𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ :: geto suguru has built a reputation out of silence, inked a thousand skins, and never once in his life chased anything. somehow, he's been letting himself into his ex-girlfriend's apartment at midnight just to move her coffee mug three inches to the left.
oh! forgive me lord! oh i'm a good girl ♡ run rabbit! run rabid ♡
content warning :: MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, dubcon (initiation while reader is asleep/semi-conscious, but she is into it when she wakes up), somno, stalking, breaking and entering, obsessive & possessive behavior, yandere themes (both parties), unhealthy relationship dynamics, theft of personal items, not beta read. art by @/thatsallitchief
4.8k words
The breakup was his idea. That's the part that kills you most.
Not that you didn't see it coming—you did, in the way you see storms gathering on a horizon you've been watching for too long. You had felt it in the spaces between his words, in the weight of his silences, in how his hands had stopped reaching for you in his sleep.
Suguru had sat you down on a Sunday, which you had thought was cruel timing. Sunday mornings used to be yours, slow and warm, coffee and his records and the particular blue light that came through the windows of his apartment on the Shimokitazawa side of the city. He had used that gentleness of his—the kind that had hooked you in the first place, the kind that made you feel like he was doing you a favor when he broke something in you.
"I feel like I'm suffocating you," he had said, which you both knew was not quite what he meant. You're suffocating me. He was too kind to say it plainly.
You had held it together long enough to get out the door.
That had been seven months ago.
You have, in those seven months, become a person you do not entirely recognize. You are aware of this. You are a fashion student, after all—you are trained to observe, to analyze, to understand aesthetics and composition and the way things are put together and taken apart. You apply this skill now to Geto Suguru's life in your absence from it.
It started small. The way these things always do.
You had kept his Instagram followed, of course. His main—@suguru.ink—which he kept public for his work. Clean grids of tattoo photos, the occasional candid shot from a coffee shop or a bar. Easy enough. You didn't even have to try.
But then he'd switched his personal account to private.
@its.suguru. One hundred and twelve followers. A lock icon.
You had made the alt before the thought had fully formed. It took you maybe twenty minutes: a new email, a new account, four weeks of posting photos stolen from Pinterest—aesthetic city shots, some food, a carefully curated collection of jazz album covers—and then a follow request sent to his personal from @mn.archives, a faceless account that looked like any other twenty-something whose personality lived entirely in film photography and good coffee. Two hundred and sixteen followers, because a number too low looks suspicious.
He accepted within a day.
You tell yourself this is just so you know he's okay. That it's concern, residual and tender, the way you might still check the weather in a city you used to live in. You scroll through his grid at eleven PM with your knees pulled to your chest and you look at the photo he posted last Thursday—some bar you recognize, neon light catching the silver of his earrings, Haibara's arm slung around his shoulder—and you feel something so complicated you can't name it. Not grief exactly. Not quite anger.
Want, maybe. Plain and embarrassing.
The tattoo was not your best idea. You will admit that freely, in the privacy of your own thoughts.
You had passed by his work plcea approximately forty-seven times in seven months, which you know because you have routes home that all bend toward this specific block on purpose. You had a habit of slowing down outside the window—frosted glass, the clean black font of the shop name, sometimes the amber glow of light inside—and telling yourself you were just walking. Just passing through. Just appreciating good signage, actually, as a design student.
The appointment you booked under a fake name—Watanabe Mika, which you chose because it felt forgettable—was a small floral piece. Lower back. Simple. Classic. Something you could attribute to a late-night Pinterest spiral rather than the slow, spectacular unraveling of your dignity.
There is one flaw in this plan, one thing you had somehow managed not to factor in.
You are terrified of needles.
You sat in the chair and stared at the ceiling and told yourself it was fine, it was fine, it was—
"Breathe."
His voice, right behind you. Low and unbothered, the way it always was.
You had not accounted, in all your meticulous planning, for the fact that you would have to talk to him. That the fake name would crumble the second he walked into the room and said it like he'd never heard it before in his life.
"Watanabe-san?"
You had turned, and his expression had done something complicated for exactly one second before settling back into professional neutrality. His hair was up—messy bun, a few strands loose around his face—and he had new ink on his forearm, something geometric you didn't recognize. Which meant he'd had it done after you. The thought sat in your chest like a splinter.
"Hi," you said. Brilliant.
"Hi." A pause. "Small piece?"
"Lower back. Florals. I have a reference."
He had nodded and reached for his gloves and you had spent the next forty minutes lying face-down on the table with your back exposed and his hands steady on your skin and tried very hard not to make a sound that wasn't about the needle.
You managed. Barely.
The tattoo healed beautifully. Sometimes you twist in front of your mirror just to look at it.
His favorite coffee shop is a place called Kōhī to Yoru—coffee and night—that operates out of a narrow building near the university. He started going there maybe three months into your relationship, the two of you sharing a corner table and his headphones, and you have continued going there with the particular audacity of someone who has decided they were there first, actually, in some cosmic sense, even if that is not strictly true.
You go on Tuesday mornings and Thursday afternoons, which are the days his alt account has, on multiple occasions, shown him holding an iced coffee that matches the shop's specific shade of pale green cup.
You bring your sketchbook. You work on your thesis collection. You sit with your back to the door and wait for the sound of it opening—the particular way the bell above it chimes—and when he comes in, which he does, not every time but often enough, you feel your whole body go still and warm and stupid. You look down at your paper and draw the same seam line you have been drawing for six minutes without noticing.
He always orders the same thing. You know his order the way you know the smell of his apartment, the exact pressure of his hands, the specific timbre of his voice when he's half asleep.
You don't look up.
You're very good at not looking up.
The club situation, in retrospect, requires more explanation.
There is a bar-club hybrid in the entertainment district called Sable that Suguru frequents. You know this because Satoru has a fully public account and zero impulse control regarding location tags, which means you have a near-perfect record of their Saturday nights without ever having to try very hard. You don't follow Satoru. You don't need to. His posts are public and his captions are aggressive and he documents everything.
You do not go to Sable every Saturday. You're not insane.
You go maybe twice a month. On weekends you've verified—through Satoru's stories, through a brief and agonizing scan of his tagged photos—that Suguru will be there. You get ready carefully, the way you used to when you were going to see him, and you tell your friends, who know nothing, that you just feel like going out. That you love this place. That the DJ is good.
The thing is, you're not lying about the DJ. The DJ genuinely is good.
And you are, by any objective measure, devastating when you make the effort.
You keep your distance. That's the important part, the part that keeps this justifiable. You don't go near him—too obvious, too much—and you have what's left of your pride to protect. You position yourself well, and you dance, and you drink, and you exist in the same airspace, and you watch, peripherally, the way you've gotten very good at watching things peripherally.
What you also do—and this is the part where you stop being able to fully justify yourself—is notice the women.
There are always women. Suguru is—you don't need to describe him to yourself. You know exactly what he looks like in a room, what he does to it without meaning to, that particular quality of his presence that functions like gravity. You know because it pulled you in and kept you there for sixteen months and you have not yet figured out how to get far enough away that it stops working on you.
So. The women.
You don't interfere directly. That would be messy, obvious, humiliating. What you do is more surgical than that. A girl drifts toward him at the bar—you're there first, materializing at his elbow under the pretense of ordering, smiling at the bartender, turning just enough that your body language reads as occupied space. A group approaches the table where he and Satoru are sitting—you're walking past right then, somehow, and you catch Gojo's eye (Gojo who knows you, Gojo who looks at you with an expression you have learned not to examine) and you smile like you ran into him by coincidence, and the moment breaks before it can start.
You are very good at this.
You have gotten very good at this.
You think you're slick.
This is perhaps the most important thing to understand about the last seven months: you have constructed, in meticulous and loving detail, the story of yourself as someone who is merely adjacent to Geto Suguru's life. Someone who passes through the same spaces by coincidence, drawn there by taste and habit and not by anything more embarrassing than that. Someone who has moved on cleanly and simply no longer intersects with him—except in these small moments that don't count, that you are careful to keep deniable.
You believe this story.
You are, perhaps, the only one who does.
Geto Suguru notices everything.
This is not vanity—it's fact, the baseline condition of someone who has spent years being precisely observed and has therefore learned to observe in return. He notices patterns. He notices the particular quality of attention a room gives a person. He notices when something stops being coincidence and starts being something else entirely.
The first time he saw you at Kōhī to Yoru, he thought: oh.
Not with surprise. With something more like recognition. Like finding a word he'd been looking for in a language he already spoke.
You had your sketchbook open and your head down and the line of your shoulders had that specific tension you always got when you were pretending to concentrate on something other than what was in front of you. He had ordered his coffee and taken the table by the window—not your corner, deliberately not your corner—and watched you not look at him for eleven minutes straight. And he had felt something settle in his chest like the click of a lock finding its latch.
There she is.
He had not broken up with you because he stopped wanting you. He needs to be clear about this, at least to himself, in the space where honesty costs nothing. He had broken up with you because wanting you and watching you want him back had started to feel like too much weight in a place he didn't know how to hold. He is—he will say this plainly—not good at being needed. Something in him retreats when it feels cornered by someone else's love, some reflex toward distance that he's never fully understood and never fully fought. He had watched you learn his rhythms and bend yourself around them and he had known, somewhere underneath the warmth of it, that he was shaping you into something that orbited him, and you deserved better than a center like him.
He had thought, in the careful logical part of his mind, that breaking up would free you. That you'd pull yourself out and go build something that didn't require making yourself small.
He had not, apparently, accounted for yoy.
@/mn.archives had followed him about two months after the breakup. He noticed because he got the notification at 2 AM on a Tuesday, which was exactly when you used to lose sleep to your phone.
He had looked at the profile for a long time.
The photos were too curated. Jazz records and film photography and that particular aesthetic that looked like a constructed personality rather than an actual one—assembled from the outside in, like a mood board rather than a life. No face. No name. mn.archives. He had scrolled back through their last few conversations once—just once, he told himself—and found a message you'd sent months before the end, mentioning a vintage archive account you'd been thinking about making.
He had accepted the follow request.
He still posts to that account knowing you're watching. Sometimes he tags places he's about to go, just to see if youll show up. You always do.
The tattoo appointment had required real effort not to laugh.
Watanabe Mika. He'd seen the name in the book when he was reviewing the day's schedule and he had known before he walked into the room. He doesn't know exactly how he knew—maybe the handwriting, you always pressed too hard with pens, like you were trying to leave a mark on whatever you touched—but he had known, and when he said the name and watched you face do that thing where you're trying to hold it perfectly still, he had felt something he'd classify, if he were being honest, as pure delight.
Forty minutes. His hands on your back. The way you'd gone absolutely rigid when the needle started and then forced yourself still through what he knew, because he knows you, was genuine fear. You hadn't made a sound. He'd been almost proud of you.
He wanted to say: you don't have to do this.
He wanted to say: I already know.
He said neither. Because there is something he enjoys—something he is not proud of but does not particularly want to stop—about watching you work this hard. About being watched this carefully. About being the thing someone builds an entire architecture of ordinary life around.
The club thing is his favorite.
He sees yoy every time. He spotted you the third Saturday you came to Sable—across the room, dancing with that particular careless ease you put on when you're trying to look like you're not paying attention to anything—and he had taken a slow drink and thought about how long you'd been doing this without knowing he saw. He had done a rough calculation. Yiu'd been at it for months.
The girls you redirects: he lets you. It would be simple enough to close the gap, to make himself reachable, to let someone else in just to see what you'd do. He doesn't.
Satoru, who is not an idiot and has never pretended to be, had said once, watching you materialize near the bar at precisely the right moment: "You know she's here."
"I know," Suguru had said.
Satoru had looked at him for a long moment. "And you're just going to let her keep doing this."
It hadn't been a question. Suguru hadn't answered it anyway. Satoru had made the face he made when he thought Suguru was being spectacular and specific kind of idiot, which was fair. Satoru was usually right about these things.
He still has your key.
This is the part he doesn't examine too closely, doesn't turn over in his hands and look at straight on. He still has the key you gave him fourteen months into their relationship—the little silver one with the small scratch near the head from when you'd dropped your keychain down a flight of stairs and laughed so hard you couldn't breathe, had grabbed his arm for balance and left half-moon marks in his jacket. He had kept it after the breakup, which he had told himself was oversight. He'd meant to return it. The moment had never arrived, and the key had stayed on his ring, and here they are.
He goes, sometimes, when he knows your out.
He knows your schedule the way he's always known things about you—not through tracking, not through architecture and alt accounts, but through the simple accumulating weight of attention. He knows you have studio hours Monday and Wednesday evenings. He knows you go to your mother's on Sunday afternoons and usually doesn't come back until after seven.
He lets himself in quietly. He moves through the apartment and he moves things—small things, careful things. A mug shifted slightly on the counter. Your desk chair at a different angle. The throw blanket refolded. Nothing you could be certain about, nothing that couldn't be chalked up to your own distracted hands in a busy week. He just wants you to feel it, in some wordless way you can't name. He wants to leave a shape in your space.
He also takes things. He is aware this is not something he can justify cleanly. Small things—a note torn from your sketchbook, a hair tie from the bathroom counter, once a grocery list written in your handwriting that he'd found tucked under a bottle of wine. Things you might not notice. Things you'd never be sure about.
The first time he went to the drawer beside the bed—just to look, he'd told himself—he had found his hoodie. The charcoal one you used to steal, folded near the bottom like you'd put it somewhere you didn't have to see every day but couldn't bring yourself to throw away. And underneath a novel you was reading: a photo strip from a machine in Harajuku. The two of you, making faces, the particular light of that afternoon still somehow caught in the paper.
You hadn't thrown any of it away.
He had stood there for a moment and felt something so complicated that he hadn't tried to name it. He had taken the photo strip. Replaced it with a different photo—same machine, earlier in the same day, just you, mid-laugh, caught without knowing—so the space wouldn't feel empty if you looked.
He keeps the photo strip in his wallet.
He does not call this obsession. He doesn't call it anything.
It's a Thursday night when he finally goes back, and this time he doesn't have a reason.
Not to rearrange anything. Not to take something. No careful justification assembled in advance. He doesn't know what that means and he has, tonight, decided to stop caring.
The city is quiet the way it gets past midnight, that particular held-breath stillness. His key makes no sound against her lock—he knows the angle by now, the specific lift-and-turn that keeps the mechanism from clicking too loud. The door swings open onto darkness and the particular smell of her apartment, warm and layered, something floral and underneath it something that is just you, unchanged across seven months, the thing that had always made the back of his mind go quiet.
He moves through the space without turning on a light. He knows it better than you might expect. He knows the creak of the second floorboard from the hallway and steps around it. He knows to angle left around the ottoman you perpetually fail to put back in the right place. He knows the bedroom door sticks slightly at the top corner and needs gentle pressure to open without a sound.
It gives way.
You're asleep. He can tell from the doorway—the slow, even rise and fall of you breathing, your hair against the pillow, one hand curled loosely near your face. The window lets in just enough city light to see you by. Gold and still.
He leans against the doorframe.
He watches you breathe.
There is something terrible about this moment. Something tender underneath the terrible. He knows that. He is not without self-awareness—he has spent years being precisely, painfully self-aware, and it has never once made him behave better. You have been watching him for seven months from what you believed is a safe distance. He has been watching you from what he knows is not one. And maybe that says something about both of you, about the particular shape of whatever this is, two people who were never going to fall cleanly out of each other's gravity no matter how carefully he tried to cut the line.
You shift in your sleep. A small sound, something that almost forms a word and dissolves before it arrives.
He is still there.
There she is.
He stays until his shoulder starts to ache from the doorframe, and then he stays a little longer.
The city light filters through the half-open blinds in thin silver bars across your bed. Suguru stands in the doorway a moment longer, letting the quiet settle into his bones. Your breathing is deep, slow, the kind that only comes after exhaustion has finally won. He crosses the room without sound, shedding his jacket onto the chair by your desk. The hoodie you still keep is visible when he glances at the open drawer—charcoal, folded like a secret.
He sits on the edge of the mattress. The shift of weight makes you stir, but you don’t wake. Good. He wants this part slow.
His hand finds your ankle first, thumb brushing up the bare skin of your calf. You’re wearing an oversized t-shirt—his, he realizes with a low pulse of satisfaction—and nothing else. The hem has ridden up to the curve of your ass. He traces higher, palm warm against the back of your thigh, then slips under the fabric to rest at the small of your back, right over the fresh ink he put there himself. The skin is still slightly raised, healed but sensitive. He presses lightly.
You make a soft, wordless sound, shifting onto your stomach more fully. Your face stays buried in the pillow.
“Suguru…?” The name is barely shaped, thick with sleep, more breath than voice.
He doesn’t answer. Instead he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Shh. Go back to sleep if you want.”
His hand slides lower, between your legs, finding you already slick. A low hum leaves his throat. Even asleep, your body knows him. He circles your clit with two fingers, unhurried, coaxing. Your hips twitch once, instinctive, pushing back against his hand.
You whimper into the pillow, still half-gone, thighs parting just enough to let him in. He takes the invitation, pressing one finger inside you, then two, curling gently. The wet sound is obscene in the quiet room. Your breathing changes—shallower, quicker—but your eyes stay closed, lashes fluttering against your cheeks.
He works you open like that for long minutes, slow thrusts of his fingers, thumb stroking your clit in lazy circles. Every time you clench around him he feels it in his own cock, already straining against his jeans. When you start rocking back against his hand in tiny, unconscious movements, he withdraws, ignoring the protesting noise you make.
Clothes off. He doesn’t rush. The belt buckle clicks softly; the zipper sounds louder than it should. He strokes himself once, twice, spreading the bead of pre-cum over the head before lining up behind you.
You’re on your stomach, legs spread, t-shirt bunched at your waist. Perfect.
He pushes in slow, one long glide until he’s buried to the hilt. The stretch makes you gasp, eyes flying open for a heartbeat before they flutter shut again. Your walls flutter around him, hot and tight and so fucking wet.
“Fuck,” he breathes against your nape, staying still for a moment, letting you adjust. Or not. He doesn’t ask.
He starts moving—deep, measured rolls of his hips that press you harder into the mattress. Each thrust drags against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. You moan, low and broken, still sounding half-asleep, face turned to the side now so he can see the flush on your cheek.
One of his hands slides under you, finding your clit again, rubbing in tight circles while he fucks you. The other braces beside your head, caging you in. He drops his weight more fully onto your back, lips at your shoulder, teeth grazing skin.
You push back against him, needy even in your drowsiness. “Suguru…” His name again, softer this time, wrecked with pleasure. Your hand reaches back blindly, fingers brushing his hip, urging him deeper.
He gives it to you. Harder now, the slap of skin on skin filling the room. He angles his hips until every thrust makes you cry out—short, breathy sounds that go straight to his cock. Your pussy clenches rhythmically around him, fluttering, pulling him in.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Let me feel you.”
He fucks you like he’s memorizing you all over again—slow drags followed by sharp snaps of his hips, grinding deep when he bottoms out. Your breathing turns into soft, desperate pants. You’re dripping down his cock, onto the sheets. He reaches down and spreads your ass with both hands so he can watch himself disappear inside you, the obscene shine of your arousal coating him.
You come without warning, sudden and shuddering, a broken moan muffled by the pillow as your walls clamp down hard. He doesn’t stop, fucking you through it, drawing it out until your thighs shake.
Only then does he pull out, flipping you onto your back with easy strength. Your eyes are open now, heavy-lidded and dark, but still hazy with sleep and orgasm. You look at him like you’re not entirely sure he’s real.
He doesn’t give you time to wake up fully. He hooks your legs over his elbows and slides back in, folding you nearly in half. The new angle makes you keen, nails digging into his shoulders. He sets a punishing rhythm—deep, relentless, the headboard knocking softly against the wall.
Your t-shirt is pushed up to your collarbones. He bends his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, tongue flicking. You arch into him, gasping. The other hand finds your clit again, rubbing fast and firm.
“Come on,” he growls against your skin. “Again. Want to feel it.”
You do. The second orgasm hits you harder, back bowing, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as you pulse around his cock. He fucks you through every wave, hips stuttering only when your nails rake down his back hard enough to leave marks.
He pulls out at the last second, stroking himself roughly over your stomach. Thick ropes of cum paint your skin, your tits, the underside of your chin. You watch with dazed, half-lidded eyes, lips parted.
For a long moment the only sound is both of you breathing.
He leans down and kisses you—slow, deep, tasting sleep and sex and the faint salt of your sweat. You kiss him back like muscle memory, one hand sliding into his hair, holding him there. When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours.
You don’t speak. Neither does he.
He reaches for the t-shirt you’re wearing—his t-shirt—and uses the hem to wipe his spend from your skin with surprising gentleness. Then he tosses it aside, pulls the blanket over both of you, and tucks you against his chest like no time has passed at all.
Your breathing evens out again within minutes, slipping back toward sleep. He stays awake longer, fingers tracing idle patterns over the floral ink on your lower back, feeling the steady beat of your heart against his ribs.
Outside, the city keeps breathing. Inside, the two of you fit back together in the dark like pieces that were never meant to stay apart.
Ricochet masterlist / College Student! Gojo headcannons
part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven
summary - You're a young college professor teaching English Lit and history, you don't live an insanely exciting life - no, you enjoy spending time at home with a good book and a glass of red. You're prefectly content until a certain student sets his pretty blue eyes on you - senior Satoru Gojo. Obsessed with you, Satoru starts following you everywhere, observing and waiting. He just wants you to realize that he's the only one for you, and he'll do anything to make sure you throw your 'ethics' right out of the window.
pairings- Yan college student! gojo x professor f!reader
warnings - MDNI - he's yandere asf, manipulative Toru, small age gap (reader is 30, gojo is 22) sexual tension, stalking, Satoru being a freak, obsession, taboo relationships, fingering, explicit content, finger sucking, mentions of masturbation, stalking reversing the professor trope 😌
ongoing - 60k - ao3 link - headcanons below <3
College Student! Gojo who can't help but touch himself in the back of your class, watching his pretty professor - you - write on the board in black marker. You're so concentrated, looking back and smiling so pretty and sweet, like you always do- before going to the front of your desk and sitting right on it. He has to hastily stop rubbing himself over his jeans, but he keeps leaking pre as he slips his eyes up your bare legs, that skirt shoved up as you cross them at the ankles. All he can think of is sinking to his knees and worshipping you.
College Student! Gojo knows almost everything about you - how can he not want to know more? Not just because you're pretty - you absolutely are, the other guys always talked about it. Which infuriated Satoru further, since you're his, even if you don't know yet. No, it's something about you, since his blue eyes settled right on you, day one of class. He can't pinpoint it, but every college girl his age just pales in comparison, to the point he outright avoids them at any party, turns them down in lieu of jerking it to pictures of you. Not even sexy ones, just selfies he finds, like a morning ritual he makes sure to cum just for you. He knows you're not much older than he is, you seemingly love wine, and you adore cats, you seem like a bit of a loner, a hopeless romantic. He supposes it's why you teach English Lit.
College Student! Gojo can't help but stay after class constantly, always offering to help you during the once a week he got to see you (that you know of, that is) and you just always try to tell him to go home. 'Gojo, don't you have parties to get to?' you'll tease, while he helps you clean the desks, and he'll look at you that way, the way he really shouldn't. 'Nah, I'm having fun right here, professor' - he'll just slip those pretty blue eyes down your body for a flicker of a moment, before smirking a bit, towering over you. It's almost impossible for you to try to remember - he's your student - like some fucking mantra, and snap yourself the fuck out of it.
College Student! Gojo makes sure to brush against you just so, noticing the way your cheeks flush, and you'll clear your throat - it's one of your little ticks he's noticed, along with fiddling with your pens and picking at your pretty lips. You'll put a hand on his shoulder and smile up at him, eyes just a little lidded, so close he can feel the heat between your thighs. 'Thank you Gojo, you're the best,' you'll say, he'll just shrug and grin. 'anything for my favorite professor' and then he'll just walk off, leaving you just a little dizzy - not that you'd ever admit it. Watching the six foot four senior student slip into his fancy sports car and wink at you, is truly something overwhelming in itself. You'll however slip into your very safe volvo, trying to shake the thoughts, shoving them back by snuggling with your cat and sipping wine, watching pride and prejudice again.
College Student! Gojo sees you on campus on days it's not just your class, and he'll always smile and say hi to you. You notice the interactions get more frequent, but you actually enjoy them. 'Can you help me with some questions I have?' he asks you today, and you narrow your eyes, knowing his grades and the scores he gets are top notch. 'Satoru you have top test scores, you're better than me at them,' he pouts all cute until you relent. 'come on then, thirty minutes, pretty please!?' he pouts, and you sigh, nodding your head. Satoru eagerly follows you to your now empty class, shutting the door, and your heart just hammers. What you don't know, is Satoru made sure to unhook your starter in your car (he totally didn't! It just isn't working!) so you'll need him anyway to bring you home.
College Student! Gojo sits at your desk, while you stand next to him, leaned over just a bit - a hint of your breasts peeking from your blouse, but you soon realize he knows everything, sighing and looking at him in confusion. 'You don't need me for this, you know,' you tease a bit, but he looks up at you, eyes dark and stormy, making your heart race when he whispers - 'I do need you' - before brushing his long fingers across the back of your hand, you don't move them, letting him slowly slip them up, your chest rises and falls with your breath. You cannot risk your career- it's not even the age, he's not that far from you, but your career. You pull back, clearing your throat then. 'I need to head home, I'm sorry.'
College Student! Gojo watches as you try unsuccessfully to start your car - surprise, it was him! - knocking on your window and smiling as you open the door. 'Need help, professor?' he asks softly, right when it starts sprinkling. 'Fuck, I think it's my starter?' he muses how smart you are internally, smiling a bit as the rain starts pattering from the dark grey clouds. 'Let me take you home for now, we can come look at your car tomorrow, it's gonna storm all night.' You tense again, the last thing you need is to be stuck in his sports car with the damn off limits pretty boy when you're ovulating and he's making your brain fucked by his proximity. But also, you can't stay here when it's about to downpour. 'C'mon, professor,' he holds out a hand, and you rush over to his car.
College Student! Gojo has the heat on for you in moments, windshield wipers quickly flicking side to side, the sound mixing with the low hum of his car - eclipsed by your racing heart. He looks over, swiping some droplets across his silvery hair, to see your white blouse got just wet enough that he can see the black lace of your bra. Seeing his gaze, you gasp, turning away then, only for him to chuckle softly, putting his hand on the gear shift now. 'I have a shirt back there, if you wanna throw it on -' He damn near grins when he sees you panic. 'No!?' he just laughs, and you cross your arms, shivering a bit even as the heat starts. 'it's embarrassing enough you just saw...' he hums a bit, his hand slipping to your thigh as he drives. 'Saw what, your pretty tits?'
College Student! Gojo has your mouth open in shock - he could find so many better uses for it, truly, fuck your lips are in that perfect O, he knows you could take his cock. Judging by your socials, your last boyfriends looked like losers, and you're just so high strung, he wonders when is the last time you cum, or if you have like he'd get you. 'Did I mishear you, Gojo?' he doesn't move his hand, burning your skin over your stockings, your heart hammers in your ear. 'No, you didn't sweetheart, I'll say it again - your tits are pretty, from what I can see,' his voice is soft, husky, and entirely too much. He's driving now, focused on the road, when you realize it 'h-how do you know where to take me?'
College Student! Gojo pauses just one second before smiling over at you. 'You mentioned your neighborhood in class, but I don't know directly where your home is,' you wrack your brain for it, but sigh. 'Oh, of course...' he looks down at you when you're at a red light, the soft red casting a glow on his face, leaning close - too close, hand higher, until he feels your heat, thumb brushing over the lacy band along your thigh, moaning softly as he pictures it, seeing them fully. 'Y-you shouldn't do that...' you manage, and he hums softly, lips a breath away while the light goes green. 'Why can't I? Feels like she wants it, hmm?' You swallow nervously, when he drives once more, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks - the car is suddenly too small, the scent of him suffocating. 'I'm older than you...' he laughs then. 'you're barely older than me, and you look my age' you hate that it makes you feel good, that you want his hand higher, self loathing mixing with heady desire, all trapped in this fucking car with him.
College Student! Gojo notices it, your blush on your pretty cheeks, how you shift, god he can sense how wet you are, a little slick on that inner thigh driving him to distraction, he feels you press them together, his thumb slipping up even higher. 'Why don't you take my hand off?' You do just that, realizing you've been letting him. Your hand is trembling then. 'You're not acting appropriately at all, don't forget I'm your teacher' his dark little chuckle makes your tummy flip, cunt drooling from just a touch. It has been forever- and your sex life has been sad to be honest - but you can't let that happen, who would that make you? Sure, if you ran into him at a fucking bar and he wasn't your top english lit student. Satoru looks over again, touching you with that gaze, murmuring. 'I haven't forgotten at all. Where exactly is your place?'
College Student! Gojo watches as you show him where to go, playing oblivious. Satoru has been here before, peering at his pretty teacher through the window. You really should keep those curtains closed, when you're his, he'll have to make sure of it. He knows he could do everything for you. He's got an entire corporation he's inheriting soon, and he can't imagine a better person to be by his side. You won't have to work and drive a shitty old Volvo, he'd take such good care of you. You're looking at the rain now, gathering your things, he sees your hands are shaking. 'Wait till the rain eases up, hmm?' He says your first name then for the first time, soft and seductive, and suddenly he's too close.
College Student! Gojo cups your face, elegant fingers brushing your overheated cheek, your breasts are rising and falling under that see through blouse. You bite your lip while the rain pours on the windshield, thunder rolling in the distance. He has the wipers off, so you're encompassed in the darkness, hidden by the rain, too close to him. 'Question, professor,' he drawls out those words, all you can do is swallow nervously, nodding. 'If you met me somewhere else, and I wasn't your student, would you kiss me?' You gasp, pulling back, for his hand to entangle in your damp strands of hair. 'Focus only on me, sweetheart.' He shouldn't fucking talk like that... you're looking away only for him to grip your chin, turning you to him. 'Why would you even want me, you're...'
College Student! Gojo glares when you trail off. 'I'd fuck every insecurity from your pretty body,' a hand slips down, you're panicking, it's too much, you can taste his breath as his words sink in like a caress. 'You're the sexiest woman I've seen, every part I haven't seen I'm sure is...' you want to pull away, when he slips your pencil skirt up, when he looks at you like that. 'You like hearing it don't you?' You take a breath, struggling to find willpower when your body is aching, and your mind is muddled. 'Satoru we can't, even if I want to. I can't risk doing that, ethics-' he's slipping his fingers over your soaked panties now, making you gasp, dripping down his finger. He gives you a white grin that's as sexy as it is fucking feral and terrifying, rubbing you over them. 'Fuck, does ethics makes you that wet? You're soaked, pretty professor...'
College Student! Gojo fingers the squelching wetness of your cunt now, and you don't stop him, no you spread your thighs. Little pants of breath escape your lips, the windows fogging with the heat from the vents and your bodies. You inhale it in your lungs, whining and clinging to his expensive dress shirt. 'Just let me make you cum, just once, I think you need it, don't you?' He slips two long fingers in, moaning as he feels how tight you grip him, his fingers stretching you. 'You work so hard sweetheart - god you're that tight? Fuck...' he's curling them like you've never felt, hitting that spongy spot in your slick walls with precision. You're arching your hips when his free hand yanks down your top, pressing hot kisses to your breasts, lapping your nipple over the lace. 'This is... insane and... we can't so... f-fuck, ngh!' You're rolling your hips, greedily tugging at his hair as he bites your nipple, grinning, looking up under his lashes at you.
College Student! Gojo can hardly stop himself from cumming in his pants, feeling your soaked cunt, tasting your skin, the rain just enhances it, how yummy you are, how he can feel the way you'll squeeze his cock soon. 'Hear how loud you are, teach... your cunt is slutty, needy' you glare at him, fingers itching to smack, but instead they grip his forearm, when he moves his fingers up and down, feeling the muscles tense and release. 'Too much... pressure... mnh!' He grins again, the lighting flashing and making him look this mix of beautiful and fucking scary, when he gently runs his teeth across your collarbone. 'Never cum before- not really, huh? Don't worry, I can teach you how to, sweetheart...' you're sniffling, tears in your eyes, while he rocks them. You finally lean forward, lips pressing his, then Satoru loses it.
College Student! Gojo presses on you, a knee on your passenger seat as the storm rages. His mouth devours yours, hungry and desperate, tongue warring with yours for dominance. It's like nothing you've felt, you try to chalk it up as insanity - work has clearly fucked you too much - but you know deep down it's not that. He's taking over every sense you have with his kisses. Satoru pulls off, biting back a whimper he'll share later- when he fucks your throat, your cunt, every hole you have. He's exhaling, watching the woman he's dreamed of fall apart for him. 'That's it, cum just f'me,' he whispers, pressing his thumb on your twitchy little clit, the combination too much, pushing you over the edge. You shatter for him, orgasm hitting your core and spreading, until you're a soppy mess, cunt gushing all over his hand, screaming out without meaning to, until he drinks your cries, kissing you again. It's messy, just like he's made your cunt, little hole quivering in aftershocks around his fingers. He pulls back and watches you then, smirking.
College Student! Gojo whispers against you - 'Fucking perfect, look at you... did I make you feel so good baby?' You're too fucked out to te him not to call you it, just nodding. 'Good girl, telling me how you feel.' You can hardly get yourself together, when he's sucking his fingers into his mouth, you inhale at the sight, making you clench around nothing. 'Satoru... what...' he spreading your arousal on his lips, eyes lit up so blue its hard to handle, looking at you now. 'I'll take you to school tomorrow, and fix the car, okay?' You shake your head, realizing what happened, trying to button your shirt with violently shaking hands. 'We can't again, ever... we... it...' he helps you button it, smiling softly. The rain is sprinkling now, revealing the sky, the fact that you let him make you cum in broad daylight. 'I'll see you in the morning.' Is all he says, watching you run in the house, stroking his thick cock then and there in your driveway, aching for release.
You can't do it again, you won't do it again, you have to stay away from him. You're arranging a ride to avoid him, but as soon as you step out, Satoru is right there, leaned next to his car with his shades. You hesitate, but he's acting perfectly normal, as if nothing happened. You ease a bit, smiling nervously, wondering if it's just a moment, but he's simply waiting, letting the days pass by. Touching you with little brushes 'accidentally' walking by you too close, dropping something right by your desk so he'll be bending down almost in front of your legs. Smiling at you the way he does across the campus. Satoru has a long game he's playing, and he's waiting for his pretty professor to beg for him.
Imma do a full one sometime or just do a part two this style?? what do yall think!
Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine - it motivates the smut!🍷
synopsis: approaching a random man at an art gallery you never would’ve expected to meet the artist. And when he invites you back to his place he helps give you an idea of his inspirations.
pairing: Yandere!Artist x fem!reader
content: making out, rough sex, praise, fingering, hair pulling, cum eating, clit smacking, orgasm control, pussy drunk, overstimulation, clitoral stimulation, fucked out on dick, painting you in cum, aftercare.
Yandere!Artist stared down at his art, encased in glass like it was something precious. Meanwhile he loathed it. While everyone was begging his manager to let them host it in their galleries he wanted to burn it to ash.
To watch it wither away like the love that had created it. And that’s when he saw it, a blurred figure appeared in the glass like a blossoming Pheonix rising from the ashes.
“Do you like the painting?” Your voice asks and it echos straight into his soul.
He whirled around to face you, half convinced you weren’t real at first but rather an angel. But as he met your gaze he was left breathless by your beauty and thoughtfulness.
“You look like you’re burning lasers into that piece so I can’t imagine your answer is yes,” you said amusedly. Yet he was still struggling to respond.
“It, uh, has some bad memories attached to painting it,” he admitted as he felt those bad emotions fade before you.
Your eyes went comically wide. Apparently not realizing that you were standing in front of the piece’s creator. Apologies awkwardly sputtered from your lips and as professional as he tried to be he couldn’t help but crack a grin. Letting you see it with a cute quirk of his head.
Yandere!Artist saw the next sorry die on your tongue and his grin widened. So reactive. He wondered what else he could make you do.
If this was how you reacted untouched and teasing then what pretty faces and sweet noises would you make for him once he got his hands on you? He’d touch every curve and drip until he could sculpt out a replica.
So he asked to show you around the gallery if only to spend a little more time with you. Something about you utterly fascinated him. And while the two of you walk through the exhibits he found himself asking to listen to your feelings about the art instead of talking himself. Another strange phenomenon he blamed you for.
Together you walked around the gallery countless times. The two of you lost in a flow of endless conversation till the place closed. A flicker of annoyance shot through him as a guard informed him they need to leave for the night.
Even as he left the two of you alone you lingered, not wanting to part. He sensed you lean in closer to him, sensed the hope. It would be a bad idea, he shouldn’t. Not again.
“Would you like to come to my place for a nightcap?” He asked as he whirled around to face you.
At first he expected you to take things slowly. You looked like the shy type. But the second the door shut behind him you pounced. As his lips met yours in a messy desperate kiss he knew he was gone for you.
His hands roamed all over your curves as he stumbled with you toward his bedroom. Hands memorized every inch. When your feet hit the edge of his bed he spins you around and folds you over in half. His feet kick your knees apart and pull down your clothes, gazing closely at the wet stain on your panties.
“Tsk, messy girl. Someone’s gonna have to clean this up.”
He ghosted his fingers along your clothed folds, listening to you gasp and tremble against him. Long strings of white gooey essence stretches wide as he pushes your panties aside, a long grown leaving him at the sight.
Then his fingers spread your folds open to the cool air till your arousal drips on the floor. Only then does he swipe his long digits down your slit, swirling them around your clit and exploring everything. Cataloguing every reaction you give him.
Fuck, he’s had enough, needing you on his cock this instant. You whimper so prettily as he withdraws and sheds himself of his clothes. Then he’s kissing up your frame, hand curling in your hair like the stroke of a brush, and he pull. Hard. Till your back is arched so nicely for him.
Yandere!Artist loved seeing you cry out at the jolt of pain combined with the sensation of feeling his long length spearing through your drenched folds.
Using the opportunity of having your mouth parted for him he stuffs his wet fingers in there, ordering you to suckle on them and taste how soaked you get for him.
He shuddered as your screams of pleasure vibrate on his hand while he works you down his shaft. Fuck, every part of you is like heaven. It’s as though a muse is caressing him as your silken walls glide down his cock and suck him in deeper with every thrust.
As needy to be inside you the same way you are. His free hand moves down to your belly, pressing on the bulging imprint of his cock and it’s like something in him snaps.
He ruts into you harder and harder every time you scream for more around his fingers. With his hold he keeps you pinned against him, not giving you a second to breathe without him filling up your entire being.
The force of his thrusts driving in so deep it’s like he’s rearranging your guts and leaving a permanent place for his cock to live. A shudder rolls through him and he presses against your back like he could merge you two together.
With a swivel his hips he desperately looked for your sweet spots until you wail harshly, your back arching to take him impossibly deeper. A near manic bubble of laughter leaves him.
“Did I find it, huh, pretty? Look at her thanking me so nice. I’m fuckin’ spoiling this pussy,” he rasps in your ear. Then in a blink of an eye he slips his fingers out of your mouth and smacks one, two, three wet swats right on your swollen sensitive clit.
Yandere!Artist watches like a predator who’s finally caught their prey when your body jolts forward, strangled shrieks echoing against the wall as you cum. The way your cunt clamps down and milks his cock for everything that it’s worth sends him into the ultimate state of bliss.
By now he’s so drunk on your pussy as he fights to fuck you through it no matter how hard you’re suffocating and squeezing his cock.
“C’mon, mmph, gimme more. I know you can do it, baby. Paint my cock with your cum, wanna drown in you,” he groans, lost in the sensation of having you wrapped around him.
It takes all the strength he has left to work you through your release, talking you through it the whole way, and continues right into the next. Even as you whine and squirm beneath him he just starts building you up again. He knows how sensitive you are.
Every tremor of your body coils back up his cock, making him tingle all over. His face falls into your neck and he inhales the scent of your sweat glistening on you.
“Hmm, not done with you yet, muse. Just one more. It’ll be quick.”
Yandere!Artist lies to you so sweetly but he can’t help himself when it comes to you. He fucks into you nice and slow for this one. Basking in the feeling of you throbbing against the veins on his length. You two just fit together like two broken puzzle pieces.
He’s falling.
He knows he’s falling again. The warning bells are nothing but white noise as he grinds the leaking angry tip of his dick into your gummy cervix till you’re nothing but a fucked out mess on the bed.
Yandere!Artist needs to cum so bad yet doesn’t want the moment to end. But the sight of you covered in his cum is too hard to resist. So his hand slips back between your legs, much gentler this time, and expertly rubs your clit. Not wanting to finish until you have. Just like he begged you for.
He waits to the point you cum where his fingers on your clit quicken but he pulls out with a sharp jerk of his hips at the same time. He was so close. So close to coming inside of you.
Instead he shoots spurt after spurt all over your back, painting you in his release. It’s the closest thing to a masterpiece he’s ever made.
Afterwards, taking care of your every need, cleaning you up and whispering sweet nothings about how good you were for him and how perfect you felt, the lovely noises you made, and all about how much he wants to keep you. He drags you into his embrace and molds his front to your back. You fall asleep surrounded by his warmth and comfort.
The next morning he finds you walking around his studio. Stopping in front of a painting that looks eerily similar to the one you saw last night at the gallery. He comes up and hugs you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. Wanting to see everything through your eyes.
“Are these part of a series, what are they supposed to represent?” You ask softly in the undisturbed light of morning.
Yandere!Artist chuckles at your question but squeezes you tighter. As if afraid that you’ll disappear any minute.
“They’re actually paintings I make whoever an ex of mine breaks up with me. It’s just a freak accident that one gained so much popularity.”
Your lips twist into a frown as you stare at the bold red painting. “Well now I regret complimenting it so much,” you say as if displeased imagining him with someone else.
Yandere!Artist grins at your response as it feeds the dark hungry side of himself that wants to wrap you up and never let you go.
“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on ever having to make another one of these again,” he murmurs and places a chaste kiss on your pulse before letting you go.
It takes a moment for his words to properly sink in. They’re sweet words, really. So you have no idea why they unnerve you so much as you watch him waltz over to the kitchen, whistling a happy tune.
Pairing: Yandere!Harper x Reader (Degrees of Lewdity).
Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.
Word Count: 7.0k.
TW: AFAB!Reader, Non/Con, Extremely Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Mind Control/Hypnosis, Oral Sex (M. Receiving), Forced Masturbation, Medical Malpractice, Emotional Manipulation, and Nonconsensual Drug Use. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
Harper’s office was the warmest place in the asylum.
It might’ve been more accurate to say that it was the only warm place in the asylum, really. The communal rooms were inhospitable - too much plastic and too little body heat. The dorms were drafty in a way your cheap, tear-away blankets couldn’t keep out. Even the courtyard was freezing more often than not, any sunlight that might’ve trickled through the forest’s dense canopy immediately smothered by stone walls and wrought-iron gates long before it had a chance to reach the ground. You got used to going about your day half-frozen. It was the seeping kind of cold, the type that soaked under your skin and left you too numb even to shiver. Some days, you even found yourself envying the patients in straitjackets. At least they had something thicker than sheer cotton scrubs between them and the cold.
Harper’s office was a respite, in comparison. You spent the bulk of your free time curled up on his velvet-lined sofa, buried underneath a well-padded quilt with one of his less boring coffee table books in your hands. He was at his desk, an old-fashioned tape-recorder to his left and a laptop open in front of him, his hands moving gracefully over the keys as he jotted down notes from his last session. Whether he was in the room or not didn’t really impact your enjoyment of his hide-away, but the company was nice. The other patients weren’t much for conversation, and the staff— Well, there was a reason you liked Harper so much. That everyone liked Harper, really.
Thankfully, he was nice enough to pretend he liked you, too. At least enough to let you whittle away the hours until your release on his couch.
You were just beginning to nod off to the steady sounds of keyboard clacking and tape-recorder whirring when he called your name. Begrudgingly, you raised your head and found Harper smiling toward you as he nudged a small stack of documents to the edge of his desk with a pen. “Walk these to the archive for me, would you?”
You frowned, but sat up. “Don’t shove your work off on me, old man.”
“You don’t seem to be terribly busy with your own.”
“I’m a patient. I’m supposed to be resting.”
“Technically, according to the schedule our orderlies so lovingly put together, you’re supposed to be in the middle of a group session at the moment.” He cocked his head to the side. “Would you prefer it if I asked you to make your way down to the rec room, instead?”
A chill ran up your spine at the thought of sitting through another group therapy session. They weren’t worth the effort it took to attend. Most of the patients were so heavily sedated, they couldn’t remember their own names, let alone why they were here. Those who’d escaped their introductory appointment with minimal medication, like you, were similarly unhelpful. The questions posed were meaningless, the responses a never-ending onslaught of violence and rape and trauma retold in disjointed, half-remembered bits and pieces. You wanted to be sympathetic, to nod and coo and heal, but you couldn't take it. You’d all come from the same miserable town. You didn’t need more suffering. You had plenty of your own.
And so, you pushed yourself to your feet, marching over to Harper’s desk and snatching the documents away. He leaned back, his grin cat-like in its utter and complete self-satisfaction. “See?” he asked, in the same tone he used during your private sessions, when you finally divulged the intrusive thought or traumatic experience he’d been attempting to pry out of you for the better part of a week. “Was that so hard?”
“You’re a tyrant.”
“I am a doctor merely trying to see that my charge stays active.” And then, almost purring, “Would you have me do less for my favorite patient?”
The praise was half-hearted. Worse than that, it was cheap. The same kind of flattery that you’d employed across a hundred odd-jobs to milk marginally bigger tips out of a thousand love-starved clients. You knew that, and yet, heat rushed to your face all the same, the inside of your mouth going dry and cottony. You rushed to turn away from him, muttering an excuse as you made a run for the door. It wasn’t until you were safely across the threshold that you stopped, sucked in a deep breath, and allowed yourself the smallest, faintest possible smile.
You didn’t like it here. You hated the people, the staff, the chill. You couldn’t wait to leave.
But a tiny, guilty part of you was thankful that, if nothing else, you had Harper to make it all just a little bit easier.
~
You never had night-terrors before the asylum.
You hadn’t really dreamed at all. You hadn’t slept enough. Robin used to find you curled up in empty classrooms, trying to get a few minutes of shut-eye in before a semester-defining exam. Bailey would have to pick you up from one of your many part-time jobs at least once a month because you’d passed out from sheer exhaustion in the middle of your shift. In the asylum, you couldn’t work yourself to the brink. You were never sleep-deprived enough to lull yourself into that dreamless, pitch black, death-like sleep. Most nights, you didn’t have anything better to do than to sleep. It was awful. It was a waste of time. It wasn’t like you.
Worst of all, it meant you dreamed. They were awful, vicious things; all shifting colors and whispering voices and grabbing hands. Sometimes, you’d get lucky, be able to enjoy a couple minutes of some half-remembered schoolyard scene or a pleasantly ungrounded fantasy before things devolved and you found yourself pinned to a tile floor, fingertips biting into your hips as some heavy, amorphous mass with molten gold hair and acid pink eyes. It was an unfortunate coincidence that the monster in your worst dreams resembled Doctor Harper. It wasn’t his fault you were here. You only had yourself to blame, for that.
Not-Harper’s unoccupied hand found its way to your neck, the heel of its palm biting into your nape. The floor was so, so cold and the thing on top of you was so, so hot. There was a voice whispering in your ear - detached and disorienting - and below that, another sound, more melodic, more predictable. Something harsh and solid ground against you from behind. In the corner of your eye, the needle of a syringe caught the light, its tapered point angled toward your neck. You tried to squirm away, but the tile was slippery and the mass was so heavy and it was all so, so hopeless. The needle plunged down, down, piercing the side of your throat and—
And you woke up screaming. Your voice echoed off of the bare cement walls of your room, unswallowed and unanswered. You bolted upright, clinging to your paper-thin blanket. Pathetic. This was all so pathetic. You were alone in an insane asylum miles and miles outside of town. The orderlies weren’t on patrol and the nurses didn’t care. No one was coming to—
Three sharp knocks against your door, evenly paced and just short of forceful. A voice called your name, soft and masculine and achingly familiar.
Harper.
“Come in,” you managed, after a long beat. A latch slid out of place and your door swung open.
He must’ve been working late. It had to be closer to sunrise than sunset and he had the look of a man who’d spent the night burning the candle at both ends. His lab coat was missing and his shirt had been unbuttoned two degrees past the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The fact that he was still in the building at all surprised you. You’d assumed he lived in town.
Your confusion must’ve been obvious. In place of a greeting, he offered an explanation. “I was passing by and heard the commotion. Are you alright?”
You nodded hastily. “Just a bad dream.”
“Ah.” And just like that, he was a man of science again, latching onto the first scrap of evidence you provided and jumping to the most rational conclusion. Pulling your door shut, he crossed the room and fell onto the foot of your bed. There was no hesitation, no pause to seek permission. He was acting like he owned the place - which, to be fair, you were pretty sure he did. “You know,” he started, adjusting his glasses. “Dreams can often signal to areas of tension within in the subconscious. Your brain might be drawing your attention towards, say, fresh trauma you haven’t allowed yourself to process.”
You grimaced. You knew what he was dancing around. Lately, Harper had lost interest in your miserable upbringing, pitiful social life, and self-destructive coping mechanisms. Rather, he’d taken to asking after the reasons behind your interment incessantly. And, if you’d been able to, you would’ve given him what he wanted gladly. You would’ve laid out every thought, every feeling, every factor that left you stranded in his care. But you couldn’t. You wanted to, but every time you opened your mouth, you just—
You couldn’t.
You shrank into yourself, dropping your eyes to the sheets. “I… I’d rather not talk about that, right now.”
“I see.” Immediately, the softness in his voice was gone, replaced by cool professionalism and the slightest trace of disappointment. He stood, starting for the door. “I suppose we’ll see how you’re feeling in the—”
You acted on reflex — lashing out and catching his wrist. To his credit, Harper didn’t flinch. He didn’t even seem all that surprised.
“Can you stay?” The question was a slurred rush, too embarrassing to properly separate into distinct words. “I mean, just for a few minutes. I don’t want to— I can’t—” You forced yourself to pause, to breathe. “I don’t know if I should be alone, right now.”
Harper regarded you for a long moment. In the darkness, he was more shadow than not. A stock silhouette in place of anything more recognizable, anything more welcoming. “You understand that I’m not on duty.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“And I really ought to be using this time to tend to personal needs. For my patients’ sake as well as my own.”
“Right. Of course.”
“Then again, if there was some way you could help me…” He trailed off, clicking his tongue. “I might be able to make an exception.”
Your mind was a blank expanse. You knew he was alluding to something, but you couldn’t begin to guess what.
“Help with… paperwork?”
A breath of a laugh, thin and sardonic. His eyes fell to your lips, then his belt. Understanding dawned on you immediately.
A bottomless pit opened up in your stomach. You couldn’t help it. You laughed. “That’s a little unprofessional, doctor. Even for you.”
He shrugged. “It’s perfectly natural. Most practitioners end up leaning on their favorite patients more than they should, in times of stress.”
Again, there was that rush of warmth, that bone-deep satisfaction. The word played over in your head, again and again. Favorite. Favorite. Favorite. Your hands were on his belt by the time you thought of a decent justification. You’d done more for worse men. He wasn’t forcing you, or blackmailing you, or even really pushing. You didn’t want to do this, but you wanted him to stay. You’d do whatever you had to, if it meant not having to spend the rest of the night alone.
You moved swiftly, mechanically. Unbuckle his belt, undo his fly, ease his pants down just far enough to free his cock. He was already hard enough to wrap your hand around. Rather than consider the implication, you decided just to be thankful he’d made your job that much easier.
And, for what it was worth, he had a pretty dick. Longer than average, too thick to be considered lean but not bloated enough to make you massage your jaw on reflex. No prominent veins, thankfully — those had always left your throat sore. The tip was a nice, rosy pink. You might’ve appreciated the color, had you been in a state to appreciate anything.
You made a point not to look at him as you brought your lips to his head. This would be easier if you were clinical about it, so that was what you tried to be. You divided your work into neat, impersonal steps. Lap the flat of your tongue over his tip then take him into your mouth. Wrap your hand around his base and pump. Try (and fail) not to cringe at the taste of his bitter pre-cum. All perfectly doable. All perfectly normal.
You were just starting to bob your head when you felt his palm against the back of your skull, urging you lower, deeper. You obeyed as much as you could — swallowing him down until he hit the back of your throat. Your gag reflex had been trained away years ago, but still, there was only so much you could do to suppress biology. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, a low whine bubbling up from your chest. All to be expected. You were at your limit. Harper was smart. Harper would see that.
Except, he didn’t. He pushed harder, and you felt his cock nudge into your throat. Immediately, you floundered, your hands lashing out to catch his dress pants. You glanced up before you could stop yourself, finding Harper’s face. His expression was impassive, bordering on curios. His lips were curved into a smile, the same one he wore during your appointments, all gentle compassion and tender patience. But his eyes—
It might not have been so bad, had they not been so intently focused on you.
"Breathe, love.” His voice was enough to pull you back into reality. Again, his admission echoed in the back of your mind. Favorite, favorite, favorite. “Almost there, just—”
His hips jutted forward and you choked around him. His cock twitched in response, an airy groan slipping past his lips. You wanted to do this right. You wanted to make him happy, to make him proud of you. Your tongue swirled where it was trapped underneath his shaft, your throat convulsing as you forced yourself to take him that much deeper. You were fully crying, now, tears dripping from your chin onto your thighs. Harper shut his eyes, his nails biting into your scalp. That meant you were doing a good job. That meant you were his—
Cum flooded down your throat, hot and searing. You could feel it moving through your chest, burning a hole in your stomach. Harper didn’t thrust, or jerk, or move in any way. He just held you there — close and safe and loved.
That night, you fell asleep to the feeling of his hands petting over your hair.
Somehow, it wasn’t quite the comfort you thought it would be.
~
For whatever reason, you expected sucking his dick would be enough for Harper to stop asking the only question you wouldn’t answer.
It was not.
You were exposed to all of his tried-and-true methods, first. Writing in private journals that he always found an excuse to read, reacting to increasingly bizarre prompts all vaguely reminiscent to your life outside of the asylum, answering prying questions for hours after your session was supposed to end. Eventually, Harper got frustrated. He scowled more often, spoke to you more coldly, withheld praise he used to dull out like medication. Then, when you failed to meet his agitation with compliance, he got creative.
“I wanted to try something new, today.”
Your heart dropped into your stomach. You had to fight not to bolt from the chaise lounge you were currently laid across. You understood why you couldn’t see him in his personal office for your actual appointments, but awareness did little to endear you to the counseling room. It was too big. The lights were too bright. You always seemed to be freezing.
“Do I get to say no?”
He laughed and stood, neglecting to answer.
You focused on the ceiling. You could hear him approaching you, feel his shadow block the light. The cushion below you dipped as he propped a knee next to your hip. “It’s called recovered-memory therapy, with the added help of tactile stimuli.”
“Tactile stimuli…” You blinked slowly. “Like a therapy dog?”
“Close, dear.” You weren’t looking at him, but you didn’t have to. His smile was more than audible. “Can you roll over for me?”
You couldn’t. You didn’t want to. You started to sit up, but Harper only took it as a sign that further assistance was needed. He caught you by the waist, turning you over and forcing your stomach flat against the lounge. Your breathing picked up, teetering on the edge of hyperventilation. You did your best to wrangle it back to a steady pace.
“This was the position you described in your dreams, yes?” He straddled your thighs. His chest pressed into your back, too close. Too warm. “How did you say your attacker was touching you, again?”
You hadn’t. You wouldn’t. But Harper sighed and frowned and looked so, so disappointed and you couldn’t stop yourself, the words spilling out before you had a chance to patch the leak. “They were holding my— my neck, and their hand was on my— my—”
“Right. Of course.” His hand fell to your hip, then hesitated. “If you’d feel more comfortable touching yourself, I’d understand. If not…”
You shook your head vehemently. You would do whatever you had to so long as it meant he wouldn’t put his hands on you. You couldn’t take that. Not again.
He helped you onto your knees. Slowly, mechanically, you worked a hand between your thighs and began to rub circles into your clit through the thin material of your uniform. The action was without sensation. You might as well have been brushing your teeth.
He rested a hand on the back of your neck. He wasn’t cruel enough to choke you, but he wasn’t kind enough to give you space, either. “Good. Very good. Now, tell me about the day you realized you needed my help. Start from the beginning.”
It felt as if you’d swallowed a needle. You did your best to speak around the obstruction. “I was— I had to visit you. Something happened at school, but that’s not important. You gave me a shot, and it made my head a little fuzzy, so you left me—” Your wrist slipped, and you applied a little more friction than you meant to. Something dull and electric ran up your spine — just strong enough to be mistaken for pleasure. “So you left me alone to wait it out. Just for a few minutes. You said you’d be back in a few minutes.”
“And I was.” He knew this part as well as you did. This retelling was not for his sake. “But, what got to you first?”
“A nurse, I think.” Someone in a uniform. Someone who worked at the hospital. Someone who meant to do you harm. “I don’t know. I can’t remember his face. I just— I was on the ground, and he was holding this— this thing up to my neck, and he must’ve gotten me because—”
Your voice hitched. Harper bowed his head, pressing his lips into your temple. “It’s alright. You’re safe, here. You can tell me anything.”
It would’ve been easier to believe that if he hadn’t literally been pinning you down.
“I don’t know what happened,” you said, sincerely. “I blacked out. When I woke up, the body was gone, the cops were there, and I was covered in blood.”
“A psychotic break.” He’d never sounded so pleased. “Do you know what that means?”
You shook your head. You didn’t want to know, either, but he told you anyway.
“It means that you need much, much more care than we initially anticipated.”
You tried to pull away, to go slack, but his hand slipped between your thighs, cupping your own. He pressed your middle and ring fingers into your clit, guiding you into an awkward, vertical motion. You let out a distressed whine, squirming underneath him. “But— We’re fin—”
“I know.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. “This is a reward. You did so well.”
You wanted to argue, but he applied more pressure and suddenly, you were too busy melting underneath him to do much of anything.
It was humiliating — how quickly you came. You hadn’t been touched in months. You were sensitive, and deprived, and so, so afraid. Harper hummed as you jerked and twitched underneath him, only letting go of your hand once the last of your spasms had died out and you were no more fun to play with than a toy after its batteries had been drained. Even then, he held you there, his grin biting into your cheek.
Your nightmares were immediately forgotten. Whatever landed you here in the first place, no more than a distant concern.
You had to get out.
~
Surprisingly, as your release date approached, Harper retreated. He reverted back to the way he’d always been — calm, collected, careful not to push the boundaries of your patient-doctor relationship. Sometimes, you’d wake up to his silhouette in your doorway, but there were no more late-night requests, no more innovative new strategies to your care. When you began to skip your appointments with him, he didn’t say anything. When you stopped coming to his office in your downtime, his only response was to give you a wide berth, in return.
On the morning of your release, he came to fetch you himself. You were already wearing — had been since the night you before — the sundress you’d arrived in. It fit poorly, which made sense. It’d been months. Hospital food and a largely sedentary lifestyle meant your body had changed, lost definition, gained new curves. Still, you felt safer in the remnants of your old life, your real life, than you ever had in your stale uniform. Harper regarded with narrow eyes and a pleasant smile before turning on his heel and signaling for you to follow.
You expected to be taken to the front gates. That was how you saw the other patients leaving, as rare as it was for the asylum to actually let one of its patients go. Instead, Harper led you down the familiar route to his office, pausing outside the shut door. '“You know,” he started, slowly, adjusting his glasses. “I do mourn that our time together has ended so quickly.”
You forced yourself to shrink, to simper. “I’m sorry, doctor.”
“There’s no need to apologize. It’s really very selfish of me.” And then, leaning down, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial murmur, “Can I tell you a secret?”
You wanted to cover your ears. You wanted to say no. You wanted to run.
You nodded.
“I’m afraid it’s rather selfish, but—” He paused, his grin widening. “No doctor has ever truly wanted to let their favorite patient go.”
Immediately, you relaxed. Honestly, it felt a little silly to have ever been scared at all. What else did you think he was going to say? Of course you were his favorite patient.
He’d always been your favorite doctor.
Without another word, Harper opened the door and ushered you inside. Bailey sat on one end of the well-worn sofa, elbows braced on his knees and mouth twisted into a distinct grimace. You perched on the other end, pulling your legs up and tucking them underneath you. You’d always been so comfortable here, so warm. It was difficult to remember why you’d stopped coming by.
Bailey shot you a frown. “Don’t get comfortable, brat. We’re leaving as soon as the doctor signs your paperwork.”
“About that,” Harper said, leaning against his desk. “I believe my patient has something to say to you.”
You did? Oh, of course you did. How could you be so absent-minded?
“I don’t want to go.”
Your voice was bright and clear. This was the most sure of yourself you’d been in months.
Bailey seemed less convinced. “Run that by me again?
It was hard to imagine how you could’ve been more clear. “I don’t want to leave.”
He looked to Harper. “Get out.”
Harper didn’t move. “Please, Bailey. We’re all friends here.”
Bailey didn’t respond. He held his ground until, with a sigh, Harper rolled his eyes and left the room. Once the two of you were alone, Bailey went on. “Look, kid.” He sounded exasperated, as if this was chore that had already run long. “Whatever he told you, don’t believe it. Harper’s full of shit. Whether it was about new treatments or hallucinations — just forget about it. There’s nothing he can do for you in here that he wouldn’t have already done out there.”
“I don’t want to leave.”
He groaned. “Yes, you do. I didn’t drive my ass all the way out here just for you to—” He broke off, running a hand over his face. “Robin misses you.”
Oh, god.
Robin.
Several things became undeniable at the same time. You didn’t want to leave. You had to go. You hated the asylum. The asylum was good for you. You’d been kept here for months with no progress. Your treatment wasn’t over, yet. Harper was a good doctor. The best doctor. You were so, so scared of him. He hated you. He was bad to you. He hurt you. You were his favorite—
There was no good way to describe the feeling of being suddenly aware that half your thoughts were not your own. It was a little like believing, firmly and undoubtedly, that your head was above water, only to blink and find that you were already drowning.
You took a deep breath. You were fine. You were in control of yourself. You wanted to leave. All you had to do was tell Bailey that. All you had to do was say the only thing you’d been able to think for weeks, now.
“I don’t want to go.”
Your tongue tasted like sulfur. You could feel the blood boiling underneath your skin. You tried again.
“I don’t want to go.”
Bailey sat up. You pressed your thighs together. Again.
“I don’t want to go.”
Again.
“I don’t want to go.”
Again.
“I don’t want to—”
“Alright, kid, I get it.” He gestured dismissively, then called for Harper. “You can come back now, freak.”
Immediately, the door swung open and Harper sauntered across the threshold. His grin was wide and fanged, dripping with fresh venom. “I believe my patient has made the necessity of our work clear.”
“Crystal.” Bailey stood, but hesitated before exiting. He fished something out of his front pocket - a business card for the orphanage, its edges soft and its corners bent. A phone number was printed neatly along the bottom. His office landline.
Wordlessly, he held the card out to you. You stared at it blankly for a second, then another, before reaching up with shaking hands and grabbing his wrist as tightly as you could. Bailey jerked back on reflex, but you held on, letting him drag you to the floor. The business card was gone - no longer a matter of concern. You wouldn’t let go. No matter what happened, you wouldn’t let go. Not until you were home. Not until you were far, far away from Har—
“That’s enough, dear.” Instantly, your body went slack, your hands falling to your sides and your arms going slack. Bailey stumbled back as Harper cocked his head to the side, feigning a pout. “I’m afraid you might have to leave. Your presence seems to be causing quite a bit of agitation.
There was a sneer, the beginning of a snarl, but Bailey caught himself before things went further. With no emotion more apparent than schooled apathy, he turned and left — slamming the office door behind him. Leaving you alone.
Harper let out a low, breathy sigh. “Good riddance,” he said. He bent down, picking up the card Bailey had dropped. His eyes skimmed over it before, with no small amount of delight, tearing into pieces and letting them flutter back to the ground. “Never did like that one. He can be awfully possessive with his toys for a man who casts them into the world so carelessly.” And then, to you, “It’s a good thing that you landed in my care, isn’t it?”
You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The only words you seemed capable of saying were still heavy on your tongue, and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of repeating them again. Harper didn’t seem to mind. With no great urgency, he gathered you up in his arms and set you down on the edge of his desk. Your body, still limp, collapsed against his, but he only laughed and wrapped an arm around your midriff, holding you that much closer to his chest. For lack of an ability to speak your mind, you groaned — the sound throaty and thoroughly miserable. Harper’s smile bit into the side of your skull.
“Something on your mind?”
“I hate you.”
“I thought you might say that. It’s an occupational hazard, you know — something they warn you about in school.” His fingertips skirted up your back, following the curve of your spine. “I hope you appreciate that hatred is something I’m still allowing you to feel.”
Allowing. Like he had total control over you. Like your free will was a privilege you ought to be thankful not to have been stripped of. You thought about shoving him away, but every time you tried to move, your vision blurred and your body grew heavier, as if you were suddenly on the verge of falling asleep. As if you were back on the hospital floor, dead weight on top of you and a needle in your—
The realization was sudden and jagged, as obvious as it was sickening.
“You’re the reason I’m here.”
“Of course.” He made no attempt to deny it. If anything, he sounded a little smug. “It’s clever, isn’t it? Hypnotism is so finicky, and no matter what I do, it always seems to wear off sooner than I’d like. This, though—” He bowed his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. “This works. One injection, a compelling trigger phrase, and you’re as suggestible as a newborn lamb.”
“But— But I hurt someone. All the blood, and the—”
“There was blood, certainly. Compliments of our generous donors. And you worked yourself into such a frenzy, I doubt the powers-that-be would’ve questioned it if I’d asked to have you locked away for the next, oh, twenty-five years?” He paused to chuckle. The sound was thin and airy and cruel. “It lasts, too. You’ll be able to go months between doses. Just think of the applications. No need to break-in cattle, not when two shots a year will have them so wonderfully obedient. And the brothels, Briar’s been complaining about worker retention for—”
You cut him off with a low, warbling sob. You didn’t want to cry in front of Harper. No part of you wanted to give him the satisfaction. You’d managed to hold it in for weeks — through probing and prying and late-night check-ins. But there was something about his tone, so eager to strip away your free will and sell you off to the highest bidder. It was the happiest you’d ever seen him. It was the proudest you’d ever made him.
The dam broke open. Tears streamed down your cheeks, hot and humiliating. You clenched your jaw, grit your teeth, but you couldn’t seem to bite back the pitchy whines and miserable whimpers that bubbled up from some deep, primal cavity. You couldn’t cover your mouth. You couldn’t even raise your hands to try.
Harper’s expression dropped. He pulled back, already cooing, already peppering kisses over your cheeks. “Now, now, there’s really no need for that. You, my dear, are far too precious to give away.” He pulled you into his arms, letting your body slump lifeless against his chest. Rounding the desk, he fell into his chair and arranged you to straddle his lap, a knee on either side of his hips. “What would I ever do without my favorite patient?”
Sudden, searing agony. The room went blurry. Your vision flashed white. You collapsed against him willingly, now, burying your face in his lab coat just to block out the world as it spun around you. Harper sighed, pressing a long kiss into the top of your head. His hands found their way to the back of your sundress. Fabric shifted, a button falling out of place, and you felt the bodice go slack.
“Raise your arms for me, love?”
With all the obedience of a programmed machine, you raised your arms above your head. Your dress pooled at your waist, as limp and as useless as the body that was no longer under your control.
There was no attempt to undress you properly. He worked efficiently, slipping his hand underneath your skirt and cupping your cunt. The pad of his thumb circled your clit once, twice before his interest drifted and he pulled your panties to the side. The insertion was abrupt — bordering on painful. Three fingers at once with minimal prep. You’d had things shoved into you before, often roughly and never with your permission, but you’d never had it done so slowly or with so much care to soak in each little pained sound you offered by way of response.
It would’ve been better, had he been a little more rushed. Unfortunately, even at his most monstrous, Harper was still a man of science. He moved at a languid pace, pumping his wrist lethargically, pausing often to stretch or curl or grind against the walls of your cunt. It should’ve stayed that way — dry and harsh and uncomfortable — but despite the lack of pleasure, you could feel yourself getting wet, hear the slick squelching as he moved inside of you. “So resilient,” Harper praised. “It’s impressive, really. Even trapped, you try to make the best of things.”
Not that he was helping. The heel of his palm came up, grating against your clit. The room suddenly seemed too hot. Your face wouldn’t cool down. You felt sticky all over. How you’d ever taken comfort in this was a mystery. You would’ve preferred to be left out in the cold forever, if it meant not having to bear another second of his warmth.
And your stupid arms were still stuck above your stupid head. You whined, clenching and unclenching your fists, and Harper took pity on you. “Around my neck, now.” And then, when your hands moved to wrap around his throat, “Nicely, please. The way you know you should.”
Glowering, you draped your arms around his neck. The closeness was terrible. The fabric of his dress shirt was coarse against your bare chest. He spread his fingers apart and you lurched into him, attempting to seek shelter in the source of your agony. It was awful, but bearable. You’d survived worse. You’d even come out the other side with your dignity more or less in-tact. You just had to stay calm. You weren’t here. You were somewhere else. You’d left the asylum. You were with Bailey, back at the orphanage. You were going to see—
“It’s alright, dear.” Harper’s voice was a hook, piercing your mind and dragging you back into reality. “You deserve it. You can let go.”
He was so fucking calm. That was the worst part. He was so calm, so put-together, so unaffected, and you weren’t allowed to be. The moment the words left his tongue, your body was on fire. There was no bliss to it. The pleasure was scalding and invasive. The physical symptoms, ungraceful and involuntary. Your mouth fell open, but any sound you might’ve made was cancelled out by your sudden inability to breathe. Your hips rocked against his hand, trying in vain to prolong the intolerable. Your thighs snapped together, pressing into his sides with enough force to make your muscles ache. He watched you all the while, eyes half-lidded and head cocked to the side. The same way he might’ve looked at an especially endearing lab rat, or a patient report that was just a touch more interesting than he’d expected it to be.
Eventually, thankfully, the last embers of your involuntary climax burnt themselves out. You slumped against him — too exhausted to need mind-control as a pretense for your reliance. For a long time, Harper let you stay like that. Unmoving and unthinking. Even that mercy, though, was eventually withdrawn. His hands found their way to your sides, his fingertips massaging circles into your back. You whimpered at the contact, but he only hummed.
Slowly, his touch drifted north. Untangling you from him, he eased you away from his chest. “You didn’t think we were done, did you?” His gaze fell to his belt, lingering for a moment before darting back up to meet yours. “Whenever you’re ready, dear.”
You might’ve laughed, if there had been any part of you left in a state to appreciate the irony.
It was a small kindness that you didn’t have to think about what you were doing. You watched from a measured distance as your hands undid his belt, as a fist mechanically pumped over his cock until he was leaking onto your knuckles. There was no reluctance, no emotion to it, only a dull understanding of the steps that needed to be taken and the awareness that with or without your mind, your body would see the task through. Harper’s hands fell away from you entirely as you shifted onto your knees, aligning the head of his cock with your abused entrance. He leaned back in his seat, putting that much more distance between you and him. Giving himself a better view.
Even if you’d had more control, you doubted you would’ve been more gentle with yourself. You bottomed out in the first stroke, your hips settling against his as his cock filled you to bursting. Adjustment was unnecessary. Discomfort was a part of the treatment, not a symptom of your condition. It didn’t fade as you rocked and ground against him, only sharpening into other, more acidic byproducts. Pain. Overstimulation. Pure and utter loathing.
Harper made no attempt to help. He seemed more than satisfied to let his experiment run its course untampered with. His hands kneaded at the arms of his chair, curling and flexing in-time with your mechanical bouncing. A blistering red spread over his cheeks, although you couldn’t be sure if he was getting off on what you were doing or the fact that you were doing it at all. He was moaning unabashedly — little, breathy, lilting noises that would’ve had you assuming he was the one being tortured. Worst of all, there was this look in his eyes. Not love, not really, but something tangential. Adoration. Fascination.
Sickness.
Sick and desperate. You rolled your hips and he buckled into himself, letting out a rough groan. Immediately, his hands were on your hips, guiding your ministrations, forcing you to move faster, to take him deeper, to somehow bend even further to his whims. You felt him twitch. A moment later, Harper lurched against you, his mouth finding your throat. You could feel his breath, hot and humid, then his drool as he lapped over your skin. It was disgusting. It was horrible. It was—
“Cum,” he ordered, his eloquence lost to pleasure. “Like you want this. Like you love me.”
And you did. Holding him tight, crying his name, making it seem like there wasn’t anywhere in the world you’d rather be. Harper followed shortly — desperate in spite of his composure. There was no attempt made to pull out. He dragged you flush against him, keeping his cock buried inside of you as he came undone, leaving you full and heavy and tainted. Claiming your mind wasn’t enough, apparently. He had to leave his mark on your body, too.
He didn’t let you go, after he finished. Part of you hoped that he would — that you’d be allowed to steal an unsupervised shower and slink off to your cell to sleep away the misery. Instead, he clung to you, draping himself over your rigid body as he panted and trembled. Eventually, he seemed to pull himself together, regaining just enough of his composure to grin and reach for something behind you.
You heard a drawer slide open, metal clack against wood as he removed a long, rectangular box. “…I have something for you,” he started, the words slurring into one another. “I thought I ought to give it to you later on, in a more controlled environment, but—” A pause, a laugh. “I suppose I’ve gotten rather sentimental, haven’t I?”
He placed the box on the arm of his chair and, with a single hand, pulled the lid off. You recognized the contents at a glance. A syringe — its needle infinitely long and the fluid in its barrel an acidic shade of pink. He took it up gingerly, resting his thumb over the trigger and holding it up to the light. You didn’t ask, but he told you anyway. Still playing doctor, even now. “Your current dose should last another month, but I thought it best to re-up now. To ensure that our relationship remains as productive as it has been, so far.”
He brought the needle to your neck, aiming for the patch of skin his mouth had sought out time and time again. You were shaking, in spite of your paralysis. It took everything you had to speak, and even then, you could only manage a few pathetic little words.
𓍼 i think im gonna die in this house…in every room i hear silence.
— ( ᛝ ) your mother had always warned you to stay clear of the red snow, not to follow the crimson trail that bled into the white ice. but never did she warn you that dismissing her words would bring about whispers and creaks in the night. that even if you tried to leave them behind eventually they’d find you again. because cumberland was the one place where remnants of the dead lie planted in the soil like spoiled seeds. she also didn’t warn you that you could meet and fall in love with a stranger— a stranger that held so many secrets at his discretion. a stranger that would leave your life intertwined with the fate of three ghosts. in this tale there is no happy ending, nothing but a story of love, murder, and revenge written in the crimson snow.
kim sunoo x f!reader w.c 35k nais library
(dddne) angst, suggestive, gothic romance. mentions of blood, graphic deaths, murder, suicide, paranormal activity, profanity, sex, spit play, fingering, body worship, cunnilingus, raw sex, biting, scratching, dacryphilia, oral fixation, cherry popping. the portrayal of sunoo is in no way shape or form a reflection of his true self it’s strictly for the purpose of the fic. songs to listen to while reading (only if you want) strangers, house, golden brown, Inbred, sour switchblade , ptolemaea , in ur head , revenge
nais calling ᭪ this fic took so long to write and it feels like I’m giving a part of me away with this omg. I’m so nervous to finally drop this with so many people waiting to read and this being my first Sunoo fic. That aside the movie crimsons peak inspired this one and it’s such a beautiful movie with an amazing concept that i needed to write something inspired by it for Sunoo. its the first time I’ve crept into dark territory in this way and to those that enjoy the more dark or lore heavy works I hope you enjoy this one.
Any normal kids' parents would have usually warned them to steer clear of yellow snow— “Don’t eat the yellow snow” “Stay away from the yellow snow.” But your mother? No she had far worse things to worry about other than a little bit of piss and ice. “Don’t eat the crimson snow that's where the snow bleeds,” she would tell you. You never truly understood, even now at the ripe age of twenty one you don't entirely get it. But you could always recall that one winter you found yourself correcting her, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as you told her, “The other kids said it's yellow snow. That there's no such thing as red snow Mama, because snow can't bleed.”
The next morning against your mother's advice, you followed a trail of the crimson droplets seeping into the snow beneath your feet, only to find your dog dead at the end of it. You cried yourself to sleep for days, until your lips tasted of only tear drops and snot. It took you a week of grieving to finally muster up the energy to bury him. Of course back then you knew no better. You didn't heed the warning she had given you and in the end you were met with trauma and your family dog buried beneath the soil.
Not even three months later you'd make the same mistake, only this time the blood seeped deeper and puddled at your feet as you trudged through the snow. At the end of it there was no animal to be found, not this time— it was your mother. You couldn't remember anything beyond finding her. But your father remembered it all. His own daughter only ten, clothes stained with blood as she held his wife's lifeless body in her arms. Like her mother had been a doll gifted to her on Christmas day. He cried for days, not only for the grief of his wife, but you his only child— only daughter. You barely spoke since that day, no matter how many psychiatrists or therapists he had introduced you to, you remained silent. Like you were void of any thoughts or emotions,it seemed as if you were stuck in a permanent a state of shock.
He thought that maybe it was just the shock of finding your mother dead. Maybe you were afraid, grieving— but what he hadn't known was that while he was the one grieving, your mother had visited you every night.
Almost each night since her death among his cries you could hear the creaking of floorboards as feet dragged against the hardwood. For a moment it would stop and you could hear the twist of a knob and the crackle of wood as your door cracked open. Then the footsteps returned again and they only stopped when the foot of your bed creaked and dipped with the presence of another person. You would shiver under the covers, eyes screwed shut as you whispered silent prayers for whatever it was to go away. And eventually it would, only after whispering that same warning that she had bestowed you with every oncoming winter "stay away from the crimson snow.''
Eventually, you had become so scared of your own home that you started begging your father to let you stay in his sleeping quarters. And for a while it worked. When the snow seeped into the green of the grass and winter turned to spring, she didn't show up again. But then winter would roll back around and you would hear that familiar creak once more. Your father's only solution was to move the two of you as far away from England as possible, and eventually you both found new endeavors in New York City. You thought that once you moved you would be free of it all, free from the nightmares and nightly visits. But of course, you couldn’t have known the secrets your mother held. Nor could you figure why she had kept them from you up until the day you buried her. But god were you wrong about being free, so so wrong.
You were now twenty one, well past the age where you were frightened awake by nightmares or things going bump in the night. Old enough to swallow pills and guzzle down meds that kept away the thoughts you didn't want from creeping in. But that didn't mean you couldn't be startled awake whenever your father sent one of the house caregivers to come knocking on your door.
You spring up in bed, hair pointing every direction it possibly could, drool dried in the corners of your lips— evidence of good sleep.
"Give me a minute Elisse,'' you grumble, eyes half lidded as you only slip back into the covers.
But Elisse knew better—if she gave you one minute it would turn into another hour, and she couldn't have that, not today.
"Madame, your father needs you up now. You do remember what today is?''
Your words freeze on the tip of your tongue, every complaint you were prepared to spew had melted in your mouth and left a foul taste. November eighteenth the day of first frost, and also the official mark of eight days before your mothers death anniversary.
Your father had this big idea to go back home now that you were old enough. To visit your mother at her grave and throw a party in her honor— a celebration of the life she'd once lived. You yourself weren't sure why he felt the need, and you wondered if anyone would even attend— but it turns out when you have money, you could get anyone to attend even the most solemn of celebrations.
Finally, you throw the covers off of you, now fully awake and fully aware of the sunlight creeping in through your curtains. Worry flashes on Elisse's face as she watches you peel open your eyes and slip out of bed without a word.
Elisse was the type to always worry, like a second mother that had found you and your father when you both needed it most. She was a tall Romani woman in her late thirties, golden skin, long black curls that she always kept tidy. Elisse was the kind of woman that knew what was wrong with you before you even spoke it, the kind of woman that knew how to fix everything with a warm cup of tea or hot meal. And when that didn't work she had other ways, Other ways you never understood but they always seemed to work. Sometimes you caught her walking around jangling amulets or more so often she'd nail horseshoes over the doorways that would creak when no one had entered them.
There were often times where you and your father found her stepping over brooms or whispering to herself at odd times of the night. Your father didn't think much of it, he never questioned things like that, but sometimes you got curious. You had ample opportunity to ask her about it but somehow deep down you were afraid of the answers she would give. You were too scared that you already knew why. That if she voiced the words, it would make every fear and traumatic event you had kept buried within your thoughts come flooding back.
Eventually, you did pull yourself out of bed to shower and freshen up for your long journey back to Cumberland, and Elisse slipped from the room to make tea— no breakfast though, you had no time for that.
The sleeves of your dress drape past the stair railings as your fingers trace the freshly clean wood. The smell of newly grown lavender and lemon tickling your nose with each stride— Elisse always made sure there were hints of lavender, lemon and sometimes cinnamon in every room you entered.
You enter the kitchen where she stood on the other side of an island, already slipping over a cup of her infamous tea— the china she served it in so crisp you could see the reflection of the room behind you.
"How do you always know what I need before I even know?'' You ask her, bringing the cup to your nose and inhaling the scent before taking a sip.
She simply laughs, sliding over a half full cup of black coffee and one singular doughnut; not to you, but the empty seat beside you.
"Morning Elisse would you mind-" your father enters the kitchen straightening his vest, his sentence trails off as he finds that she's already made his coffee and his usual doughnut on the side.
"Ah thank you. You always know what I need.'' He flashes her a smile as he takes the mug and the doughnut into his hands, he doesn't even look at you as he turns and heads towards the doorway.
"Three minutes to finish tea, then we have a ship to board.'' He doesn't say it to any specific person but you already know it's meant for you. It was always meant for you.
You didn't know what had become of him lately. These days he spoke less, yet expected more. He always expected you to be on your P's and Q's but barely spared a moment of his time, and he didn't say it but you knew why. You reminded him too much of her—intelligent, independent, curious an extremely self sufficient, and worst of all, you had her face.
He couldn't look at you without seeing a woman that was no longer his to hold, a woman he no longer mourned but somehow her memory still haunted him.
"Everything is packed and at the staircase Madame— extra tea, your medication. All there if you need it. You write to me when the two of you arrive sweetheart.'' She holds your face and you flash her a reassuring smile.
—
Seven days. Seven agonizing days of sea sickness, vertigo and nausea. A boat ride from New York and back to the home you once knew that felt almost torturous. If you hadn't been a proper lady, you'd have kissed the ground beneath you the moment your feet landed on English Soil.
The place was just as you had left it ten years ago, like it had frozen itself in time the moment you had gone. The only differing factor was how lifeless it seemed now that you had been older. The trees lost their leaves, sky stained a dull gray rather than a vibrant blue. When you're younger you see everything in color— the world was at your disposal. But now, at a more mature age in life, those moments felt light years away. You no longer saw the color or warmth in the world as you did then.
"It feels weird being back here.'' you tell your father as you stared out the window of the carriage. He doesn't respond at first, just a simple hum before he finally decides you're worth using his words on.
"You'll get used to it again, I'm sure preparations will keep you busy,'' he reassures— more like advises— you. He says nothing more, just eyes the pocket watch at his waist before returning his attention to the newspaper that sat in his lap.
A sigh spills from your lips but you don't try to talk any further. You don't know why you had expected actual conversation from him, you were slowly starting to get disappointed in yourself for wanting more out of him. It felt like he was keeping you at a distance and you absolutely hated it. Sure, you had Elisse as well, but it didn't make things any less lonesome.
When you were younger it was quite easy to talk to him, you could go to him for anything and he would scare away every monster, kiss away every tear— but since losing your mother, he had only been an empty shell of the man you once knew. There was no love, no tenderness behind his eyes, just an aching for the woman he was once able to hold close and hold like nothing else in the world mattered.
The entire ride back to the manor was silent from then on out, other than the soft swish of pages turning and the clopping of hooves on asphalt. The only entertainment you had was watching the snow fall and melt onto the dewy grass beneath it— just an endless stretch of white that almost looked like a sea of clouds if you squinted hard enough. From the town to the manor it was a two hour travel journey, by the time the two of you had arrived, midday had come.
Along with the snow, mist fell over the entire manor like a dark cloud, making what was meant to be a sunny day appear more gloomy and grayer than anything. The old place was just as you and your father had left it, not a tile or brick out of place. It was almost like it had been sitting there, breathing, living, waiting for you to return one day. Back then, it would have stricken fear into you. Ten-year-old-you would have gathered all of your blankets and slept out in the field if it meant not having to be here. You would have sworn the house itself was alive, watching you, haunting you. But now, as you stepped from the carriage and took it in for the first time in years, it was just a house.
You'd thought that after all this time when you returned you'd find the place tattered and crumbling at every step, but it looked as if it remained frozen in time. A beautiful gothic estate, perpetually cold and ominous, but your mother once said that that was it's charm. The inside matched the exterior quite well, a mix of colors— green walls lined with old family photos, brown marble flooring, a fireplace on the far wall just beneath staircase. The staircase stretched from the entryway to the wall and swirled above the fireplace, and right above it sat a balcony. A balcony that gave you a perfect view of the third level, and a glimpse into the hallway leading to the attic.
Your arrival seemed to give the place an entire new life, floorboards creaking and padded steps echoing in the foyer the moment you enter. The mansion wasn't just settling; it was memorizing your footsteps, timing your breaths, observing the way your eyes scanned each corner of the room to see if you remembered the feelings it invoked. Like a living breathing entity.
What exactly did you feel? Grief, fear, inquisitiveness? You weren't entirely sure what this place made you feel now. Maybe it was because for so long you had forced yourself to suppress the memories, to tell yourself that it all was nothing more than a bad dream. And for a long time, it worked— you'd imagine locking every traumatic part of your life away in an empty box and forget there ever was a key.
Your father stood before you, taking in the place like it were more then just a spirit of the 'past', like it still haunted him now. You reach out to give his shoulder a reassuring pat, but he moves on like he sensed your movement— sensed your sentiment.
"I'll let you get settled, I need to look for the caretaker.'' He tells you, the foyer amplifies his voice before swallowing the sound. You have no time to answer before he is already heading further into the house.
Pulling your hand back you clear your throat and dust off your dress before slipping into the kitchen. The kitchen was a very expansive area, white tiled walls and cold marble floors, almost asylum like. Most of the space being taken up by an old wooden dining table in the middle of the floor. A table meant to seat ten, which you never understood because back then there were only three of you. Pots and pans aligned the wall nearest the window, all tattered and dented—stained by time. Everything had been put away nicely, and the place had been oddly clean. Work of the caretaker you presumed, whoever that was.
Eventually you stroll out of the kitchen, your feet moving you to various places in the house, the great hall, the library, a conglomerate of rooms all at your disposal. Many rooms remained locked and or empty but you glide in and out of every one like they were your right passage, and when boredom crept in, you slipped from the study and back down the empty hallway.
When you were younger these hallways felt like they stretched on for miles. Tight half lit corridors, with matte wood frames and old butterfly wallpaper that was slightly peeling on the walls. They used to feel so menacing at night, like they would close in and swallow you whole at any moment, but they were the only thing that connected your room to your fathers. A smile curls onto your lips at the memory of all those nights you'd run through them as if your life depended on it— all so you could run and cry to your father about 'monsters' under your bed.
You pass through the foyer again, a lighthearted laugh spilling from your lips at your own naivety. Into the old lift you go. It creaks with the wake of disturbed rust as you pull it open and slam it shut. It hums to life and trembles as it takes you up— like bones rattling and joints cracking as you stretch out your limbs for the first time.
It stops at the second floor with a loud clank and you shove the door open again, this time stepping out. The floorboards groan beneath your feet and there's something oddly erotic about it— like it was claiming you all over again but this time in ways you wouldn't forget. The second floor was unlike the first, it felt eerier. It was no longer the kind of quiet that gave you serenity. This felt melancholic, bitter, charged with an energy you couldn't quite put your finger on.
Nonetheless, you move forward, the fabric of your dress flowing behind you as your steps became more hurried. You pause as you reach a tall double door-ed room, letting out a big exhale as you shove the doors open.
Your eyes conveyed so many different emotions in that moment, none of which you could explain with words alone. This room once held so many memories, most of them good but many you wanted to ignore as well. It was a spacious room, way too much room for a child your age back then. Mostly empty now other than a few chairs and the large bed that sat in the middle. It was beautifully exquisite. So why was it that the moment you stepped inside you felt like the walls would all close in on you? But it didn't. The walls held their breath and waited.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?,'' A voice lite and sweet, calls out from behind you, startling you and making you knock over an empty vase.
"For heavens sake!'' you scream, covering your mouth after your own outburst.
"Shit, my apologies,'' he apologizes, quickly rushing over to your side to assist you in collecting the shards, But of course he had reacted only a few seconds late and you were alarmingly clumsy. You immediately jerk back with a hiss, dropping all the shards you had collected when you cut your finger.
"I'll take care out it, you should run some cold water on that in the bathroom,'' he suggests, leaning down to take the shards into a handkerchief he pulls from his vest. You don't move immediately, you're too busy adorning him. The way his blonde locks fell in front of his face, how his eyebrows furrowed as he searched the floor to make sure he got every piece.
He spots you staring but he just assumes that it was because you hadn't known where the bathroom was. "It's right through there.'' He points to the open doorway behind you and you finally realize you hadn't yet moved.
"I know, this was my room,'' you tell him, finally turning towards the bathroom and heading straight for the sink.
There was a moment of recognition in his gaze before he flashes you a smile, it was mesmerizing.
You had never been the type to fawn over a man— in fact you were the type that would rather die lonely than ever rely solely on men— but he was absolutely breathtaking. He gave you the kind of smile that made butterflies swarm the pits of your stomach and make it home.
"You must be be with Mr. Sharpe, you're here for Mrs. Sharpe celebratory ball?'' He places the shards onto a small reading table, making sure to wrap them nicely to avoid losing any pieces.
