about me: 22 y/o uni student who writes for fun <3.
pronouns: she/her
what i post: fanfics – mostly kpop (svt, bts, txt), fluff, explicit content, oneshots, romance. i only write x reader (mostly f!/afab readers, sorry!).
ults: wonwoo, jeonghan, jungkook, beomgyu. i am not a solo stan btw, i love all members just as much <3
rules: MDNI!! 18+ only, please respect that. i don't take requests, i write what i want when i want. i will likely only post every once in a while. please respect this.
Summary: It was supposed to be a secret. No one—as in absolutely no one—was supposed to know you were that type of person. A fanfiction writer for fun. It was harmless, right? Not until your family friend’s son and your biggest enemy—Jeonghan—manages to find out, and he decides to use it against you for his own gain.
Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x Fem!reader
Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, smut, angst, fluff, crackfic, college au, non idol au, enemies to frienemies to lovers, fake dating, lowkey forced proximity, flashbacks, Jeonghan is an asshole at first, but don’t worry, he changes, very self-indulgent since I AM a fanfiction writer lmfao, vague american football mentions (I have no prior knowledge to how playoffs work in college except for my romance books), mentions of alcohol consumption, protected to unprotected sex, p in v, creampies, slight breeding kink (if you squint), oral sex (f & m receiving), multiple sex scenes, dom!Jeonghan, praise kink, pet names, masturbation, semi-public sex, car sex, best friend!97 line, mention of some Twice members as friends.
A/N: This fic idea literally came to me while I was drying my hair, realising I left my laptop open on a Google doc where anyone could read it (the kitchen). Anyways, this is not how I depict the idols in real life, this is purely fiction! Enjoy!
Word count: 13.2k (out of 41.5k... don't look at me like that.)
Dividers from @diviniyae
Title from That's The Way I Loved You by Taylor Swift
PART 1 || PART 2 || BONUS
TUESDAY, 3:46 PM
It was just another day on campus. You were in the library, in your usual spot by the windows, writing and listening to music on full volume through your earbuds, unaware of your surroundings as you typed away on your laptop.
You lowered the volume of your music, noticing some students walking around before going back to typing.
He grabbed you by your throat, whispering filthy words into your ear when—
That's when you heard a low whistle behind you, making you slam your laptop shut to turn around and see your best friend. You sighed in relief, glaring at him as you opened your laptop again.
“Mingyu— I swear to god, if you sneak up on me like that again, I will throw a brick at you.” You checked whether the doc was saved, and thankfully, it was.
“Firstly, hi, secondly, you shouldn't be writing literal porn on your laptop with full brightness where anyone can see it.” He deadpanned, sitting across from you before taking out his books and tablet from his bag.
“It's erotica, smartass, and my laptop isn't on full brightness! You just have stupidly good eyes,” you muttered, crossing your arms and leaning back on your seat. “Plus, you interrupted me during the best part, and now I forgot what I was supposed to write!”
“He grabbed you by your throat, whispering—”
You cut Mingyu off when he tried to quote the line you wrote, shoving the marshmallows you had on hand, usually craving something sweet or salty when writing. Today it was marshmallows.
“Shut up, will you? We're still in a public library, and I'd rather not flaunt around that I write these types of things out here—”
You hissed before seeing Minghao arrive, looking at the two of you with a slightly judgmental look before taking out his stuff and placing it on the table. “I'm not gonna even ask this time.”
“She's writing her stuff again—ow-!” Mingyu rubbed his bicep with a pout after having swallowed the marshmallows you shoved into his mouth just a moment prior.
“Her fanfiction?” Hao bluntly called it as it was, making you cringe. “There's nothing wrong with writing literary fiction in a library. Unless she's writing smut again. Then that's just pure public indecency.”
You groaned into your hands, having had enough of your friends, and decided to change the topic. “Where's Seokmin? Wasn't he supposed to meet us here because he had some news?”
“He said he's gonna run late. Project thing.” Mingyu checked his phone, reading Seokmin's last message. “You'd know that if you read the group chat instead of writing your po—”
You shoved another handful of marshmallows into your best friend's mouth.
Seokmin got to the library about thirty minutes later, panting as if he had run a marathon.
“Guys–! Hey, sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, there was an emergency meeting on my project due Wednesday… Anyway, I have come bearing news!” He dramatically announces himself, raising his hands grandiosely. It made you groan, making him cock an eyebrow at you. “What’s wrong with Little Miss Writer?”
“Spit it out already, Seokmin, before I decide to throw this thesaurus at you.” You threatened, causing the man in front of you to flinch slightly.
“Okay, okay, jeez.. So, Seungcheol is throwing a party this Thursday, and Mingyu, being a part of his fraternity, is invited, and because we're friends with Mingyu, we're also invited!”
You really contemplated throwing the thesaurus at your second best friend. It was truly tempting.
“Uhh, is that it?” Minghao murmured, not even looking up from his notebook as he took notes and sipped on his tea from his tumbler.
“Oh, no, there's also the fact that Jeonghan told me to tell you—” he pointed at you. “—that your parents and his parents are going to have their yearly spring grill this Friday. And that you're obligated to come, and that Jeonghan's your ride.”
You've got to be kidding. You gaped at Seokmin as if he grew two heads, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. There was no way in hell that you were going to endure a three-hour ride back home to your parents' place in Jeonghan's car!
“And why are you the one telling me this, and not him?” You hissed, eyes squinting at Seokmin as he put his hands up in defense.
“Hey, hey—calm down, I'm just the messenger. Literally. And I don't know, maybe because we're best friends?”
Mingyu patted your shoulder in support, knowing what type of history you had with Jeonghan. Both your parents were good friends, which kept you and Jeonghan in constant proximity. During birthday parties, family grills, or just typical celebrations involving scholarly achievements. Your parents expected you and Jeonghan to get along, but it was a miss—you hated each other's guts. You weren't sure where it had started, but from a certain moment when you were ten, and Jeonghan was twelve, you started despising each other.
Everything was a challenge—and Jeonghan teased you for every little thing. The way you dressed, the way you had your hair styled, even the way you spoke! The teasing didn't leave until now, but instead of immature name-calling or calling your fashion sense “weird”, it was commenting on whom you had dated or crude jokes involving your love life. But it was never in public—never in front of other people anyway. Just when it was the two of you, when he caught you somewhere like the library or the campus park.
So to speak, it was going to be insufferable with him.
“Why did he even offer to be my ride?” You groaned, slamming your laptop shut as you started packing your stuff, confusing Seokmin.
“Where are you going? I just got here—” he whined.
“I'm gonna go find that sleazy jerk, and give him a piece of my mind,” you grumbled, shoving your books into your messenger bag with a huff before storming out of the library with the purpose to find Jeonghan.
“She's gonna go off on him again, isn't she?” Minghao deadpanned, and Mingyu sighed, hopeless.
Heading towards the fraternity house Jeonghan lived in was easy. Mingyu lived there as well, so you managed to remember the route out of habit. You entered the establishment, politely saying “hi” to the guys that greeted you as you beelined towards Jeonghan's room.
About to knock, you suddenly heard something that made your skin crawl. Moaning. You scoffed, rolling your eyes before knocking at the door anyway, disrupting whatever activities Jeonghan was doing with whomever he was with in his room. When the door didn't open, you pounded harder on the wooden entrance, a soft curse being heard along with some shuffling.
“I swear to god, Cheol—” Jeonghan muttered as the door swung open, confusion painting his expression for a brief second when he saw you. Confusion turned into that shit-eating grin you hated before he spoke up. “Oh? What brought you to my doorstep, angel?”
You scoffed at the nickname, always having hated it when he called you that. It wasn't because it was bad or anything, but because of what it symbolised. Angels—purity and divinity. But in your case, he used it to flaunt the fact that you were a prude. It pissed you off.
“I'm here because you told Seokmin that you were my ride for this Friday's grill.” You dug your forefinger into his chest before adding. “Which you are not, by the way. I have my own car, and I can drive home just fine.”
“Oh, really?” Jeonghan looked down at your finger that was pressing against his right pec. “From what I heard, your car was at the mechanic's since you swerved off the street and hit a pole last month.”
Your eyes widened, trying to think of a logical explanation as to how he knew about that. The only people who knew were your parents and friends, and even with Seokmin's loose tongue, he wouldn't just blabber it to Jeonghan, of all people.
Jeonghan seemed to notice your cogs turning in your brain as he chuckled. “I talked to your mom—she called me, by the way. She told me that you'd probably need a ride after checking up on me. She also told me that you should call her. What's that about?”
Goddammit, your mom. You should've known she'd call him after you'd ignored her calls for the past few days. It wasn't on purpose, not really. You were just tired from all the schoolwork and projects you had due, so you didn't want to talk to anyone for the rest of the week. A sigh left your lips as you dropped your finger from his chest.
“It's none of your business, for one, and for two, you're not driving me home. I can take the bus—”
“And afford to get late and have everyone look at you like you did something terrible? Right.” Jeonghan scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “It's not gonna kill you to go on a three-hour road trip with me back home.”
“Oh, yes, it will! You're insufferable—” you gritted the words out from how pissed off you were at the fact that you didn't really have a choice. You were going to have to suffer three horrible hours (with toilet breaks, probably) with Jeonghan. You wanted to bash your head in and die.
“Please, your exes were insufferable. I'm just a mild inconvenience in your day-to-day.” He shrugged as if he didn't just admit that he was an asshole towards you on purpose. The mention of your exes made your eye twitch, and you didn't want to be reminded of the horrible choices you had made in the past.
Before you could snark out another comment, a girl called out for Jeonghan, making him chuckle once more when you made a disgusted expression. “Duty calls, angel. See you Friday morning.”
“Wait what—”
He slammed the door before you could ask why in the morning. You had classes, and you couldn’t just skip. Deciding it was useless to knock on his door again, you started walking back to your apartment, grumbling and muttering to yourself, not paying attention to where you were going, and you bumped into someone.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured, rubbing your forehead as you looked up and saw Seungcheol—one of Jeonghan’s closest friends and Mingyu’s hyung. You blinked in slight surprise to have bumped into him, expecting him to be in his own dorm and not outside. “Seungcheol?”
He looked down at you, finally realising who he had bumped into, and said your name softly with a smile. “Hey. What’s got you in this part of campus? Were you looking for Mingyu?”
“Oh! Uhm, no.. I just had a question for Jeonghan, nothing too important.” You shrugged as you made small talk with your senior, rubbing your neck awkwardly.
You’d always liked Seungcheol—but not in the way you’d expect, no—you didn’t have a crush on the guy, but he was nice to look at and had a nice ass, but there was just no way you’d crush on him. He was nice to talk to from time to time, since he was quite down to earth, and you’d have things in common with him, and he’d defend you from Jeonghan’s shitty antics—okay, maybe you did have a small crush on him. It was hard not to.
At the mention of Jeonghan’s name, Seungcheol raised his eyebrow. “Jeonghan? What’d he do now?”
“Nothing! Really, it’s just that my car broke down a couple of weeks ago and is at the mechanic’s, so I have to ride with Jeonghan back home this Friday since he has a car.” You explained your situation, and the man in front of you listened intently as he gently grabbed your shoulder, catching your attention.
“I mean… if you want, I could give you a ride back home. I’m not doing anything this Friday.” He offered, and you buffered. Like full-on bluescreened. Seungcheol? Drive you back home? For three hours? That seemed like a wet dream—okay, no. But it was still something, especially coming from someone like him. You weren’t close to him at all, so there was no point in his offering such a favour, but he was still doing it.
You shook your head, smiling softly, thankful for his offer. “Oh–I, uhm.. I couldn’t possibly. It’s fine—”
“I insist, I won’t mind driving you—”
“She said no, Cheol. Can’t you get the hint?”
You spun around to see Jeonghan standing behind you, his hair slightly damp, wearing an oversized black tee with his jersey over it, along with loose-fitting black sweatpants. You hadn’t expected him to come out of his dorm after what you heard earlier, expecting him to still be busy with whoever he was screwing. Seungcheol’s brows furrowed as his best friend butted into your conversation. You could sense the tension, and you did not want to be in the middle of it.
“Jeonghan.” You said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing?”
“Getting your ass out of trouble. Cheol, go inside. One of the guys is causing trouble in the living area again.” He casually mentioned, causing his friend to look at you apologetically before heading into the frat house. “You mind telling me why my best friend was offering you a ride back home?”
Jeonghan asked, his expression unreadable, but there was a hint of frustration in his eyes. Was he pissed? You weren’t sure. When you didn’t answer, he took a step closer and muttered your name. “Answer the question.”
“I told him you were going to give me a ride. Why do you care if Seungcheol drives me there, anyway?” You frowned, looking up at him with growing animosity. It was none of Jeonghan’s business, after all.
“Because, angel, I told your mom that I’d be the one driving you, remember? So, Cheol can’t drive your stubborn little ass. Plus, who’d know what he’d do to you in those three hours.”
He fake shuddered, and your face flushed at the meaning of his sentence. Jeonghan noticed immediately, letting out a snort. “Do you have a crush on him, angel? Is that it? You’d let him hit in those three hours back home in his car?”
“What– no! What the fuck, Jeonghan?” You denied all too quickly, making him laugh harder, your embarrassment growing by the second. The last thing you wanted was for Jeonghan to know that you had a crush on his best friend. It was increasingly getting harder to breathe, and you had to leave. Before you could embarrass yourself further. So, you just shoved Jeonghan before rushing the other way, running towards your apartment.
“Oh my god, he said that?” Mingyu muttered over the phone as the two of you Facetimed in the evening. You were settled in your pyjamas—a comfy oversized college tee that Mingyu had given you during your freshman year, and shorts—and drinking your favourite tea, while typing frustratingly on your laptop, trying to focus on writing your fic. But it was hard when everything was bringing you back to your earlier conversation with Jeonghan.
“To be fair, do you have a crush on Seungcheol hyung?” he asked, curiosity lingering in his tone while he ate chips in bed, looking at your deep frown. “Because you know that Cheol hyung is a bit of a…”
“Fuckboy?” You continued for your best friend, your tone deadpanned. “I know that, Gyu. But he’s been nothing but nice to me since I met him, and it’s not hard not to crush on the guy, okay? Plus, he’s got a nice ass…”
Mingyu groaned your name, rolling his eyes. Of course, you’d mention Cheol’s ass. “Anyway, if you’re really into him, then why not make a move on him?”
“Because he’s a fuckboy? And one of your friends?” You glanced at your screen to look at your best friend with an “isn’t it obvious why” look.
“I mean, yeah, sure, he’s my friend, but that doesn’t really stop you from making a move on him, you know? It’d be worse if he decided to hurt you. And I know Cheol hyung enough that he wouldn’t mess with my bestie, or he’d be getting two fists and a foot up his ass.”
“Foot?” You look at him incredulously, letting out a soft chuckle. “Who’s foot?”
“Hao’s, duh. His skinny arms wouldn’t be able to retain proper damage.”
“He’s a literal martial artist, bro—” You snorted out a laugh, feeling a bit better than earlier. Mingyu had always had your back when you were upset, and you were thankful to have such a good friend like him.
“Anyway, I say go for it. It’s high time you got some good dick. Other than the dick you write about.” He joked, and you glared at him. “Hey, don’t end the call yet—I still have something to say.”
“Which is?” You grabbed your phone from where you had it propped up, looking at your best friend unamused.
“Go to the party this Thursday, I’ll be there, and maybe you can make your move on Cheol hyung there. If it doesn’t work out, we can always go back to my room and play Uno with Seok and Hao.”
It wasn’t much of a bad idea. You weren’t really a party person and would rather pack your stuff before your weekend trip, but Mingyu was right. If it didn’t work out, you could always hang out with your friends. Plus, it would be nice to dress up and let loose for once.
“Fine, I’ll go. But you need to help me with what to wear.”
“Already thinking, sweetcheeks. I gotta go, see you tomorrow before class, though?” He shifted in his bed, yawning. It was late, and you were only halfway through your fic because you ended up ranting about what Jeonghan had spat out earlier. You only hummed noncommittally before hanging up.
Closing your laptop, you decided to finish your already-cold tea before deciding to brew another cup. Waiting for the hot water to boil in your electric kettle, you bit your lower lip as you scrolled through Seungcheol’s Instagram, looking through his pictures. That’s when you saw a post, in collaboration with Jeonghan, a picture of them both wearing medals—Jeonghan for winning first place in relay swimming, while Seungcheol was holding a trophy from their win in the college football playoffs. Your kettle startled you when it finished heating the water, making you double-click on your screen. When you looked back down at your phone, you froze.
You had just liked the post.
Shit, shit, shit. Undo, undo—
But it had been too late.
Jeonghan was playing video games with Seungcheol when his phone buzzed with a notification. When he was about to ignore it, he read your username and that you had liked a post. That piqued his interest as he muttered on the mic that he was leaving the game, a series of whines coming out of his headphones before he left the voice channel and logged out of the game.
Unlocking his phone, he opened the social media app to check which post you had initially liked, a scoff escaping him when he saw it was the one he had collaborated on with Seungcheol. He decided to text you, just to tease and check if you were still up.
Jeonghan: Are you stalking him on social media now?
You: What?? Wtf are you talking about
Jeonghan: Don’t play dumb, angel. I saw that you liked the post.
Fuck. So, Jeonghan did see the notification, after all. You had prayed that he wouldn’t, alas, your prayers had not been answered this time around. Gritting your teeth, you thought of what to reply, contemplating between playing dumb and just ignoring his text. Instead, you decided to be bold for once, not wanting him to step all over you once more.
You: So what if I did?
Jeonghan: Nothing, just proves my point in you having a crush on him. 🤷
You: I don’t have a crush on him.
Jeonghan: You SO do. You wouldn’t have run away earlier like that if you didn’t.
Jeonghan: It’s not worth it, you know.
You frowned at that, confused by his message. What did he mean by “not worth it”? You contemplated replying, wanting to ask him what he meant, but deep down inside, you kind of knew what he meant. But that didn’t stop you from being stubborn.
You: What’s not worth it??
Jeonghan: Seungcheol.
You: Why do you care all of a sudden?
Jeonghan: I don’t. I’m just saying, don’t waste your time on him.
You: It’s none of your business who I waste my time on or not.
You: Good night.
You turned off your phone after that, sighing in frustration at the fact that you had to talk to Jeonghan again. Over text this time, but it was still talking to him. You regretted giving him your number last semester because of a shared econ project you had to do with him.
That’s when your phone buzzed, and the caller ID appeared—your mom. You answered, greeting her noncommittally. “Hey, Mom…”
THURSDAY, 5:38 PM
Thursday came quicker than you realised, and you were getting ready for the party with Mingyu in your room, choosing from the plethora of clothes you had, while you did your makeup.
“Gyu, have you chosen something yet? I’m almost done with my makeup..!” You called out from your bathroom, curling your eyelashes. Mingyu just grunted in response, looking between a cherry red cocktail dress and a baby pink short a-line dress. He’s gotta give it to you, you had style if you wanted it, but you usually decided to wear sweaters and dress pants instead, giving off a more academic look.
“I think this red one will fit you.” He picked it up from the bed, handing it to you as you hummed and glanced at it. “I think Seungcheol will appreciate it.” Mingyu nudged you playfully, making you roll your eyes and swat him.
“The last time I wore this dress, I got cat-called twice on the street when I was out on girls’ night with Jihyo and Nayeon.”
“Even better! I think this black cardigan will… You know. Make you feel like you.” He handed you your long wool cardigan that fell to mid-thigh, making you feel more comfortable in the dress you planned to wear, since it was quite short and it’d keep you warm during the chilly March nights.
“Now, go get dressed! Minghao’s already waiting outside, and I’m sure he’ll ditch us if we don’t come out in the next fifteen minutes.”
Getting to the frat house was as easy as ever, thankfully, by deciding to wear flats instead of heels. Mingyu managed to find cute doll flats from Jihyo at the last minute, knocking on her door frantically and saying it was a fashion emergency (overkill on his part, but it worked).
The frat house was packed with people from various sororities and other groups, already drinking and mingling with each other. Entering the establishment, you saw a few familiar faces, some of whom were colleagues from other classes or just acquaintances of your friends. Mingyu led you to the kitchen while Hao and Seokmin got lost in the crowd, catching up with their friends (Soonyoung and Jun, if you remembered correctly).
“Do you want anything to drink? Should I make you a Mingyu special, eh?” he grinned, but you only shook your head.
“I'll stick with soda, Gyu.. I don't wanna end up on someone else's bed.” You snorted, joking as your best friend shrugged, and poured you a cup with coke.
That's when someone walked into the kitchen—laughing, albeit a little too loudly for your liking. Seungcheol.
You felt his gaze fall on you, blinking as if he'd seen something mesmerising. Your body felt hot, instinctively pulling the skirt of your dress down as he walked over to greet you with the call of your name.
“Hey, you made it-!” He gave you a side hug, then stuck to your side as he nodded to Mingyu. “You look really pretty…” he complimented, something only you could hear as his breath brushed over your ear, making your skin tingle.
“Thanks.. you, uhm.. you look good too,” you complimented him back, making him grin as he stole you from Mingyu. You looked back at your best friend, who gave you only a thumbs-up and mouthed “good luck”.
Seungcheol brought you over to his friend group—you recognised a few people, thankfully, as you knew them from the football team. Soonyoung—the energetic one—seemed to notice you first, greeting you enthusiastically as you sat down on the couch with Seungcheol pulling you to his lap, surprising you at first, but you settled in easily. The rest of his friend group—Joshua, Wonwoo, and Chan—greeted you as well.
“So, how do you two know each other?” Joshua asked first, seemingly curious about the nature of your relationship with Cheol. You fiddled with your fingers, struggling to speak up before the man you were sitting with answered for you.
“We know each other through a mutual friend. Mingyu. Right, sweets?” He leaned his chin on your shoulder, playing with your cardigan as you hummed, body stiffening. You weren't used to this type of attention, but you couldn't lie—you liked it. A little too much. It was like the scenarios you wrote on your laptop. Maybe it could be an inspiration for later.
“Yeah—I, uh, Cheol and I met through Gyu when he joined the fraternity…” It was the truth, but you couldn't admit the fact that the first time you met Seungcheol was as embarrassing as the time you slipped over nothing at the public pool and fell into the water.
It was freshman year, you and Mingyu were shuffling through extracurricular activities and clubs you could join when Seungcheol came over and greeted the two of you.
“Hey, Mingyu, who's the pretty girl?” He smiled, pretty dimples appearing. You were awestruck.
“Pretty?” Another voice scoffed. You could recognise that voice anywhere as you snapped out of your trance. Jeonghan.
“Please, she's as pretty as a mule.” He snorted, causing you to grit your teeth, Mingyu holding your hand to hold you back. Who knew what you were capable of doing to Jeonghan if he didn't?
“Hannie, don't be mean.. I'm Seungcheol, and you are?” He asked you, and you managed to focus on ‘dimples’ as you called him in your head before introducing yourself. “Pretty..”
Seungcheol murmured with a smile, causing your face to flush, making Jeonghan scoff. “Cheol, stop flattering her, she'll start writing your name with hearts if you do.”
That was it.
You tugged away from Mingyu’s grasp before he could tighten it, and you jumped Jeonghan like some feral cat, cursing him out and yanking his hair while he tried to pry you off him.
“Yeah, she was as cute as when I met her.” Seungcheol only mentioned, not bothering to tell the whole story, as his grip on your waist tightened slightly. It was a silent comfort, and you were thankful.
You chatted with his friends for a while, smiling and laughing as Soonyoung entertained you most of the time, but you couldn't help but feel someone staring at you from afar. It felt distinctive enough for you to distract you from the conversation. When Soonyoung got busy chatting with somebody else, you looked around before your eyes met the very eyes you've learned to hate over the years—Jeonghan. Why the hell was he staring at you?
You kept brief eye contact before breaking it off first when Seungcheol tapped your hip, bringing your attention to him. “Wanna head up to my room?”
The question made your body tingle with both anxiety and excitement. You weren't sure what to do, so you just nodded before you could overthink. You could do this. You wrote about shit like this before, you could apply it in real life too, right?
Getting up from your seat, Seungcheol stretched before taking your hand into his, leading you through the crowds of drunk college students towards his room. On the way there, the two of you shared jokes, giggling and chuckling before he finally kissed you.
It wasn't a short, sweet kiss either—it was filled with passion, his tongue easily slipping past your lips, a soft moan leaving your lips as he smiled against the kiss. He had you pressed against the wall in the empty hallway, with most of the people either downstairs or outside, so there were only a few people busy talking or making out to bother paying attention to you or Seungcheol.
“I've been wanting to do this for a while now…” Seungcheol murmured against your lips, sighing softly as he hooked your leg over his hip, pressing himself closer to you. He grasped your face with one hand, cradling your cheek as if he were going to lose you if he didn't hold on.
You whined softly against him when he gently ground against you, your hands fisting the material of his shirt as he slipped his tongue into your mouth once more. Heat pooled between your legs, and you felt your panties starting to stick to your folds as Seungcheol kept on with his lazy grinds.
He rubbed the underside of your thigh, moving dangerously high to the hem of your dress to grope your ass, when his phone suddenly started ringing in his pocket. Cursing softly, he moved away from you and pulled out his phone from his pocket, a soft whine leaving your lips at the loss of contact. It made him chuckle before stealing a soft kiss from you, and checking the caller.
“Give me a second, it's Coach..” He murmured, answering the call. “Hello?” He moved away towards a more secluded spot in the hallway, but not far enough for your field of view.
During that little moment, your thoughts were scrambled all over the place. You had just made out with Seungcheol. Your freshman crush, Seungcheol. It was silly to think about, but it made butterflies flutter in your stomach anyway. When he finished his conversation, he came back to you with a slightly disappointed yet hopeful expression.
“I need to go for a bit. There was an emergency, and the coach needs me as team captain. It won't take long, I'm sure, so do you think you could wait for me here..?”
You were still a bit out of it, but managed to answer back. “H-huh—oh! Yeah, yeah, of course.. I–I can wait…”
“Perfect. See you in a bit, pretty.” He pecked your lips one last time before running off and leaving you dazed. You just leaned against the wall, a small smile creeping up to your lips.
About thirty minutes passed, and you started to get bored and worried. You didn't have Seungcheol's number, so there was no way you could contact him unless you asked Mingyu, but you were sure he'd get curious as to why you weren't with Seungcheol.
“He's not coming back, you know.”
You jumped at the sound of Jeonghan's voice, startled by his sudden appearance. He stood there, his expression unreadable as he kept his hands in his pockets. You scowled at his words, unsure of what he meant.
“What do you mean?” You queried, and in front of you just shook his head.
“He's not gonna come back to you, angel. I told you not to waste your time on him.” He reminded you of his warning two nights ago, frustration bubbling in your chest at the accusation about Seungcheol not coming back.
You crossed your arms, posture defiant and defensive as you spoke up, confidence not wavering. “How are you so sure? His coach called him—”
A scoff left his lips, cutting you off, and muttering something along the lines of “of course, he did”. That made you frown in confusion as Jeonghan sighed, running his fingers through his black locks before shaking his head.
“Angel, it's a ruse to get him out of situations. I know him well enough to know he didn't bother telling one of his asshole friends not to call yet. He's downstairs drinking.”
You clenched your jaw at that, your head spinning with thoughts. You knew what you were getting into when trying to pursue Seungcheol, but he was so kind to you that you hadn't expected to get played. You didn't want to believe it.
“I don't believe you, he–he wouldn't just...” You trailed off, unable to defend Seungcheol as he defended you against Jeonghan. Because deep down, you knew what Seungcheol was like. You were just in denial because he was so nice to you. “You're lying.”
“Believe me or don't, angel, I know my truth. Go downstairs, do it. I'd love to watch Seungcheol pale up when he sees you so heartbroken.”
“Shut up, Jeonghan, you're such an asshole—” You pushed him out of the way, rushing down the hallway before he yanked you back, causing you to collide with his chest.
“Let go of me, jerk-!” You tried tugging your wrist away from his grip, but it only tightened, not enough to hurt, but to keep you in place. You could see his eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he seemed to think about something. His expression soon lightened, a mischievous grin growing on his lips.
“I'll take you downstairs.”
“What—” you were cut off with your own yelp as Jeonghan picked you up over his shoulder, carrying you like a sack of potatoes, supporting your weight like it was nothing. “Jeonghan, put me down!”
“Stop worrying your pretty little head, my arm covers your ass,” he stated lazily as he walked down the stairs with you wriggling and hitting his back, but he still wouldn't let you go. He only put you down once the two of you were in the kitchen, where Mingyu, Minghao, and Seokmin were nursing their drinks while talking. Seokmin noticed you first, calling out your name.
“Hey, I thought you were with Seungcheol. What happened?” He asked, glancing at Jeonghan, who was right behind you, giving your friends a lazy wave.
“Cheol ditched her. I warned her about him, but she didn't listen, so take care of her before she breaks down like a baby, hm? See you around, angel.” Jeonghan saluted and clicked his tongue before turning around and getting lost in the crowd.
“What did he mean Seungcheol ditched you? I thought the two of you were hitting it off earlier? Wasn't he going to take you to his room?” Mingyu shot out the questions like a machine gun, but you were still reliving the fact that Seungcheol, in fact, did ditch you.
You had seen a glimpse of him getting touchy with another girl by the windows as you were carried by Jeonghan, and it made you want to storm up to him and slap him, but you refrained, since it was better not to stir up unnecessary drama. Especially when he was friends with Mingyu.
“I–I don't know what happened. It happened all too quickly, if I'm being honest, and I currently need a drink.” You grabbed a cup and poured some vodka into it, but Mingyu snatched it away from you.
“Ah, ah… You can’t handle your alcohol well, and I sure as hell will not be carrying your ass back home. You can have a beer, but not hard liquor.” He chided, handing you a bottle of beer from the fridge. He was just looking out for you since you couldn’t handle your alcohol intake well, and if you started, you wouldn’t stop until you were projectile vomiting. The memory of an experience in the past made you shudder as you sipped on your beer and stuck to your friends for the rest of the night.
Jeonghan watched you from afar, pissed off at Seungcheol for leaving you hanging like that. Why? He wasn’t sure, and he sure as hell didn’t like it. So, he decided to take it into his own hands after the party was over, at about 3 AM. He watched as Mingyu whined while carrying you, hearing something about it being Seokmin’s turn to bring you back to your apartment, but the latter wasn’t listening.
“Cheol.” He murmured, standing with his hands in his pants pockets, while Seungcheol was busy cleaning up the number of beer bottles and cups lying around in the room. “We need to talk about something—no, someone.”
His best friend perked up, raising his eyebrow. “About who?” He asked, and Jeonghan mentioned your name, trying to coax a reaction from him. Seungcheol just chuckled awkwardly, scratching his neck. “Ah, her..? What about her?”
“You left her in the upstairs hallway,” Jeonghan stated bluntly, causing Seungcheol to wince. “Why? You never lose interest that easily.”
“You were watching us?” Seungcheol frowned, gently setting the plastic bag of trash down.
“Answer my question, Cheol. Why did you leave her there?” Jeonghan’s expression remained calm, but there was a hint of sharpness in his tone now.
“Man, I don’t know… I got a call from Coach and—”
“Oh, cut the bullshit, Seungcheol. You wanted to humiliate her, didn’t you? Give her a taste of what it could be like between you before cutting her off. Is that it?” Jeonghan’s eyes darkened slightly as he continued to grill his best friend for answers. Seungcheol scoffed softly, crossing his arms at the accusation.
“Dude, I don’t get why you’re getting worked up over it. I thought you didn’t like her?”
“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean you get to have the right to hurt her like that. Aren’t you Mingyu’s friend? Think about how hurting his best friend will affect your friendship with him, both out and in the field.” Jeonghan shoved past him, but paused for a second to say one more thing. “The only asshole in her life should be me. Apologise to her, Cheol. I won’t say this again.”
“You’re so heavy,” Mingyu grunted as he adjusted you on his back, mindlessly complaining. You weren’t really all that heavy, but the guy liked to complain, after having been the same guy who always carried you back to your apartment room after parties. Note to himself: let you hole up in your room next time, or keep you company on self-care nights. “How the hell did you get drunk off beer?”
“She’s a lightweight, dude, plus she was chugging those beer bottles. It’s like she wanted to get drunk. I mean, I don’t blame her after what Seungcheol did to her.” Seokmin spoke up, walking in front of Mingyu beside Minghao. “Why’d you tell her to go for it anyway? We all know what a notorious fuckboy Seungcheol is.”
“I dunno, man… I thought she’d soften him up. He was nice around her—hell, he defended her from Jeonghan when his bullshit got too harsh. I just… Nevermind. It’s useless crying over spilt milk. But Seungcheol hyung better apologise, or I’m punching him square in the jaw.” Mingyu sighed as you groaned against his shoulder, cheek pressed as you muttered something in your sleep. “Anyway, Jeonghan has been acting strange lately.”
“You noticed that, too, huh? It’s probably because of the trip tomorrow. Speaking of which, has she packed her stuff?” Minghao chimed in, raising his eyebrow. That made Mingyu curse, realising that he had distracted you from packing your stuff earlier that day to get ready for the party. Noticing the pained expression on Mingyu’s face, Minghao shook his head. “We better sober her up then. You know how much she hates other people organising her shit for her.”
“I know.”
Getting to your apartment was a breeze. Sobering you up, however? Not as easy as it sounded. Mingyu had plopped you onto the couch, stirring you up from your alcohol induced nap, cheeks still flushed as you groaned. “What the fuck, dude..?”
“Here, drink some water.” Minghao handed you two bottles of ice-cold water from your fridge, confusion painting your scrunched face. “One is for drinking, one is for your forehead. Sober up, you have shit to pack.”
“Huh—OH SHIT.” You shot up from where you were sitting, still a bit woozy from the alcohol, but you immediately realised that you had to finish packing your bags for your weekend trip back home. “Shit, shit, shit…”
“We’ll help you. You should stay put and sober up properly. Brief clarity isn’t going to help you right now.” Hao sat you back down on the couch before finding the half-packed luggage under your bed. “What haven’t you got packed in here, jesus christ…” He muttered, seeing the multitude of clothes, necessities, and some of your favourite books for inspiration, packed.
“I think the only stuff missing is my toothbrush and skincare products. I need to wash my face…” You groaned after chugging the bottled water. Standing up from the couch, you headed towards your bathroom, wincing at how terrible you looked. Did you cry? You sure hoped not, but the evidence of slight mascara streaks made it likely. You turned the water on, splashing your face with the lukewarm liquid before grabbing your cleanser and washing your face.
After getting your face cleaned, you felt a little more refreshed, packing the products into your toiletry bag before heading back out to the main living area, where the guys had settled down for a round of Uno on your coffee table. You placed the small bag in your luggage, then finally closed it and set it by the door.
“Wanna join us? We’re totally crushing Gyu.” Seokmin snickered as Mingyu flipped him off.
“Nah… I think I’m gonna crash. You guys staying over or..?” You asked, and they nodded. Silently thankful, you bid them good night, headed to your room to change, and went to bed. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.
FRIDAY, 6:30 AM
You woke up from your alarm blaring in your ear, a groan leaving your lips as you turned it off, giving yourself a measly five minutes to take a small nap before Mingyu busted in, shaking you awake. “Jeonghan’s already waiting for you downstairs.”
“What?” That jolted you awake as you looked at your clock—6:30 AM. Why the hell was he under your apartment so early? You groaned, getting up from your warm cocoon, and went to get ready. You tried to ignore the pounding headache as you brushed your teeth, grabbed your towel, and took a quick shower before getting dressed in something comfortable for the 3-hour ride ahead. You’d get changed at a gas station later, right now, your number one priority being comfort.
Grabbing your backpack and luggage, Mingyu helped you down while Seokmin and Minghao followed as moral support. The three of them hugged you tightly, bidding you their goodbyes before handing you over to Jeonghan.
“You'd better feed her on the way there, Yoon. She gets cranky when she doesn’t snack.” Mingyu warned him, only for you to elbow your best friend on the side, causing him to grunt.
“He doesn’t need to know that,” you muttered, going over to the trunk of Jeonghan’s car and placing your luggage beside his before slamming the thing shut without a second thought. Not your car, not your problem.
“She seems cranky now. Though who am I to know how she acts—oh, right, I’ve known her since we were kids. But thanks anyway, Mingyu.” Jeonghan grinned, heading over to the driver’s seat and entering his car. Before you could enter the backseat, Jeonghan locked it. “Ah, ah, angel. You’re sitting up front with me. I need a co-captain while driving.”
If there was a god out there, you wished it’d struck you down with lightning because there was just no way. You tugged at the handle of the backseat door, and it wouldn’t budge, causing you to groan. Insufferable. Absolutely insufferable.
Giving up on getting into the backseat, you walked over to the passenger-side door and opened it. Before you could enter, however, you heard someone call your name. The voice froze you, blood roaring in your ears as you turned to see Seungcheol.
“Seungcheol,” you murmured, tone flat as he jogged up to you with what seemed like a guilty expression. You didn’t want to hear it, but you kept still, foot already half in the car.
“I… I wanted to apologise. For last night. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that, I swear.”
“No, no. It’s fine. I should’ve known, really. Actually, Jeonghan here already warned me, but I didn’t listen. So, I learnt my lesson, so thank you, but no thank you, Seungcheol. Get your dick wet somewhere else.”
You slammed the door of Jeonghan’s car after you entered, the man in the driver’s seat jumping slightly. “Could you not slam my car door like that? I’m still paying for it, you know?”
“Just drive, Jeonghan.”
The drive back home was quiet, Jeonghan occasionally putting music on to set the mood, but other than that, he didn’t bother you as much as you’d expected him to. You were still a bit hungover, snacking on something sour to reduce your nausea, while also itching to finish writing your fic that you had been putting off since Tuesday.
“Do you wanna stop by the gas station? I can see you’re running out of snacks, and I’d rather not have you cranky like Mingyu warned.” Jeonghan glanced at you before focusing back on the road ahead. You hummed noncommittally, looking out the window. “Humming isn’t an answer, angel.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever… I need to get changed anyway.” You pulled back the hood of your hoodie, rubbing your face as you got rid of the sleep that was trying to take you. Jeonghan had the urge to mess with your hair, but he refrained, not wanting to swerve off the street in case you did something. He turned towards an exit, driving to a gas station not far from the highway you were on.
While getting gas, you changed into some jeans and a loose-fitting shirt, put on a grey cardigan over it, and did minimal makeup before heading back to where Jeonghan was. He seemed to have been waiting for you, leaning against the car, fiddling with his car keys before whistling lowly. “You dressed up for me or something?”
“What—no? I just wanted to look presentable for later. We are going to a family grill, remember?” You crossed your arms, looking at him as if he had forgotten. He didn’t, since he was already wearing a pair of dark faded jeans and a loose t-shirt with your college’s logo. Jeonghan pushed himself off the car before heading towards the gas station, confusion evident in your expression.
“Come on, you were running out of snacks, right? Let’s go buy more.” He pocketed his keys, waiting for you to follow. When you did, he grinned in victory, making you roll your eyes at him.
You picked out your snacks, grabbing the ones you liked the most before heading to the counter to pay. Jeonghan caught your attention by calling out your name. You turned around and saw him hold out two drinks before mouthing, “Which one do you want?” to you. You just looked at him with a “Why the fuck are you asking me about that?” before turning back around to smile at the older lady manning the counter. He sighed and grabbed both of the drinks before jogging over to you, bumping into you on purpose when you were about to pay.
“What the hell are you doing?” You muttered, tone hushed as you glared at him.
“I’m paying.” He shrugged, smiling at the older lady as he handed her his card. The lady seemed enamoured by the sight in front of her before speaking.
“What a cute couple you two are! A road trip, I’m guessing?” She asked, and before you could correct her about your relationship status with Jeonghan, he chimed in quicker than you, chuckling and nodding.
“Visiting our family, actually. We have a family grill in the afternoon, don’t we, babe?”
Oh, this motherfucker—
You were going to curse him out, but refrained. Instead, you smiled and hummed, bumping closer to him as you snaked your arm around his waist. That caused Jeonghan’s expression to falter for a millisecond before gaining his composure. If you were going to play this game, then you were going to play it good.
The older lady just cooed at the two of you, scanning your items before Jeonghan suddenly grabbed a pack of condoms, causing your face to burn, as the lady murmured something along the lines of “young love” and rang the rest of your items.
You were going to kill him before you could even get back home. You grabbed your snacks in a hurry, thanking and bidding the old lady a nice day, and entered the car, muttering curses.
“Why the fuck did you buy condoms?” You asked incredulously as you put on your seatbelt.
“I mean, you never know.” He shrugged, hiding the condoms in the glove compartment before driving off. The thought of Jeonghan having sex in his car made you cringe and gag, making him roll his eyes. “Chill out, I don’t have sex in my car.”
“I don’t need to know that!”
You got to your house roughly around noon, and your mother greeted you the moment Jeonghan parked his car. “You’re home! Come in, come in, your parents and sister are already in the backyard getting everything set for the grill.”
“Mom, we need to unpack.” You reminded your excitable mother, sighing with a smile. When you were about to head to get your luggage from the trunk, Jeonghan gently shoved you out of the way and grabbed his stuff first, making you scoff and roll your eyes at his antics. Taking your luggage and backpack from his car, you headed into your house and carried your stuff up to your room, Jeonghan following suit. Turning to look back at him, you raised your eyebrow in confusion. “Why are you following me up?”
“Uh… I don’t know what to tell you, angel, but we’re sharing your room.” Jeonghan stated as if it were something out of the ordinary.
“No, we’re not? Since when and why?” You questioned, dropping your luggage the moment you got to the top of the stairs, crossing your arms as he sighed and scratched his neck. You needed answers. Now.
“My parents turned my room into their personal gym last year, and the guest bedroom turned into some kind of storage unit after the last time we visited for the holidays. So, I’m staying over at your house and sleeping in your room, since, uh, the last time I checked, you guys don’t have any spare rooms.”
“Sleep in the living room?” You made a face as you stated the most logical answer known to man. “I’m not sharing my room with you.”
“Why? You scared you’ll get man-cooties?” He grinned at his own childish joke, making you groan and roll your eyes.
“We’re not done talking about this—Moom!” You called out for your mother, moving past Jeonghan and gently shoving his shoulder as you walked to the living room, which led to your backyard. “Mom, why is Jeonghan staying over at our place? His parents literally live beside us—”
“Be nice to him, honey, you can’t just make him sleep on the couch, can you?” Your mother looked at you as she handed your younger brother the tray with sausages and other meats.
