going limp as you brace yourself on your forearms. You feel him pressed against your back, the warmth of his skin sticking to yours as his breath hitches in your ear.
And then it fills you—heat as his cum spurts deep inside you. Hot, thick, and it has you crying out, your voice breaking as your body quakes beneath him. You can feel every pulse of his cock as he fills you up, making your insides feel impossibly full.
Your back trembles under his weight, every muscle in your body quivering as his release continues to flood you. Your pussy clenches around him involuntarily, trying to milk every last drop from him, and it only makes him groan louder.
“Shit,” Jihoon breathes, his voice a wrecked, breathy mess as he leans forward, his forehead pressing into the back of your neck. His hands grip your hips tightly, like he’s using you to anchor himself through the intensity of his orgasm. “Fuck… you feel s'good.”
Your head drops onto your forearm, unable to do anything but take it all in. You can feel his cum dripping out of you, a warm, slick sensation as it mixes with the water around your thighs. Your legs are shaking, your core aching, but you don’t want him to pull out, you want to stay like this, to feel him deep inside you just a little longer.
Jihoon’s breathing finally starts to slow, his body still pressed flush against yours as his arms snake around your waist, holding you tight. You hum softly in response, his cum continues to spill out, and you can feel every slow drip as your pussy flutters, trying to recover from the relentless pounding he just gave you.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to glance down at the sight of your trembling back. A soft smirk tugs at his lips as he watches how your body reacts to him, still sensitive, still on edge. “Look at you,” he whispers, his tone soft but teasing. “You’re still shaking. Did I fuck you that good?”
You don’t answer him; just let out a shaky breath. Your body is completely spent, and you can narrowly keep yourself upright. Jihoon chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your damp skin before pulling out slowly, the loss of him leaving you feeling empty and aching. The last bit of his cum leaks out of you as he does, and he watches, fascinated, as it mixes with the water beneath you.
He moves to your side, pulling you into his chest, his hands rubbing gentle circles on your back as you both come down from the high.
Jihoon gently lifted you from the jacuzzi, his hands steady as he wrapped a robe around your body, drying you with care. His touch was soft, and the tension between you started to ease with each moment. He laid you down on the bed with tenderness, his eyes flickering with a mix of concern and regret.
As he stepped away to quickly clean himself up, you could feel the weight of his emotions lingering in the air. When he returned, Jihoon slid into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his warmth pressing against your skin. His embrace was tight but comforting, as though he was trying to hold on to more than just the moment.
"I'm sorry..." His voice was barely above a whisper, yet the sincerity in it was undeniable. He rested his forehead gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you. "Please forgive me."
You could feel the vulnerability in his words, a side of Jihoon that he rarely showed.
You lay there in his arms, feeling the tension in his body slowly release as he held you close. His apology lingered in the air, filled with emotion you hadn’t heard from him before. For a moment, everything was quiet—the warmth of his skin, the sound of your breathing, and the beating of his heart against yours.
Jihoon pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness. His brows furrowed, and he seemed almost afraid of what you might say. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek, the familiar sensation calming you both.
“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” you whispered, the weight of the past argument starting to lift. “But it’s hard sometimes, Jihoon. You get so lost in your work…”
He nodded, the regret still heavy in his gaze. "I know. I promise I'll do better. I can't stand the thought of losing you, or pushing you away."
His words tugged at your heart, and you could see how much he meant it. There had always been that side of him—driven, focused, and dedicated—but sometimes it made him forget everything else. Still, here he was, trying, apologizing, and making the effort to put you first.
Without saying anything, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, your lips brushing his in a soft kiss. Jihoon sighed against your mouth, relief and gratitude flooding through him as he deepened the kiss, his arms tightening around you as though he couldn’t bear to let go.
When you finally pulled away, your foreheads touched again, both of you breathing a little more steadily now.
“I forgive you,” you said softly. His eyes brightened at your words, and you felt the tension finally melt away completely. Jihoon smiled, a rare, gentle one that you didn’t see often enough, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Thank you,” he whispered, pulling you closer again, as though he couldn’t get enough of having you in his arms.
*
Jihoon sighed deeply as he glanced around your living room, cluttered with bags and boxes of things you'd bought earlier that day. His eyes scanned the array of items before he asked, half-jokingly, “Is it even possible to empty my bank account in a single day?”
You smiled, shaking your head as you tried to ease his worry. “Don’t stress. I can sell them all on the marketplace. They’ll be gone in two days, tops. I promise.”
Jihoon raised an eyebrow and picked up one item that particularly caught his attention—a pair of leopard-printed underwear for men. He held it up with a bemused expression, “Leopard print... for me?”
You grinned mischievously, “Yup! Oh, and I got you the hot pink one, too. Thought you’d look great in it.”
Jihoon groaned, his face a mix of amusement and disbelief. “You know it was a joke when everyone said i wear these kind of panties, right? There’s no way I’d ever wear these.”
You crossed your arms, stepping closer with a playful smirk on your face. “Oh, I can make you wear them,” you teased, your tone light but daring.
Jihoon chuckled, shaking his head at your persistence. “Is that a challenge?”
“Maybe,” you replied, your grin widening. “I have my ways. Just wait until you see how good you look in them.”
He rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re impossible.”
You stepped even closer, standing on your toes to whisper in his ear, “You’ll thank me later.”
Jihoon’s laughter filled the room as he pulled you into a hug, shaking his head. “You never give up, do you?”
“Never,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. "And trust me, you’ll look amazing in leopard print."
With a defeated sigh, Jihoon gave you one more playful glare, “Fine. But don’t think this means I’m wearing the hot pink ones too.”
“We’ll see about that,” you replied, your voice full of challenge and laughter as you leaned into his embrace.
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