"My mother's.'' you correct him.
For a moment his expression changes as if it had only clicked to him then that you were the daughter of the Sharpe's and owner of this house.
"Yn..right?'' Your name fell from his lips like silk, like he had said it a thousand times before but only now had been the first."Mr. Sharpe's daughter, I'm sorry he didn't tell me that you would be joining. If I had known then I would have tended to your room more diligently.''
"It is alright, I'm not sure what more you could have done to the place. It's already neat and perfectly refined so...'' Your voice trails off, the only sound that fills the room is the soft swish of water running on the fresh cut. Neither of you said a word, you were more focused on cleaning your wound while he stared at you as if you were a spectacle for the eyes to behold.
"I'm sorry I haven't yet introduced myself.'' He finally seems to come to his senses, flashing you a sweet smile."Kim Sunoo, the caretaker of Sharpe manor."
"Caretaker? You stay in this place alone?'' He watches the way your eyes widen in disbelief, like you couldn't fathom anyone wanting to stay in this place alone with the quiet.
He chuckles as he takes the fabric clasped shards into his hand. "It's not bad you know, the house itself is huge to live in for just one person but manageable.''
Of course that wasn't what you meant, you knew very well that the house could be managed alone— you'd watched your father do it for two years before you moved away. You couldn't grasp the idea of living here alone with the creaks in the night, soft whispers that slip into your ears like ghosts haunting your very thoughts. Maybe your father and psychiatrist had been right? maybe it had been all in your head and there truly was nothing wrong with this place. Maybe every ghostly visit that you had back then was just the affect of losing your mother.
"If it isn't too impolite, might I ask when did you start working here for my father?''
He chuckles nodding towards the door as if he was asking you to join him for a walk. For a moment you were hesitant but curiosity always trumped caution.
"I moved here nine years ago, during late winter three months after you and your father left.''
"Three- correct me if I'm wrong but by then that would have made you thirteen or twelve, you don't look any older than twenty three.''
"I was thirteen.'' He confirms, and for a second you could have sworn you saw his gaze flicker to a memory painful and long gone but it was only a mere second of change. A look that could have been imagined just from a blink.
"I moved here with my parents, but they died a few years ago leaving me to look after the place alone. It was hard at first, but after I got past the initial grief it became easier to take care of the place.'' He continues on, even as the two of you step into the elevator and start your descent to the ground floor.
"I'm sorry for your loss,'' you apologize, a heavy feeling making your chest tighten and swell with something unspoken. A silent understanding of what it was like to lose a parent.
He didn't say a word, not even a nod in your direction as the two of you planted yourselves in the kitchen. The room itself felt heavy with unspoken words and heavy presences that didn't even feel like your own. The sound of broken glass sliding down a garbage shoot interrupts the cumbersome silence. Like enticing words from the walls themselves that watched quietly and held their breath.
"We should look at that cut.'' He finally speaks, interrupting the quiet as he grabs a bag from an overhead cabinet and entices you to sit at the dining table. A cut you had long forgotten about with the oncoming silence.
"Oh-" You finally look down at your palm as if remembering the searing pain that had pierced your skin only moments ago."I'm sure that it's fine-''
"I insist," he cuts you off, giving no chance to finish.His gaze holds yours as if he were pleading to take care of you with his eyes alone. You open your mouth to tell him that you're fine but the words won't come out- like his gaze held you captive forcing you to swallow them and agree.
The two of you don't exchange any words as you sit at the table and he tends to the cut. Soft dabs to make sure it's fully clean before he lines it with wet tea leaves. You weren't sure what the tea leaves did, but you didn't bother asking. You didn't want this moment t slip away from you. You watched him as he took care of you— the way his eyelashes fluttered as he focused, the soft breaths he exhaled, the way he pursed his lips or poked them out when he got too focused.
You open your mouth to say something but the moment is stolen away as your father enters the kitchen.
"Ah, there you are.'' You immediately jump from your seat at the sound of his voice, Sunoo on the other hand remains seated. He didn't flash a smile to your father like he had done with you. he just pushes up from the seat with a sound that was unmistakably a sigh.
"I feel like I searched the entire place looking for you.'' You were prepared to tell him that you had been in your room for most of the time, only he wasn't talking to you.
"I see you've met my daughter.'' He adds, making your mouth fall closed, your face heating up in slight embarrassment for thinking that he had been talking to you— of course he wasn't.
To your surprise, your father comes around to your side of the table and places a protective— more like possessive— arm around your shoulder. There's evident shock written on your face as you look up at him. He didn't spare you a glance nor did he even acknowledge you. It was like he was putting on a show— perfect father, perfect daughter.
Sunoo gives a slow nod, a smile slowly but surely curling onto his lips. "Right, it's nice to finally meet you in person Mr. Sharpe, you and your daughter. The letters do no justice to how breathtaking she is in person.''
Your head immediately snaps in his direction, his smile doesn't falter even as your father's smile twitches slightly.
"I'll leave you both to get settled, I know you must both be tired from your journey and you have a lot to do tomorrow.'' Sunoo gives a polite nod, his gaze lingering on you for a second before he excuses himself from the kitchen.
Your father's arm immediately slips from around your shoulder. "Get unpacked before tonight, there are seamstress on their way to get you fitted for tomorrows celebration. Your mother would want you to look your best.'' The words linger as you're left alone in the kitchen.
'Your mother would want you to look your best.' The words were almost comical to you. Your mother had never cared about public appearances or perfection, she cared only if her child was happy and smiling. Of course she had many moments of rambling, things even you couldn't understand, but she had never cared for images. Your father on the other hand, had always been obsessed with public opinion— perfect wife, perfect daughter, perfect home, perfect family. You thought that it had ended with the death of your mother, that he would change and realize his family was more valuable. But even now, even this gathering, had all been for the public.
You look down at your palm, the cut already having closed and starting to scar. You couldn't understand why a man you had met only now tended to you with more care than your father had, but you found yourself feeling comfort at the though of him being around.
You brush your thumb over the scar, the edges of your lips curling upward into a slight smile before you finally exit the kitchen.
The walk back to your room was silent but full of this swelling in your chest that you couldn't entirely pinpoint but you knew the feeling led back to him.
Time seemed to past by with an effortless quickness, and before you knew it you stood in front of a mirror— hands groping and probing your body with a polite professionalism. Usually you would enjoy something like this, a new dress to add to your collection, but for so many reasons this felt suffocating.
Corset pulled so tight you were sure it had cut off your air supply until you felt yourself breathing. Everything had been moving so fast since you arrived it felt like you had no chance to ground yourself.
"Madame, please suck in," the seamstress instructs.
"Ingrid, I'm sure if I suck in any more I just might pop.'' She laughs, and it sounds so contagious that you finally let your guard down enough to laugh with her.
Your laugh is cut short as you catch a glimpse of someone in the mirror behind you. Sunoo stood there drinking you in like you were fine wine meant to be savored, but the moment you turn around he no longer stands there. He had come and go just like the ghost of someone that you had wanted to be standing there. For a moment your eyes scan the doorway as if you had been expecting him to walk in any second, but he never did. Finally you turn back towards the mirror.
"Are you alright Miss?" Ingrid inquires, a look of worry flashes on her face.
"I'm alright. I thought I saw my father pass by.'' You lie, so quickly that even you were shocked with how swiftly you had told a fib. Why did you lie? It wasn't like they would stone you for looking at an unmarried man, especially when you yourself were unmarried. You shake it off, returning your attention back to the task at hand, but every now and then your gaze still lingered on the reflection behind you.
Later, that night when it was all done you sank into the bath tub- the warmth of the water completely engulfs you and you felt every stress and trouble slip away. The night was completely silent, other than the sloshing of water and leaves rustling with the wind outside of the window. It felt peaceful, still, like the house was fast asleep—no creaking or padded steps when no one was walking, just you and the silence.
After what felt like an hour of calm silence, you step from the tub and into your nightgown to turn in for the night. You were fully ready to slip into bed and get cozy, but the moment your eyes closed you heard the soft hum of music
You tried to ignore it and tell yourself that maybe you had imagined it, you hadn't even seen a piano here. But minutes slipped past with the sound of music and it became hard to ignore. With finality you slip out of bed, picking up the candelabra at your bed side and using it to light your way as you exit the room.
You quietly followed the sound, the floorboards shriek beneath your feet as you tried your best to tiptoe through the hallway. The sound heightened as you grew closer to the foyer and your eyes immediately fall upon the balcony above you— it was coming from the attic.
You enter the lift, it creaks and screeches as you close it shut, trying your best to be silent and time your movements with the sound of music. It takes you up, crackling with each turn of a gear, until finally you make it to the third floor. As you make your way down the hall the only light that shines is the candlelight from your candelabra. The piano crescendos the closer you inch towards the attic door and eventually, as you peek through the crack of the open door, it ceases.
You're looking at the back of a figure, sat slumped over with his head in his hands. He looks at the sheet sat in front of him before slamming his hands on the keys. He played with an unresolved anger and another emotion you couldn't quite put your finger on but it made everything about it mesmerizing. You held your breath as you watched him , like watching a prodigy at work. He plays until every note reaches it's peak and then the sound falls as he comes to a stop once again.
But this time, it isn't out of frustration. "I can feel you peeking, Miss,'' his song is hauntingly quiet as he speaks. You feel your heart leap out of your chest as he calls you out, because who else could he have possibly been talking to other than you. He doesn't say anything else but he does shift over on the bench, like he was leaving space for you to join him without asking.
The door creaks as you push it open and step inside, putting your candle light on a table full of other trinkets and old music sheets. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop...''
"It's alright.'' He chuckles as his fingers dance across the keys, playing a softer melody than he had before he realized you were standing there. "Did I wake you Miss?''
"I was only just slipping into bed when I heard the music,'' you respond, scanning the room and taking in all the clutter— things that felt more like placeholders and ancient artifacts than things once held dear by a loving family. "And you don't have to call me Miss. You can use my name Sunoo.''
For a moment he stopped playing, his fingers pausing on the keys as his name spilled past your lips like lyrics to a song, like a harmony to the melody he played on every key.
"Your father doesn't seem to see that appropriate,'' he responds, and your brows crease in confusion.
"My father? What does he have to do with anything?'' Silence, your question is met with his quiet, "did he say something to you?''
He doesn't answer, but his silence is an answer all on its own.
"Sunoo, my father himself doesn't even speak to me, I can't have you not speak to me too, it feels lonely enough.'' the words spilled from your mouth before you could even realize they had.
He stops playing, finally turning to look at you for the first time, but still he says nothing. he just looks at you as if he were searching for something— searching for answers. "What's your favorite song?'' He asks, your eyebrows crease in confusion but you answer nonetheless.
"A bird in a gilded cage, Steve-''
"Steve Porter,'' he finishes your sentence ahead of you before nodding to the space beside him. "Sit.''
You stare at him for a moment before finally joining him on the bench. No more words are spoken after that he simply plays like the keys alone were meant to say everything he didn't. You stayed up for hours just watching him play, until the moon slipped past the horizon and sunlight peaked through the attic curtains. When the two of you noticed it had gotten so late you eventually slipped out of the attic and took the lift back down to your floor. Despite knowing you would be tired for the oncoming events, you couldn't get yourself to regret staying up with him. For the first time in years you felt seen.
That was the first time in a long time that you had slept sound, without the help of tea or medication to ease your mind.
The next morning you woke to the manor bustling with busy people,chefs, caterers, event planners, and stylists— all to make sure that the manor was in top shape for tonight's ball. All you wanted was a normal morning and a cup of tea, but today was not like most mornings when you would wake and find Elisse already having it made for you.
With a sigh you slip under a long table being moved to god knows where by a group of movers, past a group of women looking at the color details of the foyer, and into the kitchen.
Now the kitchen was just chaotic, bodies moving frantically, scattered dinner plans all over the table— but unlike the foyer, this chaos was more organized. You quickly make your tea, ducking and dodging all of the movement in the kitchen and eventually slipping out all together.
With a relieved sigh, you find your peace as you finally step outside. The cold immediately tickles your nose and makes your breath visible, but it's better than being trapped in a home that felt suffocating.
You pay no mind as you hear the door open and click shut behind you—until you felt warmth envelope you as you're engulfed by someones coat. Moments after, you hear them speak.
"I saw you step out without one, I figured you would need it if you're going to be out here in this.'' He says, eyeing your nightgown with an amused grin on his lips.
You wanted to scoff, to say something back but you were far too engulfed in the smell of his coat. The smell of fresh powder with hints of citrus and iris— a combination you would find odd together but he somehow made it work. It wafts beneath your nose, drawing you in like a smell of freshly warmed cotton.
"Are you meant to be my knight in shining armor?'' You joke, a smile on your lips as you bring your mug to your lips.
"Not a knight, but if you're in need of one I see no trouble in playing such a role," he responds, as if it's the most natural thing. You weren't sure if it was his natural way of speaking or if it was some form of flirtation, but nonetheless it made your heart skip.
"Will you come to my aid when I'm in need of someone then, Sunoo?'' You ask him, there was a shimmer of something unsure in his gaze, like something troubled him, but he only flashes a smile.
"If that's your wish, Miss.'' You look at him, your eyes searching his own as he looked at you. The moment felt frozen with the cold, still with an unspoken yearning. You weren't sure if he felt it too, but to you it was unmistakable there.
"Ah, there you are.'' The sound of the door swinging open interrupts the moment. Your father's smile drops for a second as he looks between you and Sunoo, but seconds later he composes himself.
"I've been looking for you. Ingrid and the other ladies are waiting to get you into your dress. Come along, the guest will be arriving soon. And you need to be ready.'' You sigh, thanking Sunoo for the momentary escape. You strip yourself of his coat and put it in his hand. You're walking past your father and into the house in seconds, missing the exchanged glances between the two of them.
The moment the door closes something in Sunoo's demeanor shifts, his eyes turn cold as he looks down at the jacket in hand, still warm from the heat of your body.
"Why were you out there in your night gown? And alone with the caretaker?'' Your father questions, following you up the staircase.
"His name is Sunoo Father, and he was only keeping me company while I stepped out. This place just feels suffocating.'' You didn't know why you were explaining yourself, after all you were a grown woman. But you felt the need to correct your father's attitude towards him.
"Sunoo? You call him by name like the two of you have made friends?'' He responds, a hint of anger laced in his tone.
"Well he is my age, I see no reason why he and I cannot communicate— we're both adults and it isn't like anyone else is here to keep me company.''
"Do not get too close with that boy, he's not like us and I won't allow it to go any further. Do you understand Yn?''
You force yourself to choke back your words, the previous light from moments ago having died in your eyes as you give him a curt nod. "If that is what you want.'' You don't say another word after that, just slip into your bedroom where Ingrid and the others waited to get you stripped and changed into your dress.
After that you didn't see Sunoo, even as guests flooded in and each of them greeted you with a smile. You tried your best to smile and thank them each for coming but every now and then your eyes just drifted to the entryway of the ballroom, like you were waiting to see him.
"Yn you've been busy tonight, if I didn't know any better i would infer you were avoiding me.'' Your father approaches you where you stand, talking to a group of women who couldn't care less about your dead mother. They were here because they knew your father was wealthy and that if they got you to like them it would make it far easier to get him in their clutches.
Of course he doesn't approach you alone this time, at his side is a tall and slender man. His hair falls perfectly on his face, framing it just right in a way that left just enough mystery to draw you in. There was no ignoring the simple fact that he himself was absolutely breathtaking. The kind of man you would read about in old gothic romance novels, or dream about falling in love with.
"I'd like you to meet Mr. Nishimura. He and his family flew in from Japan this morning, they're new partners of the law firm." Riki gives you a curt nod, you see his eyes search yours for a moment, but the way his gaze lingers doesn't feel the same as a certain someones.
"Yn, it's nice to meet you.''
"Riki, just call me Riki.'' He finally speaks, his voice takes you by surprise and you'd admit that if you didn't have your eyes set on someone else it'd have made your heart flutter.
"I'll leave you two alone to get to know one another.'' You knew what he was doing, it was what he had always done when someone he wanted to partner up with had a son or even a daughter. He was using you as his trump card, his pawn.
"I'm sorry if he interrupted your evening and pulled you over here.'' You apologize, giving him a polite bow that makes a smile curl onto his lips.
"I take it he's done this before, that I'm not the only one?'' His tone is half jokingly, like it was meant to put you at ease and help you feel more comfortable around him.
"What gave it away?" You tilt your head, flashing him a smile that made him take in every feature on your face with a new resolve.
"When you grow up in a family like mine, it becomes easier to pick up on who only desire to use you. Unlike the other women my family has tried to make arrangements with, you don't seem too interested in me."
"I see, were you expecting me to swoon for you then, Mr. Nishimura?'' You respond, a hint of amusement in your tone. He chuckles and you can't help but laugh along with him
"It's refreshing," He nods, his gaze moving over to your father who had been eyeing the two of you from across the room with the biggest smile.
"Should we put on a show?'' You ask him, both your gazes still on your father who had slowly been making his way over to who you assumed to be Riki's parents. He turns to you brows curved out of interest and pure amusement for whatever plan it was that had the gears in your head turning.
"Bow.'' you whisper, just loud enough for knot him to hear.
"So you like princess treatment?'' He jokes, and you flash him a look that makes him smile at you. Seconds later he bows and you return his bow with one of your own.
"Now hold out your arm," you whisper as you come back up, and he immediately falls into the act, seeming to have picked up on the premise of the idea.
He holds out his arm and you place yours on top, you pass the chattering bodies and make your way to the dance floor where others had already been dancing.
"Try not to step on my toes,'' he teases.
"How about you try and keep up with me," you fire back, and he can't help but laugh.
The music starts as quickly as the last song ends and you're moving around the dance floor with quick and precise movements. You only catch a quick glimpse of him but you can see your father's proud smile as you and Riki make your rounds on around the marble floor. Every step is swift and efficient like he had done it time and time again. Like he knew every step before you made it.
Your dance lasted for what felt like hours— all to put on a show for your parents who couldn't care less if there was chemistry between the two of you or not. Nonetheless, this little performance of yours got a couple heads turning and both your parents seemed to be satisfied.
When the music stopped and you both pull away there was no shared glances or feelings there. Just an emptiness of two people alike wanting to do what they were so used to doing for the sake of their parents.
"Do you mind if I cut in?'' You weren't sure when he had entered, maybe you were too distracted with your little showcase to realize, but now he stood in front of you both, his hand held out like he wasn't just asking for your hand— he was demanding it.
"Sunoo?''
"Sorry to cut it short if the two of you were having a moment," he apologizes this time, his hand still held out like he was leaving no room for refusal.
Riki glances between the two of you as if he were sensing some sort of unspoken feelings there, then he leans in close to your ear."Good luck with your father.'' He pulls back with a smile and places your hand into Sunoos. "She's all yours.''
You catch a glimpse of your father's face as Sunoo takes your hand, silently disapproving . Sunoo seems to pay him no mind, just slips one hand around your waist and pulls you close to him, leaving no space between your heart and his.
"Sunoo, what are you doing?"
He interrupts your question with a soft whisper in your ear, his breath lingering on your neck like the ghost of a kiss. "You looked breathtaking dancing with him, but how about putting on a show with me?''
In that moment your breathe catches in your throat and you can't bring yourself to form any words.
"Just one nod sweetheart, you don't even have to use words. Say you'll waltz with me?''
And you oblige, driven only by the feeling of your chest against his, two heartbeats aligned— in sync, like they were one.
To your confusion he drops your hand, the moment feeling distant as he walks away and returns with a singular candle.
"A candle?" Your gaze lingers on the candle for a moment before they find his eyes that were already on you.
"Don't question it, just dance with me. If the fire dies then I'll take it as a promise that you'll waltz with me again." Again his closes the space between the two of you, one hand clasped around yours that now held the candle while the other rested on the small of your back. It was a touch that felt naturally intimate, left goosebumps in it's wake.
All eyes seemed to fall upon the two of you, the candle pulling all eyes in the direction of you and him. The music started but slowly began to fade in your ears as the two of you danced. Different to Riki this felt more personal, more natural. It felt like flying among the clouds— movements so swift that you felt weightless in his arms.
His gaze never broke away from yours, even with all the times the candle flickered as if it had died and sparked back to life. From an outside view you both looked mesmerizing. Moving around the dance floor as if you owned it without a care for anyone that stood there watching. Your father was the only one that stood there unimpressed.
Slowly the music died down and along with it the light of the candle as he spun you to a stop. For a moment neither of you shared any words, but that was that shared heaviness of everything that this dance symbolized.
"Looks like you owe me another dance, Miss Sharpe.'' For a brief second his gaze falls to your lips, but instead of molding them with his own he takes a step back and gives a polite bow— one that signified the end of this moment with him.
Even as he walked away and other couples began to flood the dance floor once more, your eyes followed him. The air around you held it's breath, only exhaling when a hand pressed against your shoulder. You were snapped back to reality when Riki finally spoke, and for a moment your gaze lingers on the doors that he had just left before falling on Riki.
The rest of the night seemed to pass by like a blur of memories all mushed together. Laughing and smiling with Riki for the most part, slow sips of wine and drinks that made the entire night feel like a dream. Even the speech that your father gave in honor of your mother had fallen on deaf ears at some point.
After that, he didn't talk to you. Even as everyone had gone and the house silenced and stilled, he didn't speak. like he had no words for his disobedient daughter that had gone against his word.
That night, you found it hard to sleep, you weren't sure if it was the moment shared with Sunoo or the alcohol that made the concept of sleep so hard to grasp, but it was agonizing. You told yourself to close your eyes and imagine leaves flowing down a river— a method your mother taught you when you were younger. You let out a deep breath as you lie down, flat on your back and tried your best to envision it.
For a short moment you were falling, your breathing slowed and you were lulling off until you heard the creak of a floorboard. You told yourself that it was probably your father or Sunoo going to the kitchen for a drink or something, but it slowly started to sound too close for comfort.
Your eyes immediately open at the sound of a knob jiggling, your body now on high alert as you saw it twist then cease the moment you set eyes on it. That old feeling was starting to creep in, that feeling of not being alone— of a presence that wasn't entire living nor dead.
The jiggling of the knob eventually stopped and the room was quiet. You felt your breath catch in your throat. It was like you were waiting for something you weren't even sure was entirely real. The jiggling started again, eventually ending with a click of the lock and a creak as it was pushed open.
You couldn't look, couldn't face whatever it was because then that made it all too real, that meant facing that the ghosts you saw weren't just manifestations of your grief.
You slip beneath the covers, engulfing yourself in the safety of the sheets, whispering silent prayers as you felt the bed dip and creak with the presence of someone— or something, else.
Then you heard it, the rasp of a voice, like someone speaking with something caught or lodged into their throat. The words first came out like a violent hiss. "the red sssnow, red sssnow.''
Your hands immediately shoot to your ears, you didn't care what was there, you didn't want to see it or hear it. Why tonight of all nights? On a day that was already painful enough to remember without ghosts of your pasts following you. No matter how hard you tried to drown it out, the voice just sounded louder and louder in your ears.
"Leave me alone...'' The words fell from your lips like a whisper, like you weren't even confident they would work. You repeated them over and over until you had convinced yourself that you were brave enough to face whatever it was.
"I said leave me alone!'' You yell, yanking the covers off of your head, but when you finally open your eyes there was nothing there.
Maybe you were just drunk— maybe even crazy or schizophrenic, you didn't know— but anything was better than admitting that the things you saw were truly real.
After that night, you started finding it harder to fall asleep. Two nights passed of staring at the door knob waiting for it to twist and open with the arrival of something else, but it never did.
Tonight had been no different, unable to sleep or convince yourself that what you saw was just a drunken hallucination, you find yourself wandering the halls until you make it to the Athenaeum.
You slip in with a sigh, your robe trailing across the floor behind you as it hangs loosely on your arms. You flip a switch and the room flickers to life with the light of the overhead lanterns. You look to the first row of books you find, eyes scanning each one, fingers dancing across each dusted spine until you pull one free.
The book is thick and dated, obviously stained by time with every rip or tear. Your fingers caress the cover 'Frankenstein'. A book about creation, abandonment and longing for companionship, revenge.
"Couldn't sleep?'' Sunoo's voice carries through the silence, startling you and making you drop the book at your feet.
"Jesus, you scared me half to death.'' You hold your chest, reaching down to pick up the book and he slips into the room, movements of a phantom as he's standing next to you, reaching for your hand.
"Why are you awake so late?'' He asks, taking the book into his own hand and placing it on the reading table.
"I can't sleep, not since…Not since the night of the party.'' You also had not seen him since that night, it was like he was a ghost in these halls. Like he had left you with the memory of the dance and only that.
"Something troubling you?'' He asks, his eyes focused solely on you, like you held answers to every question he needed answered.
"Just having a hard time sleeping t's all,'' you respond— not the entire truth, but not a lie either.
"You read when you can't sleep?'' He chuckles, stepping closer, leaving only a foot of space between the two of you.
"Where did you go? After that night? It's been two days Sunoo, and I haven't seen you since. My father hasn't spoken a word to me since that night and you- you make me feel like there could be something here, then you just-you leave.'' He doesn't say anything, just takes your hand into his own and places a kiss on it. Despite being angry with him it still makes your heart leap.
"I'm sorry. I was visiting my parents,'' he apologizes, yet his eyes don't meet yours.
"Your parents..? I don't understand. Sunoo, I thought…'' You pause, as if coming to the realization of something that felt painful even to you. "Your parents… Your parents died on the same day my mother did?''
"It's not for you to worry about. It was your mother's day.'' He brushes it off, slipping behind you he makes his way over to the bookshelf, fingers grazing over the old spines of each hardcover.
"Oddly enough, it was the first time in years that I've felt any peace going to their graves. After the dance we shared, it felt less lonesome.'' You suck in a breath, unsure of what to say in response to his confession. It felt comforting knowing that you weren't the only one thinking of the dance you shared with him. But it was also scary— scary how close he was starting to get to you in a matter of two days.
You could brush it off as simple attraction, eyes meeting for the first time and seeing something there even if your time was short. But what you couldn't brush off was how badly he made you want more time with him when he was around— inhaled breaths, accelerated heartbeats whenever you were in the same room. You had been close to many men before, but none had ever made you feel so drawn to them. Not until him.
"That day, why did you come? Why did you dance with me knowing that my father— Knowing he doesn't approve of the two of us getting to know one another in the slightest?"
"Because I can't keep myself away from you. it's only been a day but I feel like during your time here you will make things a lot less somber. And I do apologize if this is overstepping, but I would like to spend more time with you. I know it is against your father's wishes but I think that it would make both of us a hell of a lot less lonesome.''
You could feel his gaze on you from behind, sharp and unwavering. You'd already gone against your father's wishes by dancing with him, he couldn't possibly be upset with you forever could he?
Slowly but surely you turn to face him, your gaze finding his under the dim light of the lanterns. "I'd like that.''
He smiles, a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes entirely, but somehow it was enough to have you whipped.
The next few days seemed to fly by like a blur, a montage of memories spent only with him in secrecy. Late nights sat at his side, listening to him play sweet melodies that seemed more and more like a soundtrack of your heart, each day. Sometimes the two of you would even sneak in walks when your father wasn't present, or have early morning reading sessions in the Athenaeum. A weeks worth of time, but it felt like absolute bliss.
It was an early morning, you sat at your bedroom window, a cup of tea in one hand and a pen in the other. A letter to Elisse had been long overdue, so you now sat quietly writing your every thought to her of the things you felt over the course of that one week.
My Dear Elisse,
Things are starting to feel less lonely here as I write to you. Father is still stuck in his old ways of course, the only time he truly talks to me is to discuss upcoming events, lunches or dinners. Other than that it is like I'm nothing more than the ghost of a child that he used to love. It is very solemn, no longer feeling close to the man that I should feel protected and loved by above all, but what can I do? I know that when he looks at me he sees her, my mother, but what I do not understand is why he suddenly feels the need to impose on my life and those I tether myself to. I met a man, a wonderful man that stimulates every part of my brain and body with his intelligence, kindness, creativity and compassion for others. Upon first meeting him I thought nothing of it, I thought that my month spent here would be lonesome and miserable even with the addition of a new face, but he makes things feel less cumbersome. He reads like no man I've known, plays the sweetest melodies on piano, cooks, cleans, he keeps this place so full of life, even at times when it feels so dull. I find myself stealing glances when he does simple things, rolling up his sleeves to complete a task, the way he purses his lips when he's deep in thought, even his anger as he trashes yet another written song that feels empty to him. Why do you suppose I feel this way? I cannot call it love, this I know, but is it plausible and perhaps appropriate to say that I do find myself falling for him? This is all I can write to you now, but there are more letters to come.
Sincerely,
your darling fluturaș (little butterfly)
You let out a content sigh, pulling your glasses from your face and setting them aside along with the letter. Slipping from the comfort of your seat, you step out of your room with soft padded steps, heading off to the one place you knew you could always find Sunoo when you needed him. The ride up the lift felt slow as it took you to the third floor like it did time and time again. You found him this time standing behind a desk— a desk full of random clutter, old records and phonograph cylinders you assumed to be just music.
"I knew I could find you here.'' You slip into the room, your hands clasped behind your back as you approach the desk with a confident playfulness.
"I'm always here, sweetheart, you've spent enough time up her with me to know that.'' He chuckles, resting his hands against the desk. Your eyes immediately fall onto his arms, the way he gripped the table, the prominent veins coming into view with his sleeves rolled up.
Part of you felt perverted for all the things that seem to invade your thoughts at that moment,but the thoughts leave as quick as they come.
"You seem to be a little distracted, Miss," he points out, the corner of his lip curved slightly— not in a way that was cocky or overly confident, but amused. Intrigued maybe?
You clear your throat, turning away from him and forcing your attention to the random trinkets scattered on a nearby carving table. The smile that curls onto his lips goes amiss by you. "I was wondering if you would accompany me into the main town? I have letters to send out and I'd love to get a change of scenery. And I thought I told you to call me Yn. Miss is too formal. Too distant.''
"I was a little busy working on something sweetheart. And your father, well your father can be home at any moment?''
"Please Sunoo.''
At that his resolve immediately crumbles. He let's out a sigh, looking back out the window before giving you a nod. "Only for a few hours, then we come back.''
His words bring an instant smile to your face, and you rush out of the attic before he had any chances to change his mind.
The ride into town seemed to fly by, much different to all those times you had gone back and forth with your father. Sunoo made it easy to feel less bored. Each time he would hear you sigh or spot a frown on your face as you stare out the window, he found new topics to stimulate your brain all over again. It was refreshing, having someone pay attention and care about you enough to notice such small details.
When you finally arrive into town the carriage seems to stop directly in the heart of it. The town square is bustling with energy, men selling newspapers children playing, half full shops, carriages fill the road making it all come to life. Sunoo holds out his hand, helping you down with an attentiveness that made you feel like a princess.
"Thank you.'' He gives a nod, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand before finally letting it go, leaving your hand cold and empty.
"So, this letter? Meant for someone back home? Someone you've got your eye on?'' He asks so naturally that you weren't sure if he were asking out of pure interest or jealousy.
A laugh spills from your lips nonetheless, and you shake your head as the two of you went on your way.
"It is to Elisse, my caretaker back home."
"The two of you are close?''
"She knows everything about me— she's taken care of me since I was thirteen. My father pays neither of us much mind unless he needs anything, but she's still always been kind and attentive. She got me through a lot when father and I moved to America," you explain as the two of you enter the small post office. Your conversation is cut short as you exchange words with the postman behind the counter, handing off your letter and a penny with a smile.
"Sorry, where were we?'' You turn back towards him and he's already got the door open for you to step out.
"You were telling me about Elisse.''
"Right, Elisse was like the only thing close to a mother figure that I had after we moved there. She made sure I was fed, bathed, well informed, and always in good health. Even took great care of my father when he'd go all scatter brained sometimes.''
"I see," he nods, soaking up all the information as if it were just as important to him as it was you.
"Your mother... What was she like?''
You hadn't expected such a question to be asked. Truth be told no one had ever asked about her other than Elisse but even then your father had forbid you from talking about her.
"She was kind, loving, spontaneous. A lot more free than my father was.'' You smile as the memories from your childhood flash through your mind like a strip of film.
"She was the type to track mud in the house and play in the rain with me whenever I got scolded for doing so by my father. She didn't like extravagant parties, she didn't even much like people— all she really needed was me and my father to be happy. My father had been so focused on putting a show for the masses as I got older, believe it or not, he wasn't always that way. But somewhere along the line, things changed when he took over my grandfathers company. When my mother died he only got worse.'' Your voice slowly drifted off, painful and distant.
That entire time Sunoo hadn't said much. After the mention of your father, it seemed to throw him deep into thought.
"Your parents, what were they like?'' You ask, and he visibly stiffens at the mention of his own parents.
"There's somewhere I want to take you while we're here.'' He's quick to change the subject, placing your arm on top of his he leads you further into town.
"Sunoo, wait, where are we going?'' He didn't answer, just pulled you along as he sped through street vendors and marketers." Sunoo?''
Eventually you came to a quick stop, and you nearly bump into his side as he halts. "Sunoo, what is going on? Where are we?''
You follow his gaze, the two of you stood in front of an old run down music hall. Eight withered letters in bold engraved into the brick "The Grand".
"Wait- I know...I know this place… My father would take me here to watch the ballet. Sunoo, why are we here?''
"It was my parents'.'' That was all he said, he didn't try to explain nor tell you the significance of it all, just left you wondering from that moment forward to the entire ride back to the manor.
The ride back was silent, cold almost— like the revelation of his parents legacy long gone had closed him off to you completely. Even as he helped you from the carriage and guided you inside, he said nothing. You wanted to ask if you had done something wrong, if maybe you had overstepped and it was the reason for the sudden switch, but you couldn't bring ourself to bother him.
A day that was meant to be enjoyed by the two of you had now gone sour, and you spent the rest of it alone in your room until nightfall.
You sat in the tub, your mind on everything but bathing in that moment. All you could think about was how Sunoo had frozen in place when you asked about his mother. How he had suddenly gone cold and hadn't said a word to you the entire ride back. With A sigh, you take your wash cloth from the side of the tub and lather it in soap, the sloshing of water fills through the stillness of the room like a disturbance.
Then you hear it, a sound you hadn't heard in many nights, the creak of a door opening and shutting. Your head snaps towards the open entryway of your bathroom.
"Hello? Who's there? Sunoo…?'' Nothing.
"Father..?'' Again, you're met with a humming silence. You step from the tub, wrapping yourself in your robe before taking slow steps forward.
The floorboards groan beneath your feet with each step you take towards your bedroom. You held your breath, as if you were waiting to take in what was on the other side of the threshold with full confidence. You step into the room with a shiver as you exhale, finally feeling some sort of relief as you enter the room and see nothing.
"Just the house settling,'' you tell yourself, turning back to face the bathroom and resume your bath. But you freeze dead in your tracks.
Goosebumps creep up on your skin the moment your eyes fall upon it, pulling itself up from the floor— what looked like a heavy mist was a woman in black with a noose around her neck. Her bones crackled and popped under the pressure of her body as she rose up to her feet. You stood frozen in place, your body unable to move in that exact moment. She inched closer to you, but she spoke no words like the rope itself had stripped her of her vocal chords.
She had been only a grasp away when you finally convinced your body to move. You turned and ran, not even looking behind you as you sped down the corridor only stopping when you collided with something hard. Sunoo's chest. It would have sent you tumbling to the floor if he hadn't caught your hand. Your breathing was frantic and your eyes dart around the hallway as if you were looking for something that wasn't there.
"Hey, hey , calm down, I'm here. I got you.'' He rests his hands on both sides of your face, forcing you to look into his eyes, like he knew it was the only thing that could ground you.
"Tell me what's wrong? What happened?''
You don't say anything. The words get choked up in your throat— like barbed wire coiling and contracting around your throat preventing any words from coming out.
He doesn't force you, just strokes your hair as you shove your face into his chest and cry.
For the first time since you had arrived there, you're sat in his bedroom. It was much like your own in size but different in interior. A dark swirl of crimson reds, maple browns and matte blacks. His bed sat in the middle of the room, A desk at the window lined with old music sheets and trinkets, unlike the attic nothing was worn by cobwebs or sprinkled with dust. An old dresser sat against the wall opposite of the bed, along with a vanity that looked as if it hadn't been used in years.
You sat quietly, leg shaking as you took in the essence of his room, waiting for him to return with the tea he promised you. The click of the door had you on high alert, but you calmed the moment you saw him enter with a tray of fruit and two cups of freshly brewed tea. He sits it down on top of an old trunk that sits in front of the bed before kneeling in front of you. He doesn't ask any questions— not yet at least. Just brings the back of his hand to your forehead to check for a fever.
"I'm not sick.''
"I'm only making sure, just to be safe.''
"Sunoo, I'm not sick. I know what I saw. it's not a fever and it wasn't my brain playing tricks. I saw it tonight and I heard it that night after we danced!'' His expression remains neutral even as he goes to take one of the mugs and places it into your hand.
"Sunoo you have to believe me, what I saw was real, what I saw was—"
"A manifestation of your grief,'' he cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence."Look, you've been through a lot since coming here— your father is constantly showing you no attention, you've just dealt with the anniversary of your mother's death and you're back in the place where it all happened. It's natural that your grief and your trauma would manifest those kinds of visions.''
"But I— I know what I saw, it felt so- So real. I don't understand.''
He brings his hands up to your face, his thumbs caressing your cheeks brushing away dried tears."You're here, you're safe. It wasn't real sweetheart. If there were anything here in this house, I would know. I've been here for half my life. I need you to trust that you're safe.''
You let out a shaky breath, your eyes piercing through his own to find some sort of reassurance. The feeling of his fingers on your skin slowly bring you to a calm. "Okay...You're right. Maybe- Maybe I just need some sleep.''
"You can sleep here tonight, I'll take the floor and you can have the bed.''
"No!" Your voice is loud, nearly bouncing off the walls of the quiet room."I mean, no, please... Please don't sleep on the floor.''
A slight grin curls onto his lips, despite the obvious fear in your eyes and shake in your voice, he can't help but tease you.
"You'll have to be more specific on where exactly you want me to sleep, sweetheart.''
Your face immediately goes flush and you feel heat rush to your ears. "Sleep. With me..please.'' He chuckles, brushing the hair from your face to get a better view of your expression— flustered, embarrassed almost.n"I got you. I'll keep you safe.''
That night was the closest the two of you had ever been since meeting one another. Your sleeping frame wrapped in his arms finally seeming to sleep peacefully, while he lie awake staring out the window. His gaze flickers from your sleeping face to his bedroom door as he heard a creak outside. He doesn't need to open it to know what's on the other side— it was the same something that had always been there for the past nine years, or more like the same someone.
Night bled into dawn and he had eventually fallen asleep. Unable to resist his exhaustion anymore, he finally let it take over him. Each of your breathing synced as you slept in his arms, and although you couldn't feel it in that moment, so did the beat of both your hearts.
When morning rose and the sun peaked through the curtains, you woke to find the bed empty beside you. While part of you had been disappointed to find his half of the bed empty, the other part of you felt relieved after your embarrassing freak out last night. Rubbing the last of sleep from your eyes, you slip out of bed, your body feeling as light as ever after all of the crying you had done the night before.
As you make your way down the hall and take the lift downstairs, the smell of freshly toasted bread, bacon, and a scent that hadn't graced your senses in years. You had fully expected to enter the kitchen and find Sunoo there like always, but instead you found your father. His back had been turned to you, he stood at the stove cracking eggs into a skillet, topping them off with mushrooms, tomato and scallions, just how your mother had always made them when you were younger.
Something about the familiarity of it felt odd, your father had never been this cheerful and he hadn't cooked you breakfast since you were thirteen. You watch as he salts them lightly, plates them and turns to bring the plate to the table. As he turns he finds you standing there and he gives you a cheerful smile, As if the last few weeks he hadn't drowned himself in his work— All to avoid talking to you.
"You're finally awake, I was on my way to gather you for breakfast.'' He gestures towards a seat at the table, and you hesitate before going to take a seat.
"Good morning ,Father. Is there a special occasion of some sort?'' Your eyebrows crease in confusion as you look at the full spread on the table."Is Sunoo not here?''
For a moment, the smile on your father's face falters, but he's quick to fix it as he places a fresh cup of tea in front of you."Sunoo has gone into town, he will be out today," he answers coldly, before changing the subject.
"That aside, the deal with the Nishimura's has finally been closed. We will have dinner with them tomorrow to celebrate.''
"Father, that's amazing!'' Although you didn't usually concern yourself with your father's work, you knew that this was a deal he had been trying to close for quite some time.
"What is it that you're working on anyways?''
"Well, after tomorrow, we will be the proud owners of a new theater. That old music hall from all those years ago is now ours.''
Your fork immediately falls from between your fingers at his words. Surely not 'That' music hall, right? "Music hall?''
"The Nishimura's were partial owners of that old theatrics center from long ago. Surely you remember all the times we've gone there?''
"The Grand? But I thought… I thought that place belonged to-" He immediately cuts you off.
"It does not matter who it once belonged to, we are now it's owners, and we will be celebrating tomorrow. Please do not make a show of this dinner as you did with your mother's ball.'' He responds with finality, like there was nothing more to be discussed.
The rest of breakfast was quiet, the previous giddiness from your father had slipped away and turned to something more cold and distant. Like this was territory you weren't meant to be dipping your nose in.
After breakfast, your father left you alone in the kitchen. You ate in silence before putting away leftovers and washing the leftover dishes. You couldn't help but think about Sunoo. He had just trusted you enough to tell you about his parents and your father now had ownership of the one place that still tied him and them together. Do you tell him? Or was this something you kept to yourself?
The rest of the day you found ways to busy yourself— making the bed and tidying his room, rearranging the nick-knacks in the attic and dusting them all, tidying his music sheets and throwing out the ones you knew he hated.
When there was nothing left to clean, you escape into the Athenaeum for your usual nightly read. You'd just be reading alone for the night since Sunoo hadn't yet returned.
You sat near the fireplace for hours, your legs tangled in your dress as you lie there, deeply enthralled by the book in your hands. Frankenstein was a very complex book within itself, fully thwarting yourself into a world of yearning for companionship, grasping not being fully connected with humanity— about the relationships of something man-made and his creator along with him. It fully intrigued you— something so cruel and teetering on the mark of absurdity.
"You seem to be deep in thought.'' Your breath catches in your throat at the sound of his voice from the doorway, you move to put your book aside but he holds out a hand to stop you.
"I'm not here to interrupt your reading, just here to sit in silence for a while." He stood there for a moment, hair tousled, sleeves rolled up, his eyes red and worn as if he had been crying or on the verge of it.
"Where were you today?'' You ask him as he enters the room with slow strides.
"I had things to take care of.''
"Things like what?'' You ask him, finally setting the book aside having lost interest.
He does a quick sweep of you, from the way your legs lie exposed beneath the sheer of your nightgown, how the neckline of your dress falls just above your breasts, then his eyes find yours. Something in him softens for a moment as he senses the worry in your gaze.
"You have nothing to worry about sweetheart. I just went in to town for something I needed, that's all,'' he reassures you. His eyes look so sure and comforting that you force ourself to let it go. It wasn't like you needed to know where he was at all times.
He slips your dress to the side, his fingers trace gentle lines up your leg before pausing at your hip and hovering there. "You're so worried about me when there's much I have yet to tell you. You're too pure to be his.'' He spoke softly, like he was simply voicing his inner thoughts— not for anyone to hear, just because they needed to be said.
You just sat there, unable to move under his gaze and the heat of his fingertips. His words were like ghosts to your ears, spoken and dying in the air like you hadn't even heard them to begin with. You didn't question what they meant, you didn't so much care what they meant. All that mattered was this moment— his touch that was so soft and delicate on you as if you'd break when he pulled away.
"Sunoo… I have something to tell you..." You spoke softly, trying not to interrupt the intimacy of the moment that would soon slip away with the words you spoke. He gives a simple hum in response, his eyes finally funding yours, making you suck in a breath.
"My- My father… Your parents' show house…He owns the rights to it." After your confession silence hang in the air. The subtle crackling of the fire made things feel less heavy. You watched his face, waited for any sign of anger, pain, anything— He showed neither.
Just brought your hand to his lips and placed a kiss on your knuckles like none of it mattered.
"Sunoo?"
"I know." He finally speaks, his thumbs traced circles on your knuckles as if it were unimportant.
"You know? Sunoo we can't... I can't let him do this. That place is all you have left of them."
"It's alright sweetheart, it was taken from me long ago when I couldn't keep up with payments, someone was bound to own it eventually. There's nothing more I can do."
"But I can't-"
"It's okay," he says again, his words more definitive this time, and it made you fall silent immediately.
"Just read to me, I don't want tonight to be any different than any other." He kisses your wrists, light and delicate, before taking the book and placing it back into your hands. "Be my distraction."
You look at him, unable to fully shake the worry you felt for him, but his gaze was so confident— so sure. With a sigh, you open the book again, making room for him on the loveseat before picking up on the book where you'd left off.
You couldn't help but feel distracted as you read, feeling the way his fingers traces your skin, how he'd see your hair fall in front of your face and brush it back so it wasn't in your way. The fact that you were completely undeniably falling for him was starting to become unavoidable. He was getting close in all the ways you'd never allowed another man to do.
The scariest thing about this was not knowing how he felt. Even with the stolen glances, delicate kisses and light touches, you weren't sure if he felt the same. Sunoo was hard to read, in a way you could never tell when he was being serious or simply playful in nature. It's like he used his touch to speak for him, but when it came to words there was no sign of the man that kissed you like you were his flame.
It was the one thing that kept you in distance, when all you wanted to do was pull him closer and kiss him.
—
Morning came, and even as the kitchen bustled with chefs and maids on hire you found yourself distracted. Your skin burned where he had touched it the previous night and only god knew the things you did after he had walked you to your room.
Your fingers curled beneath your dress, face shoved into your pillow to quiet down your moans. It felt filthy, sinful, to think of a man that wasn't yours and do such things, but he'd invaded the most sensible parts of you.
"Miss Sharpe??" Your brief flashback to last night is cut short as Ingrid calls out your name.
"Yes… Yes, I'm sorry Ingrid."
"Your bath is ready and we've chosen a few dresses, your father's choice. We also picked a few we thought would look perfect on you tonight."
"I'll be right up." You give her a nod and bring your cup to your lips. Making no plans to rush yourself, you take your time, finishing your tea before going to join her upstairs.
The bath seemed to be the only time you got some sort of relief from today's events. The moment you stepped out it was immediate hair styling, makeup and dress fittings.
Every dress your father picked out felt dull, lifeless, way too calculated. Luckily, you had known Ingrid enough that she knew the things that would flatter you and accentuate your assets the way you liked.
"What do we think of this one, Miss?'' She asks as she fluffs out the edges on what was now your fourth dress.
"Are there any more?" You ask, taking in the fit and ruffle of the dress in the mirror.
"There is one more, I think it would be the perfect fit for tonight, but your father may not approve Miss.''
"Let's try it.'' She doesn't oppose, just gives you a look, questioning if you were sure about it. "It will be fine Ingrid, let's just try it.''
You strip down to only your corset and undergarments and she helps you slip into the new dress— a beautiful champagne colored dress, made entirely of rich satin silk. Nothing too over the top, just a simple off the shoulder dress, with a slightly ruched train. Not too many ruffles, or jewels or sparkle. Your beauty alone made up for the lack in extravagancy.
"This one, this one is beautiful Miss.'' A large smile curls onto Ingrid's lips as she straightens out the bottom of your dress. As you take in your reflection in the mirror, you catch him standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest like he were viewing something familiar— something that was his.
Ingrid seems to catch sight of him as well. Sensing the way you held your breath upon seeing him, she gathers all the others and exits the room with the excuse of getting more accessories.
"Do you think it is the right choice? All of father's dresses are so over the top that they feel less and less like me every time he picks them out,'' you start, all while he takes you in from head to toe.
"No, this one. This one is perfect.'' He steps behind you, so close that you could have sworn you felt his heartbeat against your back. He stares at you through the mirror as his fingers dance across your skin from your fingers up to your exposed shoulders. That touch alone made the air in the space feel charged with something that was way too intimate too ignore.
"You look beautiful." His breath ghosts on your neck, a little too close for comfort. You finally let out a shaky breathe when you hear Ingrid's voice down the hall. Sunoo takes a step back just in time as the girls all enter the room again. Sunoo slips from the room like a ghost, leaving you with a now lonely feeling that felt more like yearning.
By the time you had finished getting ready, dinner preparations had already been complete and your guests had finally arrived. You could hear their cheerful voices in the foyer as you take the lift down to the second floor. They had already started of the evening with their wine and bread. The moment you descend down the staircase, all eyes fall upon you. While Riki's family had much to say about how beautiful and breathtaking you looked, you could tell by the look on your father's face, he did not approve.
"A little late to the party." Riki approaches with ease, oozing a confidence you hadn't gotten to see on your first meet.
"We can't all wake up looking like Nishimura Riki," you respond, earning a laugh from him. He takes your hand and guides you down the rest of the way.
"This is the first time I'm seeing your entire family," you tell him, your eyes falling on his parents that had been happily chatting with your father. All while both of who you assumed were his sisters, sat comfortable at the fireplace chatting.
"Your father insisted we all be here to celebrate, said you could use the company?"
"Of course he did." You roll your eyes, finally letting go of his hand as the two of you join the rest of them.
"Finally, we can start our evening," your father says cheerfully, a hidden malice in his undertone as if he was upset for you having come down so late. Nonetheless, he holds out his arm, leading everyone down into the dining hall that was only used for special occasions.
Most of the dinner had gone by smoothly, though it had been mostly conversations of business and your father flaunting all the different places he'd been to. From what you gathered from Riki's family, they seemed far less strict and controlling compared to your father. It made you wonder how they had even made such good friends with him.
The conversation had now taken a turn for the best, with the attention now on you and Riki. Your father was more than thrilled to have you discuss your current interest in literature.
"So Yn, your father tells us you're interested in becoming a writer," his mother comments, wanting the two of you to feel included in the conversation.
"Well yes, I work at a publishing company back in New York, but for obvious reasons I've had to take a few days off."
"Right, America. Our Ki loves it there, he studied the arts there for, what was it? Five years darling?" She looks her husband before taking a bite of her food.
"Six," he corrects before returning his interest to his food.
"Oh I didn't know you were the artistic type?" You tease, more so for him to hear than anyone else.
"After one dance you think you've got me all figured out?" He responds, fully amused at your attempt to tease him.
"You two look brilliant together.'' Your father comments, suddenly shifting the energy in the room from one of fun and comfort to a subtle awkwardness.
"I don't know, from what I've heard Yn seems to be more interested in books than men," Riki responds jokingly, sensing the awkwardness of your father's words. You give him a thankful look and a smile curls onto your lips.
"I think books can treat me a lot better," you respond, making him chuckle. Your father takes it as something endearing. Seeing the way the two of you interact in such a manner only further fuels his delusions that you'd be together.
The rest of the night seemed to flow smoother from there, most of the diner being spent with the two of you laughing and discussing the most minuscule of topics. Meanwhile a lonely figure stands observant in the archway of dining room, having seen every interaction between the two of you.
The dinner eventually came to an end and your father stood outside discussing further business plans with Riki's parents while his sisters entered the carriage. The two of you weren't too far behind, walking side by side with slow strides.
"Interesting little relationship we have here," Riki comments, making you laugh.
"I think we both know it'll be easier for us to stay friends, despite my fathers obvious delusion for something more between us."
"And here I was thinking we'd end up together,'' he jokes. You shoot him and amused look, a smile curling onto the corners of your lips.
"Guess you're just not my type, I'm a little bit more into my books.''
He laughs, nodding his head in surrender.
The two of you finally make it to the doorway and he bids you goodnight before going to join his family. You watch them all climb into the carriage, your head resting on the doorframe.
Your father joins you at your side with a smile on his face as he waves them off. "Riki seems like a fine gentleman,'' he comments, more like a statement than a simple observation.
You sigh when he finally leaves you alone, the weight of the night and your father's expectations finally lifted off your shoulders. You slowly stride up the stairs, taking the lift up to the third floor instead of turning in for the night. Padded footsteps and the creak of floorboards above you tell you that Sunoo is still awake.
You hear him shuffling around as you approach the door and push it open. Just as you suspected, he's sat at the piano, crumbled music sheets and freshly used ones sit scattered on top.
"I didn't think you would still be awake so late.'' You step inside, but he doesn't turn to look at you like any other time. "Have you written something new?''
He doesn't answer, even as you make your way over to him and place yourself on the other side of the piano. Your eyebrows crease in confusion as he sat there, still writing as if you weren't even here.
"Sunoo?'' Still, he says nothing.
"Did I do something wrong?'' His silence remains, even as he pushes himself up from the work bench and moves over to the desk for more paper.
"Will you really ignore me after this morning ? After everything? After staring at me in that mirror and touching me like it was natural to you? After holding me in your arms in your own bed? You're going to remain silent?'' Your words are met with the light rustling paper.
"Fucking talk to me!''
"I can't!'' You're startled by his fist slamming against the desk.
"You can't? You can touch me like I'm yours, dance with me as if it were just the two of us existing alone. Y-You can hold me like you want me to feel safe in only your arms,but you cannot talk to me? You stare at me with eyes that tell me you desire me, as I do you, and yet you cannot open your mouth to speak simple words?''
"It is complicated. This is complicated. Does not matter what it is you see between you and I, it will not go beyond touches in secrecy.
"So I am your secret?''
"No, I am yours!'' The harshness in his voice makes you scoff, you don't say anything more you just stare at him. He who stood there different from the man that usually showed you tenderness and compassion. His hair disheveled like he had been tugging at it, the veins in his arms on full display as he gripped the table beneath his palms.
"Do you know how it feels to burn for a woman so desperately? After years of isolation and keeping my distance. You come here and you make me rethink every moral, every value! This can have no happy ending. Your father despises me and it is why you will only be mine in secret, I cannot fully have you when I know there will be others.''
"My father? I have completely gone against everything I've known. Everything my father wishes. To stay with you and be with you!"
"I did not ask you to!''
You take in a sharp breath, a quick inhale that feels like a sharp knife to your chest with the words he spoke. He seems to realize he's made a mistake and it's only confirmed as you turn your back to him and walk away.
Within a matter of seconds you feel a hand clasp around your wrist. Your hand is only inches away from the doorknob but even as you don't turn to meet his gaze he does not let go.
"I yearn for you. Are those the words you long to hear? Against all that I know, against everything that I have intended to happen here. I yearn for the one woman that complicates everything that I know.''
"What is it that I complicate?'' You ask, finally turning to look at him.
But he does not answer, he takes your face into his hands and he kisses you. Every ounce of burning passion that the two of you had held back comes out in this kiss alone. Your fingers slip away from the door knob and you reach for his hair. His kiss is not hungry nor insatiable, it is tender, passionate, like he had waited to do it since the moment you'd met him.
His right hand is still clasped around your wrist as the other falls down to your waist.
He doesn't beg or plead to touch you, it's like he already knows that even without your approval you'd say yes to him.
His hands are hot as they touch every part of your body, like he were mapping a holy relic.
Despite how he normally held himself together, his fingers trembled as his hand slipped beneath your dress, pushing it up slowly. His eyes drink in the sight with awe before his lips find your neck and you tangle your fingers in his hair with a shaky breath.
"Beautiful. Every inch of you is beautiful,'' he whispers in between kisses. "It makes me insane.''
Finally, his hand slips to the small of your back and he holds his breath as he feels you arch. "Tell me to stop, tell me now that we should take this no further,'' his voice is soft as he pleas for you to end the moment there. But you don't.
"Please.''
He seems to understand everything that you're pleading for in that moment. It breaks every bit of restraint that he had left in him.
He unties the dress before watching as it falls at your feet, he wastes no time removing everything else beneath it with frustrated huffs like it was keeping him from you.
When he finally strips you down his eyes are yearning, adorning like he were seeing a goddess right before his eyes.
He captures your mouth again, this kiss losing all the vestiges of his restraint. It's deep and consuming, with his tongue exploring yours that gave way to desperation. His hand cups your thigh, bringing it to rest around his waist as he frees himself of all restraints.
He cannot hold himself back, this feeling that explodes from him for the first time is to much to bear and he needs to pour it all into you.
He presses against you, his tip swollen and angry nudges against your clit like a question and a promise. Your nod is all the reassurance he needs before he pushes in with a shiver. You can feel him shudder against you the moment you cry out and clench around him. In a matter of seconds, his lips are on you, leaving a trail of passionate kisses as if he were worshiping a temple.
He waits until you let him know it's okay before pushing forward. A groan spills from his lips, one desperate and yearning that comes from the deepest depths of his soul. He pulls out then sinks into you slow with one single deliberate motion that has you gasping for air. The feeling of your warmth draws slow moans from his lips
His lips find your breast where he leaves hot kisses before taking your nipple in between his lips. "You feel like home…'' He let's out in between breaths. "So warm and snug around me… Like you were made in heaven and sent for me to worship.''
You let out a choked moan as you feel him completely bottom out. The duality of his words so sweet and, his lips that worshiped every part of you, and the harshness of his thrusts were ruining you in the best way possible.
Slow and deep thrusts that were less about friction and more about the connection of your bodies. Each thrust was like a prayer to whatever god that made you, withdrawing sweet moans from the both of you.
"So beautiful, even like this.'' His voice breaks with every word, thick with emotions that he would never convey outside of that moment. You don't speak— just pull him closer to you, like he would slip away if he weren't close
It draws a sharp, shuttering gasp from his lips. the intimacy of your body pressed against his, completely bare, sends a jolt through him. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, marking you as if you were completely and utterly his.
His thrusts deepen with each mark he leaves behind, becoming more urgent and needy. Each movement shows a desperation to escape any physical or mental distance between the two of you. His hands slide down to grip your waist, and his nails press into the soft flesh beneath his fingers making you his. He loved it, loved knowing that he was the one tainting your beautiful skin. Even if he wasn't the first, but god he hoped that he was.
"Sunoo...'' His named spilled from your lips like a prayer, a match to gasoline, setting him ablaze, and you were the only thing that could put out the fire.
His hips snap forward, a sharp, desperate thrust that steals the breath from both of you. The slow worship is gone and replaced by raw consuming need. He captures your mouth in one last searing kiss. His tongue tangles with yours, messy and needy.
The close proximity is the only thing on his mind. The sound of your bodies becoming one is the only sound that fills the room—a wet, rhythmic slap that underscores his every plea to have you as his, even if he couldn't say the words.
"Shit...'' His eyes land on you who were so beautiful in his arms. Mouth slacked open, eyes screwed shut as if it were all too much for you to take. His hand finds your cheek and he strokes your cheek with his thumb. Your eyes open to find his. They were blazing, full of a terrifying yet beautiful devotion.
The rhythm of his hips become erratic and frantic. Each one is a final pleading prayer. His body tenses and coils like a spring on the verge of bouncing. His fingers dig into your hips that signed away his body to you.
The release crashes over him with a heavy violence that made him shiver, and you came moments later with a shudder. he held you as you trembled in his arms, riding out the last of your orgasms with cries of pleasure that insisted it was winding down. He held himself there against you even after, buried to the hilt, his body pulsing against yours, buzzing from the high of the moment.
You woke up this time to the sunlight shining in your eyes through the frosted windows, only this time it wasn't you alone. Sunoo's arms wrap around you, your bare chest pressed against his and legs tangled within his. You were the first to wake while he slept soundly beneath you, soft breaths spilling from his lips with the rise and fall of his chest. You sat admiring him, his naturally tan skin and rosy cheeks that made him seem so delicate despite all the ways you knew he could destroy you. The way his golden hair fell onto his face covering his forehead and sleeping eyes, as if they were a secret.
You reach up to brush it all from his face and his hand immediately catches your wrist. Though he doesn't open his eyes, he brings it to his lips immediately and places a kiss there.
"You were awake?''
"I thought it would be rude to interrupt you while you were staring so intently,'' he responds, his thumb brushes over the pulse point of you wrist and he places one more kiss before his eyes finally flutter open.
"Good morning.'' His hand drops from your wrist to your hair, giving it loving twists around his finger before tucking it behind your ear.
"You look breathtaking,'' he whispers softly, making your cheeks flush.
"What now… After this… What happens with us?'' You ask him, resting your head against his chest you can almost hear his faint heartbeat. He tangles your fingers together, gone completely silent as if he was taking a moment to think.
"I have to go back to New York soon...'' His response was simple strokes to your hair, as if he were trying to lull you back to sleep with that motion. Though it didn't make you sleep, it did ease your mind for the moment. The two of you lie there for just a bit longer, bodies intertwined with one another like branches of a tree interlocked.
Sunoo found himself thinking about last night over and over, like it was the last drop of sand in an hour glass telling him that his time was up. You had made him start to question his every being, every reason for him being here that led up to this moment. He had his reasons for having been so loyal to this place, to your father, but would you accept him if you knew the truth? Would you accept him for everything that he was?
He had been putting on his coat for his visit into town when he heard footsteps approaching, originally he thought that they belonged to you, but to his surprise, it was your father.
"Ah Sunoo, just the gentleman that I was looking for.''
"Mr Sharpe? Is something the matter?'' He asks as he slips on his coat, his eyebrows crease with worry, had something happened to you?
"I'd like to have a talk with you, just us men?''
Sunoo had been quite skeptical at first, your father usually didn't communicate with him unless he needed events planned or something around the manor taken care of. Nonetheless, he follows your father's trail— down the hall and into his office.
He doesn't flinch even as your father slams the door shut and the latch on the door locks with a soft click. He eyes him as he moves around him and to the half empty desk in front of him. The room, although tidied and clean, looked as if it hadn't been used up until this point. There's a cold silence that settles between the two of them, as if the house itself could sense unmarked tension. Sunoo's eyes follow your father as he reaches a hand behind his desk and pulls out a single sheet of paper, a check.
"I figured that when I told you I didn't like you with her, you'd heed my warning the first time. But clearly, I was mistaken of your persistence.''
"I'm not sure what you mean, Mr. Sharpe,'' he immediately cuts Sunoo off, holding out a hand as if to silence him.
"I know very well the things you've done with my daughter. I've seen the way she looks at you, as if she would go against everything that I have built for her to be with you, and I will not have it.'' He stands from his seat, his footsteps loud and taunting as he moves towards Sunoo with authoritative strides.
"You will take this check and you will leave the manor immediately, you will break my daughters heart and give her no explanation. No reason to look for you beyond today."
Sunoo's eyes fall to the check he held out before him, sharp and void of any emotion other than annoyance. "And why would I do that?'' His tone goes flat as he meets your father's gaze. He stood there as calm as ever, even as your father's jaw visibly clenches, as if Sunoo's gaze was some sort of challenge. Like he was overstepping into territory he had no business being in.
Stepping back, your father chuckles— a breathy laugh, not out of amusement but rather disbelief that Sunoo hadn't chosen to take the offer here and there.
"Persistent. Your persistence can be your undoing, just like your parents.'' Sunoo visibly stiffens, going completely flush at the mention of his own parents.
"At first I thought it were mere coincidence. A Kim, of all people, being my home's caretaker while I were away. 'No Thomas it is by mere coincident that he is here.' Then you tell my daughter that your parents died a few years ago.'' He chuckles as he throws the now void check onto the desk.
"And I thought, well that just can't be… Your parents. Well your parents died eleven years ago.'' The look in your father's eyes were that of a man that showed no regret nor remorse for the things that he had done.
"You thought I did not know? You think i do not check the backgrounds of those that I hire? Kim Sunoo, an orphan at the age of thirteen, moved into the manor as a caretaker when you were only sixteen, and until then you've been snooping around so desperately."
Sunoo's fist clench at his side, even until now he had been trying to keep his composure, to hold on to the last of his restraint.
"If only you had been in The Grand that day, to die along with your parents.''
The last of his restraint had snapped. You, who had previously held him back, were no longer a thought in his mind. The stable side of him had completely gone cold and his next act was something that he knew he could not take back.
You found yourself cheerful today, your previous night with Sunoo making you feel warmth and fuzziness inside despite the cold and frostiness outside. Though you were now alone, and Sunoo had gone off into town for the day you felt a slight giddiness knowing that he would return to you. You find yourself humming a soft tune as you take slow strides down the staircase and towards the kitchen. The soft hum of the stove top fades into your ears as you look out the window. watching as snow fell lightly and dusted the windows— painting everything in white. You found yourself smiling at the faint memories of playing in the snow and making snow angels. the days of enjoying the snow— of enjoying winter — felt far behind you.
The chirping of a kettle alarms you that your water is perfectly heated. You remove it from the stove long enough to pour yourself a glass and slip in a fresh tea pouch. For a while longer you sat in silence, peaking out the window and just taking in the view of the outside world. This was the first time you had found beauty and peace in a day such as this, when the snow was heavy and inches deep.
Setting aside your empty tea mug, you make your way out into the foyer, slipping on your coat before stepping out into the heart of it all. The cold air immediately kissed your skin, making you shiver and hug your coat tighter to keep in the warmth.
There was a subtle nostalgia in this moment, one that felt much like de ja vu. You could feel all your childlike innocence seeping back into you with the cold of the snow. You walked only a few feet away from the door before dropping to your knees and laying flat, sweeping both your legs and your arms around like you hadn't a care in the world.
The clouds stretched over the blue of the sky making everything look white and misty, you could see your breath with each exhale and it all felt so exhilarating. If your father were to come out right now and catch you this way you knew that he would scold you for looking so ridiculous. In his eyes, women should mature by the age of twenty one and leave such childish things behind.
A light hearted chuckle spills from your lips as you roll around, taking fistfuls of snow and throwing it in the air just to watch it all fall. You couldn't care less about the frost nipping at your hands or face, because in that moment, you felt free. Like you could be yourself with no judgment or outside factors controlling how you had fun.
Rolling onto your back, you let out a content sigh, your eyelashes and lips are almost immediately dusted with the falling snow, but you don't mind it. The burn of the cold feels oddly comforting in that moment.
Finally, as if you'd had enough of it for the day, you push yourself up and dust off your coat. You're ready to head back inside and cozy up at the fire, but the moment you get up on your feet your eyes catch a slight hint of red in the snow. You freeze on the spot, sucking in a breath that burned with the cold. You should have ignored it, should have just stepped away as if you hadn't seen it, but you never learned your lesson, even all these years later.
You followed the skater, soft hints of red that almost disappeared beneath the snow, but it hadn't fully disappeared just yet. You held your breath as it pulled you further from the mansion and deeper towards wooded territory. You tried to convince yourself that it had possibly just been an animal, wounded or dead— fallen pray to something much bigger. But everything in you was screaming that this was not a good idea— that you should just turn around and head back inside without letting your curiosity get the best of you.
The crunch of snow and softened leaves beneath your feet felt like a warning almost, something you should have heath and listened to immediately. Eventually, the small drops of crimson had turned to something scarier, more sinister— you were now following a trail. Leading you deeper and deeper into the woods, like following the map until you stumbled upon treasure. Soon enough your strides slowed until they came to a full halt.
"Oh- oh god.'' the words spilled from your lips with soft gags, followed by soft heaves and shortened gasps.
A body, the head smashed in, like it had taken multiple physical blows. Blood spills onto the snow along with shattered fragments of bone and flesh. Even without seeing his face you were well aware of who it was, your chest tightens as a cry rips from the deepest depths of your throat. Your hands tremble as you reach out to his own, brushing over his now blue knuckles with your fingertips. Your breaths became shaky and unstable, and suddenly, you were no longer a twenty one year old woman, happy and finding her way— you were that same ten year old girl that found her mothers dead and lifeless body.
The cold was no longer nipping at your skin, as it seeped deeper and deeper into your clothes it had started to bite, but you just couldn't get yourself to move. You knew that you and him hadn't had the best relationship, but you would never wish him death. No matter how terrible the relationship had been between the two of you ,you'd have never wanted to see him dead.
You felt an arm wrap around you, followed by the crackling sound of hollow bones and faint whispers. You swallow hard, the previous sadness you felt turns into something fearful. You visibly stiffen, the tears that had been falling from your face have long stopped and seeped into your skin with the cold. With a shaky breath, you turn your head, praying to yourself that Sunoo had returned and somehow found you out here in the cold. But it was not Sunoo— a hand, jet black and bony, much like that of the woman you saw in the bathroom, rests on your shoulder. You choke back a sob, turning fully to meet whatever it was face to face. It towers above you, slender and skinny like it's flesh had faded away with time, but it has no face. As if some sort of mist or fog were concealing it's identity.
A scream rips from your chest and you push yourself up, almost stumbling as you head straight for the manor. Twigs snap and crackle beneath your feet with each step you take— each step felt agonizingly longer.
As you finally reached the clearing that brought you back to the front of the house, you turn around, wondering if whatever it was had followed you beyond the woods. It stood staring back at you, one finger pointed towards you, or the house even— it was hard to tell. Then it faded along with the wind, disappearing like mist among the falling snow.
You were startled back to reality when you felt Sunoo's hands latch onto your arms and shake you back. The moment your eyes found his, the tears started falling again. He held you tight against his chest, even as you broke down and your legs could no longer hold you. He just stood stroking your hair, his eyes trained onto the wooded area he had seen you slip out of only moments ago.
That night, he watched you sleep— he had insisted on leaving you alone to let you rest but you refused to allow him to leave your side. You didn't want to be alone, you couldn't, not after everything that you had just witnessed. When you finally woke, he didn't push you to speak, he just watched you as you sat curled up near the window, broken and frightened of being alone.
No matter how many times he had offered to leave the room, to make you tea or porridge, anything to provide you nutrients, you would grab his arm and beg him to stay.
He had to watch you go on that way for two days, you were silent and broken and the sad part was, he couldn't bring himself to feel any remorse. He found himself thinking back to the morning it all occurred, the way he hovered over your father after the first blow. How even after, your father remained just as prideful, not a cry or a plea when he hit him the second or third time. The way he helplessly inched towards the door, desperate crawls as if Sunoo would ever let him slip away.
Even as he carried his lifeless body into the woods and dumped him there, he felt no remorse, nothing for the man that had admitted to killing his parents as if it were an achievement.
He knew very well that it was wrong, the way he held you close, bathed you, clothed you, kissed you to sleep— like every kiss and touch wasn't laced with that secret he kept. What reason did he have to tell you? After all loving you was a factor that had been unaccounted for.
The first time he set eyes on you, you breathed life into every plan he had made before your father's arrival. He wanted to strip your father of everything he had, to make him hurt after all those years he had gone without his father, without his mother. Originally, he hadn't foreseen your father's death, a death was never planned. Not until your father admitted to killing them with his own hands.
For years he had been under the impression that his father and mother had killed themselves— an eleven year old boy coming back to the place his parents loved so much to find them dead.
His mother was strung up above the stage with a rope around her neck. His father however was found propped up backstage with a knife in his hand and blood on his neck as if he had slit his throat— broken down by grief after finding his dead wife.
When the police had arrived on the scene and found documents of failed payments and overdue bills, they just assumed the two killed themselves out of stress and the weight of their dreams failing. There was no further investigating or suspecting of fowl play and he was simply disregarded— Sent off to the first orphanage that they could think of, as if he were a problem for someone else to solve.
He was the ripe age of sixteen when the rights to his parents theater had been fully passed down to him. That was when these weird men had started to pay visits to the orphanage— he assumed they were here for the reason all the other adults had come there; to adopt. But they had a different agenda. They never wanted to see any of the other children, it was always him— and each time they all had one simple request. They claimed to work for some wealthy property owner in New York City that had been interested in the theater. But Sunoo would only turn them away. It was all he had left of his parents and their legacy, it was bad enough that their parents had already given 25% ownership to some family in Japan— he couldn't think of giving it away entirely.
As he grew older, they had become more persistent, always offering up large sums of money as if that would sway him. It made him curious to know who the man was, so eventually he had started to ask around. That was exactly the moment he had come to realize it all and put things into place. The letters piling up in his family's office, the mysterious man that would always show up at the theater to talk 'business' with his parents.
He started to think that maybe, all this time, your father had been one of the cause of his parents' downward spiral. That he had something to do with the business failing and your parents signing it away with their lives. The more digging he had done the more his suspicions of your father increased. The death of his parents, your mother having died on that same day, it all became a driving force. So he made a vow to himself that your— Thomas Sharpe— would lose everything that he cared about, that he would expose his true nature, even if it meant giving up his life to ensure it.
A month, a month had long passed since your fathers passing, and the light in your eyes would have slipped away entirely, if it wasn't for Sunoo remaining at your side. He tended to you as if you were a delicate rose that he planted himself— one in need of watering and sunlight to flourish. He never allowed you to wallow in misery— he'd often take you on walks, hold you when you slept, cooked for you, he even accompany you when you stayed up reading late nights. All because he knew even through sadness you needed to love.
There had been many moments you found yourself slipping away— the shell of a woman who's heart was buried with the last of her living family. But he had always been there to lift you up again with a smile, he was kind and tender and understanding, no matter how many times you'd try to push him away. And maybe it had to do with the fact that he understood the way you grieved, or perhaps it was the hidden guilt bubbling beneath his surface. Do understand he felt no remorse nor guilt for killing the man, the man that had stripped him of his parents— only hatred that he so felt so passionately for something of his creation, the daughter of a man he truly loathe.
He started to realize early on that you were no longer just a pawn to get to Thomas. You were something he had never planned— an anomaly unaccounted for that had invaded the darkest parts of him and made roses bloom. A beautiful woman; kind, intelligent, radiant— a truly complex woman that he had started to find too much comfort in. From the moment you danced, the moment he held you close and inhaled your scent, you had started to consume him. He'd search for you in every room, yearn to see your face, hear your voice, to come home late nights and find you reading.
You had wormed your way into his thoughts, slithered between the darkest and lightest parts of his mind, and what made him ache was that he wanted you to stay there. So he lied to himself, told himself that everything that he had done wasn't selfish— that having you, the daughter of the man he killed, all to himself wasn't so absurd.
He thought that he could just move on and be happy with you— that everything would pass and the manor would be at peace. But, Sharpe manor never kept secrets, not the place that swallowed lives and replayed their whispers through empty halls, like some mystery for you to solve.
You stood above your fathers grave, your eyes half lidded and red from crying. Sunoo stood at your side, your hand clasped in his own as his other caressed your back. He stared at the empty hole that would soon host your fathers body with an empty look in his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to understand how you could feel so lost and distraught over a man that had caused you to feel so lonesome while living. That you could grieve a man and not know the secrets that he kept— the skeletons that he ounce hid in his closet that now roamed the halls of your home, the he you lay your head at night.
The ceremony passed by like a strip of film burned at the edges— a mirage of empty scrambled faces and voices long lost in your ears, all while you exchanged casualties with everyone that had come to honor your father. Many of them were people you'd never seen before and if you had memories of them were long gone— buried with your father. Your father had kept most of his life separate from you anyways.
You had been sat at the kitchen dinner table, watching as guest chattered and passed by as if it were some sort of simple gathering. All smiles and laughter— because of course they didn't really grieve your lose. They were here to make partnerships and gather information. To see what you knew of your fathers business and how they could stake their claim. Sunoo stood silently behind you, a fresh kettle of tea now bubbling on the stove.
"Yn." A woman's' voice pulls you out of your momentary dissociation. Your eyes— tired and drained of light— drift to the doorway. Riki stood there with the rest of his family, each of them giving you a solemn look— possibly the most genuine you'd seen all day.
His mother is the first to make a move, walking over to your side of the table and engulfing you in a hug as if you were her own kin. It was the first time you had felt some sort of motherly warmth since leaving New York behind.
The rest of his family followed, all wrapping you in their arms and hugging you like it was an unspoken remedy. They each exchanged their condolences— reassuring you that you could reach out to them if ever needed, then you were left with only Riki to accompany you, while Sunoo silently made tea.
"How are you holding up?" Riki asks, pulling the empty seat beside you at his feet and taking a sit.
"It… It's been hard but I've been managing. I thought that I had grieved enough but this is just extra consuming. I'm forced to face the reality that he is truly gone." you respond.
"Is there anything that we can do? That I can do?"
"You being here is enough, out of everyone that has held my hand and whispered condolences your family has felt the most genuine. That's all that I can ask for."
Sunoo remained quiet the entire time you and Riki spoke, but he listened to every word. Unlike the first time where he watched the two of you speak and Jealousy coursed through his veins, he understood now that Riki was nothing more than a concerned friend. His confidence flowed in your blood, in the way your body trembled and burned for him just months ago.
Soon enough the manor was cleared of its guest and Riki and his family are the last to leave. He hugs you tightly, as if he were releasing all his worries about you with that one hug alone.
"Remember if you need anything, just reach out." He tells you one last time, nodding to Sunoo that stood behind you, before going to join the rest of his family.
A sigh spills from your lips as you shut the door with the exit of the last guest—and along with them goes the last of your resolve.
From behind Sunoos arm wraps around your waist and he holds you close to his chest. An action he had become accustom to within your month of being alone together. He allows his actions to speak for him as he takes your hand into his and places a kiss on each finger. He had somehow become your strength, the one factor in your life that made things feel normal and less gray.
"What do I do now?" an empty question you simply toss in the air, not expecting an answer.
"Let me take care of you." He responds softly, leaving a trail of kisses up your arm as if they were the answer to every question you had.
Truth be told you were afraid now, afraid of this place, of truly falling for him, when it seemed like everything you loved was lost to these walls. Like your family was cursed— Like you were cursed.
But, Sunoo didn't let that stop him from caring for you, from waking you in the morning with soft kisses or light touches, all things that left you desperate for more of him, but he knew it wasn't the time. He needed time to prove to you that he deserved you, or maybe he was just trying to prove it to himself.
November had long gone and when December rolled around it felt like years had passed since the moment you and Sunoo met— Since the day he held your waist like he knew that you would be his, and the two of you shared that dance.
You had slowly found yourself slipping back into your old routine— reading, having tea, and journaling your thoughts as days passed, the only differing factor was that now Sunoo had made himself part of that routine. He would encourage you to take walks in town, or to spend late nights with him wrapped by the fire, no words had to be spoken though, most times you just sat in silence and consumed one another.
Tonight the two of you lie upstairs in what had become both of your safe space, Moonlight shined through the attic window as he sat at the piano, his fingers danced aimlessly across the keys, all while you sat with your eyes closed and head resting in the curve of his back.
"Sunoo can I ask something of you?'' Your voice cuts through the silence, like waves crashing on a silent beach. He doesn't stop his playing, just responds with a soft hum.
"This, whatever this is between us, what do we call it?" Finally his playing ceases and takes your hand in his, caressing your knuckles beneath his thumb.
"It has been two months since we have met one another and I would like to think of this as you courting me, but since that night where I gave you all of me I have not heard your true feelings.'' There's a charged silence as you held your breath, like you were anticipating the words that would leave his lips.
"I've been taking my time. Getting to know you and everything that comes with it, learning to love you and tend to the parts of you that may be broken or have not been nurtured because of all of the loneliness that your father made you feel. I also needed to know that I could give myself to you with out worry or fault.'' You listened intently with every word, like his love confession was something you needed to breathe.
"While allowing you to heal and helping you do such. I was answering the one question that I myself have been unsure of since the moment I laid eyes on you. I needed to know that I was ever capable of ever loving a woman, of loving you. I can now admit to myself that I Kim Sunoo have fallen completely in love with you Yn Sharpe. In a way that feels maddening.''
"You're… In love with, me?'' the question rolled off your tongue before you could even fully grasp his words. Part of you longed to hear those words from him, but the moment he spoke them you couldn't fathom it. This unfamiliar feeling of falling in love with and wanting a man, and having him be in love with you.
He turns to you. "So much that I question myself, I question everything that I know and believe, everything that I am when it has nothing to do with loving you,'' he pauses and takes your face into his hands. "Every part of you has consumed me, even if you do not speak the words that you share the feelings that I do-''
"I'm in love with you Sunoo. So much so that it eats me alive knowing that I have gone against everything I've ever known to love you. I ache knowing that I could not please my father in the end, that he died disapproving us, but I cannot sacrifice my feelings. I think part of me will always mourn my father because I could not be his perfect daughter until the end, but You will not be a secret. I want you as mine in the open.''
He doesn't say a word, just stares at you with raw unfiltered awe.
"Then you will be mine,'' he pauses to kiss your hand, "You will be mine, and I will take my time loving every inch of you, every curve, every perfection and imperfection. I will love you inside out until I memorize what it is like to drive through the forests of your mind."
With every word and every kiss a shiver crawls up your spine. You stare at him, as if this moment would slip away if you took your eyes off him for even a second. He didn't let go of your hand this time, just kept your fingers locked with his while he used the other to go back to playing his tune. Every now and then, he would bring your hand up to his lips and kiss it, it had become his thing.
The rest of the night slipped away with time, and eventually the sound of the piano melted into silence, and you both turned in for the night.
With the confessions of the previous day came silence and distance from Sunoo. You woke the next morning to find the bed empty beside you, but unlike usual there was no note. You had expected to stroll into the kitchen and find him there as you occasionally would, making breakfast or having tea— but you were met with a quiet emptiness. An emptiness that continues throughout the entire manor— the study, the office, bedrooms, the attic, the athenaeum; he was nowhere to be found. And that made you scared.
Your stomach began to turn at the thoughts that began to creep in within his absence. Thoughts that the curse could have claimed yet another victim, that you could have lost him just as you lost everyone else in your life. You clutch your chest, whispering silent prayers that he was safe, that it was only your superstition, and you turn back down the hallway.
You're halfway back to the staircase when you hear the floorboards creak above you and you immediately perk up. "Sunoo?'' you call out, looking up as you make your way to the lift, taking it to the second floor.
The screech of the lift taking you up is the only sound you're met with, but it eventually comes to a stop, letting you off into the empty hall. You follow the direction from which you heard the footsteps with no caution, and maybe that was your first mistake. Instead of listening to that nagging feeling in your stomach that had been telling you something was wrong, you stroll further down the hall.
"Sunoo are you here?'' Still no answer, but you do hear the sound of a door creaking open further down the hallway.
You should have turned around, went downstairs and waited for him to come back home, but you didn't. You shove the door open, realizing that it had been one of the rooms that had been locked during your stay here. As you step inside, a chill crawls up your spine. The room itself was old and frozen in time. Just a bunch of furniture draped over with old sheets, covered with cobwebs and dust. Remnants of it's age and not having been cleaned for a long time. The room itself smelled stale and rotten like something had died there and the smell just soaked into the floorboards.
You sigh, wondering why you even though he could possibly be in here. You're just about to turn and leave when a faint clicking sound draws your attention to a sheet in the corner of the room. The room falls silent again, and for a moment you just stood there waiting to hear it again, but you don't.
It was like the house was toying with you, sending you on wild goose chases for its own entertainment. Letting out a frustrated huff you turn on your heels and head straight for the door, only to hear the faint sound of a sheet drop behind you. It makes you freeze on the spot, but you don't turn around— you don't need to. Whatever it is you can sense it's presence, even without turning to face it.
You start off with slow strides, inching towards the door until you're fully in the hallway and even then you don't turn around. You tell yourself not to panic and remind yourself of the words Sunoo once told you, it was just your grief— just your mind playing tricks on you after everything that you had been through in this place.
Whatever it is follows you out of the room, you can't see but you know it's there. The closer you get to the lift the closer it feels— like it was only a breathe away from you. You choke back a whimper, your eyes full to the brim with tears but not yet spilling over.
"What… What do you want?" You call out, knowing you'd get no answer, you never did get one but you couldn't run. Every time you ran, they always came back— but you'd never truly had the courage to face them, whoever they were.
A grumbling followed your question, like someone snipped of their vocal chords that could only communicate through groans and clicks of their tongue. You swallow and let out a shaky breath— lips trembling with choked back cries as you slowly turn your head. Your breath catches in your throat what you finally meet it face to face, not a woman or faceless figure like the times before but a man. A man, completely crimson much like the woman you'd seen all those nights ago. He looked to be in his late forties, hair slicked back, his suit neat and pristine. His lips part as if he wants to speak but no words follow, your eyes fall upon his neck and you catch a glimpse of a straight slit, blood pours from it and swirls around him as if defying gravity.
"Miss?!" Ingrid's voice is loud and clear startling and making your head jerk in the direction of the lift. When you turn back the man is gone.
"Miss I have been calling you all this time, ever are you doing wandering the halls?" She asks, giving you a worried look.
"Did you see him?" You ask her, her eyebrows furrow in confusion, but straighten as she seems to think she's caught on to who you meant.
"Sunoo? Did he talk to you already? He told me this would be a surprise?"
"Sunoo? No Ingrid I was talking about the man, the red man." A look of concern flashes on her face and she brings a hand up to your head.
"Are you alright Miss? Are you sure you got enough sleep?"
"Never mind," you tell her, waving away her hand with a sigh, "I'm fine Ingrid, what brings you by? It's not like you to show up uninvited."
"Sunoo asked me to come, he said to help you pick out a dress and make sure you were ready for tonight?"
"Ready for tonight? Ingrid what's going on?" She doesn't say, just flashes you a smile.
"Let's just get you ready Miss, I'm sure all of your questions will be answered tonight."
With one last look behind you, you allow her to take your hand and guide you. The hallway remains empty and the door you once entered, was now closed as if you had never entered it in the first place. Despite your confusion you allowed Ingrid to lead you into your bedroom. No matter how much you pestered her or how many questions you through her way, they remained unanswered.
It was odd, so add how your emotions could have within a matter for seconds here. How you could go from sadness to anger, fear to comfort in a matter of seconds, and not even question it. Perhaps it was the effect of the house and the spirits it kept, but up until now, you had never found yourself questioning if it was really you that was the problem.
"Ingrid can I ask you something?" Ingrid responds with a soft hum as she continues to tighten the ribbons of your corset.
"As long as it does not pertain to Mr. Sunoos plans, I was asked to keep quiet."
"I've already accepted that you are indeed tight lipped when you want to be. It isn't Sunoo I inquire about but this place, the manor."
"Oh? What of it Miss?"
"You've worked here for quite some time? Have you ever noticed anything strange?" her eyebrows furrow at the question.
"I haven't seen anything of the sort no, if there's anyone you would want to ask such a question it would be Sunoo, he's worked here longer."
"Right, sorry. Perhaps I'm just stressed." You sigh, placing your hands in front of you as you take in your appearance in the mirror.
"Are you sure you're alright Miss? Even when I found you in the hall you seemed to be a little frazzled." You don't miss the look of concern she gives you as she lets the ribbon fall against your back.
"I'm alright, Perhaps I'm just still taking in how fast this all has transpired, my father, getting close to Sunoo. This all doesn't seemed to rushed does it?"
"We all move at our own pace Miss. Time is abstract, it may not move when we want it to but it moves at the pace we need."
Her words stuck with you even as you made your way down the staircase— she walked only a few paces behind you, holding the train of your dress as she guides you into the Athenaeum.
"Mr. Sunoo will be here shortly, he told me to bring you here and to give you this." She leaves no time for questions, just place a book in your hand and flashes you a knowing smile before exiting the room.
"Ingrid what am I to do-" you call out a little too late, by then she's already out of the room. With a sigh you flip the book in your hand, to your surprise you see the cover of a book you had already read a hundred times. A book you were sure you could recite forwards and backwards if you needed— Frankenstein.
"He brought me here and had me get dressed to read?" You sigh, pulling open the first page and out slips a lonely slip of paper. You set the book aside as your curiosity gets the best of you and you crouch to pick it up.
"Time to test the flame again, I believe you owe me a dance Sweetheart"
Sunoo
You scoff, the ghost of smile on your lips as you read it. It was something so unexpected from him yet it was perfectly Sunoo. Leaving everything to mystery, and making you wonder rather than just being straightforward. The note remains in your hand as you hoist up your dress and slip out into the hallway.
You cannot hide your anticipation as you grow closer to the dance hall— your heart rate is proof of that.
"Sunoo?" As you slip inside the place is half lit by a trail of candles lighting your way, at the end of it are dahlias— your favorite flowers. Your heart seems to beat faster as you follow the trail to the center of the room. Sunoo is still nowhere to be found but lie too enthralled by the attention to detail in the room to realize.
Tables aligned with candles and dahlias, books scattered across them— all seemingly strategically picked from your collection; Phantom of the Opera, Dracula, Nosferatu, The Fall of The House of Usher, and— once again — Frankenstein.
Frankenstein of course sticks out to you because you had held the book in your hands only moments ago. To your knowledge there had only been one copy in the Athenaeum.
Dropping the skirt of your dress you take it into your hands, expecting to find yet another slip of paper inside. Unlike the first time you open this one carefully, flipping it open to see that it was not a note inside, but something far more complex, emotionally taxing.
Your breath catches in your throat as you reach your hands inside and pull a ring from between the pages.
"You look breathtaking sweetheart." You hear him say behind you as he traps you against his chest- his hands resting on your waist.
"Sunoo is this.."
"I've thought long and hard on if this was the right time, but time doesn't wait and I needed to ask before you slip away. Before time slips away, and decides I'm not worthy of staying at your side. Before you think about returning to be New York, I know that if I let you slip out of my grasp I will regret it."
His fingers trace your skin, from your shoulders and down your arm until your hand is in his own. He doesn't bring it to his lips, not this time. He pulls you closer to his chest, stealing the ring from between your fingertips he plays with it between his thumb and index finger, before slipping it onto yours.
"Your dance will be all the answer that I need, if I feel your fingers intertwine with mine and your arm around my neck, there is no need for words. I'll accept you as mine, I'll accept that I am yours. That moment you yelled at me to reveal my true feelings, I became yours." He pulls you out top the middle of the floor, and then you feel the warmth of his body leave you.
The moment you turn around he's already standing there, candle in hand like he is ready to claim the dance you rightfully owed him. You stare at the flame that flickers as if it's already on it's last life, then you smile at him. A smile that makes all of his worries and doubts slip away.
Your hand easily fits into his, and your other hand rests on his neck. He doesn't hesitate to pull you closer, allowing there to be no more space between the two of you.
This dance feels much different from the first— there are no judgmental gazes or worries of disappointing a man that was now, long gone.