“Hand those to your father, don’t you, Tommy? Thank you.” She ruffled her son’s hair before turning back to you and cooing your name when she saw the frown evident in your face. “Honey, he’s staying over because the Yoons are having a part of their house renovated right now. Plus, it’s just for the weekend. You’ll survive sharing a room with your childhood friend—”
“He’s not my friend, Mom. He’s tormented me ever since we were in kindergarten.” Your scowl deepened, arms still crossed as you tried to figure out any other solution. “He could get a motel—”
“He’s staying, and that’s final. Be nice to our guest, he’s a family friend, which makes him your friend too.” Your mother used that strict tone you couldn’t really defy, even if you tried. What she said was final, and you were stuck with Jeonghan for the rest of the weekend.
You rushed back upstairs, where your enemy seemed to have gotten himself comfortable in your room.
“Get off my bed. You’re taking the sofa.” You muttered as you pointed at your sofa. When he didn’t listen, you gritted your teeth and used force by grabbing his arm and trying to get him off the bed. It backfired on you, as Jeonghan grabbed you instead and pulled you into the bed with him, making you yelp. “Jeonghan–! What– what the fuck are you doing—”
“Shut up… I’m gonna take a nap.” He muttered tiredly, closing his eyes as he kept you close on his chest. “I drove for three and a half hours with your annoying ass, let me sleep in a comfortable space, will you?”
You grunted, wriggling as you tried to break free from his grasp, but he was holding onto you closely. You only managed to break free when your brother—Tommy—barged in with a bag of candy before rushing out, screaming, “Hannie and big sis are snuggling!”, and Jeonghan pushed you off onto the floor before your mom and his mom could come in and see what was happening. He cleared his throat and left the room to ‘help’ with the grill.
“What the hell was that…” you muttered as you pushed your hair out from your face. “Fucking weirdo.”
Thankfully, Jeonghan left you alone for the rest of the afternoon, leaving you to hole up in your room in peace, while they prepared the whole cookout. That gave you time to finally work on your fic without any disruptions. Humming softly to yourself, you let yourself type and let the words come to you.
“Tell me you want this,” his voice rumbles from behind you, hands fervently roaming around your hips and waist. He nipped on the shell of your ear as his cock nudged against your entrance—
“Whatcha typing so passionately about, angel?”
You closed your laptop, whipping your head to see Jeonghan leaning against the doorframe of your room with his arms crossed, a grin painted on his lips. A low noise left your throat before you spoke up.
“My thesis,” you snarked, causing him to look at you with an amused expression.
“Really, now?” He cocked an eyebrow, intrigued by your defensive behaviour. His interest was piqued, you were sure of it, from that mischievous glint in his eye. “I’ve never seen someone so… into their thesis writing.”
“What do you want?” You looked at him with an exasperated manner, not wanting to deal with him when you were in the middle of a trance with your writing—in the zone, if you will. You couldn’t afford to lose that focus because of an asshat like Jeonghan.
“Oh, nothing~ just wanted to check up on my favourite little angel.” He winked, causing your face to scrunch as he chuckled before waving it off. “Your mom asked us to go grocery shopping; she needs corn cobs for the grill and forgot to buy’em.”
“Can’t you go alone or something?” You really just wanted to be left alone, but you know your mother will start with her whole shtick again. So, you sighed, hiding your laptop back into your bag before passing Jeonghan.
You got into the car, grumbling to yourself as you put on your seatbelt, Jeonghan following suit as he settled into the driver's seat. He turned on the ignition before handing you the aux. “Turn something on.”
Raising your eyebrow at him, you took the aux and plugged it into your phone, scrolling through your playlist and hitting play. Jeonghan hummed along to the tune, tapping his fingers along the steering wheel as he drove out of the driveway and to the grocery store.
“We heading to Kim’s?” You asked, and Jeonghan just nodded, still humming the song.
That gave you the time to glance at him—a sharp jawline, straight nose, pretty almond eyes that were covered by his hair most of the time. Was he always that pretty? You weren’t sure, as he noticed you staring. “What? Enjoying the view?”
He grinned as you suddenly snapped out of it, turning your head to face the window. You could feel the blood rising to your neck and ears, embarrassment evident and in its true form. What the hell were you thinking? Jeonghan and pretty were not supposed to be in the same thought process. Were you having a stroke or something?
Once you got to the store, you immediately headed towards the produce section, and wasted no time, while Jeonghan decided to fuck around and grab about two beer bottles, sour candy, and condoms again.
“Jeonghan, put those back. Why do you need another pack of condoms?” You muttered the last part as you followed him to the register. Mrs. Kim was there and greeted the two of you with a warm smile, noting the products on the register’s conveyor belt.
“Dating?” She asked, and you shook your head immediately, side-eyeing Jeonghan for making the store owner question your relationship with him. You packed your stuff into separate bags before heading out of the parking lot.
“For a guy who’s got no one to fuck around in our town, you sure are stacking up on condoms,” you commented briefly as you placed the groceries in the backseat.
“Hey, you can never have too many condoms. Plus, who knows, I might land someone.”
His lips ticked up to a grin as you groaned, disgusted at how sleazy he could be. By the time the two of you got back home, the sun was slowly setting, and you pushed the groceries into Jeonghan’s arms before heading back up to your room to finish the part of your fic you were writing. You typed hastily, biting your lip as the climax of the scene hit.
“Fuck—you feel so good, sweetheart. I–I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum inside.. Would you like that, hm? Breed this little pussy to the brim?” Your lover groaned roughly into your ear, causing you to moan—
You were cut off by your mother calling your name from downstairs. A stifled groan left your lips as you looked between your slightly ajar door and your laptop. “Coming!”
Tossing your laptop on your bed, you scrambled downstairs to the kitchen, where your mother was calling you from. “There you are! We’re starting soon, so get your speaker; we want some ambience!”
“You called me downstairs to make me go upstairs?” You blinked at your mother, who just hummed as she got the utensils from one of the drawers. You wanted to groan, but complied instead, heading up the stairs.
That’s when you felt the air shift. You looked at your door—you had left it open. But that wasn’t what alerted you; it was the familiar noise of your laptop’s touchpad clicking. You carefully walked into view, and that’s when you saw him.
Jeonghan. Holding your laptop in his arms. Scrolling through what was probably your fanfiction. When he saw you, he let out a low whistle, his expression seemingly amused and impressed.
“Is this the thesis you were writing about, angel? ‘Cause this is not really gonna fly in the academic field—”
You bolted towards him, snatching your laptop immediately as you slammed it shut, panting like you’ve run a marathon. “What the hell are you doing in my room?”
“Well, we sleep in the same room for one, and for two, I was going to grab my charger when I saw your pretty little laptop was out in the open, so I couldn’t help but snoop. I gotta say, angel, I didn’t expect this from you,” he teased, and you couldn’t help but fume. “Little Miss Prude isn’t much of a prude, after all.”
“It’s none of your business what I do with my free time, Jeonghan—”
“But,” he tutted gently, tapping his chin. “It would be pretty damn bad if someone heard about this, no? I mean, what if your mom saw what you write? Hmm, what if I posted this on the campus website?”
He taunted, and your eyes went wide. “You wouldn’t.”
“You’re questioning me, angel?”
Shit. You were absolutely fucked because Jeonghan totally would do something about it. No one besides Mingyu, Hao, and Seokmin knew you wrote what you wrote, and it wasn’t even that bad. But who knew what Jeonghan had read while you were gone?
“I liked this part, ahem, fuck—you feel so good, sweetheart—” You covered his mouth before he could quote the part you had just written any further, seething and cursing your past self for not turning your laptop off.
“What do you want?” You hissed, keeping your hand on his mouth for a moment longer before letting go and backing up from his space. Jeonghan hummed, pretending to think as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Spit it out already..!”
He shrugged, his smile mischievous and conniving as he let you brew in your thoughts. The bastard knew he had you cornered. “Hmm, you can agree to become my girlfriend for the next two weeks, and I won’t tell anyone about your little secret.”
“Excuse me, what-?” You sputtered, unsure if you had heard his request correctly.
“You heard me, angel. Pretend to be my girlfriend for the next two weeks, and I won’t tell anyone that you write smut about your favourite characters, and your self-insert, or was it called an x reader? That’s what the file was called, if I remember correctly.” He pondered, and you were baffled.
“Why?”
“Why what?” Jeonghan looked at you with a quizzical look as if he hadn’t just asked you for the most ridiculous thing ever.
“Why me?” You crossed your arms as he rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Because you’re the most believable one and my only choice-?”
“Uh, then why don’t you just get, I don’t know… A real girlfriend?” You stated the obvious, and he groaned.
“Listen—if I wanted a girlfriend, I would’ve had one by now, but I don’t. Plus, that’s too much work.” He murmured, looking away as if he were feeling… awkward? You couldn’t tell from the way he quickly looked back at you with that smirk of his, giving you whiplash from how easily he could hide his true feelings. “Anyway, you don’t have much of a choice, you know? You either agree, or I post your fanfics to the campus website.”
“You don’t even have access to my laptop—”
“You think I haven’t sent those files to myself?”
You had to find the nearest bridge and jump off it, because what the hell. Why the hell did this happen to you of all people? Couldn’t god have chosen any other poor soul but you and your fanfiction-loving soul?
A groan left your lips before asking one last question. “Why do you want me to be your fake girlfriend, or–or whatever you’re asking me to be?”
“Because, my sweet darling angel, my mom wouldn’t stop asking me if I had someone in the past three months, and I, uh… kind of lied, and told her that we were a thing like a month ago.”
“You WHAT—” You suddenly grabbed Jeonghan by the collar of his shirt, bringing him closer to you, catching him off guard. “Tell me you’re lying. Or—or that this is some sort of sick joke, because I swear to motherfucking god, Yoon Jeonghan, I will strangle you.”
“Unfortunately, angel, it’s not a joke, and I have never lied to you, so. That’s also the reason why I’m sleeping in your room, and why your mom called me to drive the two of us back here, and whatnot.” He listed off the things that had happened in his hand while your grip on his collar just tightened. Then it clicked.
“Is that why my mom has been calling me a lot these past few weeks? Because she thought—oh my god, kill me now.”
You let go of him to grasp at your hair, freaking out as you paced. Was this the reason why your mother seemed so cheery yet hopeful on the phone a few days back? Was she hoping you’d tell her all about your budding new relationship with the man you hated your whole life? That brought you back to your conversation with her.
That’s when your phone buzzed, and the caller ID appeared—your mom. You answered, greeting her noncommittally. “Hey, Mom…”
“Hey, honey, how’s my baby doing? Why haven’t you been answering my calls? Dad and I have been worried since your car accident and—”
“Mom, I’m fine… I–I’ve just been busy, you know?” You held your phone against your shoulder and cheek as you stirred your tea before getting comfortable in your armchair. “What’s up, though? Is Tommy doing okay?”
Your mother hummed against the other line, seeming to be snacking on something—a habit you picked up on because of her. “Mmm, he’s fine, he misses his big sis though.. Any exciting news you wanna share with me, hun?”
She sounded excited, which confused you. You hadn’t had any news for her since your accident besides your crush on Seungcheol, but she doesn’t have to know about that.
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno, boys, maybe? Any new guys in your life?” She tried to hint, but you weren’t getting where she was going with it.
“Uhhh… no? There are no new guys. Unless you count Mingyu—”
“Nevermind, keep your secrets, then..” She giggled, leaving you even more confused, but changed the topic soon after.
You groaned, contemplating either pulling your or Jeonghan’s hair out for placing you into his stupid mess. He just stood there, watching you pace around.
“Stop overthinking it, angel. Just go with the flow with me, alright? Let me handle all the talking.” He grabbed your shoulder to stop you from pacing, but you only glared at him, causing him to let you go and raise his hands in defense. “Can you trust me on this?”
“I’ve never trusted you ever since you pushed me off the swing in kindergarten.” You deadpanned, crossing your arms, causing him to chuckle.
“Trust me this time, okay? We can shake on it.” He held out his hand to you, waiting for you to shake it.
“I’m not shaking the hand you use to jerk off with.”
The two of you did, in fact, shake on it, immediately deciding to set boundaries while your parents were busy talking amongst themselves. The two of you excused yourselves to your room to have some “alone time”, as Jeonghan called it, and you had to step on his toes under the table before leaving.
“So,” you started as you turned on your laptop, and made a new google doc named ‘Rules for fake dating my stupid enemy’, making Jeonghan snort at the silly title. “Boundaries.”
“Mm, I don’t have any.” He shrugged, looking at you with that annoying smile of his as you frowned at him. “What? We’re supposed to be dating, so we better act like it, no?”
“Well, if you don’t have any boundaries, I do. And number one is no sex.”
He just seemed to hum at that. “But we do need to kiss, you know? And be touchy with each other, and—”
“Jeonghan, no sex doesn’t mean no kissing or whatever dating bullshit we need to do. That’s my only no when it comes to this fake relationship.”
“So, you’re not disgusted with kissing me?” He asked smugly, and you groaned. He was going to be insufferable during your time fake dating, and you knew it. You only typed out your one rule, plus a few more.
Rules for fake dating my stupid enemy:
#1: No sex (which counts oral, fingering, and ANAL btw);
#2: No being too touchy unless we really have to be;
#3: No falling in love.
Jeonghan raised his eyebrow at the last rule. “No falling in love? Angel, sorry to break it to you, but I’m not gonna fall for you and amazing porn writing abilities—”
“It’s erotica! And it’s a precaution. I know how stuff like these go, so shut up.” You gently shove him, then hit the print button on your laptop. Getting up from the floor, you placed your laptop on your bed and grabbed the piece of paper and a pen. “Sign here.”
“Really?” He cocked his eyebrow at you as he grabbed the pen and paper from your grasp and signed it before handing it back to you.
“You make it as if this were some contract or something.” He snickered as you signed it before placing it somewhere hidden. “Whatcha hiding it for?”
“Uh, so no one finds it? You’re not the only one who likes snooping around in my stuff.” You squinted at him accusingly.
“Why print it, then?” He tilted his head, his expression painted with slight confusion. “Isn’t that just a waste of paper?”
“It makes more things official! Stop starting stupid arguments—”
“Aw, our first argument as a couple—oomph! What was that for?” Jeonghan grunted when you threw a pillow at his face. A grin managed to find his lips when you rolled your eyes at him. When he was about to say something, you heard both your moms calling for the two of you downstairs.
“Ready to be touchy with me, angel?” He offered his hand, his grin turning into a somewhat soft smile.
“As ready as I’ll ever be… I guess.”
You took his hand as the two of you headed downstairs for dinner by the grill. The two of you linked your pinkies together, your brain internally screaming and cringing at the fact that you’re supposedly dating the same guy you’ve despised since you were in diapers, but life fucks you over in multiple ways.
Tommy was the first to notice, pointing it out to your mom as you sat closer to Jeonghan than you had earlier, practically “snuggling” him. Jeonghan seemed to notice how naturally you fit next to him, clearing his throat as he put his arm over you to sell the lie better whilst talking to your father.
The sun had set by then, and fairy lights and a few lamps in the backyard lit up the space where you were dining. You caught up with your mom and Jeonghan’s mother, laughing softly as fond memories of the past few months came to mind.
“Oh, and Mingyu and Hao drenched Seokmin when they found out that it was he who tossed the water balloons at them in the middle of February. It was hilarious, though the three of them got sick, and I was alone for my lectures—”
“Babe, I was there for most of your lectures, remember?” Jeonghan butted in suddenly, reminding you of the timeline he had set for your relationship. Right. The two of you were supposedly dating by then. “Stop making Auntie think I’ve been neglecting you.”
He nosed your hairline and pressed a soft kiss to your temple, which made you tense up before forcing yourself to relax. This was fine. You could do this—you wrote about stuff like this, so why were you freaking out?
“Please, call me mom, the two of you are bound to get married one day!” Your mom cooed at the affectionate gesture happening before her and Jeonghan’s mom. You almost choked on your spit when you heard her words.
“Mom.” You murmured through gritted teeth, giving her a look as she shook her head.
“Oh, no, it’s fine, angel.. I don’t mind planning to marry you,” he murmured into your ear, but enough for both moms to hear, making them look excited. The feeling of Jeonghan’s breath so close almost overwhelmed you, but you sucked it up.
For your dignity. For your creative freedom.
“Jeonghan, isn’t that a little too early for our relationship?” You tried to lessen the excitement in your parents’ eyes, but he just hummed, shaking his head as he figured out what you were trying to do.
“Mmm, I mean, maybe… but you never know, do you?” He whispered, voice lower as he smiled against your temple. You shivered at that, pretending it didn't affect you as much as it truly did.
After dinner finished, you and Jeonghan were in charge of washing the dishes—with you washing and rinsing, and him drying them and putting them on the rack. The two of you stayed quiet for the remainder of washing until you accidentally splashed him with water.
“Yah—” he muttered, glancing at you before back at his white shirt. He gently dropped the rag he was holding onto the counter before splashing you with the soapy water as well, causing you to gasp. You immediately retaliated, splashing him with more water, and it became a small war between the two of you until Jeonghan grabbed your wrist to make you stop, gently squealing when he splashed you one last time.
He leaned in close, a seemingly fond smile on his lips, and pecked your cheek near the corner of your mouth, causing your breath to hitch and gently drop the sponge into the sink.
When you were about to kick him in the shin, he gently tightened his grip before tilting his head to the side, signalling you to glance to the doorway—your moms were peering over. Of course.
You cleared your throat, tugging your wrist away from Jeonghan as you walked past both your mothers, excusing yourself, and leaving Jeonghan to fend for himself. He just chuckled before calling out your name and following you.
“Babee, wait for me!” He whined, pouting as he saw you close the door to the bathroom and lock it.
“Fuck off, Jeonghan.” You spoke through the door as you looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror, groaning at how soaked you were.
While you were taking your time in the bathroom, Jeonghan waited by the bathroom door, grinning to himself for some reason as he decided to text Mingyu about what you liked.
Jeonghan: hey :)
Mingyu: ????
Mingyu: Why are u texting me??
Mingyu: did you do something to my bestie 😡😡😡
Jeonghan rolled his eyes at your best friend's protective nature before typing out a response, still waiting for you to come out of the bathroom.
Jeonghan: Chill, I've done nothing. I just have a question.
Mingyu: uhhhh about what?
Jeonghan: What flowers does she like?
Mingyu: …
Mingyu: what
Mingyu: what do you need that for???
Mingyu: leave her alone or istg
Mingyu: you may be my hyung, but I will fight you
Jeonghan snorted at the spam of messages Mingyu sent, shaking his head. This was going to be fun.
Jeonghan: I said chill out, I just need a list of things she likes. An olive branch of sorts while I'm on this weekend trip with her 🤷🏻
Mingyu: you're being suspicious
Mingyu: I will find out what you're plotting
Mingyu: … I'll send the list later.
He grinned in victory, humming to himself softly as he sent a last message.
Jeonghan: Thanks ☺️
Mingyu: 🤨 I'll be watching you 🫵
He pocketed his phone at that, heading to your room to get changed into something less… wet.
You had decided to take a quick shower, drying yourself as you wrapped the towel around your upper body. Unlocking the bathroom door, you expected to see Jeonghan waiting, but surprisingly, he was nowhere to be seen.
Sighing in relief, you tiptoed into your room, closing the door before turning around to see a half-naked Jeonghan in the middle of putting on his shirt. You froze, eyes widening as you clutched your towel. Unable to let out a scream, you only squeaked, standing there like a petrified hamster.
“You're acting as if you've never seen a shirtless man before, angel.” He raised his eyebrow as he finished getting dressed.
You’ve seen shirtless men multitudes of times before—hell, you’ve seen most of your friends shirtless, but you’ve never seen Jeonghan shirtless before. Not even during pool parties. He’s always worn a rashguard or a t-shirt of some sort.
He gave you a once-over, his brows still raised as he whistled. “You getting ready for me, sweetheart? I thought the rules said “no sex” specifically?”
You clutched your towel tighter, giving him a disgusted look. “Get out of my room, creep—”
“Creep? You wound me. You’re the one who entered the room in nothing but a towel, and you’re calling me the creep.” He scoffed, muttering softly before he pursed his lips and crossed his arms.
“Jeonghan, get out!”
He raised his hands in defeat at that, moving towards the door to leave, but not until giving you one last look, which made you grab a throw pillow from your couch before throwing it at his face.
Once he had finally left and shut the door, you let yourself relax and get dressed for bed. You grabbed a slightly ratty oversized t-shirt—one of Mingyu’s old jerseys from his high school years—and some shorts from your luggage. When you finished getting dressed, you went over to your vanity to do your skincare.
After twenty minutes, Jeonghan knocked. “Can I come in now?”
You groaned inwardly; you knew that if you didn’t let him in, your mom would question the fact that the two of you were dating. What girlfriend doesn’t want her boyfriend’s proximity? A fake one, probably, but your family didn’t know that. You sighed as you said goodbye to your twenty minutes of peace and opened the door to let Jeonghan back in.
He immediately plopped into your bed, which caused you to clench your jaw. “Uh, did you forget that you’re supposed to be sleeping on the couch?”
“But the couch is so uncomfortable, plus, we’re supposed to sleep on the same bed since we’re dating, remember?” He sprawled himself and got comfortable, reaching for you with a teasing grin. “Come on, baby, come cuddle with your boyfriend.”
Your eye twitched, contemplating murder by pillow suffocation, but you held in your urges as you shuddered when you got into the bed with him, his arms wrapping around you like a claw machine capturing its prize. “See? Not that bad.”
“I will kick you off the bed once you fall asleep,” you grumbled as you tried to get comfortable and fall asleep. Jeonghan just hummed at the threat, instinctively nosing the crown of your head as he himself tried to fall asleep.
Synopsis ✨ It wasn't that you hated your boss, you just disliked him. Disliked how the women of the office fell to their knees for him, disliked the fact he was simply given everything in his life, disliked his perfect, flawless hair. But suddenly, one argument and two fortune cookies are going to bring you a hell of a lot closer to the man who hate dislike.
Genre ✨ Enemies to Lovers, sort of workplace romance, angst, fluff, smut (part 3)
Warnings ✨ toxic family, toxic workplace, references to family death, misunderstandings, power imbalance (specific warnings are listed on each chapter)
💎Who: Jeon Wonwoo (Seventeen) x female reader
💎What: Mafia/gang au. Dark themes (check warnings). Angst. Fluff. Humour. Strangers to friends to lovers. Suggestive (18+).
💎Word count: 14.4k (31.8k total)
💎Warnings: Violence mentions. Injury and blood mentions. Mentions of hospitalisations. Morally grey characters. Alcohol consumption (nobody gets drunk at all). Suggestive dialogue. Wonwoo is a handful of years older than reader. Minor character death.
💎Summary:
To be honest, you’re surprised it’s taken this long to happen. Truly, you thought you would’ve been kidnapped years ago, so you’re not surprised when it happens.
What does surprise you, however, is the reason why, and what happens when you meet that reason.
Minors do NOT interact. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio. I also block blank blogs.
Masterlist
Part One
A/N- Thank you again to @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading and helping me out with the warnings! I appreciate you endlessly, my love 💗
The day after your confession, things are awkward.
You both obviously can’t help but remember the conversation; remember that you both essentially admitted to wanting each other, at least on a purely physical level. Of course, Wonwoo’s gift implied that his attraction runs deeper than that, but you hadn’t shared your part and have no intention of doing so either. But Wonwoo is a smart man; he has to know that he’s not alone in this.
Although you try to stick to your newly normal routine of cooking and gaming together every evening, Wonwoo takes longer to clean up than usual, and you’re the one who goes to bed first now, even if you’re not tired enough and lay in bed wide awake for hours, unaware that Wonwoo is doing the same thing down the hall.
There’s something growing in the air now that your shared attraction has met it from your own mouths, and neither of you really know how to navigate it. It’s a new situation for you both, and it takes a few days before things get back to normal.
At least, normal in the way that Wonwoo has pulled back and doesn’t follow you around when he’s home to ask you questions, but there’s a new tension, and his dark gaze lingers on you in a way that he’s never let it before.
The other new thing is that Wonwoo is usually present these days when you wander down to the kitchen once you’re properly awake, and you ignore the fact that he’s clearly adjusted his workdays to time his lunch break to be at home when you get up.
Sometimes, he even has lunch waiting for you. Usually, it’s something he’s picked up on his way home; but today, there’s a covered pan on the table, empty bowls in your usual seats, and Wonwoo is at the other end of the table, reading some papers with a couple of open files on the table in front of him.
Without a word, as soon as he hears you entering the room, he puts down the papers as he gets up. He moves around the table and removes the lid from the pan so that he can serve both of you a generous portion of the still steaming pasta dressed in a red sauce, which you know is spicy from looking alone. You haven’t taught him a spicy pasta sauce, so either Wonwoo has decided to experiment today, or he’s recreated a recipe he found online.
As he puts your bowl back down into your place, he finally looks up at your still sleep puffy expression and muses, “Do you really get up this late every day?”
You give him a flat look as you sit. “Unless you killed your wife, don’t try to ride my dick,” you retort, effectively ending the conversation.
Wonwoo rolls his eyes as he puts the lid back on the pan then sits down. He waits until you try the food and make a sound of approval before he digs into his own portion with a proud little smile tugging his lips upwards.
As you eat in a comfortable quiet, you can’t help but glance over to the files and papers still laid on the table, almost perfectly legible from your place. You know it’s all work related; you’ve seen Wonwoo with files like this many times, but he’s never before left them open around you.
Before today, he’s always been so careful about not letting you see whatever he’s working on, and you always assumed it’s due to a mix of it not being your business and Wonwoo trying to protect you from all of that. Yet now, you’re suddenly thinking that it wasn’t you he was protecting but himself, the gang he is loyal to and plans to run one day. You’re suddenly thinking that it was more that he didn’t trust you to keep whatever you see safe, keep him safe; but now, he does.
You look away as soon as the thought comes to your mind. You don’t want to think about that; how much trust he must have in you to give you ample opportunity to spy on things related to his work, without a hint of concern on his features as he eats his lunch.
So that you don’t unintentionally linger on the thought, you bring up something you’ve been thinking about for a few days now, but things have been too awkward to want to ask. “We’re in June now, right?”
Wonwoo looks up at you and nods in confirmation. “Just a bit, why?”
“The deadline to let me go is quickly approaching. Either you need to let me go by the 10th or give me my phone back, because I’m expecting a very important call.”
“The 10th?” You hum and nod as you focus on stabbing some pasta with your fork. “It’s the 12th today,” he informs you simply.
Immediately, you freeze, then look up at him. “Tell me you’re joking,” you murmur.
“No.”
“I swear if this is a joke-” you warn as panic rises in you.
“I’m not joking, it’s really the 12th, look,” he insists and pulls his phone from his trouser pocket to hand over to you, so that you can see the date on the lock screen.
Fear grows in you, and you feel the blood rush out of your cheeks, turning your skin pale.
“What? What’s so important about the call?” Wonwoo asks, worry filling his veins as he looks at the genuine panic on your features.
“I need to go home right now,” you declare, scrambling to your feet.
“What?” Wonwoo jumps up to rush after you to the entrance hall.
“I need to go home, Wonwoo!” You’re still in your pyjamas, but you don’t care as you shove your sockless feet into your shoes, which haven’t been touched since you arrived, except to be moved when you want to clean the floor under them or wipe away the dust that tries to settle on top of them.
“What’s going on?”
“Just unlock the door so I can leave; it’s better you keep as far away from me as possible,” you warn, walking to the door and motioning to the lock impatiently.
“I’m not doing that until you explain,” Wonwoo argues firmly.
“No!” you exclaim and turn to walk over and shove him a little; it’s not hard in any way, but it shocks him enough to stumble back a few steps with wide eyes. “I’m fucking sick of this shit; pretending that you have any power over me, Jeon Wonwoo! I’m done with it! I should’ve never let it go on this long but I…” you trail off and shake your head, already turning back to the door.
“You what?” he asks, voice quieter as if he knows that whatever you stopped yourself saying is important.
“Doesn’t fucking matter, just unlock the door,” you insist, not turning to look at him as you anxiously shuffle your weight from foot to foot.
“But-”
“I said unlock it!” You almost shriek, looking over at him with something so manic in your eyes, that although he’s reluctant to do so, he does as you say; he’s too worried by how wild you look right now, by whatever it is you’re hiding.
As soon as the door is open, you take off sprinting down the hall, leaving Wonwoo watching you go, feeling like he’s just lost the best thing he’s had in a long time. And there’s nothing he can do to bring you back.
It takes you a few hours to get to your apartment. You have to tap into skills that you haven’t wanted to use in years, to pickpocket unsuspecting people to gather money for transportation. Plus, you have to actually find the buses you need in order to get to your apartment, which is quite the ordeal when you have no phone to look up bus schedules or directions, and people aren’t that willing to help a desperate looking woman wearing ruffled pyjamas in the late afternoon. A few people even try to convince you to let them take you to the police station, thinking you’re in trouble or mentally unwell and in need of professional assistance.
The sun is threatening to set by the time you stumble into your apartment.
It looks the same as you left it, minus the items Wonwoo collected for you, which surprises you. You thought it’d be dusty as hell when you return, but it looks like someone’s kept it clean. For a second, you wonder if Wonwoo has been cleaning it, or perhaps hired someone to keep it clean, but that doesn’t make sense as he seemed to have no intention of letting you leave. Still, you don’t know anyone else who has access to your apartment.
Deciding that it’s really not important at all right now, you push the thought aside and grab a sharp knife from the kitchen. Once you’ve pulled the couch away from the wall far enough to give you easy access to the back of it, you drop to your knees and use the knife to cut open the back of the couch.
Out of the hollow of the couch frame, you pull out a duffle bag to put on the floor before you and open. You ignore the cash within, the various ID and collection of sentimentally and financially valuable items and grab the outdated mobile phone. As you hold down the power button to turn the device on, you mutter prayers to a god you don’t believe in to let the battery be high enough to boot.
As soon as the screen lights up and shows that there is enough battery to make a call, you let out a breath of relief and dial one of the very few numbers that you know by heart, before holding it to your ear with your heart hammering anxiously against your ribs.
The call rings a handful of times before it’s picked up by a voice that is so familiar to you, even when it’s been months without hearing it. “Princess, you’re okay?”
You let out a little relieved breath before answering, “I’m fine, dad, things just…” You sigh. “I’m okay. Where-where are you? Are you…” you worry, knowing exactly what kind of hell your father can and will rain down on the world without hesitation if he thinks something has happened to you, his little girl.
“Where do you think I am? I came to find you! My daughter didn’t answer our routine check in call, and her phone is off?” He scoffs as if it’s ridiculous that you’ve even asked. It is, really; you already know where he is, knew what he’d do if you missed the call. But still, you hoped. You foolishly hoped because now, now you have something to lose from his fierce protectiveness of you. “Of course I came to find you! I feared the worst, and when I got here and had your whereabouts tracked, I found out that this hoity toity little bitch had you kidnapped, and then her husband ran off with you?”
In a split second, your whole body turns cold. Fear freezes your lungs and locks your heart in its icy grip. “Dad…who are you with?”
“Who do you think?”
You close your eyes tight and put your free hand over them, mind already conjuring up images of what your father is doing to Wonwoo. “Don’t hurt him,” you plead.
“He stole you and kept you locked up for almost three months! I’m not going to let him get away with that.”
“No, please, dad, please don’t hurt him, please,” your voice turns desperate, enough that your father is audibly thrown.
There’s a moment of shocked silence before he responds in a disbelieving mumble, “What?” He clearly walks out of the room, as there’s the sound of a door opening and closing, before he talks again, “You’re begging, why?”
“He protected me from her; took me away to keep me safe from his psychotic wife,” you inform, trying to reason with the man by telling him that Wonwoo protected you; that he isn’t the one who caused you harm. “I don’t give a fuck what you do to her, but please, don’t hurt him.”
“Bit late for that, Princess,” he responds simply.
You can’t talk for a few long seconds as the worst-case scenario travels through your body, and the ice coating your heart starts to seep inside, threatening to freeze it so thoroughly it’ll shatter into a thousand pieces. “Is he dead?” you can barely get the words out; you’re talking in a whisper that you’re not certain is audible on the other end of the line, but it is.
“No, but the boys are enjoying beating the shit out of him for kidnapping their sister.”
It settles you greatly, and now that you’re thawing a little, anger is starting to rise in you knowing that your brothers have come along too. You understand your father doing so; he’s always been protective of you as his youngest child, his little princess who can do no wrong. Yet, he’s always trusted you to handle yourself and gives you more freedom than he gives his sons. But your brothers have always overstepped; have always butted in and treated you like a fragile little doll who can’t even stand on your own feet without a support around your waist keeping you upright. They act like they are that support, but they’ve always been more like shackles holding you back by not allowing you to do what you need to on your own; not trusting you to do it on your own.
“Do you really think so lowly of me to think I couldn’t get away whenever I wanted?” you hiss in disbelief at your father, of all people, not having faith in your abilities, even if you’ve proven yourself many times. “He left me all alone in that apartment to do what I want for hours and days at a time. I had opportunity to leave; I just wanted to see how long he’d keep it up.”
It’s the truth; from day one, you could’ve left the moment Wonwoo was gone. You had eyed the security system and knew you could disable it without setting off the alarm; you’ve broken in and out of places with similar systems many times in the past.
But you had been kind of bored with how quiet your life had been since you left your hometown last year, to play pretend at a normal lifestyle with no connection to the gang world. You wanted to see the other side of the fence. But it turns out, it’s fucking boring on grass not fed on blood, and so you had decided that being Wonwoo’s hostage was a potentially fun change and wanted to see how long he’d stick it out before sending you home.
You never expected to become attached to him though.
As if reading your mind, your father speaks in a curious, surprised query, “And now you like him?”
“I don’t dislike him,” you mutter, not willing to admit it to your father.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Princess,” the man decides after a short, thoughtful noise. “You come back home with us, and I’ll let your pretty boy live.”
“You promised to never blackmail me, dad,” you remind him.
“It’s not blackmail, but a deal.”
“You just threatened to kill him if I don’t comply!”
“I won’t kill him, but I’ll let your brothers do it, and the longer we stay on call discussing it, the more likely they are to make the final blow without me present. Decide whether you care more about his life or playing poor girl with no family more.”
When he puts it like that, you don’t have a choice. You know that your brothers won’t stop unless your father steps in and gives the order to pull back; an order he won’t give unless sparing Wonwoo benefits him directly.
You give in with a frustrated exclamation, “Fuck, fine! But make sure he doesn’t fucking die, or I’ll fucking kneecap them all,” you threaten; words you will hold to, brothers or not.
“That’s my girl.”
The next time you see Wonwoo, it’s late that night and not in person. You don’t dare risk getting close to him, even if he’s unconscious in a hospital bed. You send one of your father’s men, a man who is endlessly loyal to you specifically due to being in love with you since you were teens, to sneak into the hospital, dress up as staff, and make his way into Wonwoo’s private and very well guarded room to get you a proof of life video.
You hate the video; hate how you can barely recognise the bruised and swollen features of the man you’ve spent almost three months with and know it was done in your name. You truly hate it, yet you can’t stop watching the video; eyes glued to the gentle, regular rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, even if it’s assisted by the tube down his throat right now. But he’s alive; your father stopped your brothers in time, and Wonwoo is alive. That’s all that matters.
“Can I have my phone back now, ma’am?” Jihoon asks, hovering awkwardly in the fancy hotel suite that your father is making you stay in; so that his men stationed around the building to guard your family, will alert him if you try to run off.
Not that you will when you know your brothers and father would immediately go to that hospital room and finish the job if you go back on your word. Plus, you’re a woman of your word; you said you’d return to your hometown with them, and you intend to stick to that promise. You were raised with too much honour to ever go back on your word, especially when it’s so important, when the risk is far too high.
Jihoon’s gaze keeps flickering to the door, knowing that your father, his boss, will be pissed if he finds Jihoon in your suite, even if you’re both in the lounge and not the bedroom. But still, there are rules to working for your family, and one of those rules is ‘keep your hands off of the boss’ little girl.’ A few times, men less wise, men newer to the gang, haven’t heeded the warning and have tried to hit on you or put a suggestive hand on your body somewhere, only to lose the hand or tongue that tried to tempt you into their beds. But Jihoon is smarter, he knows better, and he’s never tried his luck with you, even if everyone knows how he feels about you.
If any of the men are trusted with you as much as your family, it’s Jihoon. Your father always assigns Jihoon to accompany you when the need arises for someone to watch your back so closely. Your father knows that if anyone is as invested in your safety as the family is, it’s Jihoon.
Yet still, even knowing he is trusted with your safety entirely, Jihoon knows that it’s the only way he’s trusted with your body, and he’s certainly not trusted with your heart. So, he knows that if he’s caught in your private room so late at night and alone without it being on your father’s strict orders, Jihoon will be in a lot of trouble.
“No, I’m watching,” you reply firmly, leaving no room for argument, so Jihoon just nods and stands in anxious wait.
After a few more watches, you sigh and offer Jihoon his phone back.
He quickly moves forward to accept it politely. “Thank you, ma’am. Do you need anything else from me tonight?”
“No. Thank you, Jihoon.”
“Of course. I’d do anything for you,” he reminds simply. There’s a lot of weight to his words, technically, but he says them so effortlessly; like he isn’t promising you the world if you ask for it. He always makes it seem so easy to love you; like it makes all the sense in the world to devote himself to your safety and happiness and even risk his own safety by sneaking behind your father’s back to do things like this for you.
Honestly, you think that at this point, your father and brothers must know that Jihoon has been in your house many times when only you’re home, at your request, despite the orders that none of the gang are allowed to do as much. But they know the man will never do a thing wrong to you; that he respects you too much to ever try to force himself on you or convince you to be with him in any way. He’s had over a decade to try and hasn’t done so once, even when you bluntly asked him what he expected his love for you to gain him. He had said, ‘Nothing, I expect nothing. I love you of my own choice, not yours; it’s not your problem.’ And it was left at that.
But your family will never give him permission to be near you privately, except for jobs, because they don’t want him to potentially get ideas. They want to protect you in every way, including the way others perceive you. Knowing that you let a man below your status touch you intimately, let one of your father’s men touch you, it would bring shame on your name. If not for that, you know Jihoon would be allowed to be by your side as much as he wants, because you wouldn’t turn away his platonic company. Jihoon may be the closest thing you have to a friend, or at least, was.
Suddenly, you’re thinking about Sangmin and how, with Wonwoo in hospital unable to stick to his word to keep an eye on the man, and you in an entirely different city, there’s no one to look out for him. You can’t take him with you, you never want to bring the kind-hearted man into your world, so you need to come up with a plan to protect him.
“Actually, I have one more thing to ask of you tonight, Jihoon.”
“Anything,” he promises, and you know he means it.
In the morning, once you’re strapped into the back of the car, and Jihoon is driving the pair of you to your apartment, for you to clear everything out that is tied to you and end the lease, Jihoon hands a brand-new phone to you. He’s already charged it and set it up with a web page open on screen, showing an apartment.
“That’s the best bet; it’s neutral territory, but the landlord has some shit in his records. That means it’ll be easy to twist his arm,” he informs as you look through the apartment listing, humming as he talks.
“Good work, Ji. Did you find him?”
“Of course I did,” he scoffs cockily, making you look up and smile as you look at the side of his face from your place behind the passenger seat. “Are you doubting my abilities to track people? Do you forget who taught you everything you know about tech?”
“I think there’s supposed to be a ‘ma’am’ in there somewhere,” you remind him teasingly.
“Do you forget who taught you everything you know about tech, ma’am?” he corrects without missing a beat, in a playful tone that he only brings out when it’s just the two of you, and he’s not worried about being caught with you when he’s not supposed to be. Today, he’s with you under your father’s orders directly, so Jihoon is relaxed and his usual, playful self. Your friend.
“Like I could ever forget, my genius little tech nerd,” you coo and lean forward to pinch his cheek.
“Hey!” he complains, reaching back to nudge you away and also make you settle back in your place safely. Though, there’s a smile on his face, and you’re only now remembering how much you enjoy spending time with Jihoon. You’re only now realising that you missed him.
Knowing it will fluster him; you decide to tell him as much. “I missed you, Jihoonie.”
“Ah.” As expected, Jihoon’s ears and the back of his neck immediately darken, spreading a fierce blush over his cheek and even to his cheeks. “I missed you too,” he responds quietly, shy yet pleased with your confession. “I’m glad you’re back, ma’am.”
“I’ll cook dinner for us once we’re back home, and you can catch me up on everything that I’ve missed the past year, yeah?”
“That sounds really good; I’d like that a lot.”
As soon as Sangmin answers his motel door and finds you on the other side, he throws himself forward to pull you into a warm, tight hug. You wrap your arms around him and return the embrace, so glad to see him safe and sound after two months, while also not knowing when you will be able to see him in person again after today.
“Can we come in a minute?” you request.
“We?” Sangmin questions, pulling back to look over when you point to your right, where Jihoon is standing respectfully back to let you have this moment of reunion. “Oh, you’re not Wonwoo.”
“No, Wonwoo is…you won’t be seeing him anymore,” you admit and tuck your hands into your jacket pockets. “So, can we come in? I need to talk to you.”
“Yes, yes, of course, come in,” Sangmin consents and moves aside to motion you both in.
The room is pretty simple, but it’s clean, warm, and safe, with a little kitchenette and his own bathroom.
You perch on one of the two rickety chairs at the tiny table as Jihoon casually wanders around the room, naturally doing a safety check to make sure there are no potential threats to you here.
“Who is he?” Sangmin whispers as he sits opposite you at the table and leans on his elbows, closer to you to keep his curious words between you.
“He’s a friend from childhood,” you answer, which isn’t a lie; Jihoon was your friend as a child, before he was sworn into the gang and had to give up the title, officially at least. It’s just not the full truth, but Sangmin doesn’t need to know the full truth. “How are you, are you doing okay?”
“I’m doing better than I have been in a long time; I have a job now!” he beams proudly.
“Wonwoo told me. Congratulations, I’m really proud of you, Sangmin.”
“Thank you, I’m proud of me too.” He looks over as Jihoon returns from the bathroom and moves to stand by the motel room door, behind Sangmin. “So, you’re okay now? Wonwoo’s wife has given up on trying to hurt you?” He asks as he turns back around to look at you.
“Well, not out of choice; she’s in no condition to hurt anyone,” you answer honestly as you think about the video Jihoon had recorded of Wonwoo’s wife, strapped up to so many machines in a private room and barely holding onto life.
Your brothers really hadn’t gone easy on her; even your father had taken part in punishing her for having you abducted and hurt in the first place. The only reason they hadn’t beaten her to death was that Wonwoo had been brought to them and took their attention away. And honestly, you really couldn't care less about if the woman makes it or not. Jihoon had told you that, from what he could gather from the notes on her chart, the doctors don’t have high hopes that she’ll survive or even wake up.
Part of you doesn’t want her to survive because then, if she’s gone for good, Wonwoo will be free of her and have a chance to be happy, even if it’s not with you. You want him to be happy in whatever way he can.
“So, you’ll be back at work, and I can walk you home again?” Sangmin asks with a bright smile, excited at the idea. “I made sure my schedule will align with yours for when you’re back.”