This dance felt charged with unspoken words and revelations, a waltz that made you feel weightless.
With every twirl and glide across the floor your dress followed with a soft swish, but it weighted that of a cloud.
Both your bodies moving at the will of the music, not of your own will, but to a tune that solidified everything that this was. This was not just a waltz, it was confirmation of two hearts that longed for one another. Two hearts that no longer belonged to the bodies that housed them- but the person that each of them held.
With the end of your waltz came smoke, as the candle blew out once more- but this time neither of you paid it much mine. You were too enthralled by each other— too entranced by the fact that you now had nothing holding you back from loving one another. Your fathers last name no longer held you back— and a new name would once again breathe life into you.
You sat at his bedroom window with a smile on your lips, your robe having fallen off your shoulder as you sat writing the first letter you had in months.
My Dearest Elisse,
I'm sorry that it's been so long that I have reached out to you, but I'm sure you know things have not been easy. I do wish you could have been here for fathers funeral, but I understand that you must have other priorities. This letter is to not frighten you or worry you, but to let you know that I'm doing well now. I still grieve my father, those feelings have not left, but I do seem to be finding my spark again within his absence. I know you must find what I'm about to say absurd, but for once it feels like I'm allowed to make my own decisions with no one to tell me they're wrong. I write to you with news that I am
soon to be wedded, I am not a Misses. It sounds crazy to say, me the woman that would have rather died a widow months ago, now married to a man I've only known for months. But I think that when you meet him you will understand.
Sincerely,
your darling fluturaș (little butterfly)
As you set the paper aside Sunoo enters the room with a tray of tea and fresh fruit. He sets the tray down before making his way over to you, placing kisses on your shoulder, down to your hand.
"Writing a letter?" He asks, placing one final kiss on your finger where the ring rests. A beautiful ruby colored jewel clasped by a black band.
"To Elisse, I'm sure she's worried since I haven't written to her since finding father, but I'd like her to know I'm well again."
"Will you invite her to the wedding?"
"Of course, she's the last I have that feels like family, I will send off the letter along with an invitation." You respond, standing up from your seat and going to take a strawberry from the display of fruit.
Sunoos swiftly take your hand into his, pulling you against his chest with a smile. A laugh spills from your lips as he pulls you close to his own chest, brushing the messy strands of hair behind your ear.
"Do you really want a wedding? I know that you were never fond of big displays." He asks, his thumb rubbing circles in your waist.
"I'd love something small at least, a small ceremony with Elisse, The Nishimuras, Ingrid and the others as well." Part of you feels slightly saddened as you go down the list of possible guests. You can't help, but since if Sunoo aches— knowing that the last of his family died with his youth.
But of course he shows no signs of sadness, he just flashes you a smile and places a kiss on both corners of your lips. "If that is what you want then it 's what we will do. I'll have Ingrid come in the morning to help you with a dress and the rest of the details we will handle together."
Together— a word you weren't used to hearing. For so long your father had so much control over everything that you had almost forgotten what it was like to decide for yourself
The week seemed to fly by as you busied yourself with ceremony plans, and wedding invitations. Something that should have been simple with such a minuscule list of guests, yet it was still very-much time consuming. But it was all worth it because it all came down to his very moment
You stood, taking yourself in in the mirror like you were some sort of princess. Nothing too much just a simple white raven dress, and lace veil that fell a little ways past your hair.
This moment felt surreal, knowing that you were about to marry— about to give yourself away to be kept and loved by someone.
"You know when I last saw you I wasn't expecting you'd run off and get yourself married." You heard a voice speak from the doorway, a smile curls onto your lips as you turn to find Riki standing there.
"You came." You rush over to him with a smile, and the hug he pulls you in feels safe and familiar.
"You did ask me to walk you, I'll admit I was surprised by your request, but as your friend I feel like it's my job to be the one to give you away." He responds.
"I know that it's a big request when we've only known one another two months now, but you're the only one I feel secure enough to walk me down."
"It's okay, no need to explain." He nods, reassuring you that you didn't have to say more, he understood very well what you meant and how you felt — even if you didn't say it.
Ingrid appears in the doorway seconds later, giving Riki a brief nod before looking at you.
"Miss the guests are all here and Sunoo is waiting in his place."
"Thank you Ingrid, we'll be on our way." She nods and exits the room, you hear her heels click against the floor before eventually silencing the further away she becomes.
"You look beautiful, he's a lucky man Yn." He holds out his arm, and you take a deep breath before placing yours on top. The walk from your bedroom and down the stairs felt agonizingly long. The moment you step outside the cold kisses your skin making you shiver, but it doesn't seem to bother Riki.
He leads you away from the door and down to the lines of chairs that sit scattered in the front of the manor. The setup is simple, but intimate— not too extravagant like all of those events your father once forced you to attend.
The snow slowly starts to fall as you walk down the pathway leading to him, all eyes immediately fall on you and your eyes find Elisse— sat with the look of a proud mother on her face.
When your eyes find Sunoo he looks at you as if you were the most precious Jewel, like art meant to be on display of a museum. He stands there as handsome his ever, his locks that were the color of sunlight, now paralleled a dark night sky.
If you weren't walking and breathing right now you'd have thought your heart stopped in your chest. He looked breath taking, you'd never known a man to be so handsome, that it made you question if this was your true reality— up until now.
As you finally stand in front of you Riki places your hand into Sunoos with a nod, and it gives you the sweetest de-ja vu as he smiles and says to Sunoo, "she's all yours."
The moment the Veil is removed from your face Sunoo the biggest smile spreads across his face. He brings your hand to his lips and he kisses, not your fingers, but your ring. And the ceremony begins.
With every word spoken throughout he stares at you like he was finding his life in you. Like every secret he kept, every word he didn't speak, they were all slipping away with your vows.
Your voice was laced with silk, melting against his ears with every word you spoke, pouring out your heart to him until there were no words left to be said.
But with his own vows, he wasn't just seeking love in you, seeking freedom from pain and suffering, caused by his inability to let go of the past. With his vows he was sealing away the secrets that he kept from you with silent prayers that they would never be revealed. He knew that if you found out the truth, then you could never love him the same. That if you found out the man you loved— killed the last of the blood related family, he would lose you.
Your vows are sealed away with a kiss. He pulls you close by your hips, and his breath tickles your nose as his face inches closer.
"Until death do us part." He whispers to you, pulling the veil over both your heads as if it gave you some sort of privacy, like it was a blanket separating you from the rest of the world. Then he kisses you, the first kiss that solidifies your lives now belonged to one another.
The rest of the ceremony felt intimate, like yours. Like you were finally able to enjoy something that wasn't just for business or making deals. As you found yourself smiling and laughing with the people you are sure you could now call friends, family even, everything felt like it wild be okay.
Once everyone had gone home and it were only the two of you Sunoo couldn't seem to wait to have you alone. Soft giggles spill from your lips as he carries you up the stairs and into the lift. He hadn't taken his eyes off of you for even a second— he couldn't.
You were radiant, breathtaking, and most important of all his. Once you enter the room the silence swallows you both whole- bit it goes interrupted by the sound of his breath, heavy and impatient.
He sets you down in his lap so that your facing him, his hand resting on your cheeks as he takes a moment to just admire your beauty. His voice is a ragged whisper as he leans forward, his lips only in hes from your neck when he whispers, " mine, beautifully, undeniably mine, from the moment I saw you. The moment you held my hand. The moment I first heard you moan my name."
He hesitates for a fraction of a second, his breath warm against your neck. He can feel you shiver at his touch, the warmth of your body alerts him of your anticipation
"Every inch of you— mine to hold, to kiss, to care for, to savor." With a groan of surrender, he closes the distance, his mouth meeting your skin earning a soft moan from you. Every kiss is desperate, hungry— like he wanted to brand your skin with his lips, leave evidence that you belonged to only him. As he removes your dress you can feel the anxiousness coursing through his fingertips, years of longing and fear of loving someone, slowly slipping away with each touch.
"You're so beautiful." As he finally frees you from your dress, his hands slide from your waist to your back, pulling you tighter against him.
"Sunoo." His name falls from your lips like a prayer to god, making all of his patience slip away. You were his damnation, the forbidden fruit that would make him sin time and time again.
He can no longer wait, releasing himself from the prison of his restraints, he lets out a shaky breath. The moment he slips inside of you its all the relief that he needs. His eyes roll back slightly, a choked, guttural sound escaping him the moment he feels you clench around him. His hands tremble where they grip your hips, guiding you further onto him until you're completely full of him.
"Shit." He lets out a sharp, strangled gasp as you take him fully, his body shuddering against yours. His eyes are wide, locked onto your face and the way your mouth falls open as you take all of him.
His hips buck against yours, his control shattering the moment he feels you bounce once, like telling him to move. His hands clutch your hips, his eyes squeezed shut, and a low moan tears from his throat. "God, if you keep clenching like that I'll cum faster than you want me to sweetheart." He vocalizes, pushing your hair aside and leaving sloppy kisses on your neck as he thrusts into you.
"So pretty, my pretty girl, my wife. I will make every part of you mine. Until you only know my name and the walls whisper your moans back to you." His fingers graze your neck as he holds you in place, his lips coaxing you to take every inch of him.
He drives into you with a desperate, and punishing rhythm, his breath hot and ragged in your ear. "let me hear you sweetheart, I want to hear all the sounds you made when you thought I wasn't around, thought I didn't hear you. My precious girl." His fingers dance across your skin, burning any place it touches.
His touch is a fire that can't seem to be extinguished in that moment, grazing your neck down to your chest where he takes your nipples between his fingertips. "You're so sensitive, so easy for me, it's cute. Makes me want to destroy you in every way I can."
You suck in a breath as he pinches your nipple between his thumb and index finger, his thrusts abusive like he wanted to to fall apart around him.
A whine falls from your lips, the only words you can seem to let out are his name among incoherent babbles. He chuckles, a breathy sound that makes you completely lose it with everything he was making you feel in that moment.
"That's it sweetheart, you have a voice, need you to use it for me." Every part of your body became his canvas, and every mark he left on your skin was his art.
"Sunoo I- I can't."
"You can baby, fall apart for me, so that I can do it all over again." He pulls your body flush against his, his fingers press into your hips as he guides them against his own. He can tell you're getting closer, the way you clench and suck him in like his cock was your lifeline. "You're almost there baby, go a little longer for me."
A curse spills from his lips as you shudder in his arms, the sound of skin to skin and the slick between your thighs was slowly turning him mad. His thrusts became harsh, less loving and more abusive like he wanted the inside of you to remember every inch of him.
"My pretty girl." A broken, surrendering sound escapes him. His hips stutter, and his grip on you tightens as he spills deep inside you with a shuddering gasp. He continues to drive into you until you're finishing on his lap with a violent shiver. He lets you use him to ride out your orgasm until you fully collapse against his chest.
You're both completely spent, your body both sticky and sweaty messes from what was only the first round of what he would put you through tonight.
He lifts you up from his lap, carrying you over to the bed as if you weighed nothing— like he wasn't even tired in the slightest.
He lays you down on the bed, his hands are frantic but soft against your skin. His thumbs rub loving circles on your thighs before he pushes them back against your chest. "Going to take good care of you."
He doesn't give you a moment to think, your breath is immediately stolen away from you as his lips meet your clit. Hungry and eager- like your taste was the only thing that could satiate him. It pulls a cry from your lips, having cum only moments ago you were still sensitive and you hadn't come down from the high of your first orgasm just yet. But he didn't care, he needed to feel you in every aspect, to taste you until he could memorize the flavor.
"S- Sunoo." You choke out, he glances up at you momentarily and it makes you flinch. His eyes are completely glossed over, his lips shiny with your arousal. He was completely lost.
He hums against you, his tongue coaxing the filthiest of moans from your lips with every lick, every suck of your clit. Everything about him drove him mad— your scent, your moans, your taste.
"I think I'll lose my mind. He stares up at you, his eyes searching yours. I want to try something sweetheart, i need you to breathe for me. Open your pretty mouth for me." The words make your face heat up and you feel yourself clench around nothing. He was so shameless, he could ask you such things so easily and it sent your head spinning.
Your heart thumps against your chest as you part your lips, he brushes over your lips with his thumb, whispering soft praises and 'good girl's to you as he parts them further.
"Going to taste you while you're tasting me," He kisses you softly before pulling back. Using his thumb to part your lips further he spits into your mouth without asking, it melts onto your tongue like candy. "I want to feel you come apart with my cock in your pretty mouth."
He lies back on the bed, and pulls you gently to straddle his face, his hands guiding your hips. "Be a good girl and sit for me."
You breath catches in your throat as you hover over his face. His hands are firm on your hips, guiding you onto his face until his breath ghosts against your clit. His eyes are locked on yours, dark and full of worship. "That's it. Slowly. Just like that pretty."
The moment you settle over his mouth, he lets out a muffled groan of pure pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut. His tongue is immediately eager, lapping at you with a focused, reverent intensity.
He coaxes you to lean forward, his own hips shifting so his erection is right there, nudging against your lips. The scent of your arousal and the taste of you on his tongue is dizzying.
His hands slide down to grip your thighs, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles as he devours you. The vibrations of his appreciative hums travel through you. "So good. You taste so good sweetheart."
A sharp, guttural cry escapes him the moment your lips touch him, his entire body arching off the bed and into your mouth. His hands tighten on your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin leaving his mark. The dual sensation is overwhelming. His tongue works you with a frantic, worshipful rhythm, while the heat and weight of him fills your mouth. The room is filled with the wet, desperate sounds of mutual pleasure. You're both entangled with one another in the most intimate way possible, like your bodies were becoming one, like you were no longer just Sunoo and Yn, you were one person.
He seems to loses himself in the act, his focus splitting between the heaven of your body above him and the exquisite torture of your mouth on him. His breathing is ragged, his movements becoming less controlled and more desperate. He was falling apart, you were making him fall apart. Everything about you was toxic and dizzying.
His moans became choked out cries each time he felt your throat contract around him, when he felt your tongue graze his skin. It started to feel like you wanted to swallow him— to completely milk him for everything he had and he was feeling it.
A ragged, choked sound rips from his throat at the sensation, his hips bucking uncontrollably. His hands fly from your thighs to your hips, gripping you like a lifeline. His tongue lashes against you with frantic, desperate strokes, matching the rhythm of your mouth on him. And slowly but surely the tension in the room coils to a breaking point.
His whole body tenses, a guttural, drawn-out groan tearing from his chest as he spills deep into your throat, his release hot and pulsing. "Fucking, hell."he breathes out, before diving back in to your pussy. He can't stop, not until you cum, not until you fall apart and completely shatter around him. Your orgasm comes with a violent shudder as he cleans you up— like waves crashing to shore with a violent urgency.
You're both a complete mess by the time he's finished. His hands trace your thighs, rubbing loving and gentle circles until finally he sits up and pulls you up into his lap.
"Are you alright my love? Was it too much?" He asks softly as he pulls you flush against his chest, gently massaging you shoulders, your hips and your inner thighs. You shake your head letting him know you were okay, you just needed a moment to catch your breath.
He leaves soft kisses on every inch of your skin, dismissing the saltiness of your sweat on his lips, as he shatters you one last time with his kisses alone. When he finally felt you relax into his chest he pulls you down onto the bed with him, keeping you snug against him as he pulls the duvet over the rest of you. He didn't let go of you even for a second, it was like he needed to be holding you at all times.
Even as your exhaust took over and you fell asleep in his arms— your legs tangled with his, he held you close. Like if he let you go he would lose you, like you would slip away just like everything else slipped from his fingertips.
You woke the next morning to sunlight peaking through the curtains, his arms wrapped around you as if you'd disappear if he let go. A smile curls onto your lips at the memory of the previous day, you had really done it— really got married. You brush the soft strands of hair from his face, taking this moment of quiet to admire him.
He seems to be deep in thought even in sleep, his eyebrows furrowed, and lips poked out, but it makes him look all the more cute. Sighing you finally press a kiss to his lips before pushing yourself up out of bed, he had done enough lately, maybe it was time you took care of him in the morning.
Pulling on your morning gown you take one last look at him before exiting the room. Your steps feel soft and light as you stroll down the hallway, humming sweet melodies alone while making your way down into the foyer.
The first thing you do when you step into the kitchen is put the kettle on, you sit and admire the scenery from the window as the water Simmers.
"You're up earlier than usual fluturaș." Your head immediately snaps towards the entryway.
"Elisse?!" As shocked as you are to see her still here you rush over to her and she engulfs you into a hug. "What are you doing here? I thought you went back home to New York?"
She chuckles and gives your back a loving rub before leading you to sit. "Your fiance asked me to stay a while longer, said you could some family around. Don't worry I won't interrupt your honeymoon phase, I made sure he put me in the furthest away from both of you." She winks, moving over to the counter to grab three glasses.
"So you're staying?" Your eyes light up with the news of her staying a little longer.
"I'll be here a week longer then I'll be out of your hair, but until then you sit, you and Sunoo should be able to relax and enjoy your time together. I'll take care of everything else."
"You came all the way here to work?" You pout, feeling sad that she felt the need to work even now.
"I came all the way here to take care of the sweet girl I care for as if she were my own daughter." The words make your heart swell in your chest, you had always thought of her as your motherly figure, but you had never known that she felt the same.
"Good morning." A tired voice greets the both of you from the doorway, your eyes find a sleepy Sunoo, half clothed in pajama pants and a nearly unbuttoned white button up.
"Well good morning, have a seat. Coffee's in the pot, tea is in the kettle." Elisse greets, a slight smile could only her lips as she looks between the two of you. Her eyes follow him as he enters, as if analyzing which he would pick.
"Do you two have any plans this morning?" She asks as she sets down three plates of food— fresh fruit, eggs, bacon and scones with jelly.
"I was thinking of taking a trip into town, they're having a small winter festival." Sunoo mentions, taking a seat at the table. He grabs a strawberry first, even that doesn't go without being analyzed by Elisse.
"Ah the parade yes I did hear about it, I hope you two enjoy yourselves." She smiles as she joins you both at the table.
"Are you not going to join us?" You question, brows creasing in confusion.
"My dear you're a newlywed, your time away will give me more time to explore the place, enjoy your day as a wife."
The rest of the morning went on quite different from usual, you weren't met with silence or loneliness, because you now had two of the most important people in your life, here with you.
Elisse seemed to be getting along with Sunoo just fine, or at least that was what you had concluded. The chatter seemed to flow pretty easily between the three of you, but what seemed to go amiss by you was the way Elisse analyzed his every move.
Elisse was a sharp woman, she had felt a very intense shift the moment she entered the manor. The home itself felt angry, alive, like every window had been watching her, like the doorways spoke secrets, and the walls breathed with the air of those once living. She had known you nearly all your life, known the nightmares that came along with you from this once. But who she didn't know was Sunoo, nor did she understand why he would choose to stay in a place like this— if ask the things you said were true.
So she watches as the two of you leave, as Sunoo takes your hands and guides you into the carriage before the two of you were out of sight. The moment she closes the door the silence on the inside becomes deafening.
The moment she turns her eyes scan the foyer, the floorboards groan beneath her feet, every step feels heavier the further in the house she seems to step. The chains on her waist dangle as she saunters down each hallway, her eyes darting to each door as if she could see straight through them— see the secrets they held behind them.
She finds half stopping at a double door-ed room, one that had been off limits since your father had died, in all honesty it had been off limits before then. She could feel the energy beaming from behind the door, her suspicions are only confirmed as she places far hand on the door job and she feels it rattle. She shoves the door open and steps inside, revealing a neatly put together room, the only light shining in was from a window with the curtain half pulled back.
As she ever it was clear who's room it was, it was neatly done to your fathers taste. Old dresses aligned the closet and jewelry lay scattered on a fine crafted vanity. He assumed it was all your mothers, a ghost of the woman she once was, still lingering and long forgotten wanted the two of you left.
"You're still here, aren't you...?" She whispers aloud as her fingers graze the diamonds and pearls she left behind. She may not be able to see her here but she could feel it, sense it.
"And you aren't alone." Her eyes shift to the hallway outside the door where she hears the floorboards creak with the presence of something or someone, else. She follows the faint sounds of the home— light creaks, soft tapping on the walls, the groan of floorboards as if someone had been leading her around.
They stop at the lift, and although the sound is faint she could hear the sound of something falling in a room above. She takes the lift up to the third floor, ignoring how it groans and creaks— evidence of the houses age.
The lift comes to a stop with a large clank, and she steps off onto the third floor that now feels colder, eerier. The noises of the house finally cease as she enters a room with a large piano— the piano that he always played for you.
Her eyes scan the place taking in the skeleton of the room, as if it would tell her everything she needed to know about the person it belonged to.
Meanwhile, you and Sunoo walked hand and hand through town square, without a care in the world. The entire evening consisted of him adoring you, as you ran to each marketplace or food stall with the cutest smile on your face.
This was the happiest he'd seen you in weeks. It made his chest tighten with feelings he couldn't explain. To see you smile was everything to him, it gave him a reason to live— A true reason.
"do you think we should bring something back for Elisse?" You ask him, as you swung your hands back and forth.
"You know her better than anyone, I'm sure whatever you bring back for her she'll love it." he responds, brushing the wild strands of hair behind your ear.
"We should all eat together tonight too! Just like this morning."
"Whatever you want sweetheart, as long as I get to see you smile like this I'll agree to anything." He brushes a thumb over your lips before kissing them. It makes your heart flutter, you should have been used to it by now, his kisses, but this was the first time he did it so openly.
You couldn't hide the smile on your lips as the two of you finally arrived at the main square, a large fountain sat in the middle of a few town hall buildings, shops and markets. The area was flooded with people— children running about with ribbons, some of them sat playing with spinners and bottle caps, families and couples scattered about— all gathered around just to enjoy today's festivities.
It felt so foreign, being here with him— no longer lonely, but someones wife. You didn't think that much would change when you finally decided to settle down and get married, you always thought that in the end your father would get what he wanted and you would marry someone of his choice, but you didn't. This was a choice you made for yourself, choosing your happiness instead of being the puppet for someone elses.
"Have you ever thought about children?" You ask him, the words falling from your lips before you could even realize you had thought them.
For a moment he remains quiet as if he were thinking it over. "For the longest time I wasn't even sure if I was ever capable of love, children were only yet another painful reminder of something I wouldn't have." He responds, it makes you hold his hand tighter.
The rest of the evening had gone by in a flash. You simply just enjoyed each others company, watching the children play, and watching clouds— simple things that felt like so much more all because you were doing it with him. It all felt so new to you, actually allowing yourself to love someone instead of pulling away or choosing to be alone. But it also felt so amazing to feel seen and cared for when you had gone all your life feeling like you could only rely on yourself and Elisse.
Back at the manor Elisse had nearly turned the attic upside down feeling like she was searching for something that would never show itself. Old photo books and music sheets sat scattered across the old wooden table as she searched around, knowing whatever it was that was in this house would not let her be until she had found it.
She sighs taking a seat at the piano and mindlessly pressing keys as if it would help her think. Her eyes trace over them, following her fingers until they land on the last one 'C'. Her eyebrows crease the moment she hears it, slightly pitchy and off key— she plays it again.
She pushes open the lid and peaks inside, each string seems to be in tact, but as she looks closer, her eyes find something shimmering beneath the exact key that has previously sounded pitchy.
She carefully reaches inside and pulls it out, twirling it in her hand as if she were inspecting it— a sound cylinder?
"What are you doing in there?" As she remembers vaguely seeing a phonograph in your fathers office, she slips out of the attic and takes it along with her.
The home feels like it's holding its breath as she makes her way downstairs, the sound of her footsteps are swallowed by the walls as she moves down the hallway like a woman on a mission. The moment she steps inside the room feels heavy with something nasty and unseen. She sets the cylinder on a desk as she searches around, looking through half empty drawers and shelves.
As she closes a drawer the force sends a cup with a single fountain pen falling into the trash. She leans down to pick it up, placing it all back onto the desk, along with a crumbled up slip of paper that she realizes may not have been on the desk at first. She goes to throw it away but curiosity gets the best of her and she smoothens it out of the desk. She feels unease creep in the moment she realizes what it is— A lonely check written to none other than Kim Sunoo, from your father.
The door creaks open, and her gaze immediately shoots up to find Sunoo stood in the doorway.
"Oh Sunoo I didn't hear you come in." She slowly adjusts her hand so that it sits just above the evidence, but it was far too late, he had already seen it. "Wheres Yn?"
"Taking a bath." He answers coldly, his gaze shifting from her hand to the candelabra he had previously used on your father.
"I should check on her, see how your day has gone." She excuses herself, slipping the check off the desk, entirely forgetting about the actual reason she had come in.
Sunoo doesn't say a word. He just lets her slip past him and out of the room. She let's out a relieved breath, her feet moving quick as she exits the room, but she could hear his footsteps not too far behind her. The quicker her steps echo his are only seconds behind. Finally she breaks out into a sprint, heading straight for the stairs to warn you, she's quick but he's quicker.
He immediately stops her at the first two stairs, grabbing her and dragging her down by her feet. He raises his hand to take the first blow but he can hear your voice from the hallway upstairs. Elisse turns to push herself up but he grabs her again silencing her with a hand over her mouth.
She thrashes around, using all her strength to fight against him but he eventually drags her out of the house. He didn't want to do this, the last thing he wanted to do was take the last loving family member that you had away from you but he couldn't have you know the truth. He couldn't have the one thing he had left stolen away from him.
"Sunoo..?" You call out to him, your night gown hugging you nice and snug as you make your way down the hallway. "Elisse?" But still, you receive no response.
You make your way down to the first floor and into the kitchen, thinking that maybe they had gone to start on dinner, but no one is there. Soft creaks down the hall draw your attention to your fathers study, a place that no one was supposed to be— but it didn't mean it should go unchecked.
You step inside, your eyes scanning the room, but they had been nowhere to be found here either. Your gaze lands on the long forgotten cylinder, something that hadn't never there any other time you'd come in here.
Taking it into your hands you take a moment to inspect it before taking it with you to the Athenaeum where a phonograph sat long forgotten— collecting dust. You aren't expecting much from it, you thought maybe it was just some old song or dialogue your father had kept to keep himself entertained. but the moment it began to crackle with the sound of static and only seconds later you hear your moms voice— you realized it was something far more important.
“If you’re listening to this it is the twenty sixth of November eighteen ninety. Please know that if you've found this then you are the only one that knows this secret that I hold. My husband has done a terrible thing. That family and their child, all dead by his hands…he says he has nothing to do with it but I found him cleaning blood in one of the rooms. I'm afraid that if i do not leave soon then my daughter and I will suffer his karma. I’ve seen their spirits walk these halls, i know it is not just illusion. Soon enough if i do not leave this place my daughter will see them too-"
it ends with the sound of a door being forced open.
Tears well in your eyes with the information you had just been given by your own mother. You tremble as you let out shaky breaths, that make your chest feel heavy every time you breath in. Your father— a killer.
Your legs can barely hold your weight as you stand, the heaviness of something cruel and disgusting now weighing you down.
The world around you seems to spin as you make your way down the hall, the whispers and faint footsteps you ounce heard as a child all seem to come flooding. Your ears ring with many theories and what ifs but only one you knew had to be true.
"Oh god." you didn't want to admit it to yourself, that your father a man you thought to be madly in love, would be responsible for killing the women he actively grieved for, but it was the only thing that made sense.
You stumble down the staircase and into the foyer only to see Sunoo enter seconds later, he freezes in the doorway the moment he sees you. You can't tell what's real from what's fake as you see him standing there, blood staining his clothes, seeping into the white of his shirt. With your eyes full of tears you stare up at his face, the face of a man that knew it was all over.
"Yn.."
"What..what did you do?" the tears don't stop falling, even as you back away from him.
"She was going to.. She was going to take you away I didn't have a choice…"
No coherent words would leave your mouth as you stumble back and turn to go back up the stairs. It all had to be some sort of sick joke. He follows suit as you rush back up the stairs, leaving him behind as you slam the lift door shut.
"Yn." His voice falls deaf upon your ears as the lift takes you up to the second floor with a loud clank. You stumble down the hallway, ignoring the way he calls out for you.
As you get further and further does the hallway it started to feel like the walls were closing in on you. Like an endless stretching corridor that wouldn't stop until you turned and faced the truth. You stop when you hear the floorboards creak in front of you, as if you hadn't already had enough the spirits from your previous encounters finally make themselves known.
Sunoo is only a few places behind you, he freezes the moment he sees you standing in the hallway. His eyes land on the woman standing before you, fully red, draped in lace, her hand resting on her stomach. The woman he had seen time and time again before you and your father had ever returned here. She never spoke to him though, she only ever appeared when he felt like he was closer to a truth.
"You..you can see her?" He speaks up, making you jump and turn to face him.
"You can see her too the woman? The woman in lace?"
"You- you told me that you couldn't see them? You lied to me." You shout back at him, tears falling down your face, making your lips taste of salt.
"Them..?" He inches closer, holding out his hand as if he wanted to reassure you, but you back away. "Yn what do you mean them..its only..its only her she's the only one here."
"No- you're lying.. you're lying to me again Sunoo! Again you won't tell me the truth!"
"I just wanted to protect you- I don't want to lose you-"
"Did you kill him?"
"What?" He knows very well what you meant, but he knows that if he answers there's no going back, he will need to spill every truth.
"Did you kill my father?" You ask, your words shaky, like even though you know the truth you can't bring yourself to believe it.
"It was never my plan to hurt anyone."
"Plan…Plan? Sunoo you lied to me, you used me. I thought you loved me!?"
"I do love you!" The words hit you hard, how could he love you and take away the only things that you had that felt like family.
"He killed them, he killed them and he laughed in my face like it was an accomplishment, like their lives were trophy's. I got angry… I didn't mean to kill him but then I remembered finding them. My mother strung up over the stage..my father with his throat slit. They ruled it a suicide."
"What…what did you just say?" Your blood ran cold, your eyes widening the moment he mentioned the way his parents had died. The woman in red with the rope around her neck, the man with the slit in his throat. It was all starting to make sense, you weren't crazy and neither was your mother— she had seen them and you started to see them too.
"You… you've seen them…" you don't face to say the words for him to know, the look in your eyes says everything that he needed to know.
"Yn… have you seen them." He inches closer to you but again you step back.
"You… my mother…oh god." The realization had finally dawned on you, your father had not only killed Sunoos parents, but he killed your mother because she was going to take you away. Those same spirits that your father had bound to this home had haunted you since you were young.
Every ghostly visit, it wasn't to torment you or scare you, they were to warn you that you had lived in the home with a murderer, all this time thinking that you were safe.
"Sweetheart just talk to me, I didn't mean to lie- i never even meant to hurt anyone…" the pain in his voice almost makes you step toward him. Only last night he had made you fall apart, you had only just become his— just found happiness with him for it all to fall apart.
"When i found him in the woods, when I saw him you- you knew." You clutch your chest, feeling like your heart would burst at any moment from everything that you were feeling.
"I loved you I gave myself to you."
"Yn please." He steps toward you and you immediately back away, running past him and back to the lift. You don't wait to listen, you take the lift back down to the first floor and rush out the door, not even bothering to grab a coat. The wind and the snow is harsh, it seeps through your clothes and taints your skin the moment you step out the door.
Each step feels heavy as you trudged through the snow moving further and further away from the house, he appears in the doorway moments later. He sounds desperate and almost fearful as he runs behind you. You just needed to be away, away from this house, away from this place— it was a curse, everything and everyone you loved died here. This land devoured happiness and swallowed it whole.
"Yn I love you, I love you so much that it pains me when I am not near you." His words no longer make you feel warmth, they feel cold ans nagging—They ate away at you. Even after all of this you still felt love for him, he still owned your heart and that was the worst part of all. It felt like you were battling with every emotion that you ever knew.
Ignoring his words you try to move on, you try to keep going, not the moment you look ahead you see her again, for the first time in years. She stood, draped in red lace just as Sunoo described, one hand on her stomach and the other on her side where she was wounded. Your tears felt heavier the moment they began to fall, seeping into your skin and freezing on your cheeks from the cold.
"M-mom." She didn't say a word, she just stood looking back at the manor as if she had been waiting for it all to fall apart. You finally turn, your eyes landing on Sunoo who finally stops a few feet away the moment he realizes you've stopped walking. When your eyes finally land on him he takes it as the opportunity to speak, slowly moving forward and closing the distance between the two of you.
"Yn." He reaches out to you, the space between you slowly closing in until he stops. You don't realize it at first until the red seeps through his clothes. Up until now you hadn't even realized, Elisse standing behind him clutching her side before she collapses. Sunoo stumbles back, the blood pooling in and spilling from his wound is already too much to be saved. He turns and looks back at the manor, all while you stood looking at the last of your family bleed out on the ground— painting the snow crimson.
"Elisse!" Your emotions fully take over and you no longer care about leaving, all you care about is getting her somewhere safe, making sure she's okay, but its too late and she knows it. The moment you rush over to her, and fall to your knees beside her she just smiles.
"Your mother, she was beautiful." She tells you, bringing her hand up to your face. "You look just like her."
"We- we can get you help, I can go to town I can find someone.."
she shakes her head. "Town is two hours away, no one could here in time."
"No i could-" she stops you, before you could say another word, before you could come up with some kind of way to convince yourself that you could fix all of this.
"Go home…live the life your father never allowed…my beautiful girl, don't come back here." you watch as the light dies from her eyes, and the final breath that leaves her. A loud cry spills from your lips, it felt like the worst case of deja vu. Holding her in your arms the way you did your mother. The cold air, feels like fire in your lungs as you sat there holding her.
Then you remember, Sunoo, the reason she was gone. Your eyes follow the trail of red snow leading back to the house and you push yourself up. Blood now stains your night gown, it seeps into your clothes and dries on your skin like it was part of you. Ignoring the cold that eats away at you, you trudge back towards the house.
"Kim Sunoo!" His name rips from your throat, harsh and pained. Like it no longer just made you feel butterflies to say it, it came with pain and loss.
You follow the trail, a dark red that stains the floor as if it were part of the house. It leads down the hallway and into the dance hall and you follow it inside, it ends in the middle of the floor. He stands clutching his stomach as if it would stop the life from slowly slipping away from him.
"I watched her die, I watched… I watched the life drain from her eyes. All over again I had to relive that I had to be that same ten year old goth that found her mother dead in the snow Sunoo. I have to lose you, i have to lose the only man I ever loved." You step closer, but he doesn't speak. He just looks at you as if words weren't enough to express the things he felt.
"Say something!"
He steps closer to you, and as he moves to wipe the tears from your eyes you don't even flinch.
"I never wanted to hurt you, I didn't want to hurt her… but you… you became something that I don't want to lose." He brings his hand to your cheek, his blood taints your skin almost immediately.
"I love you, so much that it pained me to think you could find out the truth and you would be taken away." The tears seem endless as he speaks, you should have walked away, should have left him to die— but you couldn't, not when part of your heart would die with him.
"I will spend a thousand years, scorched by hell for hurting you and bringing you pain. But one last time, for my sake… for my sanity. Waltz with me."
You stare at him, the man before you completely broken and vulnerable, for the first time. You turn to walk away from him, and his fingers twitch where he once held your face. You should have walked out the door, but instead you return to him with a candle in hand. His eyes widen, like he had expected you to leave him here, even if he had he wouldn't have stopped you— he deserved to rot for ruining the one thing he ever truly loved.
His hand molds into yours one last time, like it was the perfect piece of a puzzle— but that no longer mattered did it?
This time as his other hand rests on the small of your back it feels painful, you do not feel the butterflies you once felt with him. As you take the floor, his eyes bore into your own with failed promises, and secrets now fully revealed.
This waltz feels like the end to a tale as old as time, yet at the same time it feels like the end of a story that hadn't even begun. Your life with him, all gone in the blink of an eye. Every memory with him seemed to flash in your mind as the two of you glide around the dance floor with practiced grace and efficiency— with a delicateness that hadn't been present the first two times you'd waltzed with him.
You could feel him grow weaker with every step— feel his hold on your waist loosen, his steps slowly turn into staggers, but he kept going. He danced with you until the silence rang in your ears like bells telling him that his time was now up. By the time he spun you to a stop, the candle had still been lit.
It was a painfully funny sight, the dichotomy of the candle light remaining lit while Sunoos light was slowly dying out— your love along with it.
A faint smile curls onto his lips as he stares into the light, bringing your hand to his lips one last time for one final kiss. "You were beautiful, loving you was beautiful."
He brushes the tears from your face one last time, and when you reach up to touch his face he presses slow kisses to your wrists, he spent every last second of his life kissing the parts of you he would no longer begin to kiss.
"Sunoo." He responds with a soft hum, his legs slowly giving out beneath him, you catch him in your arms but his weight brings both of you to the floor.
"Sunoo please, you're all that… you're all that I have left." Your words, are swallowed by silence, and his fingers fall stiff in your hand. You watch as his chest rises and falls one last time before he falls stiff.
He was gone— everything you'd once loved had died in the walls of this house. Sunoo, your parents, Elisse, All gone. The silence of the halls felt deafening and mocking— the spirits that once roamed, warning you and leading you were nowhere to be found.
You felt empty as you walked down the hallways that no longer scared you but invoked something far worse and painful. The floorboards no longer creaked or groaned with the presence of someone else, but the lift creaked as it took you down to the first floor— like old bones cracking and shattering with age.
Your steps felt heavy as you trudged down the stairs and past the kitchen that held many memories— memories of being sat in Sunoos lap as he read the paper, or having breakfast together before starting your day.
Even the cold no longer bothered you when you finally step outside, fully numb to the snow that fell against your skin. All you cared about was leaving this place behind and not coming back even if that meant you'd walk for miles.
So you kept walking, and not once did you look back, even as a white figure looms in the attic window, watching as you grew further and further away from the manor like it no longer mattered. This house that had haunted you for so long, the reason that you had been so afraid to go out on your own and live— it was nothing more than a curse broken.
The memories of your mother, of Sunoos' parents, of Elisse, it would all die with the manor. Even as it rot and fell apart, as its bones began to crumble and decay you would never return. For everything you loved had died along with it.
GENRE/CW: smut, angst, slight fluff, porn with plot, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it), oral (fem rec.), dry humping, orgasm denial, masturbation, overstimulation, prey-predator dynamics, praises and degradation, spit kink, dacryphilia, usage of nicknames, mentions of stalking, dark content, manipulation, obsession, emotional (?) cheating, mentions of blood, unsettling topics, read at your own risk! lmk if i missed anything.
WORD COUNT: 29.1k words!
SYNOPSIS: Jake sim never cared about the game itself, only how long he could play before you realized he was the only piece that ever mattered. Every move you make teaches him something, every single lesson brings the board closer to a position you cannot escape—the one he’d been circling from the start, the one he’d built every single move around, just to say checkmate.
WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.
A/N: hihi loves <3 back with another long fic gawd, it is a topic that i have not explored before so i hope you guys enjoy it <3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33
CHAPTER. 𝐈
Jake is the kind of man the room adjusts itself around, and he’s well aware of that. That’s the kind of aura you’d bring in as a rich upperclassman who’s got a personality charming enough for the crowd to stand and stare in hopes of deciphering him. He didn’t mind that, as if anyone could see beyond his fuckboy yet scholar persona that he wore so well.
He’d learned to read rooms earlier on in his life, not because he was a people pleaser, seeking validation, but the kind of man who loved the comfort others predictability provided him with. People liked what they thought they understood, and Jake had become very good at letting them think they did.
It was orientation day for the new cohort in his major—something that was mostly a formality for him by now, standing up in the front with the module leader, watching the first years filter into the room with the same blend of anticipation and nervousness, which only lasted a week or two.
You weren’t any different from the lot, excited to explore the new stage of your life, though you seemed to hide it well with a calm demeanour, minus the faint smile on your face. Arriving early was a good start for you, especially when you met two girls who were more than happy to accommodate you into their friendship which had formed not more than ten minutes ago, already feeling promising.
They’d been eager to introduce themselves, dropping their names—Karina and Giselle, as you found a seat together, chatting as everyone settled down, learning the basics about each other. You listened more than you spoke, relaxed now that you didn’t feel alone in a new place. Your presence was subtle, blending in with others, or so you thought.
Karina’s eyes roamed around the room, “my friend also studies here, she’s in the second year, y’know?” She spoke up all excited, making you both lean in as her eyes settled on someone, “fuck. She did tell me about this guy called Jake being fine, but damn, he looks so good in real life.”
You followed the direction of her stare, simply out of curiosity, finding the module leader fixing her mic, and a figure standing right next to her, garnering attention effortlessly.
He definitely seemed good looking, standing tall and looking around the room, but you didn’t see beyond that, letting out a small, “oh, he does look confident.”
“That’s one word for it, I’ve also heard he’s got a bit of a reputation of fucking around. How that rumor got spread on a university level is beyond me,” Karina shrugged.
“I’d tap that,” said Giselle, obviously interested in the man.
It made you all laugh faintly at her, the topic switched fast after that, something about roommates and campus tour, not knowing that Jake had his eyes on you, not too intense for the others to notice, but still there, easily lip reading how you’d reduced him to one word—confident.
Right then, the module leader tapped the microphone, “alright everyone, if we could settle down.”
Everyone was quick to obey, the room shushing down into faint whispers, and then absolute silence except for the leader’s voice, who introduced you to the basics of University and the course. You were quick to note down everything that felt important to you.
“This is Jake Sim,” the module leader spoke again, gesturing to him, “he’s one of our second years, the class representative, and he’s kindly agreed to help out with orientation this week. If you have questions about the course or the department, he’s your person.”
A ripple of chatter went through the room as you looked up at him again, just like everyone else did, only to find his eyes on you for a split second, before he gave everyone a smile, nodding in acknowledgement.
“Welcome! I’m Jake,” he spoke up smoothly, slight Australian accent evident in his voice, “I promise it’s not as hard as it seems right now, our professors just like to scare new students.”
That earned a few laughs from the students around you, even one from the professor. Karina snorted, “look at him lying, it’s uni, it’s supposed to be scary.”
“Well, you can’t just go ahead and say that in front of everyone, can you?” Giselle rolled her eyes, and you nodded with a look, which successfully pissed Karina off, before all of you chuckled slowly. You were genuinely happy to have found those two so early in your day, being friendless at a new place honestly sounded like a nightmare to you.
Jake went on explaining the basics and what to take care of as a student. You listened carefully, simply because his voice seemed perfect for someone who’d do public speaking, eyes wandering around the room to make sure everyone listens to him.
Meanwhile Karina has started talking about this new amazing lipgloss she’d gotten and you both hummed in agreement when she showed it to you.
“A lot of you might feel left behind at some point,” Jake’s voice boomed, “but that doesn’t mean you are, you just need to pay more attention.” His eyes were now on you again, but you couldn’t make it out from the distance, especially with the glasses he wore.
“Is he trying to tell us to pay attention?” You asked, amused now and the girls agreed furiously.
“Oh he definitely saw us talking,” Giselle mumbled.
The speech went on for a while, before the professor kindly asked the second year students to go around and take up doubts, because the first years looked way more scared now that the modules and assignments were laid out in front of you.
You three didn’t have any questions per se, but Giselle still wanted to talk to whom she now called ‘a fine piece of ass,’ raising her hand with such excitement, it knocked Karina towards you, your pen falling down in the process, which you didn’t register.
One second year was moving towards your group, but Jake’s eyes were quicker, and so were his legs. Within seconds, he stood right where you sat, “having doubts, hm?” He asked with a little smile.
“I just wanted to ask what professor should we steer clear of,” Giselle shrugged and you all chuckled.
“Trust me, all professors are good, just make sure to be good in front of Mr. Park,” he whispered the last part, his voice sweet enough for the girls around you to swoon.
With a nod, you ended that interaction, but Jake didn’t want that. He bent down without saying anything as your phone buzzed, your attention diverting, which was quickly brought back to him as he extended his arm, holding your pen out.
“Oh,” you said, surprised, giving him a faint smile at the kind gesture, “thank you.”
Your fingers brushed his, and for a second, you thought that he wasn’t letting go, feeling the warmth of you with the little touch, before he finally let you have it, the same gentle expression on his face.
“Welcome to Decelis University,” he mumbled, still looking at all three of you, but his focus was definitely on only one of you, which you had failed to register yet again, “hope to see you guys at the freshers mixer tonight,” he smiled, tapping the desk twice before he walked to the others who had doubts.
“Damn,” Giselle said, completely smitten as Karina giggled, meanwhile you checked your phone.
boyfie: all okay there, love?
you: all good so far, can’t wait to tell you about it :3
boyfie: perfect, see you at home ❤️
“Let’s go, explore the university now!” Karina suggested, or more like—she insisted.
You both nodded, linking arms as soon as you were allowed to leave, walking out as if you’d known each other since childhood.
Not knowing that Jake stood there, eyes following you out till your figure disappeared behind the door.
CHAPTER. 𝐈𝐈
For someone who liked to live a simple life, you’d probably overexerted yourself a lot today, considering you were sitting in Karina’s Mercedes Benz as she drove exceeding the speed limit for that road.
“You’re going to get us killed!” Your fingers tightened around the seatbelt as the wind caressed your face in high hopes of calming you down.
Meanwhile, Giselle didn’t hold back with her scream, a low chuckle leaving Karina’s lips, “don’t worry, girls. I know this route like the back of my hand.”
She was right about that one, the car surged confidently in precision, unfamiliar streetlights slipped over your face in intervals, illuminating fragments of your reflection in the half open window—tired eyes, and a faint smile that hadn’t fully left you yet. You checked your phone without thinking, the familiar name on your screen calming you more than anything could ever do.
“See?” Karina said, slowing just enough as neon signs began to crowd the pavement, “we’ve reached, all alive.”
Giselle clapped dramatically, “barely did. But yeah, we’re alive.”
Inside the club, it was exactly what you’d expected—dim yet impactful strobing lights, bodies pressed together in the corners making you realize just how quick people were to make connections, and of course, the loud music booming around. Karina slipped into it effortlessly, already weaving through someone in the crowd, the guy she’d met earlier during the uni tour, while Giselle followed just behind her, laughing and moving to the beat without a second thought. You stayed close at first, letting yourself be pulled along, letting the rhythm guide you for a fair few songs, enjoying it in small bursts even as you felt it beginning to wear on you.
It was too new. The new city, new crowd, new faces—something you weren’t used to, having done all of this with either your childhood friends, or that one person you trusted the most. It didn’t take long before the room started to feel smaller with unfamiliar hands brushing past you more often than you liked. When it became a tad too much, you excused yourself easily enough, telling them you were going to grab a drink before either of them could protest.
A certain man looked your way as you leaned against the counter, waiting, fingers resting lightly against the cool surface while condensation gathered on the glass in front of you. You hadn’t even taken a sip when someone stepped into your space, close enough that your shoulders tensed instinctively before you turned to face him.
It was evident that he was drunk, and you were still polite as you declined his filthy invitation, but he was beyond comprehension now, leaning in as you prepared yourself to push him.
Jake was quick to appear with a smile on his face, patting the guy on his back twice, as if meeting a friend, “mate,” he muttered, voice calm, “think you good?”
The guy just nodded, each movement sloppy as you stared at Jake, your heartbeat rising at the situation and doubt of what it could’ve been without his intervention. Jake only smiled, guiding him away to what seemed to be his friends, “take care of this one,” he muttered bitterly once you were out of the hearing range.
You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath just as Jake appeared again with an apologetic smile on his face, “sorry about that one.”
“Thank you,” you replied, passing him a small smile of your own, “for helping. It would have been a nasty scene if I had slapped him.”
Jake let out a quiet breath of laughter at that, the corner of his mouth lifting like he could picture it all too clearly, impressively so, “yeah, probably best for everyone that it didn’t come to that.”
His gaze flicked back to the glass in front of you as you took a sip which you didn’t really enjoy. Without saying anything, he reached for it, arm extended and his veins evident through his black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, fingers wrapped over yours for barely a second, tipping your drink slightly and adding a splash of coke to it.
“Here,” he said, handling it back to you.
“Oh, thank you.” You took a sip, enjoying the flavour a lot better now, “that’s actually good.”
Jake observed it—the tension of your shoulders easing into the same comfort you had with the friends you made earlier. A little gesture adding more to his character, making him rather trustworthy in the sea of drunken strangers. He leaned against the counter in silence, “I’m glad.”
“I better get going,” you said, pointing at Karina who waved your way as Jake followed your eyes, nodding with yet another smile he so easily wore.
“Have fun, will see you around,” he said, pushing off the counter as you both parted ways.
He found an empty stool, sitting right where he could keep a check on all students, just as the other second year students were doing. It had been a few minutes, but he could see you typing something on your phone, eyes filled with exhaustion. Yet you were cheerful when you hugged your friends goodbye as they teased you about something Jake couldn’t quite decipher from the distance.
Then you were quick to walk outside, waiting by the door. Jake had followed you without any ill intentions, just stopping right before he witnessed your eyes shining as you made your way into the car that stopped right in front of the club. You were quick to enter the car with a wide smile on your face as Jake watched with his eyebrow raised, even more so when you leaned in to kiss the man who sat in the driver’s seat.
He clicked his tongue at the minute PDA, his smile deepening into a smirk when the car pulled away and the lights bled into the darkness, attention fixated on where you’d been moments ago. He turned back inside after a moment, already replaying the details, already adjusting his understanding, aware that some things didn’t fit neatly into place and never really were meant to.
And Jake had never been very good at leaving anomalies unexplored.
CHAPTER. 𝐈𝐈𝐈
“Fuck,” Jake groans, his plush lips bitten with the need to chase the high he couldn’t achieve, thrusting into the girl he couldn’t even bother remembering the name of, and the only response he got was an incoherent wail of pleas, the whole room could feel the reverberating noise of skin slapping.
The girl was more than overstimulated, almost crossing the line between heaven and hell with how satisfied she was, but Jake? He could only close his eyes, gathering a little of what he’d seen of you the past few days. Granted, it wasn’t much, yet it was definitely enough to keep him riled up and going, the pace only increasing as he finally hit that one spot, yet another deep groan leaving his throat as he filled up inside the condom he wore.
Nothing else could be heard for the next few seconds, simply the deep sound of breathing. The silence being enough for Jake to shake his head with his jaw tight as he got up, grabbing fresh clothes from his closet, “I’ll call a cab for you.”
“Wait—you won’t let me stay? You said you liked me,” the girl asked, barely being able to get up.
“You know what you signed up for, hm?” Jake only smiled, leaving the girl alone to freshen up in the bathroom. By the time he came out, the girl was gone, just as he intended.
Making his way downstairs, he found the two of his friends playing Valorant, acknowledging his presence the second he walked in, “were you trying to kill her? The fuck are you so frustrated for, huh?” Jay asked.
Sunghoon chuckled, “he couldn’t fuck the girl he’s been staring at from the past few days,” he explained with a smirk.
Jake found humour in this too, dragging his veiny hand through his hair, still feeling the aftershocks of what was meant to be a satisfactory act for him, “you paying attention now?”
“Just fuck her if you want to man,” Jay urges.
“She’s got a boyfriend,” Jake mutters, grabbing a can from the fridge.
“That never stopped Sunghoon, y’know?” The boys chuckled at that.
Sunghoon glanced at him sideways, controller resting idle in his hands, “you’ve actually been weird lately,” he said, “almost like sex doesn’t satisfy you anymore.”
Jake took a slow sip of his red bull, eyes fixed on the muted glow of the television screen, the game paused mid-fight, “maybe I’m bored,” he replied, voice almost amused, “same faces, same convos. Gets old, y’know?”
Jay snorted, “you? Bored?” He shook his head, “now that’s new.”
Jake shrugged, setting the can down before standing again, “I’ve got stuff to do, will be back.”
Upstairs, his study room felt too quiet, Jake sat on the edge of his bed and opened his laptop, the screen lighting up with pages he hadn’t bothered closing earlier—Uni portals, timetables, other social feeds he kept as background noise but never really were. He clicked through them absent-mindedly at first, then with more precision, eyes narrowing as he found what he was looking for.
You had never told Jake your name, you didn’t really have to. He was efficient enough to find out the basics himself. All it took was a few minutes of cross checking the orientation lists, narrowing it down by majors and the list of students with their ID photo popped up, it was rather easy for Jake. He leaned back, whispering your name, hand resting on his lips when he further started to learn more, curiosity getting the best of him.
And so, it wasn’t much when he found your socials, not having a lot of info on them, yet enough for your stories to tell him exactly what your new favourite drink was from the Library cafe, the last few books you’d read, even an insight on your letterboxed filled with myriad of movie reviews, some of which he even took the time to watch.
Jake leaned back slightly, elbows resting on his knees as the laptop buzzed quietly. His eyes flicked to another tab—one he’d opened days ago and never bothered closing. The mentorship program. It was mandatory for all first years, even Jake was involved last year. Though it’s randomly assigned, Jake took the liberty to make the list himself, the other class representatives gladly handed the task over to him in hopes of not being burdened with further work themselves.
He smirked to himself, of course he couldn’t let such a pretty girl be bothered about the basics of University when he was right there to guide you, well, amongst other students he took under his wing. People do this when they’re infatuated, don’t they? Your relationship won’t be much of a problem since he only wanted to get close, just a little.
He repeated your name again, in a softer tone now, with the surety that no one could say it better than he did. He saved all the files, shutting the laptop down and staring at the few pictures he’d managed to print out, specifically the one with your boyfriend, his face crossed out with a blood red marker. He set the photo face-down on the desk as he stood up, smoothing the front of his shirt.
He flicked the light off and closed the door behind him, already wearing the version of himself everyone expected to see. When he joined his friends again, he dropped back onto the couch easily, leaning forward to grab a controller, his smile relaxed and unremarkable. Jay shot him a glance but didn’t question it, too focused on the game to notice how settled Jake looked now, how satisfied.
And as the screen lit up with movement once more, Jake played along like nothing had changed at all, knowing full well that everything had.
CHAPTER. 𝐈𝐕
You liked your Uni so far, you’d adjusted into your new life now, better than ever. It was quite a dream come true to you, living with your boyfriend, almost like starting a new book with all happy tropes incorporated into one. The one year you were without him was enough for you to apply to a university in his city, where he worked. It all worked out beautifully, well, as much as it could, because not everything went in the way you wanted it to.
It already had been half a month since the lectures started, and you were scrolling through the new mails, finding a new one popping up right then, labelled as Mentorship Guidance. It was a formality for all students, six of them being assigned to a senior with monthly meetings to ensure everyone’s doing well, a familiar name attached at the bottom of the mail—Jake Sim.
You were glad it was someone you’d met before, he seemed reliable from what you’d gathered, but your attention was diverted quickly once your boyfriend entered the room, engulfing you in a back hug which you so lovingly accepted. This is the life you’d always wanted, even though your boyfriend did stay busy with work most of the time.
Jake didn’t think so, he thought you deserved better even when he saw your boyfriend dropping you off for the mentorship meeting three days later. He’d arrived early, he liked to ensure everything went just the way he wanted, absolute perfection of the plan he’d thought of. The small seminar room was quiet when he entered, making sure the seats were relaxing and the atmosphere warm.
He set the drinks down one by one, six cups in a neat line, lids pressed on firmly, sleeves placed carefully so no one burnt their fingers. It would look like thoughtfulness to them, a harmless senior trying to make first years feel welcome, and that was the whole point. He’d made sure there were options, of course, because he wasn’t careless, but there was only one cup he’d checked twice before leaving the café—yours.
He’d ordered it the way you liked it, right down to the small preference you hadn’t even written out properly, the detail tucked into a story caption that disappeared within twenty-four hours. Jake remembered it anyway, the same way he remembered the shape of your smile the night you’d climbed into that car.
He sat down only after everything was placed exactly as he wanted it, choosing the seat that gave him the best view of the door right before the students started to arrive in the room. Jake had taken a note of everyone’s names and basics, just to seem like a good mentor. A guy came in first, followed by the other students as he greeted them all with their names.
Then you walked in and Jake’s focus shifted entirely, as if everything else in the periphery became noise to him. You looked more confident now, as if you’d been settling in well, wearing that necklace you always fidgeted with.
“Hey, good to see you,” Jake smiled smoothly, making you smile and nod with politeness.
He introduced everyone naturally, feeling this surge of emotion when he reached you, your name rolling off his tongue naturally, exactly how he had practiced all this while, “Before I start, I got a little something for you guys,” he says, reaching for the drinks and passing them around, “I got a few random ones, I hope you guys like it.”
You were surprised when you took a sip—it was the drink you had liked, and to your pure luck, you’d gotten the same one here, a small smile making it all worth it for Jake, who was a keen observer of everything. He’d wondered how you’d look so up close again, in bright daylight with nothing to hide, each crease of your smile was visible, and he took a note of it all, as if it was a meeting for him.
The meeting went by smoothly with how easygoing the group was, the conversation shifting into something more casual now, Jake let it happen, watching the shift with quiet satisfaction, easing back in his chair like he had intended this to happen.
“So,” he said lightly, resting his forearms against the table, fingers loosely interlaced, “how’s everyone surviving so far? Be honest, yeah? This is a safe space.”
Someone laughed, “barely surviving,” a girl near the window said. “I swear the reading list is longer than my fucking will to live.”
That earned a ripple of chuckles, even from you, and Jake caught it—the way your lips curved before you looked down again, fingertips grazing the side of your cup. He smiled alongside.
“It evens out,” he said easily, “give it a few more weeks.”
“You moved here for uni?” Someone asked you, and you nodded.
“Well—yeah. It’s easier for me since my boyfriend already works here,” you nodded and the girl squealed.
“Are you living together?”
“Yeah, his apartment is also close to the uni, which actually helps,” you smiled fondly, not knowing how Jake focused on this extra piece of information you’d just dropped so casually, staring your way as you sat right next to him. The conversation then shifted to something else, and you were glad once the meeting was over.
Your bag slipped just as you were getting up, a few pens and notebook falling down in the process. Jake was quick to pick everything up, along with you, setting most of it in your bag as you thanked him. It was clear he was a kind man, always there to help anyone under any circumstances, failing to register the small device he put in the corner, which looked exactly like the pen you’d dropped on your orientation day.
“You’re so kind,” you smiled, taking the bag back before leaving along with other students, completely missing the look of pure pleasure on Jake’s face as he slid your lipgloss in his pocket without any guilt, your faint clean scent only making him go dizzy.
He unlocked his phone, opening the app he’d installed which broadened into a map with a single red dot, which was now moving outside of the room where Jake stood. He grimaced at the thought of you going back home to a man, a man who clearly didn’t belong with you. It was no bother waiting there in the room, in fact, he took his sweet time to do some background research on the people around you, sitting in the seat where you sat earlier.
The warmth gives him room to think, he doesn’t rush these things; rushing makes people careless, and Jake prides himself on never being careless. Instead, he lets himself sit with the irritation, with the image of you unlocking a door that isn’t yours alone, laughing at something a man says because he thinks he’s earned that right being by your side for what? A few years.
Not yet, Jake tells himself, calm as ever. He scrolls through what he already has—the basics. Names connected loosely enough to pass as coincidence, random public traces and patterns, everyone has a digital footprint, and god he’s more than delighted to find yours. Who you follow, who follows you back, which names repeat often enough to take into account. He pays attention to timelines more than content, noting who appears consistently and who drops out of the picture without explanation. Families leave different marks than friends do, and so do lovers who think they’re permanent.
Jake quickly switches the tabs on his laptop when a student enters the room again, claiming the headphones he’d forgotten, and Jake puts on his best smile as he returns it to him, bidding a goodbye before that smile drops. He pushes his glasses up witj one finger, checking the application which clearly showed your dot slowing down, stopping entirely by the next two minutes.
His eyes trace the map, memorizing the location which was indeed only fifteen minutes away from the campus, five minutes from his penthouse. Close, just like you said. Ever so convenient for him, even you knew not to stray away so far from the person who was handmade for you.
His eyes darkened when he pulled out the socials of your boyfriend, scoffing when he didn’t find a single picture of you there, absolutely no trace of having a girlfriend, as if you were not a goddess given to him in a human form. Jake would show you off enough to know you’re taken, he’d hide you enough for only him to know what you are from inside out.
Did he even know how to make you feel good? Or that you have a twitter account to talk about your fantasies and the filthy eroticas you read? Could he make you moan? Make you feel satisfied? The thought enough had him chuckling with anger, a vein popping on his forehead. But it was okay, it wouldn’t last for long when you understand that you belong with him—to him.
Completing his final assignment for the month, Jake rubbed his bottom lip, now he was free, having all the time in this world to devote to you, to your smile that allowed a faint dimple to grace your face on your right cheek, to your perfectly crafted body, to every single essence of your being and existence.
He saw your dot moving just as he got up, checking the time—perfect for grocery shopping at the nearest Tesco, then he looked out the window to find the sky clear of any clouds, quickly diverting his gaze to his phone, the weather app open, indicating eighty one percent of precipitation in the next seven minutes, a smirk gracing his face. For the first time ever, he was thankful for this city to have unpredictable weather, something you were surely not accustomed with.
If he gets his timing right, he could garner another interaction. He clicked his tongue with a smirk, zipping up his bag, and slinging it over his shoulder, walking out, leaving his car in the parking lot without much care as he walked, getting his timing right just for the first raindrop to fall on his lip, which curled as he saw you with your hands full—two bags of groceries, just as he thought.
It was the right time to pull out his umbrella, taking in the second to watch your expression curl into one of absolute disbelief at the now dark sky with no way to cover yourself. Oh how beautiful you looked like that, struggling alone as if Jake wouldn’t build a whole shop right next to your apartment if you’d just ask.
It was then that he stepped into your peripheral vision, holding the umbrella in a way that you’d see his face, your eyes widening in recognition, whispering his name before you could stop yourself. It was perfect, the way Jake looked surprised as he stopped, eyeing your state as raindrops cascaded down your face like he didn’t stare at you before.
“Y/N,” he smiled, holding the umbrella over you without saying much, “fancy seeing you here.”
Your eyes told him exactly how happy you were for the cover, “yeah! Do you live around here?” You asked with that little smile of yours which was more polite than genuine.
Jake hummed, “my apartment is ten mins away from here. I see with the groceries, you must live around too.”
He knew exactly where you lived, he just wanted to hear it from you, and he felt that buzz inside him when you nodded, and explained how it’s five minutes away for you.
“Let me help then,” he whispered, brushing his fingers against yours as he took a hold of the bag that seemed heavier, without giving you a chance to complain, but you still did.
“Oh, you don’t have to!” You were shaken almost at the sudden act, not scared, but rather at the easy show of his helping nature, the control he held over every situation, just how he was always there to help. You didn’t question it, you ran into your classmates all the time around this area.
“I can’t let you carry it all alone now, can I?” He showed you the boyish grin of his, making you smile, this one seemed rather genuine, sending sparks right down Jake’s pants, “guide me, okay?”
You nodded, “thanks, Jake. You’re genuinely so sweet,” you muttered, and you did mean it, not knowing what that did to Jake, but he knew it was the perfect time to instigate.
“It’s my pleasure. Why are you doing groceries alone though?” He asked, just how normal people do, trying to make small talk.
“Oh—uh, my boyfriend works till eight, so I just take care of the rest of the things,” you smiled as if it was normal, highly aware that you were giving out your details to him.
Wrong. Jake wouldn’t let you do that, fuck, he won’t let you work at all, you deserved to be treated like a princess so all you could focus on was him and studies, nothing else should matter.
“That’s fair,” he forced himself to say, “I’m glad you have someone with you here.”
“Me too!” You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes, as if something had happened, something you wouldn’t tell an acquaintance, but he still took his chances, slowing a little when he saw your house coming into view by the next turn, the perfect spot with absolutely no CCTVs.
“You sure you’re good?”
You paused for a second, thinking about how to frame your words, especially since you didn’t wish to make your boyfriend sound bad, especially because you were telling it to someone who was still a stranger, “yeah, I just wish we could have more time to spend together now that I’m here.”
“He sounds like a good man, working hard for you,” Jake replied, voice soft under the patter of rain, “I hope you get whatever you want,” he let out, absolutely not meaning it.
You saw him in a different light when he didn’t judge your situation, because your friends did when you told them the same. Jake was quick to catch that glint in your eyes, handling you the bag back when you stopped.
“I’ll walk from here, thank you for helping me, Jake,” you spoke softer now, not wanting him to know your house number.
“You say that a lot.”
“You help me a lot.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Jake said in a beat, earnest with his words, that had to staring a second too longer at him, not knowing how Jake was crumbling inside with the look of pure innocence that you gave him.
That interaction stayed in his mind as he bid you goodbye with a smile, walking ahead first to make sure you know he’s not trying to hit on you. No. It was too early for that, he just had to learn more, he had to build that trust more, morph himself into the very image of a perfect man crafted just for you.
Your heart was heavy as you reached home, half soaked from when Jake wasn’t there to shield you from the rain. You loved your boyfriend truly, and maybe it was selfish of you to even want more time with him when he was busy with work. Yes, he did give you time on weekends, yes he was never bad to you, and you knew he loved you, but somewhere, you just didn’t want to have that flatline graph with no excitement, wanting a little more from the relationship.
Outside, Jake stopped right by the corner to observe the lights to make sense of which room was the bedroom, staring for a while to conclude it was the bottom left one—perfect, easy access. Once he was done checking every bit of space around you, he moved, going back to uni for his car, the scent of you lingering in his mind, the way you looked at him when he so effortlessly helped you, and he always would, you just have to wait and see.
CHAPTER. 𝐕
Shooting a goodbye to Sunghoon, Jake left the last lecture for the day, making his way to the library to make sure his calculations were right, a smirk gracing his face for barely a second as he spotted Giselle sitting with her head in her hands, evidently struggling with the essay on cardiovascular biotechnology—given by none other than Mr. Park, the one Jake had warned them about.
Jake knew it was impossible to be always right, but he liked to take his chances. He bent down, tapping the table twice which evidently startled the poor girl, but she melted comically fast, watching Jake looking worried about her, “all good?”
“Y—yeah! Just doing my essay,” Giselle replied in a haste.
Jake nodded, as if trying to recall where he’s seen her before, “You’re new right? 2026 cohort for biotech?”
Giselle was visibly happy at the recognition as she nodded with a smile, which eventually led to Jake offering help and her accepting it without thinking twice. Everything was going according to the plan as Jake ended up providing her with every single resource she needed and more, all research papers as she stared in awe, now taking her chance to actually invite him out.
“I can’t thank you enough, Jake! I would love it if you join me and my friends at the arcade tomorrow—only if you’re free though! You can bring friends too—”
It was that easy, just pretty boy privileges. He thought he’d still have to work hard and maybe be the one to extend the invite, but again, the universe worked well in his favour despite how wrong it was, “I’d love to,” he smiled.
That’s it, his work was done, perfectly so. Exchanging numbers was the last thing he did before bidding goodbye to her, turning around with his usual smirk, unlocking his phone to see if the package he’d ordered had been delivered or not, just to find it was. His mind was on overdrive this whole time, especially with the thought of seeing you outside of the university setting again.
He wondered if you’d dress up knowing he’s gonna come, would you even know that he’s invited? Will you smile seeing him there? He gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white as he drove back to his apartment. He could feel a buzz through his veins at this newfound feeling, the thrill he never got with just fucking around, somehow this felt even better than the orgasm those mindless one night stands provided him with.
So this is what it is like to fall for someone? It’s inevitable. Wanting felt too easy, almost crude and Jake didn’t want you—he needed you just like he knew you belonged to him. The lack of control irritated him, especially because this isn’t how he operated, he was too used to getting the things he wanted ever since he was a kid, but you? You were taken away from him the very second he decided to have you.
He groaned out your name again, chuckling like a madman at how he just wanted to fuck you when he first saw you. Fuck you? He’d treasure you, he’d make every inch of you feel so good you’d never think about anyone else—he’d worship you. Seeing you with a guy who wasn’t him had his blood boiling, yet he welcomed the heat. He bit on his bottom lip with such intensity, it had him tasting blood.
And now, he had to control things from the sidelines, stepping further to actually get an insight on your life beyond how you’re reading a queer cultish erotica right now. He will know more once he gets you a plushie tomorrow. He reached home with ease, paying extra attention to your lane when he did so—the lights were on and your red dot rested safely at your place. Jake was quick to grab the parcel from his mailbox, meticulously unboxing it with a blade, inspecting the small device that laid inside.
Just a cute little gift from him to you.
CHAPTER. 𝐕𝐈
The change of scene was exactly what you needed after the past few days, working on your assignments tirelessly with absolutely no break whatsoever. It didn’t help how your boyfriend had been just as busy, if you exclude that one day he was generous enough to actually watch a movie with you. You missed him despite how close he was to you, it felt like darkness had surrounded your entire existence.
Which is why you wore a genuine smile watching the neon lights blending together, paired with the constant beep and chime of the gaming machines. You loved arcades, it reminded you much of your childhood when everything was colourful, unlike now. Karina was quick to take the lead, swiping her card.
“This is actually rigged,” she shook her head, failing to get the Pokémon plushie for the third time now.
Giselle looked around, as if waiting for someone when you groaned, meeting the same fate as Karina on the other claw machine, eyes meeting hers now, “why do you look so distracted?”
“Yeah? Don’t tell me you called another of your crushes without informing us first,” Karina mumbled.
This had Giselle giggling nervously, “you see—”
“Fucking knew it,” you rolled your eyes, remembering how she did the same a month ago.
“Hey! It’s Jake, can you blame me? He’s bringing a friend too so stop making that face Rina,” she muttered, watching Karina’s eyes sparkle with interest now.
“Woah, how did it even happen?” You asked, curious about the boy.
“He helped me with the essay—saw me in the library basically, so I had basic courtesy to invite him,” she looked proud as she said so.
“Damn, good luck then,” you nodded, attention back on the claw machine as your mind drifted to when he helped you—always wearing that easygoing smile, it’s no surprise that Giselle likes him. He helped everyone, it’s just how he is.
Karina lost the game again with a tantrum, a voice interrupting her that very second, but you smelled the scent first before you could register the presence.
Jake stood right behind you, jacket slung loosely over his shoulder, hair falling neatly on his forehead, rather wavy today. You straightened your back without meaning to. His friend stood beside him, he didn’t seem to be of your course, standing tall with a sharp jawline as everyone introduced each other with smiles on their faces. Karina didn’t seem to have any problem with the new addition, obviously emitted by yet another pretty face.
“Hey, I’m Jay,” he smiled, extending his hand towards you after doing the same with your friends.
“Okay, enough with the introductions,” Jake mumbled, cutting through as you only nodded at the man, “so you’re having problem with the plushies? Mind if I try? Lemme get one for all of you, yeah?”
Your friends were overjoyed at the offer.
Jake was ready, taking a deep breath as he swiped his card on the machine, faintly trying to inhale your scent where you stood earlier, and he was surprised at himself for being able to hold in so well, especially when you had your hair down, wearing a skirt that did nothing to hide your legs. Oh, it was torture, to have you so close yet so far, but rather happy at how you noticed his outfit without saying a word.
“Let’s see how you do then,” you challenged while Karina was busy making small talk with Jay, Giselle standing on the other side of Jake.
And his eyes sparkled when you said so, a smirk on his face as he started to play, as if he’d mastered the skills of doing so, grabbing the exact one Karina had aimed for before—a Snorlax. The claw picked it up with ease as your eyes widened, everyone now paid attention with a collective gasp, the machine humming louder as if aware it was being watched. The plush rose slowly, dangling just long enough to test your patience before dropping cleanly into the chute.
“No way,” Karina breathed, hands flying to her mouth.
“That’s for you,” he smiled, passing it over to Karina.
You watched it with a smile of your own—Jake swore it was the prettiest sight ever, and he made it his mission to do more, watching your nose scrunch when he missed another plushie, but the way you clapped with ease when he got one out, giving it to Giselle, who looked as if she was going to faint.
“Your turn,” he said lightly, eyeing you with such a gentle look before nodding at the controls, “which one would you like?”
He could sense the faint hesitation in your eyes, clear that no man had gotten you anything before your boyfriend, and he was here to change that, “uhm—that one maybe? The Eevee.”
“My favourite,” he chuckled, sliding the card again as his veiny hands moved, holding the joystick, and you found yourself staring without even realizing.
The claw descended slowly, metal arms gripping the plush awkwardly at first before tightening, and you held your breath as it lifted, swaying just enough to make your heart skip. Jake didn’t react, simply watching it with the same calm focus as before. It dropped cleanly into the chute.
“Oh,” you breathed, surprised, a soft laugh leaving you before you could stop it, “no way.”
Jake bent down to retrieve it, straightening again as he held it out to you, almost amused, “here you go,” he said, quiet enough that only you could hear it.
Your fingers brushed his as you took it, the contact was innocent, and you smiled at him without thinking, clutching the plush against yourself like it was something you’d won fair and square. He noticed that too, the way you held it close, the way your shoulders loosened just a little, as if the night had finally eased into something lighter, exactly the way he wanted.
He loved it, the way you said thank you, the way he saw you smiling freely at him, as if you had let your guard down even more, and he didn’t expect more than that, resorting to just giving you faint glances through the night, not getting too close because he’s well aware of how your presence affects him, one brush against you and he’ll be hard, he’d lose his composure, the persona he’d curated so well for you. So, he paid attention to everyone equally, but still guiding them to the racing machines, which he knew you’d love.
Digital footprint really helped, and you were the perfect example of it. The way you held the steering with precision, winning the game with ease even though all others tried their best to keep up. It was hot. So hot when you let go and do things you genuinely enjoy, the way you win. He’d let you do it all each day, he just needs you to look at him exactly how he looks at you—with the most insane mix of yearning and obsession, but you felt safe around him, he could feel that much.
The night slipped forward without anyone noticing when it did, folding itself into a blur of movement and sound as one game bled into another, tickets spilling like paper confetti at your feet, Karina cheering too loudly every time she won by accident, Giselle was now clinging to Jay’s arm as if she’d known him longer than a few hours, and he didn’t mind by any means.
Jake made sure to stay a step behind you then, letting you exist freely in the moment, letting the night do the work for him, because trust was never built by force but by comfort, by consistency, by being exactly what someone needed without asking for anything in return. When you looked back at him after winning yet again, eyes bright and proud, he smiled without thinking, the action sending a shiver up your spine, and you looked away, wondering what had happened.
Karina sighed with pure happiness, “okay I’ll just head to the washroom before we leave, come,” she started dragging you and Giselle along.
“How are you getting back home?” Jay asked, eyes on Giselle.
“We took a cab here because Karina didn’t wish to drive,” she said, eyes bright.
“We can drive you back home then, where do you live?”
You didn’t speak, it was clear how you didn’t trust the man enough to go with him, and to your absolute dismay, the girls lived closer to Jay’s place while you lived close to Jake, they asked you a few times if you were okay with that, which made you look at Jake—he was calm as usual, wearing the same look that would make anyone trust him, and from what you’d gathered, he wasn’t a bad man, besides you had your location on for your boyfriend.
With a nod, you girls went inside the washroom, handing over the plushies to the guys.
“You getting laid tonight?” Jake asked Jay, who chuckled, not saying much.
“Let’s keep all this in our cars first,” he said, segregating the amount of stuffed toys they had now, walking out into the parking lot, glad that they parked cars with a distance, “see you tomorrow then?”
Jake nodded, gathering all toys and getting inside, making them sit all neatly in the backseat, exactly how your potted plants sat at your window. Grabbing the Eevee, he decided that this would be the one, the one that’ll get him closer to you. The plush felt absurdly soft in his hands, warm in places where you’d held it earlier, the faint indentation of your fingers still there if he pressed hard enough.
Jake reached into the centre console and retrieved the device, small enough to disappear between his fingertips, engineered to be overlooked. He powered it on briefly, watching the faint blink confirm it was alive, listening for the near-silent hum that told him everything was functioning exactly as intended. He unzipped the seam along the back of the plush with ease, fingers steady, exactly like he practiced the night before. The stuffing parted without much resistance, polyester clouds yielding quietly as he created space. He didn’t disturb more than necessary, leaving no evidence behind.
He slipped the camera inside, angling it precisely to make sure it gave live recording from the tiny lens aligned with a natural seam so it looked like nothing more than a shadow in the stitching. He pressed the stuffing back into place carefully, redistributing it until the shape felt untouched. He tested the weight a few times before stitching the seam close just as he saw you coming out of the arcade.
He tucked the plush back among the others just as the doors slid open and the noise spilled out again, Karina was already laughing at something Jay said, Giselle half-distracted, phone in hand, fingers flying as she typed. “Text me when you’re home,” Karina said, squeezing you tight before Jay ushered her toward his car. Giselle repeated the same, waving as she climbed in the front seat, leaving soon after.
That left you and Jake standing there, the pavement damp beneath your shoes, neon reflections stretching like oil slicks between parked cars. He opened the passenger door for you without a word, waiting until you were seated before closing it gently, and you noticed how the car smelled clean, the scent of your favourite flower invading your senses, pulling you into a more pleasant spot as he pulled into the driveway.
This is exactly what Jake wanted—you, all comfortable around him, it didn’t take words to feel that, just the expression. His mind drifting to all the unrealistic possibilities that arose in the silence, even more so when he noticed you staring his way every few seconds, so he took time to play your favourite song, noticing the slight twitch of the corner of your lip.
“You like this band?” You asked.
Yes. Initiate conversation, be curious, like him more by each second, let him show that he’s tailor made for you.
“Yeah, it’s my favourite band,” he chuckled, “I see you like it too.”
“It’s my favourite as well! I’ve never met anyone who listens to them,” you said, more enthusiastic than ever, a clear sign that you were more interested in him now, easily discussing your favourite songs, but Jake wanted to brag a little more, switching the topic.
“Why? Don’t you discuss this with your boyfriend?” Jake asked in a tone that was simply innocent to you.
That’s when your smile turned back into the polite one, rather than the one you’d been giving him all night, “well, we take turns playing music if we listen together—never particularly discussed it in detail though, he just knows the bands because of me.”
“You’re cool, I’ve never discussed my music taste with anyone before,” he said to instill a sense of trust and comfort, “and I’ve never had anyone winning Asphalt against me.”
“Oh—please. You can’t ever beat me,” you said, full of confidence about the game you grew up playing, more of a muscle memory by now.
“Is that a challenge?” Jake smirked.
He loved challenges, it was simply an invitation to meet again, to show off what you’re best at, and he would love to see you hold that wheel again, imagining your pretty hands holding his throbbing cock for him instead.
You huffed a laugh, a melody to his ears, “I’ve been playing since I was a kid, that would be unfair to you.”
There it was again—that ease. The way you spoke when you forgot to filter yourself, something he noticed you did with your friends and now him. Jake felt it settle into him, threading through his ribs. He pictured you younger, the way he’d seen in the pictures, thumbs quick, winning without trying.
“Alright,” he said after a beat, “I’ll take my loss in advance then.”
That earned him another chuckle from you, and you genuinely felt like you had found a new friend that actually shared a few interests as you, it was a nice feeling, letting you be so deep in your thoughts that you completely missed out on Jake staring at your thighs.
The music faded into background as you talked about the video games you grew up playing, Jake mentioned he did the same, leaving a few games out that you mentioned to not seem extra suspicious about the topic. One similarity is normal, a few similarities? Coincidence. All similarities—that’s a dead giveaway.
The silence stretched for a minute, but you couldn’t contain your curiosity about someone you wanted to befriend. Jake was a genuine person, a kind soul with the want to help anyone. You couldn’t deny, he had all good qualities so far—maybe he did have some red flags, but you couldn’t spot any, not now.
The lack of conversation that followed wasn’t awkward, it was rather comfortable. The kind that invited you to listen to the engine, to the rain ticking faintly against the windscreen, to the way the city lights slid across Jake’s hands as he drove. You watched his profile for a second longer than you meant to, then looked away before it could feel like staring.
“You’re quiet,” you said, mostly teasing now, and that tone had Jake gripping the wheel tighter.
Jake chuckled under his breath, “only when I’m tired.”
“Fair,” you murmured, then you shifted in your seat, “can I ask you something?”
Anything. He could talk to you all night—talk you through it all night. He glanced at you briefly with the same warmth, “yeah. Go on.”
“Do you read?” you asked, trying to figure out if the version of him in your head matched the real one, “like, properly read. Not just uni stuff.”
Jake’s answer came smooth, almost immediate, “I do, mostly psychological stuff, or thrillers. Do you?” He asked, knowing exactly what your sweet voice was going to say.
“Oh I do! Have you read You by Caroline Kepnes? It’s about psychological obsession and—”
“—Stalking. Quite a fun read I must say,” he cuts you off, quite apt for the given situation. It almost felt like he outed himself with the way he so effortlessly admitted to it. It is fun, the way he knows about you, the way he’s the one making you smile, the way you belong to him, “what have you been reading?”
“Woah, I don’t think I should tell,” you stretched, not sure how it’ll be perceived by Jake.
“Hey! I won’t judge, what’s the worst it can be? Smut?” He chuckled.
“Well—yeah sort of similar. It’s called Bunny, sort of like a satire with hints of erotic literature,” you admitted, showing him a part of you not even your boyfriend knew about.
Jake knew it, he knows all about your media consumption, “would it make you feel better if I say i’ve read it too?”
“No way!” You laughed in amusement, “how even?”
“Found it on booktok,” he replied, the easiest way to make you believe it, “Couldn’t put it down no matter how uncomfortable it made me.”
“I swear, one of my friends read it and she said the same, but she was more uncomfortable than anything to enjoy it,” you shrugged, now facing him. Your skirt shifted up as you did so, but you didn’t care, ready to delve deeper into this newfound similarity, only to be disappointed when the car stopped.
You looked out to find it right outside your lane, exactly where Jake had walked with you when you carried groceries. Jake noticed the way your eyes moved around, taking in the fact that you didn’t actually wish to leave. He achieved exactly what he wished for, just didn’t expect it to be this quick.
“Ah—thank you for driving me home, tonight was fun,” you said and he swore he wouldn’t ever let any other guy drive you around if it meant that you’ll react this way to him, “and for this,” you pointed at the plushie in your hands, getting out of the car, but Jake was quick to stop that.
It was rather impulsive how his hand reached out for yours, fingers wrapping around your wrist with ease, making him bite his lip faintly at the feel of your soft skin, visibly giving you goosebumps as he did so.
“Wait,” he muttered, letting go of your hand with the remaining self control he had, grabbing the three more toys from the backseat, the ones you’d won and handing it to you, “don’t forget these.”
“Oh I almost forgot,” you said, thanking him again, “have a good night, Jake.”
You said his name, and he lost his ability to speak, simply staring at you go, even though you did find it odd when you didn’t get a reply. It was hard to see inside his car with his tinted windows, but the second he saw you turning around and looking back, he smirked. That’s it love, that’s all you had to do for him—crave him, look back as if you wish to stay, as if you didn’t have a boyfriend at home.
“Fuck,” he chuckled, “you’re so mine.”
He started driving again, grabbing the SD card from the car camera, checking his phone as soon as he got home to see the pretty view of your room. You’d kept the Eevee on your bed, perfect. He didn’t waste a second, getting the car recording, the one that showed your pretty thighs. Throwing his jacket away, he pulled his shirt up in a swift motion, taking his phone into the shower—letting the warm water cascade down his body, eyes fixated on how you shifted around in the seat, mind replaying your conversations, another shift of yours caused the skirt to ride up, his fingers wrapping around his hardened cock—it was almost painful, but he enjoyed every second of it.
With dark eyes, he stared at the clip, not caring about the burning water, the burn inside him was hotter as he stroked his length, sticking the phone on the wall, groaning loud as he hand rested beside the phone to support himself, “mine,” he said, jaw hung open, breathing hard around the warm mist that surrounded him, squeezing himself harder, “i’ll treat you so well, you’re mine, yeah? You know it, darling,” he continued, getting shocks of pleasure within minutes, making him chuckle like a madman. He was obsessed and there was no going back now.
It was time for the next step.
CHAPTER. 𝐕𝐈𝐈
The next five days were more than peaceful for you, even your boyfriend had decided to spare some time to take you out on a date, leaving every few minutes to take work calls—he’d been working on a big project. You understood him, of course you did, however, it did make you sigh before you put up a smile again when he returned.
Jake on the other hand, his inner turmoil was worse than ever. Yes, he got to see you moving in your room, he saw you dancing when no one was home, and how you couldn’t help but touch yourself with the pathetic little toy you owned, something that your boyfriend didn’t even know about. The view wasn’t the best, cutting halfway because of the position of the camera, but it was enough for his cock to leak all day.
He’d started journaling online, leaving traces on physical books would do him no good, especially when he wrote about the mole you had on your right thigh, the dates and colours of the nail polish you’ve been using, and how your absolute favourite pajamas did nothing to hide your body, which your boyfriend didn’t bother appreciating.
Jake wondered how he could just come home and sleep right beside you when you looked that good all the time. Pathetic. Your boyfriend was pathetic.
It was about time Jake showed you exactly how unreliable your childhood sweetheart was, grabbing his hoodie and heading out from a different route to your place. The act wasn’t thrilling with the lack of cameras around, but rather, he was buzzing with the confidence of getting another step closer to you.
The back door was the easy way in, especially when he’d done his research well, a hairpin being his way inside your temporary home, checking for cameras only to find none. Careless was going to cost this dude his girlfriend. No, you weren’t even his, you belonged to Jake the second he laid his eyes on you.
This trip was just to figure out the exact things you used, the type of food you consumed, and maybe leave a little gift before leaving. But most of all, going into your room and repositioning the plushie in a way that seems natural. It had been moved around a lot in the past few days, your room looked as if only you lived there, using the blue sheets—a colour you loved so much, the scent of you lingering around.
“I wanna kill him,” Jake confessed to the air, tone blank, “but it won’t be as fun as seeing you lose faith in him.” He kept a small device on the upper corner of the window—a speaker that he had specifically asked to be designed as small as possible, fitting into the crack of the old wooden frame with ease, the darkness inside concealing it.
He explored the bathroom, noticing the big mirror before he realized the presence of the laundry basket, your panties resting on the top, “ah,” he breathed out, grabbing it without even thinking, “fuck, you left it for me, right? You knew I was coming for you, hm? To smell you? Taste you?”
He holds it up, feeling the softness of the fabric on the tip of his nose, dragging the soft crotch of the fabric right under his nose, pressing it tight, inhaling again—deeper, groaning like he’d been possessed, “oh she was wet,” he moaned, tongue coming out to graze the soft cotton, lashes fluttering, “fucking sweet—so fucking sweet.”
He couldn’t stop, leaving a wet patch on it, “you want me to take you home, huh?” He talked, all dazed, “I want to, fuck—too risky,” he shook his head, forcing it back in the basket, the same way it was there, but not before leaving a sweet kiss on it, eyes glossy
He thought about it again—taking them with him. Stuffing them in his pocket, keeping them under his pillow at home, pulling them out at night when he needed to jerk off to the thought of your scent, your taste. He wanted to, so fucking badly. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror—lips parted, cheeks flushed, hair slightly damp from the heat of his own body. He looked wrecked in the best way possible.
When he saw the red dot on his phone moving, he knew it was time to leave, a string of curses leaving his mouth as he double checked for any evidence of his presence, leaving only when he was fully satisfied. He stopped by the neighbours house, taking out the little pamphlets he’d printed out before, slipping one in everyone’s mailbox before making his exit.
By the time you reached home, hand in hand with your boyfriend, you noticed your neighbour reading something. She was a sweet lady, always bringing you homemade pie simply because you helped her with her phone once, she looked bothered.
“Babe, you go ahead, i’ll talk to Mrs. Jones for a second, hm?” You smiled as he nodded, planting a simple kiss on your lips.
You reached her as your boyfriend disappeared behind the door, “are you alright, ma’am?”
She flashed you her beautiful smile once she saw you, “yeah, love. Just got this mail, talking about paranormal activity in the area,” she went ahead and showed you a video accessed through the QR code on the paper, “doesn’t it look real?” She was worried as she inquired.
Even you gulped as you saw it, the ghastly shadows on the window on the third house from yours. There wasn’t any clue about who captured it, simply this piece of paper, “I’m sure it’s some kid trying to mess around!” You said to calm her down, and well, calm yourself.
Your boyfriend brushed it off when you told him, repeating the exact same thing, but he was confident when he said so. You on the other hand, not so much. It was easy to cuddle him to sleep tonight, only then you could find comfort, he didn’t mind it at all—something that Jake did mind when he sat down, watching it on the big PC screen, a scoff leaving his mouth.
The glass shattered against the wall before he could even register the throw, shards catching the dim light like broken stars. Jake’s chest rose with a sharp breath as he stared at the dripping line of water trailing down the plaster. He had to wait, just a few more hours before he could start, and the thrill of it all didn’t allow him to sleep all night, he dragged a hand through his hair, fingers snagging and pulling until a few strands fell loose around his face, leaving him looking unkempt, nothing like the composed version of himself everyone else knew.
By the evening, Jake was functioning purely on five cups of coffee and eight cans of red bull. Finally calm when he saw you alone on the bed, rolling through your phone with lights dimmed—the perfect setup for him to start off his plan slowly. Jake clicked on a few controls, letting it unfold.
And it seemed to do the thing as the tiny speaker started buzzing, almost static at first. The faint hum blended with the low buzz of electricity, the distant rush of cars outside, the soft rustle of fabric when you shifted on the bed. You slowed your scrolling without really realizing why, eyes lingering on the screen as your brow creased slightly. Something felt off. You lifted your head, trying to follow the sound but nothing was out of place, everything exactly where you’d left it.
The voice boomed louder, making you breathe harder as you stood up, “you’re all alone,” the voice came out ghastly, loud but in a low whisper.
Your breath came uneven now, shallow and quick, your chest rising too fast as you turned slowly, scanning the room with wide eyes. The lamp still glowed, the door was still shut, the window reflected your own face back at you, eyes too bright, lips parted as you tried to steady yourself.
“Stop,” you whispered without thinking, your voice small and thin against the weight of the silence that followed. You took a step back, then another, your heel bumping into the bed frame as your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves like you could anchor yourself there, “who’s there?”
You bit your lip, rushing out of the room as the voice kept on repeating over and over, reaching the door handle to go outside, trying to call your boyfriend—who didn’t pick up the phone first two times, only to pick it up, hearing you borderline crying, “what’s wrong, babe? What happened?” He asked urgently.
“There’s—there’s someone, voice, inside—please come home,” you cried freely.
And he did, inspecting everything inside the room to find absolutely nothing, yet he knew he should calm you down, saying it would have been something on your mind—maybe a dream? Something your unconscious made up after watching that video. You denied it, and he agreed, only to make you feel better.
Jake clicked his tongue at the pathetic excuse of the boyfriend you had, but it was just the start of misunderstandings, and soon, Jake would be the one to bring you comfort, entrusting a sense of peace within you. How could he not? When your relationship looked so fragile and boring, that’s not what you deserved.
The next day at uni, your friends did agree with you to a certain extent, talking about how they’ve never experienced it before, but still being kind enough to listen to you.
“I swear I heard it,” you sighed, resting your head on the table.
“Lemme try googling it up,” Giselle said, only to find the actual paranormal activities that were widely known by the public, nothing specific to your address or the location.
“Damn,” Karina muttered, looking at you but genuinely believing your words when she saw your face.
It was only when it happened again, you lost your mind—your boyfriend simply asked you to go to your friend’s place or to the neighbour as he couldn’t come back home at that moment, and it was genuinely terrifying how the noise stopped the second you tried to record it. It made your heart hurt, as if your boyfriend didn’t care at all—he treated you like a kid running away from the monster under the bed, it truly didn’t help that the said noises never buzzed in his presence.
“Poor baby,” Jake muttered sitting in his car, waiting right outside the library. He looked better than ever, no traces of sleep deprivation and madness on his face now, not when he had to keep his act up, “nowhere to go now, hm? I’ll wait inside,” he muttered, getting out with that perfect smile of his, knowing that you wouldn’t want to be home alone, which leaves one perfect place for you to go—the library.
He sat down exactly where you could see him, and you did—the second you entered the library you noticed him, stopping in your tracks to ponder if you should even approach him, and Jake sensed that, faking and stopping the way he was working on something to look up, eyes shining when he found you, making it seem natural like the actor he was.
He waved at you, that being an invitation enough for you to walk to him, taking the spot next to him without much thinking, mind drifting back to the last conversation you had with him—that being the last time you felt happy and at peace without your close ones throwing Schizophrenic accusations your way, the worry evident on your beautiful face. Jake was the cause of it, and he hated that, but you were a good girl for him, right? You had to endure just a little more.
“You okay, love?” He encourages you to speak, watching you breathe harder, “you look bothered.”
Jake’s face displayed exactly the reaction you’d been wanting all this while—genuine concern, asking if you’re okay, not just brushing things under a rug. Your heart beat rose, thrumming against your ribs as you tried to nod, “you won’t believe even if I tell you.”
“C’mon, just try trusting me, hm?” He said with such an alluring voice, you found your lip trembling.
“I—I think my place, it’s haunted,” you started, observing his face, maybe expecting him to laugh or make fun of you. But he didn’t, he looked concerned, urging you to continue, “I keep hearing these noises, distorted but still.”
“That sounds serious, did you tell anyone about it?”
Of course you did, and he knows how they reacted, how they didn’t trust you even when you looked so beautiful crying and shaking in fear. He would never do that, he couldn’t.
“I did, but they think it’s just my imagination—but I swear I know what I heard,” you tried to explain yourself.
“I trust you—hey, calm down, okay? You’re safe,” he muttered gently, grabbing your hand that was shaking, and you let him, you allowed that comfort to seep in, nodding with your lips pressed.
“No one believes me,” you sighed, trying to maintain your composure, the heat of his hands helping you through it, especially when he looked at you like—he looks at everyone like that, your mind reminded you, but you didn’t care anymore.
“I can see you’re not making things up, you look like you haven’t slept in a while,” he noticed, and he wished he was the one to keep you awake and not that stupid noise, “it’s okay, you can talk about it anytime, hm?”
You nodded mindlessly, fingers curling around his so gently as if you’d given in, Jake pressed his legs together under the table, body hyper aware of you, your scent, your fear, trust, everything, “you’re so nice to me,” you spoke as if you were confessing, and it took everything in Jake to not moan.
“Hey, it’s nothing. If it happens again, you can text me, or call me. You have my number in the supervision group, right?”
“I do.”
“Good,” he said, and meant it in more ways than one, “even if you just need to talk. You don’t have to decide whether it’s serious enough first.” His gaze held yours, “if you’re scared, that’s reason enough.”
“Thank you, Jake—for not making me feel stupid,” you gulped, heat creeping up your neck.
“You’re not, and I wouldn’t do that to you,” he replied earnestly, leaning back first, “and if you don’t wanna spend your time at home, you can always meet up with your friends during the day, or just come find me at the library and we can talk about anything.”
You felt calm, at peace if you could call it, just simply better than whatever you were at home. Jake only made it better, taking over the conversation and asking you about movies, discussing a few of your favourites, making sure that he talks about a few that you haven’t watched yet. He saw it, the way the light of your eyes came back slowly, or how you laughed, trying to conceal it in the silence of the library. The only loud thing here was Jake’s heartbeat, and yours matched him soon.
He took a moment to stare, remembering the shade of the lipgloss—you’d gotten a new one with the same shade, undoubtedly it was your favourite one. How your legs faced him now, a clear indication that your entire focus was on him. It was hard, so insanely hard to not pull you between the lines of books and kiss you right there, to hear if your moans were as beautiful as your giggles. Even the scent of your lotion on his hands got him dizzy, almost as if he wished to bathe in it.
It was only when your phone rang you realized how late it was, and for the first time, you could feel the time passing as quick as Jake did. So many topics explored, so many conversations, which undoubtedly had Jake wanting to rush things, but couldn’t mess it up, not when he’d been working on it for so long. You excused yourself to pick up your mother’s call, and Jake sank into the chair, “fuck, oh fuck I love her,” he said it out loud.
Love? Jake had never been in love before, and he will never be in love ever again. As smoothly as he whispered it, making sure no one hears, as surprising it was, jaw clenching, a newfound glow on this face with the determination to make you his lover forever.
He was practically shining when you came back, and it was normal for you, because he always had that glow around him, “I should head back home, my boyfriend must be back.”
That’s it, the fucking boyfriend again, “sure, let me drive you back.”
“No—it’s okay, I can walk,” you replied, a small pout on your face.
“It’s alright, that’s what friends are for, right?”
Friend. Jake considered you a friend, and the label had you both happy and somehow, sad? But you took it, because you saw him that way too, not knowing how Jake was about to burst a vein at the statement.
“Okay then.” Giving him a carefree smile, you both gathered your things, walking out together.
Jake was on his best behaviour, opening the door for you, making sure to hide the receipt in the closed compartment of the center console. The same one he took from the bag when he helped you carry the bags home—simply to understand your usual routine, what juices you drank, what brand of pasta you used. Everything.
He loved it, spending every second of the day with you, that’s all the was for, right? Everyone comes to earth with a purpose, and you were his. The goodbye was painful, but it had to be done, because he expected a text tonight. He wasn’t going to reach out first, you were going to do it. Why? Because you trusted him.
“Wait a little more, darling. You’ll never be scared again,” he muttered, watching your figure walk away, and just like the last time, you turned around to look his way, this time it felt more natural, your body reacting before your mind, and his work for the night was done.
When you entered your place, your mood was back to being as dark as the home was—your boyfriend was nowhere to be found. You checked your phone, texting him as you switched on the lights, and his reply came a minute later.
boyfie: i’ll be home a lil late baby, js rest okay?
Okay, you typed back, then added a heart out of habit, even though the gesture felt a little hollow tonight. You tossed the phone onto the couch and stood there, keys still in your hand, listening to the quiet settle in around you.
You sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled, rubbing your palms over your thighs. Your body felt tired in that dull, end-of-day way, but your mind wouldn’t slow down. It kept circling back to the same thing, the same person, without you meaning it to. Jake.
You frowned slightly at yourself, annoyed, but the thought didn’t go away. His voice from earlier replayed in your head, the way he’d looked at you when you talked like what you were saying mattered. Like you mattered. It was embarrassing how much that had stuck with you. You reached for your phone again, telling yourself you were just checking time, you weren’t.
Every little sound, even the creak of your bed had you on high alert, and when you heard a little buzz, that’s when you knew you had to text someone. Jake was the first one on your mind, but despite that, you gave your friends a chance, well knowing Karina was at her family dinner and Giselle had gone back to her town for the weekend. They did send replies, but you didn’t feel at peace, as if you needed a solid conversation to break this fear.
You locked your phone, but grabbed it again, opening the group chat, checking the members, clicking on Jake’s contact—a picture of him filling up your screen. He was smiling, hair messy and wavy. He wasn’t wearing any glasses, eyes shining perfectly in the sunlight, “god,” you mumbled, shaking your head, opening the text message.
You: hey, it’s Y/N
Jake replied in two minutes, and you were grateful for it.
Jake: hey, is everything okay?
You: im sorry i didn’t mean to disturb
Jake: ofc not, love. what’s happening?
Your breath hitched the way he used nicknames so easily, and how you didn’t mind it by any means. Meanwhile Jake looked smug, sitting up on his bed, and how could he not? You missed him, you were thinking of him, it hadn’t even been long since you got home and yet—you reached out to him first, exactly how you’d come running to him after breaking up with your boyfriend.
You: my bf isn’t home yet, the silence is scary
Jake: do you wanna talk?
You: if you’re okay w it?
Now, you didn’t expect him to call you, you simply expected a text conversation. Your phone started ringing before you could even finish forming the thought, the screen lighting up with his name. You froze for half a second, staring at it like it might disappear if you didn’t react fast enough. You swallowed and glanced around the room, suddenly aware of how quiet it was again, how the walls seemed to listen, and so, you answered.
“Hey,” you said softly, your voice sounding smaller than you meant it to.
“Hey,” Jake replied, just as quietly, like he’d instinctively matched your tone, “I hope this is okay. You don’t have to stay on if you don’t want to.”
“No—no, it’s fine,” you said quickly, shifting on the bed and pulling your legs closer to you, “I just—didn’t expect it.”
He huffed out a faint laugh on the other end, “yeah, sorry. I figured it might be easier than typing if you’re already on edge.”
Oh Jake loved it, the sound of your voice giving in, opening up to him, telling him exactly what’s going on as if he wasn’t watching you smile at the little things he said. He stopped breathing the second you rolled on your stomach, picking up the Eevee plushie, as if staring right at him, caressing the toy mindlessly as the conversation flowed.
“Do you ever make up conversations in your head before it happens?” You ask, not knowing why you did, maybe because you thought about it while texting Jake.
He chuckled, the sweetness of your voice making him shove his free hand down his sweatpants, “isn’t that normal though?”
“Right? I just feel like I overthink so much,” you sighed, completely missing out on the tiny groan that came from his side, cock hard and leaking, “even when I don’t like how a book is written, I usually think about what it could have been.”
“You should write,” Jake managed to speak midway through his session, “I think you’ll do well.”
“I do actually,” you mumbled, revealing a part of yourself that no one apart from your boyfriend knows, “it’s under works, not good enough to be published as a book, but maybe someday I can publish my poetry.”
Now, this is something Jake did not know, he couldn’t find it linked anywhere, not a single mention of it, but oh he loved it. Would you write poems for him too once you realize that he’s the one you love? Would you give in and turn him into an immortal piece of art? Because he would, he would do it all for you.
“Fuck—that’s crazy,” he said, covering up yet another groan, hips thrusting up to meet his fisted hand, and you were just there, not knowing what he was up to, “you’re so talented, I can’t believe you don’t talk about it.”
You smiled, it felt nice being appreciated, as for him? He could praise you forever. He wasn’t this weak before, his body was completely and utterly yours now, the way he carried the conversation before you took over, chatting freely, ignoring the warmth it brought you, it was too much for him, enough that he had to push the phone away to let out a silent groan, making a mess over his pants.
God, he loved you—he loves you. He’s in love with you, every bit of you, and he wants to know more, your voice is the sweetest he’s ever heard, not even songs could bring him this pleasure, and so he recorded the whole call, every second of your laugh. All before you felt so comfortable, you fell asleep on the call.
He lay there, phone still pressed to his ear, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling under the thin fabric of his shirt, still wrecked, still shaking slightly from the mess he’d made minutes earlier, not having it in him to end the call, not when he could hear the faint sound of your breath, not when he could watch you sleep so peacefully, and fuck you looked pretty even sleeping. Jake closed his eyes, dragging a shaky hand over his face, smearing his own warmth across his skin, biting down a groan that still tried to fight its way out of him.
“Can’t believe you’re real,” he whispered, to no one, to you, to the dark, “can’t believe I get to hear you like this.”
He put the phone beside him, only ending the call when he noticed the presence of another man entering the room, it should have been Jake. Throwing his phone away, he breathed hard, then he laughed. It started low in his chest, strained and breathless at first, until it clawed its way up, breaking past his throat in a sound so raw it startled even him. The kind of laugh that came from deep inside, borderline hysterical, He curled forward slightly, shoulders trembling as he pressed the back of his wrist to his mouth, but it wouldn’t stop.
“You trust me,” he gasped out between broken chuckles, eyes wide, almost glassy, “you trust me, baby. You fell asleep on me, fuck.”
His voice cracked on the last word. A quiet, shuddering breath followed, and he let his head drop back to the pillow, lids fluttering shut. His body still felt wrecked, but all he could feel was the rush. You trusted him—without even knowing half of what he was. Without knowing what he did with your voice echoing in his ear. Without knowing how much of you he kept with him.
“No one else gets that,” he whispered, voice rasped raw, “he doesn’t get that. He doesn’t know what you sound like when your voice gets tired at the edges. He doesn’t know how you hum without meaning to. He doesn’t know shit.”
He grabbed the lipgloss from the bedside table—your lipgloss, the one you used each day without a fail. Jake had picked it up now, rolling it between his fingers, studying the faint wear on the tube. He twisted it open, leaning back against the pillows, drawing one knee up slightly as he dragged the wand across his thigh in a smooth stroke. Jake stared at it, lips parted, watching the way the sheen clung to his skin, sticky and perfect.
He traced it with his fingertips, smudging it over the place as if you’d kissed him there yourself, bringing his hand up to apply the same on his plump lips, messy and wet, “that’s how I wanna be, ruined for you,” he whispered, gathering more, around to smudge it over the tip of his cock, smirking, “looks perfect on me, baby. Perfect,” he kept on mumbling, drifting into sleep with you in his mind.
Only you.
CHAPTER. 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈
“Where the fuck have you been?” Sunghoon’s voice boomed just as Jake let him in, the door swinging back a little too fast from his palm. Jake didn’t flinch, not bothering to answer immediately, just turned and walked toward the balcony like he hadn’t just spent the entire night dreaming about you. Jay followed right after, clicking the door shut.
Jake didn’t acknowledge either of them. He slid the glass door open and stepped out barefoot, the concrete still warm from the day’s sun. A small pot sat in the far corner, centered between two older plants that hadn’t seen water in weeks. He crouched slowly, fingers brushing the edge of the ceramic like it meant everything to him.
Sansevieria—the plant which gives oxygen both day and night. Jake had read that line three times in the nursery aisle that he’d bothered to visit earlier in the morning.
“Can you reply at least? You just go to lectures and leave before we can even catch up,” Jay went on.
“I’ve been busy,” Jake replied, inspecting the upright leaves, checking the soil next, completely ignoring the other two plants.
“Busy? Doing what?” Sunghoon said, pissed as Jay googled the plant.
“Assignments and shit man, you know the professors throw around work, especially to me,” he lied smoothly. Jake never wasted too much time on it, he was smart enough to complete everything beforehand, rather than leaving it to the last minute.
“Of course you’d get something that survives on nothing,” Jay muttered from behind him, leaning against the doorframe, “you don’t even water the others.”
“Oh shut it, this one’s different,” he murmured, thumb brushing over a leaf with such care it almost looked like he was touching skin, “It doesn’t just survive, it helps you breathe.”
Jay glanced at Sunghoon, but didn’t say anything. Neither of them could read him when he got like this, clearly unimpressed with the expressions on their faces. Jake stood slowly, wiping his hand on his thigh, ignoring the dirt streak it left behind. His gaze lingered on the pot for a moment longer—on the smudged black marker under it, your name hidden where no one could see. He imagined you standing on this balcony, bare feet against the concrete, your skin soft in the morning sun. Maybe you’d crouch the same way, tilt the pot in your hand, smile at how healthy the leaves looked.
You hadn’t texted him in the morning, which was okay since plants needed time to grow, and so did trust.
Jay sighed, “you’re down bad.”
“What?” Jake whipped his head, staring at Jay now. He wouldn’t deny it, but how does he even know? What does he know about his love, about you?
“I saw it—at the arcade. And you drove her back home. Isn’t she the one you like?” Jay asked normally, and Jake’s heart fluttered.
“We’re friends,” he said despite hating the word, “I wouldn’t do shit when she’s got a boyfriend, she trusts me.”
“Okay, fair,” Sunghoon muttered, as Jake closed the balcony door behind him, “at least play Valo with us tonight, you’ve been giving excuses all week.”
“Then here’s another one—”
The boys groaned, “what now?”
“I have to run to the library, so if I get back on time i’ll log in, deal? Otherwise I’ll just join tomorrow, I’m free.”
They stared at him for a few seconds, making him groan in disgust, “just say yes, what the fuck?”
“You better not cancel,” Sunghoon warns before letting Jake breathe again.
That wasn’t important, you came first, which is why he was quick to dress up a bit better, grabbing the essentials, making sure Jay and Hoon had left before he made his way out, giving the plant one last look, “oh she’s gonna come again,” he mumbled with a smirk.
He sat down there, on the same spot as yesterday, grabbing his phone to check your red dot, moving straight to him. He looked lovesick, heart beating fast as he proceeded how easy it was to be in love, how you reciprocated the said feeling without even knowing it.
You couldn’t reply to Jake, not after you fell asleep on the call—gosh, that was embarrassing. But that didn’t stop you from seeking comfort. The second you heard the faint buzzing again, you got ready to head to the library in hopes of finding silence, and if possible, Jake. And maybe that was the real reason, which you tried your best to deny. By the time you reached the library, your heart was already racing.
You stepped through the doors, greeted by the familiar scent of books. And there he was, exactly where you’d seen him yesterday, a faint smile on his face as he felt you enter, not looking up just yet, not till you reach him yourself, and you did, standing right beside him, your shadow stretching across the table, making Jake lift his head.
He took your name with a smile, making you mirror his expression, sitting down next to him, legs brushing faintly.
“I’m sorry, I fell asleep last night,” you apologized, looking elsewhere.
Jake found it adorable, as if he didn’t wish for it to happen each night, if only you’d sleep with him, next to him. Jake shook his head gently, his smile softening in a way you couldn’t quite place—tender perhaps?
“Don’t be, I’m glad you felt comfy enough to do so.”
When you paused, face heating up, Jake only smiled and continued to speak again, “so, what’s the plan for today? Any assignments to work on?”
You shook your head, “I did them already, just wanted to come out to feel better I guess?”
“Yeah?” Jake asked, eyes bright.
“Yeah,” you gave him a little nod.
“So—do you wanna get out of here?” He asked, and for the first time, he didn’t feel as confident about himself, knowing well he was crossing a line wording it that way. But he knew he had to, it was a requirement before he went ahead with the final step.
You glanced at him, unsure what to say at first. The library had always felt like neutral ground, it was easy to share space without crossing into anything that felt like more. But this—stepping outside that invisible line, choosing to be somewhere with him just to be with him—it felt different.
You let out a shaky breath, “where would we even go?”
And that question was music to Jake’s ears. You were willing to go out with him? Oh that’s beautiful, you see how much he loves you? How he’s staring at you like he’ll actually go to space and collect pretty stars just so you could have them? It’s perfect, just two lovers going out on their first date.
He smirked, simply grabbing your bag which you put down, carrying it with him as he started walking, the gesture too bold for you as you stared. You shook your head and caught up to him, walking side by side, leaving the library now.
“You’re not gonna tell me where we’re going?” you asked, watching the way the breeze ruffled his hair. He was wearing a grey hoodie today, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, veins faint beneath the skin of his forearms as he held your bag without complaint.
Jake glanced at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “not yet,” he said, “you’ll like it though. Promise.”
“Let’s see,” you challenged, completely ignoring the notification you got—a text from your boyfriend, which was surprising, but the moment with Jake felt more important to you now.
It wasn’t a long walk, but you were concerned when the area blended into an unfamiliar one. The sun had softened to its late-afternoon hue, golden and gentle, casting long shadows as you followed him through a narrower street just off the main road. It was a path you hadn’t taken before, tucked between cafés and residential flats, with cracked sidewalks and ivy trailing over low walls. Jake turned without warning into a tiny alley, and you paused at the entrance.
“Are you kidnapping me?” you asked dryly.
He laughed over his shoulder, only if he could, “you’d be lucky.”
Rolling your eyes, you followed, and then he stopped, hand resting on the frame of an old wooden door tucked into the corner of a quiet building. There was a faded sign above the glass: Moonstar Books. A bell chimed softly as he pushed the door open.
It was dim and smelled like old paper and lavender, the scent that instantly made you breathe deeper. The store was narrow but deep, with tall shelves and crooked aisles, handwritten category signs, and vintage postcards pinned to a corkboard near the register. The woman behind the counter gave Jake a lazy wave, barely looking up from her book, which made you chuckle.
“You like books, so this one’s on me,” Jake said, gesturing to you to check out the aisles, and you didn’t even bother to argue, too in awe to do so, not even noticing Jake clicking your picture—perhaps the prettiest one. People say the camera captures you best when it’s held by someone who sees you through the eyes of love, Jake was the prime example for the same.
“I love it here,” you squealed, as Jake paid for the three books you picked out with much thinking, highly aware of how Jake followed you, grabbing the books on the taller shelves, practically caging you in his arms—in his scent, the one you’d grown to find comfort in.
You let out a shaky breath, as he stared down, passing the book to you. You turned your head at the same time he looked down. Close—too fucking close—his breath hit your cheek as your fingertips met in that small, unspoken exchange, the warmth of him passing on to you. And for the longest second, you didn’t move, didn’t stop staring at the pretty man in front of you, the back of your mind reminding you of the boyfriend you have—and the thought was thrown away the second he smiled, sweet and pure as honey.
The faint music played in the background, pretty apt for the situation. I wanna be yours by Arctic Monkeys. You’d seen such scenes with the amount of rom-coms you consumed, the books you read, and the authors didn’t lie when they described the feeling of it all happening in real time. Your face was warm, lips parted, like your body forgot how to hide feelings. You looked up, and Jake was already watching you, like he was memorizing this—every inch of you under this soft light, in this narrow aisle, with your back pressed against shelves of paperbacks and your breath catching in your throat.
“Come,” he mumbled, breaking the silence you two held as he paid for the books, then guiding you upstairs. You didn’t even know there was more to the bookstore, but Jake never failed to surprise you.
Jake didn’t say much as he led you up the narrow staircase tucked between two tall bookshelves. The steps creaked softly under your feet, wood worn smooth by time, and the scent of old paper followed you all the way up. You could still hear the soft music filtering through the floors as you stepped out onto the terrace. The space was small but beautiful, almost dreamlike. String lights hung overhead in uneven lines, swaying gently in the breeze, casting everything in a honey-washed hue that made the world look slowed down, dulled at the edges like a hazy lil photograph.
Potted plants framed the corners, and right in the center sat a small wooden table, surrounded by mismatched chairs that didn’t look like they belonged together—yet somehow, they did. A stack of forgotten poetry books rested at the edge, pages curling in the wind. Jake walked ahead and placed your bag on one of the chairs, glancing back to make sure you were still with him.
“Pretty, right?” He asked, “I come here when I feel like breathing, genuinely just breathing,” he lied smoothly, he’d been here twice to make sure the place was good, funding it enough to make this happen, restoring the beauty just for you, just for the smile that you gave him so freely now.
The chair creaked softly beneath you as you sat, and Jake mirrored your movement, choosing the seat across from you but turning it slightly, angling it closer, like he couldn’t bear the distance.
“It’s really peaceful,” you said, your voice quieter now, “feels like something out of a movie.”
You felt like something out of a movie, polished to perfection without any filters or colour grading—you didn’t need anything. To Jake, you were his favourite movie, the one he’d rewatch each day without a question, and still he’d find something new, like the little mole on your ear. It was so small, barely visible, but he stared at you with such a need to fit everything into his memory, leaving such an important detail was simply out of question.
He got up, walking to the vending machine tucked beside the terrace door, the glow of it buzzing softly in the quiet. He didn’t ask you what you wanted. He already knew, but grabbed a few more things to seem less suspicious about it.
“I’ll pay you back—”
“You don’t have to,” Jake replied in a beat, opening the can of red bull and taking in a sip.
“You know—I don’t get why you don’t have a girlfriend,” you pry, sipping on your juice, wondering if he had any—wait, did he? You never asked, just assumed, but why would he be here with you if he had someone.
The same way you’re out with him despite having a boyfriend, your inner voice reminded you, and it was unsettling, but you didn’t wish to focus on him, not when he wasn’t ever present when you needed him.
“I don’t know, just never met someone I can actually be with before,” he confessed, knowing well that you were the only one he wanted to be with, wanted to die with.
“That’s odd,” you started, “y’know, on our first day—orientation day. Karina told us that you have this reputation of a fuckboy,” you confessed.
Jake lost composure at that, eyes widening. Did you know? Did you actually think of him that way? No, no, no. Karina should’ve kept her mouth shut, this was bad, you couldn’t know.
“Woah, that’s an insane rumour,” Jake looked confused, a display of how great of an actor he was.
“So you don’t sleep around?” You asked.
Oh you were so curious, talking about sex with Jake now? He didn’t mind at all, “Okay I admit I’m not a virgin, but I don’t sleep around either,” he replied, eyes on you, specs sitting perfectly on his nose.
You nodded, disappointed for absolutely no reason, and he could see it, he could make it out so clearly, getting the exact reaction he was aiming for. Then he decided to change the topic, urging you to stare at the sky, which looked as pretty as a colour palette.
“Wait, I just realized. You know where I live—” you started and Jake paused, panicking within, “—but I don’t know where you live.”
“Oh,” he sighed softly, calming down again, grabbing a quote book as he joined you by the railing, watching the sunset, “just walk five minutes further on the street, you’ll see this big building named Orion, I’m on the penthouse floor,” Jake said, giving out his whole address, knowing you’ll use it soon.
“Woah, you just gave me the address, not scared? What if I stalk you?” You chuckled, and Jake found it way more interesting than you did.
“I’d like to see you try,” he challenged, leaning in, handing you the book in his hands, “wanna read a quote each? Take turns?” He asked, making your heart flutter again.
Under the amber veil of the setting sun, you took the book from his hands. It was soft with age, the cover cracked at the spine and the edges curled in, like it had been loved quietly for years. Your fingers brushed his as you held it.
“Alright,” you said, and your voice sounded strange to your own ears, so gentle and sweet.
Flipping the pages, you settled on the one you genuinely loved, as if it resonated with you the most, “whatever our souls are made of,” you read, “his and mine are the same.”
The page was no longer a page, it was the confession you’d never dare speak aloud, the line between fiction and the undeniable reality, and you didn’t realize until after you’d said it that you weren’t just reading it—you meant it. When you glanced up, Jake was already watching you, like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. But still, he said nothing—until he took the book from you, eyes full of the feeling named yearning.
His thumb paused at a page, “I loved her against reason,” he said, “against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness.”
Your breath hitched as the wind tugged gently at your clothes, the lights above swayed, but neither of you moved, and that’s when you knew—everything had changed.
The evening air had turned cooler, brushing against your skin like a gentle reminder that the day was over as you went inside your home—but your mind didn’t feel finished. The sky above you was streaked in pink and grey, a beautiful kind of mess, not unlike the thoughts circling in your head—Jake. His words, those quotes. That look in his eyes like he’d waited lifetimes just to sit across from you like that.
He had done no wrong, always been so respectful and kind, never once touching you or invading your space in a way that would make you uncomfortable. But it didn’t take a genius to realize how emotionally attached you were to him already, feeling bad for your boyfriend. You shut the door behind you, the familiar click echoing louder than it should have, and leaned your weight into it for a second. Your chest felt tight, not from guilt exactly, but from the confusion that sat heavy beneath it.
“Where have you been?” your boyfriend’s voice cut through the space, “I’ve been so worried, you didn’t even reply to the texts!”
“I didn’t see them, I was at the library,” you replied too quickly, and you hated how easy the lie came. But even if you had seen them—what would you have said? That you were sitting on a sun-washed terrace with Jake, talking about quotes and oxygen and stars?
“You could’ve at least called. It’s not like I’ve been sleeping well with everything going on.”
That stung, and you didn’t even know why. Maybe because you had been spiraling for days, and not once had he said that to your face. Maybe because the version of him who said that now sounded more inconvenienced than concerned.
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” you offered, but your voice came out flat. You weren’t sure which part of you was tired anymore—the physical, the mental, or the emotional. All of it?
“Is something wrong, babe?” He asked, walking up to you now, completely ignoring how you’ve been telling him what was wrong—the noises, his absence, the distrust, everything.
“Just, you haven’t been here,” you said, hoping to find the same comfort, but he took it as a complaint.
“You know I’m working hard for us,” he sighed, almost annoyed, and you swore this wasn’t the man you fell in love with a few years back. Maybe he had a point, but what’s the actual point of a relationship where there’s no comfort? No time?
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” you replied, letting him win as he pulled you in a hug.
A hug without warmth.
CHAPTER. 𝐈𝐗
Jake leaned against the back wall of the corner pharmacy, hood up, sunglasses low on his nose as he watched your boyfriend step outside across the street. Same jacket, same casual gait, scrolling through his phone like every other day. Jake knew his break schedule down to the minute now. Two days had passed, lectures had started, and yet, Jake was suffering withdrawals of you, your love, your smile. He had to do something, a final gesture to make you run to him.
His fingers toyed with the edge of his sleeve, heart pacing steady. He didn’t need to follow far, just until the path curved behind the building, just until no one else was watching. Jake’s shoes moved quietly behind him, and right then, he rushed, jabbing his hand on the neck, on the Vagus nerve of your boyfriend, causing him to drop down on the street instantly, fainting but he didn’t even register that it came from someone else.
Jake chuckled, dragging him into the alleyway, pulling out the needle from his bag, not bothering to sterilize the skin before he pierced through it, gathering your boyfriend’s blood in a vacutainer, just enough for his plan to work. It was that easy, Jake loved how meticulously he carried out everything, rushing away after cleaning the evidence of blood on the boyfriend’s arm, almost like a mosquito bit him.
He rushed out, running a bit farther, gathering the attention of an old lady, who barely registered Jake’s face and built, “hello!” He said, changing his voice entirely, “a man just fainted there,” he pointed it out, “I can’t help i’m running late, can you please check up on him?”
With that, he rushed away. See? He was a good man, never harming anyone, not until he had to, even if he wanted to drain every drop of blood in him, he didn’t. He ran, getting into his car and driving away without any trace, laughing louder than ever, enough for his veins to be visible on his neck.
He didn’t have much time, not when you were going to come back home. He parked his car farther away, mumbling your name on repeat like a mantra as successfully reached the back door of your house—which won’t be yours after tonight. Jake felt dizzy, as if his blood was taken away, but it was simply the thrill of making art, the kind of art you’d enjoy, or would you?
“Y/N,” he groaned, “come to me soon, baby. I can’t wait anymore, just come to me, okay?” He laughed quietly after that, dragging a hand through his hair, pacing in a tight circle, every thought looping back to you no matter how hard he tried to think of anything else. Your smile on the terrace. The way your voice softened when you felt safe.
“You don’t even know how close you are,” he murmured, eyes unfocused now, staring at nothing, “how everything’s already done. You don’t have to be scared anymore. I fixed it. I fixed everything.”
His hands shook, not with doubt, but with emotion—too much feeling crammed into one moment. Love, possession, devotion, all blurring together until there was no separating them anymore. In his mind, they had always been the same thing anyway. Jake leaned his forehead against the cool surface nearby, eyes squeezed shut, smiling through clenched teeth, forcing himself out of the house, and into hiding closeby.
You reached home after a few minutes, body tired with the amount of lectures you had to attend today, and the absence of Jake—that fucked you over the most. You did run into him at the Uni hallway earlier, he was busy with his duties but stopped by to greet you, and you appreciated it, but you didn’t appreciate Giselle trying to flirt with him—oh you were messed up.
But nothing could have prepared you for what came next. Your loud scream tore through the air, your heart slammed violently against your ribs, breath catching so sharply it hurt.
You’re alone baby, no one can save you.
It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be, right? Maybe everyone’s right and you’re dreaming, or maybe you’re schizophrenic, because there’s absolutely no way your bathroom mirror is covered with blood. The silence was unbearable, unsettling, but you couldn’t move, body paused as your eyes drifted, reading each word again, and again. Tears streamed down your face, begging yourself to run out, but your legs were too weak to do so. Every instinct in your body screamed to run, but your muscles had locked up, useless against the overwhelming dread that had settled into your bones.
You tried taking deep breaths, and it helped a little as you forced yourself to crawl out, grabbing your phone with shaking hands, rushing out of the house as best as you can, calling the first person on your speed dial—your boyfriend, who was finally kind enough to pick up your call.
“I’m busy—” he started, pausing once he heard your voice, the way you cried out so freely, so loud, he stood up from his desk, “what’s wrong?”
It was no surprise that your boyfriend was okay, being fully convinced he fainted on the street because of someone running into him, slamming him on the wall. He was so embarrassed he did not bother telling anyone about it, especially when an old lady was the one who helped him. He was a fool, this is why Jake wanted him gone from your life.
“Th—there’s b—blood,” you wailed, “please—come back.”
“What? Okay just stay with Mrs. Jones, I’ll be back soon, yeah?” He reassured you as you stood up weakly, walking to the house next door, scaring the poor woman who was too afraid to actually go and check if you’d been lying or not, simply taking you in and offering water. She seemed as shaken as you did.
Jake appeared from the back door again, “I’m sorry, baby, you know I did this for us, right?” He smiled, looking beautiful even in madness, cleaning up the bathroom mirror with white vinegar solution, leaving no marks behind, letting it dry with fondness on his face as he sprayed the bathroom fragrance you kept right there. And just like that, there wasn’t a single trace of blood left, just pure fondness on Jake’s face as he mumbled to himself, getting out of the place he won’t ever be visiting again.
You were glad your boyfriend was listening to you, so glad he was coming back home, maybe he’d finally believe you, if not then Jake would. The poor lady could only do so much, getting you a warm cup of tea. You didn’t bother rushing to the door when the doorbell rang, you didn’t hug your boyfriend, who looked as if he ran all the way back to home, and you couldn’t, not till you prove yourself right.
He thanked Mrs. Jones, helping your shaking self out of the home, to finally go and investigate what you’d been crying about. It felt real for once, the way you looked horrified, not even able to string together a full sentence. You couldn’t lie like this, not with the way your hands trembled in his grip, the way your wide, pleading eyes begged—please, believe me.
Your boyfriend stayed quiet as he unlocked the door and stepped inside, head tilted slightly like he was already in disbelief about this whole situation, about having to do this at all. You followed behind slowly, keeping close to the wall, as if the house itself might shift and trap you in again. He made a direct path to the bathroom, and your nails dug into your palms as he pushed the door open, flicking the lights on.
The tiles gleamed, the mirror spotless. No sign of anything being wrong. No dirt, no mess, no handprint on the wall like you’d sworn was there. It was pristine, oh it was sterile, like it hadn’t even been used. He turned back toward you slowly, a deep exhale leaving his chest as he stepped out, arms folded.
“Seriously?” he said, voice sharp, “this is what you were freaking out over?”
You stepped inside, hands flat on the mirror. It couldn’t be, you were not lying about this, you know exactly what you’d seen, and it made you angry, the way you were being embarrassed again and again, and even your so-called boyfriend didn’t believe you.
“No,” you said, voice rising, breaking, “no, this is bullshit. I’m not making this up—I know exactly what I saw.”
He scoffed behind you, “you think you know. That’s the problem, you’re always so sure, and then there’s nothing. Ever.”
You spun around, anger finally snapping through, “don’t you dare talk to me like that. Don’t you fucking dare.”
He stepped closer, voice raised now too, irritation spilling over, “then explain it to me! What the fuck is happening, huh? Are you doing this for attention?”
“For attention?” you repeated, “are you actually fucking serious right now?”
He didn’t back down. If anything, he looked more frustrated, hands thrown out in anger, “then what am I supposed to think? You’re always shaking, crying, dragging our neighbour into it, and there’s nothing here. Nothing. No fucking proof. No sign. What else am I meant to assume?”
“That I’m scared,” you shouted, stepping toward him, “that I was terrified in my own house—that I needed you.”
“I am here now,” he retorted.
“Too late,” you snapped, “you’re always here after everything’s already fallen apart.”
He laughed, disbelieving, the sound slicing straight through you, “you’re acting like I abandoned you. I was literally at work, did you even know I fucking fainted? That I was attacked? I’ve been so overworked. I can’t just drop everything every time you spiral.”
“I wasn’t spiraling,” you yelled, tears finally spilling over, completely ignoring the part where he told you that he was attacked, because if he didn’t trust you, why would you trust him?
“Well, I can’t help you if you keep making shit up!” He shouted back.
Your chest tightened, breath coming faster now, hands shaking at your sides, “I did not make it up, and the fact that you think I would—that I’d lie about something like this—tells me everything I need to know.”
“So now I’m the bad guy?”
“Yes,” you said immediately, voice loud despite the tears, “you are, because instead of standing next to me, you’re standing here interrogating me like I’m the problem here.”
He stared at you, jaw tight, “you’re unbelievable.”
“No,” you said, stepping back, putting distance between you, “what’s unbelievable is how small you make me feel when I’m already scared. How you’d rather call me insane or schizophrenic than admit you don’t know how to show up for me.”
You swallowed, wiping at your cheeks, voice shaking but resolute. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be with someone who treats me like I’m crazy.”
His eyes widened, scoff leaving his mouth, “you’re breaking up with me? Over this?”
“I’m breaking up with you because you don’t believe me,” you said firmly, “because you don’t listen. Because when I needed you the most, you chose annoyance over empathy, I cannot believe I even fell in love with someone like you.”
With that, you started walking away, chest hurting more with each step you took, ears not picking up the way he screamed behind you. There was no other thought in your mind as you walked ahead, you had no one to go to, no one but Jake.
Meanwhile, he was showering with a smirk, watching the whole argument unfold on the screen. Soon, he sat down on the couch with just his sweatpants on, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. The glow from his monitor cast soft light over the living room, muted tones flickering across his face as he leaned back, wet hair clinging to his temples. He looked calm as he rewatched the footage, fingers tapping slowly against his thigh.
“She’s coming,” Jake smiled to himself, “all mine now.”
Downstairs, the front desk guard stood up a little straighter as he saw someone approaching the entrance—someone Jake had told him about in advance. You looked shaken, your eyes rimmed red, your breathing uneven, and your voice just barely held together as you said his name.
“Uh—I’m here to see Jake Sim,” you whispered, so glad he had given you his address.
The guard nodded immediately, not even asking for confirmation. He slid a visitor card across the desk toward you, the one Jake had pre-arranged a day ago, “please take the elevator, penthouse floor.”
Your fingers closed around the pass, your hands cold. The ride up in the elevator was quiet, too quiet. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, your fingers trembling around the card, your throat dry. It was crazy. All of it. But Jake—Jake always made you feel safe, he never judged, he never looked at you like you were broken. Jake sat perfectly still as he heard the ding of the elevator chime through the penthouse hallway. He didn’t even reach for a shirt, simply just waited, elbows resting on his knees, gaze focused ahead, chest rising slowly.
You rang the doorbell, and Jake let you wait for just a few seconds, enough for the anticipation to bloom before opening the door. You stood in the doorway like you’d been hollowed out, shoulders curled inward, tears streaking your cheeks without restraint. Your lips trembled as if you were trying to hold yourself together and failing. You looked small in a way that twisted something deep inside him—so fucking beautiful.
Jake’s heart kicked hard against his ribs. God—there it was. The sight of you like this, undone and honest, coming to him when the world had failed you. He wanted to frame the moment, burn it into his memory forever. This was trust in its rawest form.
“Hey—” he said softly, carefully shaping his face into surprise, concern knitting his brows as he stepped closer, whispering your name, “what happened? Gosh—are you okay?”
Your bottom lip trembled as you stepped forward, and he opened his arms just in time to catch you. You pressed your face into his bare chest like it was instinct, like your body knew where to go before your mind could catch up, you didn’t care about the lack of clothes, you just needed him, exactly how he needed you.
Jake exhaled shakily, one arm wrapping fully around your back, the other lifting to cradle the back of your head. You were clinging to him—clinging like he was the only thing keeping you upright, and maybe he was. He held you like that, warm skin against your cheek, the soft rhythm of his heartbeat thudding steadily beneath you.
His hand moved in slow circles against your spine, you couldn’t even register how he was sniffing your scent, smirking when you couldn’t see. You came to him, you finally understood who you belong to. You know that Jake is gonna keep you safe, he’s gonna believe in you, love you endlessly while doing so.
“Breathe,” he whispered, dropping his head to speak into your hair, “I’ve got you. You’re here now, hm? It’s okay, take your time.”
You shuddered in his arms, finally letting go. Your fingers curled into the waistband of his sweatpants, the fabric soft beneath your fists, and he swore it would be embarrassing if you could feel his heartbeat right now. Every part of you was shaking, but Jake was steady, he felt your tears streak down his chest, and still he didn’t move. When your weight sagged slightly, when your knees threatened to give out, he adjusted instinctively, one arm sliding beneath your legs and the other securing your back as he lifted you with a careful ease.
You barely reacted, curling closer, forehead resting against his shoulder as he carried you toward the sofa. The way you trusted him with your full weight, the way you didn’t question it or pull back, made something deep in his chest tighten with a feeling he didn’t bother trying to name. He lowered himself onto the couch slowly, settling you against him so you were half in his lap, half against the cushions, his arm still wrapped around you like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go, as if he would ever let you go now.
This was everything he had imagined and more, you coming to him when you had nowhere else to go, choosing him without being asked, trusting him without needing proof. It felt inevitable in a way that made him dizzy.
“Jake,” you mumbled, heart paining at the thought of him not trusting you, but you had to tell him, “I swear—I’m not lying.”
“Lying about what, my love?” He gave you a small smile as you leaned back to look at him.
“There was blood—I swear, it was on the mirror, saying i’m alone and no one will save me, I’m not lying!” You said, hiccuping.
“Shh, calm down, I trust you, yeah? You’re safe here,” he murmured, passing you his usual smile that calmed you down, “wanna talk about it? Do you think it’s paranormal? Or someone did it?”
You realized how close you were to him, sitting on his lap, hands clutching his shoulders, his embrace giving you the warmth you’d been missing all this while—Jake was perfect. It was almost as if he was godsend to you, right when your life got monotonous, right when your own boyfriend gave up on you, when he was embarrassed. Jake listened to you, he cared enough to ask, to make sure you were okay, and even the gentleness of his voice had your heart beating fast for another reason.
“I—I don’t know,” you confessed, gulping. Your mind was a mess, especially after how things played out through the day. The blood, the breakup—did you really just wait for the right moment to do it? Because your heart beats for someone else now?
Jake said your name, bringing you back to the present, “you’re not okay, let me get you some hot chocolate.”
The very idea of him standing up, of that small space between you opening even for a second, made panic flare sharp, your fingers tightening on his shoulders before you realized you were doing it.
“No,” you said quickly, the word slipping out too fast. You shook your head, “don’t go, just—please don’t go, Jake.”
He stopped immediately, his attention snapping fully back to you, and god he wanted to groan so bad, you completely trusted him, “hey,” he said softly, “I’m right here.”
You laughed weakly, “I know, I just—” you pressed your forehead briefly against his, eyes squeezing shut, making it harder for him to keep his composure, hand resting on your nape now as you breathed in together, “I feel like I’m losing it. Like I’m not thinking straight, I keep wondering if I’m reacting this way because I’m scared, or because I’m tired, or because—” you trailed off.
Because you were sitting in another man’s lap, feeling safer than you had in weeks, and a part of you didn’t want it to stop.
“I shouldn’t feel like this,” you whispered, finally meeting his eyes, “I—It makes me feel insane.”
If only you could see the fireworks in Jake’s heart right now, you’d understand why his breath stuttered for just a fraction of a second, why his hand at your nape went utterly still like even the smallest movement might fracture the moment. Inside him, something detonated slowly and beautifully.
Jake forced himself to breathe evenly, to keep his face neutral, his thumb pressing lightly into the curve of your neck. Though every instinct in him screamed to pull you closer, to keep you exactly where you were forever, he chose to wait a few more minutes. Insane? Oh no, no. You were finally seeing things clearly.
“It’s been a long day, and your feelings are valid, love. You’ve been through so much, and your boyfriend didn’t bother being there for you, maybe that’s why you feel this way,” Jake murmured, watching another tear cascading down your cheek, “I won’t force you to say anything, or do anything, hm? Just know you’re safe with me.”
Your eyes were glassy when they lifted to his, lips parted from a trembling breath. Jake’s words sunk somewhere deeper than you meant them to, fuck—he knew exactly what to say, he knew how to be with you, how to make you fall in love with him, the part your ex boyfriend always missed, more now than ever. You didn’t want someone who didn’t trust you, who kept things boring, you wanted someone who’d make you feel loved each day—you wanted Jake.
You were so tired of being careful, of explaining yourself, of wanting more and pretending you didn’t. Your hands stayed where they were, resting against his bare shoulders, but your body leaned forward before you could stop it, drawn by something reckless, drawn by the beauty of the man right in front of you. What if he didn’t like you? What if he saw you as a friend? You panicked, and before you could slow yourself down, your body reacted on instinct alone.
Leaning forward, you slotted your lips upon his plush ones—letting him taste your tears for just a second, and god—Jake loves it. You’re soft, so fucking perfect, as if your lips were made to be locked with his own. It was barely a kiss. Just the briefest, trembling press of your lips to his, driven not by certainty but by panic, a sudden impulse to chase the feeling he’d been planting inside you all night. It lasted a second, maybe less, and even as your lips touched his, your mind was already pulling away, already scrambling to undo it, already panicking at what you might’ve just broken.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, breathing hard, trying to ignore just how good those few seconds felt, the way you got butterflies you hadn’t felt in a while, “I shouldn’t have—gosh, that wasn’t fair. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Jake didn’t care, he was too dazed with the fact that you belonged to him now, wondering how you didn’t notice his cock hardening beneath you yet. You’d kissed him, oh poor you, thinking it was a mistake when that’s exactly what you were meant to do. You and Jake? It was meant to be, one way or the other. His silence however, made you speak again.
“I wasn’t trying to use you,” you said next, because that thought had begun to creep in, “It wasn’t that—I swear.”
He didn’t hear the words as much as he watched the way you said them, so breathless, so very apologetic, lips still wet from kissing him, or crying, voice too fragile to carry the weight of what you’d just done. You didn’t even realize it yet—how irreversible that kiss was, how loud it had screamed mine. Jake was going insane, not because you had kissed him, but cause you had the nerve to feel guilty about it. Even if it worked in his favour, he had to do something about it.
“I know,” he said at last, softly, “I didn’t think you were.” His thumb shifted at your back, the touch meaning to calm you, and the restraint it took nearly made him dizzy. You were sitting right there, pressed against him, trusting him with a vulnerability you didn’t even recognize yet, and he had to keep reminding himself to move carefully to not mess it up, not at this moment.
“You don’t have to justify it to me,” Jake murmured, gaze lifting to your face again, “If tonight’s too much, if you just needed someone to hold onto for a minute, I don’t mind being that for you, love.” He tilted his head slightly as he spoke, his voice reassuring, as though he were offering you kindness instead of laying a trap you were already stepping into.
“You can use me,” he added gently, planting down his final trick to get you to confess, “I won’t think less of you for it.”
“I’m not using you,” you said too quickly, emotion breaking through the denial, “that’s not what this is. I didn’t—I wouldn’t.”
Perfect, you were so perfect, and admittedly in love with him now. He parted his lips to say something, only to let you continue spreading, simply holding onto you tighter, feeling the softness of your waist from where your top had ridden up.
“I don’t want to lose you, Jake,” you confess again, breathing hard, “you’re my only safe space now.”
It was rather pathetic how your mind never diverted back to your ex, and Jake loved it, “safe space?”
“I know it sounds stupid when we’ve barely—”
Jake let his smile take over as you rambled, the one where he didn’t mask how obsessed he was, and you just happened to miss it as he grabbed your chin, making you look at him, “you don’t have to explain,” he murmured, eyes locked onto yours, “you already said everything I needed to hear, darling.”
Wait—did that mean that he actually did like you?
“Jake—”
“You’re mine now, aren’t you?” He smirked, and you should’ve pointed out the sudden shift in the behaviour, but rather, you were happy that maybe, just maybe, your newfound feelings weren’t one sided.
“I—” you tried to speak, dizzy with the rather insane surge of emotions within you.
His nose brushed yours, breath mixing with yours, and that closeness, oh that unbearable, perfect closeness, it made your lips part a little wider. Jake couldn’t hold on anymore, his mouth crashing against yours before you could speak any further, and gosh the act felt hungry, the way he parted your lips with precision, letting you feel just how long he waited for it, the desperation seeping out. Your hands flew up, gripping his bare shoulders, fingernails biting down when his tongue slipped against yours.
Your hips shifted over his lap, making him groan into your mouth, and you swore you never felt this alive before. It was exactly how you’d imagined kisses to be in the books, and yes—the descriptions always felt real when you experienced anything with this man. Jake’s hands gripped your waist, one of them slid up under your shirt, palm dragging hot up your back, the other was fisted in your hair, keeping your lips pressed to his like he’d go feral if he let you go.
“Been waiting,” Jake mumbled between the kisses, “didn’t feel right cause you were dating someone else,” he lied, making you gasp at the depth of the situation.
It hadn’t even been a whole hour since you broke up, and here you were, sitting on Jake’s lap and kissing him as if there was no tomorrow. No more lying to yourself about how your relationship was stable when it was falling apart all along, not knowing how Jake took immense pride in being the catalyst to that destruction.
“You did?” You managed to ask, all breathless and flushed, opening your eyes to see his pink lips, slightly swollen now.
“Of course, it killed me to see someone as perfect as you being mistreated by someone else,” he breathed out, pecking your lips again, and you leaned closer, “as if I wouldn’t do anything to take your misery away.”
You whimpered into his mouth when his grip on your waist tightened, rocking you forward until your clothed cunt dragged against his hard length straining beneath you. You couldn’t control your voice anymore, especially as his lips traced a slow path across your cheekbone, “did I tell you how fucking beautiful you are?”
You shook your head, already breathless, “no—”
“No?” he whispered, smiling against your skin. His lips brushed the corner of your mouth before dragging down the column of your throat, “then I must be doing something terribly wrong.”
“I thought I was going crazy—thinking about you,” you spoke, caressing his nape.
“Then I must have been crazier,” he replied, making you smile despite everything that had happened. Nothing felt wrong anymore, absolutely nothing, and when you moaned again, Jake grabbed your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer, “I know a lot has happened, and again—I won’t rush you into anything.”
“No—please,” you almost cried out. Oh just how perfect you were for Jake.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Yes, I am, I need it,” you nodded.
That’s it, he didn’t have to pretend anymore, he could be exactly how he wished to be with you, and he knew you were shaken, but that’s the fun of it, isn’t it? He didn’t waste any time before he picked you up, taking you to his room—which he had cleaned earlier just for you, because he knew for a fact that it was going to be a long night for you both.
CHAPTER. 𝐗
You barely remember how you made it to his bed, only that the room smelled like him, that the sheets were warm and soft, and that Jake hadn’t stopped touching you once. His veiny hands had been everywhere since the second the bedroom door clicked shut. Gentle, like you were fragile. Greedy, like he’d been starving—and he was, more than you.
The mattress dipped beneath your back as he hovered over you, the shadows casting soft lines over his bare chest, his hair messy from where your fingers had already pulled through it. You weren’t sure if the pounding in your chest was from nerves or need, but Jake seemed to know exactly what to do with both.
“I’m trying my best to be nice here,” Jake mumbled breath brushing hot over your cheek as he dipped lower, “but you’re making it so hard.”
You didn’t want nice anymore, you wanted to see him unravel and show you exactly what he can offer when he wasn’t giving you his soft smiles and sweet words, so you spoke up again, “don’t be nice, make me forget.”
He stared at you like you’d offered him his favorite dish on a silver plate—which was indeed true. His body was still, as though he were already deciding how he’d take you, how fucking hard, just how long. How far he could push before you broke in his hands. Jake rose to his feet slowly, eyes dark like a predator waking up after a long sleep, and the second his shadow pulled away from your body, the heat that had cocooned you disappeared too, the sudden absence made you cold.
“You wanna forget, hm? Your old life? Ex?”
You nodded—so easily manipulated at the sight of something you liked, and you liked Jake now. No one tempted you this way before, but he did it without breaking a sweat. And so, he simply decided to indulge more in your interests, or rather, fantasies.
Then he said it, his voice deeper now, “okay,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, “so be good, bunny. Go, run.”
You sat up halfway, breathing hard, “what?”
He couldn’t be into that, right? You wondered if it was yet another coincidence, or something he was going to distract you. It didn’t matter though, the statement making you press your thighs together with need.
“You’ve been scared, haven’t you? Let me turn that into something you’ll enjoy,” he says, giving you a lazy smirk, slowly circling the bed, “the only threat here is me.” He paused at the foot of the bed, arms crossed now, there was a wicked smirk curving his lips, one that didn’t match the softness he’d shown you earlier.
Your breath caught at the base of your throat. You knew it wasn’t real— Jake wouldn’t hurt you, that this was a game he was inviting you into, but it didn’t stop your skin from flushing hot. The shadows in his penthouse stretched long across the floor, windows black against the night sky, and somewhere between the city lights and the weight of his voice, something in you snapped.
You stood slowly, heart racing, still unsure if you were playing along or already giving in, cause god you wanted to. He simply watched you move, biting his lip at how effortlessly beautiful you seemed even when you were scared—when you were turned on.
His voice was soft, but his gaze? That stayed wild, “go on, baby. You want me to take it from you, don’t you?”
You swallowed thickly, nodding once before you turned. You turned, pulse roaring in your ears, bare feet hitting the polished floor as you moved away from the bed and into the open stretch of his penthouse. The space felt enormous now, all glass and shadow and city lights glittering beyond the windows, every surface reflecting just enough to remind you that there was nowhere to really hide, especially in a space you weren’t familiar with. You weren’t scared in the way fear clenches your chest and steals your breath, this was threaded with want, the kind that made your thighs press together as you ran.
Behind you, you heard him move, just the steady, unhurried pace of someone who knew exactly how this would end. The sound alone sent a shiver down your spine. You cut toward the kitchen, breath coming faster, fingers brushing the edge of the counter as you tried to steady yourself, your body already buzzing with anticipation, however, you didn’t make it far.
His hand closed around your wrist and he pulled you back into him, your back meeting his chest as he guided you effortlessly against the cool stone of the kitchen island. The juxtaposition made you gasp, the chill of the marble against your thighs and the heat of his body pressing into you stealing the air from your lungs at the same time. Jake’s mouth found the curve beneath your ear, his breath hot.
“See?” he murmured, gripping you tight, “you can’t hide from me.”
You squirmed in his grip, not to get away, never to get away—but because the tension coiling through your body needed somewhere to go. Jake felt it instantly, one of his hands sliding between your thighs and pressing, just enough to make your breath hitch, just enough to let you know exactly how this was going to go.
“Already soaked,” he groaned, the heel of his palm rocking against your clothed cunt, “you liked running—liked knowing I was gonna chase you.”
You whined, your hands flattening on the counter to keep you steady, back arching into him instinctively. He hummed in satisfaction, like he’d been waiting for that reaction, like he knew every inch of your body was tuned to him now.
“You wanna play?” He asked, lips brushing your jaw now, teeth grazing your pulse, “then you take what’s coming, bunny.”
His hand moved, unbuttoning the jeans, holding you up to drag it down, groaning at the sight of your legs he so desperately loved—fucking perfect. He dropped to his knees behind you before you could process the shift, large hands gripping your thighs to drag you right to the edge of the island. His shoulder nudged your legs farther apart, breath brushing warm over the thin fabric stretched between your thighs, and then his mouth was on you.
The first drag of his tongue over your soaked panties made you jump, but he held you firm, tongue tracing a path up your slit before pressing against your clit with need. He mouthed at you through the fabric, tongue flattening and lips sucking just enough to make you cry out, your hands flying back to dig into his hair.
“Fuck, Jake—” your voice broke on his name, as if you were high at the sensation you’d never truly felt before, gosh—you didn’t even know you could feel this good with just his tongue.
He almost growled, the sound vibrating against you, and then you felt your panties being tugged aside as he dove in properly, tongue hot and filthy against your bare cunt. His lips sealed around your clit, sucking hard enough to make you cry out loud, not stopping as he went on like a madman, finally getting a taste of what he’d been imagining all this while, your fingers gripping his hair tighter with every stroke of his tongue.
Jake groaned again, “so fucking perfect, you taste so good—fuck, bet no one’s tasted you like this before, bunny,” the sound muffled against your soaked pussy, and the way he moaned—like he needed this, like your taste was better than anything he’d ever touched—made your stomach flip with heat. He was insatiable, lost in it, nose nudging against your clit as his tongue licked through your folds again and again. There was no grace to it anymore, absolutely no restraint. He devoured you like a man who had waited far too long for something he was never supposed to have.
“Fuck—you’re crazy,” you moaned out, but he was right about it, and Jake was good at what he did because your body could barely remember much, you couldn’t think straight, not when he was being such a good munch for you.
“Not crazy enough,” Jake licked up, pressing a harsh kiss on your clit, sucking it in with need. He had never felt hunger like this before—not even in his loneliest, most desperate nights, not even in the quiet moments when he imagined what it would be like to finally touch you like this. It was you, your sounds, your taste, your trembling thighs braced around his head, and Jake—Jake was starved for every single part of it.
Every moan from you made his cock twitch, already rock-hard in his pants, already aching to be inside—but he wasn’t rushing. No, not yet. He was drunk off you, off the fact that you were squirming for him.
“Jake, Jake—oh my god, I can’t—” your voice broke, your legs trembling, but Jake just groaned deeper, his arms wrapping around your thighs now to keep you steady.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, chin wet, eyes dark and locked onto the slick mess between your legs. His voice was hoarse, “you have no fucking idea,” he panted, chest heaving as he looked up at you, “no idea how long—” he stopped himself before he could expose his true thoughts, watching how you were so close, looking down at him with heart eyes, tears threatening to fall down.
“Last chance, bunny. Run while you still can, because I won’t let go again,” Jake warned, and he meant it, cause now that he knows how fucking perfect you taste, it’ll be impossible for you to escape, but he liked the thrill, even if it was a game to you.
It was drizzling outside, the voice barely calming down your racing heart as Jake sat on his knees, as if he’d fully surrendered himself to your being, looking at you like the world had narrowed down to this exact moment, to the way your chest rose and fell too fast, to the way your lips trembled as you stared back at him with wide, overwhelmed eyes. His hands loosened their grip on your thighs just enough to make the threat of collapse very real, and you gasped softly, instinctively shifting your weight as your legs wobbled beneath you.
He smirked, tongue out before he bit his lip, “gonna run from me now, hm?”
Your body reacted to it, faster than your mind could process, turning around and getting away, making sure to not hurt Jake in the process, making him chuckle, “such a doll,” he muttered to himself, staying right there, hearing your footsteps going around his place—a dream come true for him, “all mine, can’t escape anymore.”
You barely made it around the corner of the kitchen, your legs still trembling from the way he’d pulled you apart with just his mouth. Your thighs sticky with slick, your shirt clinging to your back with sweat, jeans long forgotten, and your brain buzzed with the heat of it all—his voice still in your ears.
Reaching the balcony, you didn’t think twice before rushing inside, crashing through them with a gasp, bare feet slapping wet against the stone. The drizzle kissed your skin instantly, soaking your body in seconds. It was soft, enough to cling to your lashes and dampen your clothes and make the warm air feel gentle.
Far away, in the kitchen, your phone rang with the calls of your ex, but you didn’t care anymore. Maybe it was the selfishness taking over, the insane power you felt when you were living something you’d wanted to experience—the feeling of having the same interests, and maybe, the kind of love that won’t come with the expiration date of the honeymoon phase.
You stumbled out to the edge, palms flat against the glass railing, panting like you could outrun what he’d done to you, but you couldn’t because he was already there. The heat of his body pressed into your back a second before his arms did—one winding tight around your waist, the other sliding up to cradle your jaw as he pulled you away from the railing and right back into him. His palm flattened over your stomach, his chest bare and slick against your soaked shirt, his lips already on your neck.
“You didn’t even make it a minute, baby,” Jake whispered, breathing hot against the curve of your jaw, even as the drizzle fell cool around you, “didn’t wanna run? Not scared anymore?”
You just stared at the man from the side, his warmth juxtaposing the cold, absolutely making you forget about everything else, as if he was here just to take control of your mind and being. All you could feel and register was the hard line of his cock pressing into your ass, the strength of his arms, the desperation in the way his lips pressed against your skin.
“That’s my good girl,” he whispered, as you sighed with pleasure, fingers curling weakly against the cool glass railing as his mouth lingered just below your ear. Every word he spoke vibrated through you.
“Your good girl,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely audible.
And gosh, that was all it took. Jake’s mouth captured yours in a kiss that stole what little air you had left within you. It felt so deep and consuming, lips moving against yours that made your knees feel weak. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, holding you there, fully taking control now. You were purely, utterly, wholly his, and you loved every bit of it.
“Come here,” he whispered, voice thick, his lips brushing yours one last time before he guided you gently away from the railing.
He led you a few steps to where the balcony jutted in slightly, a narrow overhang offering shelter from the drizzle. The rain didnt reach you there, turning into a quiet mist around you. Jake lowered himself down on the singular chair first, then tugged you into his lap without asking, your legs automatically falling to either side of his hips.
You gasped as your soaked panties dragged against him, the heat between you making you go crazy. Jake’s hands slid to your hips, steadying you as your body rocked forward, chasing the exact pressure you needed.
“Easy, darling,” he breathed, his thumbs digging in as he guided your movement instead, “yeah, just like that.”
You rolled your hips again, feeling the way he reacted beneath you, the way his breath hitched and his grip tightened. The sensation built with every movement of yours, your forehead dropping to his shoulder as the rain continued to fall just beyond your shelter. Jake kissed the side of your head as his hips moved to meet yours, the two of you locked together in a rhythm that felt inevitable now.
“Jake—”
“Yeah? That’s not loud enough, bunny,” he chuckled.
“But—fuck! We’re outside!” You cried out, voice louder, making him chuckle.
“That’s the point,” he murmured into your neck, “let them hear. Let the whole fucking city know how sweet you sound when you’re grinding on me, yeah? Let your ex hear your pretty fucking voice.”
Your head fell back at that, mouth open as you let out a moan you couldn’t hold in. The wet friction, the heat of his body under yours, the way his voice dropped into something very possessive every time you whined—it all blurred together perfectly, making your thighs tremble.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” Jake groaned, one hand sliding from your hip down to press the soaked fabric of your panties tighter against your pussy. “You’re fucking dripping for me, bunny, and I haven’t even taken you inside yet.”
“You’re crazy,” you repeated, giving him a smile showing how you felt just as insane as he did, two people made for each other.
“You love it,” he mumbled, thumb rubbing your clit in slow circles now, “you need this, don’t you? That excitement, something other than vanilla fucking,” he scoffed.
You didn’t bother questioning how he knew about your past sexual experiences, simply because you felt ecstatic in the moment. You were so sensitive it was almost painful, your thighs twitching with every lazy rub, your hips jerking forward to meet it like you were chasing the high without thinking.
“I said,” he leaned in, “you need this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you breathed, nodding.
He pulled back, just enough to see your face clearly, his thumb still moving in those perfect circles. His sweatpants were soaked, his cock rock hard beneath you, and yet his patience was infuriating—perfectly cruel to you.
You rocked into his hand, chasing the rhythm, grinding faster, harder, your body already right there on the edge. So close it hurt, “Jake—Jake, I’m—please—”
“Not yet, baby.”
You whined, and Jake loved it. As much as he wanted to see you make a mess and feel that pleasure because of him—he just wished to drag it more, even if it was hard for him to control his own fucking cock, he couldn’t let you cum just like this, he needed to fuck you so hard your body would forget any other person who touched you before him.
“I said not yet,” he repeated, voice firmer now, “you don’t get to cum until I say so.”
A tear slipped down your cheek at the overstimulation, the aching buildup that never ended. Your clit was throbbing, twitching under his fingers, and you didn’t know whether to push into it or listen to him. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs, soaking his palm, and still—he didn’t stop.
He tilted his head and caught the tear with his tongue, groaning softly, “fuck. You taste like sin.” His hand left your pussy, only to slap your clit once, making you scream and jerk forward.
“Jake!” you gasped, breath hitching, heat spiraling again in your belly.
“You’re crying already?” He grinned, eyes heavy-lidded with lust, “god, that’s so pretty, baby. Look at you—fuckin’ perfect when you’re desperate.”
“I need you,” you sobbed, your voice airy and hoarse now, all fucked-out, “please, please, please—need you inside, wanna cum on your cock, please—”
“You’re really crying for cock now?” He clicked his tongue, “that needy for me already, baby?”
You nodded, your body burning up, your panties long ruined, your thighs sticky, clit still throbbing from the slap, “wanna be full,” you whispered, “wanna cum with you inside.”
Jake’s expression turned feral. Oh he was so in love with you, his cock twitching against the fabric of his sweats. Without another word, he picked you up with ease, his muscles flexing as you stared at his perfectly sculpted face, wet and messy hair—his grip firm on your body.
The bedroom door slammed behind you and barely had time to bounce back open before he shoved you onto the mattress, your back hitting the sheets as you gasped. Jake was on you in the next second, climbing over your trembling form, his hands everywhere—pushing your shirt up, tugging your bra down roughly, yanking your panties off your thighs, he couldn’t stand the thought of fabric between you anymore.
“You were begging for this, weren’t you?” He muttered, freeing his cock from the sweatpants, your eyes widening at the length, and just how hard he was as he started dragging his cock through your folds, notching the swollen head against your soaked entrance.
Every night he’d lay awake thinking about this, imagining how it might feel to finally be inside you, how your pussy would squeeze him tight, how your moans would sound when he broke you apart with slow, deep thrusts. He’d imagined the tears, the trembling, the ruined beauty of you coming undone just for him. But nothing could have prepared him for the reality. You looked so perfect like this. Messy, wild, glassy-eyed with need, your lips parted in a silent plea, your thighs quivering where they bracketed his hips.
Pressing his lips upon yours, he thrusted in, swallowing every single moan and scream that you let out, tongue tracing your own as he bottomed out, the squeeze making him groan loud out. Your back arched, your hands flying up to clutch at his arms, nails sinking into his biceps as the thick head of his cock practically breached you.
“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, voice shaking, one hand gripping your waist.
You whimpered, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, your heels digging into the backs of his thighs as you tried to pull him deeper. But he wasn’t ready to rush. He needed to feel all of it—the way your pussy fluttered around him as your body struggled to take him in fully.
Jake leaned back just enough to see your face, and the sight nearly undid him. You were crying again, but not from pain, rather from being so full, so overwhelmed. Tears streaked down your cheeks, your lips trembling, your whole expression soft and broken and desperate for more.
He wiped one tear away with the back of his thumb, then kissed it away from the corner of your eye, “that’s it,” he murmured, thrusting deeper until he was fully seated inside you, cock buried to the hilt, “take all of me. You can do it, baby. You’re doing so good, just forget about everything else, yeah? Nothing else, just me.”
Another tear cascaded down your cheek, and he licked it up, thrusting in hard enough to make you gasp, fingers grabbing your chin open, your eyes rolling back with how he licked your mouth, before spitting into it, watching you gulp it down for him—oh fucking perfect, he didn’t even have to tell you shit, you were made for him, “fucking hell—good girl.”
You could barely nod, but it was enough. Your cunt clenched again around him, soaked and swollen and fluttering as he pulled halfway out just to slam back in, your body jolting from the force, another sob slipping past your lips.
“Yeah, you like that,” he muttered, leaning down, pressing a filthy kiss to your cheek as his hips snapped forward again, harder, “you like being fucked dumb. My sweet, dumb baby, can’t even think with my cock inside you.”
Jake felt your legs shake around him, your pussy clenching so tight it dragged another moan from his throat. You were getting close again, he could feel it—the way you trembled, the way your fingers scrambled for anything to hold—his shoulders, the sheets, the back of his neck—told him everything.
“Don’t fight it,” he groaned, fucking into you with messier thrusts now, each one hitting so deep you swore you could feel all over your body, “you wanna cum, don’t you? Wanna cum with my cock so deep you forget your fucking name?”
You nodded again, tears slipping down your cheeks freely now, lips parted around tiny gasps as your back arched and your body started to seize, “please Jake—gonna—” you choked out, barely able to breathe, “need it, I—fuck—I need it—”
“Cum for me,” he chuckled, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit now, “make a mess. Fucking drip for me, little bunny.”
And that was enough for you to feel that unadulterated pleasure, your scream broke in your throat, nothing but a cry of pure release as your orgasm hit you like nothing before, your vision white, your body locking up beneath him as you squirted, your slick splashing wet against his stomach, soaking the sheets, your cunt still spasming wildly around him.
“Fuck—oh fuck yes,” Jake snarled, watching the mess coat him, cock still driving through it, “you’re leaking—baby, fuck—you’re so messy. All for me. All this cause of my cock?”
You nodded through the tears, unable to speak. He grabbed your legs, yanked them up over his shoulders again and folded you in half, pounding into you with brutal thrusts now. The angle was insane, his balls slapping against your ass, your pussy so wet it sounded obscene every time he slammed in.
“Gonna cum in you, yeah?” He panted, his voice going more desperate now, “you’re gonna hold it, you hear me? Gonna keep every drop inside. I don’t care if it spills—I’ll stuff it back in.”
You wailed under him, your body beyond spent now, your mind blank with overstimulation, your pussy fluttering around him like it still wasn’t done, and god Jake wanted to say it loud out, how he was so in love with how you smiled, how you giggled when he kissed you despite being so fucking gone, you reacted to him just how he wanted you to.
Jake leaned down, biting your neck as he buried himself one last time, hips jerking as he came hard, so fucking hard—spilling deep inside you, cock pulsing as your body sucked it all in, your walls milking him. He stayed there, still twitching inside as he looked into your eyes, watching his own reflection inside as your whimper reverberated the room.
“I fucking lo—” he stopped himself, “fuck, you’re perfect, so pretty,” he said instead, finally moving enough to pull back and see the mess, he groaned at the sight—his cum already leaking out of your swollen cunt, dripping down onto the sheets, your thighs slick with it. He didn’t even reach for a towel, pushing his cum back in with two fingers, smearing it up against your walls again, watching your hips jerk.
“Not wasting a fucking drop,” he whispered, kissing your damp cheek again, “you’re mine, yeah? All this is mine, fucking mine, mine.” He kept on repeating it and you—being so fucked in the head, thought it was the hottest fucking sight ever. A man absolutely gone into depths of desperation for you? You wanted that for life.
You were still trying to catch your breath when he spoke up, eyes still trying to memorize all of you, kissing your knuckles, “i’m sorry I lost control.”
He sat up slightly, adjusting the blanket over you, like you weren’t already covered with his marks and love. His hand stayed on your stomach, not having it in him to stop touching you when you chased that high yourself. When you smiled, shaking your head, he swore he fell deeper into whatever twisted obsession he harboured towards you.
“Stay,” he breathed out, looking dead serious, “don’t go anywhere, just stay with me, hm? I know it’s early but I can’t let you go back there.”
“But how can I just live here? It’s not easy—”
“It doesn’t have to be hard, y’know? Especially if that place is haunted, you should let it go,” he mumbled, pressing his forehead against yours, cause god he couldn’t bear any distance anymore, he wanted to lock you inside with him and never leave, just you and him being together forever, “I’ll help you move in your stuff, I know it’ll be hard for you to go there alone, there’s enough space for you to have your own room too,” Jake said, absolutely hating the fact of you being in a different room, but he had to say it.
“I—I don’t know, Jake, it’s a lot to ask for,” you mumbled, and he instantly made you smile by pressing a soft kiss on your lips.
“Y/N,” he whispered against you, sending a shiver up your spine, “It’s not a lot, it wasn’t just sex for me—I like you,” he confessed as if he wasn’t in love with you, eyes full of sparkles, looking at you with hope in his eyes.
“You do?” You asked, breathing harder.
He nodded, “I do. I like you in every way possible, even sitting beside you without speaking makes me feel happy, I know it was wrong for me to like you when you had a boyfriend, but some feelings can’t be controlled.”
You didn’t answer right away, but your heartbeat was fast again as you stared at him, “Jake,” you whispered, voice barely holding together, “what if this ruins things? What if I regret it?”
Regret? Oh Jake wanted to scoff right there. What would you even regret? Living like a princess with him, getting everything you want, getting Jake’s undivided love and attention. You’d be crazy to think that there’s anything to regret.
He had to maintain his calm, “hey, I just know you won’t regret staying somewhere you feel safe, with someone who actually wants you around.”
You genuinely wanted to believe him. The sudden noise of lightning made you gasp as the rain only grew stronger, making you hug Jake—the way your body was so comfortable with him was answer enough. He only hugged you tighter, taking in your scent yet again, pupils dilated with how much his emotions were in tune with the moment.
“You don’t have to be scared right now,” he murmured into your hair, “you’re here with me.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, rainlight flashing softly through the room, and for the first time the thought of staying didn’t feel complicated, “can I really stay?” you asked, almost shy now.
He nodded immediately, brushing his thumb along your cheek, as if it was a joke, you’re meant to stay here, now and forever, “yeah, my love,” he said, “as long as you want.”
He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your jaw, making you squirm and laugh quietly, trying to hide your face, “Jake,” you whined, giggling.
“What?” He said innocently, brushing his nose against your neck, absolutely thrilled and shaking from the inside at the thought of you being here each day, “can’t kiss my girl?”
“You’re so annoying,” you mumbled, even as your arms wrapped tighter around his neck.
“Annoying?” He laughed, and you loved the sound of it, so easily manipulated into loving things you weren’t familiar with, already shifting his hands to the back of your thighs, “say that again after I carry your cold, shivering little self into a hot bath.”
Jake gives you that feeling—he makes you feel like you belong with him, like you matter, and most importantly, he trusts you so deeply that not even your closest ones did. And that’s what makes it so perfect, how you took the most obvious step into Jake’s trap, making him chuckle with how you were naive and you needed him.
And as he held you tighter, carrying you straight into the life he built around you, Jake smiled—because you thought this was love, and not once did it occur to you that it was a cage.
CHAPTER. 𝐗𝐈
Maybe you did like your cage a lot, granted you were happier than ever living with Jake—who was your boyfriend now. Yes, it was rushed, but you know what they say about when it feels right, it’s right. He’d been sweet enough to accompany you when you moved your belongings into his penthouse, heck, he didn’t let you lift a finger as he carried everything inside.
And you were ecstatic to see him absolutely glowing through it all—his sleeves rolled up, jaw tense with focus, smiling every time you caught his eye like he couldn’t believe you were really here. He’d kissed your temple after setting down your last box, whispered something like “finally,” and you’d laughed, brushing it off like he was just being silly as usual. You didn’t think too hard about it. You didn’t think too hard about a lot of things anymore.
The place was beautiful—wide windows, warm floors, shelves already cleared for your books, space in the closet that he’d emptied before even asking what you were bringing. Everything was ready for you, as if he’d known the answer long before you gave it. And Jake, well—Jake was perfect.
He made breakfast before you woke up, kissed your shoulder while the kettle boiled, offered you his hoodie on nights you didn’t even say you were cold. He never asked where you were going or who you were texting, he didn’t have to when he knew everything.
The only thing you were curious about was that one room he kept locked, not even allowing you inside, and you didn’t think much about it, simply choosing to respect his privacy. If not, he’d pull you into a deep kiss, leading to the things you’d grown to enjoy a lot. Your life felt colourful again, not bland anymore.
Jake was clingy, not having it in him to let you out of his sight if it weren’t for your lectures, maybe that obsession of his made you feel more important, and happy, cause you didn’t mind it one bit. Your ex had stopped contacting you, and even your family supported you through the breakup, minus the fact that they weren’t sure about you moving in with a new man so soon.
He was patient with you, learning new things about you each day—acting surprised even if he knew about it beforehand. Jake didn’t know how to word it, he couldn’t control his emotions, as if they had heightened tenfold with your presence. At times, he simply wanted to pin you down and bury his face in your neck, your scent calming him down, or rather, making him go even deeper into the spiral, and you mistook it for the onset of love for Jake, especially when he stared at you with his puppy-like eyes.
So, you got home early, expecting Jake to be home, but he wasn’t. He had crossed boundaries long back, but watching your ex text you got him pissed, he stared at the screen, biting his nails. And that was the first time he acted so recklessly without a plan, knowing you won’t be home, he didn’t bother locking that door.
That was a mistake that changed everything as you stood inside the room, shaking with fear, or something worse that you couldn’t pinpoint—Jake wasn’t just in love with you, he was severely obsessed. Your pictures were scattered all around, some taped to the wall, others stacked on the desk in messy piles. Not just the ones you’d posted online, there was more—pics of you sleeping, brushing your hair in your old bedroom.
Your hands shook as you reached for one photo, a blurry shot of you crying in front of your ex from the day you broke up. There were other things too—little items he’d kept, including the lipgloss you’d lost a few months back.
Meanwhile Jake’s face was splattered with blood, it wasn’t his, but of the guy who was trying his best to get you back. Jake had been too nice, way too nice, “she’s mine,” he muttered, hands shaking with a sinister smile on his face, “don’t come closer, yeah? Not that you can anymore.” His laugh boomed through the empty space, your ex on the floor begging for his life.
This was too much—you tried your best to wipe your tears, knowing Jake might be back anytime soon, and you wouldn’t know how to react around him anymore. You knew what you saw wasn’t right, you knew the things he’d done weren’t justifiable, not even close, but for some reason your fear didn’t look like running—it just confused you further, you feel this weird guilt within you, like you weren’t sure if it was more terrifying to be wanted this much, or to want someone back despite everything.
The front door opened right that second and you flinched at the noise, mouth going dry at the sight of Jake covered in blood, him stopping in his tracks at your presence, eyes travelling up to see his room door wide open.
His jaw tightened, feeling something closer to relief mixed but also disbelief, like the worst thing that could’ve happened had already happened and somehow you were still here. When he finally looked back at you, his expression changed entirely. Whatever mask he usually wore around you cracked completely, his breath hitching as he started laughing, like he didn’t know what else to do with the insanity within him. He started walking towards you, blood still drying on his hands, on his clothes.
“You saw it, baby,” he murmured, voice still full of love.
You nodded, tears blurring your vision again, and for a split second you thought he might pull away, might rethink everything. Instead, he reached for you and pulled you into him hard, arms locking around your shoulders, shaking as he laughed again into your hair, the sound breaking halfway, but of course, he was overjoyed that you didn’t run away, that you stayed and waited for him to come back.
You cried against his chest and hugged him back without thinking twice, because even now your body reacted to him before your head could catch up. You knew this wasn’t normal, you knew nothing about this should’ve felt okay, but standing there with him holding you like he’d just barely kept you from slipping away, all you could feel was how badly he needed you.
And the worst part was knowing that he’d crossed every line imaginable, and still, somehow, you weren’t thinking about leaving.
You were thinking about how to stay, and how you probably won’t be able to leave.
“We broke up!” you scream, voice shredded with fury. “Get that through your thick fucking skull and get the fuck out of my house!” But you glance down—just for a second. And that’s all it takes. His hand is on your throat.
cw: dark!jungwon, noncon,hair pulling, degradation, creampie, babytrapping and physical violence.
word count : 3.5k
You knew it was the right decision.
Ending things with Jungwon wasn’t just overdue, it was needed. The relationship had rotted from the inside out, twisted into something dark and suffocating. You’d spent too much time walking on eggshells and flinching at every raised voice or hand. So you left.
But ever since the breakup, something in the air felt wrong.
He didn’t take it well—not at all. The calls kept coming. At first, it was pleading. Sweet, pathetic apologies dripped in fakeness. But they didn’t stay sweet for long. They turned sharp and accusing. His voice would swing from soft regret to explosive rage in a single breath. As if the breakup wasn’t real. Like you were throwing a tantrum.
Now your phone buzzes at strange hours—2:17 a.m., 4:03, 5:12 always from unknown numbers. No voice, no noise just silence. You’ve started checking your locks more than once. Then again. Then again. You keep the blinds shut even when the sun is out, because the idea of light feels unsafe now. Too visible. Because Jungwon doesn’t lose. And he doesn't listen when you say no. He doesn’t rage. He doesn't scream. He waits. He smiles. Control isn’t something he wants. It’s something he assumes he already has. You don’t know it now, but you’ll soon realize that leaving him was the worst mistake you could’ve made.
“Girl, relax—he’s not here,” she says, not even looking at you. Her voice is flat, tired, like you’re annoying her with your nonsense. “Stop being so paranoid. I heard he’s got a new girlfriend or something, so… he’s over you.”
You blink at her, fork halfway to your mouth. She's probably right. Everyone keeps saying the same thing, and you’re starting to feel like the one who is being crazy. But the incidents around the house was telling you otherwise like the window in your bedroom was open yesterday morning. Just a crack. You remember closing it. You always do. You even double checked it after brushing your teeth. But there it was, gaping like a mouth in the wall, letting the cold in.
Then there was the necklace. You found it in the laundry room. You haven’t worn it in weeks. You’d swear you left it on your dresser. “You don’t think that’s weird?” you ask, quieter than you meant to. “That my stuff keeps moving around?” Kailey shrugs. “You probably just forgot. You’ve been super stressed lately. Your brain’s probably just... I don’t know. Filling in blanks.” Her smile is small, pitying. It makes you feel like a child so you nod, even though your stomach twists. Because how do you argue with someone who makes your fear sound like fiction?
Everyone you’ve talked to says the same thing. You’re imagining it. You’re spiraling. Maybe talk to someone. No one listens to what you’re actually saying. They just want you to stop talking. And the more you try to explain, the more ridiculous you sound. Like some clingy ex who can’t move on. Like you’re obsessed with someone who isn't even thinking about you.
You smile. You laugh when Kailey makes a joke about “getting you a security system and a therapist.” Maybe they’re right. Maybe your memory is just playing tricks on you. Maybe the cold air, the lost things, the tapping you heard last night…maybe it’s all just in your head. But if that’s true… why does it still feel like someone’s watching you?
“Okay, call me when you get home, alright?” Kailey says, pulling you into a quick hug. “And don’t worry about Jungwon. You’re fine. Seriously. He wasn’t good for you, and breaking up with him was the smartest thing you’ve done.” She squeezes your arm before turning away, heading toward her car without waiting for a reply. The door slams, the engine hums to life, and just like that, she’s gone—leaving you alone on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. You stand there for a moment, watching her taillights fade into the distance. The street feels too quiet now, like someone turned the volume down on the world. “I hope you’re right,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, then turn and begin the walk toward home.
The sidewalk stretches ahead of you, slick from earlier rain. Your shoes tap softly against the pavement, a steady rhythm you try to focus on. Left foot, right foot. Just a walk home. Just like every other night. But now Kailey's voice is gone, and without it, the air feels too thin. A streetlight flickers as you pass underneath it, buzzing once like it’s annoyed by your presence. You glance up out of habit. It dies for a moment, then flares back to life, casting your shadow behind you. You wrap your arms tighter around yourself, shoulders hunching as you turn down your street. The houses here are dark, windows glowing faintly blue with TV light or not at all. You tell yourself it’s just late. People are asleep inside.
But your stomach won’t stop tightening. That pressure behind your ribs again—like something’s watching you. Like something’s a few steps too close. You stop walking to listen. Behind you… nothing. No footsteps. No breathing. Just wind rustling the trees and the faint hum of traffic blocks away. You glance over your shoulder. Empty street. You hate how fast your heart is beating. You keep walking. Faster now. You don’t want to look again. If no one’s there, you’ll feel stupid. If someone is—No, don't go there. You stop again, one foot hesitating mid-step. You turn slowly and look behind you. Still no one there. But the streetlight—It’s off now. Completely dark.
Your breath catches in your throat. Your limbs tense before you can even think. And then—You run.
You don’t think about how it looks. You don’t care. You take off, shoes slapping the pavement, your bag bouncing hard against your hip. You just run.
Your house comes into view—porch light glowing weakly like it’s trying, but not enough. You fumble for your keys as you hit the steps. You nearly drop them. Your fingers are shaking too much and the sweat making it difficult to hold them. You glance behind you. Nothing. Still. But you don’t believe it. You shove the key in, not it. Try again. Shit not it. Curse under your breath. You keep looking over your shoulder like you're expecting to see someone step out of the dark. Click. The key finally turns. You throw the door open, stumble inside, and slam it shut behind you. You turn the lock. The deadbolt and the chain. Then you press your back to the door, eyes closed, chest heaving.
You stay with your back pressed to the door, listening for something—anything. Maybe the wind. Maybe footsteps that were never there. Maybe it was just your heart that was punching the inside of your ribs. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Then you heard a thud. A soft, unmistakable sound, like something falling. Not from the kitchen or the living room. It was from your bedroom.
Your body goes cold. You strain your ears, willing for the sound to be nothing. A book slipping off your bed. Something you left too close to the edge. Just gravity. Just the house settling. But you know what you heard. You know exactly where it came from.
Your room. Down the hall. Door slightly open—just as you left it.
You step forward. Slowly. Like your feet don’t belong to you anymore. Your fingers brush against the wall as you move, needing the feel of something solid. You pause at your door. Another noise—a shift. The creak of the mattress springs.
You don’t want to look. Every nerve screams at you not to. But you push the door open anyway. And there he is.
Jungwon.
Sitting on your bed like he never left. He’s leaned back against your pillows, one arm stretched casually along the headboard, the other resting on his knee. Legs spread comfortably, like he owns the room. Like you’re the intruder. “Well,” he says, voice smooth, almost lazy, “you made it farther than I expected. Honestly, I thought you'd fold after the second time you found the window open.” His gaze skims over you—your posture, your silence, your fear.
“You really thought locking doors and whispering to Kailey would make a difference?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “Cute.” Then he exhales, almost like a yawn, and shifts his weight to the side of your bed. “But playtime’s over now.” He looks you straight in the eye, the smile gone. “Time to come back to me. This little game was fun... but I’m getting bored.”
He pats the bed beside him—slow, twice.
“Don’t make me chase you again.”
You looked at him like he’d just sprouted horns. “Jungwon… what the fuck is wrong with you?” Your voice cracks from the force of it. Your hands are shaking. You don’t care.
“Get the hell out of my house!” you scream, louder this time. But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink.
“Babe,” Jungwon said, his voice calm and patronizing, like he was scolding a child. “Stop yelling. It’s embarrassing.”
“We broke up!” you scream, voice shredded with fury. “Get that through your thick fucking skull and get the fuck out of my house!” You reach into your bag, fingers brushing your phone, eyes locked on him like you're defusing a bomb. Your heart racing. But you glance down—just for a second. And that’s all it takes.
His hand is on your throat.
“Now why would you do that, huh, babe?” he breathes, his face inches from yours, his breath hot on your face. “I missed you. And I know you missed me.”
His fingers tighten. You choke, your nails clawing at his wrist. Your vision flickers.
“Stop struggling and just accept it, babe. I’m here now. We’re done playing—”
You swing your knee up, fast, hard, straight into his groin.
He makes a sound—half-growl, half-scream—and doubles over, crashing to the floor.
You stumble back, gasping, clutching your throat, then bolt down the hall. You don’t look behind you. You know what’s coming. You hit the living room. The space feels too small—too many corners, too many shadows, and nowhere to hide. Your feet pound the floor as you race toward the kitchen, lungs burning.
But then—His hand. It misses you by less than an inch.
You throw yourself into the kitchen and lunge for the drawer. The knife. The drawer sticks. You yank. Too slow. His hand grabs your hair—hard—and you feel your head jerk back, your scalp screaming as he slams you forward. Your temple hits the counter edge with a sickening crack. The world wavers. You dropped to the floor.
He’s pacing now, breathing hard, muttering. Mindless. Mechanical. Like a record skipping on loop.
“You were made for me,” he hisses, voice barely above a whisper but trembling with rage. “Don’t you get it? You don’t exist without me. I built you.
He slams the drawer shut with his foot—BANG—and the sound explodes through the kitchen. You flinch instinctively, shoulder curling inward. He laughs under his breath.
“No one else will touch you. Not after this. You think someone’s gonna want you after I’m done with you?” He gestures to you like you were trash. “They’ll see right through you, babe.”
He steps over your legs like they’re part of the floor, starts pacing in front of the fridge, cracking his knuckles, dragging his hand through his hair, muttering. His eyes are wild—glassy and glowing with something sick.
“You keep pretending you’re scared. But you’re not. Not really,” he says, smiling now, voice dipping into something slower, darker. “You like it when I get like this. You made those sounds for me, remember? The begging, the whimpering... the way you said my name when you couldn’t take it anymore.”
He crouches suddenly, right in front of you, and grabs your jaw—tight, fingers pressing into your cheeks.
“You remember that, don’t you?”
You try to pull away. He doesn’t let go.
“I own you. Every noise you make, every breath you take—that’s mine. You don’t get to run anymore. You had your little tantrum. Now?” His voice softens like silk. He stands again, towering above you, breath heaving, arms loose at his sides like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or kill you.
“Now you don't get to leave.”
“Please… just stop,” you whispered, voice raw, tears streaking your cheeks as your back pressed against the cold wooden kitchen counter. “You’ve had your fun.”