“About that.” You reach across the small table to take his hands into yours, heart aching as you watch his smile fall into a frown. “I’m going back to my hometown; I won’t be around anymore.”
“Oh.” He frowns and looks aside a little, thinking hard before nodding. “Okay, I can meet you there; I know there’s branches of the store all over the country, so there has to be one in your hometown. I’ll talk to my boss and get transferred,” he decides, looking so determined that it both warms and breaks your heart.
“Sangie…”
“Oh…you don’t want me going with you.”
“You’re my best friend, you know?”
“And you’re mine, even if I’m almost old enough to be your father.”
“It’s better for you to stay here. There’s stuff you don’t know, and I don’t want you to know about me, but please understand that it’s better for you to stay here, away from that side of me.”
Sangmin stares at you for a long moment before sighing and nodding. “I know you’re gang affiliated in some way; you were too calm when you were kidnapped to not be, and you were never scared by any rough looking people we passed when I walked you home. I think, even without me there, you would’ve been fine. You can probably handle yourself better than I can.”
“Probably,” you agree with a little chuckle. “I won’t deny all of that; I respect you far too much to lie to your face like that, but I don’t want you to know any more. You need to stay here to keep away from it all.”
“Okay, I understand. I wouldn’t survive in that world; I know I’m too soft.”
“You’re far too pure for it,” you agree. “I love your purity and heart, Sangmin, I never want to endanger it. I want you to keep seeing the world in hues of rose, not red like I used to before moving here; like I will again.”
“Why are you going back?” he asks, looking lost. “If you stay, you won’t have the red.”
“I can’t. I gave my word that I'd go back, and I need to stick to it.”
“I see.” He nods a little. “Will you visit?”
“I’ll try, but it may be some time; things need to cool off, but I really will try. But until then, we can text and call. Wonwoo said you have a phone now?”
“Oh! Yes!” Sangmin jumps up to grab his phone from the bedside table and bring it over. “I’m still trying to get used to the fancy new apps and emojis and things. Some of the kids at work have been teaching me, and we have a group chat. I really like the funny dog gifs.”
“You can send me as many as you like,” you promise as you find your own contact in your phone so that you can copy your brand-new number into Sangmin’s contact list and save it and then save his number into yours in return. “There!” You hand his phone back and can’t help but smile at his genuinely joyed, bright grin when he spots your name in his contacts.
“Thank you. My phone is even more precious to me now that I can use it to talk to you.”
“Mine too.”
“Ma’am,” Jihoon prompts, after checking his watch, so you look at him. “We need to get going if we don’t want to cut it too close and make the others suspicious.”
“Of course,” you agree and look back at Sangmin. “So, I want to do something for you, something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, but it wasn’t exactly realistic given the circumstances.”
“What is it?” Sangmin wonders.
“Give you a home, so I know that you will be safe and warm and can have the life you deserve.”
“I have a home now.” He motions to the room. “I don’t need any more than this.”
“I know you don’t, but I want you to. I want you to have your own apartment again, where you can make a home how you want it; you can decorate it however you want, sell the furniture, and buy stuff to your own tastes. It’s in a nice neighbourhood, not fancy but safe; no gang affiliations in the area or graffiti on the walls. Somewhere you can be proud of, I hope. I want that for you; you deserve that and a lot more, Sangmin.” You hold his hands firmly and settle your pleading gaze on him. “Please let me do this for you, so I know you’re safe and don’t have to worry about the roof over your head.”
The man stares at you consideringly for a long few moments. You know he’s not used to others doing things for him; even before he became homeless, he was always the one doing everything for others and getting nothing in return, so he doesn’t know how to accept help without guilt bubbling in his chest.
“Okay,” he gives in, voice soft and still reluctant, but he can see how important this is to you. You had posed it as a favour to you on purpose, knowing it would make him agree even if he doesn’t want to; because it’s for you. “But I’m paying my own bills.”
“Utilities. I’ve had a year’s rent paid.” He lets out a disapproving exclamation of your name in response. “I had to secure it!” you defend, pouting at him. “It was the quickest method at the last minute. But if you prove yourself a good tenant, the landlord will renew your lease next year, and then it’s on you. You can take this year to save up for it and buy a car and get your license renewed now that you have a solid address.”
“When you’re back next, I’m taking you out for dinner,” he promises determinedly.
“No,” you argue with a scoff, while straightening up before grinning at him. “Next time I’m back, I’m cooking for you.”
“Oh…okay, that sounds better,” he concedes easily. “I really miss your cooking.”
“I’ll cook whatever you want, and you can supply the ingredients, how about that?”
“Deal.”
“Ma’am,” Jihoon says; a reminder in the single word that makes you nod.
“Alright. Okay, pack up, Sangmin, we’re taking you to your new home, and then we have to go.”
“I can make my own way-” he tries to assure but you shake your head, cutting him off.
“Nope, I want to see your reaction.”
“Okay.” He chuckles and gets up to start gathering his belongings.
It doesn’t take long at all, and then once Sangmin hands in his key to the landlord and insists that he doesn’t need the deposit back, the three of you get in Jihoon’s car and head to the apartment.
Although Sangmin had been so hesitant to accept the gift, he looks so genuinely overjoyed as the pair of you wander around the comfortable, two-bedroom apartment, commenting on the furniture and making suggestions of how to make it more of a genuine home instead of a show home. It’s clear that he loves the apartment, and that makes you so happy and settled, knowing that he’ll be able to live somewhere he truly likes and is safe.
After promising to let him know when you’re home safe, you give Sangmin one last hug before leaving, heading with Jihoon back to the life you had hoped you’d left behind, but always knew it’s rooted too deeply within your blood to ever truly turn your back on.
Months pass. Months of falling right back into step with your father, taking up all of the jobs you pushed aside for a taste of normalcy. Not that it actually takes long for you to be back into your old routines. Barely two days after being back in your hometown, you’re splattered in blood with a maniacal glint in your eye that matches the one on your favourite blade.
Back to your old haunts.
Back to your old habits.
Back to your role as your father’s daughter.
Although you’re not set to inherit the throne, so to speak, as the youngest child, your father has always preferred having you by his side at meetings than your quick to action brothers. At least the two younger ones.
Your eldest brother, the one set to take over, is the most level-headed of them all, but he stopped attending meetings with your father years ago and instead heads his own meetings. The two of them tend to share the load, and that often means you being at your father’s side to give him a different perspective.
So, when after months, a meeting comes to be, to work on allying your father’s gang with the Ahns, you don’t hesitate in saying you want in. You know that Wonwoo will be there as the one set to inherit the gang, and you want to see the man with your own eyes after three months apart.
Of course, in those three months, you’ve kept your eye on Wonwoo. You know he’s healed fully now, if only for some lingering scars; including one across his left cheekbone from one of your brothers deciding to ‘ruin his pretty face’ with a too blunt knife, leaving a jagged scar a few inches long. You also know that his wife hasn’t healed.
Ahn Yerim is still in that same hospital room, still hooked up to so many machines to keep her alive, still on life support that Wonwoo won’t give permission to shut off. You have no idea why he’s keeping her alive when this is the perfect chance to be free of her, and a very big part of you wants to know what the fuck he’s thinking keeping himself tied to the psycho. Maybe it’s because of his father-in-law; you hope it’s that and not some kind of loyalty to his wife to preserve her life for as long as possible.
When you tell your father that you want to go with him, he’s hesitant at first, knowing that you want to check in on Wonwoo, but the man can be so soft on you at times that it only takes a pout from you, and he agrees.
Three months after leaving, you’re back, if only for a week.
The very first time you meet Wonwoo after months apart, it’s in a fancy, private lounge of a bar that’s been closed this week for the meetings, where he stands in wait with his father-in-law for your father to arrive.
Clearly, Wonwoo hadn’t expected you to be here, as his eyes widen fractionally when you enter the room at your father’s side, before turning neutral again as he collects himself.
The two older men greet each other familiarly, though there’s clearly more respect coming from Wonwoo’s boss towards your father than is reciprocated, but it’s to be expected when your family is much more powerful than the Ahns and have three times as much land under their thumb.
“Ah, this must be your daughter,” Mr. Ahn says, turning to you and bowing respectfully, knowing that his own daughter had almost been killed because of her actions towards you. “I apologise for my daughter’s stupid actions all those months back, please forgive her.”
“No,” you reply simply and move to sit down, while your father smirks amusedly before sitting at your side.
Wonwoo waits for his boss to sit before he does too, taking the space on the couch on the opposite side of the low table to you, allowing the two gang leaders to face each other directly.
“How can she earn your forgiveness?” Mr. Ahn continues, a hint of desperation in his eyes, knowing that if you turn to your father and tell him to tear apart the Ahns, he will, and there will be nothing that stops him until they’re all dead.
“Dying would be a start,” you deadpan, and your father chuckles, patting a hand on your knee as Mr Ahn baulks at you in shock.
“My daughter is the hardest to earn forgiveness out of all of my children; always so stubborn and hard to win over,” he muses, sounding proud of your tough shell.
“You’re asking me to kill my daughter?” Mr. Ahn asks, shocked.
“No,” you respond and pointedly make eye contact with Wonwoo before looking away. “Let’s just discuss what we came here for,” you decide. “Our potential alliance.”
“Good idea, Princess,” your father agrees and adjusts ever so slightly to get comfortable before the negotiations start and plans begin to get penned down, ready for the two powerful families to become allies and each become even stronger with the other backing them up.
When you get bored during the meeting and check your watch, you realise that Sangmin will be finishing work soon, so you decide that seeing him is much more important than sitting around for this.
“I have somewhere to be,” you declare and don’t wait for a response before getting to your feet, causing both Mr. Ahn and Wonwoo to get up respectfully.
“Take Jihoon with you,” is all your father says, still reading through the paper in his hand detailing one of the neighbourhoods in the city that Mr. Ahn is offering to your family.
“Of course I’m taking Jihoon with me,” you scoff and look between Mr. Ahn and Wonwoo, eyes catching Wonwoo’s mouth twitching slightly as if he wants to say something but is stopping himself, knowing he can’t. Not here. “I’ll see you both tomorrow, I suppose.”
“Do you need a guide, support while here?” Mr. Ahn offers.
“No,” you scoff, rolling your eyes and heading to the door. “Bye, daddy.”
“Bye, Princess; have fun with your boys.”
“Oh, I will.”
Jihoon is waiting outside of the room and immediately follows you without you having to say a word. The two of you had already discussed this; visiting Sangmin, so he knew it would happen sooner or later. He also knows how easily you get bored during these meetings, so he had expected you to leave early, and he’s just been waiting for you to appear and want to visit your friend.
“Did you do it?” You ask as the two of you exit the building into the parking lot and head to his car.
“I’m pretty sure I got the right car,” he confirms. “They all look the fucking same, and none of them are registered, obviously, so I took a very educated guess.”
“You didn’t go to school; you’re uneducated.”
“More educated than you, ma’am.”
“Ha, yeah,” you agree with a snigger as he opens the back passenger door. You slide in and click your seatbelt into place as he closes the door, then jogs around to get into the driver’s seat and start the car up. “Did the connection work?” You ask after pulling out your phone to unlock and hand it over to him through the gap in the seats.
Jihoon finds the app he installed on your phone, which will hack into other phones in close proximity and give you access to the devices. “Mm, there’s a bunch of new devices,” he confirms, after looking at the list. “You’ll have to go through them to find which one is his.” You groan. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to stalk him,” he reminds as he hands your phone back, so that he can strap himself in then pull out of the space and start the drive.
“Yeah, but how am I supposed to know which one is his?” You whine, clicking a random device number on the list to find the gallery and hope there’s something in there. Immediately, you find a bunch of nudes of a man and know it’s not the phone you want. “Ew, gross,” you mutter and delete the device from the list before going into the next. “I swear, if all of these assholes have dick pics in their galleries, I’m telling dad to pull out of the partnership.”
“Stop looking, I’ll do it,” Jihoon immediately says in offer, though his words are firm enough that they could be classed as a demand, that is, if you didn’t know Jihoon well enough to know he’d never order you to do a damn thing, even if he could.
“You’re driving.”
“I meant when you’re with Sangmin.”
“Then I won’t have my phone.”
“I don’t want you looking at random dudes’ dicks, ma’am.”
“Just yours?” you tease and grin to yourself as he blushes.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
Jihoon blushes darker and grips the steering wheel with both hands firmly. “Please, let me do it,” he requests after a moment.
“Do what, show me your dick? How much you packing? I think at least six inches.”
“Ohmygod,” he whispers, eyes wide and glued to the road in front. “P-please stop teasing me, ma’am.”
You giggle and relent, not wanting him to have a breakdown behind the wheel and risk endangering you both. You’ll save your teasing for a time when neither of you can get hurt. “You can look through them for me, but you gotta be in the apartment until you find the right one and give me my phone back.”
“I’ll be in the hall outside.”
“No, that’ll look fucking weird; I don’t want to risk Sangmin’s neighbours asking him questions about the pink faced cherub in the hallway.”
“Stop,” he complains, cheeks flaring again despite having just started to cool, thinking you were done with your teasing. “I’ll stay in another room; just stop.”
“Deal.” You giggle and lock your phone.
When you arrive at Sangmin’s apartment, he’s only just arrived home from work moments before, so he’s still in his uniform, but he’s beaming excitedly, having taken your text yesterday that you’ll visit today seriously and has been waiting in anticipation all day for a further update.
“You’re here!” he greets, pulling you into a warm hug; you giggle happily as you return in. “Come in, come in,” he ushers you both in once your embrace breaks. “Hello, Jihoon, it’s good to see you again.”
“Oh,” Jihoon responds, surprised that Sangmin is speaking to him and sounding genuinely pleased to see him. “Oh uh, you too, Sangmin. Is it alright if I sit in your spare room for a little while?”
“Oh, you’re not joining us for dinner?” Sangmin asks with a confused frown.
“No…” Jihoon looks utterly bewildered at the thought that Sangmin thought he’s joining your dinner and hangout session. “I’m just here to keep her safe.”
“You can do that while joining us for dinner and to hang out. I bought enough groceries for us all! I figured you’d be by her side.” Sangmin heads to the kitchen, which you follow with a grin after you’ve removed your shoes and jacket.
Jihoon follows a moment later, still looking bewildered yet hovering in uncertain acceptance of Sangmin’s extension of dinner invitation. He hasn’t been invited to anything by anyone outside of the gang in so long that he doesn’t really know how to navigate this, but he’s willing to try. He doesn’t expect to become friends with Sangmin, but he thinks it would be kinda nice to hang out with a normal person for once.
“Go get out of your uniform, Sangie,” you encourage as you hand Jihoon your locked phone, and he perches kind of awkwardly at the dinner table to begin looking through it, while you move to the sink to wash your hands.
“Ah, I’d be a bad host to leave you both,” Sangmin retorts.
“Don’t be silly; I’m going to get started on dinner prep, and Jihoon is busy looking at dicks; we’re entertained until you return.”
“Ma’am!” Jihoon sputters, looking at you with red features of embarrassment as Sangmin blinks in surprise at Jihoon.
“I don’t think it’s correct to out people,” Sangmin says to you gently after a second.
“I’m not gay,” Jihoon corrects. “This is her phone.”
“Oh, you’ve moved on from Wonwoo?” Sangmin questions, accepting Jihoon’s response so easily, so trusting and looks at you curiously. Jihoon can’t help but stare at the man in wonder; it’s truly baffling to him that someone can be so trusting and accepting of others.
“No,” you scoff and wave a dismissive hand. “I’ll explain when you’re back from your shower; go wash the day’s work from yourself and get comfortable. We’ll be right here.”
“Are you really sure it’s okay?”
“Of course, wouldn’t say it otherwise,” you assure. Sangmin glances at Jihoon, who nods in agreement, before the older man lets out a breath and leaves the pair of you in the kitchen.
“Is it really okay that I stay, ma’am?” Jihoon asks softly, a few moments later, after just watching you get to work skilfully preparing ingredients for Sangmin’s favourite dishes.
“Have I told you to leave?” you retort, looking at him without fully lifting your head. Jihoon shakes his head slightly. “There’s your answer, then. Just find me the correct dick pics, like a good cherub and stop questioning your place by my side.”
“It’s not me you want by your side,” he reminds, while obediently looking at your phone to go back to checking through the devices and deleting any that aren’t the one you want access to.
“I want you by my side, not inside me. Though maybe if it wouldn’t hurt you. You’d probably be a good fuck,” you comment with a shrug as you focus on your task. You don’t need to be looking at Jihoon to know he’s turned a pretty pink, anyway, especially not when you can hear the choked sound he lets out before he pointedly stays quiet and pretends to be very invested in his own task.
The second day in the city goes pretty much the same as the first; a few hours sitting opposite Wonwoo while he pretends that he isn’t itching to talk to you, before you get bored and leave with Jihoon to meet Sangmin.
This time, you go out for dinner; Sangmin pays at his own insistence, and Jihoon looks almost like he accepts that you both want him there and he’s not out of place at your side.
“When are you going to talk to him?” Sangmin wonders as he watches you check your phone every time there’s a ping from either of the apps you had Jihoon install for this trip.
“Mm, tomorrow,” you decide, realising that the pings are the same as this time yesterday, and you can safely assume this is the daily routine. You don’t have to wait any longer before implementing your plan.
On the third day, when you leave the meeting, it isn’t as early as usual, but it is still earlier than the three men leave.
For the first time since arriving in the city, you drive yourself where you need to go, with only yourself for company. Jihoon knows where you are, of course, and you know that he has tracking apps on your phone that you’ll never find, so that he can be sure that you’re where you’re supposed to be, therefore safe. But he won’t interfere unless you deviate from your plan without warning or fail to answer if he calls.
Being back is strange in a lot of ways, but in others, it isn’t. This place, it became your home, and even now, three months later, something in you settles in the familiarity of it.
It’s a few hours before the beep of the lock disengaging echoes around the apartment, only the sound of the radio playing gently in the background; a new addition but a welcome one. There still isn’t a modern TV on the wall or an internet modem, but that doesn’t surprise you. The more homely touches do, however; the random knick-knacks around, more signs that this is a home, not just an empty shell of an apartment. You hadn’t expected them, but they make you smile.
You’re just finishing setting up everything on the dining table when socked footsteps approach from behind, joining you in the kitchen area.
Wordlessly, you both sit down in your seats, and just like he did in those first few weeks, Wonwoo shovels your cooking in his mouth as if he’s been starved for months. It makes you huff a short, amused laugh. He looks at you and can’t help but smile, yet neither of you say a word, not yet.
Despite there still being that familiar ease in the air between you, it’s laced amongst tension. You haven’t seen one another in months, haven’t talked in as long, and the last time you saw each other, things weren’t exactly normal between you. You had been desperate to leave, and Wonwoo had wanted nothing more than for you to stay, but he knew he couldn’t hold you here when you looked like you did. Of course, he soon found out why you wanted to leave so insistently, when your father and brothers beat the shit out of him and put him in hospital for a week, but still, he wished you never left.
There’s clearly a lot that needs to be said, things to be discussed, yet neither of you know where to start exactly.
After almost ten minutes of silently eating, Wonwoo is the one who talks first, “have you memorised my schedule or something?”
“I put a tracker on your car and hacked your phone,” you answer bluntly, making him look at you in dumb shock.
“You did what?” he mutters disbelievingly.
“Mm, first day back in the city,” you confirm with a nod, picking up your glass of wine to take a few sips before placing it back down. “You live a boring life, you know. No life outside of what your dear father-in-law tells you what to do. And ya know, visiting your wife.” You pull a disapproving face at the routine you had seen Wonwoo follow the past three days, today included, thanks to the tracking apps. At least his boring routine means you easily figured out what time he’d be home.
He rolls his eyes. “Sorry I don’t live up to your expectations, Princess.” You ignore the jab at your position, the name your father calls you.
“You should be.” You reach under the table, to pick up the item on your lap that had been waiting on the chair until you sat. The hesitance on Wonwoo’s features is obvious to you as he pauses in his movements to watch you cautiously; you assume that he thinks you’re about to pull a weapon on him for some reason. Yet you think the expression that takes over his features tells you that he would’ve preferred a gun to the gift bag you place on the tabletop pointedly.
“Did you go through my fucking closet?” he hisses, knowing he had hidden that gift bag away months ago, when you still lived here.
“I spilled sauce on my shirt,” you reason, suddenly inadvertently drawing his attention to the shirt on your body. It’s too big for you really, too broad on your shoulders that are nowhere near as wide as his, and you have the sleeves rolled up to your forearms to account for his longer limbs.
“Your clothes are still in your room,” he points out, eyes still on his shirt on your body as if he can’t make himself look away yet. It makes you feel smugly pleased that he so clearly likes that you’re wearing his clothes.
“I noticed. But they’ve been sitting there for months, and this is freshly washed; it smells nice.”
Finally, he drags his eyes up to meet your own and nods slightly, accepting your reasoning and honestly, not wanting to argue anymore and risk you going to change out of his clothes into your own. “Fine, but that bag wasn’t even with the fucking shirts.”
“Okay, fine; I was bored and wanted to find something juicy,” you admit with a dramatic sigh. “I expected fluffy handcuffs, or a pocky pussy shaped like a monster vagina.” You pout; upset about the lack of filthy items you found while digging around Wonwoo’s bedroom earlier.
“I forgot how fucking weird you are,” he mutters, turning back to his meal.
“How fucking rude! How dare you forget a single thing about me, Jeon Wonwoo!” you exclaim in offence, even if it’s mostly fake, just to wind him up. “I remember everything about you. Including that cute little mole on your right butt cheek.”
He sputters and looks at you with widened eyes. “I don’t have a mole on my ass!”
“Yes, you do. Get naked, and I’ll take a photo to show you.” He rolls his eyes and decides to eat instead of responding, knowing it’s for the best to just ignore you when you’re being ridiculous. “So, going to explain this?” you prompt, pointing to the bag. “You were supposed to return that.” He just shrugs, and you know that he’s too stubborn to be truthful right now, so you decide to give up on getting an answer and join him in returning to your dinner.
At least the atmosphere isn’t so tense now that you’ve had a conversation, even if no questions have been answered yet, or even really asked.
After you finish eating, and Wonwoo’s done cleaning up, just like he used to, he joins you on the couch and offers a fresh glass of wine.
You shake your head in refusal. “Already had one, I need to drive to the hotel.”
“I spent too fucking much on that fancy mattress you bugged me to buy you, for you to not sleep on it while here,” he scoffs and puts the glass in your hand before settling comfortably in his usual space.
“Are you asking me to stay for the rest of the week?” you tease.
“It’s quiet without you,” his answer is too honest, eyes too open on you, that you drop the attempt at being playful and decide to match his energy.
“Then go home.”
“That place never felt like home,” he reasons with a displeased twist of his features. “That’s her house, and I have these apartments to get away from her.”
“She’s not there anymore.”
“Still her house to me. I never liked it, and I don’t need to show my face to an empty house to stop accusations about cheating,” he points out and swallows a mouthful of his wine.
You give him a raised eyebrows look. “So, you’ve taken up living in the place you shared with another woman for almost three months.”
“The closest thing to a home I’ve known in a long time.”
“Are you drunk already, Jeon Wonwoo? One glass of red, and you get sappy.”
He takes the glass from your hand and motions to the door broadly. “Fuck off if you’re going to be a bitch when I’m trying to be honest,” he grumbles, embarrassed and offended that he’s genuinely trying and you’re making jokes.
“Give me back my wine, I need it for this,” you whine, making grabby hands towards him. With a sigh, he does as you ask, and you both take a few drinks. “So…” you start awkwardly, while staring down into your glass, not sure how to navigate this; being so serious, but you want to try. “This is the closest you’ve known to a home? What…” You lick your lips nervously and look at him. “Why is that?”
“I’ve been in a gang for-”
You cut him off while shaking your head, “I meant why this one. You said you have multiple apartments, why this one? I’m surprised you came back here after all that.”
“You know why.” He looks at you as if you look into each other’s eyes intensely enough, everything will become clear. It doesn’t. “Same reason I didn’t return the fucking necklace.”
“Let’s pretend I’m stupid for a minute,” you say, adjusting your position a little as your stomach flutters and heart heaves in your chest, anxiety rearing its inconsiderate head. “I know, it’s a tough ask because I’m clearly a genius, but just pretend I’m emotionally inept, and I have no idea what you mean.”
“They keep asking me for an answer,” he says, utterly bewildering you.
“Okay, I must actually be stupid because I have no fucking idea how that answers my question at all,” you admit in a questioning mutter.
“The doctors overseeing my wife,” he starts to explain. “I’m her next of kin; it’s my call entirely what happens to her. They told me from the start that she likely won’t wake, and even if she does, she won’t ever be the woman I married. I’d have to hire a team of nurses and shit and devote my life to wiping the fucking drool from her chin.”
You make a noise of understanding and nod slowly as you absorb his words. “So, that rumour’s true; she’s brain dead. More than before my brothers got their hands on her, I mean.”
“Yep,” he confirms simply before he finishes his glass and puts it on the coffee table.
“And the doctors are basically asking if you want to pull the plug?” Wonwoo nods in confirmation. “And you haven’t answered.”
“I’ve almost said yes so many times; just fucking wipe my hands of the bitch for good. I don’t want to have to look after her. I never even liked her, so I don’t want to be responsible for her.”
“Then tell them to pull the plug. I don’t understand why you haven’t already. If you even liked her, not loved but just simply liked, I’d understand your hesitance, but you pretty much hate her. What’s stopping you? Is it her dad?”
“No, he knows she’s never coming back, and he’s told me he won’t hold it against me if I tell them to do it. He said he’d rather she doesn’t wake and suffer for the rest of her life, and he knows she wouldn’t want to live like that either.”
“Then why haven’t you given consent yet?”
“It’s the dumbest fucking thing; it doesn’t even make sense,” he mutters, looking at the space between you as if he wants to move over to cut it in half, or remove it entirely.
“Tell me,” you insist, minutely shuffling closer encouragingly.
“I just keeping thinking that…what if that was you? And in that split second where I imagine you laid there, I can’t do it,” he confesses, genuinely shocking you as your heart speeds up and even skips a few beats in excitement and what you’re certain is more than just hope at this point.
“Oh… You’re right; that makes no sense.”
Wonwoo huffs a laugh and looks up at you. “You really are emotionally inept, aren’t you?”
“Says you.”
“We’re as bad as each other, I guess.”
“Mm, seems that way, Mr. Jeon.”
The two of you look at one another for a minute, so much and nothing at all being said in the air between you, the way your eyes don’t waver from one another.
Seemingly making a decision about whatever is on his mind, he nods determinedly and takes your glass to down the remainder, making you whine wordlessly and whack his leg in complaint. “I’m going to do it tomorrow,” he declares, putting the glass on the table beside his own.
“What?” you ask confusedly after staring forlornly at your stolen glass for a second, then looking at him puzzled.
“First thing tomorrow, I’m going to go to the hospital and sign the papers to end the life support,” he decides firmly.
You raise a questioning eyebrow. “And what if your weird little mind imagines me laid on that bed again?”
“Remember what you said you’d do with that necklace if I wasn’t married?” he prompts, making you nod in confirmation. “That is what I’m going to think about.”
Waking in your bed in the apartment feels both strange, and so normal that you momentarily forget that you’ve been gone for months. But it only lasts for a few seconds before you realise that your alarm is going off on the side table and you reach out to grab it and turn it off.
It’s earlier than you’ve ever woken here; not even 8am yet, but you know you have a meeting to attend at 9:30am, so you need to at least get up and shower ready to leave.
All of your toiletries are still in your ensuite. Actually, everything of yours that you left around the apartment is still where you last put it, so long as it’s not in the way. It makes your heart flutter every time you think of how Wonwoo hadn’t wanted to remove any trace of you, despite now living full time in the apartment.
Showering and getting ready doesn’t take that long; you’re wandering downstairs by 8:20 and realising that Wonwoo isn’t home. You know he’d be in the kitchen if he was. You both have to be at the same meeting, after all, and he’s always been awake before you.
It feels like normal to check the whiteboard on the fridge for a message from Wonwoo. There’s a fresh one in place, just as you suspected; though it simply tells you to bring your belongings from your hotel room here, and that he’ll get takeout for dinner tonight, so you don’t need to bother cooking for either of you.
Though, there’s no information explaining where he’s gone so early, so, of course, you pull out your phone and pull up the tracking app for his phone. The moment you see that he’s at the hospital, you exit the app and try not to feel excited at the potential that Wonwoo is currently giving consent to have his wife’s life support turned off.
It’s pretty twisted of you to wish for that, but you’ve never pretended that you’re not a twisted kind of person. Being raised as you have, surrounded by all the blood and mayhem your father didn’t try to hide from you once you became a teenager, well, that’s bound to twist a person’s mentality more than just a bit.
After texting Jihoon to tell him you’re heading back now, you leave the apartment to head to the hotel to meet everyone, ready to sit through another few hours of a boring meeting to discuss more details about the alliance.
As it turns out though, the meeting is cancelled for today, something you and your father are only told once you’re already at the bar. But there are plenty of Ahn’s men around that the two of you pass time talking to them to gain even more information on the gang; things that the boss himself won’t tell you, or perhaps even know about how his men work outside of his direct orders.
It's very informative and much more interesting than the meeting would’ve been, so you stick around for as long as your father does before all heading back to the hotel.
“You’re really doing this?” Jihoon asks as he watches you zip up your case now that it’s packed back up and none of your belongings remain outside of your luggage.
“Don’t sound so fucking dramatic, it’s like three days,” you scoff. “You know where I’ll be, you can track me and hack my phone; listen in and activate my camera when I’m in the shower, pervert.”
“I’ve never done that!” he sputters, blushing furiously.
“Your loss, I look great naked and dripping wet.”
“I don’t doubt it; you’re always beautiful,” he responds honestly, making you look at him and smile softly at his heartfelt compliment. “He’s a lucky guy, to have your heart like this.”
“Well…I wouldn’t take it that far,” you reply, diverting your gaze as your cheeks pinken ever so slightly.
“You’re blushing,” he teases.
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Is that an order, ma’am?” He’s smirking when you look at him.
“Only if you send me a picture of your eight-inch wonder wrapped in your pretty hands,” you purr, smirking salaciously and he immediately looks away, once again back to blushing. “Ah, you’re so easy, Jihoonie.”
“Only for you,” he mutters and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Be careful with him, ma’am. Smart.”
“I have condoms.”
“Okay, good. I don’t want people to look down on you for having a child out of wedlock, or risking catching something from him.”
“Me either,” you agree. “Any other orders, cherub?”
“Yeah, stop calling me that.” He gives you an unimpressed look that makes you giggle, which in turn, makes his expression melt into something fond. “Call me whatever you want,” he decides.
“Simp.”
“Only for you.” He shrugs and moves to open the suite door when you head towards it with your luggage. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you there?”
“No, Jihoon. I can do it; I’m a big girl.”
“I know,” he chuckles. “I still worry, though.”
“Okay, daddy.” Jihoon short circuits, and you take the chance to leave, cackling to yourself at the dumbass, open-mouthed, wide-eyed expression he’s wearing.
When you enter the apartment, you immediately spot Wonwoo in the kitchen with his back to you as he leans on the island with both hands, attention on the paper atop the counter. He’s still wearing his leather jacket, and you assume he hasn’t been home long.
After removing your shoes and jacket, you leave your luggage in the entrance hall and walk over to peer around Wonwoo’s arm at the paper curiously. “Oh. Death certificate already? You don’t wait around, do you,” you muse, moving aside to lean back against the counter a little on his left.
“It was already waiting, just needed the details. Everyone knew it was coming. Even my father- well, I guess my ex-father-in-law knew.” He huffs a short laugh that’s barely an exhale of a laugh before looking at you. “Said he knew it’d be this week too, once he saw the way I looked at you Monday morning.”
You whistle impressed. “Damn, just say you’re in love with me, and get it over with.”
He rolls his eyes and finally moves to tuck the certificate back in the envelope, tucking his wedding ring inside too. It makes your stomach twist excitedly. “Don’t take it too far, asshole.”
“I’m very lovable,” you defend.
“Prove it to me.” He turns to face you properly; you mirror his stance so you’re facing one another, perfectly in reach yet neither of you reach out.
“Prove it how exactly?”
He opens his mouth without thought, then closes it before he can say the words, changing his mind as he shakes his head slightly. He takes a second before opening his mouth and saying something less impulsive, “Not now; I’ve literally just become a widower today, so I should at least respect my dead wife by not starting something with the woman who essentially killed her.”
“Hey!” you exclaim and reach out to backhand his bicep, making his lips turn up at one side, smiling amusedly. “I take offense with that! If I was going to kill her, I would’ve done it ages ago! My brothers killed her because of her own dumbass decision to kidnap me. And, well, yours for holding me up so long. You had more part in her death than me.”
“Okay, I can accept that,” he concedes easily, not even trying to deny it in any way. “Then I definitely can’t start anything with you; can’t let anyone know that I killed my wife for you.”
“How romantic of you,” you coo sarcastically.
“Very,” he grins, making you huff a laugh.
“So, just to clarify; you are no longer married, but you want to wait?”
“Yes.”
You hum for a few seconds. “So, you don’t want me to go put on that necklace?”
He stares at you dumbly for a moment as his mind whirls with the mental images your words spawn. “I didn’t say that,” he murmurs lowly, eyes darkening with lust as they focus back on you.
“So, you do?”
“Yes.”
“Ask nicely.”
He doesn’t hesitate to comply with a simple yet so honest and effective, “Please.”
It’s you who stares dumbly for a few seconds this time. “Oh, that was easier than I thought,” you admit in a mutter before smirking at him amusedly. “You really are desperate for a fuck, huh?”
“I can go without usually, but I’ve never wanted someone like I have you. So now I have the chance, yes, I want to take it,” he answers candidly, without any waver to his voice or lust heavy expression on you. “Never know what will happen in our line of work.”
“Hmm, true.” You glance around the kitchen for the gift bag that you know was on the counter this morning when you left, then at him with a confused frown when you don’t find it. “Did you really put it back away?”
“No. It’s on your bed waiting.”
“Presumptuous.”
“I just know neither of us would want to wait longer than necessary.”
“True,” you agree with a nod, unable to even pretend to try and deny his words, before starting to back towards the stairs slowly. “I’m going to shower, and you should too. I don’t want you to touch me with dead wife hands.”
“I didn’t even touch her,” he says.
You stop in your tracks and give him a flat, unimpressed look. “The air touched you both, Wonwoo.”
He rolls his eyes and then starts walking forward, towards you and the stairs while unzipping his jacket ready to remove it. “Whatever, just hurry the fuck up and get naked on my bed.”
“Demanding.”
He reaches out to grab the front of your shirt, technically another of his, once in front of you and stops you from backing up like you intend to. You glance down at his hand gripping the material then back up into his eyes with a raised eyebrow. “Before anything, I need to ask something.”
“No, I’m not going to call you daddy, no matter how much you beg,” you answer, tapping the tip of his nose once with your finger; he rolls his eyes and tugs you closer. “Okay, damn, I was joking, daddy.”
“Shut the fuck up, brat,” he retorts, though he’s clearly trying not to chuckle at your words. “And I know you call your dad that, so I definitely don’t want you calling me that. Keep your daddy issues out of our sex life.”
“Boring.” He gives you an unimpressed look. “Okay, fine, I’ll pretend I’m a serious person. What’s your question?”
“When did you get tested?”
“For what?”
“Anything you can pass on when you sit on my face.”
“Oh.” Your eyes widen in clear interest. “Very recently; nothing to pass on. You?”
“Same.”
“Great. Shower; go clean my throne thoroughly,” you say and pat his cheek, though hesitate when you see the scar on his cheek and cup his face so you can run your thumb over it. “What did they do to your pretty face, huh?”
“Nothing your thighs can’t hide.”
“You know what? You’re so fucking right,” you agree then dart forward to press a far too quick kiss to his lips, then back up while he stares after you, in shock at first but then in challenge as you giggle. “Ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes,” he confirms before you both rush upstairs to your ensuites to shower, more than just a little fucking excited to finally get to get your hands on each other.
Over the few days living back at the apartment, you and Wonwoo enthusiastically defile every inch of the apartment humanly possible, and then do it all over again, and again, and again.
Honestly, you have no idea how you both seem to have endless stamina and arousal in your veins to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. All it takes is locking gaze and suddenly clothes are being thrown off, and you’re reaching for condoms, which the two of you had great fun hiding all over the apartment to find again like a horny Easter egg hunt.
It’s even more impressive because you both still have to attend meetings, and Wonwoo has to meet with various people to arrange the funeral properly. He also has to deal with his wife’s belongings; none of which he wants to keep and frankly doesn’t care what happens to it, but he has to keep up appearances at least a little bit.
But, those three days pass far too quickly for your liking, and before you know it, you’re saying goodbye to Wonwoo with his number in your phone and his marks covering your skin under your clothes.
Honestly, part of you thought that now that you and Wonwoo have fucked it out, a lot, and have the opportunity to text and call whenever you want, that whatever is between you might fizzle out over the following few months apart. You thought that maybe, the novelty of finally being able to fall together would’ve worn off, and things would change. But you were very wrong.
Well, partially, because things do change, but not in the way you expected.
Every single night, Wonwoo video calls you, so that you can eat your dinner together despite the distance, and then you spend hours on call. Sometimes you’re quiet, each doing your own thing but just enjoying having the other there. Sometimes there’s nonstop talking. And sometimes, there is, of course, a lot of phone sex.
Even if the exact nature of the calls differ, he still calls and smiles at you so happily with a light in his eyes that you never saw in those months living together. But now, he looks like there’s no longer a weight dragging his heart down, and instead it’s allowed to flutter free, right into your waiting hands.
Wonwoo never hides it either, never tries to pretend that he doesn’t just sit and stare at you sometimes with a soft, content look on his face that always makes your heart flutter when you notice. He never hides how happy you make him, how much he adores talking to you, adores you.
He texts you every morning and at random points in the day just to check in and keep each other updated. Or send photos and memes he thinks you’ll like.
He sends random gifts to your house; flowers, food, lingerie, random knick-knacks he saw and thought of you, and you always show them to him on the next video call after you’ve decided where to put them. He always looks so happy that you’ve accepted the items and allowed them to be a part of your daily life.
The first time you send Wonwoo a gift in return, a giant bouquet of flowers, he calls you the second it arrives and excitedly thanks you so profusely; saying that no one has ever bought him flowers before, and he doesn’t know how to look after them, but he’ll do research and treasure them. Which he does; those flowers last far longer than you expect, thanks to his careful attention, and you can’t help but send him endless gifts after. He’s always so adorably happy and enthusiastic about whatever you send him, just because you had taken the time to think of him.
It’s honestly a side of him you really hadn’t known existed, a side so different to his usual persona that you feel like there’s something right in the depths of you both that ties you together and allows him to let himself be so free and honest with you.
The more you think about it, the more you take moments to just look at him on your screen as he talks or does chores, oblivious to your admiring gaze, the more you think that you might finally understand how Jihoon can be so devoted to you and willing to do anything to make you happy, even though he knows it will never get him anywhere with you.
You think you’d carve your heart from your chest and put it in Wonwoo’s hands if it would make him smile.
You think, that perhaps, he already has it.
Winter isn’t the best time to show off the private stretch of beach that your home overlooks, but it’s out of your control when Wonwoo turns up to deal with things on behalf of the Ahn gang in January.
But really, you don’t mind it, not when it means he’s finally right back within arm’s reach, and you can kiss his stupidly pretty face whenever you want, even if it’s chilled from the sea air blowing in as you sit on the blanket on the sand to watch the sun set.
He’s already been here for a few days, staying in your beachside home with you and defiling every inch of it at every given chance, too. But, it hasn’t all been about sex. There have been a lot of times where you just lay side by side, hands trailing over one another with no intention but to touch, to admire, to silently worship the other in a way you hope you can spend the rest of your lives doing.
There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it anymore, no doubt left in your mind or heart as you see your heart split in half and at home in his chest with half of his own, the other part in your own chest.
You thought having an incomplete heart was something bad, something to be feared and resent, but knowing Wonwoo has so willingly split his to complete yours and readily accepted yours as the other half of his, you think it’s the best thing a person could ever experience.
Even sitting here in the chill and talking about work, as you look at Wonwoo, all you feel is love. Although neither of you have said the words, have even discussed what your relationship is, you’re confident that he feels it too.
“He’s giving me more and more responsibilities now, like he’s getting ready to step down,” he informs, playing with the hem of your jumper, where he’s shoved his hand up the front of your coat to be closer to your skin and leech your warmth. You’re doing the same thing to him though, so you can’t really call him out on it.
“Gang boss Wonwoo, how attractive of you,” you muse and kiss his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder, making him smile at the cute action.
“Attractive enough to be Mrs gang boss Wonwoo?” Immediately, you straighten up to look at him in wide eyed shock at the abrupt question. Wonwoo removes his hands from you so that he can reach into one of his coat pockets and pull out a small, dark cube. A ring box.
“My dad will kill you if you propose to me without his blessing,” you mutter dumbly, eyes glued to the box as he shuffles to face you better.
“I know, so I asked him today.”
Your head jerks up to look at him wide eyed. “And he said yes?!”
“He doesn’t want his daughter being some asshole’s mistress, so he’d rather you just marry the asshole instead.” He chuckles. “It’d ally our gangs too.”
“I wouldn’t be your mistress!” you baulk offendedly.
“I don’t want you to be,” he assures. “I want to do it right this time; marriage.”
“What does ‘doing it right’ even mean, Wonwoo?”
“Not for business.”
“You just said it’d ally us,” you remind.
“That’s not important to me. If you said you want to run away and leave all this shit behind, I’d agree.”
You make an impressed sound similar to a whistle. “Damn. You’re whipped.”
He laughs and nods a little, while opening the box to show you the silver, diamond studded ring within. It matches the necklace you haven’t removed once since putting it on four months ago; you only remove the earrings at night so that they don’t dig into your skull when you sleep. “I am. You proved to me how lovable you are the past months, to the degree that I never want to spend a day without you, Princess. I really have fallen for you, and whether you love me or not isn’t important, because I’m confident you’ll love me sooner or later.”
“Definitely sooner,” you reply immediately, making his lips turn up into a smile.
“Yeah?”
“I won’t marry for a reason other than genuine love, Wonwoo.”
“What does that mean?”
You offer your left hand and wiggle your fingers impatiently. “Put the fucking ring on me, then let me ride my fiancé’s dick.”
Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate to pluck the ring from the cushion and slide it onto your finger, before pulling you onto his lap with a smile so bright it puts the setting sun to shame. “Whatever you want, Princess.”
Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖
💎Who: Jeon Wonwoo (Seventeen) x female reader
💎What: Mafia/gang au. Dark themes (check warnings). Angst. Fluff. Humour. Strangers to friends to lovers. Suggestive (18+).