Jungwon didn’t flinch. He only tilted his head, eyes drinking in your trembling frame like it was art he couldn’t look away from.
“God,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice low and dark with something you couldn’t name. “You’re so damn pretty when you cry.”
You turned your face away, breath hitching.
Jungwon's hand shot out, fingers tangling harshly in your hair. He fisted it tight, yanking your head back to force you to meet his intense gaze. The sudden, painful grip made you gasp, tears flying from your eyes as he wrenched you off your feet. Your knees scraped against the hardwood floor, sending jolts of stinging pain up your legs, but he showed no mercy.
"You don’t get to turn away from me," he growled, voice dripping with venom.
Jungwon slammed you down onto the cold, unforgiving surface of the kitchen counter, the breath whooshing out of your lungs at the impact. Before you could catch your breath, he had you by the hair again, bending you over the edge of the counter roughly. You felt the chill of the granite against your skin as he forced you to arch your back. "Look at you," Jungwon snarled in your ear, his voice a low, feral rumble. "What a sweet, trembling mess you are. You can't deny how much you fucking love this, can you? How much you've missed having me inside you, ruining you?"
He punctuated his words by grinding his hard, clothed erection against the curve of your ass. You could feel every thick inch of him, a whimper escaped your throat, equal parts fear and shameful, traitorous arousal.
"This is what you do to me," Jungwon growled, giving your ass a sharp smack. "This is the effect you have on me, you fucking tease. I've been thinking about this pussy, about burying myself in you."
He tore the delicate fabric of your panties without hesitation, the rip sharp in the silence. The ruined lace discarded, leaving you bare and shivering as the cold air kissed your exposed skin. His touch followed—fingers finding your slick heat, dragging through your folds with a rough, unrelenting rhythm that stole the breath from your lungs.
"You don't get to say shit," he hissed, "You don't get to deny me anymore. I'm going to take what's mine, over and over again until you're dripping with my cum."
You heard the frantic tug of his zipper, the hiss of fabric shoved down in haste—he was struggling, almost clumsy in his desperation. He couldn’t wait. The need to be inside you was written in every rushed movement, every uneven breath. Your mind was fogged, flooded with heat, and the sound of him losing control just made it worse.
Jungwon's hips surged forward, burying his thick cock deep inside your core in one brutal thrust. A scream tore from your throat at the sudden, intense intrusion, your walls clenching desperately around his invading length. He didn't give you any time to adjust, immediately setting a hard, punishing pace as he bent over you from behind.
His breath was hot and ragged against your ear, each exhale sending shivers down your spine. You could feel the thundering of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest pressed against your back as he loomed over you. He was everywhere, surrounding you, consuming you completely.
"Fuck," Jungwon grunted, his voice strained with lust and dark satisfaction. “You can hate me all you want. Doesn’t change how perfectly I fit in you.”
One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he rutted into you. The other snaked up to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse jump and race. Your vision swam, head spinning as he fucked you with brutal intensity, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the kitchen.
“Beg all you want. I know exactly what you need.” Jungwon growled, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust. “By the time I’m done with you, there won’t be nothing left.”
His fingers tightened around your throat as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re going to carry a reminder of me, one way or another.”
A surge of pure panic shot through you at Jungwon's dark promise. Your heart raced, pounding wildly against your ribs as his fingers tightened around your throat, restricting your airflow. You tried to shake your head.
"No," you gasped out, voice barely a whisper. "Please, Jungwon, don't. Pull out, please..."
But even as the words left your lips, you knew it was futile. Jungwon was beyond reason, beyond caring about your pleas and fears. He was driven by a singular, obsessive desire to claim and conquer.
Ignoring your desperate entreaty, he was fucking into you with brutal, animalistic intensity. The kitchen filled with the vulgar sounds of your coupling - the slap of skin on skin, your strangled cries, his grunts and growls of pleasure.
"Fuck, I can feel it," Jungwon snarled, his voice tight with impending release. “You feel that? The way you pull me in like you were made for this? Like your body already knows it belongs to me.”
He punctuated his words with a harsh thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You felt his cock jerk and pulse, growing even harder, impossibly bigger. Your eyes widened in terror and a sickening mix of reluctant arousal.
"Please," you whimpered, tears streaming down your face. "Please, don't cum inside me. I don't want to..."
But your pleas fell on deaf ears. With a guttural roar, Jungwon slammed into you one last time, grinding his pelvis against your ass as his cock erupted. You could feel the hot, thick spurts of his release painting your insides, flooding your unprotected womb with his cum.
"Take it," he commanded harshly, holding you in place as he emptied himself inside you. "Take every last drop.”
You shuddered and sobbed as you felt his cum filling you up, your body instinctively clenching and milking his pulsing cock. The sheer depravity of it, the utter lack of control, sent a confusing surge of dark pleasure through you.
As Jungwon finally pulled out, you could feel his release leaking out of you, dripping down your thighs.
You couldn’t move so you remained bent over the kitchen counter, chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Tears streamed down your face, dripping onto the cold granite surface below. Your body ached, used and abused in the most intimate way possible. The sticky evidence of his release trickled down your thighs, a sickening reminder of your defilement.
Behind you, Jungwon was already fixing his pants, tucking his spent cock away and smoothing down his shirt. He acted as if he hadn't just violated you, just taken something from you that you hadn't willingly given. As if this was an everyday occurrence, a simple transaction.
"Shut up," he barked harshly, silencing your muffled sobs and whimpers. “Did you really think someone would come running if you cried loud enough?”
You flinched at the biting words, then he was bending over you again, looming large and menacing. His hand came up, cupping the back of your head almost gently. For a moment, you thought he might caress you, soothe you. But then his fingers tightened, gripping your hair almost painfully as he wrenched your head to the side to force you to meet his gaze.
"You'll never be clean again," Jungwon whispered, his voice a low, dark rumble. "Not after this. Not after me."
His eyes bored into yours, gleaming with a manic, possessive light. Before you could look away, his mouth was on you, his lips brushing against your forehead in a mockery of a tender kiss. A promise of something far darker.
And he was right, no matter how far you ran, how high you built your walls, or how many times you tried to cut him out—Jungwon always found a way back in. Like smoke slipping through the cracks, like a shadow that knew your every hiding spot. It didn’t matter how fiercely you tried to protect yourself. He would always find you, you knew the truth: you would never be safe from him. Not really. Not ever.
Prompt: "If I carve you into my blood, will you believe my love?"
Word Count: 11K+
WARNING⚠️: Explicit content, profanity, sexual harassment, heated make outs, female stereotyping, use of a derogatory word, violence, lots of blood, aggression, toxic masculinity, yandere, manipulation, mentions of self exit, drugs, unhealthy relationships and mental health issues. Y/N described with long hair and brown eyes.
Cameos: Jake, Jay, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Yeji, Karina, Jaemin and Jisung
A/N: Please read the warnings carefully before proceeding. There's heavy discussions and complex character dynamics. None of it is healthy. This is a work of fiction, please read it as such. If I missed out any, lemme know.
PS: I’d love to hear your feedback <3
Heeseung had gathered some crucial knowledge from a heavily drunk Jake.
“Intelligent and tall. She’s got a thing for them… She had this crush on a dude in the first semester. Told her he was a jerk, didn’t listen, and you know… he broke her heart. His name? Think it was park jeong guk? jeong woo? I don’t know… It was just some guy. She’s stupid…”
He had wanted to punch that knowing look off Jake’s face as he insulted you, but Heeseung tried swallowing down the surging fury.
Because, indeed, you were so stupid. Why had you allowed some loser into your life? When Heeseung gets you, he will make sure to treasure every part of you. He wouldn’t need anyone else. He would use his every breath to cherish you, only you.
Despite the hostility he felt upon hearing of your previous crush, the good news was that Heeseung unintentionally matched the description. He had never been so grateful for his genes until this moment; traits he once considered useless suddenly becoming his most prized.
Heeseung bore a good height, and his mind was like a computer program. At just ten years old, his father had assumed he’d discover the cure for cancer—yet to come true, but everyone in college believed if anyone could do it, it was Lee Heeseung.
A special one, born to lead, a saviour, they claimed. But Heeseung never wanted to be his father’s golden child. He didn’t want to contribute to society or garner the world’s praise. He barely had friends—except for Kim Sunoo, Heeseung’s childhood partner in crime.
To the world, Heeseung was an overachiever, but he knew his excellence was merely a distraction from his twisted mind. His father was the first to notice the disconnect.
Heeseung chose medicine on a whim, a flick of a coin—heads or tails. The boredom in his life drove him to try everything: paragliding, boxing, swimming, drugs and unrestrained, animalistic sex. He had lived countless lives in two decades.
Early teenage years, his father took it upon himself to train his son, instilling social norms and enforcing strict rules as he tried moulding Heeseung into someone 'normal.' Like a dog on a leash, he made Heeseung more human while maintaining a safe distance to avoid getting scratched. Heeseung understood this from the moment he gained consciousness: his father was scared of him. Terrified.
He never discovered what exactly made his father lock his door every night, but whatever it was, it confirmed a small suspicion: Heeseung was unlovable.
It wasn’t anything detrimental really, because Heeseung never felt the need to seek love. Even in psychological terms, a human's absolute necessities were food, shelter, sex, and safety. When he could survive on the bare minimum, why should he look for something as wasteful as love? He'd rather spend time gaming and pretending to outshine the world’s brilliant minds.
Now, Heeseung was tired of the boredom. So tired that he thought to end it. How long could one treck through an aimless journey?
The realisation that he could cease to exist and no one would know his whereabouts made him feel somewhat better. The taste of death brought him immense curiosity. Would he turn to dust and ashes? Would he be forgotten in memories?
He didn’t think anyone would remember him. To his father, he was a trophy; to his friends, a competition; and to outsiders, a freak. His loss would merely be a statistic: a decline in Korea’s population digits, a decrease in the number of distinction holders in the country, and one less student in Seoul University’s register.
That’s what he thought.
Until he came across you.
You, with your brown eyes, small frame, your liveliness and your beauty.
It was a rainy day in Seoul when he was walking past the bus stand after wrecking his father’s beloved car in a deliberate crash. Unfortunately, he made it out unscathed, only injuring the vehicle. Maybe Heeseung had been born with a shit ton of luck, destined to waste it away.
Regardless, thanks to that golden tub of luck, he was able to land his gaze on you. Heeseung unintentionally remembered countless formulae and research, but the one thing he intended to remember—fucking forced himself to perfectly encode in his memory—was the way you looked that day.
Brown hair slightly wet, sticking to your jawline, knitted brows, and wide eyes staring up at the sky in vengeful retaliation. Heeseung stopped in his tracks.
He had never seen an angel angry.
You dialled a number on your mobile and spoke calmly into your phone.
“The bus is running late. Pick me up.” He remembered a sulking pout on your lips.
“It’s raining! I don’t even have an umbrella. You want me to walk?” He remembered incredulous horror written across your features, lips frowning at the caller’s words.
“Fine... Please! There, I said it, now come quick.” He remembered you rolling your eyes, biting your lip and clenching your bag’s strap tighter.
The phone call ended, and you folded your arms over your chest, letting the damp material cling to your bust, detailing the line of your bra as you tapped your foot on the drenched footpath, staring ahead in longing.
That day, an inactive section of his brain burst out with life, that’s all he could theorise. He wanted to devour you, grope your drenched body, kiss your red mouth, force his fingers into your most sensitive tissues and consume your cries.
He wanted to destroy the person on that call with you, bury them within the earth’s deepest pits so they’d never return to you. He wanted the earth to swallow you and him together, so he could hide you away and savour this moment. He wanted to be the only existence to remember you, here, standing at the bus stop, waiting for a ride home.
Why were you here alone anyway? Who was coming?
Heeseung wanted to shadow you from the rain. If he was a part of your life, he’d chase away all the buses—let alone make you wait for one to pick you up. He would stand drenched in the rain if it meant your ass would only meet the covers of his seat.
A booming motion of the car made your eyes light up. Heeseung’s chest knotted up, a foreign emotion bubbling in his throat as a blonde braked his car before you. You hurried to climb into the passenger’s seat, and then he drove away. Just like that.
He hadn’t hurt someone so far in this life, but the urge to drive a car into the blonde grew tenaciously strong. He had never felt such hatred and venom consume his being. The thought of you getting into that car, going away to share a life Heeseung wasn’t a part of left a gnawing anger in his chest.
His heart which hadn’t felt something in so long suddenly felt alive, riveting with twisted emotions. Heeseung didn’t want to live, but suddenly he didn’t want to die either. He didn’t wish to be remembered, but suddenly he wanted at least one person to remember.
That day he came to a staggering conclusion: Heeseung was unfit to be loved, but he wasn’t unfit to love.
—.—.—.—.—.—.—
Peak hours on a Monday afternoon started early. Waitresses ambled from one table to another, carrying orders as the room bustled with young college students, conversing and gossiping while awaiting their snacks. The rich essence of chocolate and coffee beans filled the air, stirring hunger among individuals working alone with their noses in laptops and textbooks.
Heeseung’s lips curved in a knowing smile: if you were here, you’d be one of those unaccompanied goody two shoes, sipping on a chocolate milkshake, jotting things down in your notebook. He pictured your brows scrunched as you wrapped your beautiful lips around the straw, gulping long sips and pulling away with a content smile.
“Baby, can’t we go somewhere more private?”
His jaw tightened, aggravated at the shrill interruption. He feigned a smile, his gaze falling back on the red-haired bimbo who stared at him like he was the answer to her every prayer.
Heeseung grabbed a fork, scooping up a bite of strawberry cheesecake before filling his mouth. His stomach fluttered as he revelled in the sweet texture. Ever since stealing those kisses, he couldn’t stop craving sweet treats. He even bought some candies on his way home that morning, already feeling the withdrawals kicking in.
“But how’ll we do this—in private?”
The girl stared in confusion before she was yanked into his embrace, his warm lips slamming into hers, kissing her aggressively, the sweet creaminess from the cake transferring into her mouth. She moaned, licking his lips incessantly, begging for entrance, but Heeseung dismissed her attempts, his brows furrowed in annoyance.
Nervously, the red-haired girl slid her chair closer, biting her lip as she observed the underwhelmed expression on his face.
“What’s wrong? Are you mad at me?” She sulked, sucking at her teeth, staring up with concern.
Heeseung shook his head and pulled her into his lap. “Did you do something to make me mad?” He mumbled, rubbing his nose down her neck, peppering small kisses to distract her from his response.
“Ah—n-no! I didn’t,” she gasped, her concern melting away already, her head tilting back as Heeseung planted kisses down her collarbone.
“Shouldn’t you be at uni right now?” He abruptly changed the topic, portraying the perfectly caring boyfriend who gave a shit about her life.
“Yeah, but I’ll ask a friend for the class notes,” she mustered up, her breath laborious as Heeseung ran his hand down her thigh, his kisses growing feistier against her exposed neck.
“Hm, are you that smart?” He pressed on, his patience running out. “Thought I’d fucked you dumb already,” he whispered repulsive words, his hand covering her thighs as the girl tightened in his hold, her lips pressed together to silence any sound, cautious of their surroundings.
Heeseung’s gaze changed, a menacing darkness flashing through. “Smart bitches,” he began, his words blunt and aggressive. “Fucking hate them. Running their big mouths all the damn time,” he declared, his bitter tone making her knees quiver in arousal.
“Tell me, baby, you’re not one of those, are you?” He urged.
One way to access a woman’s weaknesses was to put her up against another.
The girl whose name he had forgotten the second she uttered it, shook her head with desperation. Had he asked her to admit to murder, she would have agreed.
“No!” She yelped, alarmed at his lack of interest. “I’m so dumb. Barely passing this degree,” she confessed, her voice cracking as she spread her knees for his attention.
“Hm—really?” He mocked, and she nodded, her body pleading for his approval. “But your course is so tough. You must be so smart.” Heeseung’s tone dripped with sarcasm, his frown hinting at his displeasure.
The girl choked; her breaths alarmingly rapid as Heeseung’s fingers trailed closer to her clothed centre. “But not me—there’s some smart girls in my class. I—I’m not like them, Hee,” she rambled, her eyes screwing shut.
“Smart girls like—yourself?” He threw the bait, challenging her, and she immediately shook her head, her body jolting as Heeseung flicked his fingers against her centre.
“Not me—not me. This other girl—Ah!” She bit her tongue, her body trembling as Heeseung drew faint circles against her clit. “There’s—Y/N!”
Bingo.
“She’s like the smartest—oh!”
Heeseung halted his movement, his teeth gritting in frustration, anger bubbling up his throat as the girl kept moaning into her words, prolonging this ordeal. He hadn’t spent the last three days coercing a second-year pharmacology student from your college to serenade and romance. He wanted information.
The girl’s arched frame twisted at the sudden lack of touch, her wet gaze darting to Heeseung’s in urgency.
“Speak,” he commanded bluntly, his usual sugar-coated tone gone along with his smile.
The girl’s expression faltered, her blood turning cold. “Uh—there’s this girl—she’s really smart, always acing her exams,” she responded reluctantly, her insecure gaze attempting to read his intentions.
Heeseung’s hand slid back down to her leaking centre, his movement more vigorous as he wrapped his lips on her earlobe. “You’re so hot like this—like a dumb bitch for me,” he drawled, sucking her sensitive flesh.
His sudden shift in demeanour seemed like a hallucination, his voice now intentionally low and sultry. “You wouldn’t want to be like Y/N, hm? You’re my good girl.”
The girl was a goner. Her head dropped back onto his shoulder, her eyes shut, and her body trembling from his touch, his previous indifference a distant memory.
“Yeah—I am—so—so dumb for you,” she babbled nonsensically. Heeseung’s flicks quickened.
“That bitch—she’s so smart and talks too much, probably why no one likes her. Such a loser— I don’t know why Park Jongseong’s crazy for her.”
Heeseung’s arm faltered, his body freezing.
The girl, lost in the throes of her arousal, ignored it, urgently pressing her hand down to maintain the pressure. “She’s so full of herself. Bet she’s as virgin as a nun—but maybe—she finally let poor Jongseong have a go, who kno—Ah!”
Heeseung yanked her hair back, his clenched fist tightening and ripping a few strands. His gaze was predatory, chest heaving as he stared down at the horrified girl.
“I’ll rip that tongue out, sweetheart,” he hissed, his venomous tone cutting through and gripping her heart with horror.
The sickening words replayed like a broken record. A searing sting flared inside his chest, his jaw tightening as he thought of that name: Park Jongseong.
Of course, it was the guy from the photos—it fit him perfectly. His arrogant, self-righteous demeanour, that overly exaggerated smile on his face as he held you. It had to be him.
The imagery the stupid girl on his lap painted, her words dripping with malice for his Y/N; everything began to suffocate his lungs.
Heeseung stared down, his hand still gripping her locks as she looked at him with disbelief.
As he released his grip, she winced, her eyes wet with tears.
Heeseung wrapped an arm around her waist like a shackle, holding her captive as he leaned forward and picked up the steaming hot coffee she had ordered. She flinched as he pushed the cup to her lips.
“Drink.”
The girl stared at him like he had grown two heads.
“It’s too hot—”
“Leave one sip behind, and you’ll wish you had listened.”
Her heart raced, body turning cold. Heeseung’s chilling gaze and crooked smile were laced with demonic intent, making her stomach churn. She had never felt her organs shrivel with just the sight of a man’s empty gaze.
She realised at that very moment. She had to obey or else… she didn’t even want to consider what could happen.
She took the heated cup, gulping down her spit to ease the pressure in her throat.
Then she clung to the cup and downed the entire thing. The first rush of liquid scalded the roof of her mouth. Burns trailed down her tongue, to her throat, buzzing all the way into her stomach. Bloody broils flared up, her muscles jolting in agony as pain overwhelmed her cognition. With an excruciating sob, she dropped the empty cup, shattering it on the ground as she tried screaming for help.
The busy café didn’t seem to notice anything but the shatter, rolling their eyes at the couple’s antics before continuing with their own endeavours.
Heeseung patted her head, smiling in satisfaction. “That’s my good girl.”
The sobbing girl tore herself from his lap. Standing on quivering limbs, she scrambled to grab her purse and dashed towards the exit.
To Heeseung’s delight, the red-haired bimbo wasn’t so useless after all. He now had a name: Park Jongseong.
Grabbing his phone, Heeseung dialled a number.
“Sim, for your birthday, let’s plan something crazy.”
—.—.—.—.—.—.—
The homeroom buzzed with chatter as students scattered to join their friends at the end of the lecture. While most were preparing to head home, you had to stay back for the weekly council meeting. With your head slack on the table, you shut your eyes and let out an irked groan, wishing you could abandon all your duties and just scramble home.
“Y/N, just resign already. You’re too exhausted,” Yeji, your best friend, called out, rolling her eyes as she zipped up her tote bag.
You groaned again, slamming your head against the table. “You have no idea how badly I want to take your stupid advice,” you whined, rubbing your temples in pain.
Yeji, her pink hair perfectly styled, retouched her lip gloss and eyed your sulking frame. “You take on too much for no reason,” she sighed, finishing her touch-up and patting your head.
“Can’t you loosen up? Look at me, we have finals coming up, and I’m off clubbing with Jaemin,” she gloated, her smile widening at the thought of her boyfriend.
Getting into the world’s best university on an eighty per cent scholarship was tough, but no one prepared you for the strenuous part: upholding those perks. Paired with a demanding course load, extracurriculars and volunteer work felt like a constant nuisance.
“I wish…” you muttered.
Knowing her best friend’s upright nature, Yeji shook her head in defeat.
“Besides that, I’ll be having fun soon,” you iterated, and Yeji instantly grew alert, her eyes wide with anticipation.
“You’re getting a boyfriend?” She gasped, grabbing your shoulders to turn you towards her in excitement.
“No!” You dismissed, and Yeji’s excitement died as soon as it began, releasing your shoulders in frustration.
“At this point, I strongly believe you wish to die a virgin,” she remarked, running her fingers through her dark strands, her gaze cold. “You even rejected Jongseong,” Yeji huffed.
You winced.
It had been three months since you had been hit by a truck of feelings from the raven-haired boy. Three months of discomfort and pain.
You were introduced to your senior, Park Jongseong, as a good friend of Na Jaemin. The two friend groups had merged, and soon the initial trio—Yeji, Ji-min, and you—grew an acquaintanceship with their group: Jay, Jaemin, and Jisung.
Since you had been to an all-girls school, the first few months of interactions were painstakingly awkward. You felt like an outsider even in a room full of familiar people.
You envied your best friends Yeji and Ji-min for their effortless socialisation skills. Whilst they enjoyed trips and study sessions with the guys, you drew a line, only speaking when spoken to.
In the first year, you were constantly running away from this new world of discomfort. Jay, however, refused to draw a barrier. Like the definition of a headstrong man, he never gave up. Gestures like stopping you in the hallways to talk about his hobbies and inviting you to all his parties showed you that Jay was making a real effort at friendship.
All of it came tumbling down when he confessed to you. The friendship you treasured faded, and you both became strangers again.
“Don’t bring him up,” you gritted, your heart plummeting as you remembered all the distant memories.
You recalled that nightmarish day. You might take this to your grave but Park Jongseong was your first crush. You secretly liked him throughout the farce of friendship.
He held your bag after class, joined extracurriculars like the music society and learned amazing guitar skills. He took you shopping to destress after you failed your lab assessment and played silly nursery rhymes on his guitar to make you laugh. Everything was special until the last day of the second semester.
Jay had asked you to a movie, and as always, you assumed he meant everyone in the friend group, so you called Yeji and Ji-min along.
The moment he saw you walk in with the girls, his expression fell with dismay. Instead of speaking to you about it, he handed the popcorn to your friends and left.
You followed him instantly, but maybe you shouldn’t have.
“Jay!” You chased after him, your heels thudding against the pavement, confusion painted on your features.
He paused in his tracks and turned, his eyes darkening.
“What’s wrong?”
Instead of responding, Jay’s gaze narrowed, a strained chuckle leaving his mouth. “Don’t act dumb now,” he rasped, his voice bitter.
You opened your mouth to question him, but he suddenly stepped close, his towering frame making your insides queasy.
“It’s always the same with you. How long will you pretend?” Jay’s voice trembled with accusation.
“Do you not see me? Chasing after you like a fucking loser. I’ve spent months trying to figure you out. Stop this game of hide and seek!” He roared, tightening his hold on your shoulders as he stared down at you like a wounded wolf.
You felt so wronged and hurt, your throat clogging up with emotions.
Because Jay was right. You were playing dumb, looking past his feelings, ignoring your own to hide away. Your insecurities and fear of disappointment were louder than his words, ringing in your head like tinnitus.
Because you had always assumed someone as rich and well-put-together as Park Jongseong didn’t need to like a mediocre girl on a scholarship.
You felt that breaking his heart might save his friendship, might save you from the pain of losing his love. So you wanted to sever all chances before you even tasted his love.
“What’re you talking about?”
“Tell me, Y/N. Have you ever once liked me?” He questioned, his gaze softening as he held your face in his hands, his pupils trembling with need.
Yes.
Yes!
“No.”
His arms dropped, his gaze dull and empty as he stared into your tearful eyes.
“We’re good friends, Jay. Look, we don’t have to rush into anything—”
You felt chills run down your spine as he cut off your words, his tone sharp and damaging.
“Delete my number. Don’t ever come see me.”
“And if I ever accidentally find my way back to you, slap me awake like this again.”
He tore his arm from your grip and you two never spoke again.
And then a week later, he started dating your friend Ji-min.
“Y/N!” You snapped out of your thoughts, head swirling with flashbacks as Yeji shouted for your attention. “What fun were you referring to?” She shifted closer, curiosity written across her features.
You smiled, flicking her forehead away.
“Jake suddenly wants a big birthday bash for his twenty-second,” you told her, thinking back to this morning when he was talking over the phone with his friends, inviting them to his party.
Seeing you pass by, he called you back, his face glowing with excitement as he ended the call.
“Invite all your friends and their mamas— it’s my 22nd!” He roared, and you imagined he’d burst into a Taylor Swift, ‘22’, any minute now.
“Jake? He usually calls them juvenile,” Yeji giggled, thinking back to the time she had a fat crush on your brother and how she stuck to him like a leech until he shooed her off.
You nodded, rolling your eyes at your brother’s weird mood swings. “He wants to hold a grand party. You’re invited, I guess,” you waved her off, and Yeji laughed, her eyes twinkling in joy.
“Of course, I’ll be coming with my boo,” she winked. “Is it at the house?” Yeji asked, twirling her strands excitedly.
You shook your head, tidying your desk and packing up. “He’s planning it with his friend, Heeseung.”
Yeji gasped at the name as if it had evoked a cocktail party effect, her eyes wide as she held onto your shoulders. “That friend you had a wet dream of?”
Your jaw dropped, eyes wide in fear, darting across the hall to make sure no one heard her. “Shut up!” You yelled, your cheeks flushed red, the memory of your filthy mind fuelling your embarrassment.
Yeji laughed, a playful glint flashing in her hazel eyes. “What, did I lie?” She crudely announced, and you felt helpless, unable to feign innocence.
The night had left you shaken up. The truth was, you had never felt this affected by a hallucination— imagination, whatever it was, it blurred the lines between reality and fiction. You imagined Heeseung fondling your breasts, kissing your lips. All of it was a newfound hunger.
You scrambled to call Yeji soon after to regain some composure. After a long discussion, her diagnosis was a ‘severe case of ovulation’, and she prescribed, ‘getting dicked down asap’.
After that night, you kept wishing for more hallucinations, but your brain refused to cooperate. You had to rely on a picture you had stolen from Jake’s phone of Heeseung in a black button-down with his legs spread apart on the couch, his lap seeming so inviting that your abdomen clenched with need.
Maybe, you were ovulating. But why was it so intense?
“You know, maybe you should shoot your shot with him,” Yeji suggested, patting your shoulder as she stood alert, waving at the man standing in the doorway.
“My ride’s here, bye girly!” Yeji waved, setting her already perfect hair for the nth time before skipping to the smiling blonde, his gaze practically shooting hearts at your friend. Jaemin grabbed her hand, and they scattered off.
You sighed.
Lee Heeseung, what are you doing to me?
—.—.—.—.—.—.—
Booming music drowned out any chance of conversation. Guests sprawled in like ants to a sugar cube. Faces glowed with joy, arms carried gifts, and gazes sparkled with anticipation as they searched for the man of honour.
But it wasn't the birthday boy they sought. It was Lee Heeseung, the man who had invited the entire university to his farmhouse. It was a privilege, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
During his four years at the university, he hadn’t spared anyone a glance—let alone befriended anyone. When news circulated of Sim Jaeyun’s birthday invite at Heeseung’s, everyone jumped at the chance.
Girls skipped lessons to find the perfect dress, while guys ransacked their wardrobes for branded watches. Curiosity grew almost sleep-depriving. Who was this friend that Heeseung, the man who never let anyone into his circle, deemed worthy of a lavish party? For weeks, the university buzzed with gossip and excitement leading up to this day.
Heeseung’s gaze was fixed on the main entrance, his lips pressed into a thin line. He remained unmoving as over-enthusiastic people rushed to greet him.
He knew the world like the back of his hand. They hated him and despised his arrogance, yet they flocked to him like moths to a flame. All he had to do was give them a chance, let down his guard and the world would surrender in his palms. But it didn’t matter.
As long as he had your attention, the world could be his.
Jake appeared out of nowhere, his arm settling on Heeseung’s shoulder, smiling as his soccer mates walked in.
“You’re ignoring the entire hall,” Jake muttered, his grip tightening on Heeseung’s shoulder to warn him.
Heeseung glanced at the clock for the nth time, his fingers tapping impatiently against his glass. He barely acknowledged the birthday boy's attempt at conversation, his irritation mounting as the clock ticked on without your presence.
“Where is she?” He questioned.
“She had a presentation to finish up,” Jake said, rolling his eyes. “She’ll be here with Yeji and Jaemin soon.”
Jake wasn’t stupid. He had once believed he was special to Heeseung. The notorious case of Heeseung’s egocentrism was a popular topic in the university’s hallways. Even his soccer buddies claimed Heeseung was a nutcase with extreme intelligence.
When Heeseung approached the basketball team and defeated Jake, the established ace of Seoul University, Jake developed a sense of respect and admiration for him. Despite everyone’s claims, Jake realized Heeseung’s issue wasn’t indifference or social deficiencies.
Everyone was infatuated, enthralled, and unequivocally aware of Heeseung’s gift; he commanded attention because he was extraordinary. The problem was that Heeseung didn’t care about them, and when people realized this, their fantasy shattered, leaving them scraping for bits of attention and bitter envy.
Jake knew Heeseung kept him around for a reason, but despite his awareness, Jake was willing to be a pawn if it meant catching Heeseung’s attention.
“Jakey Jakey— it’s your birthday!” Jake looked away, finding his best friend, Park Sunghoon, on the other end of the hall with a gift bag. Jake’s smile grew, and he signalled to Heeseung that he was heading over. Heeseung nodded, and Jake scurried off.
Heeseung averted his gaze, staring back at the main entrance. The delay grew unbearable, and he considered heading out to the parking lot when suddenly he spotted Jaemin and Yeji walking inside.
He stood alert, his gaze tensely fixed on the door.
He held his breath as you walked into his line of sight. His body felt the shift, breath quickening. His fists tightened, and his gaze traced your body with unfiltered haste.
Fuck, that black body-con dress, outlining your curves, hugging your body like a second skin. His grip on the glass tightened. The dress revealed your defined collarbones, and the slit from the knee paired with black-heeled boots showcased your smooth, honeyed legs. Your hair was curled slightly, silky strands falling in waves against your cheeks, reaching your elbows.
Heeseung’s head throbbed as he tried to decipher his feelings. Seeing you walk inside with that dress made something rise in his throat, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. It was worse, mentally and physically damaging.
How fucking demeaning. He was a man who never felt the burn of envy, but a fucking dress had him feeling so weak—so horribly jealous.
He wished he could tear it off and burn it to ashes like the scorching flames in his own blood. He had planned this moment all morning, intending to walk up to you with a smile, but now he found it difficult to breathe, let alone move.
However, the world doesn’t stop. Even if he couldn’t move, you very much could.
Your stray gaze finally landed on the familiar figure, and you walked up to him. You still weren’t mentally prepared to face the man you had been dreaming of for the past few weeks, but you found it unkind to ignore him when he had planned this lavish party.
You smiled, holding out a small gift bag.
“As far as I recall, it’s not my birthday,” Heeseung finally found his voice, his cheeky comment making you narrow your eyes.
“It’s basic etiquette to bring something when you visit someone,” you replied a hint of playfulness in your tone. You caught sight of the gift display in the backdrop where innumerable presents were mounted on the table. “I’ll take it there,” you politely acknowledged.
You were ready to walk off, but Heeseung pulled you back, instantly grabbing the present. Taken aback, you opened your mouth to question him, but he ignored your curious gaze.
Everyone stealing reserved glances at the duo paused, their eyes wide, jaws dropped in amusement. Like a boy opening his Christmas gifts, Heeseung rushed to untie the ribbon and tear through the wrapping paper.
“Heeseung, it’s not that great…” your panicked voice cut through, cautious of everyone’s expectant gaze on your gift. The plea went right through him, and he finally discovered a small clear bottle.
You brought him cologne.
You had racked your brain for days on what to bring him, and you had decided upon a blackberry cologne. The succulent scent carried a sinful aura, an intimidating and enigmatic aroma that perfectly captured Lee Heeseung.
Heeseung ran his thumb over the label. Then he unscrewed the top and sprayed it on his wrist. As he brought it to his nose, his heart felt fuller than before.
He imagined you walking into a Jo Malone store, attentively trying numerous scents until the abundant smells overstimulated your senses as you thought of him. How long did you spend deciding on the perfect one? How long did he manage to fill up your head?
“It’s just a small gift,” you mumbled, analysing his features.
“It’s perfect.” He said it with so much sincerity, you had no choice but to believe him.
“Where’s my gift?” Jake appeared with some of his rowdy friends from the sports club, his arm linked with the ice skater, Park Sunghoon. He pouted dramatically, his bottom lip sticking out. You rolled your eyes at his antics.
“Last I checked, you asked me to buy you a Nintendo Switch as an early birthday present,” you replied. Jake gave you a mock glare. “That was ages ago,” he huffed.
Before you could retort, you caught Yeji's eyes from across the room. She stood by the bar, urgently motioning for you to come over. The alarmed look on her face made you excuse yourself from the guys as you hurried to her.
Yeji grabbed your arm with an intense grip, struggling to catch her breath as a crazed laugh bubbled up her throat.
“You’re kidding,” she gasped. “You were talking about Lee Heeseung!” She roared with laughter, her expression priceless as she turned to you.
You stared at her, confused. “What?”
“Y/N!” She shook you slightly, her wide eyes trembling with excitement. “You don’t know him? He’s popular across the entire district!”
Seeing your blank expression, Yeji took it upon herself to fill you in. She pulled out her phone and showed you Seoul University's popular forum dedicated to Heeseung. As she clicked through the links, you realised the man was practically the definition of perfection.
His father owned a large-scale pharmaceutical corporation, and Heeseung was the sole heir. Despite this parental security, he was at the top of his classes, captain of the basketball team, head of the arts and music society, and president of student affairs. By his second semester, he had already secured an internship at HYBE, a massive healthcare conglomerate—separate from his father’s influence. He was so incredibly intelligent that the college even commemorated his achievements with dedicated newsletter columns and interview sessions.
As you absorbed this overwhelming information, Yeji’s tone flattened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “But, Y/N, he’s known as a player,” she reluctantly added. “Apparently, there hasn’t been a girl he hasn’t had.”
You stared silently at the soles of your boots.
Of course, he was a player. Anyone would drop to their knees for a chance to be with him. You had read somewhere that gravitational pull was the strongest in a black hole, but science hadn’t investigated the world’s pull towards Heeseung. You had only met him a couple of days ago, yet he had already made you feel so unbearably enraptured.
Ruminating over Yeji’s words, you were speechless at your own disappointment. How could he affect you so terribly?
“But—he’s never had anything serious,” Yeji tried to console you, squeezing your shoulder.
Throat tightening, you attempted a smile.
“Who invited them?” Yeji's gasp broke through your thoughts, her mouth hanging open, eyes bulging in shock as she stared behind you.
You shifted, turning to see what had her so stunned.
Your jaw dropped.
In walked a couple, hand in hand, wearing complimentary outfits. A couple you hadn’t spoken to in ages, a couple that haunted your sleepless nights: Park Jongseong and Yu Ji-min.
Your frantic gaze searched for Jake, conflicting emotions swirling across your face as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. Your older brother stood inattentive, engrossed in a conversation with Sunghoon as Jay approached him, wearing a broad smile. You watched them exchange a quick handshake, Jake accepting a large gift box.
“Why would Jake invite him?” Yeji huffed.
You didn’t know—but a gut feeling told you this was meant to happen.
The familiar gaze met yours. He was now heading to the leather couch beside his girlfriend, his eyes trained on you. You offered him a tight smile, your insides trembling in growing anxiety.
Jay was stern, his gaze cold and disdainful. Whilst maintaining eye contact, he pulled his girlfriend to sit on his lap, his grip tight on Ji-min’s waist as she whispered something into his ear.
Your smile dropped at his immaturity.
You had lost both your friends, Jay and Ji-min, because of your mistakes. You had avoided them like the plague, and something deep within you suggested that the mysterious rumours circulating around the university weren’t just random gossip; they were spread by someone you had once considered as close as Yeji.
Something more sinister gnawed at your insides.
Heeseung.
Amidst the chaos, you felt someone’s piercing gaze on you. Like a magnet, you found him. Under the blue strobe light, Heeseung stood leaning against the bar’s counter, flanked by a few girls, with his eyes fixed on you, watching like a hawk.
Though he was a stranger—a complete nobody in your world—you still felt he was reading you like an open book. Anxiety washed over you, your throat drying up under his intense scrutiny. If your life was split into meaningful chapters, Heeseung knew it by heart, his gaze uncomfortably invasive, expectant as if judging your next move.
A waiter zooming by caught your attention, and you pounced on the opportunity. Fingers trembling, you grabbed a glass of champagne and downed it in one go, the liquor leaving a bitter burn in your throat.
“Y/N, you don’t hold your liquor well,” Yeji frowned. One drink never hurt anyone, and besides, this was a party—everyone was soon going to lose their marbles.
You turned away, grabbing another drink from a passing waiter.
“Y/N, stop!” Yeji warned. You smiled tightly, ready to throw more alcohol into your system.
In a flash, Heeseung, who had been a good fifty people away, stood towering over you. He snatched the glass from your grasp and chugged it down. You watched in disbelief as he slammed the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray, his gaze darkening as he stared at you. Yeji took it as her cue to scram, rushing to accompany her boyfriend on the dance floor.
Your stomach clenched with want. Even simply dressed in a black t-shirt and leather jeans, his expression sour, his appeal was uncanny. He made you forget the elephant in the room.
“So— he bothers you that much?” Heeseung spat, his voice low and venomous.
He had planned to watch from the sidelines. Jongseong’s name was enough for Heeseung to find sources and sniff out your past link. He was told you had rejected the boy, but that didn’t match Jake’s description of your first crush.
It didn’t take long for Heeseung to realise that you really did like Jongseong, your affection reflected in that picture you still chose to keep. The reason you had declined his proposal wasn’t a mystery either. You feared ruining a chance at friendship, and that conclusion made Heeseung sleepless.
Heeseung had orchestrated this party and invited Jongseong, just to watch your heartbreak. He wanted to dwell in the forlorn misery in your gaze, relish in the fury and hatred fuelling your agonised expression. He wanted you to shatter so that you were left with no choice but to find him. So that he could collect those shards and piece you together. For himself.
Yet here you stood, bothered and apologetic. There wasn’t one bad bone inside you, your heart pure like the sunshine that streaks through his curtains every morning.
“How do you know about Jay?” You curiously pointed out, folding your arms and gazing up at the man.
Heeseung flinched at the nickname. Tightening his fists, he responded with gritted teeth. He didn’t need to lie for this.
“Jake.”
One word and your face crumbled, your finger pointing at the blonde who laughed beside his friends. “Why can’t that idiot keep his mouth shut?” You complained, glaring daggers. You couldn’t believe your brother blurted out your business to Heeseung.
“Do you still want him?”
Say it.
Say it, and he’ll burn this place down, along with Park Jongseong, leaving you with nothing—not even a corpse to mourn—just a speck of remains and dirt.
“I don’t.”
His eyes shifted back to their brown.
“I just wish I hadn’t lost my friends.” You glanced down at your shoes, face shrouded in despair as you reminisced the past.
Heeseung watched the sorrow flicker in your deprived eyes.
This was simpler than he had imagined.
“Let’s get the party started!” Jake yelled at the top of his lungs, carrying a huge celebratory bottle of champagne as everyone huddled around him.
Yeji appeared by your side, dragging you towards the crowd where Jake prepared to unseal the wine, like a cake-cutting ceremony. From your peripheral vision, you noticed Heeseung walk up beside you—until everyone, including Jake, roared for him to come forward.
You watched Heeseung shake his head dismissively, but Jake’s adamant smile made him falter. For the first time, you saw a crack in Heeseung’s stern façade, a genuine sense of joy flashing through his expression.
You watched with intrigue as he stepped up, and Jake finally celebrated his twenty second. Everyone cheered as Jake popped the cork and showered Heeseung and Sunghoon with the essence.
Yeji over-excitedly gasped. During her overjoyed dance, she accidentally slipped forward, toppling her glass of wine onto your dress’s front. You quickly wiped at it, but the liquid soaked into the flimsy fabric with ease.
“Shit— sorry boo,” she cried over the music. You shook your head, dismissing her concern.
“I’m heading to the washroom,” you muttered. She nodded, unsure of your words, as the loud roaring and music drowned everything.
You slipped away from the chaos, excusing your way through until you managed to escape to the other end of the hall. You followed the dim hallway, the raucousness dissolving, as you searched for the nearest bathroom. You found a door at the far end with a staircase to your right and sped towards it.
“Long time.”
You turned, instantly freezing up.
Jay stood at the other end, speaking with his familiar calculated baritone. He stepped forward, watching your shocked expression morph into disappointment.
“Oh, seems like you’re not too happy to see me here,” he claimed, now standing a mere step away, his tone dripping with malice. “Is the princess running away again?” The darkness returned, his jaw clenched.
You gulped, standing upright. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” you told him, turning away.
A bitter chuckle escaped his chest. “Of course, you don’t,” he spat. “Now that you’ve found a man, you don’t have much to say,” he claimed, running his fingers through his dark strands, his gaze menacing.
Your throat burned with hostility. “You’re ridiculous,” you huffed. “Following a girl when you’ve already got a girlfriend—seems like I dodged a bullet.” You uttered the words, disturbed by his arrogant nonchalance, and instantly the atmosphere grew with heightening tension.
Your cruel words seemed to inflict some damage as Jay’s body trembled, his fists tightening in aggravation.
Because you were right. He knew it.
As you stepped away, all common sense evaded him. He grabbed your wrist and slammed you to the wall, a gasp wrenching out of your chest as he hovered above, his hands gripping your waist with an iron grip.
“I never needed you,” he whispered, his eyes wide and pained as you attempted to free yourself, but Jay’s grip on your waist only tightened. “I’ve just liked the chase. You were so full of yourself—so pathetic. Nothing about you ever made me feel something—anything—”
A bloodcurdling scream wrenched out of your throat as a shattering sound reverberated within your frame. Your eyes bulged out, heart trashing and body quivering in horror. One second Jay was standing, staring at you like a madman, and the next, he was knocked to the ground, blood splattering against your cheeks, staining your dress and skin scarlet.
Breathe. Take a deep breath. Breathe.
You plummeted to the floor, your knees giving out as Jay’s forehead and neck covered in red pooled on the ground. You internally prepared yourself as you looked up, staring at the perpetrator.
A dull void of a gaze, Heeseung’s hand was wrapped around a half-shattered bottle with its sharpened edges dripping Jay’s blood. Your insides clenched in horror.
Heeseung stepped closer as Jay’s limp frame scrambled to sit up, his gaze chasing the danger, his grip on his head loosening as he spotted the man.
“You—you fucking lunatic—what the fuck is wrong with—”
Jay’s yelps fell on deaf ears as Heeseung discarded the bottle and plummeted to the floor before you, his pupils drained of colour and hands trembling as he caressed your cheeks. His thumb rubbed at the splashes of blood, eyes wide with terror—a terror you had never seen. More than his own actions, his line of concern was the beads of red staining your complexion.
“Hee…” you tried to speak, your throat dry and lips quivering.
“It’s okay—you’re okay,” his voice trembled as he consoled himself, more than anyone, his gaze frantically running over your body.
What you didn’t realise was Jay reaching out to grab the loitering bottle. Heeseung’s warm gaze and words were so captivating, pulling you away from the unfolding catastrophe. Suddenly, the fantasy shattered. Jay smashed the bottle against the back of Heeseung’s head.
You screamed, your body jerking alert as you pulled Heeseung into your arms, sobbing aloud. Jay stood on trembling legs, glaring at Heeseung with a poisonous look before limping away. You tightened your hold on Heeseung, your body shaking despite his grievous injury. The attack was strong enough to lash out blood but not wilful enough to break the bottle like Heeseung had done.
You tried to pull away to check his wound, but Heeseung pulled you back into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively.
Fuck. He could die right now and he’d be happy. Over the fucking moon. He almost wanted to thank that low-life for brusing him because it worked in his favour.
You gazed upon him with sympathetic attention, like you were gazing upon a wounded puppy. You were finally in his arms, letting him envelop you. He inhaled the scent of vanilla and fresh peaches, his hold on your frame tightening with desperation.
He wanted to consume you.
“Heeseung, let me see your wound,” you softly cried into his shoulder, unable to breathe at the intensity of his clutch.
“It’s not deep—nothing compared to what that moron will take home,” Heeseung arrogantly claimed. His prideful tone made your insides hurl; it reminded you of the initiation. Heeseung had started it all; he had slammed a glass bottle into Jay’s head.
You pushed him back, your gaze stern as you met his aggravated one. “Why?” You cried hysterically, recalling the insanity of the previous moment. “How could you—”
Heeseung’s expression grew colder than ice. “I’ll break every bone he used to touch you,” he declared, the honesty in his tone sending chills down your spine.
“You literally almost murdered him!” You screeched.
Heeseung cracked a deluded smile. “He’ll wish I had.”
You felt speechless. Utterly stunned into silence. What did that mean? You wanted to assume that his fury made him speak nonsense, that he didn’t mean a word. However, when you stared into Heeseung’s gaze, your stomach turned at the resolute darkness, his words horrifyingly blunt and absurd.
You were about to call him out when you noticed trail of blood slither down the side of his face. You gasped. "You need to get to a hospital,” you urged.
“And explain what?” He scoffed with a playful smile.
You felt bewildered. Of course, you didn't care at the moment! As long as he got treated, you didn't care what lie he spat out.
You glared at him. “You need to get it checked out, Heeseung,” you muttered with concern, noticing the blood kept gushing in thicker streams.
Wordlessly, Heeseung grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers, and nodded as he pulled you to stand. You sighed in relief, grateful that he was finally listening. His grip never faltering on your hand, you both turned towards the venue.
Heeseung suddenly pulled you back, ignoring your confusion, instead climbing up the staircase. “What’re you doing?” You groaned, attempting to retract, but Heeseung just kept walking.
Upstairs, the living room was carpeted with posh couches and chairs. You passed by expensive paintings hung up on the wall as Heeseung took you inside a dark room, stalking through blindly until he pushed at another door.
Lights flickering on, you surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings. Heeseung had brought you to a bathroom. You glanced at him in confusion as he shut the door and turned towards you.
“Heeseung, what’re you doing?”
“You said I need to get my injury checked out,” he responded, leaning down and grabbing a first aid kit from the cubby hole. “I’m doing it,” he flashed you a clever smile, his eyes shining with amusement.
Even if you were about to throw a tantrum, you couldn’t anymore. Heeseung’s words, his eyes, his smile, everything was enough for you to sit still and obey. You watched as he stepped towards the large mirror. He casually tilted his head to inspect the wound.
Expressionless, he opened up the first aid kit, grabbing a transparent bottle and cotton pads like a professional, as if he had already addressed such wounds in the past. With practised nonchalance, he soaked the cotton pad with the liquid and pressed it into the wound.
You winced, instinctively jumping forward to grab the bottle from his hand.
“Who deals with a wound like that!” You screeched hysterically.
Heeseung turned, his brows raised, lips pressed in confusion. You put forward your palm, glaring at him. He surveyed your stern expression and, to your surprise, gave in easily, handing you the stained cotton ball without putting up a fight. You had imagined he would claim he knew more—but Heeseung just stared at you passively. You gulped, edging forward.
You knew the wound was deeply ingrained on the right side of his head, but reaching it was an issue. You were a good half a person shorter than him, his towering frame allowing you to reach only his chest. Standing on your tiptoes, you could only make it to his collarbone. You tried pushing up to reach the mark, but it remained physically impossible.
You noticed the amusement sparking in his expression, his lips curving into a gentle smile. “What’s so funny?” You gruffly questioned, and his smile only grew more.
He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, setting you on the cold basin. He turned, towering between your parted legs.
“There.”
You quickly recovered, ignoring the butterflies fluttering in your chest or the heat stirring from where he had just touched you. You reached up. The angle allowed you to address the wound better.
Thankfully, there was a single cut, slashing down to the nape. You held the cotton against the cut, letting it absorb the blood, and then gently swirled it across.
Heeseung’s breathing suddenly grew heavy, and you flinched, quickly scanning his face for hints of pain. “Is it too bad?” You muttered, your eyes wide and voice reluctantly soft.
He nodded. It was painful, so unbearably agonising like he was thrown into a fuming furnace, burning and dying, then reincarnating and burning every breath he spent in your vicinity.
His fists tightened, his gaze tracing your attentive expression, your lips puckered in deep concentration, hands so gentle, like a mother’s touch—or what Heeseung assumed must’ve been had he ever felt one. The past month he only dreamed of this moment—to have you before him, launched between his legs, attending only to him.
You cleaned up his wound with precision. He had practice, but your touch was magical—a healing balm of its own.
“Have you done this for anyone else?” His question came out gruffer than expected, his stomach twisting as he imagined you perched on a sink like this for someone else.
You finished cleaning up, moving to grab the bandage. “Of course not,” you huffed, peeling the bandaid from the wrapper.
“I just know I’m not supposed to stab wounds like that,” you sarcastically claimed, reminded of him jabbing his head. “You’re the future doctor… you should know this,” you leaned to the side, pressing the band-aid into his scalp.
“They teach us how to treat,” he stated. “Whatever gets the job done,” he shrugged.
You couldn’t help but grimace at his words.
“If you don’t treat with the element of pain in mind, you’ll hurt yourself more.”
Heeseung's throat was suddenly tighter than normal.
You wiped your hands with a tissue. Shifting closer, you inspected Heeseung’s injury one more time. You were about to get off the sink when you noticed glimmering bits of glass nestled in his hair. Impulsively, you reached out, flicking the strands.
“Oh—!” You jerked away, your finger cut by an unseen sharp edge that pierced the flesh.
Before the blood even oozed out, Heeseung sprang forward, grabbing your wrist, his gaze wide with horror as he impulsively pulled your finger into his mouth.
An astonished gasp escaped your chest.
Wide-eyed, you watched Heeseung suck around your finger.
At the first drop of your blood against his tongue, Heeseung’s eyes screwed shut, his body heating up, the metallic taste mixed with your skin’s sweetness creating a delicious buzz within his taste buds. Maybe if he drank enough, you'd really become a part of his being; if he fused your blood with his, you'd somehow become his.
He lapped at the drop incessantly, his hand reaching to lock your wrist in place as he covered your finger with saliva.
There was a shift in the air. You felt it in your bones.
As he looked up, meeting your eyes while simultaneously drenching your finger inside his mouth, your body began to heat up. A burn ignited at the centre of your legs, your imagination running wild, your limbs quivering.
Time became meaningless as he revelled in the euphoric bliss. When he noticed you weren’t pulling away or flinching, his muscles clenched with want. Instead, your cheeks were redd, eyes fluttering in bashfulness. Warmth in his blood shot lower, pooling within his sensitive region.
A thrum vibrated his own being as Heeseung popped another finger into his mouth, his sucking growing intense, lascivious, and hungrier. Your body jolted as his slick enveloped your digits, his tongue tirelessly flicking and tasting.
You wanted to intervene and stop this madness, but suddenly you couldn’t find your voice. Your throat refused to cooperate, and your lips denied any help.
His gaze was trained on your expressions, every blink, every gasp. He wanted to memorise the way your cheeks blushed scarlet and mouth opened in silent gasps. You were so beautiful, so perfect, so his.
“Hee—” you managed to choke out.
Heeseung’s hardness jerked in his pants, his body shaking with want. You had just attempted to say his name.
Suddenly, he pulled his mouth away and yanked you to the floor. You fell against his chest, your feet staggering on the marble floor, a stunned gasp escaping your mouth. He didn’t let you process it, his moves sharp and abrupt.
Your jaw dropped as you felt the tent of arousal straining against your abdomen. Your underwear was drenched, muscles taut as the reality dawned upon you. Lee Heeseung wanted you.
“Feel that—fuck—do you feel it?” He rasped against your ear, his hardened tone and body making you forget any coherent response, your body tensing up in his embrace. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful—stunning—so breathtaking. You make me—” His voice cracked as he felt nestled his nose against your neck, sniffing like a dog.
“Make you…” you pleaded for him to continue, craving his validation.
“Make me pathetic—so damn pathetic,” he blurted, his mind elsewhere as he sucked onto your earlobe.
His kisses ran down your neck, and he urgently flicked the hair away to feast. He pressed his lips gently, wanting to savour every moment and worship every inch, but within the first contact, his patience was out the window. He pushed his throbbing body into yours, knocking you against the sink as his mouth opened wide, biting into your flesh.
His mind fell numb as your taste and scent drove him to the brink of euphoria. He found it strange how you turned him into a quivering virgin mess with just this.
Your gasps reverberated in the bathroom walls, your frame quivering.
His touch was desperate, persistent like he was holding onto you for dear life. Fingers interlocked in your strands, body shaking with restrain as his mouth devoured your neck, you felt lost in a sea of pure bliss. You hadn’t had many sexual experiences in your life, but whatever make out sessions you had shared with boys in first year didn’t live up to this feeling, this hunger— from him.
“Ah!”
Every hair on his body stood alert. Your sounds were so pretty just like your body. He knew he couldn’t live without absolutely breaking your resilience. He had to tear through your exterior and drag out the vulnerable girl who moves to his rhythm, sings to his beat and responds to his call.
“Heeseung—Ah!” Your body tensed, his name falling from your mouth as his kisses grew frantic, prolonged. You were so flustered that you felt the world knock off its axis. You urgently held onto his tense shoulders, hoping you wouldn't fall over with the intensity of his want.
Had it been any other girl in his arms, anyone, he’d have thrown her on the floor and fulfilled his depraved desires. He’d have coerced her lust, used and abused her body like a mere object for his release. He wanted to do the same to you like he’d envisioned every night.
But you weren’t any girl. You weren't a momentary escape. For the first time in his life, he wanted it both: lust and love. He wanted to ruin you for everyone— not just physically but emotionally. He wanted your body and your soul.
And you were the sole reason he unwillingly held back, restrained his desire to rip you apart.
Breathless and flustered, you struggled to gather your thoughts. Your body was begging for him, but you couldn’t look past the reality.
This was Lee Heeseung, the hottest playboy, the genius, the most eligible bachelor in Korea—and most importantly, your brother’s best friend. You were calling his name so embarrassingly, and you were certain going all the way, he’d have nothing to do with you after tonight. He was like a forbidden fruit, so effortlessly desirable but never yours.
He will never be yours.
Your eyes burned with tears. You had managed to like him so much, and tonight it would crumble apart. Just the way you had ended up running from Jay, you should run from Heeseung before he takes your heart with him.
Determined, you pushed against him. The sudden move knocked him away, his reddened face twisting in confusion and frustration at the distance.
You quickly stumbled to the sink, splashing cold water on your face. Your complexion as red as a cherry, eyes shining, indicating hints of your previous bliss; Heeseung had littered red and purple marks all over your neck, his saliva still warming your flesh.
Behind you, Heeseung appeared, wrapping his arms around your waist. His eyes locked onto your reflection, his gaze darkening as it traced the curve of your neck. The heat between you intensified, his desire becoming evident as he pressed his aching body into yours. His eyes fluttered shut, savouring the sensation of your soft curves against him.
Embarrassingly, your abdomen clenched again.
“T—this is wrong. Stop,” you babbled, pushing him away, your dejected tone falling on deaf ears as he pressed into you again. “Heeseung—” You turned, using all your force to push him away. He looked up, his eyes clearly unfocused.
The bathroom was getting stuffy now. His unnerving gaze made it hard to breathe. You stepped away, yanking the bathroom door open and rushing out into the bleak room, your breathing unnecessarily heavy. Your body was aching with arousal, wanting to go back into his arms and give yourself up.
Heeseung shot out, grabbing your waist and jerking you into his hold, his heavy breaths lingering against your earlobe. You tried pulling away when suddenly he whipped you around.
With darkness blinding your vision, you couldn’t evade him as he yanked you into his chest and slammed his lips into yours.
The taste of cherries overwhelmed your senses, your body liquifying as he immediately plunged his tongue into your mouth, tasting you.
Every instant in his life had brought him to this moment. He knew it when he kissed your mouth, licked your tongue, traced your gums—he knew you were meant for him. Your beauty was his to ruin. Your taste was his to devour. Your love was his to take.
A strange sensation flared up in his chest, spreading to his heart. For the first time, all his medical knowledge felt useless—he didn’t even feel human because even they could identify sensations.
Heeseung cupped your jaw, his lips trembling as he took in all your taste had to offer. His teeth clashed with yours, and his saliva dripped down your chin, his tongue rolling against yours as he poured an overwhelming flood of unnamed emotions into you.
His erection pressed against your lower stomach as he kissed you breathlessly. Suddenly, he was tearing at his buttons, desperate to feel your skin against his.
His kiss felt urgent, charged with arousal. You felt like you would blow into tattered pieces with the intensity of his touch, his deprivation and lust. Your fingers ran through his tousled strands, clenching for semblance of control as he sucked the soul out of you.
Your lungs flared up in discomfort due to the limited oxygen supply. You gasped, pushing at his shoulders with all your strength. Heeseung’s grip didn’t falter. Your gasps grew more strained and alarming. Only when you felt tears blurring your vision did Heeseung relent.
Both of you panted like dogs, heaving breaths echoing through the room.
“Stop it!” You screamed, pushing him away as you blindly searched for the exit.
Yellow lights flickered on, the sudden burst blinding you momentarily. Heeseung stood like a barrier blocking the door, his advantage clear as he seemed to have the room mapped out in his head.
Pupils blown out, he panted, his gaze clouded with the need to ravage and devour you whole. His undone button-down hung the shoulders, revealing honey toned chest and tense abs, descending lower into his pants. Your mouth dried up, but you forced yourself to remain unfeeling.
You voiced out, “Let me go—”
“Why?” He asked gruffly. His eyes locked onto your trembling orbs, his brows arching in frustration.
“I can’t have you?” He whispered.
His words were laced with provocation. He hadn’t felt such an urgency to ruin someone, ever. He ached to feel your skin against his. He was hurting to fill you. If you wanted, he would plummet to his knees, stick out his tongue and shamelessly beg, plead.
You looked at him with indifference. “You’re my brother’s—”
“So what?” He barked, his abrupt interruption making your breath stutter.
He stepped closer until he had you pressed against the wall, his arms on either side, locking you in place. You hadn’t expected him to be this eager. Why did he care? A man like Heeseung could get any woman on earth. One look and they’d drop their panties to the floor. Your glare grew more acrimonious at the realisation.
You pushed at his chest, your fingers grazing his warm skin, lighting up fireworks in your system. “I refuse to be your one-night fantasy, Heeseung,” you stuttered, unshed tears slipping out.
The fury in his gaze collapsed, his lips parting in stunned horror.
This was your chance…to run free, to protect whatever’s left of your heart. Hastily, you dashed to the door, your grip pulling at the handle when suddenly Heeseung was behind you, enveloping your waist.
You screamed and struggled, your feet kicking the air as he carried you away and tossed you onto the bed. You fought against his manhandling, punching and pushing against him, but he just stared at you like you were a weak feline lashing out.
He let you burst out until your energy had depleted and you fell limp.
“You’re fucking joking,” he laughed, disbelief coursing through his frame. “One night fantasy?” He spat, his fists tightening at the audacity of your words.
You stared back, matching his intensity. “Isn’t it famously known?" You huffed. “You don’t touch a woman you’ve had once,” you snarled, your tone dripping with hostility.
That sent him spiralling. “I don’t,” he declared. He watched the spark in your eyes die down, tears running down your cheeks. You attempted to get up, but Heeseung dropped to his knees, his hands scrambling to cup your face.
His heart pounded so hard, that he felt its drumming within his entire being. “You’re not any woman,” his voice cracked, his throat tightening as he kissed your tears one by one. “You’re mine."
He hadn’t said anything more honest in his entire life.
Yet, you looked at him the same—awfully sceptical, disbelieving. He had attempted to pour out his heart, claim you as his, but you gazed at him like he was a liar, a deceiver. Heeseung dropped his arms, anger surging within his blood.
“You don’t believe me,” he declared, his tone laced with bitter sarcasm.
You wanted to so badly—but you had no reason to. Why would he fall for you?
You watched as Heeseung’s gaze frantically scoured the room.
Something ominous was happening. You felt your stomach twist. You called his name, but he turned away, dashing towards the study table. You stared in confusion as he grabbed his car key.
Without any warning, Heeseung struck the sharp edge into his chest, stabbing himself in his sternum. A scream lurched out your throat, your breath stuttering as you attempted to get to him. He forced the key inside, tearing through the flesh in a line. Blood gushed through the wound, but Heeseung’s concentration remained firm.
“What the fuck— stop-stop!” You screeched, finally getting a hold of his arm.
He didn’t stop, still working on creating the art piece he wanted you to see. You felt lightheaded as you fought against his determined actions. Unable to knock him back into reality, you decided to fling at the key, letting it slip from his grasp.
Horror ceased your chest. The scarred flesh formed a letter— your initial. You gazed up at him, your throat constricting as a soul-stirring chill escalated down your spine.
“If I carve you in my blood, will you believe me?” A pained gaze, a torn heart, a horrifying smile.
Your limbs trembled.
You glanced at the wound, lips parting in silent horror.
This was absurd— absolute madness. You couldn’t wrap your head around it, but you knew it was awfully dangerous like playing with fire or chasing a lion into its den. You should be scared— fearing for your life. You should escape right now when you have the chance. You should run and never look back.
There are many shoulds' you encounter in life, but none of them hold any value when something as desirable holds you by the throat. Someone as irresistibly horrifying as Lee Heeseung. Whatever you did next, you knew your fate was sealed. Even if you ran, you couldn't outrun him-- and somewhere in the pool of longing in your depraved heart, you didn't want to. You didn't want to find a way out.
You leaned down and wrapped your lips around his honey peck, swirling your tongue and licking the scarlet oozing from his self-inflicted wound, surprising yourself as you swallowed it down.
Life and death stood at a standstill. Had you pushed him away, he’d still have ruined you, broken your soul to pieces and killed himself over hurting you. But you chose to acknowledge, indulge in his pained longing, accepting it like a lover's call, making him want to live more— chase more— love more.
Vision glazed, heart thundering against his chest, he wrapped you in a breathless embrace.
Amid the chaos, a strained voice invaded the room. “Hee— fuck, we’ve got a problem.”
Your head shot towards the door, eyes wide with fear.
Fuck.
Your brother was at the door.
A rampant knock. “Hee— you in there?” Jake's voice spilt into the heated room, your body freezing. Heeseung didn't even spare the door a glance as he pressed himself within your body.
“They’ve come looking for drugs— I don’t know who’s called but the police are searching the place.”
Your eyes bulged out of their sockets, jaw-dropping in horror.
Drugs? Police?
Instead of concern or a slight hint of fear, Heeseung’s grip tightened on your wrists, and he attacked your lips, invading your mouth. You gasped, caught off guard, your jaw opening in a silent gasp. He swallowed your protests, his hands releasing your wrists to grope your butt-cheeks as he hoisted you up in his arms while sucking on your bottom lip.
“Bro— are you seriously fucking someone right now?” Jake’s incredulous tone made you want to dig a hole and bury yourself inside.
Heeseung’s grip on your buttocks tightened, his groans purposefully filling the room like a silent message for Jake. His knees gave out, knocking you down, your body crashing into the bed as he vigorously unbuckled his jeans. His warm tongue feasted through your mouth, swallowing your complaints, his head lolling into your shoulders as he pressed wet, hasty bites down your neck.
Another knock.
“Fuck— Heeseung get out here! They’ve arrested Jongseong.”
You gasped.
What the fuck?
Heeseung paused.
Through glazed vision, he stared down at you. His lips slowly formed a smile that made every hair on your body rise.
Kim Sunoo had really come through, orchestrating a flawless drug raid, planting the evidence in Jongseong's bags and vanishing without a trace. Jay would waste away five years in prison for drug possession— barely enough to atone for the pain he gave you, hopefully enough to erase the longing that fucker held for you. Heeseung knew he owed his partner in crime a bottle of Soju next time Sunoo visited their shared farmhouse.
“Heeseung, we should—”
Heeseung licked your mouth, holding your trembling body in place, his fingers desperately tugging at your straps. Despite your persistence, he didn’t care for anything at the moment. Someone could tell him that the entire house was on fire or that the universe had collided into a meteor, crumbling to bits and pieces, and he’d still ignore it all.
For now, he will spend every second making you his—until his love is conveyed through his hunger, until his touch leaves scars and burns on your soul, until you love him enough to bleed him dry.
Synopsis. A bad boy? Check. Your parents hate him? Check. Considers you the cute lil’ good luck charm for his high-speed street races? Check. But you’ll be riding more than just Choso’s car…
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, racer!Choso, street racing AU, Choso with tattoos and piercings, talks of F1, small towns, gossip, slight good girl x bad boy, he’s so down bad, pússydrúnk Choso, oraI (fem rec.), he goes FÉRAL, spítting, fíngering, cúmming in his pants, he’s BIG, tummy buIges, making it fit, headIocks, manhandIing, Prince AIbert’s piercing, running from it, matíng presses, rough s, body worship, DÚMBlFICATION, creampíes, overstím, getting together, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 10.6k
A/N. I refuse to watch the F1 movie so this is the closest thing-
“Look at him-”
You sigh, “I know, he’s…”
“-bad news.”
“-hot.”
It was inevitable that you and your group of friends would look at each other with odd expressions at the clash. You always did whenever it came to him.
Choso Kamo - the star of your cozy lil’ town’s latest gossip.
You’d heard (well, it was impossible not to hear) that he’d just recently moved from the big city for an exchange program at your local university. Why anyone would willingly travel to some ramshackle town to be gawked at, you couldn’t understand.
“I’m just saying—” You’re grumbling, gaze flicking across the green campus to where Choso was seated underneath a lone tree, face bent into a book.
Your stare lingers on the twinkle of his ear piercings in the sun, “-he doesn’t seem that bad.” The dark, dark line tattoos crawling down the side of his neck. “Who knows? He seems almost…nice-”
Just then, he’s turning his head - precisely to meet your eyes.
Oh.
You can feel your breath hitch- and something at the pit of your stomach twists in a sudden lurch before you’re turning away in an instant. The glint of his deep eyes too stark, the intensity in them too burning.
“She’s right.” Shoko’s the first to pipe up from your right, tapping her manicured nails on the top of your campus bench. “I won’t deny that everyone’s being a lil’ hard on the guy just because he has a few tattoos and piercings.”
“And he’s a city big-shot with an annoyingly loud car.”
“And he’s a city big-shot with an annoyingly loud car.”
Utahime shudders, seated right in front of you so she has to turn at the feeling of Choso’s stare - who immediately looks away. “Well- fine. But it’s also the way he looks at…”
Your little group leans closer as she trails off, seemingly lost in thought.
Before nodding to herself in affirmation and narrowing her chocolate eyes- “-at you.” Unabashedly, she’s jabbing her index your way, as you sputter in protest, “No no, I’m serious! It’s like he- he wants to eat you or something, my dear.”
Shoko smirks, “Kinky.”
“Shoko.” You’re groaning, flipping back through your textbook to distract yourself, if anything. “Don’t let my parents hear you, Uta. They’ve warned me every single day since he’s stepped foot here to steer clear of him.”
Which wasn’t quite effective when you shared half your classes with the very man that haunted every nook and cranny of your town - and the minds of the people living in it.
And especially not when you couldn’t help but notice him during said lectures; tall, quiet, always seated at the very last row with his head in some car magazine, fingers twiddling with the chunky metal rings on his long fingers.
Not that you’re looking at him that closely, that is.
You find your thighs involuntarily pressing together as you’re hastily darting your eyes to Choso once more, taking in the subtle curve of his pierced lips. The slooow flutter of his long, chestnut bangs in the breeze- “Y’know they told me just this morning to never so much as let him look at me? Apparently some neighbor of a neighbor of a neighbor saw him driving late at night and assumed he was involved in everything shady possible.”
“Understandable.”
“Still dealing with the ol’ folks, huh?” Shoko grins as you wince, a reminder of the parents that absolutely refused to let you hold your own in one of the university dorms.
Not quite out-of-the-ordinary for such a small community, but you still did feel a twinge of envy whenever Shoko and Utahime happened to mention something about them being roommates.
“You should just move in with us, y’know- fuck whatever the lease lady says, we have more than enough room.”
“Ah, one day.” Clearing your throat, you’re standing up- “Anyways, I should really get going before I miss my lab time.”
“Aw, Yaga keeping you late for another project?” Your friend muses as Utahime grabs onto your skirt with a protesting whine, trying to tug you back down onto your seat with all her might. And it’s a small chaos that erupts in a few surrounding giggles, a stray eyeroll or two - and for a certain dark-haired man to spy up from his motor book.
Heady eyes locked on the scene, his gaze seeping right through your body. Choso tilts his head with a glimmer of interest that leaves your mouth dry no matter how many times you swallow.
Oh, he looked just devilish.
You struggle to keep your voice even, “Yeah. Lab project.” And before you make your escape, you’re stealing one last glimpse at him- “No need to wait up, I’ll find my own way home.”
.
.
.
You were definitely, absolutely not finding your own way home.
And it was all your fault of staying way too late behind class hours, glued to one of your most important finals projects.
“Dammit. Dammit.” You’re whispering to yourself as you check the time flashing on your phone - just a little past 10PM, you’d already missed the last local bus.
The university was so empty that you could hear your own heartbeat thumping in your eardrums, in rapid unison with your footsteps. Leading up to the campus parking lot, a quick check showed you only a few stragglers that you didn’t know.
With a sigh, you make sure to stand underneath where a streetlight was overspilling its glow, weighing your options in the dim atmosphere.
You could call Utahime for a ride - or maybe your parents? But as much as you loved them, the multiple earfuls you’d get on ‘responsible time management’ was enough to have you closing out of your Phone app.
Maybe you could (affectionately) blackmail Shoko into borrowing Utahime’s car? No, the one time you two decided that was a good idea, the other girl had given you both a lashing that had you bowing at her feet for weeks.
Swearing underneath your breath, you’re opening up the Uber app and making appalled note of the prices. Ah, perhaps you were just meant to sleep here tonight. “I’d rather beg for a ride from Yaga-”
And then you hear it.
You’re sure that anyone within a five-mile radius hears it, in fact- that low, infamous vrrrr— that made the ground beneath you quake ever-so-slightly. It was the very noise that roared past your quaint neighborhood streets at night, the very noise that your parents made sure to complain about every morning after.
And there was only one man who would drive such a behemoth.
Choso’s midnight black Ford Mustang glistens as he’s lazily pulling up to the flickering streetlight, taking up nearly the entire pavement. Too fast, too be lost, too slow to be heading for anywhere but you were - you can only gape as his tinted windows pull down almost silently.
Almost smugly.
The first thing you’re spying is the glimpse of a pale, beefy forearm gripping onto a leather-clad steering wheel. Tattooed and toned.
And then it’s him - Choso Kamo, in all his glory.
“Need a ride?”
You’re blinking, voice never quite reaching your throat- “Wh-what?”
The first sound of your pretty, pretty tone and his hand tightens on the wheel - as if he’d just been zapped by volts of electricity.
He chuckles softly like he’d expected this, stray arm coming to scratch nervously at the back of his neck. And you don’t know whether you’d simply been standing out in the cold long enough to muddle your mind, but you swear that Choso’s ears tint a bright red. “I uh- I wouldn’t mind dropping you off home…or wherever it is you need to go?”
Expectantly, he’s searching his molten eyes up for an answer. But the longer Choso stares, the longer your silence stretches - and the darker the tips of his ears flush.
“If- that is, if you don’t have another ride coming for you of course.” He’s peering his irises around, as if expecting one of your friends to pop out from the bushes any second now. Words running a mile a minute. “Sorry for assuming, I just saw you here alone and- oh, p-promise it wasn’t anything creepy I just notice y- fuck, I messed this up.”
And his shy smile withers, replaced by the anxious twiddle of his silver snakebites. Hand reaching for the gear shift now- “I should just-”
“No, wait!”
You’re calling out before you can stop yourself, and it’s like Choso’s body listens to your words before his brain does. Because he’s halting in his tracks with a comical yelp, enough so that you have to stifle a smile.
“I uh…I don’t have a ride, actually.” You’re telling him, with a deep breath.
And it’s only with a final glance ‘round your surroundings that you’re confirming Yaga really wasn’t here and you really couldn’t bother him instead.
Looking down at Choso and oh- he’s staring up at you with stars in his eyes. Curved grin urging you to speak- “If it’s ah- not too much trouble, I would really appreciate a ride back home.”
“Yes- yes, of course.”
And as if he’d not just been two seconds away from speeding down the pathway in embarrassment, he instantly lunges out from the driver’s seat. Speeding to the other side of the car and holding the passenger’s wiiide open for you.
You’re slightly taken aback by the manners, by the innocent smile that suggested he’d never even thought of anything less. “Oh!” Making sure you’re safely buckled before gently shutting the door, “Thank you?”
“Any time.”
You can’t lie to yourself and say that you’d never imagined what the interior of Choso Kamo’s notoriously intimidating car might look like. Feel like.
You just never imagined it to be as close to heaven as you could get - all luxurious woven seats and a touchscreen polished enough to mirror your awed face.
You’re running your hand down the side of the car as you give directions to your home, your family would never even let you get close to a ‘deathtrap’ like this. And as Choso starts driving, you can’t help but breathe in that slightly bittersweet lavender scent of him, clinging onto the interior.
“This…this is-” You’re grappling for the words as he’s shooting a kind smile your way, “So all those car magazines aren’t just for fun, huh?”
Choso’s lips twitch, “You noticed. Yeah- a 2025 Ford Mustang Dark Horse.” Tapping the wheel reverently, “My pride and joy.”
“I can tell.” As he looks at you curiously, “My family, we ah- we can hear you driving down the street sometimes, it’s incredible.”
Snickering, “Bet the neighborhood hates me then. With good reason, this thing goes from 0 to 60 in four seconds. 500 horsepower-”
Then there’s a look he shares your way - something the complete opposite of the nervous, stuttering boy he’d been earlier. Perhaps closer to all the whispers that shrouded him instead- “-without modifications, that is.”
And you didn’t doubt that he’d made many.
“So how fast can you really go?” You’re asking with a quirked brow, slightly leaned over the console to take in all the numerous meters on his side of the seat.
The heat of your proximity makes Choso bite back a gasp- “Trying to find out?”
There’s something in his words - his tone.
“What if I am?”
“I-I’d advise you against it.” He’s answering easily, the thickness of his thumb toying with the gear shift in dizzying circles. “Don’t you know what everyone in this town says about me?”
“They say a lot of things-”
“The loudest being that you should stay away.” Long, dark locks fall over his features as he nods, pulling to a stop at a barren red light. Darkness inking beyond his headlights, as if the only living beings on Earth right now were you, him–
“You know, I don’t care what they say if I don’t truly know you.”
“Let’s- let’s just drive slow, get you home safe and you can forget about m-”
VRRRR—!
And the assholes that had pulled up to the side of Choso’s car.
Gesturing him to lower his window, the boisterous voices from the neighboring vehicle hit you instantly. “Oi- nice car!” And before Choso can seemingly thank them, they’re revving up the engine of their own. “Would hate to embarrass ya in front of your girl, though.”
“She’s not my-”
“Why doesn’t she come with us?” One of their troupe of men lean out of the window, “We can show her a real fast car.”
You grimace, taking a glance at the still-red light. “Ew.”
“Oi-”
Your savior turns up the engine of his Mustang, cutting off the other man cleanly - and just a peek his way shows you his darkened eyes. Eyes hooded, face bathed in red from the traffic stop. Tone hard enough that you’re wondering whether this was the same man from just a few minutes ago. “Those are fighting words.”
Orange now.
A sleazy cackle rings out, “That so?”
“You’re asking me?”
“No, I’m asking your gir-”
Green.
You’re instantly sunken deeply into the cushion of your seat as Choso speeds off- tailed closely by the Mercedes of your unwelcome guest. So fast that your surroundings are a blur, so hard that you can barely even move your mouth-
“A- a race?” You’re managing out.
“And we’re gonna win.”
Speeding; and you have a slight feeling that Choso was barely even trying as he’s looking over at the rearview mirror to watch the flashing headlights of his opponents.
Muttering underneath his breath, he shifts his gear with a clack to burst in speed- “Fucking imbeciles.” And if you thought his car was loud before, then you weren’t ready for him to smash the Sports Mode on his touchscreen and make the engine keen deafeningly.
“Hold on tight, my girl.”
Clack!
“Shit, a fucking Mercedes, huh?”
Clack!
Clack!
Another gear shift, and you’re seeing the trees of the landscape mix into one great splash of mere green. Choso flicks his eyes over in the side mirror only once- before the entire car swerves to the right to block off the Mercedes. “Fucking imbeciles.”
“Ch-Choso.” You’re gasping out, holding onto your seatbelt for dear life. Fuck- you think you’re seeing the line on his speedometer jerk upright as he steps harder on the gas pedal.
“Yeees–?”
Your finger trembles - whether from fear or adrenaline, you have no idea - when you’re reaching it somewhere past the windshield. Eyes nearly bulging out of your skull once you take in the familiar road, “There’s a bend coming around. Hard.”
“Perfect.”
Clack!
You’re hitting the large dip in the road before you know it- thrown in so hard against the left side of the Ford Mustang that you claw onto Choso’s arm. Reached right over the console to grab onto his flexed biceps, “Heh.” He looks down at you through lowered lashes for a second, “Told you to hold on tight.”
Gaping speechlessly, you dig your nails against his pale skin and watch as he bites down on his lower lip.
Fingers tilting down the rearview mirror, “And now, for those bastards.”
Bracing yourself, you manage to garner up enough strength in your body to raise your front off of him - only mildly mortified about being thrown around like a ragdoll by his driving. Taking a quick glance behind, “Oh, they slowed down for the bend.”
“Mhm, told you we’d win.” Choso grins, easily flicking off the Sports Mode for an easier regular one. You’re cruising smoothly down the velvety road, Mercedes long out of sight and out of mind. “You’re like my good luck charm- that means I better get you home safe n’ sound now..”
And that’s exactly what he does.
No more races, no more assholes on supercars - you’re turning into the suburban street of your tidy neighborhood without another hitch.
Well, if you don’t count the rumbling engine that was sure to disturb all the neighbors, that is.
But strangely enough, you can’t seem to bring yourself to care as much as you should. Not even when he’s slowing down by the familiar driveway to your house, not even as you watch the lights inside flick on at the noise.
Dwindling into a low purr by the time that Choso stops- “A-about before- I am so sorry about that, I don’t know why I let them get to me and-” He’s running a hand down his pretty features, “-and I promised myself I’d be good for you but-”
“Are you kidding me?” You breathe.
“I’m sorry.”
“That was-” He winces, waiting for your outburst. “-amazing?”
Choso’s fawny eyes widen, “What?”
“That was the most alive I’ve felt in ages.” You’re starting, “I mean- sure, I wanted to throw up a little but I promise once the nausea stopped it was really fun. And did you see the look on their faces- pffft, those assholes deserved it. Fucking- Mercedes.” Against all judgment, you’re gripping onto his broad shoulders just to shake with emphasis. “I didn’t even know you could drive like that- have you ever considered real racing? Fuck, I wonder if you could go even faster with this beauty.”
Now it was his turn to be awestruck. Soundless. And suddenly you’re understanding just how self-conscious he must’ve been back at the campus.
“Hello?”
“…”
“I mean…oh, what am I even saying.” You couldn’t grab your bag fast enough, hastily opening the door. “Thank you for the ride!”
You make three steps to your front porch - exactly three for Choso to snap out of his little reverie and chase right after you.
Long legs striding up, one of his matching exactly two or more of yours- a large hand catching your wrist, soft breath striking your face once he pulls you back. “Wait.”
Pants desperate, voice pleading.
You’re staring up at him so close that you could count each of his glinting metal piercings - those two sensual snakebites on his lower lip, one on his left eyebrow, several dangling upon both ears. And you swear you see one wink out from the tip of his pink tongue as he’s opening and closing his mouth.
“Do you-”
“I hope-”
You both speak at the same time, huffing out in slight amusement. You gesture for him to go, and he insists, “Ladies first.”
“Fine.” You’re letting him have his way, and the defeat is not nearly as bitter as how sweet it was watching Choso beam down at you from his height. “I just ah- hoped I didn’t weird you out or anyth-”
“Never.”
He says it so seriously that you almost find yourself taking a step back- almost, because he still had his warm fingers curled softly around your wrist. As if he’d noticed your flighty demeanor, Choso drags you a few steps back with him, leaning against the side of his supercar. “Actually- would you like to go to a…thing-”
“A thing?”
“A place-”
“A shady place?”
“Yes-” Seeing the look in your gaze, “-but no! It’s just a race- a big one.” And fuck- he was finding it difficult to hold the line of your sight, ears scorching redder and redder every second you bored up at him. “And I want you there- if you would like to come, as my…” Choso winces, like he was despising each word spilling from his mouth. “-good luck…charm.”
You grin, “Is that a date?”
He squeaks- “If- if you want it to be.”
“Hmm.” Pretending to think for a second, you’re only deciding to let Choso off the hook after you watch as he genuinely, physically sweats a trickle of perspiration down his temple waiting for your answer. “It’ll be a date-” He gasps. “-if - and only if - you win first place.”
The grin you’re gifted with is devastating - and Choso Kamo doesn’t stutter a single syllable as he quirks a brow. As he leans in. As he bends down just enough that his deep, drawling words tickle your ear, “Oh, you’re gonna watch me win, baby.”
Oh.
And you’re still thinking of them even as you manage to waddle your feet back up to your house after exchanging numbers. Predictably, being met with a lecture from your parents and yet not registering a single word.
That is, not until-
“-and wasn’t it that boy?”
Snapping up at their disapproving tone, “Who? That was Choso, he gave me a ride when there was no one else on-”
“You should stay away, you know what they say.” Wagging a finger reproachfully, “How many times have we told you to stay away from brutes like that? And you just had to go and get fondled by the exact same one the entire town’s been talking about- and don’t lie to me, we saw you through the window.”
“Then you’d have seen that we were doing nothing.” You’re gripping onto your bag hard enough to tear, heart thumping with anger where it was once excitement.
“That was not ‘nothing’, girl. I thought we raised you better than that.”
“But-”
“All the loud cars and the tattoos. Mark my word he’ll end up-”
Mumbling, “He was actually really sweet…”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ll ruin your life.”
“I barely have one.”
With a long-weary sigh, you block out the rest of the screeching to head for your bedroom - the same ol’ innocent bedroom you’d had since you were a child. Throwing yourself over your bed, you scroll through the listings of studios in your university area, as you often did.
Except this time, you dare to bookmark one. Just one.
.
.
.
It was hard not to know when Choso Kamo stared.
Because Choso never stared, he never tore his eyes away from the glossy pages of his motorsports magazine, even during lectures. And you always did wonder how he managed to top the scores of each exam despite that.
Except for now.
Right now, you’re feeling the burning sensation of two dark peripherals on the back of your head - immediately making you swivel your own gaze behind you.
Lo and behold, there he was - pen tapping on the side of his plush, rosy lips, brows furrowed as if you were the toughest of calculations he just couldn’t figure out. But the moment your pupils meet his, Choso only grins.
Mouthing, ‘Tonight.’
Your veins bubble when you notice more than one pair of eyes from the lecture hall on the two of you, and the implication of something happening ‘tonight’ wasn’t lost on your little audience.
But you nod anyway, a reminder of what the two of you had been texting back n’ forth for days now. ‘Tonight.’
“What’s happening tonight and why are you eye-fucking Choso Kamo?” Shoko’s whisper infiltrates your little bubble - and many other nearby bubbles, if the way that a few students titter was anything to go by.
“Shoko.” You elbow her side.
“No no, I want to know too.” Utahime pipes up, “Have you learned nothing from the two-bit bad boys in those shitty Netflix movies we watch?”
“He’s not just a two-bit bad boy, he also has a car.” Shoko’s adding on, “And I heard my neighbor’s friend’s aunt’s cousin say that he’s an F1 hopeful-”
The other gasps, “Is it the athlete’s salary tempting you, my dear? Y’know, I’m old money-”
Groaning, “It’s not like that.”
Shoko’s glancing between the two of you - Choso back at his books now that there wasn’t anything more worthy of his attention. You were looking away, after all. She balances a pen on her upper lip in thought, “When did that even happen, though?”
After a few seconds of trying to hide in your hands wasn’t working - in fact, it only made Professor Gakuganji throw more and more increasingly disgruntled glares your way - you sigh. “Well…you two remember last week when I stayed late at the labs? And I said someone was kind enough to give me a lift?” At two matching nods, “It was…”
“Him.”
“Him.” Utahime shakes you by your shoulders, “He didn’t do anything weird, did he, my dear? Oh, do I need to kill-”
“Not at all—” You wave them off, deciding to tell them about the impromptu race later today - preferably at an open space where it would be more acceptable for Utahime to scream bloody murder. “He was actually sweet and…”
Utahime and Shoko gawk at you with wide eyes, and the shorter-haired of the two speaks. “…and?”
“And a bit…cute.”
The pen clatters to down, down, down to the floor.
Already interrupting the class enough, you decide to simply rip the bandage off in one go- “And we may or may not have planned a date for tonight.”
It turns out that you’d very unfortunately overestimated Utahime’s ability to control her scream in a closed educational environment.
.
.
.
It was electric.
You felt electric.
Choso leans over his seat to indulge in your personal space, and you’re sure you’d be melting if it wasn’t for the way that both your eyes were locked on one noisy opponent - that Mercedes.
Engine revving right beside the Ford Mustang, sour faces peeking through the window with a thirst for revenge - who’d have thought that your lil’ enemy from the street competition would wind up being your opponents in an actual street race?
Honestly, tonight you’d let Choso drive you deep into a dingy corner of the town you didn’t even know existed in all your years living here.
You doubted that anyone knew of this secretive scene.
Filled to the brim with as many supercars as your lonely roads could hold- hell, Choso had told you that some participants drove from multiple cities away solely for these races. They were lining every inch of tarmac like glitzy streetlights made to overpower, the type to have given half your town an aneurysm just to think about.
“It’s why I ended up here for my exchange program, y’know?” He was whispering in your ear, voice low in a way it was just for you. “The racing, the cars, the practice. I wanted it all before I went big.”
Dark eyes flickering briefly to you, “Didn’t think I’d find something else worth winning, too.”
Your breath hitched, you didn’t know what else to say to that. And Choso didn’t elaborate- instead informing you on the make and model of the cars that would be going up against him this time.
And the roaring cheers grow deafening by the time a woman in a glittering outfit waltzes over to the middle of the track, a handkerchief held carefully in hand. Her cheery voice chimes out. “Alriiight, I want a nice, clean race around town- not. You know the drill- all racers on go by the time the cloth drops. Ready—?”
Teasing the little fabric around, you can pick out a few stray shouts surrounding the car- “Choso? That’s Choso Kamo? No way he seriously brought his gal- the man doesn’t even know how to smile-”
“They say it’s his last official race before he goes pro- better show off then, eh?”
“Move move I can’t see- Oh my god it’s really him, shit, he has a girl, too. You think they’ll win?”
As you’re nervously toying with your fingers, you jolt at the sudden feeling of ice-cold rings sliding around your throat. One hand of Choso’s on the wheel, the other putting slight pressure on your neck to make you gasp. “Don’t you worry, baby. We’re gonna win this.”
“Set—!”
“Because of the date?” You watch from the corner of your eye as she’s waving the handkerchief ‘round like a chequered flag, raising it up, up, up—
“Because I have my lucky charm with me.”
“Go–!”
.
.
.
“Oh sh-shit.” A shrill whimper tears out from your throat the very second that Choso’s slimy tongue hits your inner thighs.
He’s just so long - so dexterous that the pinkish tip of him curls inwardly along your sodden panties. Lavishing the swollen folds of your pussy with a few kittenish licks, you feel yourself buck in need at the slight graze of his tongue piercing. “Fuuuck, Choso, you’re not even gonna take my p-panties off?”
“Haaa—” His scalding hot breath gusts out in a sticky pant, and you can only watch as his lips purse to spit straight down your slippery slit.
A fat glob of saliva that he’s smearing with the front end of his thumb, snickering. “No.”
And then Choso’s pursuing the quivering lips of your pussy like he’s a man starved - ravenous. Fuck, you didn’t even know how you got here.
It was a given that he would win that street race, coming in first among all the cars with an almost ridiculous lead. But it was only when Choso had kept driving - not even stopping to collect his cash prize - that you’d started to question what he had in mind…
And there you were- sprawled out across the back of his Ford Mustang and smearing the expensive seats with your sheeny slick.
He’d driven you to the edge of some romantic viewpoint, a place to watch the twinkling stars above - but right now, Choso was drinking in a much better view.
“Oh-” The edge of his sharp jawline strikes your cunt, “Oh.” And no matter how close he was, he wanted more - he needed to see your pretty pussy all up close n’ personal.
Using the knobbly edge of his thumb to pull your folds apart with a sluuuurp, Choso’s mouth just waters seeing you drip ‘round your stringy panties. “Congratulations to me.” He’s drawling, syllables shaky. “She’s better than any grand prize, my baby.”
“You’re just so filthy—” You’re whining, hips rutting off of the cushioned seats while he’s making out with your pussy through your panties.
Slap after slap of his mouth plastering to every inch of your hot core.
It’s as if he was just trying to make you even messier, with each side of those rosy pink lips drooling against your pussy. “Mmm, tell me something I don’t already know, baby.”
Slickly rovering his tongue up n’ down the line of your slit- you feel Choso hone his wet muscle until he’s aligned precisely towards your sloppy hole. Pushin’ against the barrier of your underwear like he’s attempting to thrust his way in, “Stop teasing me, Choso–”
“Teasing? Who’s teasing?”
Another push of his tongue against the cloth of your drenched panties and you shriek, just barely feeling the pressure of his mouth drag against where you really needed him the most. “Then eat me out properly-”
Mockingly confused, your pupils sprint all the way to the back of your throat as you’re feeling him murmur straight into your cunt. “M’not teasing, I just can’t see-”
“S-see?”
Looking down so fast that your chin knocks against your chest, in the dim street lighting you can make out the long mess of Choso’s hair. The way his unruly bangs were gluing to his forehead, half-obscuring his darkened gaze.
“Mmm, m’just doing what I can—” He playfully hums, so close that he was practically nose-deep n’ yet still refusing to make out with your pussy past your panties. “Oh, if only I had my pretty girl to pull my- oh, fuck.”
Choso doesn’t get to finish his damn sentence before you’re giving him exactly what he asked for.
“Is this enough?”
Your trembly hands plunged into his clammy scalp, tugging on his silky hair- enough for you to admire his pretty, flushed face. All twisted into a mean smirk, “O-oh, now I can see.” There’s something unsteady in his words, as if he was on the very verge of shattering. “Now just tell me where you want m-mmpf-”
Then you’re shoving his face between your legs and Choso moans.
Mouth slacked all the way ajar- lengthy tongue coming out to simply flick aside your ruined panties. “F-fuck.” Choso’s wastin’ absolutely no time prodding at your clenched hole and squeeze-squeeze-squeezing inside. “Lemme see her. Lemme taste her- my pretty baby.”
Rutting the front of his hips into the backseat, he clings two large hands upon each side of your hips to haul your pussy deeper against his mouth.
Primal tongue slobbering everywhere, he’s gluing his textured tastebuds to the roof of your entrance and watches as you squirm oh-so-cutely. Pushing n’ pushing until he feels the first pressure of resistance from your cunt, “Ngh- Choso, dunno if it’ll- fit-”
“But you’re a goood girl- aren’t ya, baby?” Reeling back with a dewy plop! to prod his tongue into each of your nooks. “So aren’t ya gonna take my tongue like hah- a good girl?”
Your hand claws to clamp your mouth shut as you feel him stick his mouth against your entrance and start to bully inside once more. “I- I don’t-”
“Ah ah, none of that.” Only to have one set of his slender fingers tug down your shaky hand, hearing your pretty whines like his favorite song.
Fuck, Choso can only let you buck wildly once he’s rubbin’ his tongue piercing along your clit. “You’re gonna be loud-” His tongue was just unfairly flexible, twisting around until the metallic orb near the middle hits down your nub with a splat! “Yeah- exactly like that, pretty baby.” He could barely even speak through each pressurized push, “Gonna let this, mmm, entiiiire fuckin’ town hear. And then-”
And then he’s throwing your boneless limbs over his broad shoulders, ankles locking on instinct ‘round the back of Choso’s neck.
It’s the change in angle that has you gasping, holding onto the cushions surrounding you for dear life when that only makes his mouth roam deeper- “-th-then you’re gonna fucking take all of my- ngh- tongue.”
Muffled, each syllable leaves your pussy all raw n’ sensitive.
Splashing out oodles of syrupy sweet sap each time the tip of Choso’s taste buds scrape the inside of your cunt. Stretchin’ out your poor hole to the maximum until you’re mewling at the sting.
Constricting widely, he’s shovelling your walls apart until you’re memorizing the exact feeling of his tongue. Pump after pump.
He wasn’t just hungry - it’s like he hadn’t eaten for eons with the way that Choso was grinding and grinding his face between your face. Each gyration of his tongue rendering you speechless, licking all over your sweetest spots until not an inch was left undiscovered by him.
You feel the glossy points of his snakebites stick against the base of your outer pussy and gasp.
“And then my cock next.”
“Oh- oh my god- ngh-” You babble away- was it possible to bottom out on a tongue? Because the curvy tip of his tongue was reaching all the way near your g-spot and you couldn’t help but sob.
Hands trekking down on instant to-
SMACK!
Your fingers twitch where Choso had swatted your hand away, crushing it within one of his. “But Choso-”
“And who said you could play with my prize?” He tilts his head, dark eyes narrowed in a way that looked almost dangerous. Plump lips twitching with a sleazy grin, “S’my pussy, baby.”
Before you know it, he’s guiding your guilty hand down to meet his maw. Slick-sheened fingertips finding their way just between his lips- oh, he was greedy for your sweet, sweet juices. He wasn’t about to let you have a single drop.
Sucklin’ on them like his favorite flavored lolly, Choso stares right into your eyes once he replaces what you wanted with his own fingers.
A drive-roughened index smearing open the edges of your pussy, “D’you know that?”
You’re shuttering your eyes in need, “Oh my god your fingers-”
Pressing just inside your hole, “Do you know that?” You can only let out a few more mindless wails in response, and he’s slipping a second finger against the roof of your core. “Need you to answer me if you want-”
“Yes- yes.” You claw against his strong wrist so hard that you’re leaving marks. Doing anything - everything to get him to go deeper, to sloppily fill you up from the inside with his fingertips. “Oh…mmm, please, Choso.”
“And don’t you forget it.” You’re being treated like a lil’ plaything - one thumb flicking your clit, two more scouring inside your glossy walls. “I’m taking my prize tonight.”
There’s a lecherous, resounding plop! as he manages to fully sink in the two prolonged fingers all the way till his knuckles hit the slope of your pussy. The curvaceous edge of Choso’s index easily mazing past to locate your throbbing g-spot, “Oh fuck- so deep- ngh, so…”
Only letting off once your own fingerpads are licked all clean of your slick, he hastily pushes his face back into your treacly cunt. “That’s it, thaaaat’s it. Fuck up into m-me- into my face.”
And he had you have you on his flushed face - Choso needed you on his face.
Right then and right now, it’s like he’s fighting against himself for a mere piece of your pussy. Like the sweetest dessert in the world, he laps up every slimy ounce of leaky slick- wide tongue draaagging in circles ‘round and ‘round your sensitive hole.
One that was being absolutely pummelled by his fingers, he’s filling up every slick orifice with the curve of his digits. Hooking them so they thrash right against your g-spot-
“This is how ya do it.” You swear you watch as the mountains of Choso’s knuckles turn red with the slamming impact of his pumps, “Look at her- mm, just look. Now this is a winning celebration, huh?”
“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” Your pupils are speeding in stupid circles within the whites of your eyes, hands twitching on his brown locks. The metal of his snakebites snag against the sensitive part of your folds and your legs shake, “It just feels too good- hck!”
Dragging down his handsome face harder against your pussy- and the manhandling force makes him rut. Crushing the rock-hard outline of his bulge against the carseat, “Too good, huh?”
And then the unthinkable happens - Choso dares to pull his long, hammering fingers out of your pussy.
Instantly latching his pearly white canines onto your clit to bite so you can’t get out a single complaint- he’s forcing you to be patient as he reaches for something in the back pocket of his trousers. “Don’t you move now.” As you’re starting to push away from his shoulders at the sheer fucking stimulation making you see stars. “Don’t you fucking move.”
He’s serious about not letting you escape- one hand reaching behind his sweaty head. He grips both your ankles in one hand and locks them together, pinning them firmly together, dragging you to him.
“Excuse me for this, baby, I can’t take my hah- reward otherwise.”
In a split-second, his fingers are back to bullying between your puffy pussylips- but they weren’t the only thing pryin’ apart your bubblegum walls.
Oh.
With a gasp, you’re lurching your dazed head up as much as possible - watching in real time when Choso’s now-ringed fingers disappear between your folds.
Chunky, cold metal rings scraping your innards carnally, you feel him press a particularly textured one against the area of your nerves and see white- “Oh- oh my god, mmm—” Reaching for the very back of your core, he’s scissoring your cunt open to reach for your g-spot with a dull thud!
Pushing into each softened spot.
Your throat’s clogging with saliva again and again as he’s thrusting in n’ out, in n’ out, in and- “I don’t think I’ll last.”
Fuck, that makes him push his raging erection against the cushion and groan.
“Then cum on my face.” Choso states simply, pressing a sweet lil’ kiss on your clit. Your quivering entrance splatters out a few speckles of glittery slick that latch onto his chin, “Cum on my mouth.”
Sticking his long tongue out, you can see the dot of his piercing glimmer in the dim lighting. Rovering down to swirl on your clit, he’s driving you wild with precise, prodding rolls right over your overstimulated nub.
It was a dual stimulation - and you should’ve guessed from all the expert driving, but he was damn near taking you to heaven with all the multi-tasking.
Clawing at your every gooey spot, the splotchy stains of your sap cling onto his lips like a gleaming medal. Every swirl of his greedy tongue on your clit making your back arch so cutely into his touch.
The flesh of Choso’s bottom lip teasingly juts out to tickle his snakebites along your slope, “Cum alllll over my tongue, baby.”
At this point you don’t know what to ogle - the vicious lashings of his mouth, or the way he just looked so pretty doing it.
Stray strands of his bangs falling over his forehead, ears burnt rouge, biceps flexing as he fights off the thrashing of your legs to keep you in one place.
“Oh- oh, fuck-”
“Yeah-” Your eardrums flood with the rickety sound of friction on his decadent carseat, and only then do you realize that Choso was humping it. Fucking you with his mouth the way he wished he could with his swollen cock right now. “Yeah yeah yeah- exactly.”
Honey-brown eyes locked right into the target of your own as he bucks n’ bucks his face deeper into your sloppy pussy. Wrist aching, mouth panting, but he couldn’t fucking stop.
You’re feeling him directly smash in a repeated one-two against your g-spot and choke- “I-I think m’gonna…” Trailing off, each n’ every word slurs together into one long call-out of his name. Thighs twitching as if you were electrocuted, “Oh, mmm- m’cumming, Cho-”
The only thing you can manage through your wobbly lips before throwing your head back and cumming.
Rushing into your orgasm so hard that it makes your ears pop! “I…I can’t believe I- fuck!” Your lashes flutter at the way he kept his probin’ fingers jackhammering through your high, blinking back tears. “Y-you’re only making it even ngh- better.”
Plap! Plap! Plap! The rugged joints of his knuckles nearly rub raw at the impact against your pussy’s slope, scouring against your poor battered g-spot.
Your hands were on his ready head, holding on to grind on those pretty features in sloppy drags. Zaps of your pleasure bursting at the feeling of his piercings on your flesh, “You really are filthy.”
And Choso was more than happy to have his mouth be used, have the tip of his nose be ridden.
“That’s it-” Eyes twinkling watching your cute lil’ hole spray him with flecks of slick, each peak of your high making you clamp down.
He’s slithering his tongue just vertically down your treacly cunt to try n’ bully it greedily inside. Swabbing with the metal of his tongue piercing, and you think you see white. Head throwing back at the sheerly raw stretchhh—
Yearning to feel the way your goopy innards squeezed ‘round his muscle once more, “Tha’s it- oh, baby, clench like that and m’gonna cu- fuck.”
Too late.
Too late; Choso was already feeling your snug, dripping insides melt around his tastebuds and he was already creaming his pants. A dark, dark stain forming where his leaky orifice kept wadding out seed- the man takes a glance down and tuts.
“S’all your fucking fault, y’know?”
“M-mine?” And by now your wave of euphoria was nothing but a few tingles here and there- so Choso’s lifting himself out from between your trembly legs. Albeit with a sloppy last French kiss on your sopping pussy. Two.
Three.
Four- fuck, you had to be the one to wrench Choso away by the base of his perspired bangs. Leaving a few jet-black stains of his eyeliner smeared between your legs.
Forcing him to stop pussydrunkenly chasing the taste of your cunt, “Yes, fucking look at me.” He sounds gone. “M’addicted and it’s all y-your fault, baby.”
And he was dripping wet from his twitchy girth, so much so that his trousers stick to the upper half of his thighs like a second skin. Choso’s peeling his ruined pants and boxers off and oh-
“Fuck.” You’re gasping, in a daze. Eyes never leaving the hot, pinkish length that he’d just freed, “You’re so…”
Big.
Huge.
Staggering.
Damn near nine or ten inches, and so pretty, too.
The cutest lil’ shade of pink on his globular tip, glistening with cum n’ covered with a few sparse veins that led to his happy trail. More than rock-hard, it looked painful. And was that- oh, fuck.
He had a fucking Prince Albert’s piercing - right there, dotted on the line of his sensitive slit. Choso slaps down his heavy cock between your legs and watches as you squirm at the feeling of him slipping n’ sliding between your folds.
From your distance leaned against the end of the backseat, you’re measuring him up. Eyeing the girth of him, fuck, he was fat enough that your legs squeeze-
“Now now-” Hastily, he unsticks your clammy thighs and flips you over onto your front. Leaning his weight down on your back to keep your restless body pinned, “-none of that.” Tonality breathy, octaves higher. “None of that none of that- oh, you’re not getting off easy tonight, pretty baby.”
Somewhere along the line of you ogling his impressive length, Choso had taken off his rugged band t-shirt. And fuck- you didn’t know which view was better.
Because he was naturally ripped - all lean abs and pecs that jiggled once he’s leaning down. Your mouth waters when you take in the piercings going through his rosy nipples, the draconic tattoos going down his neck.
You’re craning your head, now on all fours. “I-I could’ve guessed.” Sheepishly, as he’s aligning his thick, throbbing cockhead against your entrance.
Choso pulls back on your tattered panties with a snap! “We’re gonna give this entire town something to hah- talk about.”
And that’s exactly what he does.
Because the moment you feel his reddish crown bulge between your folds- you almost bawl. The utter primal stretch so much that he’s clawing onto your hips to keep you still.
“Come on.” Choso spits into your open mouth, one of his free hands pressing up on your tummy - hard - just to feel that sensation of his large outline spearing through your walls. “Come on come on-”
“Fuck- fuck, Choso, you’re in s-so deep-”
“Here’s the finish line.” You hear him titter from above you, index paintin’ an invisible line somewhere about halfway down your stomach. Right where his target of your womb was.
And before you can get out a single word, he rears his hips closer and makes you see stars. Closer. Deeper. The curvy weight of his tip bullies between your first ring of muscle, so thick that you can barely even clench. “First, m’here-”
You gasp, “Wh-what-”
“The- the starting line-” He’s hissing out, deliciously rutting a meager inch back n’ forth just to make you feel the way your entrance was gaped to the max. “Now I’m…”
With a hand pressed down to feel your cute tummy bulge, Choso’s fat cock slips further down your walls. Easing in after such a raw, primal squeeelch-
“-here.”
“Oh- my god- I can’t believe-” You whimper, nails clawing at the faux leather for all he was putting you through. Just a few more solid inches, a few more visceral bucks of his hips and you’re babbling stupidly. “Are you ngh- are you there yet? Are you even halfway?”
“Mmm, not quite.” Choso twists out a grin.
Free hand snaking between your legs to lap up a few ounces of your sappy slick, mixing with his cum from before. It’s such a filthy concoction, and it’s exactly what’s being used to draw a line right over your tummy.
“M’here and then-” Another rut, another line - higher upwards this time. The fat, aching length of his cock was slickly mazing between your walls and making your head spin. Tapping that lil’ spot with his pointer, “…h-here.”
Until you could feel every pulse, every vein.
Choso Kamo didn’t even have to try to fill your poor channel up, his vein-decorated shaft poking into every tiny crevice and cranny. Until you felt like you were being molded to his very size.
“And- and then-” Even he wasn’t immune to the completely carnal feeling- your cunt was just too hot, too soft. He’s pokin’ his pointed tip into one of your tender spots and throwing his head back at the way it makes your glossy walls tighten. “-finally-” Rutting. Half-thrusts. “-here.”
Hitting your cervix dead-on, right with his pierced part.
“H-heh…the grand prize.”
Shit, all this effort putting up a cool front and that very first thrust shatters Choso.
It makes him gasp, it makes him stutter- groaning out your name in a gravelly tone like a mantra.
“Fuck- the…grand- oh.” He’s babbling away his own joke, planting yet another thorough slam all the way to the back of your pussy. Hard enough that the vehicle quakes.
Strawberry-pink tip swelling up just a bit more at the impact. Sheathed until those curly dark hairs at his base, and Choso chuckles like he’d just stumbled across an epiphany. “Your cervix- I hit it- got s-second place, too.”
Second place…?
You blearily blink your eyes, saliva flooding at the pure stretch. “Are you-”
Pap–!
“And third-” In a sultry split-second, you’re being pulled back by one of Choso’s beefy biceps - in a fucking headlock. His pierced lips kissing the side of your face, “Got third, too, baby- are you p-proud of me?”
Your hands fist in his silken hair- “Yes- Yes yes yes- ngh, it just feels too good, Cho.”
There’s a sudden slurp, and suddenly the two of you are snapping your heads back down to watch how your stimulated pussy grows even wetter. Spraying out syrupy slick with each of his furious pumps, every slam leaves his meaty thighs stuck to the backs of yours like adhesive.
A roughened thumb slithers down to spread your pussylips. “O-oh.” Just so that he can watch his achingly hard cock disappear from your winking hole. Studded piercing dipping in and out in and out in and out- “We’re gonna break this damn car, baby— Just like this hah- pretty pussy is breaking me.”
Headlock tightening, backseats creaking. “Ch-Cho, are you-” Another smash against the spongy layer of your cervix and he swears.
You’re peering into the tinted window of his Mustang and seeing the full effect of your sweet, candied pussy on him.
Head hunched, back muscles tense.
It’s like he was breaking - bit by bit with every swab of his cocktip against your deepest innards. The rounded globe of his orifice probes into the door to your womb and you find yourself drooling. “Choso, are you even ngh- okay?”
Choso’s long lashes bat, eyeliner smudging ‘round sexily, “No. Fuck.” Sizzling tastebuds lolling out to lick the salted tears streaming down your face. “Fuck- fuck, how could I ever be okay?”
You’re feeling his abs plaster against your spine, usin’ the weight to angle his roaming length even deeper. “A pussy as sweet as you- ohhhh.” Grunts departing into your ear following each rut after rut- “M’n-never going to be okay.”
Choso’s puffy veins drag against your g-spot and you whine. “H-harder.”
“Harder?” Something that sounds like a pussydrunk giggle escapes him, eyes wide. Feral. “Can you even handle harder, my girl?”
Huffing, the first thing you’re thinking to respond with is a sloppy nod. Your neck is barely even capable of keeping your heavy head upright by now, “Faster, too.”
Oh.
Oh.
You were fucked.
Because when you said ‘fast’, you didn’t think that he would act this rapidly. Taking barely a second - no, a nanosecond - to plunge his angrily hard dick out n’ flip your limp body over.
From the filthiest doggy position to having your legs ‘round his slender waist, his cock ebbing deep inside once more. The new angle easily lets his weepy girth map your walls, mazin’ inside like a searchlight.
Reaching your aching g-spot easily- “Hold on tight, my girl.”
And then he’s fucking your dizzy brain thoughtless.
Until the firm, steady frame of his supercar was shaking from side-to-side.
Plump, raging cock stuffin’ right between your folds to poke against the top of your cervix. Again and again. Thump after thump.
His piercing is so cold that it makes you shiver. And Choso takes extra care to make sure that his winding veins find a way to precisely scrape your most treasured spots.
One hand holding onto the right side of your face, gently brushing against the top of your cheekbone. “It feels so hah- good, oh.” The other toying with your pretty lil’ clit, “So good it’s driving me- fuck, crazy.”
Drawing out the cutest hearts with his thumb on your nub, Choso was just so gone that you swear his pupils were starting to turn heart-shaped, too.
Especially once he catches two of your hands snaking down the sweaty line of his chest- stopping right where the curve of his pecs were. Without a second thought, you’re fingering the sensitive area of his nipple piercings.
Choso arches, he shivers. “Heh, you’re fucking dangerous, baby.” Drilling cock overspilling your insides with a few sticky wads of precum as you tug on one of them.
You whine when he’s withdrawing the loving hand from your cheek to swab the cavern of your mouth. “That’s what they said about- ngh- you.”
“Mmm—” He lolls his head pussydrunkenly, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You’re sure that Choso’s leaving a few bites and smears of eyeliner for you to worry about later. Each word punctured with a thrash of his rotund tip, “Well, they don’t know me yet.”
“A-and I do?”
“Well…” And that makes the sinful man grin.
It makes him unload the hand from your ajar maw - removing it with a few stringy ribbons of spit. And it’s exactly that moisture that Choso’s using to write out your damn name on his left pec, right above his heart.
“You-” Your voice clogs up in your throat- because he wasn’t done. Far from it.
Because soon enough, the ringed fingerpads simply teasin’ your clit start to repeat in a pattern. A swoopy few movements that you’re realizing is his name.
C-H-O-S-O-K-A-M-O
Yours on his heart, his on your cunt.
Spelled out expertly on the buttony top of your clit, you’re seeing stars after each quick movement. The sharp turns n’ swoops of his name being branded onto you was almost too much to handle.
Which was exactly what he was looking for- and the tips of Choso’s plush lips twitch at the sight of you slowly edging towards your high. “Yeahhh, you fuckin’ do. Know me better than hah- anyone else here, my pretty baby.”
Throat breaking out in a sob, “I-I’m so close-” Pulling on his hair, thrashing up your hips. “Not gonna hngh- last too long, Cho—”
“Oh, yeah? Say my name like that- say my name.”
But you can’t say anything, really - because in a singular, fluid motion, Choso has your legs perched on his flexing shoulders. Your capped knees pressing down until they hit your tits- the realization smites you and you gasp.
“A-a mating press?”
“Whaaaat–?” Drawling out through a drunken hiccup, he gifts you three strikes with his Prince Albert’s on your g-spot. Thud-thud-thud. “Wanna see your gorgeous fuckin’ ngh- face when you’re cumming on my cock.”
This angle was perfect for glissading a line of pre straight across your g-spot, unstopping until he’s hitting the back of your cervix with a rattling thud. Speeding his sloppy tempo up until the smacks of skin-on-skin were downright deafening.
Ears ringing with the sappy squelches reeled out of you after every second of his rough cadence. With the way the car was shifting- “You’re just so- so filthy.”
“Mmm, only for you, baby.” Comes out the ragged response, something near the tailend of his sentence cracking. And so is his restraint. His sanity. “A-Always for you, baby.”
He’s driving into you as if he was crazed; toned pelvis of his stinging red, temple trickling with sweat, the fat circumference of his crownhead was leaving absolutely no spot unturned. Thumb nearly a blur on your clit, it makes you arch to have him rewriting his name over n’ over n’ over.
Choso’s simply ruining you from the inside out, and you can feel your body twitching already in response.
Pants hoarse- gone. He finishes off yet another signature twist of your clit - C-H-O-S-O. “Anything for you, baby.”
And then you don’t know who’s first - it’s simply crashing into both of you at once.
A long, blissful wave of euphoria that leaves your vision all white n’ delirious. You’re just so full- being stuffed to the very brim of your dripping wet pussy with his cum. Creamy white ropes that glue to the start of your womb n’ end up being stirred about by his length.
The only thing you can even think to do is wrap your arms ‘round Choso’s neck and give him a lingering kiss.
Mind spinning, stomach twisting - it’s probably the hardest orgasm of your life.
Feeling him moan into your mouth through each clench of your high, “Better than I’ve ever fucking- ngh, imagined.”
Oh, it was just too cute to have him confessing like this as he’s fucking you through his high.
Pushing each knot of sinful cum even deeper- “You’re better than a ngh- dream.” It makes him sensitively whimper to feel you clamping down at his words. Webs of ivory syrup sploshing through your channel like a second skin. “You might just be- oh, my dream, my girl.”
There’s just so much of it.
So much that’s spilling out. Coating his bulky base in a slathered ring of white, neither you nor him can even think to care about the stained material of the seats.
Only plowing probe after probe of his blushin’ tip to probe into your favorite spots, Choso leaves your toes curling at the pleasure of having him draaaaag out your high with his veiny cock.
And it takes you a few seconds to register his whiny words- “You- you really mean that?”
“Y-yeah…” He’s breathing out, in awe. Flinching when your fingers start to caress the crimson tips of Choso’s ears, “Meant every fucking word.”
“And I do, too.” At his slightly puzzled expression, you’re chuckling. “Remember the first time we met? I told you I don’t care about hck! anything this lil’ town says.” It’s almost too intimate having you brush away his bangs from his gawking eyes, but you couldn’t think of anything more fitting. “N’ I still don’t give a single fuck what they have to say-”
“O-oh.”
Choso ends up cumming again - simply from hearing those words fall from your beautiful mouth.
Except, this time, it’s dry. Just a single pearly bead of sap bein’ withered out, he juts the throbbing crown of his cock up against the roof of your cunt.
Knees planting deeper upon either side of your hips to give you a thorough slide of his exhausted, pierced cock. He’s cumming out near sparks by the time he spits out- “Your- your parents are gonna kill me.”
“My parents are gonna kill me.”
“N-next time-”
You knew he’d just bared his feelings out for you, but you can’t help but feel your heart flutter at the mention of a ‘next time.’ “-m’fucking you in your bedroom, my girl-” The raspy tone of Choso’s breath makes you shiver, up close n’ personal. “-while your parents are home.”
.
.
.
“Did you hear- they say that Choso Kamo races F1 and he’s-”
“Forget the racing! Did you hear he’d apparently taken her out- yeah, her, after that race last night and…well, I hear there were numerous noise complaints at that cliffside viewpoint.”
“Oh, my aunt’s her neighbor and she said the house was in chaos the entire night after she came back. Couldn’t even walk apparently.”
“He was that good?”
“Good enough that she packed her bags and moved into a place of her own, apparently.”
.
.
.
“Aaaaand Verstappen holds the lead but Kamo’s close behind—” You never did get tired of the revving thunder of the cars, the booming voice of the Formula 1 commentator fighting to be heard above them.
You’re leaning against the wall of the VIP box with Utahime and Shoko - meant only for family and friends, stomach churning as it always did whenever it came to the last lap of Choso’s races.
“Oh- oh! You can see Kamo weaving behind, ohhh it’s a tight one, ladies, gentlemen, and every folk in-between.”
It was honestly still surreal to be here, of all places, after everything.
After how many told you that he’d break your heart, and here he was holding it with him through each lap like he’d fall apart without it.
As the distance closes - all power, pressure, and speed - you’re yelling his name at the top of your lungs despite the fact that he won’t hear. “Come on— Cho–!” Waving about the flag with his number and color as all his tens of thousands of fans did. “Not too long for the finish line–!”
The announcer bellows, “Ah, you’ve got Kamo’s girlfriend, one of our most beloved F1 WAGs, yelling as the finish line draws nearer- so close! So close! Will he make it?” As that chequered flag raises, his familiar car speeds. “Push now, boy!”
His engine roars - and so does the crowd, split-seconds later.
“And in the final corner, it’s Choso Kamo who seizes the chequered flag—! He wins the Italian Grand Prix! What a drive! What. A. Drive.”
Choso doesn’t give a single shit about the few victory laps, he doesn’t even wait for a final discussion with his pit team.
Zooming right past the finish line and further along the main straight. Right where it was most visible to you from your seat, he’s immediately punching on the gas pedal and swerving the absolute monster of his racecar.
Right then and there on the tracks.
Right into the shape of a…heart?
You’re giggling behind your hands as the commentator cackles– “A celebration for his eighth win this season, Kamo shows off his title- and his love!”
Surrounding you, you can hear the crows coo and cheer, you can already taste the fizzy champagne being popped. And in nearly no time, your boyfriend has pulled his car up to the parc fermé - running right through the outline of a heart he’d drawn in celebration.
Running right up the stands to you-
But not into your arms.
No, not at all.
Instead, Choso Kamo drops to one knee right before you.
The audience loses it- and you hear the booming loudspeakers squeak. “Wait- wait’s what’s happening in the VIP box?! Choso Kamo- it can’t be-”
And Utahime, without a single word, digs inside her purse and throws a small, velvety ring box over within the blink of an eye. One that Choso catches with ease. And oh, he just looked so pretty.
The same boy you met all those years ago - lengthy hair mussed up from his helmet, rosy lips quivering, face flushed.
“Is everyone in the pits watching? Is everyone at home watching? This is absolutely sensational! Choso Kamo has just seized the moment to propose to his long-time girlfriend, an incredible celebration of love we’re seeing here on the tracks today.”
So in love.
Choso whispers, “It would be a dream…if you would marry me, my girl?”
Tear-filled, you can only nod.
“Ladies and gentlemen, and every folk in-between — we have a winner—!”
A/N. The things I would do for him cannot even be spoken into existence.
⤷ warnings — smut (minors dni), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), non idol au, dilf!sunghoon, single dad!sunghoon, ice skater!sunghoon, college!reader, nanny!reader, size kink, praise kink, slight dumbification (reader gets v babygirl-coded), manhandling, light nipple play, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, creampie, aftercare, soft dom!sunghoon, slight breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, fluff
✩ˎˊ˗ summary — you were supposed to save his daughter from loneliness—not him. park sunghoon has it all: medals, money, and a schedule too packed for bedtime stories. when his little girl starts closing off, he hires you—a broke college student with a bright laugh and quiet charm—as her nanny. you’re warm, young, and everything his cold, controlled world isn’t. or where saving him was never in the job description—but you did it anyway.
It was late into the night, the soft hum of the television filling the massive living room of Park Sunghoon’s estate. The faint glow of the screen cast light across the leather couches where Sunghoon sat slouched with a bottle of beer dangling loosely in his hand.
Chips and half-empty takeout boxes were sprawled across the coffee table—evidence of three hours spent yelling at football players they’d never meet.
Heeseung was nearest the remote, lazily clicking through channels until Sunghoon let out a deep sigh that made all three heads turn.
“I swear…” Sunghoon muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m trying to be a better father to Sooyun.”
Heeseung’s thumb paused on the remote as he shot him a knowing look. With a sigh, he lowered the volume. “Alright, here we go. Let’s all listen to Sunghoon complain about his miserable life again.”
“Fuck you,” Sunghoon said flatly, though his glare lacked any real heat.
Jay, sprawled casually on the loveseat across from them, smirked over his beer. “That’s mean. Let him vent. He’s sensitive.”
Jake, curled up in an armchair with one leg over the other, groaned dramatically.
“What now, Sunghoon? Did Sooyun draw a frowny face in her diary again? Or did she call you Mr. Park instead of dad?”
Sunghoon threw a chip at him—it missed. “I’m serious, assholes. Am I a shitty dad?”
Without hesitation, Heeseung and Jake chorused in unison: “Absolutely.”
Jay snorted into his drink, the sound muffled by the rim of the bottle.
“Goddamn it,” Sunghoon groaned, running both hands down his face as he leaned forward, elbows on knees.
“I’m trying my best for Sooyun. I give her whatever she wants. Toys, trips, dresses, a whole fucking pony if she asked—but it’s never enough. She’s always…” He trailed off, staring at his beer bottle like it held the answers.
“Sad,” Heeseung finished softly, voice surprisingly lacking its usual bite.
Sunghoon nodded, the crease between his brows deepening.
Jake leaned back with a sigh, swirling his beer lazily.
“Well, I mean… you’re always busy. Being a figure skating coach isn’t exactly a 9-to-5, dude. But let’s be honest—you’re out there looking after other people’s kids. Spoiled little heirs and heiresses whose rich parents don’t know how to raise them… sound familiar?”
The words hit harder than Sunghoon expected. He set his beer down on the table with a soft thud, staring blankly at the floor.
“Don’t turn into them,” Jay added quietly, picking up where Jake left off.
His eyes flicked briefly to Sunghoon before returning to the TV. “You’re not like those parents… yet.”
The silence that followed was thick, heavy with unsaid things. Sunghoon’s fingers tapped absently against his knee. “Okay, so what the hell do I do then?”
They all went quiet.
Then, Heeseung suddenly snapped his fingers with a grin. “I think I have a solution.”
“Oh boy,” Jake muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
“Shut up, this is genius.” Heeseung leaned forward like he was about to pitch the next big startup.
“Hire someone. A nanny. You know—someone young, fun, patient. Someone who can actually be there when you’re not.”
“A nanny?” Sunghoon echoed, eyebrows furrowed. “What am I, sixty?”
Jay chuckled under his breath. “You’re a single dad, Sunghoon. And your kid’s lonely. Don’t make this harder than it is.”
“Think about it,” Heeseung pressed, eyes gleaming now. “She gets someone to hang out with who’s not cold, distant, and dead inside like you—”
“Again. Fuck you.”
“—and you get peace of mind knowing she’s not sulking around this big empty house.”
Sunghoon rubbed his temple. “You make it sound so simple.”
Heeseung only grinned, leaning back into the couch as he took another lazy sip of his beer. “That’s because it is.”
Sunghoon shot him a flat look, his head lolling to the side against the leather. “What do you mean?”
“I know someone,” Heeseung started, his grin widening.
“Well—not me. My brother.” He paused, and the others immediately perked up.
Jake arched a brow. “This sounds suspicious already.”
Ignoring him, Heeseung continued, gesturing vaguely with his bottle. “He and his wife hire this college student. At least every month. Whenever they have to fly out of the country for business trips, she comes over to watch their kids.”
Sunghoon’s brow furrowed as he sat up straighter, resting his forearms on his thighs. “And I’m supposed to just trust some random college student with my daughter?”
Heeseung rolled his eyes, waving him off. “She’s not random. I’ve met her. She seems… sweet.”
Jay let out a low laugh from across the room, swirling his beer lazily. “Coming from you, that doesn’t say much.”
Heeseung’s grin dropped as he squinted at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jake, already biting back a laugh, didn’t even try to hide it this time. “It means you think every girl’s cute, Heeseung. A waitress smiles at you and you’re ready to wife her up.”
“Bullshit,” Heeseung scoffed, flipping Jake off.
“But seriously, she really is sweet. Like… good with kids, not annoying, and actually smart. She’s studying education or psychology or something. My brother’s wife raves about her.”
Sunghoon stayed quiet for a moment, fingers drumming against his knee. The idea was absurd. Entrust his daughter to some college kid he didn’t even know?
But then again, Sooyun’s sad little eyes flashed in his mind. The way she barely smiled anymore, how her room felt quieter lately even when she was home.
He let out a long breath. “I don’t know…”
“You don’t have to marry her, Sunghoon. Just meet her.” Heeseung tilted his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Talk to her, see if she’s a fit. If not, then fine. But at least try.”
Jay smirked, voice low and teasing. “Or maybe you’ll like her, and she’ll be Sooyun’s nanny and your emotional support system.”
“Fuck off.”
The room erupted with laughter. Jay nearly choked on his beer, Jake slapping his thigh as he doubled over, and Heeseung grinning like he’d just won some unspoken game.
Sunghoon leaned back against the leather couch with a groan, tipping his head up to stare at the ornate chandelier above.
“Send me her number,” he muttered, his voice low but reluctant. “I’ll look into it.”
Heeseung’s grin grew impossibly wider as he reached for his phone. “Look at you, Mr. Progress. Daddy of the Year.”
“Shut up,” Sunghoon grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Don’t fuck her on the first meeting, yeah?” Heeseung teased, typing something into his phone with a smirk.
The throw pillow flew across the room before he could even blink, smacking Heeseung square in the chest. He let out a surprised laugh as the pillow hit the floor.
“I’m not like you,” Sunghoon shot back, narrowing his eyes.
Jake leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees with an amused grin. “He’s right though. Heeseung would have her up against the counter by dinner.”
“Hey!” Heeseung protested, pointing a chip at Jake. “I have self-control. Sometimes.”
Sunghoon exhaled sharply, grabbing his beer again and swirling it in his hand. “I’m not hiring a nanny to flirt with her. This is for Sooyun. That’s it.”
“Sure,” Jay hummed, clearly unconvinced. “That’s what they all say.”
“Fuck all of you,” Sunghoon muttered, but there was no bite to his voice. He took a long sip, already dreading whatever setup Heeseung was planning.
Heeseung’s phone buzzed, and he waved it at Sunghoon with a shit-eating grin. “I already texted Heedo. Her name’s (Y/N). I’ll send you her number later. Don’t be an ass when you call her.”
“I won’t.” Sunghoon sighed again, staring at his phone on the coffee table like it had just become another thing to deal with.
Jake raised his beer in mock salute. “To Sooyun’s new nanny—and to Sunghoon hopefully getting laid for the first time in years.”
The throw pillow found its next victim.
The sound of animated singing drifted from the living room speakers as you gently tucked the two boys under their blanket, their small faces already soft with sleep.
The Disney movie credits rolled in the background, the room glowing with the warm light of the TV.
“Sweet dreams, Hamin. You too, Hyunmin,” you whispered, brushing Hyunmin’s hair back from his forehead.
You smiled, your heart warming at the sight before you straightened up, quietly gathering the plastic plates and juice boxes abandoned on the coffee table.
You were halfway to the kitchen when a low voice called out from the hallway.
“(Y/N), can I talk to you for a second?”
Startled, you looked up to see Heedo, the boys’ father, leaning casually against the doorframe.
“Oh—sure,” you said, balancing the plates in your hands. “Just give me a moment.”
You carried the plates into the kitchen, setting them down carefully on the table.
But your eyes widened slightly when you noticed someone else sitting there—a tall man in a fitted black coat, sleeves pushed up just enough to show a luxury watch, his posture relaxed as he leaned back in the chair.
He gave you a lazy grin, one that was equal parts charming and mischievous. “Hey.”
You blinked at him, then at Heedo, and back. “Am I in trouble?” you asked cautiously, though there was a teasing lilt to your voice.
Both men chuckled.
“No, no trouble,” Heedo said, shaking his head. “Actually… Heeseung wanted to talk to you. So I’ll leave you two to it.”
You tilted your head slightly, brows furrowed in mild confusion, but nodded. “Uh… okay.”
Heedo excused himself with a smile, leaving you standing in the kitchen doorway with this stranger—well, not a total stranger. You’d heard of ‘Uncle Heeseung’ from the boys before.
Heeseung pushed off the chair slightly, arms crossing over his chest as he looked at you with an amused glint in his eyes. “(Y/N), right?”
You nodded quickly. “Yes, Mr. Lee.”
He barked out a short laugh. “Oh, no. Heeseung’s fine. Makes me feel old otherwise.”
You smiled politely, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Okay… Heeseung.”
“Better.” He gave a small nod of approval. “So. (Y/N). You regularly babysit Hamin and Hyunmin, right?”
“When they need me, yeah,” you replied, crossing your arms loosely. “Why?”
Heeseung leaned casually against the counter, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.
“A friend of mine needs help with his daughter. And, well, I’ve seen how you are with my nephews. You’re good. And they adore you.”
You tilted your head slightly, an eyebrow raising. “Why are you the one telling me this and not your friend? Does he not have a mouth?”
That earned you a full laugh this time. “Feisty.” Heeseung’s grin widened as he shook his head. “I like that.”
Your brow furrowed a little more. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or if I should be worried.”
Heeseung chuckled, uncrossing his arms to rest his hands on the counter. “Relax. I’m just the one who knows you, so it felt easier to ask. You interested?”
You hesitated, glancing back toward the living room where Hamin and Hyunmin were snuggled under their blanket.
“What about Hamin and Hyunmin?”
Heeseung waved it off with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll cover them. This won’t interfere.”
You sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your initial wariness. “Sure, I guess. I’ll help.”
“Atta girl.” Heeseung’s grin softened slightly. He reached for his phone, already scrolling through his contacts.
“I’ll give you his number. His name’s Park Sunghoon. Don’t let the cold exterior fool you—he’s not as scary as he looks.”
You raised a brow again, smirking a little. “Now should I be nervous?”
“Only if you’re afraid of handsome, broody single dads.” Heeseung winked.
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Noted.”
Reaching into your back pocket, you pulled out your phone and unlocked it, the screen glowing faintly in the warm kitchen light.
“Here,” you said, holding it out to Heeseung.
He took it without hesitation, his fingers flying over the screen as he quickly typed in a number.
You noticed the faint smirk tugging at his lips as he worked—like he knew something you didn’t.
“There,” Heeseung said finally, handing your phone back. “I’ll notify him soon. Probably tomorrow morning. Expect a call or a text.”
You nodded slowly, clutching your phone to your chest. “Alright…”
Heeseung’s grin softened as he pushed off the counter. “You’ll do great, (Y/N). Trust me.”
“Do I have a choice?” you asked under your breath, but he only chuckled.
“Not really.” He gave you one last wink before strolling out of the kitchen, his footsteps fading down the hall.
Left alone, you stood there for a moment staring at the empty doorway, your fingers tightening around your phone.
You glanced down at the screen where the new contact—stared back at you in neat numbers.
“What have I gotten myself into?” you muttered under your breath.
With a small sigh, you gathered the plastic plates again and carried them to the sink, the faint sound of water running as you began rinsing them off. Your mind was already racing.
“Please don’t let him be weird,” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head as you set the plates aside to dry.
The sleek black car rolled to a stop outside the massive building, its chrome letters gleaming under the pale winter sunlight: ‘PARK ICE & CO.’
Heeseung snorted under his breath as he slammed the car door shut. “Yeah, okay, flex harder, Sunghoon.”
His eyes flicked to the row of luxury cars parked nearby—Porsches, Teslas, even a matte black G-Wagon.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat, Heeseung strolled toward the glass doors. The guard at the entrance straightened at the sight of him.
“Good morning, Mr. Lee.”
Heeseung nodded back with a lazy grin. “Morning.”
The first thing that hit him as the doors slid open was the sharp bite of cold air. It smelled faintly of ice, rubber, and hot chocolate—probably from the snack counter at the far end of the lobby.
But the next thing was louder: the sound of children laughing, skates scraping against ice, and a few harried babysitters watching nervously from benches lined along the rink.
Heeseung’s lips curled in amusement as he muttered to himself, “Rich people.”
His eyes scanned the rink until they found him.
Park Sunghoon.
The man stood out effortlessly—tall, lean, dressed in sleek black athletic wear as he moved fluidly across the ice. His voice was calm but firm as he instructed the group of young skaters clustered around him.
“Careful when stopping. Don’t let your weight pitch forward. You’ll hurt yourself if you tumble.”
Heeseung leaned casually against the glass, his arm brushing the cold surface as he watched Sunghoon smile at one of the smaller kids who nodded earnestly.
There had to be at least eighteen kids on the ice, their colorful jackets like moving confetti against the pristine rink.
“Coach Park,” Heeseung called out, his voice carrying easily over the ambient noise.
Sunghoon looked up instantly, his expression still calm, though his brow arched slightly. The smile didn’t leave his face—at least not yet.
Heeseung smirked, tapping the glass lightly. “Got a minute?”
Sunghoon turned to his assistant, murmuring something Heeseung couldn’t hear as he nodded and stepped forward to take over.
With a graceful push, he skated toward the edge of the rink, stopping neatly in front of Heeseung.
Leaning on the barrier, Sunghoon tilted his head, his dark hair slightly damp from the cold air. “What are you doing here?”
“I got you a babysitter,” Heeseung replied simply, his grin infuriatingly bright.
Sunghoon raised a brow, unlatching the small side door beside Heeseung. As he stepped off the ice, he crouched to remove the guards from his skates, his fingers quick and precise.
“What bribe did you offer Heedo to loan you his regular babysitter?” Sunghoon asked, standing tall again as he handed the guards to Heeseung.
Heeseung caught them with ease, shrugging. “I didn’t. I talked to (Y/N) myself.”
Sunghoon crossed his arms, the fabric of his jacket stretching slightly over his shoulders. “She said yes?”
“Yeah. Told her you needed one.”
“She agreed just like that?”
Heeseung leaned back against the glass, his grin widening. “Told you she’s a sweet girl.”
Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “What now?”
“I sent you her number a few minutes ago. That should do it.”
Sunghoon’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Are you sure about her?”
Heeseung laughed, the sound echoing faintly in the cold rink air. “Come on, Coach Park. What do you take me for?”
“A fuckboy with no morals,” Sunghoon said flatly, one corner of his mouth twitching.
“Wow,” Heeseung sighed, dramatically clutching his chest. “The disrespect. I’m banning you from my company building with the amount of insults you throw at me daily.”
“Good,” Sunghoon muttered as he pulled the zipper of his jacket up slightly, already moving back toward the rink door.
“Don’t scare her, Sunghoon!” Heeseung called after him.
“You’re not even sure if I’ll reach out to her.” Sunghoon shot back over his shoulder, crouching briefly to pull off the last skate guard.
He tossed it lightly to Heeseung, who caught it with a grin.
“Seriously. That guy,” Heeseung muttered to himself with a shake of his head, watching as Sunghoon stepped smoothly back onto the ice and glided away like he hadn’t just been volunteered for a life change.
Sunghoon didn’t know how long he’d been spacing out after that. He barely remembered finishing the class.
Didn’t register the polite goodbyes from the kids or their parents.
Couldn’t even recall the moment he stopped by a restaurant to grab takeout—though the faint smell of soup lingering in the car told him he had.
He didn’t remember the drive home either, his luxury sports car eating up the darkened streets until the familiar towering gates of his estate came into view.
With a sigh, he pressed his thumb to the scanner by the driver’s side, the gates sliding open with a soft mechanical hum.
The tires crunched against the gravel driveway as he pulled in, the headlights briefly illuminating the grand facade of the Park residence before fading as he killed the engine.
Leaning back against the leather seat, Sunghoon let out a long breath, staring at nothing.
His fingers drummed absentmindedly against the steering wheel before he finally grabbed his things from the passenger seat—the brown paper bag of food and his sleek leather satchel—and pushed the door open.
The warm light from the house spilled out onto the driveway.
The first thing he heard wasn’t silence.
It was chaos.
“No, sushi tomorrow!” Jake’s voice echoed from inside.
“Pizza. You literally ate sushi yesterday, you weirdo,” Jay countered, his tone dripping with mock irritation.
Sunghoon’s eyes flicked to the living room as he stepped in, taking in the sight of his two friends half-sprawled on the couch, bickering like teenagers.
But his gaze softened when it landed on the small figure curled up in the corner.
Sooyun.
She was lying across the couch in her pink pajamas, her tiny arms hugging a stuffed bunny to her chest, her lashes fluttering slightly as she teetered on the edge of sleep.
Quietly, Sunghoon set down his things and walked over. He pulled the soft blanket from the arm of the couch and draped it over her small frame before kneeling down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“Shut up,” he said without looking up, his voice quiet but firm.
Jake jumped slightly at the sound, his head whipping around. “Shit, you’re like a ninja—”
Jay chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, man.”
Sooyun stirred at the voices, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists as she blinked up at her father. “Hi, Daddy,” she whispered sleepily.
Sunghoon’s lips curved into a rare, soft smile. “Hey, baby.” He pressed another kiss to her forehead.
She reached out, her voice small. “Pick me up?”
“Of course.”
He scooped her up with practiced ease, cradling her against his chest as she buried her face into his shoulder. She still smelled faintly of baby powder and strawberry shampoo.
“Did you have fun with Uncle Jay and Jake?” he asked as he turned to face his friends, who were now watching with matching sheepish smiles.
Sooyun nodded, her voice muffled against his jacket. “They took me to eat nuggets after school.”
Sunghoon’s eyes softened again. He looked back at Jay and Jake, his expression unreadable at first before he sighed. “Seriously. You two… thank you.”
Jay waved him off with a small grin. “It’s nothing. I got off work early anyway.”
“Yeah, and it was my day off,” Jake added with a shrug.
Sunghoon arched a brow at them. “You two own your own companies.”
That earned him twin laughs. Jay ran a hand through his hair. “Exactly why we can sneak out whenever we want.”
“Yeah,” Jake said with a grin. “Plus, we love taking care of Sooyun, don’t we, baby?”
Sooyun peeked up from Sunghoon’s shoulder and beamed at them, her dimpled smile making Jake laugh and reach out to ruffle her hair gently.
“Seriously, thank you,” Sunghoon said again, his voice quieter this time, almost reluctant like the words didn’t come easy.
Jay picked up his jacket. “The stuff we bought for Sooyun’s in her room, by the way.”
“They got me stuffies!” Sooyun said excitedly, her tiny hands tugging at Sunghoon’s collar. “And they’re all pink, Daddy!”
Sunghoon couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him. “You spoil her, don’t you?”
Sooyun nodded solemnly. “They do. And I love them.”
Jake and Jay exchanged grins like proud uncles as Jake said, “We better get going before she starts crying for us to stay.”
Jay laughed softly, adjusting his coat. “Night, Hoon. Bye, Sooyun.”
“Bye, Uncles,” Sooyun said with a sleepy wave, her voice small.
Sunghoon nodded at them, watching as they slipped out of the door, the house falling quiet again save for the soft hum of the heating system.
Carrying Sooyun upstairs, Sunghoon nudged open the door to her room with his foot. The pink night light glowed faintly, casting her room in a soft, comforting hue.
He gently laid her down on her bed, tucking her in with practiced care as she clutched one of her new stuffed animals.
“Night night, Daddy,” she murmured, her lashes already lowering.
“Night night, baby,” he whispered back, brushing her hair from her forehead. He turned on her night light fully before flicking off the main switch.
As he closed her door quietly behind him, he let himself linger for a moment, his hand on the doorknob. His mind drifted—not to work, not to the rink, but to a name flashing on his phone earlier.
With a heavy sigh, he turned and padded down the hall, his socks silent against the polished wood floors.
When he reached the double doors of his office, he pushed them open, the faint scent of leather and cedar greeting him.
The room was dark until he flicked on the lights, soft recessed bulbs illuminating the sleek space. The floor-to-ceiling glass walls gave him a view of the city lights blinking in the distance, but he barely looked.
He dropped his satchel onto the desk and sank into his leather chair, leaning back as his eyes flicked to the night outside.
One hand rubbed at the back of his neck while the other reached for his phone.
He unlocked it lazily, scrolling to Heeseung’s message.
heeseung [8:10 A.M.]: here. it’s (y/n)’s number. don’t be a dick.
Sunghoon snorted under his breath, his thumb hovering over the contact details.
“Don’t be a dick,” he muttered, repeating his friend’s words with a scoff. “Easier said than done, Heeseung.”
He glanced at the time on his phone screen—11:07 PM. A low hum left his throat as he drummed his fingers against the desk.
Too late? Maybe. But part of him wanted to just get this over with.
He tapped the number. The keyboard popped up.
His thumb hesitated above the letters.
“What am I even supposed to say…” he murmured to himself, frowning. “This isn’t a job interview.”
With a quiet sigh, he started typing anyway.
He stared at the message for a moment, his finger hovering over Send. It looked so… blunt. Cold. But what else was he supposed to say?
“Whatever,” he muttered. “She’s not here to be my friend.”
And with that, he hit send.
The message went through instantly, the little gray bubble staring back at him mockingly.
He leaned back in his chair, tossing his phone onto the desk like it had burned him. His eyes flicked back to the city lights outside, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“She’s probably asleep,” he said under his breath. “Or she’s going to think I’m some uptight asshole.”
Which—he realized grimly—wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate.
Across the city, you were in a completely different world.
You were sprawled out on your bed in soft pink silk sleepwear, the delicate fabric catching the warm glow of your desk lamp.
Your laptop was perched precariously on a pile of open textbooks and highlighted notes, pastel highlighters scattered around like candy.
A cooling eye mask clung under your tired eyes as you skimmed through another line of your chemistry review, highlighter in hand.
Your laptop screen was split in half: one side showing your study materials, the other side a video call where Sunoo and Jungwon were in the middle of their third heated argument over tomorrow’s exam.
“I’m telling you, it’s sodium hydroxide, not sodium carbonate!” Jungwon said, his voice rising slightly.
“Jungwon, no. You’re gonna fail if you keep thinking like that,” Sunoo countered, holding up a pen like it was a gavel.
You muted yourself, suppressing a laugh as you highlighted another sentence in aggressive pink.
Then your phone buzzed. A soft chime against your stack of books.
You glanced at it absently, thinking it was just a random group chat notification, but your brow arched when you saw the screen.
Unknown [11:11 P.M.]: Is this (Y/N)?
You froze for half a second, your highlighter hovering midair. Setting it down, you reached for the phone, unlocking it quickly.
you [11:11 P.M.]: yes. who’s this?
The typing dots appeared almost immediately, and you tilted your head slightly. Whoever it was, they weren’t wasting time.
Unknown [11:11 P.M.]: This is Park Sunghoon. You’re the babysitter Lee Heeseung recommended, correct?
You sat up straighter now, legs crossing under you as your brain caught up to the name. Park Sunghoon. The mental image of Heeseung’s lazy grin from earlier flashed through your mind.
You swallowed down the surprise and typed back quickly, keeping your tone polite.
you [11:12 P.M.]: oh! good evening, mr. park. yes, that’s me.
The typing dots appeared again—fast.
Unknown [11:12 P.M.]: Are you available tomorrow at 12 noon? I’d like to discuss the details and have you meet my daughter.
You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment, your eyes flicking back to the still-muted Sunoo and Jungwon, now arguing about molarity.
you [11:12 P.M.]: yes, i’m free tomorrow at noon!
Unknown [11:12 P.M.]: Good. Thank you. Have a good evening.
You blinked at the abruptness of it, lips twitching into the faintest smile. Typical rich guy energy. Still, you decided to add a little warmth.
you [11:13 P.M.]: you too, mr. park. good night!
The message sat there for a few seconds before the read receipt popped up. No reply.
You stared at your phone, laughed, then set it down beside your stack of notes.
Unmuting yourself, you leaned back against your pillows just in time for Sunoo to pause mid-rant and squint at you.
“Wait. Who was that? Why’d you mute?” he asked suspiciously.
Jungwon perked up too, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, you never mute. Was it your little situationship?”
You snorted, shaking your head as you swiped your highlighter across yet another sentence in your textbook. “You know I don’t do all that romance stuff. Situationships, flings, love letters—pass.”
Sunoo hummed, spinning his pen between his fingers before pointing it straight at the camera.
“I really hope you get married someday. Just so you’ll finally stop looking down at love like it’s a bad group project.”
You laughed, the sound soft and unbothered as you leaned back on your pillows. “Give me, what, ten years? Maybe then I’ll find a man who fits into my very selective standards.”
Jungwon snickered. “As if that’ll magically happen. Ten years from now, you’re gonna be rich, successful, and still babysitting other people’s kids for fun.”
“Sounds like a vibe, honestly,” you teased, clicking your pen closed with a little flourish.
But Sunoo wasn’t letting up. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing playfully. “But really. Who was that? You muted us and suddenly went all polite-girl mode. ‘Yes, sir. Good night, sir.’ Suspicious.”
You scrunched your nose, tucking your phone half under a notebook as if that’d hide the glow of the screen.
“Relax. It’s just a new babysitting job.”
Jungwon raised a brow. “What about those two boys you’re always babysitting? Hamin and Hyunmin?”
You set down your highlighter and stretched your arms above your head.
“Well, their uncle said he’s got it covered for now. Long story short? The uncle basically referred me to his friend who needed someone for his daughter.”
Sunoo tilted his head like a curious cat. “So… the one you were chatting with just now was the dad?”
“Yeah.” You nodded, picking up your pen again like you weren’t phased.
“Is he your type?” Sunoo asked bluntly, wiggling his brows.
You barked out a laugh, shaking your head with a grin. “I doubt it. He gives off serious businessman who doesn’t smile often vibes. Probably allergic to pink too.”
Sunoo clasped a hand over his mouth, scandalized. “Not the pink allergy! (Y/N), don’t do him like that.”
Jungwon smirked knowingly, leaning back in his chair. “So you’re saying there’s a chance?”
You groaned dramatically, burying your face into your hands. “Oh my god. You two are exhausting.”
“Not as exhausting as you pretending you’re not curious,” Sunoo singsonged.
You peeked at your phone screen, still faintly glowing with Park Sunghoon’s message.
A small smile tugged at your lips—one you quickly hid behind your highlighter as you said, “Focus on chemistry, you love-struck losers. I’m trying to pass.”
It was just past eleven-thirty when you slid your laptop shut and grabbed your tote, brushing off Jungwon and Sunoo’s twin pouty faces on the call.
“You’re ditching us for lunch?” Sunoo gasped, hand to his chest like you’d betrayed him personally.
“I have a meeting, geez.” You slipped on your shoes with a little huff. “I’ll make it up to you. Pinky swear.”
“Better be with free food,” Jungwon muttered. “And dessert.”
“Noted.” You flashed them a cheeky grin before ending the call.
Now you were tucked in the back of a taxi, your fingers tracing over your phone screen as the driver wove through the upscale neighborhood.
Every house looked like it belonged on a movie set—towering gates, marble fountains, neatly manicured hedges.
Your lips moved as you muttered the house numbers under your breath, watching them blur past the window. “52… 54… 56…”
The taxi slowed, and your eyes caught on a massive black-gated manor. You pointed. “Ah—I think we’re here.”
“Big place,” the driver remarked with a whistle as he pulled up.
You laughed softly, offering a polite smile as you handed over your payment. “Yeah… Thanks for the ride.”
As you stepped out, smoothing down the hem of your white skirt and adjusting the bow on your pink blouse, your eyes immediately landed on a familiar figure.
Heeseung.
Leaning against a sleek black car, sunglasses perched on his head, his posture was as casual as if he owned the place.
You raised a brow, clutching your tote tighter but choosing not to comment right away.
“Why are you here?” you asked as you approached, tilting your head in curiosity.
Heeseung’s lips curved into a grin. “I told Sunghoon I’d be picking you up.”
Your brows furrowed. “Picking me up? I literally took a cab.”
He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Didn’t want you to show up nervous. Thought you’d be more comfortable seeing my pretty face before dealing with my grumpy friend.”
You raised a brow, unimpressed, “Very funny, Mr. Lee.”
“Also,” Heeseung added, tapping his finger against his chin like he was pondering something, “figured you wouldn’t want to be stuck in a car alone with a total stranger. So… congratulations. You get a less intimidating escort.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t,” you said, tugging gently at the ribbon tied neatly in your hair.
He laughed at your bluntness. “Fair enough. You look cute, by the way. Very…” His eyes flicked over your outfit—soft pink silk blouse, delicate lace-trim skirt, and a little pearl bow clip in your hair. “…non-threatening.”
You let out a little laugh, shaking your head as you adjusted the strap of your tote. “I’m not here to impress, Mr. Lee. I’m here for the job.”
“Sure, sure,” Heeseung teased, his lips quirking into a knowing grin as he nodded toward the towering gates.
“Come on. Let’s not keep him waiting.”
You took a deep breath, clutching your bag a little tighter as you followed him.
The imposing black gates loomed taller with every step, the quiet hum of the fingerprint scanner filling the silence as Heeseung pressed his thumb to it.
With a sharp beep, the gates swung open.
The air seemed cooler here. You weren’t sure if it was the sheer size of the estate or the eerie calm that hung over it like a fog.
“Relax,” Heeseung said casually, glancing at you over his shoulder as you trailed behind him.
You let out another slow breath, nodding silently as you adjusted your skirt nervously.
The front door opened into a sleek, glassy expanse of a home—white marble floors, minimalist décor, sunlight spilling in from ceiling-high windows.
The faint smell of cologne and something sweeter—vanilla, maybe?—lingered in the air.
Heeseung led you past a spiraling staircase and into an open-plan kitchen-living room where someone was already sitting at the island counter, sipping from a mug.
“Hey, Sunghoon,” Heeseung called, clearing his throat lightly. “We’re here.”
The man turned.
You nearly froze.
He was tall—maybe just a shade shorter than Heeseung—but somehow his presence filled the room. Broad shoulders, perfectly tailored black dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms.
His dark hair fell slightly over his eyes, framing a face so sharp it could’ve been carved out of stone. His expression was unreadable, except for the slight furrow of his brows as his gaze flicked to you.
You swallowed hard, instinctively stepping a little closer behind Heeseung like his broad frame could shield you from the weight of Sunghoon’s stare.
Sunghoon stood and walked over, his strides purposeful and smooth.
“Did you seriously force her to get in your car?” he asked, voice calm but edged with faint disapproval, one brow arching.
Heeseung only shrugged, utterly unfazed. “Relax. (Y/N) came here by herself. I just happened to be by the gate.”
Sunghoon’s eyes lingered on you for a beat longer—like he was sizing you up, calculating something.
Heeseung chuckled, giving your arm a playful nudge. “Relax. He won’t bite. Yet.”
You let out a nervous laugh, clutching your tote a little tighter as Heeseung stepped aside, leaving you standing there fully visible for the first time.
And Sunghoon—oh, Sunghoon—his sharp gaze faltered just slightly.
He’d expected someone more serious. The kind of college student who wore a pressed blouse and stiff slacks to interviews.
But you—standing there in your soft pink silk blouse, lace-trim skirt, and delicate bows—were not at all what he imagined.
You looked so bright. So warm. So young.
‘This is who Heeseung vouched for?’ he thought, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing his features before his usual stoicism slipped back into place.
“Mr. Park,” you said softly, offering a polite little nod, your voice sweet but steady despite the nerves fluttering in your chest.
Heeseung cleared his throat loudly, a grin playing on his lips. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. I’ve got a board meeting at twelve.”
“Of course you do,” Sunghoon said dryly without breaking his gaze from you.
Heeseung patted your shoulder gently. “You’ll do fine. He’s not as scary as he looks.”
You gave him a small, appreciative smile, even as your fingers curled tighter around the handle of your tote.
“See you around, (Y/N),” Heeseung teased, giving a little wave as he strode out, leaving you alone in the vast, quiet space with the man you were supposed to work for.
The silence that followed felt heavier.
You squirmed slightly, clutching your tote in front of you like a shield as Park Sunghoon’s gaze settled on you—slowly, almost painfully, dragging from the top of your pearl hair clip to the tips of your white Mary Jane heels. His expression gave nothing away.
He cleared his throat, his voice smooth but cool. “Let’s take this to the living room.”
You nodded quickly, trailing just a step behind as he walked toward the sunken living space.
His tall frame moved with precision, like everything about him had been rehearsed a thousand times over—posture perfect, steps silent even against the marble floors.
He gestured wordlessly to one of the black leather couches. “Please. Sit.”
You obeyed instantly, perching on the edge of the couch with your knees together and hands resting carefully on your skirt.
Sunghoon’s brow lifted ever so slightly at how quick you were to follow, but he said nothing as he settled across from you, one arm draping loosely over the back of his seat.
The silence stretched.
The faint ticking of a modern clock filled the room as your eyes flickered nervously around—the towering bookshelves, the marble coffee table, the floor-to-ceiling windows that let sunlight spill across the pristine floors.
Everything felt expensive. Too expensive for you to even breathe on.
“(Y/N), right?” Sunghoon’s deep voice broke the quiet.
You nodded. “Yes, Mr. Park.”
A deep, rich laugh rumbled from his chest. It was warm and low, catching you off guard as your fingers curled in your lap.
“Just Sunghoon,” he corrected, his lips tugging faintly at the corners.
You hesitated, testing it softly on your lips. “Okay… Sunghoon.”
Something flickered in his dark eyes—amusement, maybe—but it was gone just as fast.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one,” you answered quickly, your voice even but soft.
He nodded once. “College student?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your major?”
“Psychology.”
“Psychology,” he repeated, his tone unreadable as his eyes locked onto yours. “Interesting choice. Why?”
You fiddled with the hem of your skirt, then glanced back up at him with a small smile. “I like understanding people. And I guess I’ve always been the type to listen to others… it felt like the right path.”
He hummed, leaning back slightly. “Why do you babysit?”
You blinked at the abruptness of the question but answered honestly. “I love kids. There’s… something innocent about them. They’re so easy to make happy. You just have to listen, really listen.”
You smiled faintly at the thought. “I want some of my own someday.”
Sunghoon’s gaze softened for just a fraction of a second before his usual stoic expression returned. He nodded slowly. “I see.”
You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore how the weight of his stare made your heart thump harder in your chest.
“Do you have much experience?” he asked.
“Yes. I babysit my neighbor’s kids regularly. And Mr. Lee’s nephews sometimes. They’re…” You let out a small laugh. “A handful. But fun.”
“Mm.” Sunghoon’s fingers drummed lightly against his knee, his gaze still fixed on you. “And you’re sure you can handle Sooyun?”
You met his gaze for the first time, your voice steady despite your nerves. “I can. I don’t scare easy, Mr—Sunghoon.”
That faint smirk tugged at his lips again, and for a fleeting second, he looked almost impressed.
You didn’t drop your gaze—not yet. But he could see it. The slight quiver in your fingers where they rested atop your tote. The tiny shift of your knees like you were resisting the urge to fidget.
“(Y/N),” Sunghoon said suddenly, his deep voice cutting through the quiet.
You blinked. “Yes?”
“You’re hired.”
You froze. “…Just like that?”
A laugh escaped him—low, rich, and warm enough to catch you completely off guard. “You seem like a nice girl,” he said easily, one corner of his mouth curling upward.
“Smart. Calm. Polite. And…” his eyes flicked over your delicate blouse and tidy posture, “…you don’t look like the type to break things.”
Your lips parted slightly as your cheeks warmed under his stare. “O-oh. Thank you?”
He leaned back against the leather couch, his long fingers drumming idly on the armrest as his dark eyes stayed fixed on you. “Are you available every day?”
“Yes,” you replied, finding your voice again. “Most of my classes are online. I barely have to go back to campus except for the occasional exam or meeting.”
He nodded at this, satisfied. “Good. I’m always needed back at Park Ice & Co., my rink, and…” He trailed off slightly, his jaw tightening for a moment. “…as much as I want to spend more time with Sooyun—”
“You’re busy,” you finished gently, a small, understanding smile tugging at your lips. “Right?”
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for the first time since you stepped foot in the house, his expression softened—not much, but enough to make your heart stutter.
“…Right,” he echoed, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
You didn’t think someone like Park Sunghoon—stoic, intimidating, poised—was even capable of that kind of smile. But there it was, fleeting and quiet, and it made your chest warm.
Just as you were about to ask another question, the soft sound of small footsteps echoed from the spiral staircase.
Sunghoon’s head turned instantly.
Peeking out from behind one of the carved pillars was a little girl—wide-eyed and hesitant, clutching a stuffed bunny almost as big as her head. Her pink pajamas were slightly wrinkled, and her short black hair was tousled like she’d just woken up from a nap.
“Sooyun,” Sunghoon called softly, his tone warmer than you’d heard all morning. “Come here. Don’t be shy.”
The little girl hesitated for a moment, then padded carefully across the marble floor.
She stopped just short of the couch before instinctively curling into Sunghoon’s chest, her tiny fingers fisting in his shirt as she buried her face against him.
Your heart melted at the sight.
For someone so sharp and poised, Park Sunghoon held her with a gentleness that didn’t seem possible.
One large hand cradled her head protectively, and his voice dropped to a low murmur as he brushed her hair back. “Hey, baby. Did you just wake up?”
She nodded shyly against him, peeking one wide brown eye up at you.
“This is (Y/N),” Sunghoon said, glancing down at her with a small smile that somehow made him look ten years younger. “She’s going to be spending time with you when Daddy’s working.”
You gave a soft smile, crouching slightly so you were eye level with her. “Hi, Sooyun. It’s nice to meet you.”
She blinked at you, then tucked her face back into Sunghoon’s shirt.
“Sorry,” he said with a quiet laugh. “She’s not usually this shy. She’ll warm up to you.”
You tilted your head, still smiling as you straightened up. “That’s okay. I’ll give her time.”
Sooyun peeked at you again from the safety of her father’s arms, her big brown eyes curious but cautious.
You met her gaze with a soft smile, your voice gentle. “Hi, baby.”
She blinked, her tiny fingers still clutching Sunghoon’s shirt. But then—hesitantly—her lips curved into a shy little smile.
“There she is,” you whispered like it was a secret, smiling even brighter.
Sooyun slowly uncurls herself from Sunghoon’s lap, her small hands gripping the edge of the leather couch for balance as she leaned forward slightly. “Do you… like pink?”
Your eyes lit up, and you nodded eagerly. “Mhm! It’s my favorite color.”
Her little face brightened. “Mine too!”
“Really?” you said, your grin widening. “It’s the best color, isn’t it? So cute and soft.”
She nodded enthusiastically, head bobbing.
But then she glanced up at her father like she was silently asking for permission. Sunghoon, still sitting back with an arm draped lazily over the couch’s armrest, gave her a single nod.
That seemed to be enough.
Sooyun carefully slid off the couch, clutching her stuffed bunny to her chest as she padded over to where you sat. She stopped just in front of you, tilting her head like she was examining you.
“You’re really pretty,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet but sincere.
Your heart melted instantly. You beamed at her, resting a hand over your chest. “You too, baby. You’re so, so pretty.”
That got her to smile—finally a genuine, little-kid grin that made her cheeks puff up adorably.
You patted the empty spot beside you on the couch as she made a small attempt to climb up, her tiny arms trying to pull herself up but failing with a soft huff.
“Do you need help, Sooyun?” you asked, giggling softly at her effort.
“Yes, please,” she mumbled.
“Okay, up you go.” You carefully slipped an arm around her small frame and helped her onto the couch. She settled beside you shyly, clutching her bunny tightly.
“What’s your name?” she asked after a pause, her big eyes curious.
“(Y/N),” you replied with a warm smile.
Sooyun turned to her father then, her little voice full of excitement. “Daddy… can I call her Aunt (Y/N)?”
You froze slightly, eyes darting toward Sunghoon in surprise. He raised a brow at you but didn’t seem as shocked as you. Instead, his lips twitched faintly like he was holding back a laugh.
“Only if she’s okay with it,” Sunghoon said, his voice low and smooth.
Sooyun immediately looked up at you expectantly, her small hands clutching her bunny tighter. “Can I?” she whispered.
You let out a soft laugh at her earnestness, reaching out to gently boop her nose. “Of course, darling. I’d love that.”
Sooyun beamed so brightly it nearly blinded you, her little legs swinging where they didn’t quite reach the floor. “Yay! Aunt (Y/N)!”
Sunghoon watched the interaction quietly, his dark eyes thoughtful. He wasn’t used to this—not to Sooyun smiling so fast, or to a stranger matching her energy so naturally.
Sooyun kicked her little legs slightly and tilted her head at you, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “Who’s your favorite Disney princess?”
You gasped softly, placing a finger on your chin in mock thought. “Hmm… probably Belle. Because she loves books, and she’s really kind. What about you?”
Sooyun’s eyes widened. She gasped so dramatically it made you giggle. “Mine too! I love Belle!”
“Really?” you smiled, eyes softening as you reached to fix the little flyaways of her ponytail. “Do you love books too, Sooyun?”
She nodded eagerly, hugging her stuffed bunny tighter. “I love picture books. We read lots of them at school.”
“That’s wonderful!” you said brightly. “If you don’t mind me asking… how old are you, sweetheart?”
Sooyun puffed out her cheeks proudly and raised six tiny fingers. “Six!”
“Six?!” you gasped playfully, clapping your hands together. “No way! You’re such a big girl already. Good job, baby.”
Sooyun beamed, leaning closer into your side.
Meanwhile, Sunghoon was still standing there silently, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the easy warmth between you and his daughter.
Finally, he cleared his throat.
“Well… I guess there’s no need for introductions,” he said smoothly. His deep voice startled you slightly, and you immediately straightened your posture, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear as your cheeks warmed.
“Oh—right. Sorry,” you murmured softly.
“Don’t be,” he replied, his tone softer this time. “Let’s go over a few things.”
You nodded quickly, and he gestured toward the kitchen. “Shall we?”
You stood, but not before Sooyun tugged gently at your sleeve, her big eyes staring up at you. “Can you carry me?” she whispered softly.
You melted on the spot, smiling as you scooped her up into your arms with ease. “Of course, baby. Come here.”
That earned you another shy grin as she tucked her little face against your shoulder, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck.
Sunghoon glanced at the scene, his brow raised slightly—not a word leaving his lips as his gaze lingered on the way Sooyun clung to you so effortlessly.
He said nothing as you followed him to the sleek, modern kitchen, Sooyun nestled comfortably in your arms. The space smelled faintly of coffee and citrus cleaner, the marble counters spotless.
He opened the massive stainless steel fridge with a quiet hum. “It’s usually stocked full like this since I don’t really cook… but I assume you do?”
“I do,” you said with a small smile, scanning the fridge briefly. It was neatly organized, full of fresh produce, bottled water, and neatly labeled containers. “It’s no problem at all.”
“Good,” he replied. “As for her routine—Sooyun eats almost everything except broccoli. She hates it, so don’t even try.”
You laughed lightly. “Noted. No broccoli. Anything else?”
“School ends at 12:00 PM. Her driver will bring her home unless I say otherwise. Bath time’s usually around 7:00 PM, bedtime at 8:00. She likes a story before bed.”
You nodded attentively, trying to commit each detail to memory.
“Good. That’s pretty much everything,” Sunghoon said, closing the fridge and leading you back to the living room.
He stopped near the couch, his dark eyes settling on you again. “I was going to ask if you preferred starting next week… but it looks like she already likes you.”
Sooyun, now leaning against your chest with her small hands clutching your sleeve, nodded eagerly. “I do!”
You laughed, smoothing her bangs with a fond look. “I wouldn’t mind starting early for this cutie.”
Sunghoon’s lips twitched—just barely—but it looked like the beginnings of a smile.
He stepped closer, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of Sooyun’s head. “Be good for (Y/N), baby.”
“I will!” she chirped. “We’re gonna have a blast, Daddy!”
Sunghoon straightened, meeting your eyes one last time. “Thank you.”
You nodded with a polite smile. “It’s no problem.”
He grabbed his coat from the armrest. “I won’t be too late. Call if anything comes up.”
“Of course,” you said softly.
“Good.” With that, Sunghoon strode toward the door, his presence somehow leaving the room a little colder once he stepped out.
It was already dark when the sound of laughter reached Sunghoon the moment he stepped into the manor. His brow furrowed slightly, a hand loosening his tie as he set his keys down by the door.
He followed the cheerful noise to the kitchen, and there you were—perched comfortably by the marble island, Sooyun sitting cross-legged on the counter in her little pink pajamas.
She giggled as you held up a tiny fork with roasted broccoli, your expression exaggeratedly sweet.
“Here comes the broccoli train—choo choo!” you teased.
Sooyun squealed before taking the bite with a grin. “Mmm! Cheesy broccoli is my favorite now!”
Sunghoon cleared his throat lightly from the doorway. “I’m here.”
You nearly jumped out of your skin, spinning slightly to face him. “O-Oh! Good evening, Mr. Park—”
“Sunghoon,” he corrected smoothly as he strode closer, his voice warm but lined with exhaustion.
“Right… Sunghoon.” You gave him a sheepish smile.
“Hi, Daddy!” Sooyun beamed, kicking her little feet happily as she waved at him.
His gaze softened immediately as he stepped forward, loosening his jacket and leaning over to press a kiss to her temple. “Hi, princess. What’s all this?”
“Broccoli!” Sooyun declared proudly, lifting another piece from the plate.
“Broccoli?” Sunghoon blinked, his surprise clear. “You hate broccoli.”
“She likes them roasted with cheese,” you admitted with a small laugh, holding up the pan on the counter. “We did a little experiment. Turns out it’s all about the presentation.”
His eyes flicked to the pan, then back to you, something unreadable flashing in his gaze. “Huh. Impressive.”
You flushed faintly under his lingering stare, busying yourself with wiping your hands on a dish towel. “We also watched Disney movies and had spaghetti for lunch. There’s still some in the fridge if you’re hungry, Sunghoon.”
He raised a brow at the way you caught yourself but said nothing, only nodding faintly. “I’ll grab some later.”
“Daddy! Aunt (Y/N) makes the best spaghetti ever!” Sooyun chirped, her words making your heart skip.
Sunghoon’s brow quirked again. His lips curved—just barely. “I see.”
“Anyway, she’s already had her bath,” you added, eager to shift the focus. “Isn’t that right, missy?”
Sooyun lifted her little palm, and you leaned in to meet it with a high five. “All clean and ready for bed.”
“Good job.” Sunghoon’s voice was quiet as he watched the exchange, his dark eyes unreadable as they lingered on you holding his daughter like you’d been doing it for years.
You gave him a small, polite smile as you gently set Sooyun down on the counter. “Thank you. Um… it’s getting late. I think I should get going now.”
Sunghoon, still leaning against the counter, straightened slightly. “Do you have someone picking you up?”
You shook your head, trying not to sound sheepish. “No, but it’s okay. I’ll just call a cab or book a ride—”
“No.” His interruption was firm, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll drive you home.”
You blinked at him, wide-eyed. “Oh, no, really. I wouldn’t want to bother you—”
“It’s no bother,” he said simply, already moving to scoop up Sooyun who was rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Stay here. I’ll tuck her in first.”
Before you could protest again, he was already heading for the stairs, his tall figure disappearing up the hallway.
You stood there frozen for a moment, clutching your bag to your chest as the faint sound of his footsteps upstairs mixed with Sooyun’s sleepy murmurs.
He was back almost as quickly as he left, his sleeves now rolled up slightly and his hair a little tousled from leaning over his daughter’s bed. His dark eyes flicked to you. “Ready?”
You nodded slowly, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “Uh… yeah.”
“Good.” His voice was unreadable as he strode past you, motioning toward the front door.
You followed him out to the driveway where his sleek black sports car gleamed under the soft glow of the porch lights. He walked ahead, reaching the passenger side first, and without hesitation, pulled open the door for you.
“Oh—” you stammered, startled by the gesture. “Thank you, Sunghoon.”
He didn’t say anything, only gave a faint nod, waiting patiently until you slipped into the seat. The leather smelled faintly of cedar and something else distinctly him—cool and clean.
By the time he rounded to the driver’s side and slid into his seat, you were nervously fiddling with the hem of your skirt.
He buckled his seatbelt with a smooth click and glanced at you briefly.
“Seatbelt,” he reminded gently, his tone softer now.
“R-Right.” You scrambled to pull it across your chest, cheeks warming as his eyes lingered for just a second longer than necessary before turning back to the road.
The car purred to life, the faint hum of the engine filling the comfortable silence.
“Is your address saved on your phone?” Sunghoon asked as he shifted gears, his hand resting casually on the wheel.
“Oh—yes! I’ll send it to you.” You quickly fumbled with your phone, trying not to let your fingers shake as you sent him your location.
“Got it.” He said, his eyes fixed ahead as he eased the car smoothly out of the driveway.
The car fell into a comfortable silence. The soft hum of the engine filled the space as you leaned your cheek on your propped-up hand, watching the world blur past through the window.
The streetlights painted fleeting golden streaks across your reflection in the glass.
The quiet didn’t last long.
“Thank you.”
You blinked, turning your head slightly to look at him. His face was calm, but his hands tightened around the steering wheel as he pulled to a stop at a red light.
“For what?” you asked softly.
“For taking the job.”
A small smile tugged at your lips as you shook your head. “Sooyun’s a really sweet girl. You did a good job raising her, Mr. Park.”
He huffed out a laugh, low and dry. “If you mean my friends, then yeah.”
Your brows furrowed as you tilted your head. “What do you mean?”
He sighed, his eyes still fixed on the traffic lights as they shifted to yellow, then green. “Look—I’m not the sentimental type. So don’t expect me to burst into tears in gratitude.”
You chuckled lightly, your fingers tracing idle patterns on your skirt. “I’m not going to force anything out of you, Mr. Park.”
His jaw ticked as he clicked his tongue. “Sunghoon. Drop the ‘Mister.’ Makes me feel old.”
“Okay… Sunghoon.” You tested the name again carefully on your tongue, earning the faintest upward curve of his lips.
For a moment, you thought that was it. But then he spoke again, voice quieter now—almost like he wasn’t used to saying the words out loud.
“I’m… not the best father to my own daughter,” he admitted, his knuckles going a shade lighter as his grip on the wheel tightened.
“I’m always gone. Meetings, the rink, work—it feels endless sometimes. Without Heeseung and some of my other friends stepping in when I can’t, I’m pretty sure Sooyun would’ve started resenting me by now.”
You watched him carefully, your chest tightening at the rare vulnerability slipping through his normally calm exterior.
“She doesn’t resent you,” you said softly. “She adores you. Anyone can see it.”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Sooyun’s mom was never there either. Not even for the first year of her life.”
Your breath caught, but you stayed quiet, letting him speak at his own pace.
“We weren’t even together. It was… a one-night stand. She wanted nothing to do with Sooyun. And suddenly, there I was—with a week-old baby on my doorstep and no idea what the hell to do.”
His voice dipped lower, and you swore there was the faintest crack in it. “I didn’t think I’d ever figure it out.”
You fiddled with your fingers in your lap, then said gently, “But you did. She’s happy, she’s healthy, and she’s kind. That didn’t happen by accident, Sunghoon.”
He didn’t reply immediately. His eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, streetlights flashing across his sharp profile. After a moment, he let out a small hum—low and unreadable.
“I guess,” he murmured finally, his voice quieter than before.
You only smiled faintly, choosing not to press further as the car turned down another familiar street.
The silence settled again—not uncomfortable, but heavy, like there were still words lingering in the air that neither of you was ready to say.
The sleek black car slowed to a stop in front of your apartment building, the dim glow of the porch light casting a soft haze over the steps leading up.
“Oh—we’re here,” you said softly, unbuckling your seatbelt.
As you reached for the door handle, you hesitated, turning back to him with a polite smile. “Thank you for the ride, Sunghoon.”
His eyes met yours briefly in the darkness of the car, and for a moment it almost felt like time stretched. Then he gave a small nod, his expression unreadable.
“Get inside safe,” he said simply, his tone calm but firm.
You blinked at the unexpected softness before nodding. “I will. Good night.”
“Night.”
You stepped out into the cool night air, the faint sound of your shoes against the pavement filling the quiet. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you climbed the small set of stairs to your apartment door.
Sunghoon stayed parked, headlights dimmed, one hand on the wheel as he watched in his peripheral vision.
Only when he saw the door click shut behind you and the faint glow of your apartment lights flicker on did he finally let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Hmph…” he muttered to himself as he shifted the car into gear. The engine purred as he eased back into the road, fingers drumming once against the steering wheel.
“(Y/N), huh…” His voice was low, almost like he was testing the sound of your name on his tongue.
His lips twitched—maybe a smirk, maybe just a flicker of amusement—as he shook his head faintly to himself.
Sunghoon was used to the quiet. He liked it, even. It was the kind of silence that came from living in a house too big for just two people, where the only sounds were Sooyun’s occasional giggles or the faint hum of the fridge at night.
But these past three weeks? The quiet was gone.
And the strangest part? He didn’t mind.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he padded barefoot down the stairs, still in his plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. He hadn’t even bothered to fix his bedhead—messy strands of soft black hair falling over his forehead—but he didn’t care.
The smell of pancakes hit him first. Sweet and warm, like brown sugar and childhood mornings. Then came the sound of soft laughter—your laugh.
His brow furrowed slightly, but there was no real annoyance in it as he stepped closer to the kitchen. He stopped at the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, and let himself watch for just a second.
You were standing at the counter, a pastel pink apron tied around your waist, sleeves rolled up as you held out a plate. Sooyun was carefully passing you strawberries from a little bowl, her tiny fingers sticky with juice.
“Thank you, baby,” you said with a bright smile, taking them and placing them neatly on a stack of golden pancakes.
Sooyun grinned, grabbing the next bowl—blueberries this time—and held them up to you like it was the most important job in the world.
“You’re such a good helper,” you cooed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
Sunghoon’s lips twitched—fighting off the smile threatening to tug at his mouth.
“Isn’t it a little early for you two to be this happy?”
Your head whipped around at his voice, eyes widening slightly before softening into a sheepish smile. There he was, leaning against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket, his dark eyes slightly lidded with sleep.
“Sorry,” you said with a small laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
He tilted his head faintly, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Sooyun,” he drawled, his voice low and rough from sleep, “what time does your school start again?”
The little girl froze for half a second before glancing up at you like she was waiting for you to answer for her.
You crouched slightly to her level, smiling reassuringly. “It starts at seven, right, baby?”
Sooyun nodded quickly.
You straightened, giving Sunghoon a calm, practiced smile. “It’s only six twenty. We’ve got plenty of time, don’t we?”
Sooyun nodded again, her twin pigtails bouncing. “Plenty of time, Daddy.”
He let out a small huff of air—something between amusement and resignation—as he pushed off the doorframe and strode toward his daughter.
“Come here, princess.”
Sooyun’s face lit up as she waddled over to him, and he scooped her up effortlessly, settling her on his lap as he took a seat at the dining table. Her little arms curled instinctively around his neck.
“You’ve been busy this morning,” he said to her, brushing a crumb off her cheek.
“We made pancakes!” she declared proudly. “With strawberries and blueberries. Aunt (Y/N) said they’re healthy.”
Your cheeks warmed, but you managed a smile. “Hope that’s okay… she insisted.”
Sunghoon shook his head faintly, his lips pressing together—not in disapproval, but something unreadable. “I don’t,” he said simply.
You blinked, unsure how to take that, but before you could respond, Sooyun spoke up.
“Daddy, can you try the one with blueberries? Aunt (Y/N) made it so pretty!”
You used her distraction as a chance to lower your gaze, placing her plate gently in front of her before sliding Sunghoon’s across the table.
He murmured a quiet thank you, but you didn’t dare meet his eyes, retreating slightly as you settled into the chair opposite him.
The three of you ate in near silence, the only sounds being Sooyun’s happy humming between bites and the faint clink of cutlery against plates.
Sunghoon sipped his coffee slowly, his dark eyes occasionally flicking toward you.
There was something different about you this morning, he noted. Something he couldn’t name.
You hadn’t been like this in the first week. Back then, you’d been polite but warm, exchanging small smiles and laughing with Sooyun easily. But over the past few days, there was a change.
You avoided his gaze now. You stepped away—barely noticeable, but enough for him to catch—whenever he got too close while reaching for Sooyun’s juice cup or helping her off the chair.
He wasn’t the type to care what people thought of him. Not with colleagues. Not with strangers.
So why did it irritate him now?
Why did it feel like you saw something in him—something dangerous or unworthy—and decided to keep your distance?
Was it the late-night confession in the car? The slip about Sooyun’s mother? He had let himself say too much, maybe.
He ran a thumb absentmindedly along the rim of his coffee cup, his jaw tightening as you rose from your seat to help Sooyun, who was now waddling toward the living room holding her little backpack.
“Aunt (Y/N),” Sooyun called sweetly.
You smiled and excused yourself softly, your chair scraping gently against the floor as you followed her out.
Sunghoon was left staring at the empty plates and the faint pink stain of strawberry syrup on his daughter’s now-vacant seat.
His fingers drummed against the table as he stared at nothing, mind racing.
Was he imagining it? Or had you already decided what kind of man he was and placed him in some unspoken box labeled keep distance?
He was still scowling at his coffee when Sooyun’s tiny voice floated back in.
“Bye, Daddy!”
He stood automatically, stepping out toward the foyer just as you were helping Sooyun into her little shoes by the door. The driver stood waiting patiently outside.
Sunghoon crouched slightly and pressed a kiss to Sooyun’s forehead, his voice softening in a way that still caught you off guard. “Be good, princess.”
She nodded eagerly. “I will! Bye, Daddy!”
“Bye, Aunt (Y/N)!” she added, beaming up at you.
You smiled, gently fixing the loose ends of her pigtails. “Bye, baby. Have fun at school.”
Together, the two of you watched as the car pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the road. Silence settled like a heavy blanket in the grand entryway.
You cleared your throat softly and glanced at him. “Don’t you have work today?”
His eyes didn’t leave the window. “It’s my day off.”
“Oh.” You nodded slowly, unsure what else to say. “That’s… nice.”
You hesitated for a moment before turning toward the kitchen. “I’ll just… clean up breakfast.”
Sunghoon didn’t reply. He only watched your retreating figure as you disappeared back into the kitchen, the faint sound of running water and clinking dishes soon filling the quiet house.
He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’
It had been another week.
Another week of you driving him absolutely insane.
At first, Sunghoon thought he could handle it—your soft laugh echoing through the house, your sweet scent lingering in every room you passed, your habit of brushing past him with a polite “excuse me” and never meeting his eyes for longer than two seconds.
But now? He was convinced you were doing it on purpose.
You avoided him like it was a sport—disappearing into Sooyun’s room, using her bath time or snack time as an excuse to flee any space where he happened to exist
And whenever you weren’t tending to his daughter, you were cleaning, reorganizing cabinets, folding laundry that didn’t even need folding.
It was late in the afternoon when he finally snapped out of yet another endless meeting, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes and sighing.
His glasses slid back on lazily as he stood, his shirt wrinkled slightly from hours of sitting. He pushed the sleeves of his black button-up to his forearms, exposing lean, veined arms as he rolled his shoulders.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
His bare feet made almost no sound against the polished stairs as he descended. He didn’t know why he went looking for you—not really. Maybe to scold you for avoiding him.
Maybe to—God help him—beg for a single conversation that didn’t involve Sooyun. Or maybe because he was weak, and he missed seeing you.
He didn’t expect the sight that greeted him in the kitchen.