💎Word count: 17.7k for part one. 31.8k total
💎Warnings: Kidnapping. Violence. Injury and blood. Morally grey characters. Joke about drugs. Alcohol consumption (nobody gets drunk at all). Suggestive dialogue. Wonwoo is a handful of years older than reader.
💎Summary:
To be honest, you’re surprised it’s taken this long to happen. Truly, you thought you would’ve been kidnapped years ago, so you’re not surprised when it happens.
What does surprise you, however, is the reason why, and what happens when you meet that reason.
Minors do NOT interact. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio. I also block blank blogs.
Masterlist
Part Two
A/N- Part two will be available April 24th.
Thank you to @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading and helping me out with the warnings! I appreciate you endlessly, my love 💗
It’s typical, really; the one time you actually have cash on you to give to the homeless man you’ve befriended, who always waits around for you to finish work, you don’t get the chance to give it to him.
Just like every night when you’re done closing up the restaurant, you see Sangmin waiting on the other side of the road, sitting patiently on the bench there, ready to walk you home.
You wave at him as you near the edge of the path, one hand carefully holding the takeout container of a freshly made double serving of his favourite meal that you cook at the restaurant. Sangmin gets up from the bench with a bright smile, always so happy to see you, and waves, making you smile just as brightly, even if you’re exhausted from the long hours cooking away in the kitchen. But Sangmin always cheers you up.
He’s such an upbeat guy despite his unfavourable circumstances, and you genuinely enjoy these walks home listening to him tell you about his day and telling him about yours in return. You can’t wait to hear if he made a new friend at the dog park today, where he likes to hang around and offer to play with the dogs of the elderly folk who can’t run or throw balls and sticks for their pets. Sometimes, the owners even give him some cash in return or buy him a coffee or ice cream from the stands, weather permitting. It’s a reminder that there is still good in this shitty world.
Just as you’re about to cross the street, a couple of cars get close enough that you remain in place to let them pass and intend to cross after they’re gone, when it’s safe.
The chance doesn’t come as both cars suddenly swerve to pull up in front of you, making you take a few steps back as you stare at the vehicles suspiciously. The engines don’t turn off, and the doors on the side closest to you open to allow masked, suited men to get out.
“Shit,” you curse under your breath and hold your free hand up as they approach. “Wait, wait, wait!” You exclaim, kicking out as they reach out to you with clearly every intention of stealing you away. “I said wait!” You glance over to Sangmin as you hear him yelling your name, voice getting closer. “Stay there, Sangmin!” You warn loudly. “Stay out of this!” You crouch, still with your free hand up so that you can put the container on the floor. “Okay, I’ll go with you, just leave him alone,” you inform and let out a breath of relief when the bulky man directly in front of you stops trying to reach towards you and signals his men to wait. “Give me a sec, seriously, I’ll go,” you promise and shuffle aside to peer around to where Sangmin is being held back by a couple of the men. “It’ll be okay, Sangmin. Enjoy your dinner, okay. I’ll see you soon.”
Sangmin murmurs your name brokenly, clearly not trusting these men to bring you safely back, and honestly, neither do you. But he stops struggling to get to you and stumbles back when the men let him go with a little shove to create more space. “Be safe,” he pleads as you follow the men to get into the closest car.
“You too.” You give him a soft smile before you’re in the car between two burly men and the door is shut. You want to watch Sangmin as the car pulls away, want to see him pick up his meal so you know he will eat well, at least tonight, but you can’t. Just as you turn your head to watch through the rear window, something sharp jabs into your leg. You yelp, turning to look down at the culprit and find a needle stuck in your leg. “You asshole,” you mutter.
Moments later, you’re unconscious.
Something about this woman is familiar to you, but you really can’t tell what it is. It doesn’t help that her cronies have given you one swollen eye, and the other eye’s vision is blurred with blood that trickles down from your split eyebrow.
Whoever this woman is, though, she clearly doesn’t want to get her own hands dirty, even if she looks very pleased with the bruised and bleeding state of you.
“Okay, okay,” you groan once you’ve caught your breath from the round of beating you’ve just received. “I give. Who the fuck are you?” You question, peering at her.
Despite not being able to see her clearly, you can see the way her whole posture changes; from smug to dumb, offended shock. “Who am I?”
“Yes; who are you?” You repeat, almost rolling your eyes.
“How dare you?!” She stalks over and one of her men grabs a fistful of your hair from where he stands behind you, to make you look up at her as she leers over you. “I am the most powerful woman in this whole city!”
“Pretty sure I’d know who you are if that’s true,” you retort and choke out a laugh when she finally hits you herself; an open-handed slap that drags the multiple rings on her fingers across your already bruised cheek, drawing shallow gouges in your skin.
“How dare-!” She starts to screech, yet the door opening behind her cuts her off as she looks over.
Curiously, you look over too, and the tall man who enters looks vaguely familiar to you too. At least, the leather jacket and glasses he’s wearing do because he’s too far away for you to make out clearly.
“What the fuck is going on here?” He demands.
Ah, you recognise his deep voice and suddenly understand why he’s familiar to you. He’s a regular at the restaurant and favours the same dish as Sangmin, though this guy worked his way through the entire menu before settling on that particular one.
You’ve only talked to him a few times, when it’s late enough that the wait staff have already been sent home, but the owners always stay open for this guy; meaning, if they’re busy, you have to deliver his meal to him. He always compliments your cooking and thanks you genuinely, but other than that, you’ve never said much to one another. Other than last Christmas when he asked if you would consider making him something special off menu and gave you a wad of cash to sweeten you up.
Even before the suspicious stack of cash was handed to you, you just knew in your gut that this guy is in shady dealings and seeing him walk into this room and not even flinch at the battered condition of you, it only confirms it.
“Teaching your little whore a lesson,” the woman sneers and turns back to you. “She needs to learn that she can’t get away with touching what’s mine.”
“I still don’t know who the fuck you are,” you point out.
Just as her hand is about to come down to connect with your cheek again, the newcomer grabs her wrist. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he warns. “She’s not done shit wrong. I’ve told you before that I’ve never fucking cheated on you. She’s just a fucking cook.”
“Don’t lie to me, Jeon Wonwoo,” she hisses.
“Don’t be fucking delusional, Ahn Yerim,” he retorts and looks at the man behind you. “Untie her.”
“Sir, Miss Ahn said-” the thug starts, yet shuts up and releases his grip on your hair when Wonwoo glares. The man behind you quickly moves to untie your arms and legs from the chair.
“You don’t listen to him! You listen to me! You both work for me!” Yerim exclaims.
“We work for your father, not you, sweetheart,” Wonwoo reminds and lets her go to approach you and carefully help you up. “Come on,” he encourages as he puts his arm around your waist to support you.
“I am your wife! Treat me with the respect I deserve!”
“I treat you with more than you deserve,” Wonwoo grumbles as he pretty much half carries you out of the room. You’re trying to walk, but they had tied your ankles to the chair legs so tightly that your feet are sparkling painfully with every dragging step as the blood rushes back in. “Did they break your legs?” He wonders concernedly as he stops and adjusts his left arm behind your back as you grip onto his shoulders for stability.
“No, extreme pins and needles.” He makes a noise of understanding and sweeps you up into his arms, hooking his right arm under your thighs to carry you.
“Do me a favour and shut your eyes; you shouldn’t see where we are.”
“Can’t see the gang HQ?” You muse, and snigger when he glances at you with a flat look. “Alright, whatever, Mr Jeon Wonwoo.” Obligingly, you shut your eyes and decide to lean your head against his broad shoulder and rest a little.
“What’s your name?” He wonders.
“Don’t even know the name of the woman your wife accused you of cheating with?” He sighs, making you snigger again before you tell him your name, which he only hums at. “Your wife is a real fucking bitch, you know?”
The sigh he lets out sounds like he more than knows how true those words are.
Instead of taking you home, or back to the restaurant, or a hospital, or a random fucking street corner to leave you to figure out your way from there, Wonwoo drives to the outskirts of the city; to a building site that you know got abandoned after only one block of fancy apartments were built. The company, who still owns the land, had a lot of issues with permits and tried to sell the project on, yet no-one wanted to take over from their immense fuck up, so it’s been abandoned for at least a year now.
At least, you thought it was, but perhaps Wonwoo likes to take advantage of the lack of witnesses at the edge of the city and bury his victims here. It’d be a smart move. There doesn’t seem to be any security around; even the road leading to the site is far enough out of the way that there are no traffic cameras along the stretch.
“I hope you don’t like burying your victims alive,” you murmur as you eye the abandoned building materials still piled up along the partially finished, dust covered road you’re travelling down.
“What?” Wonwoo glances over at you but you’re staring out of the window with a displeased pout. “I’m not going to fucking bury you alive.”
“Ah, good, I’m in the firm belief I would not enjoy that at all.”
“You… No, I don’t think you would. I don’t think anyone would.”
“I dunno, some people are into some shit, Wonwoo. You’d be surprised.” You look over at him and notice a strange expression cross his features. It’s one you’re familiar with from other people and know it means they’re suddenly questioning their decision to be in close proximity to you.
After shaking his head slightly and letting out a strong exhale as he looks back to where he’s driving, Wonwoo speaks again. “Look, I didn’t bring you here to kill you, but to protect you.”
“What?”
“My wife is a fucking psycho. You saw that, and I know she’ll have people looking for you to steal you away again. So, I’m putting you in one of my safe houses so she can’t do that. Understand?”
“She doesn’t know about this safe house?”
Wonwoo scoffs and shakes his head. “No. She doesn’t know about any of them. Nobody does; just me. You’ll be safe here, trust me.”
“I really don’t think trust comes into this, more like I don’t have a fucking choice.”
“That too,” he confirms simply.
There’s nothing more that can be said on the topic, so you both remain silent for the last short section of the drive. Even when Wonwoo parks up in the underground parking of the only complete building, then leads you into the lift up to an apartment on the sixth floor, neither of you say a word.
That changes when you step into the apartment and look at the sparse décor for the modern apartment. “Wow, a true minimalist, aren’t you?” You muse, glancing at the sofa you can see from the entrance hall, then over to the kitchen perfectly within view due to the open layout of the bottom floor of the apartment. There’s a glass staircase on the other side of the living area, with a short hallway behind it, but other than that, there truly is not much to look at.
“It’s just a safe house; it’s supposed to be functional, nothing more.”
“How can you function in such a lifeless place?”
Wonwoo sighs and nudges you from behind, so you’ll move out of the way and let him pad across the expensive marble-look flooring in his socks to the kitchen. “Just take your shoes off and get your ass over here.”
After putting his shoes neatly aside and putting your own next to them, you shuffle over to the kitchen and perch yourself on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, where he’s rummaging through an extensive medical kit, which you hadn’t even seen him procure.
“Got the good stuff?” You joke, leaning over to peer into the bag. “Wait, is that morphine?” You gasp, reaching for the packet of pills, but he slaps your hand away.
“You don’t need morphine.”
“I’m in pain, Wonwoo,” you try, pouting at him, but he gives you a disbelieving look. “Ow.”
“You can have ibuprofen or paracetamol.”
“What kind of a gang member won’t give the good stuff?” You huff and turn away to peer at the kitchen. Honestly, you don’t even want morphine. You just wanted to see if he would give it to you, but you have your answer now and have no reason to push it.
“Are you an addict?”
“No, just bored.”
“So, you want drugs?”
“No. Just seeing how you’d react.”
“You’re very fucking weird, you know?”
“Yes,” you confirm and look at him before pointing to the fridge. “I’m guessing that’s empty?”
“Yeah, there’s long life stuff in the cupboards though, some military rations and instant ramen.”
“Good ol’ instant ramen.”
He just hums, then finally has everything he wants from the kit set up on the counter. “Alright, face me; let me get a look at the damage.” Obediently, you turn on the stool to face him as he moves closer while removing his jacket to toss onto the counter, leaving him a simple black t-shirt and jeans.
“How come you’re not in a suit like those assholes?”
“I’m off the clock.”
“Then why did you turn up?”
“My wife sent me a video of them beating you,” he informs, gently turning your head from side to side with one hand on your jaw delicately, to not aggravate the bruises on your skin. “Couldn’t let her do that to an innocent person.”
“Aw, how noble of you, Mr. Thug.”
“Not a thug.”
“Mm, sure.”
“I’m not.”
“I’ve seen your bruised knuckles when you’ve come into the restaurant, Wonwoo, the split lips and bruised cheeks. Even seen the outline of your weapon under your clothes. By that, I mean your gun.”
“What else could you mean?” You just giggle, and he sighs, understanding the euphemism, though he doesn’t grace you with a further reaction, not wanting to focus on that subject at all. “Don’t make me regret saving you.”
“No promises.”
Despite his stern expression and stiff posture, Wonwoo is gentle as he tends to your wounds attentively; talking as softly in his low voice as he can to warn you when he’s about to do something that might sting or asking you to move in various ways to give him better access.
“Alright, all done,” he declares sometime later when he straightens up and steps back from you, eyes still darting over your seated form for any wounds he’s missed.
“Thanks.”
“Mm, my fault anyway.”
“It is,” you agree, earning an unimpressed look from the man before he turns to start tidying up. “Is there anything to drink?”
“The tap water is safe,” he informs before opening one of the cupboards to pull out two glasses, which he fills from the cold tap then puts one on the counter in front of you. “I’ll get groceries in tomorrow. Write a list of whatever you want or need for the next week.”
“I’ve got to stay here for a week? I have a job, you know,” you point out before gratefully picking up the glass to gulp down the contents as he finishes cleaning up, his own glass of water barely touched.
“I know. Write a resignation and I’ll post it through the door tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to resign! I like that job!”
“They won’t hold out until you’re back, and I don’t know when that will be yet. We need to wait it out until my wife has given up tormenting you.”
“How long will that be?”
“No fucking clue, she’s been tormenting me for years.”
“I don’t understand why people stay with someone they don’t love anymore.”
Wonwoo doesn’t respond, and you think this is one of those circumstances where it’s really not your place to push, so you drop the topic.
Once Wonwoo is done cleaning up, including both of your drinking glasses, he leads you upstairs to one of the bedrooms. To your surprise, it looks fully furnished, even if there’s not any décor, but it’s more liveable than downstairs.
“Wow, a dresser and TV,” you whistle, eyeing the items as Wonwoo pulls the bedding off of the large bed.
“It came partially furnished,” he explains.
“There’s no TV in the living room.”
“I said partially.”
“Weird they put a TV in the bedroom before the living room.”
“The sockets are all there, they just didn’t get around to it. They were going to get custom TVs made for all the apartment living rooms, but didn’t get the chance before the project got shut down.”
“I didn’t know anyone bought an apartment.”
“Bought is a stretch,” he muses, piling the stale bedding by the door before grabbing another set from a drawer under the bed to sniff at, then shrugs and starts to make the bed.
“Is this technically squatting?”
“No.” He huffs a short laugh. “It’s my apartment, just more of a gift. The whole building is mine.”
“Ooh, check you out, Mr fancy property owner.” You move over to help fix the fitted sheet to the mattress, earning a grateful nod from the man. “What did you do to get this gift?”
“Let the CEO keep his life.”
“And he only gave you a single building in an unfinished building site? The audacity! If he values his life that much, he should’ve given you a lot more.”
“He offered me any building of his I wanted, he owns a lot in the city centre too, but I asked for this; I knew it’s out of the way. He promised to not try hard to get the site up and running again, so I’ll have privacy. Which, to me, is the most valuable thing anyway.”
“Mm, fair,” you concede and work alongside him to finish setting up the bed.
“I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere. The front door is already locked, and you won’t be able to unlock it. You can’t leave, so don’t bother trying,” he warns seriously before turning and leaving the bedroom.
With a sigh, you perch on the edge of the bed and wait, rubbing your feet over the fluffy rug below you, to twist your socks around and around your feet in boredom until he returns.
It’s almost ten minutes before he returns with a pile of fabrics in his arms and a basket of what looks like toiletries, with a toilet roll perched on top.
“You look like a maid,” you comment amusedly.
Wonwoo just sighs then puts the items on the bed. “Here, bathroom stuff. I’ll get you scents you like tomorrow, but you’ll have to use mine for now.” He hands you the basket, so you look at the toiletries curiously, popping the caps to sniff the contents and making pleased sounds.
“I like these.”
“Okay, saves me buying toiletries tomorrow.”
“I need sanitary items.” He looks at you. “My period is due soon.”
“Ah.” He blinks at you a few times dumbly before nodding. “Okay, just write down what you want, and I’ll get it.”
“Sounds like a plan; you know, provided you give me something to do that with.”
“Oh, right.” He chews on his lip thoughtfully before sighing and moving around to sit beside you as he pulls his phone from his pocket to unlock. “You’ll have to write it in a note on my phone, but I can’t let you use my phone blindly, so I’m going to watch.”
“Understandable,” you agree, accepting the device once he has his notes app open on a blank note, so that you can start typing out a list of items for him to buy at the shop tomorrow.
“Write your clothing sizes too. I have limited clothes myself here and just gave you one set to wear to bed. Oh, put detergent down, there isn’t any here. Put the brand if you’re particular about that stuff.”
“Nah, I’m good with whatever smells good and does the job,” you assure, while typing down ‘laundry detergent (nice smelling one)’. “Are there cleaning supplies?”
“I’ll get more,” he promises then motions to the list, so you write it down.
Although it should not be this easy to sit side by side and make a grocery list together, it is. It’s domestic, even, in a very, very, very weird fucking way. The man’s wife is out for your blood, due to her own delusional accusations against the pair of you, yet you’re sitting here making a grocery list together as if you’re actually roommates who regularly do this. Very strange indeed.
“Alright, that’s all I can think of,” you decide, after looking over the surprisingly extensive list one last time, before handing his phone back.
“I’ll go shopping in the morning before work,” he declares as he gets up and tucks his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll let you get some sleep now; you must be tired after all this shit.”
“Kinda pretty awake, actually. Does the TV work?”
“Should do, the one in my room works at least. There’s no Wi-Fi here though, so it’s just satellite channels.”
“If this one doesn’t work, we’re swapping rooms.”
“No,” he replies in a firm tone before exiting the room, pulling the door up behind him and leaving you in silence.
“Well, fuck you too,” you mutter and get up to use the bathroom. You change into the sweatpants and t-shirt he left for you before climbing into the slightly dusty smelling bed to turn on the TV.
Although you aren’t tired when you climb into bed, that quickly changes as you curl up under the covers with your eyes on the 90’s rom com playing on the TV, soon lulling you into a dreamless sleep.
In the morning, or whatever time it is when you tiredly trudge downstairs, you discover that Wonwoo is a man of his word.
There are various bags of shopping in the kitchen, all full of items from the shopping list. From clothes in the sizes that you wrote down, to perhaps far too many packets of sanitary towels; it seems that either Wonwoo has no idea how periods really work, or he intends to keep you for longer than just this cycle length. Either way, he listened and must’ve really tried hard to get everything on the list, with no regard to his financial state, as every piece of clothing has a brand name attached, not just cheap stuff from a superstore like you had expected him to buy.
Although you genuinely would be okay with the cheap stuff, and never quite see the appeal in such expensive clothing for daily wear, you appreciate it and make a mental note to thank him when you next see him.
A few minutes later, when you’re done perusing the contents of the bags and have moved to the fridge, you finally notice the brand-new magnetic whiteboard on the front with a note scrawled in black ink from Wonwoo.
It’s simple; just him telling you that he will be back in a few days to check on you, while also reminding you to not try to leave the apartment and also keep out of his room. You had no intention of going into Wonwoo's room, but now that he’s told you not to, you kind of want to.
For now, you just focus on making yourself something to eat before taking the shopping bags up to your room to make yourself at home for the foreseeable future.
It’s only been two days since Wonwoo left you all alone and you’re already so bored and restless that the moment you hear the beep of the lock disengaging on the front door, you’re rushing over from the kitchen to greet him like an excitable puppy.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He mutters with a bewildered frown as you crowd close and peer up at him.
“I’m bored, Wonwoo,” you whine, eyes flickering over his tired features. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” You finally back out of his personal space and take the bag from his hands as he works on removing his shoes and leather jacket, suit beneath today. The contents of the bag clinks as you take it, making you peer inside curiously. “Are you planning to mix wine and whiskey?” You wonder.
“No, just didn’t know what you’d prefer.”
“So, you bought wine for me?”
“No, that’s mine. I thought you’d be a whiskey girl, seem like the type to like the burn.”
“Ha,” you snigger. “You got me, but I’ll drink anything.” You take the bag into the kitchen, where you had been starting to make yourself dinner. “Hungry?”
“Fucking starving,” he confirms when he follows you a moment later, unbuttoning his suit jacket to remove and toss onto the dining table carelessly, eyes on the ingredients you have laid out on the kitchen island.
“Pour out,” you say, pointing to the wine bottle on the counter as you focus on getting extra ingredients out to cover Wonwoo’s portion too. He just hums and moves around to get out the wine glasses from the cupboard and corkscrew from the drawer.
As you cook, Wonwoo sits at the breakfast bar, head propped on his left fist and wine glass he’s slowly emptying, in his right. He hasn’t said a word since sitting down, just watches you work, and you’re honestly not even sure he’s entirely present. He looks like he could fall asleep any second, and you don’t think the wine he’s drinking is helping.
“Hey,” you call, tossing the cork, from where it lays on the counter, at him. He jerks back when it hits him on his forehead. He blinks at you dumbly, eyebrows furrowed in displeased surprise while you cackle at his expression. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep upright.”
“I’m fine,” he argues and drinks the last of the contents of his glass before reaching for the bottle to refill his glass, then your own, even if yours is still basically full.
“Bullshit.”
“Just focus on the fucking food.”
“Mm, alright, but if you fall asleep, I’m eating your share too.”
“Do that, and I’ll take you right back to my wife and let her do whatever the fuck she wants with you,” he warns, entirely serious.
“Wow,” you mutter, eyebrows raising as you take in the dangerous tint in his eyes. “You’re serious about your food, huh?”
“Only when it’s your cooking.”
“Damn, you must be sleep deprived to say shit like that.”
He sighs and slumps a little in his seat as he realises that you’re right. “It’s why she thinks I’m fucking you.”
“What?”
“Because I eat your cooking, go out of my way to eat it, and I never eat hers.”
“Ah, yes,” you hum, a sarcastic edge to your voice. “That age old saying; the way to man’s bed is through his stomach.”
Wonwoo lets out a chuckle and leans back on his fist as his eyes tiredly track your movements. “Knowing her dumbass, she actually thinks that’s right.”
“It obviously wasn’t her method.”
“She can’t cook for shit. It’s no wonder I don’t eat it.” His expression turns disgusted. “Even I cook better than her, and I can’t cook shit either.”
“That’s fucked up man; everyone should be able to cook at least two decent meals.”
“Never needed to and don’t exactly have the chance to learn how. She thinks she’s some kind of trophy wife and won’t let me in the kitchen to try.” He sighs and lets go of his glass to free his right hand so that he can rub at his eyes under his glasses. “She knows I’m hiding you, won’t stop fucking bugging me. Can’t get a minute’s fucking peace in that house at the moment.”
“Ah, that’s why you look like you haven’t been sleeping.”
“She doesn’t shut the fuck up when I’m there, so I’ve been avoiding it as much as possible. But at the end of the day, she’s my wife, so I can only avoid her so much.”
“Wild thought right here, but have you considered a divorce?” You muse and point to the plate cupboard, prompting him to get up and reach down two dinner plates to place on the side near you.
Instead of sitting back down, he starts to load up the dishwasher with the dishes, which you’ve been putting in the sink to deal with after dinner once you’ve finished using them. “Not as simple as that,” he mutters.
“Why not?”
“Just isn’t, and it’s none of your fucking business.”
“Thanks to you and your delusional wife, I have no business of my own anymore, so I have to be up in yours.”
“Well, don’t.”
“I’m fucking bored, Wonwoo.”
“Read a fucking book.”
“Nerd.” You don’t even look at him, but you don’t need to in order to know that he’s giving you a very unimpressed look; you can practically feel his gaze burning into the side of your face from over your left shoulder. “Either you give me all the gossip every time you visit, or you get me something to entertain me.”
“Like what?”
For a second, you almost say a sex toy or twelve, but you think he really would stop talking to you then, and he’s your only method of socialisation, so you hum thoughtfully instead. “I guess seeing as there’s no internet, and you wouldn’t trust me with access to the outside world even if there was, a games console with a bunch of games on disc to play will do.”
“You like video games?”
“Not really.” You shrug and finish plating up dinner. “I’ve been intrigued, but I’ve always been more into cooking and baking. That’s just not as fun when I’ve got no-one to share it with. I can game on my own, at least.”
“You like to bake too?” You hum in confirmation. “I didn’t know that.”
You can’t help but laugh shortly as you look at him incredulously. “Why would you know that? We don’t know shit about each other, Wonwoo,” you remind him.
“Ah, right.” He nods and takes the last pan to rinse then put in the dishwasher, while you take your plates to the table to set down. Wonwoo follows moments later with the wine and sits down opposite you. “This looks amazing, thank you.”
“Mm, of course. Not going to let the only person who can entertain me starve, am I?”
“Guess not,” he huffs a quick laugh and picks up his fork. “What kind of games do you want?”
“I don’t really know; a variety, maybe, so I can try different types.”
He makes a noise of understanding. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’re the best.” He gives you a raised eyebrow look. “At least the best I can do with no other option.” He scoffs a laugh, lips turning into a more genuinely amused smile as he turns back to his food yet says nothing and eats, so you do the same.
A few days later, Wonwoo is back just in time for dinner with his hands empty, making you squint at him sulkily as he nears where you’re setting the dishes on the table.
Last time when he left, it was the morning, and you were asleep in your room, so he had written another note on the whiteboard telling you when he’d be back; so today, you had made his favourite meal and sides from the restaurant. You had planned the timing for when he said he would be back, and thankfully, he is still a man of his word and arrived perfectly on time.
At least, with this, he is a man of his word, because he had said he’d bring you a games console and games, yet here he is, empty handed.
“What? I’m on time,” he defends as he sits down. He’s not in a suit today, but jeans and a plain black t-shirt. It must be nice to be so unfairly attractive that even such a simple outfit looks effortlessly incredible.
“And empty handed,” you mutter sulkily and drop down into your seat.
“It’s in the car,” he informs, rolling his eyes a little as he grabs his cutlery and immediately scoops a mouthful of food into his mouth.
You watch as he makes strange sounds as he tries to exhale the heat from his mouth while still chewing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You wonder, prompting him to look at you. “There is literally steam, of course it’s hot.”
“I’m starving,” he replies, only just managing to cover his mouth as he talks, so that you don’t see his partially chewed food. “Barely eaten since last time.”
“What the fuck? Why?” You gawp.
“Told you; she won’t let me in the kitchen, and I refuse to eat her cooking.”
“There are plenty of restaurants, even fucking convenience stores to get a sandwich or instant ramen!”
“Can’t eat that shit after having your cooking.” He shrugs. As if it’s no big deal. As if he hasn’t just essentially admitted he’d rather go hungry than eat food that you haven’t made.
Perhaps to him it’s nothing, but no one has ever sounded so committed to any aspect of you before, even if it’s a byproduct of you, not actually a part of you. But it still hits you right in the chest and makes you unable to do anything but stare at him dumbly as he continues to shove too much food in his mouth before it’s cool enough to be practical.
“I’ll bring it up after dinner,” he declares a few moments later, snapping you back to reality without looking up at you, still too focused on his food.
“What?”
“The shit in the car.”
“Oh, why didn’t you just bring it up with you?” You wonder as you pick up your cutlery to get started on eating your own serving.
“There’s too much shit for one trip, and I wanted to eat.”
“Too much shit?” You give him a questioning look when he glances at you. “How much did you buy, Wonwoo?”
“It’s not that.” He waves a dismissive hand. “You’ll understand later.”
After dinner, once he’s finished cleaning up, and while you sprawl over the still far too big couch in wait, Wonwoo goes down to the car and returns with a hand truck hauling multiple cardboard boxes. He unloads them into the lounge then leaves, after telling you to wait for him to be back. He locks you in the apartment once again before making another trip down to his car and returning without the hand truck, but now he has a suitcase that you recognise and a duffle bag you do not.
“Hold, did you break into my fucking apartment?!” you gawp as you sit up, pointing accusingly at the man.
“No. I have your keys.” He pulls your keys from his jacket pocket then tosses them onto the side console with his own as he removes his shoes.
“What the fuck, how?”
“My wife had them, remember?”
“Oh…” You nod a little in understanding. “I assume you will not be returning my phone to me.”
“No. It’s off and somewhere else. Can’t risk you turning it on and getting tracked,” he answers simply before walking over to start opening the biggest of the boxes, while you pout at his back.
It’s only when he pulls an old, boxy TV from the box, spilling packing foam everywhere, that your interest is pulled away from grieving the, hopefully temporary, loss of your phone.
“The fuck?” you mutter, rolling off of the couch to shuffle across the rug on your knees until you’re peering over his shoulder as he sets the TV up on the unit. “Excuse you, sir, but we are in the modern age.”
“Shut up, the console doesn’t work with our TVs,” he retorts.
“What console did you even buy?”
“I didn’t buy it. It’s one I’ve had since I was a kid, so you better fucking look after it,” he warns, giving you a stern look.
“I can respect other’s property, unlike you.” He gives you a bewildered look. “You broke into my apartment.”
“I had your fucking keys,” he reminds with a roll of his eyes before turning back around to return to setting up the outdated TV before pulling over another box to open.
“I didn’t give you permission to go there; you broke in.”
“I thought you’d want some of your own shit. Last time I try and do something fucking nice for your ungrateful ass.” You stare at him for a moment before shuffling closer to abruptly hug him from behind, making him jolt then tense up. “The fuck are you doing?”
“Being appreciative.”
“Well stop it; it’s fucking weird. Just go back to being an ungrateful shit.”
“No. You smell really nice, what cologne do you use? I want some.”
“I brought your perfume from your apartment, wear your own shit.”
“No, I like yours. Let’s swap.”
“Fuck off.” He shakes you off of him, making you snigger before you move over to open the last box, which looks brand new, to peer inside and notice random items from your apartment inside.
You don’t know why Wonwoo thought you’d want the novelty beer mat, which you stole from a bar, that you kept on your coffee table, but it’s in the box and makes you giggle when you see it. All the other items are much more understandable; your jewellery box, makeup bag, perfume, the blanket from your couch, and the teddy bear that sleeps with you.
“You got a boyfriend you didn’t mention?” He wonders, when he glances over and spots you holding the teddy and brushing your fingers over the soft fur. His eyes land on the love heart pattern of its t-shirt then he turns away.
“No.”
“Caught up on an ex?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Just wondering, damn.”
“Oh, so you get to dig into my love life, but I can’t yours?”
“Never fucking mind,” he grunts, all but glaring at the console as he sets it up.
You peer at him and sigh. “Fucking idiot man.” He turns his head to shoot you a warning look over his shoulder. “What? You are!”
“Watch your fucking mouth.”
“No.” You raise a challenging eyebrow when he turns further towards you; a clear attempt to silently intimidate you. “I know you’re not going to hurt me. If you were willing to let me get hurt, I wouldn’t still be here,” you reason logically.
Wonwoo continues to glare at you for a moment before he turns away with a grunted curse, making you snigger. “Stop being a brat, or I won’t be so nice from here on out.”
“Kinda sounds like a challenge to me, if I’m honest.” Your words make Wonwoo stop what he’s doing to sigh heavily, eyes closing as he takes a moment to gather himself. Deciding to leave Wonwoo alone, lest you actually make him lose his temper with you, you turn and look at the bear in your hands.
A bittersweet little smile lifts your lips as you think about Sangmin. He had gifted you the bear on Valentine’s day; he wasn’t hitting on you and made a big effort to let you know that. He had simply seen the bear and decided to use all the change he had in his pocket to buy it for you, as the most heartfelt thank you and sign of his appreciation for all the meals you make for him.
At this point, Sangmin really is your best friend, perhaps your only friend. You value him so greatly and constantly find yourself wondering and worrying over the man since Wonwoo’s wife kidnapped you a week ago. You’ve been his only source of stable sustenance for months now; you dread to think of how much he’s struggling to feed himself without you handing him a hot meal every night.
“Hey, uhm Wonwoo?” You call, tone quieter and uncertain. It makes Wonwoo stop what he’s doing to look over at you, but you’re still looking at that bear and don’t notice.
Wonwoo stares at you contemplatively for a moment; takes in the concerned furrow of your eyebrows and the tender way you handle the bear. “What is it?” He asks, his own tone softer now, noticing that whatever is on your mind is serious for you. He wasn’t aware you even know how to be genuinely serious like this. Even when you were tied to a chair by thugs getting bruised and battered, you didn’t seem like you were taking the situation all that seriously.
“Will you do me a big favour?”
“Depends.”
You sigh softly and look at him. “There’s a homeless man who I feed every night after work. He meets me outside of the restaurant and walks me home. He’s… I’m the only stable source of food he has. Will you check on him, buy him a meal? And assure him that I’m okay. He was there when those assholes took me.”
“Oh.” He silently watches you for a moment longer, in surprise at your genuine, selfless request, while you keep your sincere gaze glued to him. “He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”
“He’s my only friend, all I have here. He’s really a good guy; he’s got a giant heart and will always put others first. It’s how he lost everything; ran himself thin and got his kind nature taken advantage of. I need to know that he’s okay and will continue to be until I can go back and look after him.”
“Okay,” he agrees softly with a nod. “I’ll look out for him until it’s safe for you to leave.”
“Thank you.” You relax a little as you give him a grateful smile.
“You’re welcome.”
Although it’s usually a few days before you see Wonwoo, he turns up the day after you ask him to check on Sangmin.
When he enters the apartment, you’re sitting on the floor close to the boxy TV in the lounge, playing one of the games on his childhood game console.
“Oh, didn’t expect you today, would’ve started dinner if I knew you’d be here,” you comment, after flickering your gaze over to him, then focus back on the screen.
“Why does that sound like you won’t eat dinner if I don’t turn up?” he accuses, approaching, sans shoes, to sit on your left, grab the other controller from in front of the console, and immediately jumps into the game with you.
“When I get hungry, I’ll eat. I don’t have any kind of schedule to keep, you do.” Wonwoo makes a noise of understanding in response yet says nothing more.
Until the end of the level, you’re both focused entirely on the game and only talk when Wonwoo gives you tips and guidance. He played this game many times in his youth, so he knows it far better than you, even if it’s been some years since he last played it.
“What’s for dinner then?” Wonwoo prompts, plucking the controller from your hand to place down as the level ends.
“Uhh, fuck knows,” you answer with a shrug before getting up and shuffling to the kitchen. “Why are you here, anyway?”
“In case you forgot; it’s my fucking apartment,” he scoffs, turning off the TV, after saving the game properly. Once the console and TV are both turned off, Wonwoo saunters over to the kitchen to lean on the island at the opposite side to you, with his forearms laid flat on the granite surface and fingers casually laced together.
“You got a thing for cooking, or something?” You wonder upon realising that he’s watching you with the same interest he always does when you’re cooking. Then again, maybe he’s just making sure you don’t slip poison into his portion. It’s only been just over a week since you met, so you wouldn’t blame him for being cautious.
“Just curious. I told you; I can’t cook for shit.”
“Then wash your hands and get around here,” you demand. “No better way to learn than by doing.”
“You serious?” he mumbles as he straightens up. You just hum. Wonwoo stares at you for a moment before moving to roll up his shirt sleeves, wash his hands and then join you for his first ever cooking lesson.
It’s hours after Wonwoo arrives that you find out why he broke what you thought was going to be the schedule for his visits.
Cooking dinner takes almost three times as long as normal with him at your side; for a gang member he’s ridiculously cautious with the kitchen knife you instruct him to use. Then, the two of you get distracted talking about the video games you’ve tried, so eating dinner takes longer than normal too.
So, here you are, four hours after he arrived, returning to the lounge to relax on the couch. You’re both very glad to have a comfortable seat after the past four hours of sitting on the hard floor, standing to cook and clean, and barely cushioned dining chairs.
“Oh, I went to the restaurant while I was in the area today,” he informs, drawing your attention to him, instead of staring at the little spread of video games on the floor by the TV unit as you try to decide what to play next. Wonwoo is already looking at you and when you look at him, he continues talking, knowing that you’re now paying attention. “Met Sangmin.” You straighten up a little, eyes widening slightly in silent question, silent concern for your friend. “He…well, I won’t lie; he looks like shit.”
“How bad?”
“He’s barely eaten or slept since you were taken,” he answers. “He’s been looking for you, asking around where he can and got into some trouble a couple days ago; so, he looked fucked up too.”
“Fuck.”
“Mm.”
“You gotta let me go see him.”
“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Wonwoo scoffs and shuffles to slouch down and let his head rest on the back of the couch as he turns his face skywards, looking at nothing in particular on the ceiling. “My wife is still after you; you’re staying right fucking here.”
“I can’t let him suffer!”
“I know,” he rolls his eyes before tilting his head just enough to peer at you lazily from the edge of his vision. “I told you that I’d look out for him until you can do it, and I’m a man of my word.”
“What did you do?” You ask softly, your worry starting to melt away. Something about Wonwoo really does make you believe him, at least about this; that he’s a man of his word. You trust him about this, as crazy as it is to trust the husband of the woman who fucking kidnapped you and had her minions beat you up because of her delusions.
“Put him up in a motel and gave him some cash for food. It should last him a couple weeks, provided he doesn’t fucking waste it.” He turns his face to the ceiling again, no longer looking at you as he yawns. “I’ll check on him in a few days and keep you updated.”
“Ah.” Your head bobs a little in approval as relief swims through your veins and warms your chest. “Thank you, Wonwoo, seriously.”
“Mm, I’m counting this as it makes us even for my fucking psychotic bitch of a wife kidnapping and beating the shit out of you.”
“She didn’t beat the shit out of me. That would’ve been entertaining. Does she even know how to fight?” Wonwoo’s scoff is answer enough that no, his wife doesn’t know the first thing about fighting. “She would’ve broken her hand trying to break my face or something.”
“Doesn’t do shit with her hands, anyway, wouldn’t make a fucking difference if she broke them.”
“Oh?” You grin slyly at him, even if he isn’t looking at you. “She’s more of a mouth kinda girl, huh?” Now Wonwoo looks at you, utterly unimpressed and borderline glaring, making you giggle. “What?”
“My sex life is none of your fucking business.”
“Never mentioned you,” you muse with a shrug. “A lot of people who accuse others of cheating tend to be projecting their own misdeeds.”
“Know from experience?”
“Mm, yeah, been accused of cheating many times. I guess we’re similar in that regard; loyal to our partners even if they don’t believe it.” You shrug and get up to turn the TV on, then sit in front of the console to eject the cartridge to put away in the correct case.
“Not playing that one anymore?” he murmurs, rolling his head to watch you peruse the selection of games.
“How tired are you? You’ve yawned like three times since sitting down.”
“I can go a few rounds, if you’re asking.” You immediately smirk over your shoulder at him. “Keep it in your fucking pants, pervert.”
“I respect the sanctity of marriage, even if it’s a loveless one,” you assure and turn back to the games, to select one to put into the slot and boot up the console. “I tried to play this earlier, but I kept dying, and it pissed me off. I think it’ll be easier in multiplayer though.”
“Mm, it is,” he confirms and stretches noisily before joining you on the floor, handing you a pillow to sit on while sitting on one himself, and accepts the controller you give him. As the game loads up and the start credits play, Wonwoo explains the basic idea of the game to you in a low voice, adding little tips about the controls and secret moves that will help you survive the beasts and tricks designed to overwhelm single players.
With Wonwoo at your side, the game is so much easier, and you enjoy yourself so much that you don’t realise the time pass, until Wonwoo declares that it’s close to sunrise, and he needs to get at least a couple hours of sleep before work. He leaves you to try some bonus levels that you unlocked together, but it’s not as fun alone, so you give up and go to bed as the sun rises, while silently looking forward to Wonwoo’s next visit.
Even though, most of the time, the apartment is pretty boring alone, you manage to keep yourself busy gaming, cooking, and cleaning every inch of the apartment repeatedly. Sometimes, it feels like time drags, yet it also feels like you merely blink, and it’s been over a month since Wonwoo locked you up here. You can’t tell exactly how long it’s been with your lack of sleeping schedule without the man around, but an educated guess puts it at, roughly, almost five weeks.
At first, every time you see Wonwoo, you ask if his wife has stopped being a psycho yet and if you can go home. You’re never surprised when he says no, to both questions, and tells you that you need to stay a while longer.
Then, the man’s visits change, and it’s not three days between visits; sometimes it is, but sometimes it’s less. Though soon enough, Wonwoo is at the apartment every single day. If not to stay the night in his bed and take advantage of not having to share a bed with his wife, then to simply spend a few hours with you to eat and game.
Though sometimes, he turns up and just lays on the couch to nap for no more than an hour before he leaves without a word. He always looks utterly exhausted on those days. You can’t help but wonder if this apartment is the most practical place for him to crash when he needs a nap during the day. Surely, the man has safe houses closer into the city centre; ones easier to get to and that don’t take as much of his time with travel. But you never bring it up; honestly, you’re just glad for the company, however wordless it is.
For a little while, you stop asking him when you can leave. It clearly annoyed him that you asked every time he visited, but it also frustrated you to never have an actual answer as to when you can go home. There’s only so long you can live in this apartment before you lose a grip on yourself and get reckless.
It’s probably been almost two weeks since you last asked, so you think it’s about time you bring it back up again, even if it’s 3pm and Wonwoo has clearly arrived with the intention of napping.
You’re in the process of making yourself lunch when he enters the apartment, so he’s drawn to the kitchen after removing his shoes and jacket, where he slouches at the island and gratefully starts to eat the sandwich you place in front of him. It was supposed to be yours, but you can make another, he looks like he needs it.
“When can I go home?” You ask bluntly, causing Wonwoo to stop chewing mid bite and look over at you, but you’re focused on your task and don’t notice, until you flick your gaze up at his silence. “Well?”
Wonwoo lets out a heavy breath through his nose and gets back to chewing. Once he’s swallowed, he answers in a way you hadn’t expected. Usually, he always says either ‘not yet’ or a flat ‘no’. Yet today, he finally gives you a more solid answer, “depends.”
It’s just one word, but it makes hope start to flutter in your chest.
“On?” you ask, with your full attention on him, suddenly not all that hungry when faced with the potential sweetness of freedom just around the corner.
“If you’re willing to learn how to use a gun and carry one on you at all times.”
Just like that, the fluttering in your chest ceases and the excitement that had started to warm your veins is sucked away as if it had never known a home in you in the first place. “You’re insane, aren’t you?” you accuse with a scoff and turn back to making your lunch.
“I can’t let you leave if you can’t defend yourself; I’ll end up following you all the fucking time to make sure you’re safe,” he reasons, waving a hand vaguely before taking a bite of his sandwich.
“It’s not really any of your business,” you point out while looking at him. “I appreciate that you protected me in the first place, but you’ve done the noble thing; you don’t have to do anything else.”
Wonwoo looks up at you as if you’re stupid. “I do if I want you to be safe.”
“As long as she’s alive, I won’t be safe, not really.”
“Are you suggesting I kill my wife?” he baulks in disbelief at the potential insinuation within your words.
You shake your head and pull a face as if he’s the stupid one this time. “No…” your expression morphs into something considering as your head tilts slightly, while pondering his words. “Though, it would be a two birds one stone situation.”
Wonwoo’s whole expression furrows. “Fucking hell, all this time locked up with only an asshole like me for company has warped your mind. You’ve gone fucking insane.”
“Always been there.” You shrug casually. “I don’t think a man who goes against his wife to protect another is an asshole, anyway.”
“I’m literally in a gang,” he deadpans.
“Yeah, and?” You give him an unwavering look. “I’ve met much worse people than you in my life, Wonwoo, and I will again. You’re sweet in comparison.”
“I’ve really fucked your head up, haven’t I?”
“Told you, I’ve always been like this”.
“Calling gang members sweet?”
“Once or twice.”
He raises a disbelieving eyebrow as if he isn’t even sure if he heard you correctly. “What?”
“Look, let’s not get off track,” you decide, while waving a hand dismissively. Wonwoo eyes the knife that you wave around vaguely but you don’t pay his borderline concerned expression any attention. “I want to go home. I have people waiting for me, and there’s only so long until they come looking, so, I’d like to go before that happens.”
“You live alone; I’ve seen your apartment, it’s barely big enough for you. And your neighbours definitely wouldn’t notice if you don’t return; they say you’re never home,” he points out.
“Stalker. Maybe your wife did have reason to worry, huh?”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t start that shit; you know we never had an affair because we had never even fucking met properly until she kidnapped you!”
“Defensive,” you tease.
“You’ve really fucking lost it,” he declares flatly.
“Then let me fucking leave, and you won’t have to deal with me anymore!” you exclaim frustratedly.
“I want to deal with you!” he returns immediately, before you both fall silent and stare at one another. You’re both surprised by the sheer honesty in his words, that they even fell from his lips in the first place.
You gather yourself and manage to speak first, deciding to make a joke to try and break the strange tension that’s appeared in the air between you. “Better not let your wife hear that; she’ll jump to conclusions. Unless you mean the permanent ‘sleep with the fishes’ kind of ‘deal with’, then she’ll probably suck your dick in joy.”
Just as Wonwoo opens his mouth to respond, eyes intense on you, his phone starts to ring in his inside blazer pocket. He sighs heavily before pulling it out and walking down the hall to talk privately in one of the empty rooms.
When he returns, you’re sitting at the table eating your lunch and have packed up the rest of his into a container, already knowing that he’s being called into work.
“We’ll finish that talk later,” he declares as he grabs the container from the island behind you.
You don’t even look over at him as you respond, “pointless circles don’t end, Wonwoo.”
You don’t see him leave, or hear his socked footsteps walk away, but a few moments later, you hear the front door open and close before the lock engages, and you’re left alone wondering just what the fuck your life has come to.
You just hope that he gives you control of your life back soon; before things get even more fucked up.
Never would you have thought Wonwoo to be the type of person to avoid difficult situations or topics; you thought he’s far too straightforward to ever do such a thing. But when he doesn’t turn up the day after your interrupted discussion in the kitchen, you start to wonder if you got him wrong.
Then he doesn’t turn up the next day either, and you really think that’s being a little bitch and avoiding returning so that he doesn’t have to pick up that conversation with you.
Yet, on the third day, you recall that he was the one who had said you’ll finish the talk another day and as he’s proven; Jeon Wonwoo is a man of his word. You believe him, and suddenly, you don’t think he’s avoiding you but has likely grown very busy with work or his psychotic wife.
However, when day four rolls around, you start to get worried that something has happened. Admittedly, you’ve grown fond of Wonwoo over the past weeks; his stupid smug smirk when he beats you at a game, his proud little shy smile when you praise his very gradually improving cooking skills, his soft snoring when he naps on the couch in the middle of the day.
Sometimes, you truly do wonder if this is what Stockholm syndrome is: growing to actually like the person who has locked you up and genuinely wanting to spend time with them. You think others would probably say it is and that you shouldn’t care for the man. But he makes it easy, as much as you don’t want to have this attraction for him. You think that if you had got to know him under different circumstances, you’d probably feel the same way, anyway.
Regardless of if the man is technically holding you hostage or not, he’s married, and you respect that commitment and vow too much to ever want to have feelings for a married man.
Still, you can’t help how you feel, and you worry when it’s past dinner time on the fourth day, yet Wonwoo still hasn’t shown his face.
Now that you’re worried about Wonwoo, you can’t face gaming because it makes you think of him. So, you spend most of the day scrubbing the apartment from top to bottom, until everything that can sparkle, does. You even clean the rooms neither of you use.
You’re in the middle of putting the freshly washed and dried pillow covers back on the couch pillows when the sudden sound of the front door lock disengaging pings through the quiet apartment.
Immediately, you look over, and your eyebrows lift as Wonwoo shuffles into the apartment, covered in blood. He doesn’t notice you at first as he locks the apartment back up one handed. His right hand is shoved into his trouser pocket suspiciously, like he’s trying to not move it, or perhaps not let you see it.
“What the fuck?” You speak, making Wonwoo’s head lift quickly.
Worry floods into his eyes, and he lifts his left hand placatingly towards you, after tossing his blood smeared car keys onto the side unit. “It-” he cuts off when you point firmly at his feet as soon as he takes a step forward, making him fall still in confusion.
“Stay there,” you order before turning and walking off, leaving Wonwoo staring after you puzzled.
You go to the laundry room to grab the stack of spare, dark grey towels, then go to the kitchen to get the roll of bin bags, before returning to the entrance hall. Thankfully, Wonwoo is still standing where you left him, though he’s removed his shoes now, and they’re haphazardly shoved aside.
“Strip,” you demand, while dropping the towels onto the floor so that you can pull a bag from the roll and shake it open.
“What?” he mumbles.
“You’re covered in blood, and I spent three hours scrubbing these fancy ass floors of yours today; you’re not getting blood on them,” you warn, giving him a stern look.
He scoffs but obediently starts to do as told and moves both of his hands to his belt to start working it open. His right hand is bloodied, but it doesn’t look that much worse than his left hand, so you assume he wasn’t hiding it from you. “May as well be your floors, you’ve lived here more than me,” he mumbles as he works with a tense expression on his face, which tightens every time he moves his right arm even minutely.
“Well then, I’m definitely not letting you fuck up my floors with your blood. Don’t be rude and bleed on my fancy ass floors.”
Once Wonwoo’s belt is open, along with the button and zipper of his trousers, he starts to try and push them down his legs, but the blood oozing from the stab wound on his left thigh is making the material stick to his thighs. Plus, now that he’s moving it more, you can see that there is definitely something wrong with his right arm, as he can barely move it. In fact, he’s only moving the lower part of his arm, but even that is limited.
Realising that you’ll be here all night, if not longer, if you leave Wonwoo to strip himself, you sigh and put the bin bag down to get to your knees in front of him, so that you can peel his trousers down his legs for him. Wonwoo says nothing, but he lets out a relieved little breath, clearly glad for your help, and steps out of his trouser legs in turn as you hold them open. Once they’re entirely off, you make sure the pockets are empty before tossing them, including the belt, into the bin bag.
Silently, you work to remove Wonwoo’s socks, then get up to get him out of his blazer and previously white, now half blood-red shirt; all of the clothing you throw into the bag to throw out and put everything from his pockets on the side unit.
As Wonwoo stands in front of you in his black boxers and previously white vest, you can see the strange shape of his right shoulder. It’s very clear to you what’s wrong with it.
“It’s dislocated, isn’t it?” you question; Wonwoo wordlessly hums and nods in confirmation. “Alright, I’ll cut your vest off,” you decide, knowing that getting Wonwoo to lift his arms up is very impractical. You move over to the side table to grab the knife, which you had removed from a hidden inside pocket in Wonwoo’s blazer, and remove the little leather sheath from the blade, before turning to approach him with the knife.
Wonwoo steps back slightly, holding his left hand up between you with slightly alarmed eyes. “Whoa, what the fuck? You can’t just approach a man with a knife like that.”
You can’t help but scoff at his obvious hesitance and concern about you holding a knife only half an arm’s length away from him. “Don’t be a wimp. You’ve clearly been stabbed already tonight; what’s another flesh wound?”
“You’re more psychotic than my wife,” he deadpans, left arm lowering to his side, deciding that you’re no threat now that the immediate worry has left. You’re right; he’s definitely already faced much bigger threats to his safety than you tonight.
“Careful, sweetheart,” you coo and tap the tip of the knife against the centre of his chest. You can’t help but notice the way he swallows thickly at your action and his eyes darken a little with interest. “Insult me again like that and my hand might slip.” You abruptly lower the knife to the hem of his vest and use it to ping the elastic of his boxers. His eyes darken further, and you smirk amusedly. “That’s an interesting reaction to having a knife aimed at your dick.”
“That’s not my dick,” he murmurs, voice a little lower than usual.
“Huh, right.” You look down as you drag the knife down to touch the tip to where his dick is obviously sitting snug in his boxers, before looking back up at him. “Better?”
He takes a moment before responding, eyeing you intently; you can practically see the thoughts whirling behind his eyes, “you’re not the woman I thought you are, are you?”
You shrug. “Depends who you thought I am.”
“A sweet, innocent cook, who makes the best food I’ve ever tasted.”
“Well, some of that is true,” you giggle before lifting the knife to cut down the centre of his vest. Now that it’s served its purpose, you toss the knife onto the side table and remove the stained and ruined material from his body to put in the bin bag. “Alright, let’s get a look at you,” you say, before walking around him in a slow circle to carefully inspect his injuries, and silently appreciate his well looked after body while you’re at it. “Let’s put your shoulder back in place, get you cleaned up, and then I’ll patch you up,” you announce once you’re back in front of him.
Wonwoo raises a questioning eyebrow. “You know how to do all that?”
“Yep,” you answer simply without a single slither of hesitation. It’s enough that Wonwoo doesn’t question you at all and just nods in agreement.
Honestly, it’s not the first shoulder you’ve put back into place, or joint in general, so even though it’s not the most pleasant sensation in any way, you easily make short work of the task.
While Wonwoo catches his breath back and gathers himself, you lay a towel on the ground in front of him, to minimise the amount of blood that ruins your hours of hard work cleaning the floor.
Once he’s ready, Wonwoo doesn’t have to be prompted to step onto the towels. He does so quietly and then looks at you in wait.
“What?” you ask.
“How the fuck am I supposed to move from here if you don’t move the towels? Unless you want blood on your floors?” he reasons, raising a blood smeared eyebrow at you.
“Oh, honey, there’s only one reason I get on my knees in front of a man, and that’s not gonna happen,” you point out with a scoff. “Shuffle.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Either stand there until you’re entirely dry and won’t get my floors dirty, or you can shuffle.” You shrug carelessly and pick up the rest of the towels to take to the stairs, so that you can lay the material out over the steps protectively.
When you turn around on the stairs, once all of the towels are laid in place, you spot Wonwoo awkwardly shuffling along the floor in a way to keep the towel under his feet. You can’t help but crack up laughing at the sight of this tough, blood covered and injured, high-ranking gang member dragging his feet across the floor; silently obeying your demands to keep the floor clean. And you hadn’t even had to threaten to make him clean any mess he creates with his own toothbrush in the morning; though that definitely would’ve been the next step if he had been a stubborn ass.
Wonwoo hears your laughter and glares over at you shortly before looking back down to focus on his efforts to get to the staircase. It only makes you laugh even harder, hard enough that you have to sit down so you don’t fall down the stairs.
A handful of moments later, when he passes you on the stairs, he flicks your head. You just giggle then get up to follow behind him up the rest of the steps. There’s already a towel waiting on the floor at the top, so Wonwoo, once again, shuffles across the shiny floor on a dark towel to get to his destination.
Even once in his bathroom, Wonwoo remains on the towel and follows you to the shower, which you turn on, on his behalf.
Once you’ve made sure he has everything he needs close to hand and a clean pair of boxers waiting for him on the counter, you turn to look at him with a teasing grin. “Can I trust you to shower on your own, or are you going to pass out from blood loss?”
“I haven’t lost that much blood,” he huffs, rolling his eyes.
You giggle and nod, backing up to the door. “Alright, I’ll wait outside, though.” Wonwoo just nods in understanding, so you step out of the bathroom and pull the door up most of the way just in case he needs you.
Leaving the door open seems to have been a very smart move, because not long later, you hear Wonwoo call your name awkwardly. You can only just hear him over the water, so you know that if the door was shut, there would not have been a chance you’d be able to hear him.
“Yeah?” You ask, sticking your head into the room to find him standing out of the stream of water, with his still bloody back mostly to the door, and his hands holding a small towel in front of his crotch, even if you can’t see anything from this angle regardless of the cover.
“I can’t reach my back well enough with my arm like this,” he admits, making short eye contact with you as he indirectly asks for your help.
Without a word, you enter the room and grab the soapy washcloth he offers, so that you can diligently scrub all of the blood from his back, then notice he’s missed patches on his left upper arm, so you clean there too.
“Alright, inspection time,” you declare before looking over the back of him from head to toe and back again, to thoroughly check for injuries that need to be dealt with and any blood he missed. “Turn,” you demand once satisfied with his backside, and also taking a moment to appreciate his backside.
Obligingly, Wonwoo turns to face you and watches you as your gaze travels over his body from this angle, stepping closer to get a better look at certain injuries or run the cloth over his skin diligently.
When you’re done with all of the exposed skin, your attention moves to the towel he’s clutching over his crotch before you grin amusedly and meet his dark gaze. “What if you’re injured there, Wonwoo?” you tease with a dramatic gasp.
“Don’t,” he warns. “I’m not giving any truth to my wife’s delusions about us, so don’t…don’t say and do stuff like that when I’m in no position to handle it.”
“I’m curious what exactly that means,” you admit.
“Then be curious, I’m not elaborating.”
You stare at him curiously for a moment before nodding. “Finish up and get those on.” You point to the clean boxers on the counter as you head to the door. “I’ll be back with the medical kit.”
It only takes you a few minutes to go to the kitchen and get the very extensive medical kit from the secret compartment hidden in the kitchen island, plus a bottle of water and an apple.
Deciding to be kind to Wonwoo’s currently somewhat limited movements, you clean up the dirty towels from the stairs, putting them all in the bin bag, plus Wonwoo’s shoes, before tying it off and leaving it near the front door for Wonwoo to take out tomorrow.
Figuring that Wonwoo must be in a decent state by now, you wander upstairs with the necessary items and enter the bathroom, to find him leaning against the counter with his boxers on and a small towel in his left hand as he rubs his hair.
He pauses when he notices the bag slung on your left shoulder. “The fuck did you get that?”
“Did you forget where you left it?” You tease, putting the items on the counter beside him.
“I know where I hid that. How the fuck did you find it?”
“I know every inch of this apartment, Wonwoo; I’ve cleaned it enough the past month.” You scoff then take the towel to toss aside so that you can hand him the apple. “Eat that.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t give a fuck; eat that and drink the water,” you demand, already rummaging in the bag to take out everything you need to play doctor.
Wonwoo stares at you for a few seconds, then looks between the items you’re setting up and your at ease yet confident expression, a few times before giving in with a soft sigh and taking a bite of the apple.
The first wound to deal with is the stab wound on his left thigh; there’s still a little blood trickling from it, but it doesn’t run past his knee, so you know he’s clotting well, and there isn’t any worry really. Still, it’s the biggest of his injuries, so you handle it first.
As soon as you get on your knees in front of him, Wonwoo makes a comment, “thought you only get on your knees for one reason?” he teases with a little smirk, which quickly leaves when you slap his leg right beside the wound, making him hiss. “Fuck you.”
You only smile too sweetly at him before getting to work sewing up the wound as quickly yet efficiently as you can. There’s anaesthetic in the medical kit, but Wonwoo insists he can handle getting stitches without it. Still, being repeatedly stabbed with a needle and having the thread pulled through skin is not a nice or pain free sensation for anyone, so you want to get it over with as quickly as possible.
After cleaning up the blood and covering his thigh, you get up to work on disinfecting and covering all of his other wounds. Most of them are small, and many don’t even require plasters, but there’s a cut across his chest; slicing thinly over his left pec with a starting point over his heart, where the wound is slightly deeper. You’re pretty sure that whoever inflicted this wound had tried to stab him in the heart and kill him, but either Wonwoo or someone else stopped them before they could succeed.
You don’t linger on it, but it does hurt your heart to see, far more than the wound on his thigh, despite that one requiring stitches, and this one only some gauze to prevent infection. At least the thigh wound wasn’t an attempt on Wonwoo’s life.
Once all of the open wounds are dealt with, all you have to do is wrap his right shoulder to support the joint as it recovers from being dislocated, and then you’re all done.
“You’re really fucking good at this; are you trained or something?” Wonwoo comments as you wash your hands and he’s eyeing your handiwork impressed.
“Or something,” is your dismissive response.
He scoffs and looks over at you. “Now who’s evading questions.”
“Don’t owe you shit,” you point out and move to dry your hands.
“I saved your life.”
“Because your delusional wife put it in danger in the first place. That’s not on me.”
“Not on me either.”
It’s you who scoffs this time as you think about the tension that keeps appearing between the two of you lately and how he didn’t even try to hide how holding his knife to him earlier had turned him on. It all seems so natural for him; being this way with you. “You can’t expect me to believe she’s accusing you of cheating for no reason.”
He frowns at you offendedly, and you’re not surprised; you’ve kind of had this conversation before. “Yeah, she’s fucking crazy and projecting her own failings on me. I have never been unfaithful to her or anyone. Never will be either.”
For a few tense moments, the pair of you just stare at each other and the whole time, Wonwoo’s expression doesn’t change; the burning sincerity in his eyes doesn’t waver. You think maybe you might trust this man too much, because it makes all of your doubts about his relationship morals leave. “Huh, okay,” you respond simply with a nod and move to zip up the medical bag.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” his voice is a little quieter now, a hint of hurt at your doubt of him showing.
“No, I do, which is why I’m surprised,” you assure and turn to lean against the counter and look at him, so that he can see the honesty in your own eyes. It’s only fair, after all. “Gang member with morals; kinda not the norm.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t see the point in it. If I wanted to fuck other people, I wouldn’t be committed to someone.”
“Even if it’s someone you don’t want to be with in the first place? Obviously, there’s no love lost in you for her, no love in the first place,” you comment.
“That’s not your place,” he reminds firmly.
“Just following the conversation. Your pathetic excuse of a marriage isn’t of any concern of mine.” You shrug and push off of the counter to head towards the door.
“Don’t insult the man in charge of your freedom,” he warns lowly, making you turn to look at him with a scoffed laugh.
“Why? What else are you going to do, Wonwoo? Send me back to her and let her have her fun?”
Wonwoo’s expression softens slightly, and he shakes his head a little. “No. Never that,” he responds without a hint of hesitation or doubt in his tone. It sounds something like a promise.
“Then are you going to keep me and have your own fun?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow at him pointedly.
“I told you not to say things like that,” he rushes, gaze turning intense as he eyes you where you stand in the open doorway. His eyes flicker downwards; a quick drag of attention over your entire form, and his tongue darts out to lick his split lip mindlessly.
You can’t help but laugh. “Look whose mind is in the gutter,” you taunt. “I meant fuck me up yourself, not fuck me.” You back out into the hallway slowly, while giving him a significant look. “Think you need to remind yourself of your loyalty moral, Wonwoo. A lot of people consider looking or thinking bad enough to be cheating. If you don’t want your darling wife to be right, you should get a handle on that.” Your gaze flickers over the bathroom quickly before landing back on him. “Oh, and clean the bathroom before you go to bed; I won’t cook for you tomorrow if I see a single drop or smear of blood in here tomorrow.”
With that, you leave Wonwoo watching you leave him all alone with his mind whirling and a growing ache in his chest that he doesn’t think is entirely from the wound you so tenderly cared for.
The very next day when you wander downstairs, it’s gone midday, and to your surprise, Wonwoo is in the kitchen, serving up take out onto two plates.
“Oh, you’re up, good,” he comments when he hears the rustle of your clothes as you get closer. He glances over at you, gaze flickering over you quickly before focusing back on his task. “I was about to come and wake you.”
“You picked up lunch on your way over?” you mutter confusedly, Wonwoo never brings food when he visits, except groceries after picking up a list from you the day before.
“No, I went and got lunch when I realised you’re not going to come down, and I’m too fucking hungry to wait any more.”
“That sounds like you didn’t go to work today.”
“Called off for a few days to recover,” he informs and takes the plates over to the table. “Sit,” he says while pointing to your seat, before moving to get you both cutlery and drinks.
Not one to refuse free food, you sit down, and thank him when he hands you your cutlery before digging in; he quickly joins in.
“So,” Wonwoo starts after a little while of the usual comfortable quiet that falls between you if neither of you are talking. It’s strange how easy the silences between you have always been; even before you became whatever kind of vague friends you currently are.
“Mm?” you respond with your mouth closed as you chew, looking up at him curiously.
“I was thinking that as I’m going to be off work for a few days, you can give me more cooking lessons.”
You straighten up to look at him in questioning surprise. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, why are you surprised? You know I want to learn.”
“Yeah, but that sounds like you intend on spending your days off here instead of at home.”
“She’s there,” he responds as if it’s the obvious answer, while pulling a displeased face.
You snort an amused laugh at his expression. “Good point. Alright, sure, I’ll teach you, but you gotta call me Chef.”
“What?”
“Chef.”
“You’re fucking ridiculous.”
“Oh, looks like you’re going to forever burn eggs, Wonwoo,” you sing.
“Alright, fine, I’ll fucking call you Chef, but only while we’re cooking, understand?”
“Yes, sir.” He gives you a flat look that makes you giggle. You turn back to your food and ignore the flash of interest in his gaze.
Over the following days, Wonwoo is always up before you and quickly realises that you need to be woken up if he wants something other than takeout or a sandwich for lunch.
A routine of sorts quickly gets established; Wonwoo wakes you before lunch, so that you can cook together, then he cleans up, at his own insistence, while you get the medical kit ready in the lounge to check and redress his wounds once he joins you. The afternoon consists of a mix of chores and gaming. In the evening, it’s time for another cooking session for dinner before he once again cleans up. Then, the two of you sit in the lounge to game or watch the videos on the video player, which he brought back on his first day off; another one of his childhood items he’s had safely stored away.
It all falls into place so seamlessly that it’s like the two of you have always existed like this, even if the seemingly endless personal questions that Wonwoo likes to randomly bring up prove otherwise.
Sometimes, you answer honestly, but others you don’t, and it’s endlessly entertaining watching Wonwoo try to decipher if you’re being honest or just fucking with him.
It starts with the very first question on the very first day he’s off work, when you’re expertly handling his wounds and the medical supplies. “Where’d you learn to do this?”
“What’s it to ya?” you tease.
“Just curious about you.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve known you over a month, and I don’t know shit about you, despite you living in my apartment, and that shit’s going to keep up for the foreseeable future. So, it’d be nice to know some shit,” he huffs.
You hum consideringly as you ponder his words, before answering while continuing to clean and redress his thigh wound. “When I was fifteen, I was out with my sister, and we got caught in the middle of some gang shit. She got hurt bad, really bad, and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I couldn’t save her; I didn’t know how. She bled out in my arms, and I decided then that I wasn’t going to be so useless again. I learned how to handle most wounds with both real medical supplies, and whatever is to hand in case of an emergency.”
“Oh…”
“If I was home, I would’ve put on my latex nurse’s outfit too,” you add as you look up at him and spot the softness around his eyes; the sympathy and understanding pain.
It abruptly leaves at your words, and he lets out a frustrated, disbelieving sound. “You fucking asshole; I actually believed you,” he grunts disapprovingly, and you just snigger, returning back to your task.
Despite knowing that you’re actively messing with him, Wonwoo still insists on asking you personal questions to try and get a clearer image of you and your story. It’s a great source of entertainment for you, personally, so you don’t mind. Plus, he’s always so helpful; offering his assistance and cleaning dishes before you can even think about it, that you think he deserves the chance to poke around a little.
On the fourth day of Wonwoo being off work, you wake when Wonwoo knocks on your bedroom door then lets himself in. You eye him blearily as you shuffle up to sit against the headboard, while he walks further into the room.
“Are you ever going home?” you mumble, while rubbing at your eyes. When you lower your hands, he’s placing a tray, which you somehow didn’t even notice him holding, on the duvet at your side and sitting on the other side. You notice the plate piled with steaming food, two mugs and two sets of cutlery on top “Oh, breakfast in bed?” you tease with a grin as he hands you a set of cutlery and holds the other, while he picks up his usual mug to sip at his steaming coffee.
He rolls his eyes before answering as you start to eat, “don’t say something weird; I just know you won’t come down to eat it. So, unless I want my hard work going to waste, I need to bring it to you. I’ve had enough of you digging your fucking fingers into my wounds when I try to pick you up to move you when you’re being a stubborn asshole.”
You ignore his comments about your stubborn streak and your habit of playing dirty and using his healing injuries against him. “How lucky am I?” you coo, entirely ignoring his warning to not say something weird. Teasing him is just too much fun. “Well, I imagine your wife is luckier. You seem like the type of man to go all out on your lucky lady’s birthday; fancy breakfast in bed, whatever gifts she wants, romantic dinner at her favourite restaurant and a day being spoiled.” Wonwoo doesn’t answer, just keeps his gaze on the tray between you as he works on eating his share of the breakfast that he so carefully cooked for you both. “Well shit, you’ve never done that for her?” you baulk surprised. He truly does seem like the doting, romantic type.
Even this; bringing breakfast to you so that you’ll eat the food he obviously tried very hard to cook, as he hadn’t burned any of it this time, even if it’s pretty bland and under seasoned, just proves that he’s a very doting man when he wants to be. Plus, he waited for you to take a bite first before making any attempt himself. It makes you realise that he always makes sure you go first with everything and quietly goes along with whatever you want; the game you want to play, the food you want to cook, the video you want to watch, he never complains.
It seems crazy to you that Wonwoo has never gone all out for his wife; the woman he promised forever to.
He scoffs. “Why should I? I tried to do nice things at first, but she was always expecting more and bitched.”
“Has she ever done anything for you?”
“Other than be a pain in my ass? No.”
You pull a disgusted yet puzzled face. “Why the fuck did you marry her?”
“Took one for the team,” he answers honestly for the first time, paired with a casual shrug. Before now, every time you’ve asked about his relationship, Wonwoo has always told you it’s not your business or avoided answering by changing the topic or simply stayed silent.
“What does that even mean?” you wonder, giving him a curious look as he lifts his gaze to look at you.
“Means that she’s the oldest kid, but as she’s a woman, she can’t take over the gang when her dad dies; so, it would go to her brother, who is even more fucking useless and entitled than she is.” The repulsed twist of Wonwoo’s expression gives away his clear disdain for his brother-in-law. “He’d fucking destroy the gang and everything we’ve put so much blood into creating. But the boss will give his son-in-law the position if he’s proven himself, and well, I’ve been in the gang since I was fourteen, so I’ve definitely proven myself after 20 fucking years.”
“Well…shit,” you mumble, eyes wide as you absorb his unexpected words; unexpected for more than one reason.
“Mm,” he hums in agreement as he chews on another mouthful.
“I did not realise you’re so old!” you gawp, making him look at you with a miniature version of your shocked expression.
He quickly finishes chewing and swallows the food in his mouth so that he can talk. “Seriously? That’s what you took from that, my fucking age?”
“What?” You shrug defensively. “I thought you’re my age, not eight years older.”
Wonwoo stares at you dumbly for a few long seconds before he mumbles, “you’re 26?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” He licks his lips a little awkwardly. “I didn’t realise.”
“Are you saying I look old?!” you sputter in offense.
He quickly shakes his head and holds up his hands placatingly. “No. Just, I guess I’m more used to women like my wife. All her friends are immature as fuck, all spoiled little princesses. She’s older than me, you know? By three years, yet you’re more mature than her. So, I thought based on that, you’re closer to my age at least,” he reasons. It’s a very understandable thought process and assumption, so your posture relaxes again.
“Huh, okay, I’ll accept that, but don’t disrespect princesses like that,” you warn.
“Should I call them spoiled little daddy’s girls then?” he jokes.
“No.” You pout. “Don’t lump me with them.”
“You’re a daddy’s girl?” he baulks in genuine shock.
“Yeah.”
“Didn’t even know you have family, honestly,” Wonwoo admits, making you look at him as if he’s the dumbest person you’ve ever met.
“Did you think I grew out of the fucking ground?” you deadpan.
“Obviously not; I know how human biology works, brat.” He rolls his eyes. “Just…there’s no sign of family in your apartment; not a single photo or anything that could be deemed a family heirloom.”
You shrug and pick up your mug. “I don’t need those things to remember; I have plenty of reminders on me at all times to remind me of family.”
“Like what? That necklace you wear?” He points to the chain of the necklace you never take off, where it’s just about poking out from the collar of your pyjama t-shirt.
“No, this is just a cheap thing I got to replace another cheap one and so on and so forth because I just hate not wearing a necklace.”
“I don’t see you in any other jewellery.”
“Don’t own any.”
“Really?” he asks surprised, slightly raising his eyebrows curiously. “Not a single thing?”
“No. I used to have earrings, but I lost the back of one, so I stopped wearing them and just never got around to replacing them.”
“Then what do you mean you have reminders on you all the time, if not jewellery?” he sounds genuinely confused and very curious as his attention remains solely on you.
You motion to the plate as you lean back towards it yourself, dismissing the topic with a simple, slightly firm, “breakfast is getting cold.”
Wonwoo gets the hint and doesn’t try to push you anymore, just leans in and gets back to eating.
The very next morning after Wonwoo brings you breakfast in bed, he doesn’t wake you with another tray, nor does he wake you to make lunch with him. You get up feeling very off kilter at waking naturally without him being the first thing you see once the sleep leaves your eyes.
It only gets worse when you go downstairs, and he’s nowhere to be found.
Bewilderedly, you waddle to the fridge to get the juice and notice a new note on the whiteboard from Wonwoo. It’s a short note, like always, and says that he’s gone back to work and won’t be back tonight, so don’t worry about cooking dinner for him.
All day, you move around the apartment feeling oddly lost.
Wonwoo was only home for four days, yet it already feels so strange not having him following you around to ask questions as you complete chores together or peering over your shoulder to learn how to cook or playfully shoving you when you’re playing against each other in a game instead of as a team. You don’t really know what to do without him.
When it comes to dinner, you don’t think before cooking and only realise that you’ve naturally made enough for Wonwoo too when you’re putting a plate in his usual seat and remember that he won’t be here to eat it.
It feels pathetic to sit staring at an empty seat with a full plate on the placemat in front of it opposite you, as you eat your dinner, but there’s something in you that refuses to let you take his plate away, even knowing his note says he won’t be home tonight.
Only when you can’t handle being in the lounge as it feels so empty without him, do you remove his covered plate from the dining table to box up the leftovers to put in the fridge and put the dishes in the dishwasher.
It’s only 9pm when you crawl into bed freshly showered and turn on your TV to watch something, hoping to distract yourself from the hollow feeling in your chest.
Although you were in bed early last night, you didn’t manage to fall asleep until your usual time, so you’re up after midday again.
Today when you wander downstairs, you don’t expect to see Wonwoo, as his note said he’ll be back this evening, but clearly, he had already returned and left again. When you enter the kitchen, you spot a little gift bag on the island.
Curiously, you approach and inspect the bag, trying to find a logo on the packaging, but there isn’t one, though you do find your name on the tag in Wonwoo’s surprisingly pretty handwriting. He doesn’t usually write so neatly; it seems as if he focused on writing your name in a visibly appealing way, instead of the usual scrawls he puts on the whiteboard.
Now that you know that it’s for you, you open the bag, and after moving aside the neatly packed dark blue tissue paper, you spot a black jewellery box. You hesitate before reaching out to pick out the box and open it.
Immediately, your breath catches, and your heart skips a beat.
Within the jewellery box, seated neatly on a cushioned display covered in dark silk, is a truly stunning necklace and earring set. They sparkle in the light; silver chain and clear jewels polished to perfection as they stare up at you tauntingly. You know they’re diamonds; you just know with everything in you that Wonwoo had purposely gone out and bought you an expensive, extremely high-quality necklace and earrings set to replace your own. And it hurts.
There is no way that this is nothing; that Wonwoo would go out of his way to pick such a beautifully crafted set for any other friend. You’re pretty positive that he wouldn’t even pick such a nice set for his wife. It feels like he’s putting you higher than her, ranking you as more important, more meaningful to him than the woman he is lawfully devoted to, and that hurts.
It's all too much. You close the box and place it back in the bag, cover it with the tissue paper and leave it there.
As you reheat the leftovers from last night for your lunch, your gaze keeps returning to the gift. Even with your back to the island as you sit at the table to eat, your mind keeps reminding you that it’s there; keeps shouting at you to pay attention to it.
Unable to handle it, as soon as you’ve cleaned up after lunch, you go up to your room to spend the rest of the say sitting on your bed watching TV and pretending that Wonwoo hasn’t royally fucked with your head and implied far too much without saying a word.
When Wonwoo returns, you’re still sitting on your bed watching TV, or at least pretending to. You’ve been restless for the past half an hour, knowing that he’ll be home at any moment and there will have to be a conversation to be had; about the necklace, about him, about you.
Only a handful of minutes after hearing Wonwoo enter the apartment, he wanders into your room through the open door, holding the gift bag in one hand with a genuine frown on his features. He looks both confused and a little upset. “Haven’t you been in the kitchen today?”
“Of course I have, you think I like starving myself? I enjoy food too much,” you answer without looking away from the TV, even if your full attention has been on him since before he entered the room, before he even entered the apartment.
“Okay, then why aren’t you wearing this?” He lifts the bag slightly.
You hesitate before letting out a defeated sigh and looking at him. “Why did you buy that for me, Wonwoo?”
“Because you never replaced your earrings and wear a cheap necklace that will break easily and make you buy another. This one will last a long time and has a lifetime guarantee, so you can get it replaced if it does break, but it shouldn’t.” It all sounds so logical, so reasonable, but you know it isn’t. Wonwoo is far too smart of a man to be that dense.
“Take it back,” you order.
“You don’t like it? Tell me what you like and I’ll-”
“You’re a married man, Wonwoo; you can’t buy another woman jewellery.”
“It’s just jewellery,” he mutters, a hint of defensiveness to his tone.
“No, it’s not, and you know it.”
He stares at the bag for a few moments then nods slowly in agreement; admittance to knowing exactly what you’re saying, what he said by buying the jewellery in the first place. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” You relax a little, relieved that he’s agreed to return the gift.
“I didn’t mean to overstep or make things uncomfortable between us; I just wanted to do something nice for you,” he says, talking softer than you’ve heard him before. It makes it hurt even more; the honesty in his voice, the truth to the depths of his care for you. It needs to stop before it burrows deeper in either of you.
“Well, you shouldn’t. I’m just your hostage. We’re not friends, Wonwoo,” you say, in reminder, even if it hurts you as much to say it as it clearly hurts him to hear it. You can see it in his eyes. But you have to say it; to remind the both of you of the boundaries and moral obligations in place. The reasons why you can’t be anything more than how this all started.
“Right, yeah, just my hostage,” he scoffs and looks at you, eyes harsh and jaw tense. “Maybe I should treat you that way, huh? It’d make things easier.”
“I think this is way past the point that you could treat me that badly, Wonwoo,” you point out. “You bought me diamonds; that clearly isn’t the type of thing a man capable of doing bad things to me would do.”
“Would if I’m trying to get my way with you. Buy you pretty things to sweeten you up and make you crawl willingly into my bed,” he reasons and lets his gaze drag over you as if he’s making his point that it’s a very real possibility. Even if you both know that Wonwoo is not that kind of man, despite his status and how easy it would be to get his way with whatever woman he wants if he was cruel in that way.
“You could buy me all the pretty things in the world, and I wouldn’t do that,” you inform firmly.
“Don’t act like you haven’t checked me out; you’ve even said I’m attractive,” he reminds, letting his intense eyes lock with yours.
“And married; I’m not a homewrecker, Wonwoo,” you scoff. “If she wasn’t an issue, I think we both know things would be very different right now.”
“Would you be wearing the necklace?”
You hesitate before answering, not wanting to lie but knowing what you’re clearly admitting to otherwise and knowing that it’s not something you ever thought you’d say to a married man. Still, you do. You can’t help but be honest with Wonwoo about this; about the two of you. “Yeah, and not much else.”
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some of my absolute favorite fics! please show these authors lots of love 𑣲
𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ
mainly jeonghan, forgive me!
— not every member is mentioned!
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
✦ blame it on me @onlymingyus
pairing: brother’s best friend! jeonghan x f! reader
genre: smut, fluff, humor
my thoughts: so so good, love how they depicted jeonghan! he’s insatiable i love it ˚. ᵎᵎ
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
✦ mine, all mine @sunniques
summary: your boyfriend’s manipulative father helps you get revenge in the nastiest way possible.
pairing: jeon wonwoo x f! reader
genre: boyfriend’s dad au, smut
my thoughts: one of my all time favorite wonwoo fics. he’s so depraved but like it’s wonwoo so ofc we love it. also the smut is straight up chef’s kiss ˎˊ˗
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
✦ i hate u, i love u @wonusite
summary: After finally managing to escape the lifelong rivalry you once had with Yoon Jeonghan, you’re unexpectedly thrown back into the undesirable feud after receiving a scholarship to the most prestigious private school in the city. Despite your attempts to leave the past in the past, you discover too late that you’re the only one interested in letting the vendetta go. Years later, there’s a switch in dynamic when you’re the one unwilling to let it go.
pairing: yoon jeonghan x female reader
genre: enemies to lovers au, rich kid au, college au, model au, fake dating au, angst, (tiniest bit of) fluff, smut
my thoughts: absolutely amazing. one of my favorite jeonghan fics! love how they did e2l here, like they genuinely hated each other and ruined each others lives (which makes the eventual romance even better in my personal opinion hehe) ⋆˚࿔
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
✦ someone stole my lunch?! @epelletart
summary: You can tolerate a lot. You don’t care when someone messes up your documents or when your situationship ghosts you after two dates or when your manager is drowning your work in red ink. It was annoying, but survivable. If someone steals your lunch, especially the one you woke up early to make for yourself, that's where you draw the line. No one is hot enough to be forgiven for food theft. Not even the annoyingly calm, morally upright, infuriatingly handsome attorney from the legal department. And you’re about to catch him.
my thoughts: hilarious story. loved every bit of it .𖥔 ݁ ˖
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
✦ next to you @woncheolisms
summary: you think you’re good at keeping your crush on your roommate hidden. you can handle it. but then you wake up to him in bed next to you, arms wrapped around you, and you have no idea how to deal with your suppressed feelings anymore.
pairing: choi seungcheol x f! reader
genre: angst, fluff, smut,
my thoughts: changed the trajectory of my life fr. this fic left me in a seungcheol coma for about a week. loved it so much, wish i could reread it for the first time ✿
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
✦ amontillado @sailorsoons
summary: Disappearing from your fiancé should have been easy. Instead, you stumble into Jeonghan’s empire of blood and alcohol - and he becomes the only thing standing between you and death.
pairing: vampire! jeonghan x human! reader
genre: Strangers to Lovers, Mild Angst, Smut, Romance
my thoughts: genuinely so well written. the way everything is described is truly incredible. it didn’t feel like a fic, it felt like i was reading a bestselling novel. love this fic down, props to the author (if you are reading this i highly encourage u to pursue a writing career!) ♡⸝⸝
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
✦ back to you @woncheolisms
summary: it doesn’t matter if you run away. jeonghan will find you, and he will bring you back.
pairing: yoon jeonghan x reader
genre: mafia au, smut
my thoughts: short but incredible. reread like 5 times already. wish it were longer though bc i’m a sucker for mafia jeonghan ₊˚⊹♡
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
✦ pineapple on pizza? @hannieween
pairing: dilf! yoon jeonghan x f! reader
genre: fluff, smut (18+)
my thoughts: never knew i needed dilf jeonghan until this fic! love this one sm ༉‧₊˚.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
✦ distracted @eomayas
summary: reader is literally just feral for joshua
pairing: husband&dad!joshua, wife&mom!reader, established relationship
genre: smut, fluff, parent au, non-idol au
my thoughts: this story’s just so real. who can resist girl dad joshua? ❤︎
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
✦ inside job @seokgyuu
summary: After your flawless job-interview, Seokmin hires you as the newest addition to his company. Just that, once you start, it seems like you’re not who you previously portrayed to be. Instead, he finds himself faced with mini-skirts, push-up bras and gawking co-workers, not to mention your absolute lack of work ethic. Obviously, he needs to fire you! Just that, when he tries to… you simply don’t let him.
pairing: Boss!Seokmin x Employee!F!Reader
genre: pwp, workplace “romance”, smut
my thoughts: pervy boss seokmin is everything i needed. loved this fic! ｡𖦹°‧
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
✦ the way of the house husband @wonustars
summary: you and mingyu (a former mafia member and also your ex-fiancè's former best friend) are forced into witness protection. All you’ve been told is that you’re meant to act like a happily married couple. Pushed into a cookie cutter house, and a suburban neighbourhood far from the city, where people bring you baked goods on your first day and partake in small talk, it’s all foreign and new. There’s so many things you don’t know about him, but for a man who’s only known violence and all things illegal, he’s somehow the perfect house husband.
pairing: kim mingyu x f.reader
genre: fake marriage au!, fluff, angst, smut (18+ mdni)
my thoughts: my absolute favorite mingyu fic. it’s popular for a reason! love love love this one sm. ۶۟ৎ
𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐞, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐞 (brother’s best friend! jungkook x f! reader) — explicit 18+, 8.1k words
synopsis: an unsuccessful sneak around at your older brother’s house party led you to run into jeon jungkook, his best friend and your worst nightmare.
summary: it doesn’t matter if you run away. jeonghan will find you, and he will bring you back.
word count: 3.4k
warnings: mafia au, dark themes, mentions of killing and blood, toxic relationship dynamics, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, oral (fem!receiving), riding, squirting, multiple orgasms, dirty talk.
a/n: thank you to the anon who requested this! i hope you like it babes xx
masterlist
The ceiling keeps dripping.
It’s driving you crazy, the constant tip, tip, tip sound of the drops as they hit the bucket you’ve placed on the floor. It rings in your ears for so long that you start to think it’s coming from inside your head. You try to ignore it, but the rest of the apartment is so silent that it feels like the sound is amplified. You get a brief respite when you put headphones on, so you stick with that for the rest of the day to drown out the annoying sound.