You stood at the counter, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing across from you. Steam curled lazily from the kettle as you poured hot water into your mug, a little sigh leaving your lips as you stirred in honey.
The short silk skirt you wore rode high up your thighs, brushing dangerously against the tops of your socks—white knee-highs that looked so soft his fingers ached to tug them down slowly.
The oversized white sweater hung delicately off one shoulder, baring the smooth curve of your neck and collarbone to his hungry eyes.
Your hair was out of its usual bow, falling down your back in loose waves that made his hand twitch at his side. He wanted to thread his fingers through it, to pull it gently and watch your head tilt back—
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.
You jumped slightly at the sound of a deep voice cutting through your little bubble. When you turned, your eyes went wide.
“Mr. Park,” you said softly, the mug clinking against the counter as you set it down too fast. “I—sorry, I didn’t hear you come down.”
Sunghoon said nothing at first, just dragged the fridge door open and grabbed a bottle of water like he hadn’t just caught you wearing something straight out of his fantasies.
“Rough day?” he asked casually, his voice husky from hours of talking in meetings. He twisted the cap off and tilted his head back, gulping down a long sip.
His Adam’s apple bobbed with every swallow, and for some reason, you couldn’t look away.
You shifted your weight nervously. “You could… say that.”
He let the fridge door swing shut and leaned a hip against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. The way his muscles flexed under the rolled sleeves of his shirt made your breath hitch.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Your head snapped up. “I—I haven’t.”
“You have.” His dark eyes didn’t waver. “Every time I come into a room, you find a reason to leave. Is it something I did?”
You swallowed thickly. “No. It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?” His voice was quiet but dangerously low, the kind of tone that made heat bloom in your chest and rush down your spine.
You gripped your mug a little tighter, knuckles turning white. “I—”
“Do I make you uncomfortable, (Y/N)?” Sunghoon’s gaze sharpened, studying every twitch of your expression like he was dissecting you piece by piece.
You shook your head quickly. “N-No. Of course not. You don’t—”
You were already trying to excuse yourself, your voice tight, “I—I should check on Sooyun, I think she—”
He clicked his tongue, low and sharp, cutting you off mid-sentence. “She’s still at school.”
You froze.
“B-but—”
He stepped closer. Another step and the air felt heavier, thick with something you couldn’t name.
“You’ve been cleaning her stuff since morning,” he said, voice dropping lower, smooth as velvet but laced with something far more dangerous. “Folding, dusting, scrubbing… avoiding me.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Another step.
Your back bumped into the counter, his shadow falling over you as his hands braced the countertop on either side of your hips, effectively caging you in.
You refused to meet his eyes, staring down at the mug like it might save you. But your breath came quicker, chest rising and falling beneath the loose sweater you wore.
“What’s your excuse this time, sweetheart?” His words came out like a low growl, soft but suffocating.
Your throat worked as you swallowed hard. “I… I don’t want to overstep.”
That made him laugh—a short, breathy sound that was more incredulous than amused.
“Overstep?” He tilted his head, his lips curling into something wicked. “I think we’re already past that, don’t you?”
You couldn’t answer. Your pulse was hammering in your ears, drowning out rational thought.
His long fingers reached for your chin, tipping it up gently but firmly until your eyes finally met his. The sharpness in his gaze nearly made your knees buckle—dark, hungry, and unbearably intense.
“Tell me, (Y/N)… are you here to be Sooyun’s babysitter…” he leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek as his lips ghosted near your ear, “…or are you here to seduce me?”
Your eyes went wide. “I’m not—”
“Are you sure about that?” His voice was pure sin now, low and teasing as one of his hands dropped.
Fingers traced lightly along your thigh, stopping just where the hem of your skirt met your knee socks. He outlined the edge with the pad of his thumb, the touch feather-light but enough to make your stomach flip violently.
“You go outside looking like this every day?” His words were laced with mock reproach, his dark eyes sweeping over you again. “That little skirt, those socks…”
You nodded mutely, unable to find your voice.
“Do you know,” he murmured, his thumb brushing up slightly over your thigh now, “the amount of boys you’ve probably got hooked on you without even realizing?”
You shook your head, lips parting slightly as you struggled to catch a steady breath.
“Such a naive little girl.” The words dripped from his tongue, almost like a scolding. His fingers pressed just a little firmer at the top of your thigh, enough to send your head spinning.
“Mr. Park…” you whispered, voice trembling, unsure if it was a plea for him to stop or a warning that you couldn’t handle what he was doing to you.
His smirk deepened as his other hand cupped your jaw fully, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.
“What am I going to do with you, huh?” he murmured, his voice dropping lower—silky, lethal, and so intimate it made your knees threaten to give out.
You met his eyes finally, heart pounding so hard it hurt. “Mr. Park… I’m not sure if this is a good idea…”
He clicked his tongue, the sound sharp and condescending as he leaned in closer, lips ghosting the shell of your ear.
“Tell me, (Y/N)… have you ever had a boy treat you right before?” His breath was hot against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.
You hesitated, your hands tightening on the counter’s edge as you shook your head. “I-I’ve never… I’ve never had the time to.”
He chuckled darkly at that, a sound so low it vibrated in your chest. “Good.”
Before you could even process his answer, he surged forward. One strong arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you flush against his chest, while his other hand slid up to cradle your cheek.
You gasped at the sudden closeness, your mug nearly tipping over behind you. His scent—clean soap, faint cologne, and something distinctly male—flooded your senses.
“Mr. Park—”
Your words were swallowed whole as his lips crashed into yours.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant.
It was hungry.
His lips moved over yours with a bruising intensity, demanding and firm, like he’d been holding back for far too long.
Your gasp slipped between the kiss, and he groaned deep in his throat, the sound vibrating against your mouth as his teeth nipped your lower lip, pulling just enough to make you whimper.
“Mr. Park—” you tried to say again, but it came out broken, caught between a gasp and his relentless mouth.
He pulled back just barely, his nose brushing yours as his eyes—dark and blown wide—held you captive.
“I told you to stop calling me that, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire.
His hand left your cheek for only a second. You barely caught the flash of movement before his glasses clattered carelessly onto the counter beside you.
“Say my name.”
“Sunghoon—”
That was all he needed. His lips crashed into yours again, harder this time, his thumb tilting your chin just right so he could deepen the kiss. His other arm kept you caged against him, his hand splayed wide across your lower back like he was staking a claim.
You let out a small whimper as his tongue teased at your lower lip before slipping past, coaxing you to respond.
And when you finally did—tentatively at first, then with growing desperation—he groaned, low and sinful, like you’d just undone him completely.
“You have no idea,” he murmured hotly between kisses, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
Your head tilted back instinctively, a soft gasp escaping as his teeth grazed your skin.
Then, his voice—lower, rougher than you’d ever heard—broke through your daze.
“Jump.”
You blinked. “W-what?”
His hands gripped your thighs firmly, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. “I said jump.”
This time you didn’t think—you just obeyed, a startled sound leaving your lips as your legs wrapped around his waist.
“Good girl,” he muttered against your neck, his voice vibrating against your skin as he effortlessly hoisted you higher, your skirt riding up dangerously.
You could feel his strength in the way he carried you like you weighed nothing, his arms flexing beneath your thighs as his mouth never left you—kissing, nipping, leaving trails of heat down your throat.
“Sunghoon—” you gasped, hands clutching at his shoulders.
He didn’t answer. His only response was a low growl, his lips capturing yours in another searing kiss that stole every ounce of air from your lungs.
Somehow, he navigated through the hall with you clinging to him, barely breaking stride as he reached his bedroom.
The door swung open with a sharp shove, and before you could even glance around, it slammed shut behind him with a loud thud—his foot kicking it closed as he strode in.
You barely had time to catch your breath before you were laid down on the bed, his hands sliding from your thighs to your hips as he set you down with maddening care.
But the second your back hit the sheets, he was on you again.
Sunghoon braced himself above you, one hand cupping your jaw as his lips crashed back onto yours. The kiss was desperate now, his teeth tugging on your lower lip as if punishing you for every second you’d made him wait.
“You drive me insane, you know that?” he rasped between kisses, his breath hot and ragged.
Your fingers threaded into his hair instinctively, tugging gently, and the groan it pulled from him was nothing short of sinful.
“Do you have any idea,” he whispered harshly against your skin, his mouth trailing to your neck, “how hard it’s been—watching you walk around my house, in those little skirts, acting so damn sweet—”
“Sung—Sunghoon…” your voice broke into a moan as his teeth scraped lightly at your pulse point, his tongue soothing the sting a second later.
“Thought you were here to make my daughter happy…” he muttered against your neck, his voice low and full of something dark.
His hands slid up your thighs slowly, teasing the sensitive skin as your skirt bunched higher.
“…and you just had to drag me into it too, huh?”
Your breath hitched as his fingers curved around the swell of your ass, squeezing firmly. The sound you made—embarrassed, breathless—drew a low groan from his chest as his lips trailed down your neck.
“You’ve been playing with fire, sweetheart,” he whispered, his hands still gripping you possessively. “Walking around like this… looking at me like you’re innocent.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Arms up,” he interrupted sharply, his voice like velvet-wrapped steel.
Your eyes widened, but something in his gaze left no room for argument. You obeyed, raising your arms shakily.
“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise making your stomach flutter as his fingers hooked into the hem of your sweater.
In one fluid motion, he tugged it off, tossing it somewhere behind him without ever breaking eye contact. You felt the cool air kiss your skin, leaving goosebumps as you sat there in your lace bra.
Sunghoon stilled for a moment, his dark eyes sweeping hungrily over you.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice husky. “You’re so beautiful.”
Your cheeks burned under his gaze, but before you could speak, his hands reached behind you, fingers expertly unclasping your bra.
“Sunghoon—”
The garment fell away, and instinct took over. Your hands flew to your chest to cover yourself, but he caught your wrists gently but firmly, pinning them to the bed above your head.
“Don’t.” His tone was soft but commanding, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Don’t hide from me.”
You froze, your lips parting as he leaned down again.
“Let me see you,” he whispered, his eyes burning into yours.
His mouth descended, lips wrapping around one of your nipples while his hand moved to play with the other, fingers teasing and rolling gently. The sudden rush of heat shot through you so fast it made your back arch off the mattress.
“A-ah—Sunghoon—”
“You sound so pretty when you say my name like that,” he murmured against your skin, switching sides to give the same attention to your other breast.
You instinctively tried to close your legs, flustered by how exposed you felt, but his knee slid between them, pushing them apart effortlessly.
“Don’t do that either,” he muttered against your chest, his free hand gripping your thigh to keep them from closing.
You barely had time to catch your breath before his kisses began trailing lower.
Slow, torturous kisses down your stomach, his warm breath fanning over every new inch of exposed skin as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your skirt.
“Sunghoon—”
“Shhh.” His voice was low, thick with hunger. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”
With one smooth motion, he tugged your skirt down your legs, tossing it aside to leave you in nothing but your panties.
He paused for a moment, his dark gaze locked between your thighs like he was already imagining how you’d taste.
“Fuck…” he murmured under his breath, almost to himself. “You’re so pretty for me like this.”
You whimpered, instinctively trying to press your thighs together again, but his hands slid between them, pushing you wide open.
“Don’t hide from me,” he said again, firmer this time. “I want to see all of you.”
His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them aside just enough to bare you completely to his gaze. The cool air against your slick heat made you shiver.
“Already so wet,” he muttered darkly, his thumb grazing lightly over your folds. “You’ve been acting all shy, and this is what I find? Such a liar.”
“Sunghoon—please—”
“Please what, sweetheart?” His lips curved into a smirk as he kissed the inside of your thigh, teeth grazing gently. “Please stop? Or please keep going?”
Your back arched slightly, hands gripping the sheets as a whine slipped out.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured.
Then, without warning, he dove in.
His tongue parted your folds in one slow, deliberate lick from base to clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.
“God—”
“Shit, you taste so fucking sweet,” he growled against you before latching onto your clit, his tongue flicking in slow, teasing circles that had your hips jerking.
“Sunghoon—ah—” Your voice cracked as his hands gripped your thighs, forcing them wider and holding you down like he wasn’t about to let you squirm away.
“Stay still,” he ordered roughly between licks. “Let me enjoy this.”
You felt his fingers join in, two of them sliding into your soaked heat with maddening ease as his tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit. The stretch made you cry out, your nails digging into the sheets.
“You’re tight,” he groaned, pumping his fingers slowly before curling them just right. “Bet you’d feel even better wrapped around my cock.”
Your walls clenched at his words, and he chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive spot.
“Oh? You like the sound of that, sweetheart?” His tongue pressed flat against your clit before sucking gently, sending white-hot sparks shooting through your body. “You want me to fill you up, huh? Stretch this pretty little pussy until you can’t think?”
“S-Sunghoon—please—”
“Please what?” He smirked against your core, his pace unrelenting as your thighs trembled in his hold. “Use your words, baby.”
“I—I don’t—fuck—”
You couldn’t even finish the thought before your body locked up, heat flooding through you in a sharp wave as your climax crashed over you.
Your thighs trembled around Sunghoon’s head, but his strong hands kept you spread wide as his tongue continued its relentless assault.
“Shhh… there you go,” he murmured against your clit, his voice low and wrecked. “That’s it, sweetheart. Cum for me. God, you taste so fucking perfect.”
Your back arched off the mattress, fingers clutching desperately at the sheets as the pleasure spiraled, making you whimper his name over and over.
When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin were slick, his dark eyes glittering with pure hunger.
“You’re gorgeous like this,” he muttered, leaning in to kiss you. The taste of yourself on his tongue made you moan into his mouth, your body still shivering from the aftershocks.
As his mouth claimed yours, you barely noticed his hands working at the buttons of his black shirt, tugging it off his shoulders and tossing it to the floor.
He moved with purpose now—quickly unzipping his pants and pushing them down along with his boxers.
When he straightened back up, your eyes widened, lips parting in shock.
“Is… is that going to fit?” you stammered, staring at his length, thick and heavy in his hand as he stroked himself slowly, precum already glistening at the tip.
A low, deep laugh rumbled from his chest as he leaned forward, his thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip.
“It will, sweetheart. I got you,” he said softly, his tone dripping with reassurance. “We’ll take it slow, yeah? Let me take care of you.”
You nodded weakly, your thighs instinctively trying to press together again. But Sunghoon was already settling between them, his broad frame dwarfing yours as he lined himself up.
“Relax for me,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw. “You’re so perfect. So fucking perfect.”
The blunt head of his cock rubbed through your folds, gathering your slick as he teased your entrance. The sensation made you whine, your hips twitching involuntarily.
“Shhh… it’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips. “Just a little stretch, yeah? I’ll go slow.”
Then he began to press in, inch by inch. The stretch burned slightly, your walls clenching instinctively around him as you let out a hiss.
“God—Sunghoon—”
“I know, I know.” His hand cupped your cheek tenderly as he stilled, letting you adjust. “You’re doing so good for me. So tight—fuck, I can feel every bit of you.”
Your nails dug into his shoulders as he kissed the corner of your mouth, his other hand stroking your thigh gently.
“Breathe, sweetheart. You’ve got me. I’m right here.”
When he finally bottomed out, buried fully inside you, he paused. His eyes softened at the sight of yours—glossy and overwhelmed, your chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Oh, sweetheart…” He cooed, thumb brushing your temple. “Take your time. Don’t rush. I’m not going anywhere.”
You nodded shakily, your hands gripping his shoulders as you whispered, breathless, “You… you can move.”
His eyes softened, his thumb stroking your cheek before his lips ghosted over yours. “You sure, sweetheart?”
“Yes…” you exhaled, your hips shifting slightly beneath him. “Please.”
That one word made something in him snap.
“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple as he slowly began to rock his hips.
The stretch burned at first, but then his thick length dragged against that perfect spot inside you, making your lips part in a moan.
“Fuck—you feel so good,” Sunghoon groaned, his voice husky and low as his pace stayed slow, deliberate. “So warm, so tight. Like you were made for me.”
The sound of skin slapping against skin soon filled the room, mingling with your breathy whines and his deep, guttural groans. Each thrust sent shocks of pleasure spiraling through you, your nails digging into his back as you struggled to hold on.
“Sunghoon—” you gasped, arching into him as his hips rolled deeper, the head of his cock brushing places that made your toes curl.
“Yeah, baby?” he panted, his lips pressing kisses down your neck between words. “Talk to me. Tell me how it feels.”
“So—so full—”
“That’s right,” he growled, his pace picking up slightly as your walls fluttered around him. “Taking every inch of me like such a good little girl.”
You raked your nails down his back at a particularly deep thrust, and he hissed, his hips stuttering for a moment.
“Shit—do that again,” he gritted out. “Mark me up. Don’t hold back, sweetheart.”
Your hands clawed at his shoulders, leaving angry red streaks in their wake, and Sunghoon’s groan turned into something feral.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered harshly, his pace now rougher, faster. “So fucking perfect for me. You hear that? Mine.”
“Y-yes—yours—”
“That’s it,” he praised, his thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip as his hips snapped harder. “Cum for me again, baby. Wanna feel you soak my cock.”
The knot in your stomach unraveled fast, your walls clenching tightly around him as you cried out his name.
“Sunghoon!”
“Fuck—there it is—goddamn,” he groaned, hips jerking as he buried himself deep one last time. His release spilled hot inside you, his breath ragged against your ear as his body trembled with the force of his climax.
He stayed like that for a moment, chest pressed to yours, both of you panting in the quiet room now thick with heat and the faint scent of sweat and sex.
“You did so good for me,” he murmured finally, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw as he slowly pulled out.
You whimpered at the loss, and Sunghoon hushed you gently. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I got you.”
Sliding off the bed, he disappeared into the bathroom, returning seconds later with warm towels. He cleaned you up carefully, his touch tender as his thumb brushed soothing circles on your thigh.
“Sunghoon…” you murmured, dazed and still trembling slightly.
“Shhh. Rest, baby.” He wiped himself down quickly before climbing back into bed with you, his fingers brushing stray hairs from your face.
You looked so perfect there—bare, flushed, glowing in the soft golden sunlight slipping in through the slightly open curtains.
He felt his chest tighten at the sight.
“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, almost to himself, as his thumb traced your bottom lip.
Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, still hazy but soft. “Sooyun’s… almost done with school.”
A small smile tugged at his lips as he leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.
“Do you want to pick her up together?” he asked softly, his voice warm and calm now.
You nodded, and he chuckled lightly, his fingers still stroking your cheek.
“Alright, sweetheart. But first…” He pulled you into his chest, tucking you against him as the sunlight bathed you both. “Let me hold you like this for a little longer.”
The sleek black car slowed as Sunghoon turned into the school’s parking lot, his hand casually resting on the gear shift. He parked smoothly, cutting the engine with a quiet sigh.
Without a word, he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out. The afternoon sunlight caught in his hair, highlighting the strands of brown as he strode around the front of the car.
You fumbled with your seatbelt, but before you could even reach for the handle, the passenger door swung open.
“Come on,” Sunghoon said softly, his hand outstretched.
You blinked up at him, your heart fluttering at how natural this all felt. Sliding your hand into his, you let him help you out.
“Thank you,” you said with a smile.
His lips tugged upwards—barely noticeable, but it was there—as his thumb brushed against yours briefly before he let go to shut the door.
As he fell into step beside you, his presence steady and grounding, he gently placed his palm on your lower back, guiding you toward the parents’ waiting area.
But before either of you could even speak, the sound of quick, tiny footsteps broke through the hum of other parents chatting.
“Daddy! Aunt (Y/N)!”
You looked down just in time to see Sooyun barreling toward you both, her little backpack bouncing wildly with each step.
“Hi, baby!” you greeted, crouching slightly with a wide smile.
“Hi!” she beamed up at you, her little face glowing with excitement before turning her attention to her father.
“Daddy, carry me!”
Sunghoon’s expression softened instantly as he bent down, scooping her up in one arm with practiced ease.
“Gotcha, princess,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hairline.
Sooyun giggled, clutching her tiny arms around his neck as you straightened. Without thinking, Sunghoon’s free hand found yours again, fingers intertwining effortlessly as he started walking back toward the parking lot.
It felt natural. Like this was always meant to be. The three of you—together.
As you reached the car, Sunghoon set Sooyun down gently, ruffling her hair as she tugged her backpack straps back into place.
She looked up at you suddenly, her big eyes blinking.
“Can I sit with you at the front, Aunt (Y/N)?” she asked sweetly, her voice hopeful.
You glanced at Sunghoon, unsure if he’d be okay with that, but he gave you a single nod—subtle, approving.
Your heart warmed as you crouched again, holding your arms out. “Of course, baby. Come on, I’ll carry you.”
Sooyun squealed happily as she ran into your arms, and you lifted her with a soft laugh, adjusting her on your hip as Sunghoon opened the passenger door for you both.
“Let’s get you buckled up, yeah?” you said softly, kissing the crown of her head as she leaned against you contentedly.
Sunghoon’s eyes lingered on the two of you for a moment longer than necessary, his expression unreadable but warm.
And then, as if nothing had shifted—when in truth, everything had—he turned back toward the car, opening the door for you both.
The drive back was quiet, Sooyun’s little head resting against your shoulder as you absentmindedly ran your fingers through her hair.
Every so often, Sunghoon’s gaze flickered to the rearview mirror, catching glimpses of you two together, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips each time.
Now, hours later, the three of you were curled up in the living room. A thick knit blanket was draped over you and Sooyun, who had snuggled firmly into your side with her small hand clutching your sweater.
‘The Little Mermaid’ played softly on the TV, the bluish glow of the screen painting the room in gentle hues.
Sunghoon was stretched out on the other side of the couch, his long legs crossed at the ankle, a mug of tea cooling on the coffee table in front of him.
His hair was slightly messy now, his black sweatshirt hanging loose on his frame.
As Ursula sang her climactic reprise, Sunghoon leaned forward slightly, his brows furrowed as he whispered,
“How did Eric not notice that it wasn’t Ariel? I mean, her whole voice was gone, but come on…”
You stifled a laugh, pressing your lips together.
Sooyun, however, wasn’t as amused. She sat up slightly, her little brows knitted together as she shushed him fiercely. “Shhh! Watch, Daddy!”
Sunghoon raised his hands in mock defeat, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Okay, okay—my bad, princess. I’ll be quiet.”
You let out a soft laugh at the exchange, shaking your head as you said teasingly, “That’s not very nice, Sooyun. Poor Daddy.”
Sooyun’s stern expression faltered, her lips twitching as she sheepishly muttered, “Sorry, Daddy…”
“That’s better,” Sunghoon chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her bangs.
You smiled as you gently brushed her fringe away from her eyes, tucking it back as she settled in against your side once more, her attention glued to the screen.
From his spot, Sunghoon watched the way you handled her—so gentle, so natural. It pulled at something deep in his chest, a warmth he wasn’t prepared for.
“She really, really likes you,” he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost drowned out by the movie.
Your gaze flickered to him, the TV’s glow catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the softness in his eyes. You gave him a quiet smile, your voice equally tender.
“It’s a good thing I took up this job then, yeah?”
He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound low and warm as his eyes crinkled. “Yeah… yeah, it really is.”
There was a pause, something settling between the two of you like a secret too precious to name. Then he leaned his head against yours, his dark hair brushing your temple as his hand rested loosely across his stomach.
Sooyun yawned suddenly, the little sound pulling both your gazes down to her. Her eyes fluttered sleepily, her grip on your sweater loosening as she shifted closer to your side.
“She’s out,” you whispered with a small laugh, your heart melting at the sight of her soft, peaceful face.
“Yeah,” Sunghoon murmured, his eyes soft as he gazed at her. “And she looks perfect.”
You blinked back the warmth pooling in your eyes, brushing a stray lock of hair from Sooyun’s forehead as you whispered, “Should I tuck her into bed?”
Sunghoon’s gaze shifted from his daughter to you, something unreadable flickering across his face before he stood, stretching slightly.
“I’ll come with you,” he said quietly, reaching for the remote to pause the movie.
Carefully, you adjusted your hold on Sooyun, her little arms still loosely wrapped around your neck as she slept soundly against your shoulder. Standing slowly, you tried your best not to jostle her.
Sunghoon’s hand instinctively went to your lower back, steadying you as you moved, his touch warm even through the fabric of your sweater.
Together, you walked up the staircase, the soft creak of each step the only sound between you.
When you reached her room, Sunghoon pushed the door open gently, the faint glow of the hallway spilling across the pale pink walls.
You stepped inside carefully, the scent of her vanilla-scented nightlight already filling the space.
The little girl’s room was as dreamy as her personality—tiny stuffed animals arranged neatly on a shelf, her small bed framed by a sheer canopy.
Sunghoon moved ahead of you, switching on her pink bunny-shaped nightlight so the room was bathed in a soft, comforting glow.
You lowered Sooyun onto her bed as delicately as possible, tucking her under the pastel comforter. She shifted slightly, a little sigh escaping her lips, but didn’t wake.
You were smoothing the blanket over her small frame when her voice, sleepy and soft, broke the stillness of the room:
“Night night, Daddy… night night, Mommy…”
Your breath hitched.
You froze, your wide eyes darting to Sunghoon. He was standing at the foot of the bed, his hands resting loosely in his pockets. His lips parted slightly at the sound of her words, but then… a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
The look he gave you made your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. It was warm. Gentle. Almost longing.
He didn’t correct her. Didn’t laugh. Instead, he leaned down, brushing his lips softly against Sooyun’s forehead.
“Night night, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and tender.
You swallowed hard, willing the lump in your throat to ease as tears pricked your eyes. Slowly, you brushed your fingers through Sooyun’s hair, your voice coming out shakier than you wanted.
“Sweet dreams, baby girl,” you whispered with a soft smile, even as you blinked rapidly to keep the tears from spilling.
Sooyun moved again, already drifting deeper into sleep, her small hand clutching the edge of her blanket.
You lingered for a moment, staring down at her peaceful face before forcing yourself to step back. Sunghoon was waiting by the door, his dark eyes still fixed on you.
When you met his gaze, there was a softness there that made it almost impossible to breathe.
Sunghoon’s lips curved into the faintest smile as he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours.
Without a word, his hand slid gently around your waist, the warmth of his palm seeping through your sweater.
You sat comfortably on the bleachers, one hand resting on the curve of your very pregnant belly while the other balanced a thermos of warm tea on your thigh.
Your eyes followed Sunghoon as he glided effortlessly across the ice, giving calm instructions to a group of young skaters. His voice carried even from where you sat—firm yet gentle.
But your attention drifted just a little as two very familiar figures hovered by the rink’s edge.
Sooyun—now fifteen and nearly the spitting image of her father—skated gracefully, her hand clasped protectively around the chubby fingers of her little brother, Sangwon.
At five years old, he was a carbon copy of Sunghoon: jet-black hair, doe eyes, and even that little furrow of concentration as he tried to balance himself on the ice.
“Careful, Sangwon,” Sooyun murmured, adjusting her grip as his tiny skates wobbled dangerously.
You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, the warmth spreading in your chest as you slowly stood, your free hand bracing the small of your back.
The weight of your belly made you move carefully, but there was a soft contentment in it now. You strolled toward the low door by the rink’s edge, calling out in a gentle tone,
“Be careful, you two. Don’t pull each other down.”
Sooyun looked up, her face brightening at the sight of you. She carefully guided Sangwon toward you, her long hair bouncing as she skated.
“Mom, don’t strain yourself,” she said quickly, eyeing your belly with exaggerated concern.
You laughed softly, smoothing a hand over the dress that hugged your rounded figure. “I’m not disabled, Sooyun. Relax.”
She pouted as she helped Sangwon step clumsily through the little door. His tiny arms immediately wrapped around your legs.
“Hi, Mommy!” he chirped up at you, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold.
You ruffled his hair, leaning down slightly with a grin. “Hi, baby. Were you skating like a big boy?”
Before Sangwon could answer, a familiar voice drawled behind you. “Careful there, pregnant lady. One fall and Sunghoon’s gonna kill all of us.”
You turned sharply, rolling your eyes at the sight of Heeseung strolling toward you in his oversized coat, hands shoved into his pockets, a smirk plastered across his face.
“Shut up, Heeseung,” you shot back playfully, though you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out.
“Uncle Heeseung!” Sangwon and Sooyun beamed in unison, their faces lighting up as two more figures appeared from behind him.
“Hi, Aunt (Y/N)!” chirped Hamin and Hyunmin—Heeseung’s twin nephews who were the same age as Sooyun.
“Hamin, Hyunmin,” you greeted them warmly with a smile, waving as the pair grinned back.
“Don’t even think about it,” Sooyun warned, narrowing her eyes at the twins as they exchanged mischievous looks. But it was too late.
With a yelp, Sooyun found herself being tugged back toward the ice by the two boys.
“What are you two doing?!” she shrieked, her skates scraping against the rubber mat as they dragged her through the little door.
“They’re gonna get it,” you murmured with a grin, watching the chaotic trio vanish back onto the rink.
“That’s what happens when they team up,” Heeseung said with a smirk, leaning casually against the small doorframe.
A sudden presence made you glance to your left—Sunghoon, holding his gloves in one hand, his brow slightly raised as he watched the three teens scuffle on the ice. “What’s going on with those three?”
You shook your head with a soft laugh, waving it off. “Let the kids be kids, yeah?”
“Yeah,” came another voice from behind, deeper and teasing.
All three of you turned as Jake sauntered in, scarf loose around his neck, and eyes crinkling with amusement.
“Uncle Jake!” Sangwon squealed, breaking into a run across the floor. Jake didn’t miss a beat, scooping the boy up with a practiced ease.
“My favorite nephew,” Jake declared dramatically, pressing a loud kiss to Sangwon’s cheek, making him giggle.
“Hey, what about us?” Hamin called out from the rink.
“Second and third favorite nephews,” Jake called back, earning a chorus of groans from the twins as Sooyun cackled at them.
Sunghoon’s eyes flicked briefly to you, and his lips curled into the faintest of smiles—the kind he reserved only for these quiet, domestic moments.
“You shouldn’t be standing too long,” he murmured, stepping a little closer as his hand brushed lightly against your elbow.
You looked up, cheeks warming as you let him guide you back to the bleachers. “I’m fine. Don’t fuss.”
Sunghoon only huffed, his jaw tight as he stepped off the ice and onto the rubber mat. His hand didn’t leave yours as he carefully eased you down onto the bleacher seat.
“You’re not fine. You’re eight months pregnant and acting like you’re still twenty-one with no responsibilities.”
You groaned, throwing your head back slightly as you adjusted your dress over your belly. “You’re so dramatic. I wasn’t even standing for that long.”
Before Sunghoon could retort, Jay approached with his hands shoved in his pockets, his brows raised in amusement at the sight of his brooding friend fussing over you.
Behind him, Heeseung and Jake exchanged knowing smirks.
“Careful there, Sunghoon,” Heeseung called out, his voice laced with teasing. “Don’t anger the pregnant lady. She might swing first.”
Jake barked out a laugh, clapping Heeseung on the back. “Or worse, she’ll make you sleep on the couch.”
Sunghoon shot them both a sharp glare that could slice through glass.
“Do you two want an angry punch to your faces instead?” His voice was calm, too calm, the kind of calm that carried a quiet warning.
Jake raised both his hands in mock surrender, laughter still rumbling in his chest. “Relax. If it wasn’t for us, you wouldn’t have met (Y/N) in the first place. You’re welcome for literally changing your life.”
Heeseung leaned casually against the railing, grinning. “Yeah, you should be thanking us. Maybe even buying us dinner for setting the wheels in motion.”
Still gripping your hand, Sunghoon glanced down.
His thumb brushed against the massive diamond engagement ring glittering on your finger—the one perfectly paired with the equally dazzling wedding band. His lips curved faintly, just enough to make you catch it.
“Yeah…” he muttered, his voice soft but laced with that usual edge. “I should thank you assholes. You changed my life.”
You looked at him then, meeting his gaze as your own cheeks warmed under the intensity of it. He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles.
You smiled, tilting your head. “What?”
Sunghoon shook his head slightly, but there was the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Nothing,” he murmured.
Then, louder, he turned to the men still loitering near the rink door. “Do you guys want to eat dinner at our place?”
Heeseung’s grin was immediate, bright and wolfish. “Sure, I’ll call Heedo and let him know he’s babysitting tonight.”
He was already pulling out his phone, scrolling like he’d been waiting for an excuse.
Jake smirked, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. “Free food and I get to harass Sunghoon in his own house? Count me in.”
You chuckled softly, watching the easy banter as Sunghoon straightened up and called out, “Sooyun—come on, let’s go!”
From across the rink, Sooyun’s yelp echoed as Hamin and Hyunmin grinned devilishly, tugging her between them like she was some kind of prize.
“Let go of me, you little brats!” she scolded, though her laughter betrayed how unbothered she really was.
You couldn’t help but laugh, your hand resting protectively over your belly as the trio skated off the ice toward you. Sooyun’s hair was slightly messy, her cheeks flushed pink from both embarrassment and exertion.
“Keep your nephews away from my daughter, Heeseung,” Sunghoon warned, his voice low but edged with amusement as he watched the scene unfold.
Heeseung didn’t even flinch. In fact, his grin grew wider as he pocketed his phone. “Why? At least you’ll know she’ll have good-looking kids when she marries one of them.”
You nearly choked on your own laugh as Sunghoon’s brows shot up. He turned slowly to Heeseung, his hand tightening slightly around yours.
“Heeseung,” he said flatly, “do you want me to throw you into the rink? Because I will.”
Jake burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, I’m staying for this drama.”
Sooyun finally managed to break free from the twins’ grasp, rushing to your side as Sangwon hugged her legs.
And as Sunghoon’s eyes found yours across the commotion, that quiet, tender smile of his made your heart swell—it felt like home.
pairing: psycho supervillain!sunoo x obsessed sidekick!reader
synopsis: two years of pining after sunoo like a pathetic fool, and for what? you sharpen his knives, handle his dirty work, and pretend your heart doesn't shatter every time he calls you "sweetheart" like it means nothing. you've built your entire world around him. but everyone has a breaking point, and you've finally found yours. shame sunoo doesn't handle loss well.
warnings (MDNI 18+ only!!): smut(mean dom!sunoo x bratty!reader, sexual tension, rough sex, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (f. receiving), possessive behavior, degradation, praise, power imbalance, knife play, blood play, masochistic themes, overstimulation), knives, violence, cursing, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, jealousy, mentions of death, fight scenes
note: this fic definitely did not need to be this long, but i couldn’t stop yapping T T i really wanted to take my time building that toxic tension properly. i hope it came through the way i intended, enjoyyy
word count: 16.9k
taglist | more works!
you watched sunoo carve through heroes like they were nothing more than wet paper, and every single time your heart did this stupid thing where it forgot how to beat properly. he moved through the world with this casual, almost lazy grace that made violence look like choreography, his knives catching the light as they spun between his fingers. you couldn't look away even if you wanted to. which you didn't. you never wanted to look away from him.
the warehouse reeked of rust and old blood, but you barely noticed anymore. you were by his side for two years now—ever since that night he found you trying to rob the same jewelry store he was burning down. he tilted his head at you with those fox-like eyes, lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile, and said, "cute. you want to try something that actually matters?"
your life belonged to him ever since.
you said yes without thinking. without even hesitating, really, because what else were you going to do? go back to your shitty apartment with the broken heater and the landlord who kept "forgetting" to fix things? go back to stealing just enough to survive, always looking over your shoulder, always one mistake away from getting caught? he was offering you something. purpose, maybe. or at least a reason to wake up in the morning that wasn't just spite and survival instinct.
you didn't expect to fall in love with him.
that part snuck up on you slowly, then all at once. first it was admiration—the way he planned everything three steps ahead, the way he never seemed rattled even when things went wrong. then it was fascination—the contrast between his delicate features and the absolute brutality he was capable of, the way he hummed cheerfully while cleaning blood off his knives. and then somewhere along the way it became this. this aching, desperate, all-consuming thing that lived in your chest and made it hard to breathe when he looked at you for too long.
you memorised his coffee order (iced americano, extra shot, barely any water because he was a psychopath apparently), the way he liked his knives arranged (smallest to largest, always within arm's reach), the exact angle his mouth curved when he was genuinely amused versus when he was pretending. you knew he tapped his fingers against his thigh when he was thinking, that he rolled his shoulders back exactly twice before a fight, that he had a tiny scar behind his left ear that you only saw once when his hair was wet.
it was embarrassing how much you noticed. how much you cared.
and the worst part? he absolutely knew. had to know. because you weren't subtle, not even a little bit. you volunteered for every job he mentioned, stayed up late sharpening his weapons even though your hands cramped, laughed too loud at things that weren't that funny just because he was the one saying them. you were obvious and desperate and so fucking transparent it hurt.
he never said anything about it though. never acknowledged the way you looked at him, never called you out on the fact that you basically reorganised your entire existence around him. he just let you orbit him like some pathetic satellite, close enough to be useful but never close enough to actually touch.
tonight started like any other night. you got back from a job—something small, just roughing up some hero-wannabe who was getting too close to one of sunoo's operations—and you were still riding the adrenaline high. your knuckles were scraped, your shirt had someone else's blood on it, and you felt alive in a way you never did doing anything else. sunoo had that effect. he made even the violent things feel like they mattered, like you were part of something bigger.
you found him in the main area of the warehouse, surrounded by his collection. that's what you called it in your head—his collection. knives of every size and style, some plain and practical, others ornate and clearly expensive. he was meticulous about maintaining them, spending hours with whetstones and oil, handling each blade like it was precious. like it was loved.
you wondered sometimes what it would feel like to be handled like that. with care. with attention. with those elegant fingers tracing over every detail like it mattered.
god, you needed help.
"you're back early," he said without looking up from the blade he was cleaning. the silk cloth in his hand was already stained red—whether from today or yesterday or last week, you couldn't tell. "did he give you trouble?"
"no. he folded pretty quick." you dropped your jacket on the back of a chair, trying not to wince at the bruise forming on your ribs. it was nothing serious. you had worse. "threatened to call in backup though. might want to move up the timeline on the next phase."
"mm. predictable." he set down the knife he was working on, finally glancing up at you. his gaze swept over you quickly, cataloguing injuries with the efficiency of someone who did this a thousand times. "you're hurt."
"it's nothing."
"i didn't ask if it was nothing. i said you're hurt." he stood then, moving toward you with that fluid grace that made your mouth go dry. "sit."
you sat. because you always did what he told you to do, because you were completely gone for him and had zero self-respect apparently.
he pulled out the first aid kit—the actual one, not the piece of shit drugstore version you kept in your bag—and started cleaning the scrapes on your knuckles. his touch was gentle, almost tender, and it made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the bruised ribs. this was the worst part. when he acted like he cared, like you were more than just a useful tool. it made you hope for things you had no business hoping for.
"you need to stop leading with your right," he murmured, wrapping gauze around your knuckles with practiced ease. "you're too obvious. anyone paying attention would see it coming."
"noted." your voice came out rougher than intended. he was so close, close enough that you could smell his cologne, could count his eyelashes if you wanted to. could see the way his lips parted slightly when he concentrated. "i'll work on it."
"you better. i don't need my best enforcer getting sloppy." he finished with your hands and moved on to checking your ribs, fingers pressing carefully against the bruised area. you hissed at the contact and he made this sympathetic sound that absolutely destroyed you. "not broken. you'll be fine in a few days."
"i'm always fine."
"because i take care of you." he looked up then, meeting your eyes, and there was something in his expression you couldn't read. something that made your stomach flip. "someone has to."
you wanted to ask what he meant by that. wanted to ask if he felt even a fraction of what you felt, if he ever thought about you the way you thought about him, if he ever lay awake at night replaying conversations and analysing every word for hidden meaning. but you couldn't. because if he said no, if he confirmed what you already knew—that this was one-sided and pathetic and you were just setting yourself up for heartbreak—you'd shatter into so many pieces you'd never find them all.
so instead you just said, "thanks."
he smiled at that. small and private, like you said something amusing. "you're welcome, sweetheart."
and there it was. that stupid pet name that made your entire nervous system short-circuit every single time. he used it so casually, like it didn't mean anything, like he didn't know it made you want to do something insane like grab him and kiss him until neither of you could breathe.
he packed up the first aid kit and went back to his knives, settling into his chair like nothing happened. like he didn't just touch you with those careful hands and call you sweetheart and make you fall even more impossibly in love with him.
you moved to the other side of the table, pulling out the whetstone and selecting one of his knives to sharpen. it was something to do with your hands, something to focus on that wasn't the way your heart was still racing or the phantom feeling of his fingers against your skin. you fell into the familiar rhythm—the slide of the blade against stone, the steady pressure, the high-pitched ring of metal being honed to a perfect edge.
this was safe. this was manageable. you could handle sitting across from him, sharing space, existing in his orbit as long as you had something to concentrate on. as long as you didn't think too hard about how domestic this felt, how right, like you were two halves of something that fit together perfectly.
you were at it for maybe twenty minutes when you felt his eyes on you. that prickling awareness that came from being watched, the weight of his attention making your hands want to shake even though you kept them steady through sheer force of will.
"you're staring again," he said without looking up, and there was this amused lilt to his voice that made your stomach flip. he knew. he always knew when you were looking, when your thoughts went somewhere they shouldn't, when your breath caught because he moved too close or smiled that specific way that made you want to do something stupid.
"sorry," you mumbled, forcing your eyes away, focusing instead on the knife in your hands. you were sharpening them for the past hour, hands steady even though your pulse wasn't. even though being this close to him made your skin feel too tight, made every nerve ending hyperaware of the space between your bodies.
he laughed. it was soft, almost fond, which was worse somehow. "no you're not."
and he was right. you weren't sorry. you'd never be sorry for looking at him, for memorising the curve of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he was genuinely amused versus when he was about to kill someone. you catalogued every detail of him like your life depended on it. maybe it did.
the sound of his footsteps made you tense before you felt his presence behind you, close enough that you could smell his cologne—something expensive and sharp that made your head spin. his hand came down on the table beside yours, fingers splayed, and you could see the old scars across his knuckles, the elegant length of his fingers. he was so close. too close. not close enough.
"we have a job tomorrow," he said, voice low and right by your ear. your hands stilled on the whetstone, breath catching. "the heroes are sending their best. should be fun."
fun. he called it fun. you called it watching him dance through combat like he was untouchable, like nothing in the world could hurt him, while your heart tried to claw its way out of your chest because what if this was the time something went wrong? what if—
"you're thinking too loud," sunoo murmured, and then his fingers were under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. they were so dark, pupils blown wide in the dim light, and there was something in his expression you couldn't read. something that made your stomach drop and soar at the same time. "i'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. i've told you this."
the pet name made heat crawl up your neck. he used it sometimes, always with this teasing edge that made you want to combust on the spot. you knew he didn't mean it the way you wanted him to mean it. knew he saw you as useful, as entertaining maybe, but not—
his thumb brushed across your bottom lip and your brain short-circuited.
"you know what i like about you?" he asked, conversational, like he wasn't currently making your entire nervous system malfunction. like his touch wasn't burning itself into your skin in a way you'd never recover from. "you're so easy to read. every thought shows on your face."
oh god. if he could read your thoughts then he knew—he knew about the embarrassing dreams, the way you watched him constantly, the fact that you'd burn the entire world down if he asked you to. the fact that you were so stupidly, desperately, pathetically in love with him it physically hurt sometimes.
you tried to pull away but his grip tightened, not painful but firm, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. "i didn't say you could move."
your heart was hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it. "sunoo—"
"shh." his thumb pressed against your lips, silencing you, and his smile was sharp enough to cut. "you're always so obedient. it's almost boring."
that stung. you knew you were boring compared to him, knew you were just—just there, useful for sharpening his knives and handling the boring logistics and worshipping the ground he walked on like some kind of devoted dog. but hearing him say it made something crack in your chest.
you bit down on his thumb. not hard enough to break skin but enough to surprise him, to show some kind of spine even though your hands were shaking. his eyes widened fractionally before something dangerous slid across his features, something that made every survival instinct scream at you to run.
you didn't run. you never ran from him.
"there she is," he breathed, and he sounded almost delighted. his hand moved from your chin to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, and you could feel your pulse jumping against his palm. "i was wondering when you'd stop being so scared of me."
"i'm not scared of you," you managed, voice rough. it was true. you weren't scared of him. you were scared of how much you wanted him, how you'd let him ruin you completely and thank him for it, how there wasn't a version of your future that didn't have him in it.
"liar," he said, but he was smiling now, really smiling, and it made him look younger. softer. like maybe underneath the villain there was still some part of the boy he must have been before. "you're terrified. but not of me hurting you."
his fingers flexed against your throat and you stopped breathing.
"you're scared i don't want you back."
the world tilted. your ears were ringing. had he just—did he mean—
"i—" you couldn't form words. your brain had completely shut down, every thought scattering like startled birds. "what?"
sunoo leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted across your lips, and his eyes were so dark, so intense it felt like falling. "you think i don't notice? the way you watch me, the way your breathing changes when i get close, the way you'd do anything i asked without question?"
his voice dropped lower, almost a purr. "you think i don't know you're completely obsessed with me?"
you wanted to deny it. wanted to salvage some scrap of dignity. but what was the point? he was right. he was always right about you.
"and what if i am?" you whispered, because fuck it. fuck pride, fuck self-preservation. you were already his in every way that mattered.
his smile turned wicked. "then you should know something." his thumb traced your jawline, gentle in a way that made your chest ache. "tomorrow, during the fight. one of them is going to get lucky. you're going to see something that might scare you."
your blood went cold. "what do you mean?"
"you'll see." he pulled back slightly, expression unreadable. "just remember—i told you i'm not going anywhere."
"sunoo, if you're in danger—"
"i'm not the one in danger, sweetheart. i never am." there was something strange in his voice now, something almost vulnerable. "the heroes are. they just don't know it yet."
he pressed a kiss to your forehead and pulled away completely, leaving you frozen at the table, heart in pieces, mind racing.
tomorrow. something was going to happen tomorrow. something that would scare you. but you'd be there anyway, because where else would you be except at his side, watching him tear through heroes like they were nothing, bleeding devotion from every pore?
you were so fucked.
the abandoned district was perfect for what sunoo had planned. empty warehouses stretched out in every direction, windows shattered and walls tagged with graffiti, the typical place heroes loved to use for their dramatic confrontations. you perched on a rusted fire escape three stories up, exactly where sunoo told you to wait, and tried to keep your breathing steady.
you hated this part. the waiting. the watching. being stuck on the sidelines when you were perfectly capable of fighting alongside him.
it was always like this. sunoo never let you join the actual fights, not the important ones anyway. he'd let you handle the small stuff—roughing up informants, dealing with low-level heroes, the grunt work that kept his operations running. and you were good at it. you'd proven yourself over and over, taken down targets efficiently and without complications. but the moment things got serious, the moment real danger showed up, he stuck you somewhere safe and told you to watch.
it drove you insane. made you feel useless, like some helpless thing that needed protecting instead of the competent fighter you'd worked so hard to become. you'd asked him about it once and he'd just given you this soft and unreadable look and said, "humour me."
so here you were again, benched, watching him stand in the centre of the street below with his hands in his pockets, looking like he was waiting for a bus instead of an ambush.
"relax," sunoo called up to you, and you could hear the smile in his voice even from this distance. "you're so tense i can feel it from here."
"maybe because there's supposed to be five of them," you shot back, fingers gripping the railing hard enough to hurt. "and you won't let me help."
"you are helping. you're watching." he pulled out one of his knives—the small one, the one he used for warmups—and examined it in the dim streetlight. "making sure no one tries to run. very important job."
"sunoo—"
"we've talked about this, sweetheart." his voice was still light but there was an edge to it now, that tone that meant the discussion was over. "you stay up there where it's safe. this is non-negotiable."
you wanted to argue. wanted to climb down there and prove you could handle yourself, that you didn't need to be protected like some fragile thing. but you knew that tone. knew it meant he'd already made up his mind and nothing you said would change it.
it didn't make sense anyway. sunoo was invincible—literally, actually invincible. you'd watched heroes land hits that should have shattered bone and he just shrugged them off like they were nothing. watched him take knife wounds and gunshots and falls that would kill anyone else, and he'd just stand back up without a scratch. he'd never even bled in front of you, not once in two years. his superpower made him untouchable in a way that should have meant he worried about himself, not you.
but he did worry. kept you away from danger with an almost obsessive focus, like the thought of you getting hurt was worse than anything the heroes could do to him.
you were about to tell him exactly how annoying that was when you felt it—the shift in the air that meant they were here. heroes. you'd gotten good at sensing them over the past two years, the way they moved with that self-righteous confidence, like the world owed them something for existing.
they came from three directions at once. the one in front was taehyun, some rising star with enhanced strength who'd been making headlines for taking down minor villains. flanking him were two others you didn't recognise—a girl with electricity crackling between her fingers and a guy who looked like he could bench press a car. the last two dropped down from the rooftops behind sunoo, cutting off his escape routes.
classic hero formation. surround and overwhelm.
sunoo just laughed.
"taehyun, right?" he said, spinning the knife between his fingers in that casual way that made your stomach flip even now, even in the middle of this. "i've heard about you. something about justice and protecting the innocent?" he tilted his head, fox-like eyes glinting with amusement. "boring."
"kim sunoo," taehyun said, and his voice had that hero quality—all noble and dramatic. "you're under arrest for—"
"yeah, yeah, crimes against humanity, murder, blah blah." sunoo waved his free hand dismissively. "can we skip the speech? i have plans later."
the electricity girl didn't wait for permission. she lunged forward, hands crackling with power, and you stopped breathing because she was fast, faster than you expected, and her fingers were reaching for sunoo's throat and—
he moved.
it wasn't even a dodge, really. more like he just wasn't there anymore, sliding to the side with that liquid grace that made violence look like dancing. his knife flashed once, twice, and suddenly electricity girl was stumbling back with shallow cuts across her arms, blood blooming bright against her costume.
"first blood," sunoo said cheerfully. "anyone else want to try?"
they all moved at once.
you'd seen sunoo fight before. watched him take down heroes and villains and anyone stupid enough to get in his way. but it never stopped being mesmerising, the way he moved through combat like he was performing, like every strike was choreographed for maximum effect. his knives caught the streetlight as they spun, as he ducked under the strongman's punch and came up slashing, as he used taehyun's own momentum against him to send him crashing into a wall.
he was playing with them. you could tell by the smile on his face, the way he hummed under his breath between strikes. this wasn't a fight to him, more likev entertainment.
one of the heroes from the rooftop—a speedster with silver hair who moved almost too fast to track—managed to get behind sunoo and land a solid kick to his spine. you heard the impact from three stories up, heard the way it should have done damage, but sunoo just turned around slowly, rolling his shoulders back twice—that pre-fight tell you'd memorised—and smiled. "nice hit."
not a scratch, not even a bruise forming all thanks to his invincibility. it was like the hit never happened.
the speedster went for another strike and sunoo met him halfway, knife finding the gap in his defences like he'd known exactly where it would be. like he'd planned for it. blood sprayed and the speedster went down hard, clutching his leg.
taehyun roared something about protecting his team and charged again, enhanced strength making the ground crack under his feet. his fist connected with sunoo's jaw in a hit that should have broken bones, should have knocked him unconscious, should have mattered.
sunoo's head snapped to the side from the impact.
and then he straightened up and grinned, completely unharmed, looking absolutely delighted.
"my turn," he said.
what happened next was terrifying in how easy he made it look. sunoo moved through them like they were nothing, knives finding soft spots and weak points with surgical precision. the strongman went down with a knife in his shoulder. electricity girl tried to taser him and he let the electricity hit him full force, let it crawl across his skin in a way that should have stopped his heart, and just caught her wrist mid-attack, twisted, sent her crashing into the speedster who was trying to get back up.
taehyun lasted the longest, his enhanced strength letting him trade blows with sunoo in a way that would have been impressive if it made any difference. but even he couldn't do anything that stuck. every hit that connected—and there were several, hard enough that you felt them in your own bones—sunoo just absorbed like they were gentle taps.
you watched taehyun land a hit to sunoo's ribs that cracked the concrete behind him. watched him get thrown into a wall hard enough to leave an impact crater. watched electricity crawl across his entire body in a sustained attack that made the streetlights flicker.
and sunoo just kept going.
he fought the way he did everything else—with casual, terrifying ease, like the concept of being hurt didn't apply to him.
because it didn't. nothing could hurt him. that was his power, his gift, the thing that made him untouchable and terrifying and invincible.
"impossible," taehyun gasped, on his knees now, one arm hanging useless. "nothing works. nothing even slows you down."
"mm. perceptive." sunoo crouched in front of him, knife spinning lazily between his fingers. "you know what your problem is? you keep trying to hurt me. but you can't." he leaned in closer, voice dropping to something almost intimate. "no one can. i'm invincible, hero. completely and utterly untouchable."
"everyone has a weakness," electricity girl spat from where she was slumped against the wall. "everyone can be hurt by something."
sunoo's expression shifted. something flickered across his face—dangerous and possessive and real in a way that made your breath catch. "mm. true."
he stood, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket. there wasn't a mark on him. not a scratch, not a bruise, nothing to indicate he'd just fought five enhanced heroes. "but my weakness isn't here. and even if it was, you'd never reach it."
he stepped over taehyun's prone form and walked away, hands in his pockets, humming that same melody from earlier. like he'd just finished a light workout instead of taking down five enhanced heroes.
you were down the fire escape before you consciously decided to move, feet hitting the ground and carrying you toward him. he caught you easily when you crashed into his chest, arms coming around you, and you hated how good it felt. how safe.
"told you," he murmured into your hair. "nothing to worry about."
you pulled back just enough to look at him, hands fisting in his jacket. "you let him hit you in the ribs. you let the electricity girl taser you for like ten straight seconds."
"had to make it interesting." his fingers came up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "can't just dodge everything. that would be boring."
"you're insane."
"and you're beautiful when you're worried about me." his smile was softer now, private, meant just for you. "even though you know nothing can hurt me. isn't that interesting?"
you didn't know what to say to that. didn't know how to explain that knowing he was invincible and watching him take hits were two different things. that your heart still stopped every time even though your brain knew he was fine.
"come on," he said, taking your hand. "let's go home."
the walk back to the warehouse was quiet. sunoo kept his fingers laced with yours, thumb stroking absent patterns against your skin, and you tried not to think about how natural it felt. how right.
"you know why i don't let you fight with me," he said eventually, and it wasn't a question.
"because you're overprotective and slightly unhinged?"
he laughed, soft and genuine. "well, yes. but also because you can get hurt. you don't have invincibility. you're human and fragile and one lucky hit could—" his fingers tightened around yours. "i can't risk that."
"i can handle myself."
"i know you can." he pulled you closer as you walked, until your shoulders brushed. "i've seen you fight. you're good. really good. but good doesn't matter when you're going up against enhanced heroes who could kill you by accident. and i—" he stopped walking, turned to face you fully. "i can't watch you get hurt. i won't."
there was something raw in his voice. something that made your chest ache.
"nothing can hurt me," he continued, quieter now. "i've tested it. knives, bullets, fire, electricity, falls from buildings, poison, everything. i'm completely invincible. but that doesn't mean i don't understand pain." his hand came up to cup your face, thumb tracing your bottom lip. "i just experience it differently now. through you."
your breath caught. "sunoo—"
"so humuor me," he murmured. "stay safe. stay where i put you. let me keep you away from things that could hurt you. because that's the only thing that actually scares me anymore."
you didn't know what to say. didn't know how to process the fact that he'd just admitted you were his weakness, his only weakness, the one thing that could touch him in a world where nothing else could.
"okay," you whispered, and his smile was devastating.
"good girl."
***
the warehouse was exactly as you'd left it—knives still spread across the table, first aid kit still out from earlier even though you both knew he'd never need it. sunoo headed straight for his chair and started pulling out his weapons, laying them on the silk cloth with careful precision. they were all dirty. blood and god knows what else staining the metal.
you grabbed the cleaning supplies without being asked and settled into the chair across from him, reaching for the first knife. it was automatic now, this routine. he fought, you cleaned. he destroyed, you maintained. two halves of something that worked.
"not that one," sunoo said, plucking the blade from your fingers. "start with the small ones. work your way up."
you rolled your eyes but switched knives, selecting one of his favorites—a thin stiletto with a pearl handle. your hands were steadier than they should be as you wiped away the blood, as you checked the edge for damage. muscle memory from hundreds of nights just like this one.
except tonight was different. tonight felt charged somehow, the air between you thick with something unspoken. maybe it was what he'd said during the walk back. maybe it was the way he kept looking at you, dark eyes tracking every movement.
maybe it was the fact that you were aware now. aware of every breath, every small shift. the way his knee was almost touching yours under the table. the way his fingers moved over his knives with the same careful attention he'd touched you with earlier.
"you're holding it wrong," he said after a few minutes, and then he was standing, moving around the table, and your mouth went dry because he was right there, pressed against your back, his hand covering yours on the knife.
"i'm holding it the same way i always do," you managed, but your voice came out breathless and you wanted to die.
"mm. and you've always done it wrong." his fingers adjusted your grip, tilting the blade at a different angle. his hand was cold against your wrist, long fingers wrapping around easily, and you could feel his breath against your neck. "like this. see the difference?"
you didn't see anything. couldn't see anything past the fact that he was touching you, that his chest was pressed against your shoulders, that if you tilted your head back even slightly it would rest against his collarbone.
"better," he murmured, and his thumb stroked once across your pulse point before he let go and stepped back.
you forced yourself to focus on the knife, on cleaning the blood from the blade with hands that shook slightly. he settled back into his chair and picked up another weapon, and you tried not to notice the way he watched you. the weight of his attention making your skin feel too tight.
the silence stretched between you like a living thing.
"you're being quiet," he said eventually.
"just thinking."
"about?"
about how you just told five heroes i'm your weakness. about how you keep me away from danger like i'm something precious. about how you said you experience pain through me now. about how i want to touch you so badly it physically hurts. about how i'd let you ruin me and thank you for it.
"stuff," you said instead.
he laughed, soft and low, and it slid down your spine like honey. "liar."
you looked up and found him already watching you, and there was something in his expression that made your breath catch. something hungry and knowing. like he could see straight through you to all the desperate, pathetic thoughts you were trying so hard to hide.
"i'm going to kiss you," he said, casual as discussing the weather. "eventually. when you're ready."
your brain short-circuited. the knife clattered against the table and you barely noticed. "what?"
"you heard me." he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking absolutely delighted by your reaction. "but not yet. you're not ready yet."
"i'm not—" you couldn't even finish the sentence. couldn't form coherent thoughts past the sudden, overwhelming certainty that you were extremely ready. had been ready for approximately two years.
"you think you are," he said, reading your mind again somehow. "but i want you to understand what it means first."
"understand what?"
"that if i kiss you, i'm keeping you." his eyes were so dark, pinning you in place. "that you're mine. that i don't share and i don't let go." he tilted his head, studying you. "that the only person in the world who matters to me is the same person i'd burn the world down for."
the air felt too thick. you couldn't breathe. couldn't think past the absolute certainty in his voice, the way he said it like it was fact, like there was no other possible outcome.
"so take your time," he continued, picking up another knife. "figure out if that's what you want. because once we start this, sweetheart, there's no going back."
you stared at him. at this beautiful, terrifying, impossible man who'd just offered you everything you'd ever wanted and told you to think about it. like you hadn't already decided. like you weren't already his in every way that mattered.
but you didn't say that. instead you picked up your knife and went back to cleaning, hands somehow steady despite the way your heart was trying to punch through your ribs.
you could feel him smiling without looking up.
the rest of the night passed in that same charged silence, every small movement loaded with meaning. his fingers brushing yours when he handed you a new blade. the way his knee pressed against yours under the table. the absolute suffocating awareness of his presence, his attention, his want.
by the time you finished cleaning the last knife, you were wound so tight you thought you might shatter. sunoo stood and stretched, shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin, and you looked away before you did something stupid like stare.
"go home," he said softly. "get some sleep. we'll talk more tomorrow."
you wanted to argue. wanted to stay. wanted to grab him and kiss him and tell him you didn't need time to think, that you'd already chosen him the moment he offered you something that mattered.
but you just nodded and gathered your things, because he was right. you needed to think. needed to process what he'd said, what it all meant.
the next morning, sunoo acted like nothing happened.
you showed up at the warehouse around noon, earlier than usual because you'd barely slept, mind racing with everything he'd said the night before, everything he'd implied with those careful touches and devastating words.
you found him at the table organising his knife collection like it was just another day, and he looked up when you walked in with that same casual smile he always wore, the one that gave nothing away. "coffee's on the counter. still hot."
he didn’t mention the fight, or the charged silence while cleaning knives, to the way he'd touched you like you were precious, to the fact that he'd basically told you he was in love with you and then sent you home to think about it. he was just normal. perfectly, maddeningly normal, like the night before had never happened at all.
"thanks," you said slowly, watching his face for any sign of something, anything that would indicate he remembered what he'd said, but his expression was perfectly neutral. friendly in that distant way that made your chest ache with something sharp and painful.
he went back to his knives without another word and you grabbed the coffee, made exactly how you liked it because of course he knew, because he paid attention to every single detail about you even when he pretended not to care.
you settled into your usual chair and the silence felt different now, heavier somehow, weighted with all the things he'd said and apparently didn't mean. you kept waiting for him to say something, to reference what had happened, to look at you the way he had last night like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. but he didn't. he just hummed under his breath while he polished his blades and acted like you were exactly what you'd always been. his sidekick. his weapon cleaner. his nothing.
it made you want to scream.
"we have a job tonight," he said eventually, still not looking at you, still focused on the knife in his hands like it was more interesting than you could ever be. "information gathering. should be simple."
"okay."
"you'll handle the south entrance. i'll take north. in and out, no engagement."
"sure."
he finally glanced up and for just a second, barely a heartbeat, you thought you saw something flicker in his expression. something soft and vulnerable that made hope bloom stupidly in your chest. but then it was gone and he was back to business, back to treating you like an employee instead of someone he'd held close and whispered promises to.
"good. be ready by eight."
you wanted to ask what the fuck last night was about. wanted to demand he explain why he could say things like i've been yours since the moment i found you and then act like you were just another person on his payroll. wanted to grab him by the shoulders and make him look at you properly, make him acknowledge what had happened between you. but you didn't. because maybe you'd imagined it all. maybe you'd read too much into his words, into the tension that had felt so real, into everything. maybe this was just how he was and you were pathetic for thinking it meant something more.
so you just nodded and drank your coffee and pretended your heart wasn't cracking into smaller and smaller pieces with every second of his indifference.
it became a pattern after that, this torture of back and forth that made you feel like you were losing your mind. sunoo would have these moments, these brief and devastating instances where he'd touch you like you were precious, where he'd say things that made your entire world tilt sideways, where he'd look at you like you were the answer to every question he'd never asked. and then the next day he'd be distant and professional again. like the intimacy had never happened at all, like you'd dreamt the whole thing.
three days after the knife-cleaning incident, you were inventorying supplies in the back room, trying to focus on the mundane task and not think about him, when you felt eyes on you. you knew without looking that it was sunoo, could feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch, and you let him watch for a full minute before you finally turned around.
"can i help you?" you asked, trying to sound normal and failing miserably.
he pushed off the doorframe where he'd been leaning and walked toward you, slow and deliberate, each step measured like he was stalking prey. you backed up instinctively until you hit the shelves and then he was right there, close enough that you could smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating off his body.
"you've been quiet lately."
"i'm always quiet," you managed, even though your heart was trying to punch through your ribs.
"no. you're always thinking. there's a difference." his hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and his fingers lingered against your neck, thumb pressing gently against your pulse point like he was counting your heartbeats. "what's going on in that head of yours?"
you. always you. the way you touch me like this and then don't talk to me for days. the way i can't tell if i'm losing my mind or if you actually feel something for me. the way you're driving me insane with this hot and cold routine and i don't know how much more i can take.
"nothing important," you said instead, because you were a coward who couldn't handle the possibility of rejection.
his eyes searched yours for a long moment, dark and intense and unreadable in a way that made you want to scream with frustration. then he leaned in close enough that his lips brushed against your ear and his breath was hot on your skin. "liar."
and then he walked away like he hadn't just touched you in a way that made your knees weak, like he hadn't just proven once again that he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
the next two days he communicated exclusively through text messages about jobs, brief and professional, like you were just another contact in his phone instead of someone he'd had pressed against a shelf with his hand on your throat.
a week later you made the mistake of wearing a new shirt, nothing special really, just something that actually fit properly instead of the oversized hoodies you usually hid in. sunoo took one look at you when you walked into the warehouse and went completely still, his entire body tensing in a way that made your breath catch.
"what?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious under the weight of his stare, resisting the urge to cross your arms over your chest.
"nothing." but his eyes were tracking over you slowly, taking in every detail in a way that made heat crawl up your neck and spread across your cheeks. "you look nice."
"it's just a shirt," you said, aiming for dismissive and landing somewhere closer to flustered.
"mm." he crossed the room and then his hand was settling on your waist like it belonged there. just resting there with his thumb stroking against your hip bone through the fabric in a way that made it impossible to think. "suits you."
your breath caught in your throat and his hand was so warm, his touch burning through the thin material of the shirt, and he was close, so close that you could see the exact shade of his eyes and count his eyelashes and smell the mint from whatever he'd been drinking. your brain went completely offline, every thought scattering like startled birds, and all you could focus on was the point of contact where his hand met your body.
"wear it more often," he murmured, voice low and intimate, and then he let go and walked away like he hadn't just set your entire body on fire with a single touch.
that night he sent you on a solo job and didn't speak to you until you returned hours later, and by then he was back to being distant and professional like the moment in the warehouse had never happened.
it was torture, actual psychological torture, this constant back and forth that left you reeling. you didn't know which version was real anymore, the sunoo who touched you like you were precious and looked at you like you hung the stars, or the sunoo who acted like you were just another piece on his chessboard, useful but ultimately replaceable.
you were starting to think maybe they were both real, that maybe he did care about you but didn't know how to show it consistently, or maybe his feelings were just as fucked up and complicated as yours and he was struggling with them the same way you were.
or maybe, and this was the thought that kept you up at night staring at your ceiling, maybe he just liked having power over you. liked knowing you were obsessed with him, liked watching you orbit around him desperately waiting for scraps of affection, liked the control he had over your emotions.
you didn't know which option was worse.
it was three weeks of this torture when everything fell apart.
you were supposed to be gathering intel on a hero safehouse, simple reconnaissance that should have been easy. in and out, no engagement as always (sunoo had been very clear about that part). but when you got to the location you found him already in the middle of a fight with three heroes instead of the one target you'd been expecting.
one of them was heeseung, some hotshot hero with energy manipulation who'd been climbing the ranks fast and making a name for himself taking down villains. he was good, really good, moving with a precision that spoke of serious training, and he'd brought backup that was equally competent.
sunoo was handling them fine because of course he was, nothing could hurt him after all, but they were coordinated enough to be annoying. they were keeping him busy, working together to contain him, and you could see what they were doing even from your hidden vantage point. they were stalling, buying time, waiting for more backup to arrive and overwhelm him with numbers.
you should have stayed hidden like sunoo had told you to, should have trusted that he had everything under control, that he could handle three heroes without breaking a sweat. but then you saw heeseung pull out some kind of device, something that glowed with concentrated energy that looked dangerous even from a distance, and he was pointing it at sunoo's back while sunoo was occupied with the other two heroes.
your body moved before your brain could fully process what you were doing, before you could think about consequences or strategy or the fact that sunoo specifically told you to stay out of it.
you dropped from your hiding spot and tackled heeseung, momentum and surprise on your side, sending the device skittering across the pavement. his eyes widened in surprise before narrowing with recognition as he recovered quickly.
"the sidekick," he said, already shifting into a fighting stance. "sunoo's little pet."
"fuck you," you snarled, already moving because you'd committed now and there was no backing out, no retreat.
heeseung was faster than you'd expected, stronger too, his energy manipulation letting him create shields and weapons simultaneously in ways that made him incredibly difficult to pin down. but you were good too, sunoo had been right about that even if he never let you prove it in any way that mattered. you'd trained for this, spent hours preparing for exactly this kind of fight, and you held your own against him.
at least until one of the other heroes broke away from sunoo and joined heeseung against you. then you were outnumbered and outmatched, fighting two enhanced heroes at once, and you felt the exact moment things shifted from manageable to genuinely dangerous. you heard the crackle of energy building, felt the heat of heeseung's power gathering in the air around you, and you knew with sudden terrible certainty that you were about to take a hit you might not recover from.
your eyes found sunoo across the chaos without meaning to, some instinct making you seek him out. he was closer now, had taken down one of the other heroes and was moving in your direction, and his eyes met yours across the space between you. they were dark and unreadable and intense in a way that made your breath catch even now, even in the middle of this disaster.
then heeseung's partner appeared next to sunoo, the hero with enhanced speed that you'd forgotten about in the chaos.
"got something you want?" he called out, gesturing at you with one hand while holding up the device you'd knocked away from heeseung with the other. "then come get it!"
sunoo's eyes moved between you and the device and you could see the calculation happening in real time, could see him weighing options and running through scenarios, could see the exact moment he made his choice.
he went for the device.
turned away from you, from the fact that you were surrounded and outmatched and about to get seriously hurt, and went for the fucking weapon instead like it mattered more than you did.
the smirk he threw over his shoulder as he moved, that tiny curve of his lips that usually meant trust me i have a plan, felt like a knife sliding between your ribs and twisting.
heeseung's energy blast caught you in the ribs before you could process what had just happened, before your brain could make sense of sunoo's choice. the pain was blinding, white-hot and all-consuming, spreading through your entire body like fire. you went down hard and your head cracked against the concrete with enough force to make your vision blur at the edges, everything going fuzzy and wrong.
you heard heeseung saying something but the words were muffled, distant, like you were underwater. you felt hands grabbing your arms and hauling you up and you tried to fight, tried to make your body respond, but everything hurt and nothing was working right.
"hey, hey—stop." that was heeseung's voice, much closer now, and he sounded concerned in a way that didn't make sense. "she's actually hurt. we need to—"
"she's a villain," his partner said from somewhere to your left. "we should call it in, get her processed—"
"she's a person," heeseung interrupted, and suddenly his hands were on your face, tilting it up gently, and his expression was genuinely worried in a way that made something crack open in your chest. a hero was worried about you. a hero was checking your injuries with careful hands and looking at you with concern while sunoo, while your partner, the person you would have died for, had just walked away like you didn't matter.
"where's your backup?" heeseung asked, and he sounded almost sorry, like he felt bad for you. "your partner. he should be here, he should be helping you—"
"he left," you said, and your voice came out broken and shattered, barely recognisable. "he left me."
heeseung's expression shifted to something like anger mixed with disbelief. "what?"
"got what he wanted." you tried to laugh but it turned into a cough that brought the taste of blood to your mouth. "the device was more important than me."
"that's—" heeseung looked genuinely furious now, more angry on your behalf than you'd seen him during the entire fight. "you jumped in to save him. i saw you. you protected him from the device and he just left you here?"
"yeah," you said, and the word felt hollow and empty, like it was coming from someone else. "he did."
the pity in heeseung's eyes was somehow worse than the physical pain, worse than the cracked ribs and the head injury and the fact that you could barely stand. this hero who was supposed to be your enemy understood that you'd just been abandoned by the person you loved, the person you would have died for, the person who apparently didn't think you were worth choosing.
"i'm sorry," heeseung said quietly, and you could tell he meant it, could hear the genuine sympathy in his voice. "that's not—you deserve better than that."
the laugh that escaped you was bitter and sharp and tasted like blood. "apparently not."
you managed to create an opening then, throwing a smoke bomb you'd been saving for emergencies and using the confusion and heeseung's momentary distraction to run. your ribs screamed with every breath and your head was pounding and your vision kept going fuzzy, but you didn't stop or look back. just ran until your legs finally gave out three blocks away in some abandoned alley.
you'd cracked at least two ribs, maybe three. there was blood in your mouth and dripping down your face from somewhere and your vision kept threatening to go dark at the edges. but you were alive. you'd saved yourself because apparently no one else was going to do it.
the worst part, the absolute worst part that made you want to curl up and sob, was that a hero had shown you more concern in five minutes than sunoo had during that entire fight. he had looked at you like you were a calculated risk he'd decided not to take.
you pulled out your phone with shaking hands that you couldn't quite control and called the one person who might help you. not sunoo though, never him again.
"yeonjun," you gasped when he picked up, barely able to get the words out. "i need a favour."
yeonjun was a former villain who'd gone straight, someone you'd worked with before you met sunoo. he didn't ask questions, didn't demand explanations, just gave you an address and told you to get there however you could manage.
you abandoned your phone in the alley after you hung up because sunoo could track it and you weren't stupid enough to think he wouldn't try to find you eventually. you took only what you could carry in your current state and disappeared into the night, every step agony but necessary.
if sunoo thought a device was more important than you, then he could have it. he could have everything—his knives and his plans and his fucking invincibility and his empty warehouse. you were done.
the safehouse yeonjun set you up in was small and dingy, but it was off the grid and that was all that mattered. he helped you patch up your ribs without asking what happened, just gave you supplies and space and resources and promised not to tell anyone where you were.
you were there for three days when the nightmares started, vivid and terrible and relentless. dreams where you watched sunoo turn away over and over, where you felt heeseung's energy blast hit you again and again, where you died alone in that alley because you weren't important enough to save.
but worse than those were the dreams where heeseung's pitying expression played on repeat, the way he'd looked at you like you were pathetic, like he felt sorry for you. a hero feeling sorry for you because even he could see that sunoo had abandoned you, that you'd been left behind.
you woke up gasping every time, ribs aching with the movement, and you'd remind yourself that you'd made the right choice. that leaving was self-preservation, that staying would have killed you eventually if not physically then emotionally, that you deserved better than someone who would leave you to die.
but it hurt. god, it hurt so much it felt like dying anyway. because despite everything, despite him choosing a weapon over you, despite the mind games and the hot-and-cold behaviour and the way he'd played with your feelings for weeks, you still loved him. you still wanted him. you still missed him with an intensity that felt like it was tearing you apart from the inside.
you were so pathetic. heeseung had been absolutely right to pity you.
but at least you'd had enough self-respect left to leave. at least you could say that. at least you'd chosen yourself when sunoo had made it clear he wouldn't.
you stayed in the safehouse and tried to figure out how to rebuild a life that didn't revolve around kim sunoo, that didn't orbit around him like he was the sun and you were just a planet caught in his gravitational pull.
it felt impossible.
sunoo stared at the empty alley where your phone lay abandoned, screen cracked and battery dying. the tracker he'd embedded in it blinked weakly before going dark and something in his chest went cold in a way he didn't recognise. you were gone. he'd come back for you, of course he'd come back for you, it had been a few minutes, the device was fake anyway, just a test from the heroes to see if he actually cared about his sidekick, and you were just. gone.
the heroes had scattered. you'd disappeared. and sunoo felt something he hadn't felt in years, not since he'd discovered his invincibility and realised nothing in the world could touch him. fear. actual bone-deep terror that made his hands shake and his breath come short because you were his and you were gone and he didn't know if someone had taken you or if you'd left on your own and he wasn't sure which option made him want to burn the world down more.
he tore through the area with increasing desperation, checking every shadow, every hiding spot, every possible place you could have gone. his knives were out and his hands wouldn't stop shaking and the fear was morphing into something darker now, something that tasted like rage and felt like madness
he found the smoke bomb residue first. then the blood, your blood, spattered on the concrete in a pattern that spoke of injury and pain. there were signs of a struggle, of you fighting your way out, of you getting hurt while he was dealing with a fake fucking device that didn't matter, because the only thing that mattered was you and he'd left you and now you were gone.
something in sunoo's chest cracked wide open and what poured out was violence.
the first building went down at dawn. sunoo walked into the heroes' main headquarters and started killing people. anyone who got in his way, anyone who might know where you were, anyone who existed in his path became a target. he was calm about it, almost detached, asking each person the same question before his knives found their throats.
"where is she? where did you take her?"
none of them knew. they were all surprised, confused, trying to fight back against someone they couldn't hurt. it didn't matter. sunoo killed them anyway because maybe the next one would know, maybe the next one would tell him where you were, maybe the next body would bring him closer to finding you.
heeseung found him three buildings later, surrounded by corpses, covered in blood that wasn't his own because blood was never his own, nothing could make him bleed, nothing could hurt him except apparently the gaping absence of you.
"sunoo, what the fuck—" heeseung stopped in the doorway, eyes wide as he took in the destruction.
"where is she?" sunoo's voice was deadly calm. he turned to face heeseung with his knives still dripping. "my sidekick. where did you take her?"
"we didn't take anyone—" heeseung's expression shifted as he processed the scene. "holy shit, what did you do?"
"where. is. she." sunoo started walking toward him and there must have been something in his face, something terrifying, because heeseung actually backed up a step. "i won't ask again."
"i don't know! we let her go after—" heeseung stopped and his expression changed to something like understanding mixed with disgust. "after you left her."
the words hung in the air between them, sharp and accusatory. after you left her. like it was sunoo's fault. like sunoo had abandoned you instead of making a tactical choice that should have taken forty-five seconds and somehow cost him everything.
"i came back," sunoo said quietly, and his voice was empty in a way that made heeseung tense. "i came back and she was gone."
"yeah, well." heeseung's hands crackled with energy, preparing for a fight he had to know he couldn't win. "can you blame her? you chose a device over your own partner. she was hurt, sunoo. cracked ribs, possible concussion, bleeding, and you just walked away like she was nothing."
sunoo moved. he was across the room before heeseung could blink, knife pressed against the hero's throat, and his hands were shaking again but his voice was steady. "don't. don't you dare act like you know anything about what she means to me."
"i know you left her to die," heeseung spat, and there was genuine anger in his voice, genuine disgust. "i know i showed more concern for her in five minutes than you did in that entire fight. she was devastated. she actually thought—she believed you didn't care about her."
something in sunoo's chest twisted violently and the knife bit into heeseung's skin, drawing blood. "the device was a fake. a test. i knew it was a fake. i was calling your bluff, proving it was empty so you couldn't use it as leverage. i was going to come right back for her."
"but you didn't," heeseung said, and his eyes were hard. "you didn't come back in time and she ran. and honestly? she deserves better than someone who would leave her surrounded by enemies just to prove a point."
sunoo's knife sliced deeper and heeseung choked, hands coming up to try and push him away, but sunoo was invincible and furious and utterly past caring about consequences. "she's mine. she's mine and i'm going to find her and i'm going to fix this."
"you really think she's going to take you back after—" heeseung's words cut off as sunoo's blade found his throat properly this time, cutting deep, and blood poured hot over sunoo's hands.
"i'll make her understand," sunoo said to heeseung's dying face. "i'll make her see. she belongs with me. she'll forgive me because she has to, because we're meant to be together, because i'll burn this entire city down before i let her go."
he left heeseung bleeding out on the floor and continued his search, and over the next two weeks sunoo tore apart half the city looking for you. he destroyed three more hero headquarters, killed anyone who got in his way, followed every lead no matter how slim. he didn't sleep, didn't eat, could barely breathe properly because you were out there somewhere thinking he'd abandoned you. thinking he didn't want you. thinking you didn't matter when you were literally the only thing that had ever mattered in his entire life.
he finally found you through yeonjun. he had tracked down the former villain, cornered him in some shitty apartment, and the look on sunoo's face must have been terrifying because yeonjun gave up the address immediately, hands raised in surrender.
"she doesn't want to see you," yeonjun warned, but he was already backing away from whatever he saw in sunoo's expression. "she thinks you abandoned her. she's hurt and angry and she told me if you came looking to tell you to fuck off."
"i don't care," sunoo said, and his voice was hollow. empty. "i'm getting her back."
"sunoo, maybe you should give her space—"
"i've given her two weeks." sunoo was already moving toward the door, toward the address yeonjun had given him, toward you. "i'm not giving her another second."
the safehouse door didn't stand a chance against him. sunoo kicked it open hard enough that the wood splintered and there you were, on your feet immediately with wide eyes and an expression that was half shock, half something else he couldn't read.
you were alive. real and solid and in front of him after two weeks of losing his mind, and sunoo couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself from crossing the room in three strides and pulling you into his arms.
he held you so tight it probably hurt but he couldn't make himself loosen his grip because you were here, you were okay, you were safe and alive and he'd found you. his hands shook where they fisted in your shirt and his face was buried in your hair and he couldn't breathe properly, couldn't think past the overwhelming relief that was making his chest ache.
"you're okay," he breathed against your hair, and his voice cracked on the words. "you're okay, you're here, you're safe, i found you, you're—"
you shoved him away hard enough that he actually stumbled back a step, too surprised to resist, and when he looked at your face you were crying. angry tears were streaming down your cheeks and your expression was furious and hurt and devastating.
"don't fucking touch me," you snarled, and your voice was shaking with rage. "you don't get to touch me. you don't get to just show up here after two weeks and act like everything's fine—"
"i'm sorry," sunoo said, and he could hear the desperation in his own voice. "i'm so sorry, i looked everywhere for you, i tore apart the city trying to find you—"
"sorry?" you laughed and it sounded broken, jagged around the edges. "you're sorry? you left me, sunoo. you looked right at me, you saw that i was surrounded and outmatched and about to get hurt, and you turned around and left."
"it was a test," he said desperately, taking a step toward you even as you backed away. "the device was fake, heeseung was testing to see if i cared about you more than the mission. i knew it was fake so i called the bluff. i was going to come right back for you, it was only going to take a minute—"
"but you didn't come back!" your voice cracked and more tears fell. "you didn't come back and i was hurt and bleeding and a hero showed me more concern than you did. heeseung looked at me with pity, sunoo. actual pity. because even he could see that you'd abandoned me, that you didn't give a shit about me, that i was just—just—"
your voice broke completely and sunoo felt something in his chest shatter because you believed it. you actually believed that you didn't matter to him, that you were disposable, that he could just walk away from you.
"that's not true," he said, and his voice came out rough and desperate. "that's not true, i came back, i swear i came back. a few minutes, that's all it took to dismantle the device and prove it was fake and i turned around and you were gone. i've been losing my mind for two weeks thinking someone took you, thinking you were hurt somewhere and i couldn't find you—"
"so what?" you backed further away from him and your hands were shaking. "you want credit for that? you want me to be grateful that you went on a murder spree after you abandoned me? that doesn't change what happened. that doesn't change the fact that when it mattered, when i actually needed you, you chose wrong."
"i chose strategically!" his voice rose to match yours and he was moving toward you again, unable to stop himself. "i made the smart call, the one that would get us both out safely. how was i supposed to know you'd run before i could come back for you?"
"maybe because you've spent weeks playing mind games with me!" you were yelling now and your face was flushed with anger and hurt.
"you touch me like i matter and then ignore me for days. you tell me i'm yours and then treat me like i'm nothing. you say you'd burn the world down for me and then you literally turned your back on me when i needed you. you've given me nothing consistent except the absolute certainty that i'm not your priority, so yeah, when you walked away, i believed it. i believed that the device mattered more than me. i believed that i was expendable."
sunoo felt like he'd been stabbed, like something vital had been punctured and was bleeding out inside his chest. "you're not expendable. you're everything—"
"liar!" you grabbed something off the table, a glass, and threw it at him. he didn't dodge, didn't even try to, and it shattered against his chest and fell harmlessly to the floor. "you're a liar and i hate you and i want you to leave."
"no." sunoo shook his head and took another step forward. "no, i'm not leaving. not again. never again."
"i don't want you here!" you grabbed something else, a plate this time, and threw it harder. it hit his shoulder and shattered. "i don't want to see you, i don't want to hear your excuses, i don't want—"
you were grabbing things faster now, throwing anything you could reach, and sunoo just stood there and took it. took the mug that hit his chest, the book that caught his jaw, the vase that shattered against his ribs. he didn't dodge or defend himself, just let you express your rage in the only way you could because he deserved it. he deserved all of it and more.
your hand found a knife on the counter and you threw it with actual intent to harm, put real force behind it, and it hit him square in the shoulder and stuck there.
and he bled.
you froze immediately, eyes going wide as blood started soaking through his shirt, as the knife stayed embedded in his shoulder, as actual visible injury appeared on his body for the first time in the two years you'd known him.
"what—" your voice came out shaky and confused. "how did i—you're invincible, you can't—nothing can hurt you—"
sunoo looked down at the knife in his shoulder and the smile that spread across his face was delighted, absolutely manic, his eyes bright with something unhinged and adoring. he pulled the knife out slowly, watching blood drip from the blade, and then he was crossing the room in two strides and grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against him.
"no," he said, and his voice was soft and reverent and slightly crazed. "i'm not invincible, sweetheart. i'm immune to harm from everyone and everything in the world. except one person."
his hand came up to cup your face and his thumb stroked across your cheekbone, smearing a bit of his own blood on your skin, and his smile was soft now, tender in a way that made your breath catch.
"my true soulmate," he murmured, and his eyes were so dark, so intense as they stared into yours. "the other half of my soul. my perfect match. the only person in the entire world who can actually hurt me." his other hand tightened on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. "you. it's you. it's always been you."
your brain couldn't process this, couldn't make sense of what he was saying. "that's not—no. that's not possible. you've been fighting for years, you've never been hurt, you're completely invincible—"
"to everyone else," he interrupted, and his voice was patient like he was explaining something simple. "to everyone else i'm untouchable. but to my soulmate? to the person i'm meant to be with? i'm completely vulnerable. and i've known since the day i met you. i've known you were my mate since that jewelry store because you bumped into me while running and i felt it. this little spark of sensation that i'd never felt before. you could have hurt me then and you can hurt me now and you're the only one."
"stop," you whispered, but you didn't pull away from him, couldn't make yourself move out of his arms even though you were still so angry. "stop saying things like that."
"it's the truth." his forehead pressed against yours and his eyes slid closed like he was savouring this, savouring your proximity. "i'm obsessed with you. i've been obsessed with you for two years. i think about you constantly. the way you bite your lip when you're nervous, the way you try so hard to hide how you feel about me, the way you look at me like i hung the stars even when i know i don't deserve it. i kept you away from fights because i knew if you got seriously hurt i'd lose my mind. i pushed you away emotionally because i was terrified of what it meant that you could hurt me, that i had this weakness after years of being untouchable."
"you have a really fucked up way of showing you care about someone," you managed, but your voice was weak and your hands had somehow ended up fisted in his bloody shirt.
"i know." his eyes opened and the vulnerability in them made your chest ache. "i know i fucked up. i should have told you from the start. should have explained what you are to me instead of playing games and keeping you at a distance. but i was scared. i've never been vulnerable before. never had someone who could actually hurt me. and then you showed up and suddenly i had this thing in my chest that ached when you weren't around and i didn't know how to handle it."
"so you decided to give me whiplash instead?" you couldn't keep the bitterness out of your voice. "hot and cold, back and forth, never letting me know where i stood?"
"i was trying to protect myself," he admitted quietly. "if i kept you at a distance emotionally then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much that you could hurt me physically. if i didn't let myself care too much then maybe i'd survive it when you eventually figured out you could do better than me and left. but it didn't work. i just made you think i didn't want you when you're all i've ever wanted."
"you left me," you said again, and your voice cracked on the words because that was the core of it, the thing you couldn't get past. "you looked at me and you turned away and you left me there."
"i made a mistake." his hands were shaking where they held you and his voice was wrecked.
"the worst mistake of my life. i thought—i was so sure i'd be right back, so certain i could handle it quickly and come back for you. i didn't think about how it would look from your perspective. didn't consider how it would feel to watch me walk away. i just saw the tactical solution and took it because that's what i always do, but i should have—" his voice broke. "i should have chosen you. fuck the strategy, fuck the heroes, fuck the optics. i should have gone to you first. always you first."
you wanted to stay angry, wanted to hold onto the hurt and use it as armour against the hope trying to bloom in your chest. "this doesn't fix everything."
"i know," he said immediately.
"i'm still furious with you."
"i know."
"you're going to have to work for this. no more games. no more pushing me away. no more making me guess how you feel."
"anything." his voice was fervent, desperate. "anything you want. i'll be so honest it's uncomfortable. i'll tell you every single thought i have about you. i'll stop protecting myself and just—i'll give you everything. i'll prove that you matter more than anything else in my life."
you opened your mouth to respond, to say something about how words were easy and actions were what counted, but he kissed you before you could get the words out. it was rough and desperate and consuming, his hands fisting in your hair and pulling you closer, angling your head exactly how he wanted it. you made a sound, half protest and half something else entirely, and he swallowed it, deepened the kiss, licked into your mouth like he was trying to devour you whole.
you bit his lip hard. hard enough to break skin and taste blood, and he moaned into your mouth like it was the best thing he'd ever felt.
"still mad at me?" he murmured against your lips when you finally broke apart to breathe, and you could feel his smile even though your eyes were still closed.
"furious," you gasped, but your hands were tangled in his shirt and pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, completely betraying your words.
"good." he walked you backward until your back hit the wall and his body pressed fully against yours. "stay mad. yell at me. hurt me. i don't care as long as you're here. as long as i can touch you. anything is better than the last two weeks thinking i'd lost you forever."
"you're insane," you managed, but it came out breathy and weak because his mouth was on your neck now, teeth scraping against your pulse point in a way that made your knees weak.
"for you, yes." his hand slid under your shirt and his fingers splayed across your ribs, right over the bruises that were still fading from heeseung's attack. "i've been going insane for two weeks. tore apart half the city. killed anyone who got in my way. couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't think about anything except finding you and getting you back and making you understand that you're mine."
your breath caught as his fingers traced over the bruises with devastating gentleness, like he was memorising the exact shape of them. "he hurt you," sunoo said, and his voice had gone cold and dangerous. "heeseung hurt you."
"you killed him already, remember?"
"not slowly enough." his fingers pressed just slightly harder against the bruised ribs and you hissed at the spike of pain. "i should have made it last days. should have made him suffer for every mark he left on your skin. should have made him understand what it means to hurt something that belongs to me."
"sunoo—" you didn't know if you were protesting or encouraging him, didn't know what you wanted except more.
"i'm going to make this up to you," he promised, and when he pulled back to look at you his eyes were dark with intent, pupils blown wide. "i'm going to make you feel so good you forget about the last two weeks. i'm going to touch you until the only thing you can think about is me. i'm going to prove that you're mine and i'm yours and nothing else matters."