It’s raining heavily, the pattering on the windows has been consistent for the last four hours. The sun has gone down, and the wind howls outside. Your feet are cold despite being under blankets, and you wonder if you should risk upping the temperature. The last time you had touched the thermostat, it stopped working. You didn’t bother calling the landlord about it. You expected a shitty studio apartment that was so cheap to rent would have a lot of problems. And it’s not like you can afford anything better right now. So you hunker down in the blanket, closing your eyes to try and sleep.
Heavy banging startles you. Your eyes shoot open, staring at the door. Is the storm making a loose window bang? Or was it the door? You get your answer when it bangs again, loud and more insistent this time. Ice shoots through your veins as you scramble to get up, feet light on the floor, standing just behind the door. There’s no peephole. You grit your teeth, heart pounding.
No one knows you’re here. No one here even knows you. This huge city with its many slums, houses and apartments piled one on top of another, filled with seedy people, is the one place where absolutely no one can know who you are. So banging on the door during a storm, this late at night, is not a good sign.
Another, solitary bang. The door shudders. You scramble to open it before your neighbours decide to check out the disturbance. You don’t need any attention here. The sight that greets you when you open the door makes the ground fall out from under your feet.
He looks just the same, maybe his hair is a little longer. It’s slightly damp from the rain, and some raindrops also litter his black trench coat, scattered over his shoulders. His hands are buried in his jeans pockets, coat pushed aside, and he’s wearing a black sweater underneath. His usual style. His eyes, sharp and focused as ever, run over you from top to bottom and then back, and you grip the edge of the door so hard that your knuckles turn white.
“Nice hair color.” He quips. “Didn’t think you’d be able to pull off box dye.”
“How did you-” You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling slightly lightheaded. You’re reeling. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You took so many precautions. You changed everything about yourself. Name, hair, appearance, residence. You cut off everyone who even had a morsel of a link to him. You are living in the shittiest, most disgusting apartment known to man just so he couldn’t track you down. And yet, here he is.
“Don’t be surprised, princess.” He hums. His voice is still honey sweet, but his eyes are sharp. The perfect deception. “You should be disappointed it took this long.”
You want to scoff. Five months. That’s how long it took him. And yes, five months to track down one person is a ridiculously long time for someone like Yoon Jeonghan, especially considering the guys he has working for him, but if anyone can elude him, it should have been you. You know him, his mind, his tactics, better than anyone else. You are his antithesis. His Achilles’ heel.
The love of his life. At least, that’s what he proclaimed.
He steps past you and into the apartment without your permission. You sigh in resignation, closing your eyes for a brief moment before shutting the door. It’s over now. He’s found you, after months of planning and strategy. You should have known. There’s no escaping a man like him once he has you in his sights. And you are more than just someone he took interest in. The fire that burns between you two is eternal, no matter how much you run from him.
He tuts as he looks around, eyes pausing over the bucket in the middle of the room. Half full by now, water still dripping steadily into it.
“You would rather live in this filth than live with me.” He mutters.
You shift uncomfortably, not knowing what to do with yourself.
“You know why I left.”
He hums, turning around so he can look at you again. Something zips through you when his eyes meet yours, and your heart squeezes in that familiar way, like it always used to when he would stare at you. Back during a time when no one existed to you other than Jeonghan. Blurred periphery, tunnel vision. He was your everything.
You met him at the unlikeliest of places. A crowded mall food court. You had spilled your entire large soda on him, and one look at the sweater he was wearing told you that it was more expensive than one month of your paycheck. You apologised profusely, offered to have it cleaned, but he dismissed it, instead asking for a date as repayment. He was so handsome, sharp features and delicate smile, so you said yes.
His life was a shock to you, especially when you found out his boss was none other than Choi Seungcheol, the powerful leader of Seoul’s underground business. And this man was the Yoon Jeonghan. His right hand man, sole reason the Choi empire was as successful as it was. You had heard whispers of Jeonghan, the brains behind the entire operation. Jeonghan essentially ran everything. He had a dedicated team of men working for him, both brains and brawn, and with Jeonghan’s careful planning, he set his and Seungcheol’s fortune in stone, going to every length to make sure no one touched them.
It was a dangerous world, a criminal world, but you were in love with him. For all his ruthlessness, Jeonghan was gentle with you. He treated you like you were glass, he doted on you, loved you, like no other man in your life ever had. All the darkness, the blood and killing, was far removed from your life with him. For over three years, you stayed in the cloud of blissful ignorance, your life revolving around Jeonghan only.
When the reality of Jeonghan’s business dealings hit you, it was too much to take.
All the blood, all the bribing, kidnapping, killing… it was too much. You had known shady stuff went on in the underworld, but it never clicked to you how bad it was. You were sheltered beyond belief. Out of sight, out of mind, you supposed. But on one fateful evening, you were at the wrong place at the right time, and you had seen enough blood and killing to shock your entire being. The next night, you were packing bare essentials and running off the sprawling estate you shared with the man you loved.
It took great lengths to disappear. Jeonghan’s reach went far and wide, way past the boundaries of Seoul. You did everything he would least expect you to do, trying to throw him off, but it seems he anticipated that too, since he is here now, watching you across your tiny, terrible apartment, eyes running over you like someone starved.
“I had fun.” He states. “This little chase, it was entertaining. I was getting bored with work anyway.”
He walks closer to you, one slow step after another. “But I think it’s enough, sweetheart. Time to come home.”
You stepped back as he tried to close the distance. You could see Jeonghan’s reaction to it, his jaw ticking in irritation.
“I’m sorry you had to see all that, princess.” He mutters, reminding you of the night that caused all this. “I promise, it will never happen again.”
“You won’t kill again or I won’t have to see it again?” You ask.
It’s a stupid question. And one look at Jeonghan’s face tells you as much. Your back meets the wall of the tiny space, and you have nowhere to go now. Jeonghan steps into your space, leaning forward and lowering his head to your cheek. His breath hits your skin, making goosebumps rise on it. Your eyelids flutter, breath trapped in your lungs.
This is why you wanted to stay far away from him. Not only is Jeonghan great at the art of persuasion, but he also knows that you are weak for him. You love him more than you have loved any other person in your life. That’s why breaking up with him was never an option. You know you will go back, especially when he is this close, his lips brushing over the corner of your mouth. His tongue peeks out the tiniest bit, and he licks over your lips languidly. It’s so sensual that a whimper rises in your chest, and you barely manage to strangle it before it escapes your throat.
But you don’t push him away.
“Missed you.” He whispers, and his breath hits your lips. “Nearly lost my mind when you weren’t there in the morning. Tore up the entire place looking for you.”
You can imagine. You are Jeonghan’s most beloved. You know this, as does everyone who works for him. You cannot imagine the wrath they had to endure after your disappearance. You can picture it now, his tech guys, Wonwoo and Jihoon, working overtime to try and track your movements.
Jeonghan’s torso brushes your front, but he makes no move to remove his hands from his pockets. You know he’s baiting you. He wants you to come to him. And you know the part of you that is pathetically in love with him will give in. The truth is, you missed him too. You object to his work life, the way he operates, but you still love him, and you know that no amount of removing yourself from him will change that. You ran away because if you didn’t, you would stay, no matter what he does or how he does it.
“Did you miss me?” His voice is breathy and low. Your hands ball into fists. You don’t reply. He sighs heavily.
“I see how it is. My baby’s mad at me.” He coos. Now his hands leave his jeans, placing carefully on the wall on either side of your waist, trapping you in. His lips trail down to your jaw, and instinctively, you tilt it up for him. You curse at how your body betrays you, and you can feel Jeonghan’s mouth curl into a smirk at your actions.
“Maybe I can make it up to you.”
He suckles lazily but carefully at the spot under your ear that makes your eyes roll up, and you release a shaky breath in response. His hands meet your body, immediately pushing past the hem of your sweatshirt to run over the bare skin of your waist. His hands are cold, and they send shivers up your spine in that delicious way you missed so much. God, he still had it. The ability to reduce you to a mess the second he touches you. Jeonghan knows your body inside out, knows what makes you tick. You know you’re already sopping wet, soaking through your panties. And Jeonghan wastes no time getting there, hands dipping into the waistband of your pajamas so he can pull them and your panties down in one go, until your lower half is bare.
“Hannie.” You clench around nothing, feeling heady as he continues to suck a dark bruise into your neck, his hands now trailing up so your sweatshirt is bunched, coaxing you to lift your arms. It falls off you, the chill of the air making goosebumps rise on your skin. It feels dirty, being completely naked while Jeonghan hasn’t even taken his coat off.
He groans, the first sound of arousal he has made, detaching from your neck so he can nuzzle his nose against yours.
“Missed that sound.” His voice is huskier. “Say it again.”
“Hannie.” You whimper, reveling in the way his fingers dig into your bare hips.
“Again.”
“Hannie.”
You gasp when he drops to his knees, hooking his hand around your left leg and lifting it up over his shoulder so that your lower lips are bared open for him. The material of his coat is soft under your skin, but that’s the least of your focus when his tongue peeks out, licking a long, thick stripe over your cunt. You gasp and jerk at the feeling, teetering a bit on your one leg. You grip at Jeonghan’s shoulder with one hand, burying the other in his silky hair as he proceeds to lap over you with small, kitten licks. You are entirely exposed to him, slit open and at his mercy as his tongue traces over your lips, traveling up to nudge at your clit. You moan again, and Jeonghan clicks his tongue.
“So unfair,” he muses, “that your poor little cunt had to go without me for so long. Did you even think about that when you ran away? Look how it’s clenching around nothing. Probably missed me so bad.”
You're delirious already, partly by how dirty he sounds and partly by how his lips latch over your clit to give it a harsh, long suck. It makes your toes curl, your right knee buckle, and you can feel how wet you are already, how the mixture of it and Jeonghan’s spit is running down your thigh. He’s being really messy with it, lapping over you like a man starved, and you will yourself to not look down at him, because you know if you see his blown pupils, his drenched face, you will fold immediately.
You start to rock back and forth, grinding down on his face, using the wall behind you as leverage. Jeonghan grips the backs of your thighs, encouraging you to ride him like that, to chase your orgasm. You went from having sex nearly every day to completely being cut off from Jeonghan, so you aren’t surprised at how quickly your high sneaks up on you, ramming into you like a freight train as Jeonghan licks you through it, moaning into your pussy as you grind hard all over his chin and jaw. He coaxes you down, prolonging it as much as he can until you are whimpering and bucking away from him, overstimulated.
He lowers your leg carefully to the ground, standing up. There’s a small smirk playing on his lips as he eyes your sweaty, flushed face. You feel defeated that you gave in, but as you eye the wet sheen on his face, all the way down his neck, you clench again, remembering how good it used to feel when his cock would carve through your walls. You want to feel it again, you’re mad with need.
You kiss him hard.
It’s almost like he’s expecting it, cupping your jaw hard to deepen it immediately. His tongue, thick with the taste of your cunt, invades your mouth, and you whine into him, tugging harshly at the lapels of his coat. He chuckles.
“Easy,” his voice is like silk. “I’m not going anywhere.”
There’s a veiled promise in his words that should unnerve you, but it only makes you keen. You bask in his attention, in his need to be close to you. This all powerful man who was on his knees just seconds ago, working for your pleasure only. He follows your hands now, pulling off his clothing one after another as you push him backwards, staggering towards the bed across the room. His lips don’t leave yours for one second, sucking at your plush bottom lip, running his tongue over your teeth.
By the time he’s pulling you on top of him on the mattress, his skin is bare and delicious against your own. You grind over his shaft, wetting it with your juices, eyelids fluttering when the head catches on your clit just right. You’re still sensitive, so it feels even more glorious, and Jeonghan watches you with amusement as you use his body for yourself.
“Look at you.” He croons. “How could you ever stay away from me, baby? How did you ever think this was a good idea?”
“It wasn’t.” You gasp, face scrunching. “Missed you so much.”
“I know.” He placates you, hands gripping your hips to aid your movements. “I’m here now. Take what you want.”
So you scramble to lift up your pelvis, lining him up so you can sink down on his painfully hard cock, jaw dropping as he plunges deep inside you. You don’t stop until he sinks in up to the base, and you watch with teary eyes as Jeonghan throws his head back with the most pornographic moan you have ever heard from him.
“Christ almighty.” He shudders, fingertips digging hard into your skin, promising purple bruises that you will wake up to tomorrow. “Of course you’re tighter than anything. Haven’t been stretched out by a good cock in so long. Did you forget everything I taught you?”
A devilish grin breaks his face apart. “Can you still squirt all over me?”
You rock back and forth, feeling him twitch inside you. He is as horny out of his mind as you are, lust addled and filterless. As you slowly pick up speed, you watch his face contort in a million different ways. You feel it again, that surge of power, the hold you have on this man beneath you. You drop your hips down, again and again, getting harsher with every movement, chasing your high again, this time even more intense as you feel the tip of his cock brush insistently over your sweet spot. There’s a knot tightening in your stomach, a pressure that is all too familiar. A feeling only Jeonghan has ever incited in you, the one that makes you gush all over him, soak his cock, his hips, the sheets.
He can see it in your face, the fact that you are so close. You need that final push, so he locks his arms tight around your waist, pulling you down to lie on top of him. His feet find purchase on the mattress, and then he is ramming up harshly into you. You gasp sharply and then sob, feeling the dam break as your orgasm grips you like a vice, body seizing and jerking on top of Jeonghan as your pussy flutters around him. The sound of his thrusts gets wetter. You wail and weep, nails digging harshly into whatever part of him is nearest, and he whispers quiet encouragement into your ear, telling you how amazing you are, how good you feel, how tight you are squeezing him, trying to pull his cum from his dick, and that he will give it to you good.
His thrusts become even rougher as you slump over him, completely spent. You let him pound into your abused cunt, let him use you to get to his high while you lick over the strained cord of muscle in his neck. It takes only a few more minutes before he is emptying himself into you, ropes and ropes of thick, warm cum filling you up and dripping out of you, running down his balls. There’s so much of it, and you’re not surprised. You can’t imagine how pent up he has been.
He relaxes under you, letting out a long breath as the tension leaves his body. You stay on top of him, listening to his heartbeat. The air smells sticky and heavy, but you don’t mind. There's a distinct scent of Jeonghan surrounding you now, and that jumpy, uneasy feeling you’ve had since the day you ran away is finally gone.
Jeonghan runs a hand up your back, making you shiver. He finally breaks the silence after a few quiet moments.
“Get all your things together, angel. Let’s go home.”
PAIRING: Vampire!Jeonghan x human!Reader
SUMMARY: Disappearing from your fiancé should have been easy. Instead, you stumble into Jeonghan’s empire of blood and alcohol - and he becomes the only thing standing between you and death.
TOTAL FIC WC: 19,138
AU: 1920s Era, Supernatural, Mild Horror
GENRE: Strangers to Lovers, Mild Angst, Smut, Romance
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
WARNINGS: References to the mob, past physical abuse (not in great detail) and a lot of sexism/using a wife as a placeholder and pretty thing to look at, depictions of blood and gore (vampires feeding), depictions of anxiety and fear, reader doing a lot of thinking about her past life and how much she hated/feared her former fiance, mild power dynamics but not explicitly used or mention (Jeonghan is a powerful vampire and reader is vulnerable so I feel like mentioning this), illegal activities like bootlegging alcohol and blood, ambiguous vampire lore, mentions/references to murder, single fight scene where a vampire is decapitated but not in great detail, romance is a little fast-paced/seems a little too quick but we ride, sexual tension/flirting, Wonwoo tries to eat reader a total of One Time, Soonyoung is a feral baby and loses control a little but he's doing his best, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), praise, use of 'good girl', vaginal fingering... I think that's everything!
A/N: This is my second piece for the Puttin’ on the Ritz collab by @studiosvt and I could not be more excited to bring you 1920s vampire Jeonghan! Honestly this story turned out entirely different than when I first set out to write it. My original intention was to make it darker and similar to the Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allen Poe but what I actually ended up with is sweetie vampire Jeonghan giving reader a ton of agency and making the world her oyster!!!!
AN 2: This is not beta read so I'm sorry - there will definitely be mistakes! I did proof read/spelling and grammar check but I often miss a lot!
MAIN M. LIST | ASK | PUTTIN’ ON THE RITZ COLLAB
YOU LEAVE WITHOUT PACKING A THING.
The house is still asleep when you slide the window open and slide out, the winter air biting at your hands. Your fingers feel raw as you climb out the window onto the fire escape, the metal stinging to the touch. Your breath fogs despite the fact you're barely breathing, too afraid to make a sound.
With frozen fingers, you push the window shut, heart hammering as it squeezes. You freeze, squeezing your eyes shut. The cold nips at you, wind pulling at your clothes that aren't thick enough for winter and scraping against the back of your neck.
Sucking in a breath, you force yourself to shut the window the rest of the way. Turning, you creep further onto the fire escape, desperate not to make a sound. In the distance, New York is awake. She never sleeps, but she's loud tonight, the sound of sirens carried on the wind, the roar of a Model T somewhere a few blocks over.
The fire escape is blessedly quiet as you navigate down, too cold, too alert, too nervous. You nearly miss the last step on the way down, stumbling onto the frozen street. As soon as you're on level ground you're moving as fast as you can, pulling the thin jacket around you as you go.
Your fiance always said you'd never make it three blocks without him knowing.
You make it eight.
The train yard is loud, though you can barely hear it over your chattering teeth. You're so cold you can barely think, driven only by fear. You become a passenger to the fear, letting it drive you through a tangle of metal train cars and clanking metal, the night sky twinkling above you as you find a freight train, near ready to leave.
You don't think. You swing up into a car, uncaring where it's going or what's inside. You don't care. Anywhere is better than here, and any direction that's away from your rotten fiance and his violent hands is good enough for you.
Heavy wooden barrels fill the train car. They're unmarked but rotund, hammered bands of steel keeping the frame intact. You weave between them, looking for a nook dark enough for you to hide - warm enough to not freeze to death. For a brief moment, you think that might not be so bad. Better than dying at the hands of your fiance or his family. Better than letting him put marks on you were you can't see them, better than-
Voices startle you. From a distance, you hear the rolling slam of train car doors and metal locks sliding into place. You panic, diving for the corner of the train car behind two barrels, tucking yourself into the shadows. It isn't warm, but you can no longer feel the icy teeth of the wind scraping across your skin, threatening to bite.
Tucking your hands between your thighs, you hold your breath. Male voices approach the car and you listen as they jump in and walk around briefly, taking stock. You can't see them, but you make yourself smaller. You've always been good at that, and it works now. They don't see you tucked in the corner, jumping back out before rolling the door shut with a clang that makes you flinch.
You don't breathe until the train starts moving, the sound of the whistle and the lurch forward startling you. You shiver violently, relaxing a fraction as you lean back into the cold metal of the wall, pressing your hands between your thighs to keep them warm. It only works a little, but it's the best you can do, eyes fluttering as you breathe in the smell of wood and something dark and rich.
The train rocks back and forth, the sound of the clicking tracks and liquid sloshing in the barrel. You feel yourself relax for the first time in weeks - shoulders sagging, breathing leveling out. There's no way for Vin to catch up to you now, and it makes you smile tiredly, a sliver of pride leaking through your exhaustion.
Your fiance always said you'd never make it three blocks without him knowing.
You've now made it eight and some change, train chugging to somewhere far off away from him and those who would force you to marry him for the sake of power and a name.
-
The train coming to an abrupt halt startles you awake. You groan, neck stiff, muscles locked and cold. Everything hurts from sleeping in the cramped corner of the train car, bones popping as you sit up straight, alert to the sudden halt. You don't know how long you've been asleep, but it's still dark in the train and you feel exhausted.
Curling in the shadow, you wait for the sound of voices, the opening of doors. Your intention is to get off in whatever city you've landed in and start a new life. Pick up a job waitressing, maybe. Or at one of those exclusive places they sell bootleg alcohol and don't ask questions. Anything to get you a little bit of cash and get you somewhere warm.
You smile, thinking about this new life. You imagine yourself in a smoky lounge, tucking cash in your pocket after giving strangers smiles and-
The screaming rips your illusion in half.
You sit up straight, hand flying over your mouth to suppress the startled sound that slips through. A man screams somewhere in the distance, the sound wounded and terrified. It's cut off abruptly, the silence so heavy that your ears start to ring, goosebumps rising on your skin from more than the cold.
The silence doesn't last. Another scream pierces the night, this one closer, raw and guttural like an animal being torn apart. You press yourself deeper into the shadows behind the barrels, knees drawn up to your chest, heart slamming against your ribs so hard it hurts. The cold has seeped into your bones, making every shiver feel worse. You bite down on your lip to keep from whimpering, tasting the metallic tang of blood where your teeth break the skin.
Footsteps approach, slow and deliberate, crunching on the gravel outside the train car. Your breath hitches, fogging the air in front of you. The door to the car rattles, metal groaning as it's shoved open with a force that makes the whole car shudder. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself invisible. The footsteps enter now, soft but unmistakable, padding across the wooden floor between the barrels.
There's a pause. You don't dare breathe, hoping they can't see you. You hear a soft inhale and then the scuff of feet.
"Well, well," a voice says, velvet soft. "You are most certainly not the Amontillado I was looking for."
Your eyes snap open, and there he is, standing just beyond the barrels, silhouetted against the faint moonlight spilling through the open door. He's beautiful in a way that doesn't make sense to your brain, short circuiting. Medium length dark hair falls around his face in waves, framing sharp features that look ethereal enough to be in a painting. His eyes are dark, flashing silver briefly as he crosses through a shaft of moonlight toward you, his gait impossibly smooth.
He tilts his head, studying you, and another scream rips through the distance. You flinch, cowering in your corner, stomach churning. You hear a man begging, screaming no - a wet gurgle cuts him off.
The man in front of you doesn't flinch. He doesn't even glance toward the noise, just continues studying you, something close to amusement on his face. Then he sighs, looking up at the dark ceiling of the train car.
"You," he says, sounding tired as he looks back down at you. "Are a most unfortunate stowaway. What in the world are you doing here, little mouse?"
You stare at him, frozen. Your mind races as the screaming picks back up again, fainter this time but no less horrifying. You stare at this man and realize he expects an answer, his brows raised, watching you and waiting.
Licking your lips, you murmur, "I just…" You think about what to say but you don't know what. So you're honest. "I just didn't want him to hurt me anymore."
The words hang in the frozen air between you. You don't elaborate, don't say anything else. You stare at him, the fear mounting, your fingers numb either from the terror or the cold, you're not sure.
He stares at you then sighs, seeming to make a decision. He comes toward you and you press further into the wall as he moves the barrels out of his way with no problem. You blanche - the barrels must weigh far more than he can lift, but you watch as he picks them up with no effort.
"Don't scream," he murmurs as he reaches you, crouching down. As he does, you catch the faintest whiff of him - sweet, like jasmine. He shrugs his coat off, offering it to you. "You are a very unlucky woman, but I'm feeling empathetic tonight. Put this on before you freeze to death."
With a shaking hand, you reach for the jacket. He becomes unnaturally still as you take it, his pupils dilating slightly in the dark. You look away, his eyes unnerving and predator-large in the dim of the train.
His jacket is thick and woolen, the smell of jasmine intensifying. You pull it around you, warmth making you melt a little. It cures the worst of your shiver and you clutch at it instinctively, clinging to the lifeline.
"Listen to me." His voice is barely above a whisper and you look back up at him. "I'm not going to hurt you. I need you to stay close. Don't look at anything or anyone. Let me guide you. Can you do that?" You nod and his mouth twitches. "Good girl. Let's stand, yeah?"
His hands wrap around your arms and he pulls you to your feet. Your legs wobbled, cramped from the cold and the cramped position. He steadies you with ease, his touch surprisingly gentle. You let out a shaky breath and he makes a sound - something almost fond - and brushes the hair from your forehead.
"Stay close," he reminds you, fingers lingering on your forehead. "I'm Jeonghan, by the way." You give him your name, breath fogging around the shape of it. "Pretty. Tasteful. Like Amontillado."
Jeonghan slides an arm around your waist, pressing you close to his side. His body is solid and warmer than it should be in the freezing night. You don't pull away, too stunned and too terrified to do more than follow as he leads you toward the open door of the train car.
It becomes immediately clear why he told you not to look at anything.
Outside the train car is a slaughterhouse. You freeze in the doorway but he tsks and jumps to the ground, turning to pick you up by the hips and swiftly puts you down. You suck in a sharp air at how easily he does it, movements quick and effortless.
Bodies are everywhere. Train workers lie scattered across the yard, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles, throats torn open, blood pooling in the dark. The metallic scent hits you, thick and coppery and your stomach turns over. You duck into his arm as he hushes you gently, hiding your face.
"Come on," he murmurs, arm tightening. "We have to walk, Amontillado."
You can't help but look, stomach lurching. There are figures - people - bent over the fallen men of the train yard, their mouths pressed to necks and wrists. The scene confuses you, bloody faces pressed into the flesh of the fallen, blood running down chins and necks as their throats gulp-
The word slams into you, impossible and yet you don't know how else to describe what you're seeing. You've read Dracula before, but what you see here is worse, the ravenous hunger displayed in red carnage too real, too vivid to process.
Another scream makes you startle. You see a worker pinned under two of the creatures, his legs kicking futilely as they rip into him. Blood sprays and you clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your gasp.
Jeonghan doesn't react. He leads you through the carnage, his steps sure and unhurried. Casual. Like he does this all the time.
One of the vampires turns toward you, a burly man with wild eyes and blood matting his beard. He straightens when he sees you, his eyes flashing unnatural silver as he steps into the moonlight, grinning, mouth a gash of red and teeth.
"Ah-ah," Jeonghan warns, his words hissed. "Mine. Please finish and load the casks in the middle car. They're what we were looking for."
The vampire dips his head slightly. "Understood, boss."
Jeonghan keeps you moving , guiding you past the worst of the bodies, stepping carefully over pooling blood that steams in the cold. The yard is vast, tracks stretching into darkness like black rivers, and the vampires are finishing their work - dragging corpses into neat piles, licking crimson from their fingers, wiping mouths on sleeves. The silence is heavier now, the screams gone, replaced by the occasional wet smack of lips or the crunch of bone under boots.
Your teeth chatter despite the jacket, and he notices, pulling you even closer so your side is flush against his. His body radiates heat in a way that feels wrong for the season, wrong for anything human, but you lean into it anyway, desperate for anything that isn't the biting wind or the copper reek of blood.
"Why did he call you boss?" You murmur, eyeing the car he leads you toward. It is eerily empty in the train yard. You realize they have - the vampires - have killed everyone else. "Are you a gangster or something?"
"Hardly."
Despite the violence, it relieves you. You hadn't run from the mafia into another. Though you think this might be worse.
"I'm in charge of a rather complex operation," Jeonghan tells you, opening the car door. You let him usher you inside, the interior cool. "One of which, you have just stumbled upon."
You swallow. "Why save me, then?"
He glances down, that faint smile returning, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "Empathy, as I said. And perhaps curiosity. A little mouse who ran from one wolf only to stumble into a den of them. I think it would be a shame to let all that effort go to waste, Amontillado."
"Why do you keep calling me that?"
"Amontillado is complex. Fresh. Lingering." He grins. "And it's my favorite."
Your fiance always said you'd never make it three blocks without him knowing.
You make it to Long Island, the moonlight shining through the car window as a vampire slides into the cab of the car next to you, looking down at you with a glint in his eye that you can't tell if it's curiosity or hunger. Or both.
-
The Hamptons are like nothing you've ever seen. Not that you've seen much outside of your tiny life in Manhattan. Snow dusts the ground in patches, glittering under the moonlight like sugar scattered over the extravagant lawns. Grand houses line the sides of the roads, their stone walls covered with overgrown ivy.
Winter is quiet in the Hamptons. You wonder what it looks like during the summer, full of life and light and parties that only exist in myth to you. It's beautiful in a lonely way, the empty fields stretching toward a dark horizon broken only by the occasional barn or silo. No crowds, no push of bodies on sidewalks, no blare of horn.
Most importantly, no Vin.
While the Hamptons isn't as far as you wanted to get from him, you think it's far enough. For now. You glance at the vampire next to you and think that Vin wouldn't be able to get to you here anyway. Not with the strange creature sitting next to you, his eyes flashing silver occasionally when the moon catches them just right.
Jeonghan feels you looking at him. He flicks his eyes to you, tilting his head as he drinks you in. Once again you're put off by the way his eyes dilate, pupils larger than they should be. They're beautiful in an unnerving way, a tingle starting at the base of your spine under his stare.
"First time out of the city?" He asks, voice quiet.
You nod, not trusting your voice yet. The car turns onto a smoother drive, the road narrowing as it curves toward the coast. Lights flicker ahead, gas lamps lining a long driveway. An estate emerges from the night, massive and made of all stone. The windows glint warmly against the dark, towers rising at the corners covered in winding ivory.
Your breath catches. It looks more like a palace than a house, a fantasy capture on pressed magazines and where people whispered about bootleggers and oil barons throwing parties until dawn in the summer. The car pulls up to the grand entrance, gravel crunching under tires, and the driver kills the engine.
Jeonghan exits first, offering a hand to help you out. You take it, stepping out on legs that feel like jelly. The air smells like salt and pine, sharp and cleaner than anything you've ever breathed in. You take a few gulps of air, the cool burning your lungs. He makes a sound like he's amused before he tugs you forward toward the steps that lead up to the mansion.
It's even more imposing up close, the double doors carved of heavy oak. You hesitate a little at the carved gargoyles, a strange piece of architecture in a place like this. Jeonghan brisks past them, opening the door with a gentle push, like the house answers to him.
"Welcome," he teases, ushering you inside.
Warmth hits you immediately, such a relief that you can't help but make a small noise in the back of your throat. The air carries a faint scent of wood polish and cigar smoke, warm and inviting. The grand foyer is made up of marble floors veined in gold, a staircase sweeping up toward the shadowed upper levels. Paintings line the walls, dark depictions of stormy seas and dark florals. A grandfather clock ticks in the corner, the pendulum swinging slow and steady like your pulse.
You stand there, dripping melted snow onto the pristine floor, feeling small and out of place in your thin clothes and borrowed jacket. The amount of wealth in front of you is something you've never seen before. Your family had money - not you - and your fiance had money too, but not like this. Not the old money that keeps these houses heated even when they're empty in winter, and full of life in the summer.
"What now?" You ask, voice small in such a vast space.
Jeonghan turns to you, dark eyes searching. "Unless you have somewhere else to go, I'd presume you're stuck here."
Stuck. The word twists inside of you. You'd been stuck in Manhattan, too. Until you finally ran, knowing it was better to die of the cold than it was to die at the hands of a violent man who wanted only your family's name and money. Not you. Never you.
"Stuck." You repeat the word, voice hollow. "I've been stuck my entire life."
"The world out there isn't kind to strays. Especially the kind like you, who have seen something they shouldn't have. My kind don't leave witnesses."
Nervousness coils tight in your chest, your hands fidgeting with the jacket's hem. "But you said you wouldn't hurt me."
"I won't." There is an unspoken yet that lingers between you. But he softens anyway, sympathy - either fake or real you can't tell - crosses his face. "I give you my word. But being with me does have consequences. There are rules and dangers, others who won't hesitate like I did. You have to trust me, and I have to trust you."
Trust. The word tastes bitter, after Vin's lies and the crack of his hand. You look at the closed door behind you, knowing that outside lies nothing but the cool winter of the Hamptons, empty until summer. Here though, it's warm. Here, there is a roof. A creature that could kill you, but perhaps would stand between you and Vin - and Vin's family.
"You're free to leave, if you wish," he murmurs. "You will be safe from whatever cruelty you've run from, if you're lucky. If you stay though, you will find a different sort of cruelty here. Never to you, but you will see things you're not used to."
You look up at him. "But you won't hurt me?"
"I won't hurt you."
It shouldn't be enough. But in a world like yours, filled with mob bosses and men who rule the city and every block of your home, you think that the promise of not hurting you is good enough. It's the only one you've ever received.
"It's enough," you whisper.
He hums. "I wonder what is so bad that you'd choose me over what you're running from, Amontillado."
"The mob."
"Indeed?" You nod. "You are unlucky. Come. You need rest."
He offers his arm, and after a beat, you take it. He leads you up the staircase, steps creaking faintly under your weight but silent under his. The banister is smooth mahogany, carved with intricate vines that twist like veins. You're suddenly reminded of blood, of the people in the train yard, the sounds.
Your stomach flips. There's no turning back now. So you let him lead you up, tired and sore and still a little cold.
The upper hallway stretches long and dim, gas lamps flickering in sconces, casting shadows that dance on wallpaper patterned with subtle florals. Doors line the walls, heavy wood with brass handles, every detail intentional and rich with an artistry that is beyond you.
Jeonghan pauses at a door near the end, turning the handle with a soft click. The room beyond is a dream. A four-poster bed dominates the center of the room, draped in velvet curtains the color of midnight. A fireplace sits cold, but Jeonghan drifts toward it, immediately setting himself to the task of lighting it. You follow him, eager for warmth.
Windows overlook the dark grounds, heavy curtains - to block out the dawn, you realize - covering the glass. A vanity sits in the corner, mirror framed in twisting gold filigree. A wardrobe looms opposite, closed tight.
Flames lick to life. You hold out your hands, thankful for the heat as Jeonghan rises in one fluid motion. He looks like the devil, the orange light from the fire turning his face from angel to demon. Despite the heat, you shiver, staring at him as he cocks his head, looking at you like he doesn't know what to do with you.
"This room is yours," he says. He gestures toward a door. "There's a bath through that door. I can send for a tailor for clothes in the morning. You look dreadful and unless humans have rapidly adapted in a way I'm unfamiliar with, you're going to freeze dressed like that."
"I…" You hesitate. "You don't have to do that."
"I don't have to, you're right." He walks toward the door, steps silent. "Like I said, I was feeling empathetic, Amontillado. And perhaps I'm loath to see such a pretty thing snuffed out after fighting so hard to keep burning."
His words make your stomach flutter. You watch him go, unsure how to thank him. Unsure if you should thank him. Unsure if this is all a mistake and if he's going to kill you and drain you when you let your guard down, a liar to the end, just like Vin.
Jeonghan pauses at the door and levels you with a look that feels like he can sense your fear again. "Sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow night."
Tomorrow night.
Because you won't see him during the day. You swallow thickly, nodding. "Thank you, Jeonghan."
"Lock the door if it makes you feel safer. Though nothing here will harm you without my say."
Then he's gone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving you alone. You stand there, heart pounding, the jacket still wrapped around you smelling like jasmine. The fire pops, and you move finally, shedding the coat and sinking onto the bed's edge.
For the first time all night, you lay down on a bed, sinking in. It's softer than anything you've ever known, and you wonder what it would be like to live like this, surrounded by softness. By richness.
Sleep drags at you, and just as you begin to fall asleep, it occurs to you that perhaps you've just traded one cage for another.
-
You wake with a start, sucking in a warm breath of air as you sit upright. The room spins, unfamiliar and confusing as the last dregs of your nightmare start to melt away, flashes of images sticking to you: Vin's snarling face, your mother's iron cold hand on your wrist, blood pooling in your mouth, cheek stinging as your father yells.
The room is dim, fire refused to glowing coals that cast a faint orange glow across the velvet curtains. Your heart begins to slow as you remember where you are. You're not in that tenement apartment with thin walls and shouting neighbors, with Vin's heavy footsteps and angry shouting.
You draw your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. The memories of last night settle around you like sediment in water: the fire escape's icy bite, the train yard with pools of blood, Jeonghan's voice cutting through the wet sound of flesh parting and blood spilling.
Shaking it off, you get up and pad to the curtains, peeking between them. Late afternoon slips through the velvet, pale gold light turning the snow outside sugary. The grounds of the estate stretch wide and white, oaks stripped bare from the winter, icicles hanging like crystals from their branches. A frozen fountain sits sentinel in the drive, a detail you'd missed the night before.
Beyond the estate, you see the Atlantic. It rolls grey and restless, the horizon swallowed by clouds. No people. No movement except the wind. It seems that this lonely house is smack in the middle of the extravagance of the Hamptons, but the winter has chased everyone else away.
Everyone else except the man who'd brought you here last night.
Turning away from the window, you look at the door to the bedroom. You'd taken his advice and locked it last night to feel better, still small and a little afraid in this strange house. Now, you wonder if it's safe to explore. Jeonghan had said he would see you the next night and he hadn't forbad you from exploring during the daylight hours.
Curiosity overrides the lingering tremor in your hands. You need to move, to map out this place in your mind, to find exits in the event you need them again, to prove to yourself that you're not trapped.
The hallway outside is hushed, gas sconces turned low, their flames steady behind etched glass. Doors line both sides, dark wood gleaming, brass handles cold under your fingertips as you test one. It's locked so you don't push further, drifting toward the staircase. The bannister is smooth under your palm, dingers trailing along the carved vines, half expecting them to twitch and come to life in this strange place.
Downstairs, the foyer is empty, afternoon light slanting in through the tall windows, dust motes floating in the air. The grandfather clock ticks slowly in the corner, the only sound to accompany you as you turn left toward an archway that leads to a parlor. Velvet settees in burgundy and marble-topped tables fill the room. Empty crystal decanters glinter in the sunlight, tossing rainbow prisms around the room.
A beautiful grand piano sits in the corner. You drift toward it, noting that there's no dust, despite the lid being closed. The sheet music is yellowed at the edges - Mozart, you realize. Your lips twitched, tapping the top as you wonder if it's Jeonghan who plays.
You pass from the parlor, drifting room to room. Each one unfolds, richer and more marvelous than the last. There's a dining hall with a table stretched long enough for banquets, a conservatory with walls of fogged glass and full of ferns and orchids that are sleeping under the frosty panes, a billiard room with scarred felt and perfectly racked cues.
Paintings watch your exploration from every wall. The gilded frames are filled with stern men in high collars and ladies with keen eyes. You shiver as you pass them, wandering until you find a set of ancient double doors cracked open, the smell of paper and wax luring you in.
You step inside, the warm lamplight spilling over you. Your breath catches - it's a library. It's massive inside, shelves climbing three stories high with ladders on brass rails. Leather spines in every color line the shelves, some with gold lettering, some in lettering you can't read at all. It smells like paper and ink, drawing you in.
It's dark inside as you drift toward a shelf, your fingers tracing titles. Poe. Shelley. Things in Latin and French you don't know how to read. You smirk when you see Stoker, pulling the tome from the shelf and drifting toward the lamplight as you finger through the thin pages.
You settle on a rug on the floor, closest to the single floor lamp that's on. Even with the lamp, it's a challenge to read, the darkness of the library pressing in as you squint at the opening lines of the story - though now real, perhaps - interested in what truths you might find.
A needle-thin awareness prickles at the back of your neck. You look up, turning over your shoulder, heart skipping as a chill settles in. You see nothing at first, eyes struggling to adjust in the dim light. You nearly write it off as paranoia from the subject material in your lap when you see it, the outline of a shadow near the stacks, just at the wavering edge of lamplight.
Panic locks you in place. There's a man standing in total shadow, tall and broad-shoulder. You can barely make out his face, but you see him cock his head, the lamplight reflecting off glasses. Your heart begins to race when you see the unnatural silver flash of his eyes - vampire.
He drifts forward and yet he hardly seems to move at all. One second he's in total darkness, the next he's in the orange glow, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your instincts scream predator. His lips part, revealing the barest flash of fang, and a low growl vibrates from his chest - quiet and gentle, but it vibrates through you, terror unlike anything you've ever known thrumming through you.
"Wonwoo."
Jeonghan's voice slices through the tension like a blade. You flinch, looking at where Jeonghan has appeared in the doorway. He's in a white shirt that's open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He steps forward and appears between you and the vampire - Wonwoo - in the blink of an eye, impossibly fast.
"We have a guest," Jeonghan says. "I apologize - I haven't had a moment to tell you and I didn't think our little Amontillado would go wandering." Jeonghan glances at you, eyes glittering. "She's braver than I thought she is. Let's leave her be, please."
Wonwoo's jaw tightens, a muscle ticking. His gaze flicks from Jeonghan to you, hunger warring with something colder - resentment, maybe. He exhales through his nose then turns, vanishing into the shadow again. You blink. One moment he's there, the next he's gone, a phantom among the stacks.
Jeonghan drifts toward you and crouches, sighing. "Breathe. You're safe."
It isn't until he says something that you realize you're shaking. You swallow and nod, snapping the book shut in your lap.
"I didn't mean to tresspass. I was just looking."
"I know. It's alright. You did nothing wrong."
You look up at him and he gives you a lazy smile before leaning forward to pluck the book out of your lap. He huffs when he sees it, holding it up, cover toward you, as he arches a brow in question. You flush, looking at your hands in your lap.
"Thought I could learn a thing or two."
"Stoker doesn't get much right," Jeonghan chuckles. He offers you a hand and you take it, letting him pull you up. His touch is warm and steady, thumb brushing over your knuckles briefly before he releases you. "I should have warned you not to wander at first. You're not a prisoner here, you are certainly free to treat the house as your own. But a gentle reminder that this house has teeth."
"How many teeth, then? Besides you."
"Three. Wonwoo, who you just met. He's particular about territory and he doesn't like people in his library without warning, so please ask for permission next time. Junhui you don't have to worry about, he is incredibly kind and is fond of humanity. Soonyoung…" Jeonghan pauses, expression darkening. "Soonyoung struggles. He is a gentle soul, but blood calls to him louder than the rest of us. Stay away from the east wing unless you're with me, yes?"
You nod. "No east wing. Understood."
Jeonghan studies you a moment longer, then offers his arm. "Let me show you properly. No more surprises."
You slip your hand through the crook of his elbow, fabric of his shirt soft against your palm. Your heart races and you wonder if he can tell, the twitch of his mouth something between smug and genuine. You let Jeonghan lead you back through all of the rooms you toured yourself, but now with his soft voice pointing out things you never noticed before.
In the parlor, he sits at the piano, lifting the cover. You grin, drifting toward him as his hair falls forward in his eyes while his fingers run over the keys. It's not the sheet music in front of him, but it's something darker and more melodic, the sound swirling around you.
Your eyes fixate on his hands, watching the way he plays. They're delicate and fluid, moving over each key intimately, like stroking a lover. It makes you flush as you listen to him until he finishes, the last note dying in the warm air.
"It's beautiful," you murmur.
He glances up, dark eyes wide. "The piece or the player?"
Heat creeps up your neck. You look away, but not before catching the spark in his gaze, something warm and teasing. It tugs at your heartstrings. You don't know what to do with warm and teasing, so used to Vin's vitriol and cool dismissal.
Jeonghan picks the tour back up, leading you down into the wet cold of the cellars. You shiver, following him down the stone steps. Lanterns glitter to life as he passes, the soft yellow glow throwing light and shadows.
At the bottom, you step into a room with vaulted ceiling overhead and crates lining the walls, each labeled with something innocuous. He drifts toward one, prying the top with that same inhuman strength he'd used the night before to reveal dark bottles inside.
Your breath catches at the sight. There are dozens of bottles of amber liquor and dark crimson, vicious in the low light.
"Bootlegging is popular among us," he says, voice low. "It's made it easier for us to run blood. We run both blood and liquor across the East Coast - New York, Boston, Phildelphia." He taps a bottle of red. "The real cargo is the blood. It makes it easier for us to live in the open when we have a supply."
"The train last night - was it carrying both?"
"It was." He drifts closer, eyes darkening. "So imagine my surprise to find you among my well-paid for Amontillado, hmm?"
"Do all your… endeavors go that way?"
He sharpens. "No. Those men last night were trying to steal from me."
"Oh."
Jeonghan closes the crate and leads you back up the stairs. His hand brushes against the small of your back when you stumble, leading you carefully out of the dark and back to the top. Your skin tingles despite the separation of fabric, and when he steps away, you realize you wish he wouldn't.
"Tell me about you," he says, crossing his arms behind his back as you stroll toward the conservatory. "Not the escape. But before. Why you were running."
You chew your lip, suddenly embarrassed to recount your life to him. How to tell him that you could have had an okay life if you were good at being seen, not heard, if you could just say the right thing at the right time. If you could just accept Vin's apologies and flowers that always followed harsh words and a smack.
"My family business was…" You start, looking for words.
"The mob." You nod. "So you said."
"My family wasn't very high up but the son of a powerful man thought I was pretty. My father paid for his seat at the table and promised me to him." You look at your hands, hating the way your voice constricts. "Like I was property."
"You're not property." You glance up at him. His eyes are dark, something you can't read in them. "And I need you to know when I say mine - it is different among my kind. It is only true in protection, not ownership. I told you you were not a prisoner here. I meant it."
"Thank you, Jeonghan."
Jeonghan’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer, something unreadable flickering behind those dark eyes. Then he offers the smallest nod. "Come, there's still more to see."
He guides you through the rest of the ground floor with the same patient cadence he’s used all evening, never rushing or crowding you. You pass a smoking room lined with leather-bound books of poetry and shelves of crystal decanters, a conservatory annex where orchids sleep under frost-laced glass, a solarium whose leaded windows overlook the frozen sea beyond.
Every room feels both lived-in and impossibly untouched, as though the house has been waiting decades for someone living to walk its halls again. Jeonghan moves through it all with casual ownership, fingers occasionally brushing a carved chair rail or trailing along the edge of a marble mantle. You notice how he never quite touches anything for long, as though the textures of the human world are both familiar and faintly foreign to him now.
You wonder what it must be like to be a vampire. You don't know much about them beyond the violence of the trainyard and the pages of Bram Stoker's Dracula. You have no idea how much of Stoker's recount of them is myth or fact, but Jeonghan seems human enough, once you look past his stillness and the silent way he moves. He smiles earnestly, eyes crinkling. He has secret smiles when he seems to remember something.
Still. There is a hint of melancholy about him, a touch of sadness that you can't really understand as he shows you the pieces of his home like he's introducing you to relatives he hasn't seen in a long while.
Eventually the tour curves back toward the center of the house. He pauses at an arched doorway you hadn’t noticed earlier, half-hidden behind a heavy velvet curtain. Warm light spills from the other side, carrying the faint scent of coffee and something buttery.
“The kitchen,” he announces, drawing the curtain aside. “I thought you might be hungry.”
You hesitate on the threshold. The kitchen is far larger than anything you've ever stepped foot in. Copper pots hang from iron racks overhead, gleaming softly under pendant lights. A long island of black marble runs down the center, flanked by high stools. Windows line one wall, snow drifting being frosted glass.
Jeonghan glances back at you. “You’re allowed in here, Amontillado. In fact-" He pats the countertop beside him. "Up you go."
You blink. “On the counter?”
“Yes. It’s the best seat in the house when I’m cooking.”
There’s a playful lilt to his voice that makes your stomach do an uncertain flip. You climb up carefully, the marble cold through the borrowed clothes. Jeonghan doesn’t comment on your bare legs or the way you tug the hem down self-consciously - he simply starts pulling out materials for breakfast.
You watch as he gathers eggs, butter, a small wheel of cheese in wrapped paper, a bundle of chives. He unwraps a loaf of bread that looks as though it was delivered today, the crust still dark and crisp. He sets a cast-iron skillet on the burner and lights the gas with a quick twist of the knob, every move efficient and practiced.
“I don’t usually keep food in the house,” he says conversationally. "When it's just me and the others, the pantry is mostly empty. When we have large parties, I simply cater. But after last night, I had several things delivered at dawn. Figured you needed more than survival instinct to live on."
You let out a surprised laugh. “You ordered food? For me?”
“Unless you’d prefer I let you starve. Which would be terribly inconvenient, considering I’ve already decided I like having you around.”
Heat crawls up your throat. Instead of acknowledging his comment, you say, "I didn't imagine vampires cooked."
“We don’t need to eat.” He cracks eggs into a bowl with one hand, the motion practiced, elegant in its refinement. "But some of us remember how. I enjoy it. The rhythm of it. The way heat changes things. The small alchemy of salt and time. I used to like feeding people."
The admission is quiet, almost offhand, but it lands somewhere deep in your chest. You watch the way his forearms flex beneath rolled sleeves, the careful way he folds chopped chives into the eggs. There’s something intimate about witnessing it. He's entirely different from the man who led you through blood and gore just the night prior.
Jeonghan slides the omelet onto a plate and adds two thick slices of break slicked with butter into the pan, toasting them briefly before removing them and adding them to the plate. He turns to face you, setting the plate next to you with a small flourish, followed by freshly squeezed orange juice.
"Eat," he says softly, leaning one hip against the counter as he crosses his arms. "I know it's technically evening, but breakfast should be enjoyed at any time."
You pick up the fork. The first bite is impossibly good and you make a small, involuntary sound of pleasure and he grins. "Good?"
"Better than good. I haven't eaten anything since… I left."
His expression softens. He reaches over and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You freeze briefly, but if he's put out by your reaction, he doesn't show it. He simply watches you, those dark eyes uncanny and incredibly open. And kind.
It sends a shiver down your spine. You don't know the last time someone looked at you with kindness, and yet the creature in front of you has made you feel more cared for in the last twelve hours than most of your family have your entire life.
"If you want more, I'll make more."
You smile, soft and small. "You said you like feeding people."
"I do."
"Why?"
He considers the question, gaze drifting toward the window where snow has begun to fall again in slow, fat flakes. “Because once I was human. And once I was hungry in ways that had nothing to do with blood. I remember what it felt like to be taken care of. To matter enough that someone would stand at a stove and make something warm for you. I suppose I'm selfish and I like the reminder."
It reminds you of what he said last night: I was feeling empathetic.
You think it might be more than that, that perhaps that under the sharp, playful exterior of the vampire is something that longs for kindness in an overly cruel world. You don't say so, but Jeonghan's actions speak louder than the casual cruelty you saw last night.
Jeonghan watches you finish the last bite of toast, the way your tongue darts out to catch a stray crumb from your lower lip. He doesn’t speak right away. Instead he reaches past you to collect the empty plate, his sleeve brushing your bare forearm.
He sets the plate in the deep porcelain sink, runs water over it for a moment, then turns the tap off and dries his hands on a linen towel. When he faces you again, he seems inquisitive. He leans against the counter, arms crossed as his eyes drink you in. You feel a little exposed under that heavy gaze, fidgeting as he assesses something.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says. “About last night. About the train. About how easily you could have died in half a dozen different ways before I ever found you behind those barrels.”
"I know. My fiance said I wouldn't make it three blocks without him."
"Is that so?"
You nod. "But I made it all the way here."
“So you did.” One corner of his mouth lifts, not quite a smile. “Alive. Warm. Resilient as I've ever seen in a human.” His gaze drops briefly to your mouth, then returns to your eyes. “It occurred to me that I might have use for someone like you.”
Your heart stutters. "Use?"
"My business requires a certain kind of performance. We move products through human channels. Speakeasies and backroom deals, deliveries that need to look legitimate to anyone wearing a badge or asking questions. The humans we employ are useful, but they're not one of us. They don't know what we are. They know that we're something, but it's a risk for us."
You straighten, realizing where this was going. You wipe the crumbs from your fingers, nervous but interested. You've never had a job before, and you don't dare to hope that Jeonghan is giving you one now, but you listen eagerly.
"You've already proven your worth to me," he continues. "You ran from a man who would have killed you for less than what you saw last night, and you didn't scream once. Didn't run away in the night. I need someone I can trust with the daylight side of things. Someone who can walk into a club at noon to check inventory and smile at the suppliers or charm the cops. I'd like that someone to be you, if you're up for it."
You blink, stunned. No one has ever asked you to do anything that mattered. Not like this. Your father wanted you silent and ornamental. Vin wanted you to be compliant and decorative. Even your mother’s rare moments of attention came with instructions on how to sit, how to speak, how to disappear into the background of powerful men’s lives.
What Jeonhan is offering you is the opposite. He's not offering marriage or to be a decoration. He's asking if you want a role. A purpose. Agency to do something on his behalf. He must see the realization cross your face because his expression softens, just a fraction.
“There’s no obligation,” he adds quickly. “If you say no, nothing changes. You stay here as long as you want. You read in the library. You eat whatever ridiculous quantity of food I have delivered."
"And if I say yes?"
"I’ll teach you. Everything. How the liquor routes work. Which speakeasies are ours and which ones we tolerate. How to spot a fed before he opens his mouth. How to move money without anyone noticing the blood on it.”
"Really?"
He smiles. "Yes. And I’ll keep you safe while you learn. No one will touch you. Not Vin. Not his people. Not mine.”
Your pulse is loud in your ears. Were this Vin asking, you'd feel like it was a trap. Some sort of trick question to get you to give him a reason to hurt you. But Jeonghan stares at you earnestly, no threat hanging above your head, no punishment for saying no.
A choice.
It's a choice, which you have little experience with. Jeonghan gives it to you freely, leaving it up to you whether you want to learn something new, to have a job - an important one, one that requires trust. Respect. The very thought of getting to be important to someone - of getting to help - makes your heart race.
A few hours ago, you were ready to risk freezing on a train to go somewhere far away. You'd had no plan other than to pick up whatever job you could, to scrap something together from nothing. You'd been desperate and ready to risk your life to get away from Vin and your family, willing to do anything.
"I've never…" You pause, taking a breath. "No one has ever asked me to help with anything important before."
"I don't want you to be quiet or invisible." He takes a step toward you, then hesitates. He seems to want to move closer, but he thinks better of it, leaning against the counter again. "A woman willing to do what you did last night deserves a chance at being something, Amontillado. I want to give you the chance to be sharp. To be seen."
You think of your father’s study, the way he’d talk business over cigars while you were sent to the parlor to embroider or pour tea. You think of Vin’s apartment, the way he’d lay out your days like a schedule. How he'd tell you when to smile, when to look away, when to pretend the bruises were accidents. You think of every time you were told your worth was in your face, your name, your ability to be handed from one man to another like a signed contract.
Jeonghan's gaze rests on you. You look at him - this creature who could kill you with a flick of his wrist - and feel heat in his gaze. Vin looked at you like something to be shown off. Jeonghan looks at you like you might be the missing piece in his carefully constructed world. Someone who could walk into rooms where people lie and cheat and kill, and walk out with information, with leverage, with power.
You've never had power before. The allure of it is hypnotic, a pull to something you've only dreamed about having. You know that helping him means stepping deeper into this world, that last night's trainyard of blood and violence will become commonplace. If you say yes, you’re choosing to stand closer to the monsters. You’re choosing to become complicit. Useful. Necessary.
But you'd be protected in a way you'd never had before, and important enough to make your own decisions. Defend yourself, even. Maybe.
The option to say no is there too. To live a life hidden here, under Jeonghan's care. But you want more than safety. You want purpose and you want to know what it feels like to be the one making choices instead of having them made for you, even if the choices are dangerous.
You lift your chin, leveling your gaze with his. "I would like that."
His pupils flare, black swallowing the silver flash for a heartbeat. Then he exhales softly, almost laughing as the tension thrumming through him eases. You realize he thought you were going to say no, and you delight in having surprised him.
“Tomorrow night, then,” he says. “After dark. I’ll take you to our flagship in Manhattan. You’ll meet the staff, see how the front room operates, learn the signals we use when something’s wrong. You’ll wear something that makes you look untouchable.” His gaze travels down the length of you, lingering on bare legs, then back to your face. “I’ll have clothes sent up. Something black. Something sleek. Something that says you're protected.”
The possessive edge to the words should frighten you. It doesn’t. Not when he says it like a vow instead of a chain. Not when you’ve just chosen to walk into his world with your eyes open.
Jeonghan grins and steps forward, offering you a hand to help you down from the counter. You slide your palm into his and he helps you down, but doesn't let go of your hand right away. His thumb strokes over your knuckles once, slow and deliberate.
"Rest," he murmurs. "Read. Bathe. Eat again if you're hungry, ask for me to make you a meal. Whatever you want. Explore, so long as you stay away from the east wing, yes? You remember?"
"Yes. That's where Soonyoung is."
He releases your hand but stays close. “And Amontillado?” You look up at him. “When we step outside these walls tomorrow night, you walk like you belong there. Because you will."
With a small grin, he leaves you there, drifting from the kitchen and through the curtain, a silent wraith. You sit there a moment longer, replaying the decision in your head. Fear and exhilaration twist together until you can’t separate them. You’ve just agreed to work for a vampire. To lie to people. To handle money that’s been laundered through blood. To step into rooms where danger is as ordinary as the sky is blue.
But for the first time in your life, the choice was yours. Three blocks and some change away - further than Vin said you'd ever get - you feel lighter than you have in years.
-
Dracula sits in your lap as you curl into the deepest armchair you can find in the salon downstairs. Your legs are tucked beneath you, the fire in the grate burning down to embers. It's quiet, night turning late as you flip through the pages of your book, engrossed with the way the letters in the novel unfold, feeding you pieces of information that you're sure aren't fact, but rather embellished mysticism.
The door to the salon opens and you look up to see Jeonghan step inside. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled to the elbows, his hair slightly mused. He pauses in the doorway, eyes finding you immediately.
"Good," he grins. "This is a good place to do it."
You close the book slowly. "Do what?"
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead he turns back toward the hall and makes a small gesture with his hand. Two men in dark suits enter behind him, each carrying leather cases and several garment bags folded carefully over their arms. Another man follows them, noticeably taller than Jeonghan with a lean, elongated frame.
His face is arresting, with sharp cheekbones and dark hair that frames dark, cat-like eyes. He's handsome, drifting gracefully into the room to perch on the settee, elegant as ever, dark eyes looking at you with interest.
Jeonghan closes the door behind him, drifting to lean on the bookshelf closest to you. The two men begin popping open their suitcases, revealing measuring tape, samples of fabric, and more. Your interest piques as you glance at Jeonghan, who smirks.
"Measurements," he tells you. "Can't keep wearing borrowed things forever, Amontillado."
You set the book aside and stand, the ill-fitting trousers and shirts a little baggy in some places and tight in others. Jeonghan watches you, his eyes missing nothing, gaze lingering a little. There's nothing overt in the way he looks at you, but you feel something in his gaze anyway, your face warming as you turn toward the tailors, heart pounding.
The man on the settee lifts his hands in a small wave when your eyes settle on him, curious. "Junhui," he says. "Jeonghan said he'd appreciate my opinion. I like clothes." He tilts his head, studying you. "It's nice to meet you."
"You too," you murmur, turning as the lead tailor steps forward.
"We will begin with measurements, Miss." He gestures to the open space between settees where the younger of the two men - his apprentice, you think - sets a small step. "Please stand on this small platform."
You hesitate only a second before stepping onto the makeshift platform. Jeonghan doesn’t sit. He leans one shoulder against the bookshelf nearest you, arms folded, watching with that same unhurried focus. Junhui shifts closer, perching on the edge of the settee so he can see both you and the tailors clearly.
The tailors begin to take your measurements, encircling tape around your bust, your waist, your arms. Junhui and Jeonghan watch in silence. Junhui's gaze is clinical and precise, while Jeonghan's makes the side of your face heat. You swallow past a knot in your throat, turning this way and that as the tailors work efficiently.
"She has a bit of a delicate build," Junhui notes. "Perhaps we can play that up without making her look fragile. Let's go with high necklaces but cut to show the line of her throat. Nothing that says look at me but rather says you should be looking."
Jeonghan makes a small sound, his fingers tightening briefly against his biceps. His eyes don't leave you for a second.
Junhui gestures to his own body for reference along the waist. "Create cinches here for her. Can I see the fabric? I'd like dark options - emerald, sapphire, burgundy. Nothing pastel. She isn't a debutante, though she is untouchable."
He glances at Jeonghan on the last word, smirking. Jeonghan doesn’t react outwardly, but there's a subtle shift in his posture, his gaze darkening just enough that his eyes flash that unusual predator silver when he tilts his head. He’s still leaning against the shelf, still casual, but there’s a tension in him now, coiled and quiet. Like he’s imagining you in every garment they’re describing. Like he’s already seeing the way the fabric will lie against your skin, the way it will shift when you turn, the way it will look under speakeasy lights when you’re standing beside him.
The thought sends heat crawling up your neck. You look away, focusing on the measuring tape as the apprentice moves to your inseam. The apprentice kneels, fingers delicate on the inside of your thigh, and Jeonghan makes a sound. Everyone goes rigid, your eyes flicking to his.
"Careful with your hands," he murmurs. "That's all."
When your eyes meet his again, he doesn’t look away. There’s no smirk, no teasing lift of his brow. Just that steady, intimate stare. You hold his gaze for longer than you mean to. Something shifts in the air between you that you don't understand, but you feel goosebumps spread down your arms as the tailors finish their measurements.
"We have what we need," the lead tailor says, bowing his head toward Jeonghan. "The first pieces will be ready by tomorrow evening."
Junhui stands, stretching like a cat. “You’re going to look devastating. Come find me in the north wing if you're ever looking to play cards."
You manage a small smile. “Thank you for your help."
He winks, then glances at Jeonghan. “I’ll leave you to it. See you tomorrow night.”
Junhui slips out, followed by the tailors, who murmur polite goodbyes and promise delivery. The door closes behind them with a soft click. Jeonghan pushes off the bookshelf and crosses to you in three silent steps. He stops just a step away, close enough that you smell the jasmine and faint cedar of his shirt.
"You can go back to reading. Dracula, was it?" You flush and he grins. "It's okay. Tell me what you think when you're finished."
You nod, throat tight. "Thank you, by the way. For the clothes but… also everything."
“You’re welcome, Amontillado.”
He doesn’t touch you. He doesn’t need to. The air between you hums as he dips his head, eyes lingering for only a moment before he drifts out of the room, soundless as ever. When the door clicks shut behind him, you drop into the chair again, heart pounding, head reeling.
-
Winter dusk settles over the Hamptons. You stand in your room - because it is your room now - turning in the full length mirror as you examine one of the dresses the tailor dropped off for you just an hour ago. It's a black dress made of crepe de chine, clinging to you like a second skin. The neckline is high like Junhui recommended, but frames the hollow of your throat, a subtle invitation of vulnerability in a room full of vampires that you think is meant to lure them in.
Your fingers tremble slightly as you smooth the fabric over your hips. This isn't the threadbare cotton dresses of your old life, nor the gaudy silks Vin paraded you in at mob dinners. This feels like armor, sleek and sensual, designed to make you move through the world with purpose. Untouchable, but not invisible. There is a difference in the two, and knowing that leaves a new hum resonating in you as the grandfather clock downstairs chimes.
Taking a deep breath, you remove a coat from the wardrobe, also newly delivered. It's heavy, and furlined, the collar thick to keep the wind off of you. You throw it over your arm and head downstairs, hurrying to not leave Jeonghan and Wonwoo waiting. Jeonghan had instructed you to meet them in the foyer at seven sharp, and you don't want to disappoint him from the start.
At the base of the stairs, Jeonghan leans against the banister, one hand in his pocket, the other idly tracing the vines carved into the wood. His suit is midnight wool, cut sharp and flawless, a white shirt open at the collar to reveal the pale column of his throat. Wonwoo stands just behind him, his black suit more severe, his hands clasped behind his back like a sentinel.
Jeonghan glances up as you approach, lips parting slightly. For a heartbeat, he is utterly still, a predator frozen in the act of spotting prey. His gaze sharpens and then softens immediately, like he's controlling an instinctual hunger as his gaze travels the length of you.
Heat blooms under your skin everywhere Jeonghan's eyes linger. You've seen desire before - Vine's was crude and greedy, a claim staked with bruises. This is different, a sort of awe that makes your heart beat faster as you reach him. Jeonghan's pupils dilate, and you feel a ripple of something go through him, a palpable change.
"Amontialldo," he murmurs. "You look utterly devastating."
"Thank you."
Wonwoo clears his throat politely, drawing your attention. His expression is stiff, jaw tight beneath his glasses, but there's no hostility, just a guarded politeness. "Sorry for the other night."
"It's alright. I won't intrude again."
His mouth twitches. "The library is open to you. Perhaps just… knock."
Outside, the car is waiting. Jeonghan offers you his arm and you take it, the wool of his sleeve warm against your bare fingers. His touch is light, but the proximity is intoxicating - the faint jasmine scent of him, the solid warmth. Wonwoo falls behind you as Jeonghan pauses at the front to help you shrug on your coat before leading you outside into the cold night, snow crunching under your boots.
The car idles for you, and the same driver from the other night opens the door. You slide in across the leather seat, Jeonghan's hand helps you before he follows, settling beside you. Wonwoo takes the other side, bracketing you between them.
Sitting between two vampires is odd. Wonwoo is stiff, leaning into the door. You think it's to offer you a little comfort, which you're grateful for. Jeonghan's presence is the opposite. His knee knocks into yours occasionally as the car drives through the frozen Hamptons, sometimes lingering. You glance at him to find him watching you already, tension thrumming through him like a plucked string. He doesn't speak, but his gaze flicks to your mouth briefly before he turns to watch the world pass by out the window.
You wonder if he feels it too, a single magnetic thread between you. You shake off the thought. If there's any desire there, you think it might be the instinctual one to bite you, the one that he clearly makes an effort to retrain as he watches the world pass by. Wonwoo stares straight ahead, stiff as a statue, but you catch the subtle flare of his nostrils, as though scenting the shift in the air.
It must be difficult for them, you realize. You're pressed between them, your blood probably a temptation. You try to make yourself smaller, shrinking in on yourself to make it easier on them, to-
"Don't do that," Jeonghan murmurs. You glance at him, eyes wide. "We're perfectly comfortable. Aren't we, Wonwoo?"
"Quite."
You nod, relaxing a little as Jeonghan's mouth quirks before he looks out the window.
The drive to Manhattan stretches long and silent at first. Bare trees claw at the starless sky, their branches like shadows against the night. The car's heater hums, warming the cabin until it's nearly stifling. It isn't until the city is blooming on the horizon, a spill of lights against the oil slick of night that Jeonghan breaks the silence.
"The first place we're visiting tonight is simply called The Red." His voice is soft, barely above a murmur. "It's our flagship, essentially. It fronts as a high-end jazz club, but the real business is below. Liquor for the humans, blood for us. Tonight you'll meet the staff and learn the signals. It's just about learning. No tests."
"Stay close," Wonwoo adds curtly. "The Red is our highest concentration of vampire customers. You won't be able to tell them apart from humans for the most part."
You nod. "I will."
The car weaves through the traffic as it plunges into the city's heart. Manhattan is alive and roaring, streets gleaming wetly from melty snow, reflecting the lights from neon advertisements for Coca-Cola and the newest Broadway show. Pedestrians huddle in fur coats, breath fogging the air, small areas lit by alleyway warming fires and the flash of police lights.
Your car arrives at a nondescript brick building in Greenwich Village, its facade unassuming and a single sign that denotes the building as a laundry service. Jeonghan helps you out of the car, the winter air biting as he leads you up the steps behind Wonwoo. Wonwoo raps three times on the door and waits until it opens.
"Evening, boss," a burly man greets.
Wonwoo claps the man on the shoulder and steps in, you and Jeonghan after him. The store is a dry cleaners. There are racks and racks of clothes in wrapped plastic and garment bags, a small counter ready to take orders with a till. A hallway leads back toward additional storage closets and offices, but it's otherwise entirely normal.
You glance at Jeonghan who grins, and nudges you to follow Wonwoo down the hallway, his fingers lingering at the small of your back. Wonwoo opens a door that leads to an office with a wardrobe, to which he then opens to reveal a false door and a set of stairs. You startle as he walks down the steps, vanishing into the dark.
"Careful," Jeonghan murmurs, breath against your ear as he guides you. "Don't miss a step."
As you go down, music swalls. The air grows heavier, scented with rose perfume, whiskey, and something metallic. The speakeasy unfolds before you like a living dream, all low ceilings and gas lamps that cast golden pools of light amid velvet shadows, illuminating booths upholstered in red leather. Couples lean close, lips brushing ears amidst laughter, the air heavy with cigar smoke.
Tables scatter the floor, covered in white linen stained with rings of spilled drinks, crystal ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts. The bar dominates one wall with bottles of amber and crimson liquids glinting behind it like jewels in the dim light. Bartenders in crisp white shirts move with practiced grace, pouring from unmarked decanters, their eyes sharp, missing nothing.
Someone offers to take your coat and you let them. You're unsure where to look, the entire speakeasy a kaleidoscope of sound and color - flappers in beaded fringe dresses that shimmer under the lights, en in pinstripe suits and fedoras cluster in groups, cigars clamped between teeth.
Jeonghan steers you through the throng, his presence a shield as he leads you to a large, empty booth in the corner. "This is ours. Always."
You slide in first, the leather cool and yielding against your thighs through the dress, sticking slightly to your skin in the humid warmth. Jeonghan follows, his thigh pressing against yours as he settles with his arms stretched either way across the back of the seat, not touching you, but close. Wonwoo takes the outer edge, his stiff posture a contrast to Jeonghan's relaxed elegance, eyes darting around.
A waitress approaches immediately. She's pretty, a young woman with pretty emerald earrings and a tight dress. "Gentleman and…" Her eyes flick to you, surprised. "New face?"
"She's with us," Jeonghan says over the noisy din. "You'll adjust to her. The usual for Wonwoo and I." Jeonghan looks at you. "What are you having?"
"Old fashion," you answer haltingly, looking from Jeonghan to the waitress. You've never had one, but you'd watched your father drink them, always wanting to try. "Rye, not bourbon. Extra bitters, if you have them."
Vin never let you order, always deciding for you like you were a child. Here, Jeonghan's lips curve in genuine pleasure, his fingers grazing your shoulder in approval. The waitress nods before slinking off, melting into the crowd.
"That's Ella," he tells you. "Very sweet, sharp. Probably the most loyal person we have, for a human. She knows we're something but not what. She handles the front bar, spots trouble before it brews."
Wonwoo shifts. "The signals are key here. See the bartender over there?" You lean, looking at the tall man behind the bar. He's broad shouldered and taller than anyone else in the bar, his hair slicked back and shining under the light as he flashes a smile at someone. "That's Mingyu. Note the pocket square in his jacket. What color is it?"
"Green."
"Good. Ella acts as a spotter. She'll tell Mingyu code words and the colors of his pocket square changes to alert the workers. Red means problem - feds or a rival, really anything that means one of us needs to address it to assess whether we need to clear out. Blue means someone is asking too many questions. Green is good. Yellow means shipment of liquor has arrived, orange means blood. You only need to handle yellow."
You nod, absorbing it, questions forming. "How do you hide the specialties?"
Jeonghan's eyes sparkle with that delight again, leaning closer so his shoulder presses yours. "Clever question. The liquor comes in marked as laundry detergent. Blood crates will be marked as ammonia."
Before you can respond, Ella returns with drinks. Two of the glasses are wine with a hint of something metallic - blood. The other is your old fashioned, the orange peel making the air tangy. You thank her and take the drink, sipping. It's strong enough to make your eyes water, scrunching up your face as it burns all the way down.
As Ella leaves, another man walks over, slender and elegant as a knife. "This is Minghao," Jeonghan says, gesturing to the man who bows his head a little. He's one of the most beautiful people you've ever seen, dark eyes shadowed in the dim bar. "He's our manager, but he can only work the night shift." You nod, understanding - vampire. "I'd like him to show you some things so you can handle the day shift."
"Really?"
He grins. "I meant what I said. Go, learn some things. I'll be watching." His eyes flicker to Minghao. "Take care of her, please."
His hand squeezes your knee under the table. It makes your heart lurch and you grin as Minghao steps to the side for you to slide out of the booth. You follow him to a small office behind the bar. It's cramped and lit by a single desk lamp, walls lined with shelves of leather-bound books.
Looking at Minghao, you know there's no way you would have been able to mistake him as a vampire after seeing Jeonghan and the others. His movements are too fluid, steps too silent. There's an eeriness about him in the dark that wars with his hypnotic beauty, voice soft as he introduces himself.
Minghao pulls a ledger out of a desk, pages filled with coded entries, dates and quantities with cryptic notes squeezed into margins. He taps to a line and glances at you as you allow yourself a single step closer, trying not to get into his personal space.
"See here," he says, tracing a line. "This is where we track inventory and payments including payoffs to cops and others. This book being accurate is paramount. What do you notice on this section of the page here at the bottom?"
You lean, licking your lips nervously. The faint citrus bite from your orange twist is still there as you look at the bottom of the page in question, trying to make sense of it. The numbers are easy, though you don't know what the items are - not yet. You can do math though.
You point to a line. "Here. This delivery is for ten items, but the payout equals that of twelve." You drag your finger up the pay. "Here is the same product at ten items for the right price. It should match but it doesn't."
"Meaning?"
"Whoever managed the delivery either overpaid on accident, or skimmed money off the top and disguised it as a price increase."
Minghao grins. "Smart. Yeah, caught someone saying there was a tax increase but Jeonghan talked to our supplier and confirmed there wasn't." He snaps the book shut and replaces it the drawer. "You're good at math?"
"I try. Never did anything with it, but I used to watch my fiance count money." Minghao raises his brows. "Ex," you tack on. "I'm not with him anymore."
You can tell he has questions, but he doesn't ask them. He simply nods and passes you a piece of paper. You unfold it to see it's a key for all of the product in the book, a code for each line item and what type of alcohol it is.
"You'll need to learn all our suppliers and who to trust," he says, leading you out of the office and into the hall. "If you start shadowing me, I can walk you through it. How good is your memory?"
"I'm not sure."
"Was Ella wearing jewelry?"
That makes you pull up short, thinking back to the waitress. "Yes. Emerald earrings."
His mouth quirks. "Good. You remember random details."
Minghao leads you back through the haze, turning to you. "We'll start you on daylight deliveries in about two weeks. Shadow me a few nights first. Learn the faces and the codes." He nods toward the booth as he heads to the bars. "Go on. Boss is waiting. Tomorrow, we start in full."
Giving a grateful smile, you slip back toward Jeonghan, sliding into the booth next to him. His thigh brushes yours as you settle and he gives you a little grin. Wonwoo acknowledges you for only a second before he goes back to scanning the crowd, watching closely.
"Well?" Jeonghan murmurs, breath fanning against your ear as he tilts toward you a little. "How'd it go?"
"Good, I think. He was pleased I remembered what kind of earrings Ella had on. He wants me to shadow him before I start daylight shifts."
"Emeralds. Matches her eyes when the light hits right." He tilts his head, dark hair falling forward as his cool fingers brush your shoulder briefly. "Good. Minghao wouldn't waste time with you if he thought you were unfit. I assure you."
The evening unspools like a glitterying thread around you. Jeonghan's murmur is a constant in your ear, pointing out the subtle tells of the patrons with a casual grace. You listen to each word and when you're brave enough, point out the things you see, the shifts in the room. The way a woman looks at her husband fearfully, the way another wears gloves too long to hide what you suspect are bruises.
Jeonghan's eyes darken when he realizes what type of observations you make. His jaw ticks and his gaze lingers on the male partners you point out, men who aren't regulars exactly, but frequent his bar enough that Jeonghan knows of them.
He knows of everyone. He seems to have some sort of knowledge about every person in the bar, even if it's their first time. You're unsure if it's a vampire thing, or if he can just overhear the dozens of conversations happening under the shield of jazz music and noise.
As your gaze sweeps across the bar, your eyes land on Mingyu. He's shaking a brass shaker, arms flexing. When he lowers his arms, you note the red square in his pocket and you stiffen.
"There's a red square in Mingyu's pocket," you breathe.
Jeonghan nods, humming as his finger idly traces the rim of his glass. He nods toward a man in a corner both to a wiry fellow in a rumpled suit, fingers tapping a staccato on his table. "Fed. Ella already let Mingyu know, which is why the red. Wonwoo will take care of it momentarily. No mess."
Wonwoo shifts minutely, his knee a solid barrier against yours on the other side, a silent counterweight to Jeonghan's fluid warmth. He doesn't speak much, but when a group of rowdy patrons edges too close to your booth, his eyes flash silver, and the air thickens just enough to send them stumbling back.
"You're probably wondering how to tell the vampires from the humans," Jeonghan notes.
You nod as Wonwoo slides out of the booth, drifting toward the man in the corner. You watch him change dramatically, shifting from stoic and cold to warm and friendly, shaking the man's hand.
"Minghao feels obvious," you note. "Once I knew that vampires existed, I mean. He's beautiful in a way that feels… wrong."
"Mhmm. It happens that way sometimes. Anything else?"
"Your eyes. They flash silver in some light."
"Good. Predators eyes. Without that, though? Can you pick the vampires out?"
Turning your eyes to the crowd, you try. But the crowd blurs together under the warm gaslight. Flappers laugh with their heads thrown back, men in pinstripes lean close over drinks, a couple sways on the small dance floor. Everyone moves, breathes, blinks. No one stands out as obviously other.
"I… can't," you admit, cheeks warming. "They all look the same."
"Good. That's the point."
"It is?"
He nods. "The differences are subtle. Deliberate. We spend centuries learning to mimic. But once you know what to look for, you can't unsee it." His finger traces an invisible line along the back of the booth, pointing without moving. "The woman in the silver dress at the bar - look how still her shoulders are, even when she laughs. Vampires lack natural movement and we sometimes struggle to replicate the fullness of life."
He nods toward a man in a charcoal suit near the piano. "Him. Breathing is shallower. Almost performative. We only do it when we remember we should."
Before you can ask more, movement catches your eye. The wiry man in the rumpled suit walks with Wonwoo, who is gesturing wildly with a smile on his face as they walk toward the back of the bar. Minghao is near the door, a blend of silver eyes and shadow as Wonwoo leads the man - the fed - down the hallway. Minghao shuts the door behind them and stands in front of it under the guise of smoking a cigar.
Minutes stretch. The music swells, then dips. Then Wonwoo reappears at the edge of the crowd - not back through the door at all. You raise your brows, watching as he walks to the booth smoothly and retakes his seat. He's still the same measured calm, but there's a flush to his necks and cheeks that wasn't there before.
Jeonghan leans in again, voice velvet-soft. "See that? The flush. Fresh from feeding. It's the only time we look truly warm. The blood brings the illusion of life back to the surface."
You nod, swallowing thickly. "Got it."
"That's how you'll know, eventually. When one of us has just fed. The color doesn't last long, but it'll be a warning for you. Freshly fed vampires are stronger, though a little less alert from the blood lust. Vampires who haven't fed are more unpredictable and sharper."
You nod, filing the detail away like a key. Wonwoo settles back into place without comment, though his posture seems fractionally looser, the tension in his jaw eased. He meets your eyes for half a second before returning his attention to the room. You think of him that night in the library, the way he had drifted forward, ready to end you there.
It unsettles you a little.
The night wears on. Jeonghan continues his quiet lessons, pointing out alliances and rivalries, naming the vampires among the humans with a tilt of his chin. Wonwoo interjects once or twice, voice clipped but polite. By the time the gas lamps dim and the crowd begins to thin, Jeonghan signals Minghao with a subtle raise of his glass to shut down.
Together, the three of you slide into the car. The drive back to the Hamptons is quiet, the city's roar fading to the hush of empty roads, snowflakes scattering like ash against the windows. You lean into Jeonghan's side without thinking, exhaustion pulling at your bones, his arm a loose curve around your shoulders. Wonwoo stares out at the dark, silent as ever, but you catch the faint softening of his jaw when you stifle a yawn.
It's cold when you get out, pre-dawn light tinting the sky. Jeonghan walks you up the wide front steps, his hand still wrapped loosely around yours. Wonwoo lingers a beat longer in the car before sliding out, coat collar turned up against the wind. He gives Jeonghan a single, unreadable look, then nods once at you with the barest twitch of a smile on his face. He drifts off, fading into the shadows of the home, leaving you with Jeonghan.
Jeonghan leads you up the stairs, the grandfather clock in the foyer ticking with each step. At the top of the stairwell, you pause. He hesitates, turning to face you. He doesn't rush or ask what's wrong. He simply waits, dark eyes patient.
"Thank you, Jeonghan."
He raises his brows. "What for?"
"For tonight. For giving me something more than just a place to hide. For giving me a choice. It's nice."
Jeonghan studies you for a long moment. You can barely make out his eyes in this light, but they're dark, pupils large, predator black. He lifts a shoulder, a barely-there shrug. "It isn't much."
"It's everything to me."
Something shifts behind his expression, soft and unguarded that he doesn’t bother to hide. His mouth curves, not the usual teasing tilt, but a slow, genuine grin that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. He reaches for you, gently tugging you by the hand until he's kissing your knuckles gently.
"You deserve more, Amontillado. But I will give you what I can." Your heart stutters as he tugs you down the hall gently. "Dawn is coming. Sleep, you deserve it."
You nod, throat too full to speak again. He releases your hand reluctantly, stepping back just enough to give you space to slip into your room. He winks at you before you shut the door with a soft click. You lean against it for a moment, still wearing the black dress, still carrying the faint scent of whiskey smoke and jasmine on your skin, heart pounding.
Outside, the first pale spill of dawn floods the yard, and for the first time in years, sleep finds you easily.
-
The weeks slip by like snow melting under the first weak spring sun. You settle into a rhythm at the Red, shadowing Minghao turning into running the books yourself most afternoons. It's mostly checking crates against manifest, spotting the occasional discrepancy before it can grow into a problem, and letting Minghao know.
You’ve learned the suppliers’ names, their tells, the way certain delivery boys linger too long at the back door when they think no one’s watching. You’ve learned which cops take envelopes without looking inside and which ones need a smile and a quiet word first. You’ve even started recognizing the regulars who come in during the day pretending to pick up dry cleaning, and you’ve gotten good at keeping your face neutral when you catch the faint metallic glint in their eyes.
Jeonghan is constant. Not in a way that feels suffocating like it had with Vin, but in the way the cold tide of the Hamptons is constant, always there, pulling gently, retreating just enough to let you breathe. He appears most evenings when you're finishing up, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, watching you with a smirk that you've come to think is something equal to fondness.
He always teases, light and playful banter, velvet words that make your stomach flip. But never pushes or crowds, never lingers too long. It's maddening the way he looms near you but not as close as you'd like him to, frustrating when he murmurs clever girl, Amontillado, before drifting away again.
It's always the same with him. The touches last long enough to spark heat under your skin, then vanish. Jeonghan keeps an entirely respectable distance. You tell yourself it's nothing - he's charming that way, like the moon. Distant. Beautiful. Constant.
You chalk it up to instant. To blood. Not to you. It only makes you like him more - more than you should, even. More than is safe. You keep that bit tucked away like a secret coin, something you only let yourself turn over in the dark when the house is quiet and you can't sleep, wanting to stay up and talk to him but knowing your schedule is flipped.
You belong in the sun, he'd told you. Only problem was that you wanted the moon.
Today the office smells of old paper, ink, and the faint citrus of the orange you peeled earlier. The bar is empty, lights off save for the desk lamp. Minghao shuffles in, readying for the nightshift. He ruffles your hair affectionately as he kicks snow off of his boots and hangs his coat on the back of a chair.
"How was today?" He asks.
"Fine. There's an entire load of red that Mingyu said smelled weird, though."
"Hm, I'll check it out. You're good up here?"
"Mhmm."
You keep working, the scratch of your pen the only sound until the buzzer on the desk rings. It's from the door upstairs. You frown, setting the ledger aside to let yourself out of the office and walk upstairs to the laundry front. A man is standing at the front desk and your frown increases. Minghao typically locks the front door when he comes in, especially if Tony isn't working the front to let people in.
"Hi," you greet, something your skirt down. "Can I be of any assistance?"
The man turns to you. His hands are in the pockets of his charcoal overcoat. He's tall and lean, his dark hair swept back, suit immaculate. Your gaze sweeps across his shoulders - they're too square, too pushed back. His head is cocked at an odd angle, and as you count his breath, you note that he breathes too slowly. Practiced.
There's a flush to the man's cheeks and as he peers at you, his pupils dilate. Vampire. You know the signs now. A vampire who has fed recently. You put yourself behind the desk, a deliberate choice to separate the two of you as he watches you. His nostrils flare and you watch as a shiver goes through him.
"I was told this was the place to get detergent."
Code. He wants blood - more of it. Your smile is pinched. "I'm afraid we're closed for book keeping. If you come back during our open hours-"
"I just need a little."
"You'll need to come back when we're open, sir."
He doesn’t answer. Just takes one slow step forward. Then another. The floorboards don’t creak. Your hand slides toward the small electronic alarm under the counter, but before your fingers can press it, he moves.
He's blinding fast, vaulting over the counter in a single fluid motion. You don't scream - you've learned better than that - but you do grab the heavy brass statue from the shelf behind you and swing it at him. It catches him across the temple with a sickening crack. He staggers, surprised, but he doesn't go down, hand snapping out as claws rake down your arm.
Pain blooms white hot, blood welling fast. You stumble away from him and slam into the wall. He lungs again, fangs clashing and you kick out hard, screaming this time. Your foot connects with his knee, making him stumble. He still comes at you though, hissing, eyes silver and furious.
A blur crashes through the doorway from downstairs. You barely register the vampire that drags your attacker backwards. You make out blonde hair and a white shirt as the newcomer hauls your attack to his feet and drives him into the wall hard enough to crack plaster and send an explosion of dust forward.
They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs and snarls, an arch of blood splitting the air as you hear a wet rip. The blonde tears and tears and tears, the sound wet and violent until your assailant stops moving. You look upward, realizing as the blonde rises that the vampire's head is no longer attacked.
Your savior is heaving, standing and backing away from you rapidly. Blood covers his face and the front of his shirt, bright red, his eyes flashing molten silver in the low light. His pupils are blown so wide there's almost no iris left. He's trembling violently, every muscle coiled tight.