"that's not how apologies work," you tried to say, but it came out shaky because his hand was sliding higher under your shirt and his thumb was brushing against the underside of your breast and you couldn't think.
"then tell me to stop." he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes properly, and despite the heat in his gaze there was genuine question there too. "tell me you don't want this and i'll stop. i'll leave. i'll give you space. i'll do whatever you need, even if it kills me."
you looked at him and saw the desperation in his expression, the way his hands trembled slightly where they touched you, the blood still soaking through his shirt from where you'd stabbed him. you thought about the last two weeks of nightmares and pain and missing him so much it physically hurt. thought about how even after everything, even after he'd left you and broken your heart, you still loved him. still wanted him. still felt like a piece of you was missing when he wasn't around.
"i don't want you to stop," you whispered, and your voice came out broken and honest. "i hate you and i want you and i'm so tired of fighting it."
something in his expression shifted, softened and sharpened at the same time, and then he was kissing you again. properly this time, slow and deep and thorough, like he had all the time in the world to learn the taste of you. you kissed back with everything you had, two years of want and frustration and love pouring out.
your hands tugged at his blood-stained shirt until he had to break the kiss to pull it off, and then you could see the wound on his shoulder properly. it was still bleeding sluggishly, the skin around it red and irritated, and you pressed your fingers against it without thinking.
he made a sound low in his throat and his eyes fluttered closed. "does it hurt?" you asked, fascinated despite yourself.
"yes," he breathed, and when his eyes opened again they were glazed with something that looked almost like pleasure. "do it again."
so you pressed harder and watched his face as he reacted. watched his breath catch and his pupils dilate and his hands tighten on your waist hard enough to bruise. there was something intoxicating about it, something that made heat pool low in your stomach. having this kind of power over someone who was otherwise completely invincible. being the only person who could hurt him, the only one who mattered enough to break through his immunity.
"you want to hurt me?" he asked, and his voice dropped to something dangerous and inviting, something that made heat pool low in your stomach. "go ahead, sweetheart. take one of my knives and make me bleed. i know you want to."
your breath caught because he was right. you did want to. wanted to see him bleed for you, wanted proof that you had this power over him, that you could affect him the way he'd been affecting you for two years. wanted to make him feel even a fraction of the pain you'd been carrying around.
"you're still angry," he continued, reading you like he always did, like you were his favourite book and he'd memorised every page. "still hurt. so take it out on me. i can handle it. i want you to."
he pulled a knife from his pocket, one of his favourites, the one with the black handle that he always kept razor sharp, and pressed it into your palm. his fingers closed around yours, warm and steady, holding your hand around the weapon. "go on."
you looked at the blade, then at him, at the absolute certainty in his expression. the trust. he was giving you the power to hurt him, offering himself up to the only person in the world who could actually damage him, and telling you to use it. encouraging it even.
your hand was shaking as you brought the knife up to his chest, pressing the tip against his skin just above his heart hard enough to dimple the flesh. "you really want this?"
"i want everything with you." his hand covered yours on the handle, applying gentle pressure until the blade bit into his skin and blood welled up around it, bright red against pale skin. "even the pain. especially the pain, because it means you're touching me. means you're here and real and mine."
you dragged the knife across his chest, not deep but enough to hurt, enough to part skin and draw a thin line of blood, and watched his eyes flutter closed like he was savouring it. watched his lips part on a sharp intake of breath that might have been pleasure.
"fuck," he breathed, and when his eyes opened again they were glazed with something that looked almost euphoric. "again."
something dark and possessive unfurled in your chest at his reaction, something that liked having this power over him. you made another cut, parallel to the first, and he groaned low in his throat, a sound that went straight between your legs. his hands tightened on your waist hard enough to bruise and you were mesmerised by the blood running down his chest in thin rivulets, by the proof that you could do this to him.
"you like this," you said, and it wasn't quite a question because you could see it in his face, in the way his breathing had gone ragged.
"i love it," he admitted without shame, without hesitation. "love that you're the one doing it. love that you have this power over me. love that i can bleed for you when i can't bleed for anyone else."
you pressed the knife harder against his chest, dragging it down toward his ribs in a longer line this time, watching blood well up in the blade's wake like you were painting him. his stomach muscles tensed under your touch and his breathing was getting heavier, more erratic, more desperate.
"fuck," he hissed when you pressed the tip of the blade just above his hip bone, twisting it slightly to make it hurt more. his hand shot out to grab your wrist, not to stop you, just to steady himself, fingers digging in hard enough that you'd have marks later. "you have no idea what you're doing to me."
"i think i have some idea." you could see it in the way his pupils were blown wide, black almost completely swallowing the brown. could see it in the way he was already getting hard, the bulge in his jeans obvious and growing. "you're getting off on this. on me hurting you."
"of course i am." his free hand fisted in your hair, pulling you closer until your faces were inches apart and you could feel his breath on your lips. "you're the only person in the world who can make me feel pain. do you understand how fucking intoxicating that is?"
you dragged the knife across his collarbone, following the line of bone, and he groaned again. the sound was rough and desperate and so clearly pleasure that it made your own breathing pick up. blood was everywhere now, painting his chest in abstract patterns, dripping down his stomach to soak into the waistband of his jeans. he looked absolutely ruined and it was all because of you.
"that's enough playing around," he said suddenly, and his hand wrapped around your throat, not squeezing but possessive. his other hand plucked the knife from your grip easily. "my turn now."
he tossed the knife aside and before you could protest, before you could even process the loss of the weapon, he was on you. his mouth crashed against yours and the kiss was immediately desperate and consuming, his tongue sliding against yours while his hand tightened slightly on your throat. you could taste something metallic and realised with a start that it was his blood from where you'd apparently cut his lip at some point.
"been so patient with you," he muttered against your lips, walking you backward until your back hit the wall hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. "letting you have your little tantrum. letting you cut me up like i'm your personal canvas. but i think that's enough attitude for one night, don't you?"
"i'm still mad at you," you said, even as your hands fisted in his bloody shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing away like you should.
"oh, i know." his smile was sharp and mean as he pulled back just enough to look at you properly. "and i'm going to fuck that right out of you."
"you think it's going to be that easy?" you challenged, lifting your chin defiantly even though your heart was racing and you could feel how wet you already were.
"easy? no." his hand left your throat to work at your top, yanking it over your head roughly enough that you heard fabric tear. "but it'll be fun watching you try to stay bratty when you're falling apart on my cock."
"big talk from someone who—" your words cut off in a gasp as he shoved his hand down your pants without warning, fingers immediately finding how wet you were.
"from someone who what?" he asked, voice dripping with condescension as his fingers slid through your folds, spreading the evidence of your arousal. "go on, finish that sentence. oh wait, you can't, can you? not when you're this fucking wet for me already."
"fuck you," you managed, but it came out breathless and weak.
"you will be soon." he pulled his hand out and brought his fingers to his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he sucked them clean with obvious enjoyment. "mm. tastes like you're not as mad as you're pretending to be."
"i am mad—"
"then why are you dripping down your thighs, sweetheart?" he popped the button on your jeans and shoved them down along with your underwear in one rough movement. "why are you trembling? why can't you stop looking at me like you want me to ruin you?"
you opened your mouth to snap back with something cutting but he chose that exact moment to push two fingers inside you and the words dissolved into a moan that echoed embarrassingly in the small space. "
there we go," he said, and he sounded so pleased with himself it should have been annoying. "that's much better than all that talking back."
his fingers worked you with devastating efficiency, like he'd studied your body and knew exactly what you needed. they curled to hit that spot inside you that made your knees weak while his thumb circled your clit with perfect pressure. you were already embarrassingly close, wound tight from weeks of missing him and the adrenaline of the knifeplay and having him this close after thinking you'd never see him again.
"look at you," he murmured, his free hand coming up to grip your jaw firmly, forcing you to meet his eyes. "getting so close already. want to come on my fingers, baby?"
"yes," you gasped, past the point of playing hard to get or pretending you didn't want this desperately.
"ask me nicely."
"what?"
his fingers slowed to an agonising pace that had you wanting to cry from frustration. "i said ask me nicely. where are your manners?"
"please," you gritted out, hating how desperate you sounded but needing the release too badly to care about pride.
"please what?"
"please let me come."
"hmm." his fingers stopped moving entirely and you actually whimpered, a pathetic needy sound. "i don't know if you deserve it yet. you've been pretty bratty. throwing things at me, stabbing me, running away for two weeks and making me think you were dead..."
"sunoo, please—"
"tell me you're sorry," he demanded, and his eyes were dark and intense and utterly serious. "tell me you're sorry for leaving and i'll let you come."
your pride warred with need and need won decisively. "i'm sorry," you gasped out. "i'm sorry for leaving, please, i need—"
"good girl." his fingers resumed their movement immediately, faster now, harder, and you were right back on that edge within seconds. "see how easy things are when you behave?"
you came with a cry that was probably too loud, clenching around his fingers rhythmically, and he worked you through it with a satisfied smile on his face. but before you could catch your breath, before you could even start to come down, he was pulling his fingers out and spinning you around, pressing your front against the wall.
"now here's what's going to happen," he said against your ear, his body a solid line of heat against your back. "i'm going to fuck you against this wall until you forget why you were mad at me. and you're going to take it and thank me for it. understand?"
"you're so full of yourself—" you started, but cut off with a gasp as you felt him line himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
"and you're about to be full of me," he said, and thrust in with one brutal movement that punched the air from your lungs.
you cried out at the stretch, at the way he filled you so completely you could barely breathe. he was big, bigger than you'd expected, and the angle had him hitting so deep it bordered on too much, on the edge of pain.
"fuck, you're tight," he groaned against your neck, and his voice was wrecked in a way that sent another wave of heat through you. "squeezing my cock like you don't want to let me go. thought you were mad at me?"
"i am," you managed, but it came out weak and breathless and completely unconvincing.
"sure you are." he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, setting a punishing pace that had you seeing stars. "that's why you're taking my cock so well. that's why you're already getting wet again. because you're so mad at me."
"shut up," you gasped, but you were already pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts, chasing the pleasure.
"make me." his hand came up to wrap around your throat from behind, not squeezing but possessive, claiming, owning. "oh wait, you can't. you're too busy moaning for me."
he was right and you hated it. every thrust hit perfectly, the angle letting him go so deep you could feel him everywhere, feel him splitting you open. your legs were shaking, barely holding you up, and if it wasn't for his grip on your hip and throat you would have collapsed.
"this is what you needed, isn't it?" he panted against your ear, and each word was punctuated by a thrust. "needed me to fuck some sense into you. needed to be reminded who you belong to."
"i don't belong to anyone," you tried to argue, but it came out more like a moan than actual words.
"liar." his hand slid from your hip to between your legs, fingers finding your clit and circling it with maddening pressure. "you're mine. have been since that jewelry store. you just needed a reminder."
"sunoo," you gasped, feeling yourself getting close again impossibly fast, your body responding to him like it was made for this.
"that's right. say my name. let everyone know who's fucking you this good." his pace got harder, more erratic, and his fingers worked your clit in tight circles. "come on my cock, sweetheart. show me who you belong to."
your second orgasm hit even harder than the first, your whole body seizing up as pleasure crashed over you in waves. you heard yourself crying out his name, felt yourself clenching around him rhythmically, and it was so intense you actually saw stars, your vision whiting out at the edges.
"fuck, that's it," sunoo groaned, and his rhythm was faltering now, getting sloppy. "feel so good when you come. so perfect. gonna fill you up. gonna make sure you remember this."
he thrust into you one final time, grinding deep, and you felt him pulse inside you, filling you with heat. for a long moment neither of you moved, both gasping for air, bodies slick with sweat and blood and completely wrung out.
then he was pulling out carefully, gently, and turning you around. he caught you when your legs threatened to give out, his arms coming around you to hold you steady. his expression had shifted, the mean dominant edge smoothed away into something softer, more vulnerable.
"can you walk?" he asked, and there was genuine concern in his voice now.
"maybe," you managed, still trying to catch your breath and make your brain work again.
"good enough." he scooped you up easily like you weighed nothing, carrying you toward the bed. "we're not done yet."
"sunoo, i can't—" you started, genuinely not sure your body could handle more.
"yes you can," he said simply, and there was that commanding tone again that made your stomach flip.
"you're insane," you said, but you didn't push him away when he laid you down on the mattress and settled between your legs.
"we've established that." he looked up at you through his lashes, and even covered in blood and sweat he was beautiful. "now be a good girl and let me taste you."
before you could respond, his mouth was on you and his tongue was licking through your folds, tasting the mixture of both of you. you nearly came off the bed from the sensitivity, it was almost too much.
"too much," you gasped, hands flying to his hair, trying to push him away.
he just grabbed your wrists and pinned them to your sides, not even pausing in his ministrations. "i don't remember asking," he said against you, the vibration of his words making you whimper.
"sunoo—"
"what did i say about talking back?" he looked up at you and his eyes were dark and stern. "every time you argue, i'm adding another orgasm. want to keep going?"
you shut your mouth immediately, and he smiled. "that's what i thought. now stay still."
he went back to work with renewed focus, his tongue circling your clit while keeping your wrists pinned to the bed. you were so sensitive that every touch felt electric, overwhelming, bordering on painful but in a way that still felt good.
"that's better," he murmured between licks, his breath hot against your oversensitized flesh. "no more attitude. just taking what i give you like a good girl."
despite the oversensitivity, despite thinking it was impossible, you felt it building again. he was making it happen with that devastating tongue, working you with the kind of precision that came from paying attention, from caring.
"sunoo, i'm—" you gasped, your hips trying to move but he held you down effortlessly.
"i know." his tongue moved faster and you could feel him smiling against you. "give it to me. one more, baby. you can do it."
when you came this time it was almost painful, the pleasure so intense it felt like electricity shooting through your entire nervous system. you were vaguely aware of crying, of making sounds that didn't sound human, but you couldn't stop it, couldn't control your body's response.
sunoo worked you through it gently this time, his tongue softening as you came down, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs while you shook and gasped and tried to remember how to breathe. when he finally pulled back, you were completely wrecked, trembling and boneless and utterly spent.
"look at you," he said softly, crawling up your body to gather you into his arms. "so pretty when you let go."
you couldn't even form words, just buried your face in his chest and breathed in the scent of him. blood and sweat and something uniquely sunoo that made your chest ache with how much you'd missed it.
"come on," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "let's get you cleaned up."
he carried you to the bathroom and this time you didn't protest, too exhausted and wrung out to do anything but let him take care of you. he started the shower and helped you under the spray, his hands impossibly gentle now as he washed you with careful attention.
"did i hurt you?" he asked quietly, his fingers tracing over the marks he'd left on your body. the bruises blooming on your hips and wrists, the fingerprints on your throat. "too rough?"
"no," you said honestly, leaning into his touch. "just... intense."
"good intense or bad intense?"
"good," you admitted, feeling heat rise to your cheeks despite everything you'd just done. "really good."
he smiled softly at that, genuine and so beautiful it made your chest tight. "good. i never want to actually hurt you. even when i'm being mean."
"you were pretty mean," you said, but there was no heat in it, just fond observation.
"you liked it," he countered, and when you didn't argue, his smile widened into something more smug. "knew you would. knew underneath all that attitude you just needed someone to put you in your place."
"don't get cocky."
"too late." but then his expression softened again as he washed your hair with careful fingers, working through the tangles with patience. "but i'll try to be humble. for you."
"you're bleeding," you pointed out, looking at the cuts on his chest that were still seeping blood sluggishly into the water running down the drain.
"i know." he sounded almost pleased about it, like the wounds were a gift. "they'll scar. i'll have marks from you forever. i like that idea."
when you were both clean, when the water had finally run clear and all the blood was washed away, he dried you off with a towel and found one of your shirts. he helped you into it despite your weak protest that you could dress yourself, then carried you back to bed and settled you against his chest with your head tucked under his chin.
"i love you," he said quietly into the darkness, his hand stroking through your damp hair in soothing motions. "i know i'm fucked up about showing it. i know i hurt you. but i love you more than anything. you're my everything."
"i love you too," you whispered. "even when you're an asshole."
"especially when i'm an asshole," he corrected with a soft laugh. "that's when you get the most worked up."
"shut up."
"see? bratty even now." but his tone was fond, affectionate, full of something warm. "get some sleep, sweetheart. i'll be here when you wake up."
"promise?"
"i promise," he said seriously, and you could hear the weight of it in his voice. "i'm never leaving you again. never making you doubt how important you are to me. you're stuck with me now. for better or worse."
"mostly worse," you mumbled, already drifting off, exhaustion pulling you under.
you fell asleep wrapped in his arms, feeling safer and more content than you had in weeks, and for the first time since everything fell apart you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
note 2: the whole soulmate thing was inspired by this!
if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3
There was much talk of you in the nine months before you were born.
With both your parents as dominant figures in the jujutsu world, it was prophesied that you were likely to inherit one of the most prominent curse techniques in all existence, one valued on the same scale as six eyes and limitless.
Satoru was seven years old when he was told you were to be his wife.
You weren’t even born yet, but he met with you through your mother's belly. He hadn’t said much to you then. After all, what was there to be said? He didn’t really want to marry a baby, nor did he have any idea what you’d grow into. But that wouldn’t have been proper to say, and he’d been schooled very thoroughly on what consequences might occur if he were to misbehave.
Your union would be one for the ages. To compromise it in any way would be unwise. After all, there’s no telling what would happen to the dynamic between clans when yet another special grade, such as himself, were to enter it. In many ways, your union would be a peace treaty. And even he, young and full of himself as he was, still understood the importance of that.
And so, he kept his mouth mostly shut, sipping his bitter black tea despite not really liking such things, watching you through the red wall of your mother’s womb, wondering if you might grow to overpower him one day—unsure whether he found the thought unpleasant or not.
People from every clan showed up to welcome you into the world when the time finally arrived, showing you the respect someone of your caliber deserves.
The moment you were born, the whole world fell silent. People held their breath, maids put their work on hold, the cicadas ceased their chirping as if in reverence of your coming, all ready to perceive the miracle. Even he, seven years old and already deemed the most powerful sorcerer of the century, stopped to watch you with all six eyes wide open.
Only for you to turn out normal.
A dud.
Despite the disappointment of your birth, your marriage to the six-eyes wasn’t annulled. Still, it would take ten years before you met your husband-to-be.
You’d hear about him often, of his prowess—how, even being just a teenager, he was considered the greatest sorcerer in existence. Most revered him, the elders were smart enough to fear him, and you? Why, you couldn’t help but be a little bashful over the entire thing.
To think, your life, which, by all accounts, should have been doomed from your very first breath—curseless as you are, only fit to be a maid—had been saved before you were even born. Destined to be the great Gojo Satoru’s wife—a well-respected lady.
In your childish girlhood, lonely as you were often left, a protected outcast, you’d dream of him almost every night—your knight in shining armor, your prince charming, your soulmate. You were positively gushing from the thrill on the day of your first meeting.
He was handsome—the most beautiful boy, only a year shy of becoming a man, you’d ever seen—sitting there, next to the old Gojo clanhead, dressed in traditional robes, opposite you and your own clan’s respective leader. Snow-white hair, alabaster skin, dazzling blue eyes with a jaded look in them that would have you squealing and kicking your feet, if you weren’t expected to sit still and pretty like a doll.
Your elders spoke of many matters—political nothings. Neither of you was asked to join in. Still, Satoru would sigh every now and again, sometimes even utter a scoff—visibly irked. You could never dare yourself, but you found yourself agreeing with him. Sitting like that for so long, listening to higher-ups speak of highs and lows, is about as fun as watching paint dry. However, you could manage without letting it show on your face. It seemed Satoru, despite being older, still didn’t share your grace—rolling his eyes every other minute, scowling where he sat, back hunched and arms crossed, knee jerking, making his entire body shake with annoyance. You had to suppress a giggle at the sight.
You’d been wrong, though. Very wrong.
It wasn’t the higher-ups’ talk that bored him.
It was you.
“Maybe you’re just a late-bloomer.”
The clanhead had tasked Satoru with showing you the gardens, leaving the two of you alone together.
You’d thought it romantic—dreamy like a fairy tale—picturing him as he would pluck your favorite flower for you and his absolute softness treading it behind your ear, calling you beautiful in the sweetest voice known between heaven and earth, just like in your fantasies.
“Maybe if I hurt you enough, that famous technique of yours will pop right out.”
You’d read too many books and watched too many movies. No one had warned you about reality. “What?” is the only thing you’re able to splutter out—the only question in your head, pitiful as it was fatal to every idea of your future that you’d had so far. Where’s the happily-ever-after you’d been looking forward to all this time?
“I’m not marrying some loser without any cursed energy.”
His grip on your arm was just shy of breaking the bone. He no longer looked anything like a prince, but rather some horrid creature taken from nightmares you’d never have the guts to think up on your own, eyes iridescent like a stove-top, and burning you just so.
“So, I guess I’ll just have to force it out of you.”
He’d barely given you a scratch before you’d started screaming and bawling. Your heart, broken into too many pieces, like splinters in your throat, as you lie curled up on the dusty ground beneath your fiancé.
Your wailing had both clanheads return before he could do much. Even so, he didn’t feel the need to anymore. It was plain as day, nothing he would have done could bring out something that clearly didn’t exist.
You were just a plain ol’ stupid girl. Unworthy of him.
He sighed again, like he’d done throughout the meeting, like it was all beneath him, before turning on his shoe and shuffling away in disappointment, though not before spitting out a final utterance of pure disgust,
“What a joke…”
And still, despite the clear rejection, news of an annulment never came.
Satoru became a man, and rumors of his bedroom activities would spread from the maids of the Gojo estate to the maids of yours, and ultimately into your ears. And seven years later, you were introduced to adulthood and finally allowed your own voice.
And with the wedding only half a year away, you find yourself back by your own volition and without your clan’s knowledge, bowing before the Gojo clanhead, making the brazen decision when putting in the request for an annulment yourself.
You speak clearly and matter-of-factly while laying forth the arguments. The only reason the two of you were supposed to marry in the first place was to keep each other in check, which wasn’t a requirement given the circumstances of you being without cursed energy.
“It would be in the Gojo clan's best interest to marry into another more prominent clan.”
And yet, “You’ll remain fiancés,” is the decisive answer given by the old Gojo clanhead after you’ve finished pleading your case.
“You might not have inherited your clan’s cursed technique, but it’s still in your blood, and any child you bear will have a strong chance of being granted the gift you weren’t. As such, the reason for your marriage is still relevant.”
You won’t say you aren’t miffed, especially after having come all this way and worded your arguments so well. Still, you know better than to argue with elders, and so you thank him for his time with a polite bow, then dismiss yourself without any further complaint—fists balled silently at your sides, worried for the drastic decisions you’re going to have to make if the marriage still stands come time.
Wracking your brain for an answer, it’s just before you’re fully about to leave the grounds, you’re stopped in your tracks by a familiar mean grip wrapped tightly around your upper arm—and maybe, with it, the unlikely answer to your problem.
“Try’na divorce me before we’re even wed?” his voice cuts through the silent temple, shattering against the barren marble walls. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
It’s been eight years, in which time he’s become a man of twenty-five. He’s a Jujutsu High graduate now, certified in the field, rich—or so you’ve heard—but above all else, he’s a handsome rake, and maybe not one who’s all that eager to give up the title.
You scoff, smiling with a tiny laugh that takes him aback. “Figured you couldn’t be asked to make the trip, so I did it for you,” you drawl, cocking your head backwards and giving him a lazy sneer. “You should be happy.”
He looks at you, still with his hand digging into your arm as confusion rumples the space between his eyes.
“Oh, come on, Satoru, what’s with the look?” You cock a brow. “This union was never our choice. And from what I’ve heard you’ve done your fair share of protesting to it in your own unsightly ways, parading around like the common manwhore.”
Snickering, you can’t help but find some sick pleasure in the chagrinned blush breaking out across the top of his cheeks.
“No need to be embarrassed,” you scoff then. “I’m glad we’re on the same side.”
It’s not really the right words for the situation, but still, despite everything, the two of you joining forces would be the path of least resistance. You just needed to hand him the baton, and then you could sit back and watch him do all the dirty work.
“But really? You’re the strongest sorcerer of the century—what are you still doing acting like a rebellious teenager? You’re a man now, time to wage war.” You poke his chest with your finger, punctuating your words. “Challenge your senile clanhead, and kick the geezer back in line where he belongs already.”
Then you smile wryly, lifting your hand and stroking his cheek with mock tenderness—manipulating your voice in the same fashion. “Shouldn’t be too hard for you. Just flash ‘em those baby-blues, and he’ll probably croak on the spot.”
He looks nonplussed both before and after you give the cheek a soft slap, looking at you, still with a deep furrow between his brows. And then he speaks, now with a tone you’d never think to hear from him—calmly saying, “I don’t remember you being so…”
He trails off, never finishing it. But you don’t have much interest in hearing it anyway. Instead, you move on with a sigh, “Well, a lot happens when you grow up. You should try it.”
The grip he’d kept on your arm loosens, and you seize the opportunity to pull it to yourself as you extend your hand in truce, waiting for him to shake it.
“So then, can I trust that you’ll clean this mess up once and for all?”
It hangs there—poised in the air under his gaze as he deliberates with himself.
It’s unclear—maybe he makes the choice right then or there. Maybe it was something in the way you’d presented yourself, talking to him in that haphazard way no one had ever done before. Maybe that was all it took. Or maybe it was something completely different.
“Nah…” He leaves your hand to hang. “Think I’ll go along with the old fools after all.”
It surprises you at first, face blanking before your brows draw together, assessing him with slim eyes, trying to gauge whether he’s pulling your leg or not. But by the looks of him, you think he’s serious.
“Why?” you demand, then, voice a little frazzled.
“You heard the geezer. Even without a technique of your own, our children are sure to inherit one or the other,” he answers plainly, to which you scoff.
“As though you’ve ever been one to care about clan politics. Don’t make me laugh.”
He grins then, chuckling, “You got me there. But, you see, I’ve been thinking lately… And you’re right.”
Leaning down to your level, he slips a cold hand under your chin, digits brushing along your cheek.
“Being a bachelor’s become boring, it’s time to settle down.”
His eyes, blue like a comet’s tail, give you chills as they sweep over you with an unpleasant pause on your lips as he brushes a thumb over them.
“And what do you know? Right when I need her, I find a feisty little wife to amuse me.”
You swallow dryly, repeating the word, “Feisty?”
He chuckles, adding to it, “It doesn’t hurt that you’ve gotten prettier, too.”
The young you would have blushed, but the you today slaps him—this time hard. So hard there’s a red and perfectly hand-shaped print blooming on his cheek the next second.
And still, he keeps the grin, tasting his own blood on his tongue, watching you rush off whilst hollering, “I can’t wait for the honeymoon!”
The next months you’re forced to spend your days getting fitted into your wedding dress. It’s a beautiful thing, like something taken from your wildest girlhood dreams back when you wanted such things. Now, you can barely stomach looking at yourself. Instead, you focus on stuffing yourself full of pastries in the hopes you might choke on one.
It’s only a week before the wedding, now. You’ve tried plan A through Z of escape attempts, but with the amount of security posted on every corner of the estate, running away just isn’t in the cards.
Out of time and out of options, you find some sort of acceptance in knowing you at least tried, which is more than anyone could say when up against the strongest sorcerer of the century. And who knows, maybe another opportunity would present itself—it might not happen now, but sooner or later—and when it does, you’ll be on guard to seize it.
All preparations are completed—the dress, the vows, the flower arrangements, and the wedding rehearsal. All that’s left is one last little thing. It’s the day before the wedding, and with it, the Gojo clan's final requirement. A ritual, they call it, for all those who marry into the fold. They treat it like something holy, even though all it is is just a visit with the clanhead and their highest-ranking doctor, all so that they can test your childbearing qualities.
It’s funny… turns out, you weren’t just born wrong in one way. You were born wrong in full.
You laugh when you’re told—loudly, vehemently, with tears getting squeezed out of your eyes, sprinkling down your cheeks like popped confetti.
You’re barren.
And with the discovery, the Gojo clanhead calls off the wedding on the spot, granting you your annulment without granting your elders a single word of protest. And you breathe easy through a throat full of cackles, knowing you'll never have to be under the leer of those awful six eyes ever again, flooded with relief thinking about how close you came to being a trapped broodmare—saved by none other than your own shitty constitution like a warped punchline to some godawful joke.
In your room you’d come to think of as a prison cell over the years, you pack your bags happily. Thinking to yourself how you might be cursed, might be disowned by your clan, might be worthless, but at least, and at long last, you’re finally free. And nothing but that matters.
Or well…
If only he cared about any of that…
“Thing is…” the blue-eyed monster says through gritted teeth with you pinned beneath him in your own bed. “You’ve been mine since before you were born. Eighteen fucking years, I’ve waited for this–”
Still in disheveled marriage robes from the rehearsal, he laughs a laugh even fouler than yours.
“I’m not ‘bout to let it all go to waste on account of a fucking technicality.”
victim!park sunghoon x stalker!femreader | reader starts as dom | power struggle | degradation | rough smut | dubcon/noncon dynamics | outdoor public setting | dynamic switch to dom!sunghoon | manipulation | DARK CONTENT !!!!
warning: This piece contains explicit sexual content including stalking, gaslighting, manipulation, reader degrading and using Sunghoon (spitting in mouth, face sitting, rough handjob, ass fingering), orgasm denial, overstimulation, brutal rough penetration, breeding talk, choking, hair pulling, slapping, crying, filthy talk, dynamic flip where Sunghoon takes control. Extremely dark themes.
wc- 10k
summary: You’ve spent months breaking Sunghoon down — stalking him, destroying him, making him beg at your feet. But hate and need blur in the dark, and when he finally snaps, the dynamic shatters. What begins as your game ends with Sunghoon flipping the script, taking what he needs, using you until you’re ruined on the cold ground, claimed and claiming, breathless and broken in the mess you both made.
You watch him through the slit between the library shelves, fingers ghosting over the spine of a book you have no intention of borrowing. Park Sunghoon sits at a table bathed in afternoon light, head down, flipping through notes, pen tapping in a rhythm he probably doesn't even notice. His hair glints in the sun, flawless, as if he was sculpted to be cruel. The kind of face that was never meant for people like you — except that he is, and he just doesn't know it yet.
He doesn't glance up, doesn't sense you. Not yet. You've trained yourself to breathe quietly, to move like a shadow. He's too focused on his study group, too focused on making everyone else in the room love him the way you do.
Jake leans over his shoulder, laughing at some inside joke. You hate Jake. That easy, golden warmth of his — it keeps Sunghoon protected, surrounded. A buffer between him and you. You want to shatter it.
You stay until the group packs up, watching every movement. The way Sunghoon slings his bag over one shoulder. The way he runs a hand through his hair. The way he says goodbye to the others, polite but distant, perfect and untouchable.
When he leaves, you follow.
⸻
His dorm smells like him. Not just the cologne he wears — something deeper. Skin. Sweat. Clean linen mixed with the faintest trace of detergent. You stand in the center of his room like you belong there, like he should walk in any second and see you as his.
You sit on his bed, legs crossed. Fingers trail over the sheets, his pillow, the edge of his desk. You press your face to the pillow and breathe him in, slow and deep, until your head feels light from the rush of it.
You wear his discarded hoodie, oversized on you, sleeves brushing your thighs as you move. You study the small things — the books stacked neatly on his nightstand, the worn corners of his wallet, the faint smudge on his mirror where he touches it in the morning.
At his desk, you slip a hand under your skirt. Slow. Controlled. No mess. Just the high of knowing this is his space, his chair, his world — and you are in it, silent and unseen. When you're done, you straighten your clothes, smooth the sheets, leave everything the way it was. Except the strand of your hair on his pillow. The fingerprint on his mirror. The smallest, quietest marks of ownership.
You take a pen from his desk — nothing dramatic. Just enough that he'll notice it's gone, but won't think to question where it went.
⸻
When you pass him on campus the next day, his reaction is immediate. His jaw tightens. His lips press into a thin, angry line. His eyes — those beautiful, cold eyes — flick over you with pure contempt.
"Stop looking at me like that," he snaps under his breath, low enough that only you can hear as he brushes past. His voice is venom. "Freak."
Your pulse races.
You say nothing. Just watch as he walks faster, shoulders rigid, desperate to get away from you.
⸻
Later, you catch glimpses of him in the student union, the quad, the gym. Always surrounded. Always shining. And always, always hating you.
You hear Jake talking about him with someone at a table near yours:
"Yeah, Sunghoon's been on edge lately. He thinks some girl's been following him or something. I dunno, maybe it's just stress."
You sip your drink, smiling to yourself.
Yunjin watches you from across the room, brows slightly furrowed, as if she's trying to figure out what it is about you that sets her teeth on edge. She says nothing. But she sees more than she lets on.
⸻
Night falls, and you're outside his dorm again. The window cracked open just enough that you can hear the faint sounds of him moving around — drawers opening, water running.
You record it. Every sound. Every breath. Every piece of him you can steal without touching.
You don't need him to want you. Not yet. It's enough, for now, that he exists in your orbit.
It's enough that you know: you're already inside his life. And he hates it.
____
Sunghoon doesn't notice it at first. The small, quiet ways you start pulling the threads loose around him. It begins with a simple shift in a group project — you speak with the professor after class, voice soft, eyes wide, and suggest that maybe Sunghoon would work better with someone else. That he mentioned, in passing, how stressed he felt about carrying certain partners. A lie, smooth and subtle. The professor believes you. The group is split. Sunghoon hears about it that afternoon.
He corners Jake outside the lecture hall, voice tight. "Why would I say that? I didn't say that."
Jake shrugs, frowning in confusion. "I dunno, man. That's what Professor Song said you implied. Maybe she misunderstood."
Sunghoon's eyes are dark, frustrated. "I'm getting sick of this shit."
⸻
The next move is easier. You intercept one of his texts — you have his passcode. You saw it months ago, reflected in the glass of the vending machine as he typed. You borrow Yunjin's charger, make an excuse about needing to message someone, and in the privacy of your room, you send the text.
hey can we not tonight. feeling off.
It goes to Sakura. The girl he's been seeing.
Later, from the shadows near the quad, you watch them. She approaches him, confused, hurt. He looks at her like she's speaking another language.
"I didn't send that," he says, voice low, glancing around as if he can sense you. "I didn't—what the fuck is going on?"
Sakura's brows knit. "Sunghoon, if you wanted space, you could just say it."
"I didn't!" His voice rises, and people turn. Embarrassment colors his cheeks. He lowers his head, mutters something, and walks away.
Your heart races with the beauty of it — how easily the cracks begin to form.
⸻
In the dining hall, you sit a few tables away from Jake, Sunghoon, and Jay. You don't look at them directly. You don't need to.
"Dude, you're seriously being paranoid," Jay says, laughing as he steals one of Jake's fries. "No one's after you."
"I know what I feel," Sunghoon mutters, stabbing at his food without appetite. "It's like—I don't know. Like I'm being watched. And shit keeps happening. I swear, someone's messing with me."
Jake claps him on the shoulder. "You're stressed, man. You need to chill. Maybe cut back on the late practices or something."
Sunghoon shrugs him off, glancing around, jaw tight. His gaze skims past you. He looks right through you, as if trying to find the eyes he can feel but can't see.
⸻
That night, you leave something in his room. You don't break in — no, you've gotten smarter. You slip it through the cracked window he always forgets to lock. A folded paper crane. Plain white. No writing. No mark. Just a shape, delicate and small, left on his desk where he'll find it in the morning.
It's enough to unnerve him. You hear it in the way he snaps at Jake the next day.
"I lock my door. I lock my window. How is this happening?"
Jake frowns, concerned now. "Bro, maybe talk to campus security?"
"No. No — fuck, no. I can handle it."
His pride won't let him admit that he's afraid. But you can see it. The way he glances over his shoulder more often. The way his smiles fade quicker now, no longer effortless.
⸻
Meanwhile, Yunjin watches you. In the bathroom as you apply lip balm. In your room as you quietly hum to yourself, phone screen dark, but your mind full of him.
"You've been... different lately," she says carefully one night. "I mean — you were always a little... intense. But it's worse now."
You smile at her, sweet and empty. "You're imagining things."
She doesn't press further. Not yet.
⸻
The world begins to turn against him, one tiny twist at a time. You change the narrative in small, believable ways — a word here, a rumor there. His friends start noticing his moodiness, his paranoia.
And he hates you more. Every glance, every sharp word, every time his eyes find yours across a room and narrow with disgust — it feeds you. Fuels you.
He doesn't know it yet. But you're already wrapping him in a web he won't escape.
It starts to show in the small moments. Sunghoon sits at the edge of the field after practice, head in his hands, laces undone, as Jake chats easily with the others. Normally, Sunghoon would be laughing too, shoving Jake for being dumb, flashing that polished smile that makes everyone want to be near him. But now? His smile is brittle. His eyes dart across the field, sweeping the shadows, the edges, the empty bleachers where you sit unseen. He looks tired. Angry. Alone — and you've barely begun.
You planted the first seeds with Jay. It was too easy. Jay always thought you were hot — the kind of hot that makes boys reckless. You cornered him at a party, brushed his hand as you passed him a drink. Let him feel the weight of your gaze, the heat of your proximity. He bit.
"He's been weird lately, right?" you murmur, casual, like it's nothing. Like you're on Sunghoon's side. "Sunghoon, I mean. Standoffish. Like he's better than everyone else."
Jay scoffs, beer bottle tapping against his knee. "I've been saying that for months."
You tilt your head, smile faintly. "People like that always end up alone."
Jay watches you walk away, the shape of your hips burned into his mind. He'll remember your words, though he won't admit it.
⸻
Yunjin sees it happening. She sees the way you linger at windows, the way your phone is always in your hand but never lit up. She watches you as you hum under your breath, folding tiny paper cranes out of receipts and scraps, leaving them around the dorm like breadcrumbs of your mind.
One evening, she tries. She really tries.
“y/n," she says, voice low as she leans against the doorframe of your room. "I don't know what you're doing — but please stop. Whatever it is, it's not healthy."
You look at her, eyes wide with false innocence. "What do you mean?"
She shakes her head. "You know."
But she can't prove it. Not yet. And you smile, soft and polite, and close your door in her face.
⸻
Jake invites Sunghoon out more often, trying to pull him back into the circle. But you're there — not openly, never openly — but in the background. At the bar. At the library. On the paths he walks at night. And people start talking.
"She's everywhere he is."
"Maybe she's just into him and he's not into her."
"Maybe he led her on. He's such a fucking flirt sometimes."
The rumors twist. People who used to admire him now look at him differently, just a little. The flawless image cracks.
And Sunghoon knows. He knows someone is doing this to him, and he knows it's you.
"Stay the fuck away from me," he spits one afternoon when he catches you watching him outside the dining hall. His voice is sharp enough that Jake looks over, startled.
You don't flinch. You just smile, that slow, knowing curve of your lips that makes his skin crawl.
Jake jogs over as Sunghoon turns away. "Bro, what the hell? She didn't even say anything."
Sunghoon's hands are fists at his sides. "I can't breathe, Jake. She's always fucking there."
"Dude, maybe you should talk to someone."
"No. I'm fine."
But he's not. You see it. The way he walks faster now, always looking over his shoulder. The way he keeps his head down, shoulders tense, as if waiting for the next blow.
⸻
And still, you push deeper.
You send anonymous messages from burner accounts to people he cares about. Hints that Sunghoon talks about them behind their backs. That he thinks he's better than them. That he uses them.
It works. Little by little, his inner circle shrinks. Jay stops inviting him out. The others are polite, but distant. Even Jake starts looking at him like he's fragile, breakable, and Sunghoon hates it.
You see him alone more now. Sitting on the library steps at night, staring at his phone as if the right words might save him. They won't.
He's slipping. And you're the only constant left.
You see it coming long before it happens — the moment Sunghoon snaps. You've been winding the threads tighter for weeks, pulling at the seams of his perfect life until they fray in your hands. Now, he walks the campus like a shadow of himself. His friends keep their distance, their trust cracked by whispers you planted. His posture is different: shoulders drawn, jaw clenched, eyes hollowed out by sleepless nights spent wondering when you'll strike next. You've been everywhere and nowhere, and it's driven him mad.
It happens on a Thursday. Overcast. The kind of day where the world feels heavier. You're in the library — not even trying to hide, sitting at one of the tables where he used to study with his friends, legs crossed, fingers idly tracing patterns on the wood. He walks in, looking for peace, and finds you instead.
At first, he freezes. His hands flex at his sides. His breathing changes. You can hear it — sharp, ragged. Then he moves toward you, fast, footsteps loud in the quiet. People glance up from their books, sensing the storm.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" His voice is low, shaking with the effort not to shout. His hands slam down on the table, inches from yours. The sound echoes.
You look up at him slowly, meeting his eyes with that calm, endless gaze that makes him recoil. "Hello, Sunghoon."
His lip curls. "Don't say my name. Don't fucking say my name."
You tilt your head. "Why not? It's a beautiful name."
He's trembling now — not with fear. With rage. Pure, blinding hate. His face is flushed, his breath uneven. "Leave me alone. Do you get off on this? On ruining my life?"
A pause. You smile, soft and sweet. "I don't know what you mean."
He laughs — short, bitter. "You're insane. I don't know what your fucking problem is, but I'm done. Stay away from me. Stay the fuck away."
People are watching now. Jake hurries over, pulling at Sunghoon's arm. "Bro, calm down — it's not worth it."
Sunghoon shrugs him off. His eyes are locked on yours, full of venom. "You disgust me. You're sick. Don't come near me again."
You watch him go, his words like music. Each one feeding that hunger inside you. His hate is perfect. His hate is everything.
⸻
Later, in the dorm common room, Jake tries to reason with him.
"She's creepy, yeah, but maybe you're letting her get to you too much. You're not yourself lately."
Sunghoon sinks into the couch, head in his hands. "You don't get it, Jake. She's everywhere. I see her in my dreams. I wake up thinking she's in my room. I can't fucking breathe."
Jake sighs, helpless. "We'll figure it out. Just... don't let her win, okay?"
But Sunghoon doesn't answer. His mind is spinning, drowning in the weight of it all.
⸻
Yunjin sits with a group of friends in the dining hall that night, quiet as she listens to the gossip spreading through campus.
"Did you see Sunghoon lose it today? Jesus."
"Yeah, it was about that girl, right? The weird one?"
"She's hot, though. Like, scary hot."
"Whatever, she's a freak. Poor guy."
Yunjin's eyes find you across the room. You sit alone, eating slowly, serenely, as if nothing happened. As if you aren't the storm tearing through Sunghoon's world.
She shivers.
⸻
And Sunghoon? Sunghoon lies awake that night, staring at the ceiling, fists clenched in his sheets. His heart races, mind filled with images of your smile, your eyes, the way you look at him like he already belongs to you.
He hates you.
God, he hates you.
And that hate is the only thing holding him together.
You always knew she'd be the one to go first. Sakura — pretty in that harmless, soft way that makes boys like Sunghoon think they're safe. She clings to him like a lifeline these days, the last one who tries to keep him anchored as the world turns against him. And he lets her, because what else does he have left? Jake's still around, sure, but even Jake has started watching him too closely, like he's waiting for Sunghoon to crack. Jay's no help, useless now that you've driven that wedge so deep it'll never come loose. So it's Sakura he leans on. And that's why you know: she has to be shattered.
You start with the simplest thing — a note slipped under her door. Handwritten, no signature, just a single sentence that could have come from anyone, but that you know will land like a blade.
He's still seeing her. The one who's ruining him.
No details. No proof. Just enough to make her wonder. Enough to plant the seed.
⸻
You watch from the corner of the quad the next day as she approaches Sunghoon after his lecture. Her face is tight, eyes bright with questions she doesn't want to ask. He looks exhausted, bag slung low, hair messy, as if he didn't bother to check the mirror this morning.
"I just want to know the truth," you hear her say as you linger behind a tree, out of sight but close enough to catch every word.
"The truth about what?" His voice is sharp, defensive. He's on edge, and it shows.
"About her."
He stiffens. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"She's everywhere. People see it. I see it. Are you—are you doing something? Are you leading her on? Is that why she won't stop?"
His laugh is bitter, hollow. "You think I want this? You think I want her?" He runs a hand through his hair, voice rising. "I can't fucking breathe, Sakura. She's killing me."
Sakura flinches at the venom in his tone, the rawness of his desperation. She looks down, lips pressed together. And in that moment, you know she's slipping from him.
⸻
You don't stop. The next night, you send the messages — screenshots fabricated with care, as if from Sunghoon's number. Sweet words, apologies, confessions he never made. You make sure they're just real enough to sting.
I'm sorry I can't let go of her. It's complicated.
You wouldn't understand. I didn't mean to hurt you.
And Sakura, soft and foolish, believes what she sees.
⸻
Sunghoon finds her crying two days later, seated on the low stone wall near the student union. Her hands shake as she wipes at her face, and when he reaches out, she pulls away.
"Sakura—"
"No. Don't." Her voice breaks. "I don't even know who you are anymore. I can't do this."
His heart sinks. He tries to explain, tries to tell her the messages aren't from him, that he would never — but she's already gone, walking away, shoulders hunched like she's carrying the weight of the entire world.
⸻
Jake corners him that night in the dorms, worried.
"Bro, what happened?"
Sunghoon shakes his head, laughter bubbling up, wild and empty. "She's gone. They're all gone." His eyes are glassy, haunted. "It's just me now. Me and that fucking psycho watching from the dark."
Jake looks stricken. "Sunghoon, come on. Let me help—"
"No." His voice is hoarse. "No one can help me."
⸻
Yunjin hears the gossip spreading through the girls' dorms — about how Sakura broke it off, how Sunghoon finally lost the last person who cared. She hears your name whispered like a curse. And she looks at you across the common room, sitting in perfect stillness, a ghost wrapped in human skin, and feels a chill run down her spine.
She wants to say something. She opens her mouth. But the look in your eyes stops her cold.
You've won this round. And Sunghoon knows it.
That night, you watch him from your usual hidden vantage point. Alone in his room, head bowed, fists clenched in his lap.
And you smile.
Sunghoon walks through campus like a man being hunted. Because he is — and he knows it now. His steps are quick, his head down, his hoodie pulled low over his face even though the spring air is warm. His world has shrunk to a tight, suffocating circle: dorm, class, practice — and even those feel like traps. Every glance he catches, every laugh that echoes down the hall, he wonders if it's about him. And worst of all? He knows it doesn't matter anymore. They could be laughing at him, whispering about him, and there's nothing he can do. You've seen to that.
Jake tries to keep him steady. He sits with him at lunch, makes stupid jokes, drags him to the gym to blow off steam. But Sunghoon is hollow. He goes through the motions, lifts the weights, nods at the right times, but his mind is always somewhere else. Watching. Waiting. He feels your eyes even when he can't see you. Especially then.
"Let's go out tonight," Jake suggests one afternoon, throwing a towel over his shoulder as they finish up at the gym. "You need to get out of your head, man. A party. A bar. Anywhere but here."
Sunghoon shakes his head, eyes dark. "I can't."
"Why not?"
Sunghoon hesitates, then mutters, "She'll follow."
Jake stops, frowning. "Sunghoon..."
But Sunghoon is already walking away, jaw clenched, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders tight with tension that no amount of lifting or running can shake loose.
⸻
Yunjin watches it all unfold from a distance. She sees the way Sunghoon drifts through the quad like a ghost. She sees the way you watch him — not openly, but always. At the edge of groups. In the corner of rooms. Always close enough to see, never close enough to catch.
One evening, she tries again. She finds you on your bed, staring at the ceiling, hands folded over your stomach like you're waiting for something. Or someone.
"You're destroying him," she says quietly. No accusation in her tone — just sadness, maybe a little fear.
You turn your head, meet her gaze. "He's fine."
Yunjin's eyes harden. "No. He's not."
You smile, soft and unbothered. "Then maybe he should have been stronger."
She leaves without another word.
⸻
Jay sees Sunghoon in the student union the next day — sitting alone at a table in the corner, head bowed over his untouched coffee. Jay hesitates, then approaches, sliding into the seat across from him.
"Hey," Jay says, voice forced-light. "Long time."
Sunghoon looks up slowly, eyes ringed with shadows. "What do you want?"
Jay shrugs, leaning back. "Just checking in. You look like shit."
Sunghoon huffs a bitter laugh. "Thanks."
Jay studies him for a moment, then leans forward, voice dropping. "Is it really that bad? With her?"
Sunghoon's jaw tightens. His hands curl around the coffee cup like he might crush it. "Worse."
Jay leans back again, sighs. "Then do something about it."
And Sunghoon snaps. His head jerks up, eyes blazing with a fury so raw it makes Jay recoil. "Like what, Jay? Call the cops? Tell them some girl looks at me too much? Tell them I feel like I'm losing my mind?" His voice drops to a whisper, venomous. "No one cares."
Jay says nothing. What is there to say?
⸻
That night, Sunghoon locks his door, closes his blinds, checks every window twice. And still — still — he can feel you. Out there. Watching.
He sits on the floor of his room, back against his bed, breathing ragged, head in his hands. His heart races, skin cold with sweat. He hates you. He hates the way you've invaded his life, his mind, his dreams.
But in the silence, in the dark, with no one left to turn to — he feels it: that sick, twisting need for attention. Even yours.
Because hate is all he has left. And hate means he's not alone.
Sunghoon's body betrays him before his mind even catches up. It happens on a night when the air is thick and heavy, the sky a bruised purple as dusk bleeds into night. He walks alone across campus, the path nearly deserted, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket, head low. He tells himself he's just clearing his head, just moving because sitting in his room had started to feel like being buried alive. But the truth is — he knows you're near. He can feel you, the way the air shifts when you're watching. And somewhere in that fractured, exhausted mind of his, he wants you to see him.
Your footsteps are soundless, your shadow a ghost trailing him as he cuts through the quad, past the empty benches and shuttered kiosks. He doesn't turn around, but his pace slows. His shoulders drop just slightly. A silent surrender. He hates it. He hates you. He hates himself most of all.
And then — he stops. Right at the edge of the quad where the lamplight fades into deeper dark, where no one will see, no one will hear. He stands there, fists clenched at his sides, breathing hard. And he says it. Voice low, raw, shaking with disgust:
"Come on. I know you're there."
The words hang in the air, daring you.
You step from the shadows slowly, deliberate, letting him see you fully — the gleam of your eyes, the curve of your mouth, the hunger you don't bother to hide. His breath stutters. He hates himself for the way his pulse spikes, for the way his skin prickles under your gaze.
"Sunghoon," you say, soft as silk, tasting his name on your tongue.
"Don't—" His voice cracks. He backs up a step, but there's nowhere to go. The wall behind him is cold concrete. His spine meets it with a thud.
You stop inches from him, close enough that he can feel the heat of you, smell the faint trace of vanilla that clings to your skin. His eyes are wide, furious, terrified. But he doesn't move.
"You don't have to run," you murmur, fingers lifting — slow, giving him every chance to stop you — to brush the hair from his forehead. He shudders.
"I said don't—" But his voice is weak now. Hollow.
You see it in his eyes: that flicker, that moment where the line blurs — where hate and something darker, needier, twist together so tightly he can't tell them apart.
You don't kiss him. Not yet. But you lean in, your breath warm against his ear, and whisper:
"Look at you. All alone. All mine."
A sound escapes him — half a gasp, half a sob. His fists unclench, fingers trembling at his sides. He hates himself for it. Hates that his body, his broken, exhausted body, aches for something — anything — even this.
And then he shoves past you, stumbling into the dark, fleeing like his life depends on it.
You let him go. Because you know. The first crack has formed. And it's only a matter of time before he shatters.
⸻
Later that night, Sunghoon curls on his bed, heart racing, skin burning where your breath had touched him. He buries his face in his pillow, fists pressed to his temples, and lets himself shake apart in the dark.
He hates you.
God help him, he hates himself more.
It happens when he's at his weakest. When his mind is frayed to threads, his body worn thin from sleepless nights, from days spent looking over his shoulder, from the weight of being hated and hunted and completely alone. The night air is cold, but he doesn't feel it anymore. He walks because he has to — because staying in his room feels like suffocating, and there's nowhere left that feels safe anyway. His feet take him to the edge of campus, to the forgotten places where the security lights don't reach, where the trees grow too thick and the paths crack beneath the weight of roots.
And you're there.
You always are.
He stops when he feels you watching, his breath clouding in the air. His heart pounds so loud he's sure you can hear it. His fists clench at his sides, but he doesn't move. Can't move.
"Just go away," he rasps, voice rough with exhaustion, with misery. But he doesn't run.
And that's all the invitation you need.
You step out of the dark, slow and silent, the click of your boots against the cracked path the only sound in the night besides his breath. His back hits a tree as he tries to retreat, but there's nowhere left to go.
You stop in front of him, so close he can't ignore the heat of your body, the way your scent wraps around him, dizzying. His chest rises and falls too fast, panic and adrenaline and something else burning through him.
"I hate you," he whispers, but it's shaky, broken. His eyes glisten in the moonlight, wide and wild.
"I know," you murmur, voice like velvet. "And you're mine anyway."
Your hand lifts — slow, deliberate, giving him every chance to fight — and curls in his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands at the nape of his neck. His breath catches, his head tipping back against the rough bark, exposing his throat.
"Don't," he says, but it's weak, a plea he doesn't even believe.
And then you kiss him.
It's not soft. Not sweet. Your mouth crashes into his with a hunger that steals his breath, that drags a sound from deep in his chest — part gasp, part moan, part sob. His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to push you away, but they don't. They stay there, useless, trembling.
You bite his lower lip, not enough to break skin, just enough to make him whimper. His body jerks beneath yours, but he doesn't stop you. His mouth opens under yours, desperate for air, for escape, for more.
Your tongue slides against his, and he shudders, a broken noise spilling from him as his knees go weak.
You press him harder against the tree, one hand still tangled in his hair, the other sliding up under his hoodie, fingers tracing the curve of his waist, the dip of his hip bone. His skin is burning, fever-warm, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.
"Please—" he whispers, but he doesn't even know what he's begging for. For you to stop. For you not to. For something, anything, to break the spiral he's falling into.
You pull back just enough to see him — his lips swollen, wet, his eyes glassy with shame and need. His chest heaves, and a whimper escapes him as you lean in again, mouth at his jaw, at his throat, kissing, biting, leaving marks he'll feel for days.
"Look at you," you breathe against his skin. "So easy. So mine."
And he sobs — a sound raw and small, his head turning away as if he can hide from you, from himself. But he doesn't move.
You grip his jaw, force him to look at you. His eyes are shining with tears he refuses to let fall, his lip trembling.
"Open your mouth," you command, voice low, dangerous.
He shakes his head once, but his lips part anyway, helpless, broken.
And you spit — slow, deliberate — into his mouth.
His eyes flutter shut, a whimper escaping him as he swallows without thinking, too far gone to fight.
"Good boy," you croon, and his whole body shudders at the praise, at the humiliation, at the truth of it.
Your fingers slip into his mouth next, pushing past those bruised lips, sliding over his tongue. He sucks without meaning to, shame and desperation mingling as his breath hitches, as his hands finally lift — not to push you away, but to grip your sleeves like he's drowning and you're the only thing keeping him afloat.
You pull your fingers free, slow, watching the trail of spit that stretches between you. His knees buckle, and you press your thigh between his, holding him up, making him feel every inch of your control.
And then, when he's trembling, when his breath is nothing but soft, broken gasps, you murmur against his ear:
"Say it. Say you're mine."
"I hate you," he whispers, but his voice is wrecked, his body betraying him with every shiver, every tremble, every desperate clench of his fingers in your clothes.
And you smile. Because that's close enough for now.
The air is thick, damp with the promise of rain, but neither of you notices. The world has shrunk to this moment — to the press of your body against his, to the sound of his breath stuttering in the dark, to the trembling of his hands where they clutch at your sleeves like a man on the edge of drowning. His back is still pressed to the tree, rough bark biting through the fabric of his hoodie. His head tips back, exposing the long, pale line of his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard, trying to hold on to what little defiance he has left.
But his body is betraying him, second by second.
You feel it in the way his hips twitch against your thigh, desperate for friction he's too ashamed to seek. You hear it in the soft, broken sounds that fall from his lips — whimpers, gasps, the shaky breaths of someone lost in a storm they can't escape.
You don't give him time to think.
Your hand tangles in his hair, tight at the roots, yanking his head down so his mouth meets yours again. This time there's no hesitation — your kiss is brutal, consuming, stealing the breath from his lungs. He groans into your mouth, a helpless, needy sound that he hates himself for making. His lips are swollen, wet from spit and tears he won't let fall.
You bite at his bottom lip, harder than before, and he jerks, a muffled cry escaping as his fingers clutch you tighter. His hips roll against your thigh, seeking relief, friction, anything — and you give it to him just enough to make it worse, grinding your thigh against the hard line of him through his jeans, making him gasp and sob all at once.
"Please," he chokes out, voice wrecked, but even he doesn't know what he's begging for. For you to stop. For you not to. For the shame to end. For it to consume him completely.
You don't stop.
Your free hand slides between you, fingers working at his fly, slow and deliberate, making him feel every second of it. His whole body shakes, his breath coming in short, desperate pants as he realizes what you're doing — what he's letting you do.
"No," he whispers, but it's weak, a protest in name only.
"Yes," you hiss, voice low and dark, your breath hot against his ear. "Mine. All fucking mine."
You free him from his jeans, your hand wrapping around him firm, unyielding. His head snaps back against the tree, a choked moan tearing from his throat as his hips buck into your grip before he can stop himself.
"Fuck—" The word breaks on his lips, shame and pleasure colliding, leaving him raw and ruined.
You stroke him slow at first, savoring the way he shudders, the way his thighs tremble against yours, the way his hands — god, his hands — shake as they cling to you, torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer.
The sounds he makes are obscene, desperate. Soft, broken gasps. Whimpers that hitch in his throat. The wet, slick slide of your hand over him fills the air, mingling with the ragged rhythm of his breath.
And then you tighten your grip, twist your wrist just enough to make him sob, to make his knees buckle. You press him harder to the tree, your body the only thing keeping him upright as he falls apart in your hands.
"Look at you," you snarl against his throat, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, to make him cry out. "Fucking pathetic. Crying for me. You love this. Say it."
He shakes his head, tears spilling now, breathless sobs breaking free. "I hate you— I hate you—"
But his hips are moving, fucking into your hand like he can't help it, like his body belongs to you no matter what his mouth says.
You let go of his hair, your hand sliding down to his throat, fingers pressing just enough to steal his breath, to make his eyes go wide, his mouth fall open in a silent, broken moan.
"You're mine," you growl, your hand working him faster now, rough, relentless. "Say it. Fucking say it."
He chokes on a sob, on his own shame, his body trembling so hard he can barely stand. His hands claw at your back, useless, desperate.
"Mine," you snarl again, tightening your grip on his throat just a little more, just enough to make his world narrow to the feel of you, the sound of you, the absolute, inescapable fact of you.
And finally — finally — he breaks.
"Yours," he gasps, voice wrecked, tears streaming down his face. "Yours, yours, yours—"
You ease your grip on his throat, just enough to let him breathe again, to let him sob out the sounds you've stolen from him.
"Good boy," you hiss, biting his ear, your hand still stroking him, faster, rougher, until he's shaking, ruined, begging without words, just broken noises and the frantic thrust of his hips.
And then you stop.
His whole body jerks, a strangled cry ripping from him as he realizes you've denied him at the edge, left him trembling, aching, desperate.
"Thank me," you demand, your breath hot against his cheek, your hand still wrapped around him, holding him right there at the brink.
He sobs, wrecked, his pride shattered.
"Thank you," he gasps, over and over, voice hoarse, shaking. "Thank you, thank you—"
And you smile, slow and wicked, because he's yours now. Completely.
Sunghoon can't stop shaking. His chest heaves, ragged breath after ragged breath filling the silent dark, each inhale shallow, desperate, like he's struggling to keep from falling apart entirely. His jeans hang half-open on his hips, his thighs trembling with exhaustion, with shame, with the raw, unrelenting need that's eaten him alive. His head is bowed, his wet hair sticking to his forehead, his tear-streaked face hidden from you. But you don't need to see it. You can feel it — the weight of his surrender, the way his body leans into yours because it has nowhere else to go, because the only thing keeping him upright is your grip on him.
And you're not done.
You push him down — slow, relentless — until he slides to his knees on the cold, cracked path. He doesn't fight you. His hands drop to his sides, fingers limp, useless, as he stares at the ground, lips parted, breath shaky and broken. His pride, his defiance, his hate — all cracked open now, laid bare beneath your hands.
You stand over him, looking down at the boy who thought he was untouchable, watching him fall apart piece by piece. His eyes flick up once, wide and glistening, and the sound that escapes him when he meets your gaze is soft, wrecked, full of a shame so deep it cuts him to the bone.
And you take your time.
Your hand threads through his hair again, gripping tight at the roots, yanking his head back so he's forced to look at you. His throat arches, pale and vulnerable in the moonlight, his breath coming in little gasps, little sobs that he tries to swallow down.
"You begged for me," you murmur, voice low and dark, every word wrapping around him like chains. "You're going to remember this. Every fucking second."
And then you lower yourself onto him.
Your thighs frame his face, your heat and scent overwhelming him, consuming him. He lets out a sound — half whimper, half moan — his hands lifting, hovering uselessly as if he wants to push you away but can't, as if the part of him that still wants to fight is drowning beneath the weight of his need.
"Look at you," you snarl, grinding down just enough to make him gasp, to make him sob, his body shaking beneath you. "On your knees for me. Just like you were meant to be."
His lips tremble, his breath hot and ragged against you, his face burning with humiliation. But when you shift, pressing down harder, forcing him to take more, his mouth opens without him even meaning to, desperate for air, for you, for anything to fill the emptiness you've carved into him.
And you give it to him.
Your hand stays tangled in his hair, holding him where you want him, using him, grinding against him slow at first, making him feel every second of it. His breath is wet against you, shaky gasps that turn into soft, broken moans as he loses himself, as his hands fall to his sides, as he gives up pretending he can fight this.
You ride his face like you own him, like he's nothing but yours to use, and the sounds he makes — god, the sounds — they're wrecked, desperate, needy in ways that make his shame burn brighter with every breath. His knees dig into the cracked path, his fingers curling into fists against the dirt, his body trembling with the effort of holding on, of surviving the storm you've made of him.
"Pathetic," you hiss, your voice sharp, cutting, as you pull his hair tighter, making him gasp, making him sob. "Crying for it like a little bitch. You love this. Say it."
But he can't. His voice is gone, lost beneath your weight, beneath his tears, beneath the ruin of who he used to be.
You don't stop.
Your free hand slides down between you, finding him still hard, still aching, still desperate. He sobs when you touch him, his hips jerking up into your hand without thinking, without control, his body betraying him in the worst, most beautiful way.
"Please," he manages to gasp out, voice hoarse, wrecked, tears streaming down his face. "Please, I can't— I can't—"
But you don't show mercy.
You work him with your hand, rough, relentless, stroking him to the edge again, holding him there, making him beg with every sob, every broken breath, every trembling thrust of his hips.
"Say it," you growl, your grip tightening, your body grinding against his face, using him, breaking him. "Say you're mine. Say it."
He shatters.
"I'm yours!" he cries, voice shaking, tears falling fast now, his whole body trembling beneath you. "I'm yours, please, please—"
And you don't stop.
You push him past the edge, into ruin, into overstimulation so raw he sobs with it, his breath hitching, his body shaking apart in your hands. His hips stutter, helpless, as you stroke him through it, as you use him until he's spent, until he's nothing but wreckage beneath you.
His hands lift, weak, trembling, as if to beg you to stop, but he can't form the words anymore. All that's left is the sound of his sobs, the tremble of his breath, the wreck of him in your hands.
And finally — finally — you ease your grip, your touch gentling, your body stilling.
He collapses forward, forehead to the ground, breath coming in soft, broken gasps, tears falling into the dirt. His body is limp, ruined, his pride shattered beyond repair.
And you crouch beside him, fingers stroking his hair, soft now, soothing.
"Good boy," you murmur, and he sobs, the sound raw, small, but full of something that sounds far too much like relief.
Because he's yours now. Completely.
________
He lies beneath you, wrecked. His chest rises and falls in sharp, broken gasps, the skin of his throat shining with sweat, tears, and the faint sheen of spit where your hand had gripped him, where your mouth had claimed him, where he'd begged and sobbed and called himself yours. His jeans are down past his knees now, his thighs trembling from the overstimulation you'd dragged him through. His cock twitches, sensitive, aching, flushed dark and wet at the tip from everything you've done — and everything you're about to do.
And you — god, you're no better. Your breath is ragged, your body burning with the rush of it all, your own need clawing at you from the inside. You stare down at him, chest heaving, hair wild, lips swollen from kissing him too hard, biting him too much. There's no control left in you — not the kind that hides behind smirks and slow, deliberate moves. You want him. You want him ruined completely. And you want him inside.
He looks up at you — wide-eyed, tear-streaked, still gasping for breath — and the sound that escapes him when he sees your face is small, soft, shocked. Because he's never seen you like this. Your pupils blown wide, your mouth parted, your hips grinding down against him like you need him in ways you've never let show.
And he moans, brokenly, because for the first time, he sees you lost in it — cockdrunk before he's even inside.
"Please," he whispers, voice wrecked. His hips lift, desperate, helpless, the last of his pride gone. "Please, let me— let me—"
You reach down, wrap your hand around him, feel the way he jerks at the contact, too sensitive, too eager, too fucking desperate. You guide him to you, your cunt dripping, hot, aching for him, and when you sink down — slow at first, making him feel every fucking inch — the sound he makes is almost a sob.
"Fuck— f-fuck," he gasps, his head tipping back against the ground, fingers clawing at the dirt, at nothing.
You don't give him time to adjust. The second he's fully seated inside you, you start to move — rough, relentless, grinding down hard enough to make him cry out, hard enough that the slap of skin on skin echoes in the empty night.
"Pathetic," you snarl, riding him like you're trying to break him apart, your nails digging into his chest, leaving scratches he'll see for days. "Look at you. Letting me use you. Letting me fucking ruin you."
He whimpers beneath you, tears streaking his cheeks, his hands gripping your thighs, trying to ground himself, trying not to fall apart completely. But it's useless. His hips buck up to meet yours, chasing the friction, chasing the heat, chasing the one thing that makes the emptiness stop.
"Say it," you growl, leaning down, your mouth at his ear, breath hot and ragged. "Say you want to fill me. Say you want to fucking breed me."
And he breaks.
"I want to— I want to—" His voice cracks, his hips stutter up into yours, his cock throbbing inside you. "I want to breed you, I want to fill you up, fuck— please, let me, please—"
You laugh — breathless, wild — because he means it. God, he means it. His eyes are wide, glassy, full of shame and need so raw it burns.
"Good boy," you hiss, riding him harder, rougher, your hands in his hair, pulling, yanking, making him cry out as your cunt clenches around him, as you lose yourself in the way he stretches you, fills you, wrecks you.
And it hits you, hard — the way he feels, the way he sounds, the way his cock hits that spot that makes your mind go blank.
Your rhythm falters. Your body trembles. Your moans get louder, messier, no longer the controlled, cruel sounds of someone in charge, but desperate, needy, cockdrunk noises you can't stop.
His eyes widen.
Because he sees it.
Sees the way your mouth falls open, the way your eyes go unfocused, the way you ride him like you can't get enough, like he's the only thing that matters.
And something snaps in him.
His hands grip your hips hard, hard, fingers digging in like he's holding on for dear life — or like he's trying to take control. His hips slam up into yours, rough, brutal thrusts that make you gasp, make you moan louder, make you claw at his chest for balance as he fucks up into you like he means to own you.
"You like that?" he pants, voice wrecked but sharper now, darker. "You like my cock, huh? Look at you. Fucking cockdrunk on me."
You try to snarl back, to take it from him, but his thrusts are relentless now, bruising, hard enough to make you see stars, to make your body shake, to make your moans break apart into wrecked, helpless cries.
"Say it," he growls, fucking into you like a man possessed, like a man who's finally tasted power and can't let it go. "Say you want me to fill you. Say you want me to breed you."
And you do. God help you, you do.
"Fuck— fill me," you gasp, your head falling back, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Breed me, Sunghoon. Fucking breed me."
And that's it. That's what breaks him.
His hips stutter, his cock throbs deep inside you, and he comes with a cry that's half a sob, half a snarl, emptying himself inside you, filling you with pulse after pulse of heat as he clutches you to him like he never wants to let go.
And you break too.
The feel of him, the heat of him, the way he fills you — it pushes you over the edge, your body shaking, your cunt clenching around him, milking him for every last drop as you cry out, as you fall apart completely, as the world narrows to nothing but him, him, him.
The night is silent again when it's done, except for the sound of your gasps, his broken breath, the thrum of your pulse in your ears.
You collapse against him, spent, wrecked, claimed and claiming.
And he holds you.
______
The air is thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and ruin. Your thighs are trembling, your cunt still pulsing around nothing, aching, gaping, leaking his cum — hot and thick, dripping out of you in slow, obscene trails that slide down over your folds, your inner thighs, onto his lap, onto the cold, dirty ground beneath. The night air hits your slick skin and makes you shiver, but the fire burning between you is hotter than anything the breeze could hope to cool.
Your stomach is tight, a little swollen, filled with the weight of what he's done to you, what he's poured into you, what he's claimed. You can feel it — the fullness, the mess, the heat — and for a moment, just a moment, you're stunned.
Because Sunghoon is still beneath you, chest heaving, face flushed and damp, hair a wild mess, but his hands... his hands are gripping your hips like he owns you. Like he means to keep you exactly where you are. And his eyes — god, his eyes — no longer wide with fear, no longer glassy with shame. They're dark now. Sharp. Watching you.
Your pulse spikes, instinct snapping back. You can't let this happen.
You brace yourself, fingers digging into his chest, trying to reclaim the control that slipped for just a breath too long. Your mouth curves into a sneer, words spilling out rough, filthy, desperate to remind him who he is, what he is.
"Pathetic little thing," you hiss, grinding your hips just enough to make his overstimulated cock twitch inside you, to make him whimper — but the sound is different now. Not just helpless, but... hungry. "Crying for me, begging to breed me like a bitch in heat. You're mine. You're nothing without me."
His lip quivers — just for a second. His eyes shine again, tears welling, and for a heartbeat you think you've won. His breath catches, his fingers flex on your hips, his body trembling beneath yours like before.
But then — god, then — he smirks.
It's small at first, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth. But it spreads. Slow. Dark. His tears spill anyway, but his eyes — they blaze now, sharp and sure, as his smirk grows.
"Yours?" His voice is hoarse, wrecked, but steady now. Dangerous. "Baby, you don't even know what you look like right now."
And before you can answer, before you can claw it back — he moves.
He flips you.
One hard yank of your hips, one shift of his weight, and you're on your stomach, the cold dirt biting your skin, rough ground scraping your thighs. His body is over you, against you, his chest to your back, his breath hot against your ear as he presses you down, forces you to feel the grit of the earth beneath you, the weight of him above.
"Thought you were in charge?" he pants, fingers sliding between your thighs, finding your ruined, dripping cunt, smearing his cum where it leaks out of you, pushing it back in with two fingers, slow and deep.
You gasp, body jerking, shame burning through you at the sound — that wet, slick squelch as he fucks his cum back into you, as his breath hitches at how tight you still are around him even now.
"You're dripping for me," he snarls, his fingers curling, finding that spot inside you that makes your legs shake, that makes you whimper despite yourself. "So cockdrunk you can't even talk anymore. Where'd your filthy mouth go, huh? Say something. Say anything."
But you can't. Your cheek is pressed to the dirt, your body trembling beneath him as his fingers work you open again, relentless, merciless, making you feel everything. His cum leaks around his fingers, spills down to the ground beneath, every thrust of his hand forcing more of it out, more of it back in, more of it everywhere.
"Please," you gasp finally, voice shaking, broken by the stretch, the heat, the humiliation.
"Please what?" he taunts, his free hand sliding up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, pinning you down. His hips grind against your ass, his cock hard again already, slick and aching, smearing mess across your skin. "Tell me. Beg for it. Beg for my cock."
You shake your head, trying to fight, trying to hold on — but his fingers curl just right, his cock grinds against you just right, and you sob, wrecked.
"Please, Sunghoon," you whisper, tears hot against your cheeks, voice muffled against the dirt. "Please— fuck me. Fill me. I need it."
He groans — raw, desperate — because hearing you say it, hearing the need in your voice, hearing the way you break for him, it shatters the last of his restraint.
He yanks his fingers out, grabs your hips, lines himself up, and thrusts in — hard, brutal, burying himself to the hilt in one rough, claiming stroke that knocks the breath from your lungs.
The sound you make is wrecked — a gasp, a sob, a moan, all tangled together.
And he doesn't stop.
His thrusts are brutal now, the slap of his hips against your ass loud in the night, the wet, messy squelch of his cock driving into you over and over filling the air. His hands grip your hips so tight you'll feel the bruises for days. His breath is ragged, filthy words spilling out between thrusts.
"Take it. You fucking take it. God, you're so tight, so messy, so fucking perfect—"
Your body rocks beneath him, helpless under the force of him, under the ruin of him. Your moans are high, desperate, broken — no control left, no plan, just pure, raw need.
"You want me to fill you again?" he growls, pounding into you harder, faster, relentless. "Want me to breed you for real this time? Fuck it so deep you can't think straight?"
"Yes," you sob, shameless now, lost to it. "Yes, please, please—"
His hips stutter, cock throbbing inside you, and he snarls, voice low and wrecked. "Say it. Say you're mine."
"I'm yours!" you cry, nails clawing at the dirt, body shaking apart under him. "Yours, yours, yours—"
And he gives it to you.
His cock pulses deep inside, filling you again, harder, messier than before, so much it leaks out around him with every brutal thrust, dripping down your thighs, onto the filthy ground.
He fucks you through it, through the orgasm that rips you apart, through the aftershocks that leave you trembling, sobbing, ruined beneath him.
And when it's done — when the night is silent but for your gasps, his breath against your neck, the slow, obscene drip of cum from between your legs — he leans down, mouth at your ear.
"Mine," he whispers, and you sob, wrecked, because he's right.
You are.
_______
The world is still.
Your body is sprawled beneath him, skin scraped raw from the rough ground, knees bruised from where the dirt and gravel bit into them. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, chest heaving, every muscle trembling with exhaustion, overstimulation, and the weight of what just happened. His cum leaks from you in slow, messy drips, warm and thick between your thighs, pooling beneath you in the dirt, mixing with the sweat and spit and tears that stain your skin.
Sunghoon stays over you for a long moment, his chest pressed to your back, his breath hot against your ear, his cock still buried inside you, softening slowly, twitching with aftershocks that make both of you flinch. His hands—those same hands that had gripped you so hard they'll leave bruises—now shake as they slide up your sides, gentle, almost hesitant, as if he can't believe what he's done.
The night air is cool, brushing over your sweat-slick skin, raising goosebumps along your arms, your spine, the backs of your thighs. But neither of you moves. Neither of you speaks. The storm has passed, but the silence it leaves behind is heavy. Suffocating.
And then he shifts. Slowly, carefully, as if you might shatter if he moves too fast. He pulls out of you, and the loss of him makes you gasp, your body clenching down around nothing, empty and aching, the mess of him spilling out of you in an obscene, wet rush that splatters onto the ground beneath.
Sunghoon's hands linger at your hips, fingers trembling as they trace the marks he left there. His breathing is uneven, like he doesn't know how to calm himself down, like he's still caught somewhere between triumph and horror at what just happened.
You don't speak. You can't. Your lips are swollen, your throat raw from the sounds he dragged out of you, from the begging, the sobbing, the pleading that still rings in your ears.
And he... god, he looks down at you, at the wreck of you beneath him, and something shifts behind his eyes. That sharp, dangerous hunger is still there — but beneath it now, there's something else. Something softer. Something that terrifies him more than anything that came before.
His hands lift from your hips, hover over your back, your shoulders, like he wants to touch you, soothe you, but doesn't know how.
"Fuck," he whispers, voice hoarse, wrecked. "What... what did we do?"
You don't answer. You just breathe, feeling the dirt beneath your cheek, the cooling air against your skin, the burn of him still inside you, even though he's gone.
Sunghoon kneels back, staring at you like he doesn't know if he should run or stay, like he's caught between guilt and the desperate, gnawing need to do it all over again. His hands scrub over his face, his hair, trembling, as if trying to erase the feel of you, the sound of you, the taste of the night.
But he can't.
Because you're there, ruined and perfect, proof of everything he's done, everything he's become.
Slowly, you push yourself up onto your hands and knees, your body sore, spent, aching. You glance back at him, your hair wild around your face, your lips parted, your eyes still dark with the haze of everything he gave you.
And when your gaze meets his, the storm starts to build again.
Because nothing is settled.
Because nothing is over.
Because you're his. And he's yours. And neither of you knows what that means anymore.
_______
WOAH THAT WASS LONG ANYWAYS PLS GIVE A FEEDBACK AND COMMENT THANK YOU!!!
IK THIS WAS VERY DARK SO HERES A FLUFF OF SUNGHOON TO BALANCE OUT THE GUILT 😭😭😭😭
Can i request you something? Jungwon but in Squid game au, he is VIP, and gets obsessed with the reader??
Hii! Of course, your request is absolutely awesome and I would love to draft this (mainly cus Im obsessed with Jungwon-) and I hope you like it! Play 'Seoul City' by Jennie while you read. Headphones in. Volume up. Lights dimmed. Let the strings sink in. Let the control crawl over your skin. Cus idk- it always vibes with me like the type of feeling when someone is falling in love with the one who's obsessed with them. It's toxic. Not healthy. Not love. But you still like them.
"Only listen to my general, oh-oh
He says my attitude out of control
Tell me what to do, Mr. General"
Idk these lyrics give 'yes sir, yes' energy. And it matches this fic saur well.
Title: Skin and Surveillance
Pairing: Yang Jungwon (ENHYPEN) × Female!Reader AU: Squid Game | VIP Jungwon | Dark Romance
Content Warnings: [18+ ONLY / MINORS DNI]
Obsession, Power imbalance, Manipulation & coercion, Dubious consent, Voyeurism, Restraints (rope, silk ties), Psychological control, Gaslighting, Possessive behavior, Degradation + praise, Toxic dynamics, Graphic smut, Blood mentions (Squid Game violence), Death of side characters, Dom!Jungwon, Reader is a Squid Game contestant
Genre: Dark Romance, Smut, Psychological Thriller, Suspense, Dystopian Kink AU
The air in the VIP lounge was thick, velvet-slick and scented with cigar smoke, sweat, and sin. Gold fixtures glinted off champagne glasses. Between gilded animal masks and twisted smiles, the powerful sat like gods watching their bloodied circus unfold below.
And he, Yang Jungwon, sat among them. Younger than the rest, quieter, sharper. His mask rested on the table, untouched. He never wore it unless he had to.
He didn’t need to hide. Not when the world bent to his will.
His wine glass remained full. His fingers tapped against the table in a rhythm none of them understood. Because his eyes, obsessed, locked, calculating, were on a single monitor.
You. Player 305. Limping. Bloodied. Exhausted. Still breathing.
Still defiant. You dared look into the surveillance camera. Not with fear. With something darker. Something stronger.
Like you knew someone was watching. You were wrong.
Someone was choosing. “That one,” Jungwon said.
His voice was calm, barely audible above the thrum of laughter from the others. But his tone sliced through the noise. “Sir, the auction doesn’t open until—” “I said,” he repeated, not turning his head, “Tag her.”
The assistant’s hand hovered. Hesitated. Then a red stamp appeared next to your name. VIP INTERESTED. PRIORITY CLASSIFICATION.
STATUS: CLAIMED.
“Really, darling?” murmured the Serpent, swirling absinthe. “You can’t just keep her like a pet.” Jungwon turned to her. Slowly. “I wasn’t asking.” His voice was ice under silk. Final.
You were supposed to return to the dorms. But the guards didn’t lead you there. Instead, you’re shoved, limping, bloodied, confused, into a golden lift that rises higher than you knew the facility even went.
When the doors open, the air shifts. Colder. Scented. And behind the velvet curtains and glass, they wait.
The VIPs. The bloodsuckers who think pain is some sort of entertainment. Where money is a playground and they are the only ones that can play.
A throne-like lounge. Gold-gilded masks shimmer under soft lights.
A long table of rare liquors and untouched fruit. One by one, they turn toward you.
The Serpent rises first. “Well, well. This is the one?” Her eyes trail over your body. “She’s barely breathing.”
The Bull snorts. “She’s nothing. Seen ten like her. Bet she screams real nice, though.”
You stumble back, there’s nowhere to go. Then the Fox speaks. Jungwon.
From the corner, he stands. Still. Silent. No mask tonight. Just his face. Unbothered. Beautiful. Dangerous.
“Touch her, and I will burn this place to the ground.” The room quiets.
He walks toward you. Calm, but heavy-footed, like a predator indulging in control. You hated how stuck up he was. But you also loved it. And you hated yourself.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper. “Neither should you,” he says, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “But here we are.”
The Peacock hums behind you.
“Are we really letting the child call dibs now?” “It’s not dibs,” Jungwon says, low and sharp. “It’s ownership.”
His fingers wrap around your wrist, softly. Too softly. It’s the kind of grip that makes you freeze.
“You shouldn’t be a player anymore,” he murmurs. “You should be a prize.” And the worst part? You don’t hate the idea. You hate how much you don’t hate it.
You’re back in the games.
No goodbye. No warning. Jungwon just lets the guards drag you away. “She has one more round,” he said coldly to the Serpent.
“Let’s see how well she plays… knowing who’s watching.”
You’re thrown into the maze. Hide and Seek. The hallways are darker this time. The “Seekers” are worse.
This isn’t a game. It’s a hunt. And somewhere in the shadows, a blade slices through your side. You gasp, clutching your sides, breath heavy. You collapse. Blood pooling. Breath shallow. The announcement blares overhead, "Player 305. Eliminated. Player 099. Pass."
And somewhere far above, Jungwon watches, eyes darkening at every movement O99 makes. “She’s bleeding,” the Bull scoffs. “Disqualified.” “Dead,” the Hound corrects. “They always bleed out before sunrise.”
“She’s not dead,” Jungwon mutters, staring at the screen. “She’s mine.” He presses a button on the console beside him.
“Pull her out,” he growls. “Or I start slicing throats until I find someone who will.” The host. The frontman he calls himself. Is silent. His gray mask void of any movement. He silently presses a button.
You wake in silk sheets. IV in your arm. Your stomach wrapped. You’re somewhere between a palace and a prison. Jungwon sits by your bed. Still in his suit. Still with blood on his cuff.
“Why…” Your voice is hoarse. “Why would you do this?”
“Because you’re not a player,” he says softly, brushing hair from your face. “You’re a possession. And I don’t let what’s mine bleed in public.” The room he brings you to next is all glass.
You don’t notice the one-way mirror until after he’s stripped you bare and tied you down.
Silk ropes. Black, with red threading. A perfect contrast to your bruises.
He stands behind you, hand trailing up your spine, admiring the view.
“They’re watching,” he murmurs into your ear. “Every VIP. Every pig in gold. They want to know what makes you mine.”
You shiver.
“Let me show them.”
Your ankle’s wrapped. Your stitches are still fresh. But Jungwon doesn’t let you rest. Not really.
He brings you to a room laced in velvet, mirrors, and low light.
The walls hum. There's a tension to the silence, like someone watching from behind the glass. Because someone is.
“Why are we here?” “Because you’re still a question to them,” he says, pulling the silk from the tray. “And I want to give them an answer.”
You flinch as he approaches.
“You’re hurt” “I won’t touch your wounds,” he whispers, lips at your temple. “But I will touch everything else.”
He ties your wrists first. Not rough. Not cruel. Just tight enough to remind you who holds the rope.
Each loop is deliberate. Black silk with threads of red.
He binds you over the plush velvet chair. Knees on the seat. Arms behind your back. Face angled perfectly toward the one-way mirror.
“They’re watching.” “Jungwon” “Let them.”
His hands trail your waist, slow as smoke. His lips find the skin behind your ear.
“Let them watch you fall apart for me.” The first touch is reverent.
Fingers between your thighs, trailing through the mess of nerves already coiled tight. He doesn’t even undress completely. Still in that fitted suit. Still calm. While you shiver.
“You’re dripping, baby,” he says, voice sweet like venom. “Is it because you know they’re there? Or because I am?”
He rubs slow, then faster, working rhythm into you like a song only he knows. Your knees threaten to give out, but he grabs your waist, forcing you up, forcing you to face the mirror.
“Keep your eyes open,” he murmurs, tongue tasting the skin of your spine. “They need to see who you belong to.”
You cry out.
He fucks you with precision. No chaos. No cruelty. Just pure dominance wrapped in silk and sound.
He whispers filth in your ear. Calls you his prize, his secret, his only.
You can feel them watching. You imagine the Peacock scoffing. The Bull twitching with jealousy. The Serpent leaning in closer.
But none of them have you. Only he does.
“Say it,” he growls, hips grinding against the base of your spine. “Say who owns you.” “You” your voice cracks. “You do, Jungwon. I’m yours.”
He doesn’t stop until your legs tremble, your voice hoarse from begging. And only then does he untie you. Only then does he hold you.
You don’t remember falling asleep. But you wake up in warmth. Not peace, warmth. The kind that burns low beneath the skin. The kind that makes you sweat. You’re wrapped in silk. In his jacket. In his arms. His heart beats steady against your back, and for a terrifying moment, you wonder if you’ve stopped existing outside of this room.
There is no outside world. Just velvet, glass, breath. And him.
“You dream loud,” Jungwon murmurs against your shoulder, voice a slow ache. “Do you always beg like that in your sleep?” Your body tenses.
“Don’t.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “You’ll hurt yourself.” You pull away slightly. “This isn’t real.”
“It’s the only thing that is.”
His hand slips between your legs again before you can protest. No urgency this time, just slow, almost tender. Like he’s tracing possession into your skin. You gasp and reach for his wrist, but he catches your hand, pins it above your head.
“Don’t fight it,” he whispers. “I told you, I’d take care of you.” Your thighs quiver as his fingers work you open again. He watches, fascinated. “Still so wet. Are you that desperate to be ruined?”
“No,” you say, but it’s a lie, and he knows it. “You want to hate me,” he says against your throat. “But your body wants me more.”
He presses two fingers inside, curling them deliberately. Your back arches. “There she is,” he murmurs. You sob quietly into his jacket, heat building unbearably between your thighs. Every breath makes you feel owned. Consumed. And you hate how good it feels.
“I want them to watch again,” he growls into your skin. “I want them to see how I can make you unravel with just my fingers.” You shudder.
“They’ll never touch you. Never fuck you. Never own you. Only I get to do that. Understand?” You nod frantically, eyes wild.
“Say it,” he demands, curling his fingers deep. “Say it.” “You do,” you gasp. “You own me, Jungwon.”
“Louder.” “You own me!”
He pushes you to the edge, then stops. Your cry breaks in your throat.
“I want you to remember,” he says, mouth at your ear. “I choose when you come. I choose everything.” You almost break. But then his mouth crashes down, claiming yours in a kiss that isn’t sweet, isn’t kind, it’s punishment. And you melt into it, because hate and heat live too close together in your chest now.
Later, when you wake again, your wrists are unbound.
There’s food at the edge of the bed. Stew. Soft rice. Honey water.
A note.
“Heal. You’re still mine.”
But the cameras never turn off. You learn that quickly.
You bathe behind a screen, but the lights flicker, and you know someone is watching. You sleep with a blanket, but never feel alone.
And at night, Jungwon returns. Sometimes he touches you.
Sometimes he doesn’t. But always, he watches. One night, you wake up screaming. Memories of blood, of the maze, of Hyun Ju’s dying breath choking you alive.
You’re trembling. Cold. Alone. Until he’s there.
Jungwon. No words. No cruelty. Just arms around you. Breathing. Silent. And for the first time, you don’t resist.
You let yourself cry. And he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t gloat. Doesn’t touch. He just holds you.
Because even monsters know how to cradle the things they break. The days begin to blur. Time doesn’t pass in this place, it curdles.
You don’t know what hour it is, or what round the other players are dying in. You only know the click of surveillance. The weight of velvet. The hum of speakers piping soft classical music through the walls as if this were a hotel suite and not a cell in gold trim.
Jungwon keeps you dressed in silk. But your wrist bears a mark.
Not a bracelet. A collar.
A thin silver band with a black sapphire set into its center. There’s no clasp. No lock. You didn’t feel him put it on. But it doesn’t come off.
It glows faintly when he enters the room. “You belong to me,” he says one night, wrapping your ankle in fresh gauze. “Every inch. Every thought. Every sound you make.”
You sit still.
Because somewhere inside you, the fire that once wanted to escape… wants to be chosen instead.
The next time he touches you, it’s different.
Slower. Crueler. The camera is on again, but you’re not scared of it anymore. He has you pinned over the chaise lounge, naked except for the collar. Knees spread. Arms bound in red velvet ties behind your back.
The room is dim. One-way mirror glowing.
“Look at yourself,” he whispers, gripping your jaw and turning your head to the reflection. “You’re not a player anymore. You’re not a person. You’re mine. My possession. My little display case of pleasure.”
He presses his hips flush to yours, his clothed body hard against your bare skin. And you don’t cry this time. You moan.
“Touch yourself,” he commands. Your breath catches. “My hands—”
“You’ll figure it out.” And you do.
You grind helplessly against the silk throw. Fingers twitch. Knees tremble. He watches, like a scientist watching a masterpiece unfold.
“You like being watched now, don’t you?” he says. “I hate it,” you whisper. “I hate you.”
He smiles. “Then come for me.” And you do. You cry out so hard your vision whites. He doesn’t even touch you. Not yet.
When you collapse, shaking and spent, he finally presses his mouth to the bruises blooming along your neck.
“I think we should show the others now,” he whispers. “Let them see who you belong to.”