You press yourself flat against the wall, blood dripping steadily from your arm onto the floorboards. The copper scent fills the small space, thick and cloying. His eyes drop down to your arm. A ripple goes through him and he presses himself against the far wall, sliding toward the shop door.
"Don't move," he murmurs, voice low. "Please don't move." His hands flex. "Minghao!" His shout is raw, terrified. "Minghao!"
He takes a single, jerky step back, then another, putting distance between you even as his body visibly fights to close it. His nostrils flare again, pupils dilating impossibly wider at the scent of your blood.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice cracking. "I was carrying something in for Minghao and heard the commotion and came upstairs. I'm not supposed to come upstairs when you're here. I'm not good with people. Not yet. I'm sorry-" He cuts off, shivering as he squeezes his eyes shut. "Minghao, please!"
You realize, with a cold jolt, who he is. Soonyoung. The east wing. The gentle soul who struggles. The one whose blood calls louder than the rest. He’s trying so hard not to look at you, trying not to breathe. His entire body is vibrating with restraint, the shivers violent.
Footsteps pound up the stairs, and in a moment, Minghao is there. "Soonyoung, don't."
A low, animal sound rips from Soonyoung's throat. His control snaps like a taut wire and he launches toward you. Minghao is on him, catching Soonyoung around the waist and hauling him backward as he screams for Mingyu.
Mingyu appears in the doorway a second later, broad shoulders filling the frame. He doesn't hesitate, grabbing Soonyoung's arms to help Minghao haul him backward down the stairs. Soonyoung thrashes, snarling rattling up the hall as they get him to the bottom where you hear his voice break into desperate apologies that fade as a door slams shut somewhere.
Silence.
You’re still against the wall, breath ragged, arm burning. Blood has soaked your sleeve to the elbow, dripping in slow, steady drops on the floor. You slide down until you’re sitting, knees drawn up, pressing your good hand over the worst of the gashes. The pressure hurts, but it slows the bleeding. You focus on breathing. Ignoring the dead vampire, you tear a strip of cloth from the bottom of your skirt with shaking handles and wrap it tight around your forearm.
A few minutes later, the door to the front slams open. You freeze, looking up fearfully, but it's Jeonghan who rounds the counter. He freezes for half a heartbeat when he sees you, then he's across the room in a blink, crouching in front of you. His hands over, not quite touching, his eyes dark and storming.
"Amontialldo," he says softly. "Please look at me." You do. His pupils are normal, no silver. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"
You shake your head. “Just the arm. Deep scratches. I fought back. Hit him with the ledger. Kicked him. It slowed him down a little."
"You did good."
He reaches for your arm, carefully and slowly. He peels back your makeshift bandage just enough to see the damage. His expression doesn't change, but his fingers tighten fractionally.
“These will need stitches,” he says quietly. “And cleaning. Come on.”
Jeonghan helps you stand, one arm around your waist. You lean into him, legs unsteady. He lets you, guiding you toward one of the back offices that only serve the purpose of making the front look legit. He opens one of them and sits you down at a desk, fumbling around until he finds a first aid kid. It's old, but there's gauze and antiseptic.
His hands are cool and steady as he works, crouching as he cleans the blood from your arm. You watch him. He doesn't shy away from the blood or lean in too close, his movements entirely methodical. Careful. You wonder what kind of control it takes for him to do this, to touch the blood and not take.
You think of Soonyoung.
"Soonyoung was here." Jeonghan looks up sharply, hands pausing. "He helped. I guess he heard the noise and he came upstairs. He… apologized too. said he wishes he was better with people."
"He's been trying for years. For some of us, the blood never quiets. Not really. He stays in the east wing because it's enough for him. Coming up here today to help you was a risk for him. Not a small one."
"If me living at the house is too much-"
"It's not. It helps him practice control. He's good at a distance. It's when exposed to blood that he… struggles."
Jeonghan finishes the bandage, taping it securely. Then he stays crouched in front of you, hands resting lightly on your knees. You meet his gaze. For once there’s no desire there. No teasing, no playing. Just him, steady and present.
"You're allowed to be afraid," he says after a moment. "You're not going to get demoted for it."
"Thank you," you whisper.
He smiles and it warms you. "Always, Amontillado. How about we get you home, hmm?"
Jeonghan doesn’t let go of you the entire walk to the car. His arm stays firm around your waist, supporting most of your weight. The driver is already waiting, engine idling. Jeonghan helps you into the back seat, careful of your arm, then slides in beside you. The door closes with a soft, final thud. The car pulls away from the curb, tires crunching over slush, and Manhattan begins to recede behind tinted windows.
You lean your head against the seat, eyes half-closed. The pain in your arm has dulled to a deep, throbbing ache under the makeshift bandage, but every bump in the road sends fresh sparks up your nerves. Jeonghan doesn’t speak. He just keeps his hand on your knee, thumb tracing slow, absent circles over the fabric of your skirt.
The drive to the Hamptons stretches long and quiet. Snow has begun falling again, fat flakes catching in the headlights. You watch them drift past, letting the rhythm of the road lull the worst of the adrenaline crash. Jeonghan’s presence beside you is steady heat against the winter chill seeping through the glass. When you shiver once, he shrugs out of his coat without a word and drapes it over your shoulders. It smells like jasmine and cedar - smells like him.
By the time the estate gates swing open, the sky is totally black. . Jeonghan helps you out of the car, arm around you again, and guides you up the wide front steps. The foyer is warm, lit low by gas sconces, the grandfather clock ticking its slow, familiar heartbeat. He leads you up the staircase, past your usual room, to one at the end he's never shown you before.
His room. You know it immediately by the smell of jasmine and cedar.
It’s darker than yours, walls paneled in deep walnut, heavy velvet curtains drawn against the windows. A fire is already burning low in the grate, casting long orange tongues across the floor. The bed is massive, draped in charcoal linens, but he doesn’t take you there. Instead he guides you to a low leather armchair beside the hearth and eases you down.
“Stay,” he murmurs, voice rougher than usual.
He disappears into the adjoining bath and returns with a medical kit that's larger and far more comprehensive than the one upstairs at the Red. He kneels in front of you again, but this time he's closer, the heat of him intoxicating.
He unwraps his work from earlier, careful not to tug. The fabric peels away with a wet sound that makes your stomach turn. The gashes are ugly and jagged now that you look. His jaw clenches so hard his teeth click together, and you look up at him. It isn't hunger that you see. It's rage, pure and black in his eyes, so violent you freeze.
Without speaking, he threads a curved needle with suture silk. You watch his hands, steady and elegant. He distracts you from the pain in your arm until he murmurs, "This will hurt."
"I know."
The first stitch pulls a sharp gasp from you. The needle bites, the thread pulling through an eerie feeling. You focus on breathing while he works, watching him with a fluttering heart. By the time he ties off the last knot and snips the thread, sweat beads on your forehead and your good hand is squeezing the arm rest.
Jeonghan sits back on his heels, studying his work. Fresh gauze, taped securely. He exhales through his nose, long and slow. When he looks up at you, his eyes are still that same unfathomable black, so full of rage that it pins you to the spot.
"If Soonyoung hadn't killed him, I would." Jeonghan's voice is so soft you almost don't hear him. "I know you getting hurt is sometimes an inevitability, but seeing it enrages me. More than I thought possible. I wasn't.. I didn't know I would be this angry."
You swallow. The fire pops behind him, throwing shadows across his face. He's beautiful. You're reminded of the first night you'd met him, his face half shadowed in the dark of the night. You'd thought he looked like an avenging angel then, beautiful but terrifying. He does now too, only this time, you're not afraid of him.
Not in the slightest.
“When I found you in that train car,” continues, voice like velvet, "curled between those barrels, half-frozen and heart hammering so loud I could nearly taste it… I saw myself. A small, stubborn thing that refused to die. That would claw and scrape and run until there was nowhere left to run. I liked that. Still do. More than I ought to, probably. More than what is wise."
He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, close enough that you can see the faint silver rim around his irises - not hunger, but something deeper. Something raw.
“The idea of anyone putting hands on you makes me see red. Especially him. Especially Vin." He swallows. “I’ve spent decades learning control. Decades pretending nothing touches me. And then you climb out of a window in the middle of winter and stumble into my world, and suddenly everything I thought I’d buried feels so close to the surface, Amontialldo. Closer than ever before. And I love it. Love that I feel again."
Your heart is loud in your ears. You study him, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair falls forward to shadow his eyes, the careful way he holds himself even now, like he’s afraid one wrong move will shatter something fragile between you.
All these weeks you’ve told yourself his touches were casual, his smiles habitual, his gaze only instinct. You’ve watched the silver flash in his eyes and labeled it hunger for blood, not for you. You’ve kept your own feelings folded small and secret, afraid that naming them would be a mistake.
You think of the first night in the cold metal train car, the jasmine scent hanging on his coat, the way he'd called you Amontillado like it was a private joke. The realization isn’t sudden. It’s slow, like ink spreading through water. You’ve been falling for him in pieces, like listening to him play piano right before you inevitably go to bed, like the way he likes to cook meals because it makes him think of being human. Of being alive.
“I like that you feel that way,” you admit, voice small. “I like that I matter to you. No one has ever cared before."
Jeonghan stills. The firelight catches in his eyes, turning them molten. For a long moment neither of you moves. Then, he reaches up slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. You don't, and he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. When you don't pull away still, he leans in.
The kiss is careful at first, almost tentative. His lips are cool, soft, tasting faintly of copper and winter air. You exhale against his mouth, surprised by how gentle he is, how restrained. Then you tilt your head, just a fraction, and something in him gives.
He deepens the kiss, slow and hungry in a way that has nothing to do with blood. His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, holding you like if he lets go, you'll slip from his fingers. You reach for him with your good hand, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, feeling the steady, unnecessary beat of a heart that serves as nothing more than to pump blood that isn't his through his body.
When he pulls back, it’s only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breath is cool against your lips. "I've wanted to do that for weeks. Since you started looking at me like I might be salvation instead of the damnation I have often felt like."
You laugh. "I still think you're both."
"Probably." His mouth twitches. "Are you alright? I don't want to push."
"I want you to."
A slow smile curves his mouth. It isn't the teasing that you're used to, but instead something softer. His eyes darken, the silver rim flaring briefly before he reins it in, that eternal hunger subdued for now. He leans in to brush his lips against your forehead, then your temple, trailing kisses down your jaw, tongue darting out to taste you. It feels so good, a shiver crawling up your spine.
"Good," he whispers, breath tickling your ear. "Because I've been patient for weeks, Amontillado. I've been watching you bloom in my world and it's been divine torture not having you."
You let out a quiet laugh, the sound breathy and a little shaky from the adrenaline still simmering in your veins. "Torture? For a vampire? I thought you were all about eternal suffering."
"I'm not Wonwoo."
He stands slowly, offering his hand to help you up. You take it, letting him guide you toward the bed. The room feels warmer now, the fire's glow casting long shadows that dance across the walls. He eases you down onto the edge of the mattress, then kneels again, this time between your knees. His hands rest on your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles through your skirt. He looks up at you, eyes round, questioning.
"Go ahead," you breathe.
You lift your hips slightly as he slides the fabric up, exposing your legs inch by inch. The cool air hits your skin, contrasting with the heat building under your skin like a furnace. He drags his mouth across your knees, your thighs, pushing the fabric as he goes. When he reaches your panties, he hooks his fingers under the waistband, glancing up for confirmation. You nod, and he slides them down slowly, discarding them gently.
Your breath hitches as he parts your thighs wider, settling between them. He leans in to press a kiss to your inner thigh, then another higher up. His lips are cool, but the sensation ignites fire wherever they touch.
Carefully, he eases you to lay back on the bed. You're careful about your injured arm, letting it lay out to the side as the other twists in the sheets while his fingers come up to trace your folds, wet and warm. He finds your clit, circling it slowly as he watches your face, lips parted.
"Like that?" He asks when you make a little sound.
"God, yes."
The pressure is light at first, building gradually as he learns your rhythm. He dips lower, one finger sliding inside you with ease, the cool intrusion making you arch. He's so gentle, curling it just right to brush that spot that sends sparks behind your eyes.
It feels maddenly good, your lids fluttering as you writhe under the feeling. He pumps his finger slowly, fixing his mouth on your inner thigh, sucking your skin gently. You feel the scrape of his fangs, the heat of his mouth, the press of his fingers against your front wall and it makes you fall apart.
"Good girl," he praises as your hips cant toward his hand. "Take what you need."
Jeonghan adds a second finger, stretching you slowly. It feels good, your head pressing into the mattress as you arch into him. Your skirt bunches around your waist, shirt sticking to your sweaty skin as he works you, mouthing at the inside of your knee, whispering against your skin.
"Good girl," he whispers, letting out a little moan.
He pumps his fingers in and out at a languid pace, thumb still circling your clit, building the tension. You feel the tightening in your gut, toes curling, eyes squeezing shut as bursts of color pop behind your eyelids. You shiver again, muscles twitching.
"Jeonghan, I'm-"
"Let go. I've got you. Come for me, Amontillado."
His fingers curl deeper, and you shatter, clenching around him hard as you come. He doesn't stop, drawing it out until you're trembling, oversensitive and breathless.When you come down, he withdraws slowly, pressing a kiss to your thigh before he crawls up to hover over you, bracing on his elbows.
"Hi," he breathes.
"Hi.
He grins, dipping to kiss you deeply, hands active as he peels you out of your skirt, your top, your bra. He's so delicate with you, handling you like something precious, treasured. Not rough and impersonal like Vin - never like Vin.
Jeonghan leans up to peel his shirt off, his body sculpted and narrow. He deserves to be painted, captured in some half-shadowed light on canvas. An angel. A demon. You run your good hand over his chest and he shivers, capturing your hand in his to bring it up to his mouth, kissing the pads of your fingers.
"You're beautiful," you murmur.
"Not as much as you.
He lowers himself to kiss you again, trailing them from your lips down your neck, across your collarbone, to your breasts. His mouth closes over one nipple, sucking gently while his hand teases the other. It makes you arch, his name dripping from your mouth.
Jeonghan kisses lower, down your stomach, until he's settled between your thighs once more. His eyes meet yours as he leans in, tongue flicking out to trace your folds. The wet slide of his tongue parting you makes you moan, the sound broken and fractured. He grins and does it again, pupils blown out, never leaving yours.
He takes his time, lapping slowly, savoring every reaction. When he focuses on your clit, sucking gently, you thread your fingers into his hair, holding him close. He hums, pleased at the feeling of your fingers tightening, nails scraping against his sensitive scalp. His tongue circles your puffy clit until you're climbing again, hips coming off the bed.
It makes him growl a little. He doubles down, sucking harder, mouth greedy and reverent, the sound of his mouth unholy against you. You come undone a second time, crying out sharply as he pins your thighs open, licking you through it with broad, lazy strokes of his tongue until you're spent.
Climbing back up, he kisses you softly, sharing the taste of you. His hands roam your body, soothing, worshipping. He sheds the rest of his clothes, and you take in the sight of him, hard and swollen and leaking. You reach for him but he shakes his head, lowering himself until he's nose to nose with you, eye lashes fluttering against yours.
"You sure?" He asks.
A choice. Again. Always a choice - your choice.
"Please," you murmur, pulling him closer.
Jeonghan nods, rolling his hips to slide his cock through your messy folds, both of you breathing hard. He slides a hand between you, pressing on the head of his cock until it presses against your entrance. You let out a strangled sound and he grins, sliding into you slow and torturous. He groans, burying his face in your neck.
"Fuck," he rasps. "Feels so good. Smell so good." His tongue darts out to lick at your pulse and you roll your head to the side, giving him access. "Not tonight. Maybe one day."
Jeonghan starts to move then, slow and deep, each thrust punching the air from your lungs. You can barely breath, the feeling of him sliding home so good that you scratch at his lower back with your good hand, pressing him closer, breaths shaky.
"That's it," he pants. "You take me so well. So beautiful like this." His hand slips between you, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing in time with his thrusts. One more for me. Let me feel you come around me."
His thrusts deepen, slow and grinding, hitting that spot relentlessly. He's pressed close to you, chest sliding against chest, your legs wrapping around his hips. It drives you mad, having him this close to you. His mouth catches yours, a tangle of tongue and teeth as he works you to another high, the slide of your tongues broken only by desperate sounds.
Jeonghan nods when he hears your sounds, spurred on. He rolls his hips in a slow, deliberate glide that drags the length of his cock through your cunt, your walls fluttering around him. His mouth finds yours again, messy and desperate, tongues tangling in time with the slow roll of his hips. You taste salt and yourself and something faintly metallic.
He shifts his angle just enough that the head of his cock drags perfectly over that spot inside you with every pass. Your back arches off the mattress, a broken cry muffled against his lips. He drinks it down, swallowing every sound you make.
“Feel that?” he whispers when he pulls back just enough to speak. “Right there. That’s where you need me, isn’t it?” He punctuates the question with another deep, grinding thrust that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.
When you come again, it's with Jeonghan's name on your tongue. He drinks it down, mouth pressed to yourself, breathing in time. He follows moments later, thrusting deep one last time and stilling, a low groan escaping as he spills inside you. He stays there for a moment, your chests pressed together, your heart pounding.
Jeonghan shifts carefully, easing out of you gently. He doesn’t pull away far - only enough to reach for the discarded blanket at the foot of the bed and draw it up over both of you. The heavy wool settles, trapping the shared warmth of your skin together.
He gathers you against him without a word, turning so you’re tucked into the curve of his chest, your bandaged arm resting carefully across his waist. His chin settles atop your head, one hand splaying wide over the small of your back while the other threads lazily through your hair. The motion is slow, meditative, each pass of his fingers grounding you.
For a long moment neither of you speaks. Outside, the snow continues to fall in thick, silent sheets, hissing against the window as it melts. You trace idle patterns on his chest with your fingertips, following the faint ridge of a scar.
"How'd you get this?" You ask.
"Before I was turned," he murmurs. "Turning heals the body, but it also freezes you. I like it, though. Makes me feel more alive."
You press your lips to the scar in silent acknowledgment. “I like it."
He stills for a heartbeat, then tilts your chin up so he can look at you properly. In the dim light his eyes are dark velvet. “I’ve lived a very long time,” he says quietly. “Seen empires rise and fall, watched people I cared for age and die while I stayed the same. I thought I’d forgotten how to want anything beyond survival and control. Thank you for reminding me what it's like to want something."
You grin. "I made it a lot farther than three blocks, didn't I?"
"You did," he sighs. "My brave little Amontillado."
summary: you think you’re good at keeping your crush on your roommate hidden. you can handle it. but then you wake up to him in bed next to you, arms wrapped around you, and you have no idea how to deal with your suppressed feelings anymore.
word count: 10.8k
warnings: college au, seungcheol is a playboy and the frat kind, reader is a nerd and an introvert, roommate!seungcheol, roommate!jeonghan, angst, fluff, doremiz as bffs, smut, nsfw, oral (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, possessive tendencies and jealousy.
Early mornings in your apartment are quaint.
You weren’t a morning person for most of your life, but college hath changed you, or whatever. Now you are up in the morning like clockwork, even without an alarm, and even on weekends. It’s a little annoying, especially when you plan to have a lazy Saturday, so you would rather wake up much later. But there’s nothing you can do to fight the biological clock inside you. It is what it is.
Everything is dead silent as you open your door and putter into the kitchen. You’re sure both your roommates are neck deep in slumber, since it was Friday night last night. That always means a party on campus, so the next morning usually entails not waking up until well into the day and with a terrible hangover. It’s only 9am right now. You’re sure they won’t be up until at least noon.
You don’t make a lot of noise as you get the machine ready for a nice cup of coffee. All three of you had gone in on it so you could get the expensive, fancy kind. Jeonghan had called it an investment, and you had wholeheartedly agreed. Seungcheol grumbled about it a little but gave his part of the money anyway. He kept claiming he wasn’t that big on coffee, but ever since you bought it, he has had a cup every morning without fail, something Jeonghan will never stop teasing him on.
The aroma is warm and rich in your nose as it slowly infiltrates the kitchen. You contemplate if you want breakfast now with your coffee or later, and decide to grab an apple. You’re just staring at it, wondering if the brown spot on it is something you can ignore or if you should discard the whole thing, when you hear light pattering on the floors outside.
You expect Jeonghan’s slumped, languid figure to slink into the kitchen, groaning about how tired he is, or maybe Seungcheol with his head of short, spiked hair all over the place and that perpetual pout that undercuts his years of effort building impressive muscle. But it’s neither of them. It’s someone you don’t know.
She blinks owlishly at you, hair tangled on her head and wearing a bright bodycon dress, holding a pair of heels in her hand. Her mascara is smudged, but under the distressed look, you can tell that she is amazingly pretty.
“Hi.” She chirps. It’s soft and almost melodic. You manage to smile back. The air is painfully awkward, so she shifts and takes a hesitant step back.
“I should just go.” She says sheepishly, and before you can say anything (not that you were planning to), she disappears from the doorway of the kitchen. After a few seconds, you hear the front door click shut. You swallow hard, but the knot formed in your throat doesn’t go away.
Friday nights don’t just mean waking up at noon with terrible hangovers. They also mean a girl trying to tiptoe out of Seungcheol’s room. And always a stranger. Never the same one twice.
You sigh and turn back to the coffee machine, which lets out a beep. You quickly take the pot to fill your cup, deciding against adding milk and just taking a sip of the dark mixture. You wince when it slides down your throat, but it’s hot enough and bitter enough that the knot in your throat loosens. You stare at your cup, the swirling liquid, and try your best to not think about your recent interaction.
There’s no point in it. Seungcheol is just….. like that. Someone so unbelievably different that you can’t fathom how you even ended up in the same orbit.
Well, you know exactly how. Yoon Jeonghan.
Jeonghan was in your first ever introductory class in college. He was seated right next to you, and after knowing you for the duration of just one lecture, he asked if you were looking for a place off campus, and then offered you his in the same breath. Apparently he and his roommate were desperate, and they really needed a third cohabitant in order to make rent. You just turned out to be the one who was looking for a place to stay, so you ended up saying yes, because Jeonghan gave you great vibes.
Seungcheol did too, when you met him.
You were immediately taken by him. He was loud and a little rough around the edges, but so endlessly kind. Seungcheol doesn’t look it, but he’s very in-tune with people’s emotions as well as his own. He knows what he wants out of life, he has endless confidence in himself. He’s charismatic, magnetic, and it only helps that he is beyond attractive. Tall, built like a brick house (something he is very proud of), soft dark hair and that charming smile accentuated by a dimple on his right cheek.
That fuckass dimple.
You knew you liked him. It was immediate. You were excited just at the thought of sharing space with him. And so you moved in, giddy at the thought of having your own place for the first time in your life, and sharing it with two guys who looked like seemingly amazing people.
And they truly are. It’s just that you were naïve to think Seungcheol’s appeal didn’t extend to everyone else like it did to you.
He’s like a lighthouse, attracting everyone to him like lost travelers. His friend circle is huge, from the gym dudes like Mingyu and Jihoon he works out with, to the party freaks like Soonyoung and Joshua he spends weekends with. He’s not in a frat, but he moves among a lot of similar people. Then there’s their friends, just an endless network that won’t stop expanding. This means meet-ups and parties every weekend, and that means there’s a girl in his room every two or three weekends.
You can’t even fault him. If someone looks like that, it would be criminal if they didn’t get regular action.
You and Seungcheol are fundamentally different people. You have friends too, but fewer, and more tight-knit. You are a homebody above anything else, and if it wasn’t for your friend Seungkwan, who is the most extroverted person you know outside of Seungcheol, you would never even leave your house. But Seungkwan’s definition of going out is much different to Seungcheol’s. So while Seungcheol likes the gym, pregaming, bowling and frat parties, you have scheduled cooking classes, basket weaving workshops, and arcade tournaments that Hansol drags you to once every month.
You’re poles apart. And you’re content with that. You can float in his periphery, and that’s enough for you. He’s miles out of your league anyway. So you’re happy just being an admirer.
“It’s pathetic.” Hansol often mumbles, voice devoid of any real venom. He sounds disinterested if anything.
“Thanks.” You shoot back. Seungkwan looks at Hansol, offended on your behalf.
“I think it’s cute.” He defends you. You grin at him and pinch his cheek. He swats your hand away, making you laugh.
“How bad can it really be if you just tell him?” Chan pipes up, his head down as he concentrates on pouring his wax into the mold slowly, trying not to spill it. You genuinely think his candle will smell the best out of your group, since he’s the only one truly concentrating. You’re too focused on telling them about the girl in your kitchen this morning.
Hansol snorts, tapping his mold on the table like your instructor told you to. His is a strange, muddy brown color. It smells like shit, but you don’t have the heart to tell him. You and Seungkwan did drag him to this candle making class on a weekend when he could just be sleeping all day, so he could make the worst candle known to man and you will still hype him up.
“She doesn’t have the balls.” He mumbles. You look at him with a gaping mouth.
“Hey!”
Hansol raises a challenging eyebrow. “Do you? You won’t tell him you like him. Ever. I’m not wrong.”
You scowl, feeling deeply offended. He isn’t wrong, and you all know it, because Seungkwan isn’t defending you this time. He just gives you a wince, indicating he agrees with Hansol. Dammit, you’re cornered.
“Your candle smells like shit.” You shoot back.
That distracts him, and he starts doubting and fretting over his candle, leaning down to sniff it over and over. The rest of the workshop is spent trying to salvage Hansol’s attempt, so you don’t get back to the topic you were previously discussing.
Good.
Jeonghan and Seungcheol are both on the couch by the time you come back in the late afternoon. They both look bleary-eyed and half dead, hair still damp on their heads from showering, eating takeout and watching TV. They greet you brightly when you come in, and you slump onto the couch next to them.
“What did you bring us?” Jeonghan asks. You always bring your crafts home, including today. You made three candles, one for each of you, and you’re excited as you take them out of your tote, hand them over, describing the scents you used.
“I made lavender and vanilla for you.” You hand Jeonghan his. He hums and nods in satisfaction as he sniffs, smiling big.
“Oh I need to light this immediately.” He pipes up, quickly standing to trudge into the kitchen. You grin.
“And me?” Seungcheol smiles at you, still leaned back on the couch so he can rest his head on the cushion. You can tell his head is still hurting a little.
“Your favorite.” You smile. “Cherry.”
Seungcheol looks excited as you hand it over. He eyes the dark color for a little bit before bringing it to his nose, sniffing. You watch his eyelashes flutter.
“Oh.” You see his lips tug up in realisation. “It smells like my cologne.”
“Yeah. The other note is sandalwood.” You feel the sides of your face heat up. “You…. you like those scents a lot.”
You immediately feel like you’ve revealed too much when Seungcheol’s eyes soften. He watches you for a few seconds, sniffing again.
“I love it.” He says, turning it over in his hand. It looks comically small in his hold. “It’s perfect.”
You nod jerkily and fidget a little, trying not to think about how fast your heart is racing, or how gentle this moment feels. Intimate, almost, sitting so close to him that your knee almost touches his thigh, his hair half falling into his eyes, the eyes he still has trained on you, the candle you put care into held delicately in his hand.
Jeonghan walks back into the living room with his lit candle, talking about how much trouble he had finding a lighter. The air around you breaks, and you stand up, mumbling something about how you’re tired already, so you’re going to head to bed. It’s only afternoon, and the excuse is bullshit, but you know you can’t be close to Seungcheol much longer without your heart hurting. You don’t feel Seungcheol’s eyes on your back as you leave, and you have no clue about the knowing way Jeonghan looks at his friend.
…………………………
Weekdays are filled with classes. So you have no time to relax.
You think it’s a fundamental flaw in you that you are taking so many classes, but your overachieving tendencies won’t let you back down from even one of them. Some days, it leaves you annoyed and frustrated, but often, those same classes serve as a blessing in disguise, because they preoccupy you so much that you don’t have to worry about any other problem in your life.
By the end of the week, you’re so exhausted that you just want to glue yourself to your bed, vowing not to move for the entire weekend. Of course, Seungkwan always plans something and inevitably drags you out of your humble abode, but you will take what time you have, unwinding and letting your brain shut down after a long and tiring five days. You fall asleep in the middle of your Modern Family marathon, managing to get only halfway through the season before you’re shutting your laptop, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Before you know it, you’re knocked out, and you don’t move until well into the next morning.
You wake up because you’re burning hot. Sweat makes your shirt cling to your back. In fact, your back is so warm that it’s uncomfortable. Your face pinches in annoyance, and you shift a little. At your movement, something tightens around your waist.
Your eyes pop open.
Morning light filters in through the curtains on your windows, setting the room up in a soft glow. You’re on your side, staring at the far off wall of your bedroom. There is weight draped over your waist, a warm touch splayed over your stomach. When you shift again, just slightly, the touch twitches and moves.
A hand.
You almost scream, but then you feel the soft hit of air on the back of your neck, periodic and deep. Like someone exhaling. You breathe in, the smell of cherry and sandalwood in your nose. You would recognise that anywhere. Even barely half conscious, you know who that scent belongs to.
Your entire backside, your torso, your ass, the back of your thighs, are pressed tightly to Seungcheol’s front, his arm a heavy weight draped around you so that he hand grips your stomach gently. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his exhales on your skin. You’ve gone so stiff you can barely feel your body, but you’re hyperaware of every part of you that touches him. You lay there in shock, contemplating.
What the hell is he doing? How did he end up in your room? How did he end up spooning you?
You have no answers, but you do know you need to get out of here. You brace yourself, using your leg in contact with the mattress to push until your body disconnects with Seungcheol’s a little. You freeze when he groans, a low sound that cracks under the weight of sleep, and you barely hold in a gasp when he tugs harshly with the arm around you, making you lurch back so he is once again pressed into you. He curls tighter around you, like his body is melting into yours, and your heart kicks painfully at your ribs. That’s when you feel it, hard and insistent, just nestled between your ass cheeks, his erection straining against the jeans he probably wore to whatever party he attended last night.
Mortification hits your veins like ice. You’re rock still in his arms, not even able to process what the fuck is happening to you. You feel his hand move a little, squeezing subconsciously, his fingers sinking into the plush of your stomach. Your face flames, and you can’t take it anymore. You grip his wrist tight and tug hard, loosening his grip, and immediately lunging out of bed. Your feet barely hit the floor before you’re already making a beeline out of the bedroom and straight into the bathroom. You don’t look back once. You definitely used enough force to wake him, but maybe he was so drunk before he passed out that he didn’t get roused by your movements.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, the horrified look on your face, your wide eyes, and the fact that your heart is beating so fast that it’s making you breath heavily. You lean against the sink, your legs shifting, and you realise you’re wet, nearly soaking through your shorts.
Your hands tremble as you wash them, staring at nothing. You remember how warm Seungcheol was, almost unbearably so, how good it was to feel him against you, the solid frame of him, caging you in like you were meant to be in his arms. His hand, digging into your flesh like it was his, and his bulge, so prominent and urgent, pressing into your ass, inches away from where you need him the most.
You’re so fucked.
You don’t think twice before jumping into the shower, letting the water pour over your head even though it’s not hair wash day. You don’t even wait for the hot water to come in, just standing beneath the stream as it slowly warms up. The initial shock of cold does wonders, calms your racing heart and smothers the heat in the bottom of your stomach. You let out a shaky breath.
It was a mistake. It had to be a mistake. He was probably so drunk he didn’t even realise where he ended up crashing. Your room is the first one on the left, his is the first one on the right. It’s an easy mistake, especially if someone is wasted. It seems like the best explanation, way more plausible than him actually sliding into your bed intentionally, a notion that just sounds absurd in your head.
You don’t know what to do.
You stay in the shower for so long that the pads of your fingers prune and the water turns cold again. You slip your pajamas back onto your wet body, because you didn’t bring a change of clothes with you, and finally, you brace yourself and return to your room, taking a deep inhale before opening the door. The bed is empty. He’s gone.
It’s relieving, because you were in no way prepared to see him. When you look at the clock, you realise it’s almost midday. So you pick up your phone and text Seungkwan, asking what his plans for the day are.
Seungkwan is honestly confused, because you almost never initiate meet-ups yourself, but he doesn’t turn you down. Him and Chan are both free, so you decide to meet up for a simple lunch. Hansol opts out, since his sister is in the city for the weekend. You’re grateful you have someone, because keeping this inside is feeling more and more impossible. As soon as you sit down, you blurt out everything that happened in the morning.
Seungkwan is beside himself, mouth opening and closing not unlike a fish, horror struck. He gasps at every detail, but groans disapprovingly when you talk about Seungcheol’s hard-on against your ass.
“You could’ve left that detail out.” He mutters.
“But it’s important!” You insist. “Kwannie, I’m a mess. What do I do? How can I even look him in the eye after this?”
Chan huffs, looking a lot calmer than Seungkwan. “Don’t do anything. Look, you’re right. It was probably a mistake. And if he remembers it at all, he will be pretty embarrassed. So just don’t talk about it at all. Don’t bring it up. Be normal.”
Right. That’s solid advice. Be normal.
But it’s hard to do that, not when you can’t stop thinking about it. The sizzle of his touch is something you’re reminded of when you lay in your bed that night, staring up at your ceiling and remembering how it felt to have his breath hit your skin, so close that you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. And when the heat becomes too much, when your mind goes awry and shuts down, your hand slides into your shorts.
It’s too much. You can’t face him when your brain and your actions are so depraved.
When Hansol finds out what happened, he says what he always does, that this is a problem of your own making.
“You chose this.” He says on Monday, when you finally meet him and tell him everything. “You live with him. It’s unavoidable that something weirdly uncomfortable would happen when you’re in close quarters with someone. And you can’t avoid him. You will see him every day.”
To you, it was always a net positive that you got to see Seungcheol every day, any unrequited feelings aside. Your hidden crush on him was trumped by the fact that he was so endlessly charming to you, your little puppy crush urged on by seeing him, being around him, basking in his presence. But now, that very thing is coming back to bite you in the ass.
You go a whopping three days without coming face to face with him. But then, your sneaking finally fails you. He catches you before classes on Wednesday, cornering you in the kitchen when you’re there to fill up your water bottle.
“I’m really sorry about that night.” He sounds sheepish, embarrassed. You remember Chan’s words, shaking your head in the best way you can think of to placate him.
“It’s fine! You were drunk, you probably don’t even remember that you did it. Honest mistake, right?”
Seungcheol smiles a little, his eyes trained carefully on you.
“Right.” He mutters.
He’s uncharacteristically quiet, and you want to blame it on his embarrassment. You feel uncomfortable, and you wonder if it has to do with what happened between you, or if he’s just being a little weird today.
“I should go.” You mumble. “Just had to fill this up.”
You hold up your water bottle for him to see. His eyes finally leave you to focus on it, and he raises a thick eyebrow.
“That’s new.” He points to the handle. You have a small Sanrio keychain hanging from it. You’re surprised he noticed, but you nod excitedly.
“Hansol’s sister came to see him for the weekend. She got all of us little trinkets.”
Seungcheol hums. “She knows your favorite Sanrio character? That’s cute.”
You smile and nod again, more enthusiastically. “I’m sure Hansol told her….”
A thought enters your head. You tilt your head to the side in thought. “How did you know?”
Seungcheol blinks, then lets out a small laugh. “You’re not exactly subtle about it, sweetheart. It’s plastered all over your room.
Right. Your room. The room he was in because he slept with you in your bed. Your stomach twists and you swallow hard. He looked around your room? When? After waking up? While you were showering? The thought of Seungcheol being in your private space, saying all your little interests laid out everywhere makes your heart flutter. You’re very private about your space, both him and Jeonghan know this. You don’t think either of them have been in your room since they first helped you move in.
You watch Seungcheol from where your back is against the counter. He watches you. You remember that night as the air around you two holds its breath. He was so close, closer than anyone had been in a long, long time. But you bet it was normal for him, this physical intimacy. After all, he’s had a steady rotation of girls in his room for as long as you’ve known him.
Right. This is Choi Seungcheol. Popular, attractive Choi Seungcheol. Wildly out of your league Choi Seungcheol.
“I’m gonna….” You gesture to the door. There’s a knot in your throat, and you don’t think you can speak. Seungcheol blinks and nods, steps away so you can walk past him. Your fingers shake as you tug your shoes on and escape quickly through the front door.
You walk to campus alone, already in agreement with Seungkwan that you will meet him there. You’re grateful for it, because you can go through your jumble of thoughts silently, so you can try to address this deep, uneasy feeling right in the center of your chest. It’s a strange mix of dread and longing that leaves you with a strange emptiness inside, like a sinking hollow. You think, for the first time since you moved in, that maybe being around Choi Seungcheol wasn’t the best idea. Maybe this will ultimately be your unraveling.
The hollow feeling settles like a weight. You walk to class slowly.
You still arrive ten minutes early, but you don’t have to worry about distracting yourself, because Seungkwan is practically buzzing in his seat. You raise a curious eyebrow as you sit next to him, and he immediately turns to you, like he was waiting for you to show up.
“There’s a party.” He says. “In the frat Seokmin is a part of.”
You blink. “Your biology lab partner Seokmin?”
Seungkwan nods. His grin is so wide you’re surprised his face hasn’t split.
“I didn’t know he was in a frat.” You mumble, pulling your laptop out and setting it on your desk.
“Well, he is.” Seungkwan answers impatiently. “Anyway, he and I just finished wrapping up the end of semester project. And I guess he’s super happy about it, because he said we should stop by the frat this Friday night for some party they’re having.”
You eye Seungkwan, giving him an incredulous look.
“You? At a frat party?” Seungkwan really isn’t the type. But then you pause. “Wait, what do you mean ‘we’?”
Now Seungkwan has the decency to look a little sheepish. “I was hoping you would go with me.”
“No.”
Seungkwan immediately starts pleading, like he was expecting exactly this. Which wouldn’t be surprising. You despise parties. You had gone to a few at the very beginning of freshman year since you were so curious about college parties, and every single one of them without fail were horrific experiences. This was before you met Seungkwan and the guys. The people you were friends with at the time always got shitfaced, leaving you to pick up after them and get them home at the end of the night. The drinks there were usually awful unless you were bringing your own. And everyone was horny out of their minds, just chatting so they could hook up. All of this is turned up to a hundred when the party is at a frat, which this particular one will be.
“Ask Hansol.”
“He already said no.”
“Chan, then.”
“You know he’s not good with crowds. Listen,” he looks at you so earnestly it makes your heart squeeze, “I know you don’t like parties. But please, we have to do this. I’ve never been to one ever. First and last time, I promise. I’m just so curious.”
You hesitate. You understand where Seungkwan is coming from. You had the same curiosity as him way back then, and no matter how much you tell him that you already know it won’t be his cup of tea, he really needs to see it himself to swear off them like you. So you sigh painfully and nod, slightly placated by the fact that it makes Seungkwan cheer so loudly and hug you until you can’t breathe, promising he will treat you to lunch for the next two weeks.
Sounds like a good deal.
When you get back home that evening, Jeonghan is frying something on the stove. You seat yourself on the kitchen island, telling him about your day, because he’s always kind enough to ask.
“Oh, by the way.” You tack on. “I’m going to a party this Friday.”
That makes Jeonghan pause, turning to look at you with wide eyes. “A party? You?”
You sigh. “I know. Seungkwan was invited and he’s never been to one before so he kinda talked me into it. It’s at Sigma Tau Nu.”
Jeonghan looks even more shocked. He lets out a laugh. “A frat party.”
You nod.
He whistles low, turning back to his sizzling pan. “Seungcheol’s not gonna be happy.”
That makes you pause. You scowl at Jeonghan’s back. “What do you mean?”
He shakes his head, not bothering to turn around again. “Nothing.”
“No, tell me. Why won’t Seungcheol be happy?”
Before Jeonghan can answer, another voice speaks up.
“I won’t be happy about what?”
You stiffen, turning to the kitchen doorway. You didn’t hear the front door at all. Seungcheol is covered in sweat, still in his gym clothes, face a little flushed. His gym bag hangs over his shoulder. You swallow tightly, looking away so you won’t stare. Jeonghan, however, has no qualms about speaking.
“She’s going to Sigma Tau Nu on Friday.”
Seungcheol’s head snaps to you, eyes wide. “What?”
You fidget. “Seungkwan was invited.”
“So?”
You can’t help but frown. “So, he’s my friend. I’m going with him.”
“Like hell you are.”
Your jaw drops. Jeonghan barks out a laugh. You want to strangle him, but you’re too shocked at how Seungcheol’s voice has hardened. In fact, his blatant and sharp refusal has only managed to irritate you.
“Why not?” You sound petulant.
Seungcheol is walking to the fridge, pulling out a water bottle. “Because that place is a cesspool.”
“You go there every weekend.” Your voice is accusatory. Something in Seungcheol’s face flickers.
“That’s different.”
The irritation in you is swelling now into more of an anger. You don’t appreciate his tone, or whatever superiority complex he has that makes him think it’s okay for him to go but not you.
“So you can go but I can’t?” Your voice is louder than before. Even Jeonghan pauses, turning to look at you both cautiously. “Why? I’m not good enough for your parties?”
Seungcheol’s face hardens, and you almost back down. He has never, ever, looked at you like that before. “You think that’s what this is about?”
“Looks like it.”
“It’s not.”
“Then what is it about?”
He huffs, annoyed. “I’m just saying. Sigma Tau Nu…. the guys there…. they aren’t good.”
“You’re a guy there.”
His face drops. It’s such a slight shift, but immediate, and his expression turns a muted and stoney smooth. His grip on his bottle tightens until the plastic crinkles a little, but his face is almost forlorn.
“I know.”
You don’t know what to say.
Seungcheol sighs, as if to break the heavy silence, hiking the bag he has on his shoulder a bit further up before walking past you to leave.
“Just don’t go, okay?”
You and Jeonghan are left standing in the kitchen after he’s gone, just staring at each other in the silence.
………………………………
“Seungcheol can fuck off.”
You roll your eyes, trying to keep a straight face as you apply finishing touches to yourself. But Seungkwan is not discouraged by your silence, continuing to rant on from where he’s sitting on your bed.
“No, seriously. Where does he get off telling you what to do?”
You sigh and shake your hair out, staring at yourself in the mirror. “He’s just looking out for me.”
That earns a scoff from your friend. “As if. More like he’s looking out for himself. He doesn’t want you to see what a sleazy, pervy bastard he is and how many girls he indulges when he goes out. Wants you to think he’s a good person.”
“He is a good person.” You turn to scowl at him. “He’s been nothing but kind to me.”
Seungkwan rolls his eyes. You keep going.
“Let it go, Kwannie. We’re going anyway. So it doesn’t matter.”
It really doesn’t, because you’re all dolled up already and ready to go. You’re in a plain black dress, nothing too fancy, thin straps and a flared out skirt. It’s from your freshman year, and to your dismay, it’s a little tighter on you at the bodice, but nothing that doesn’t fit, so you’re rolling with it. Seungkwan also made it a point to tell you twice that you look hot, so you’re taking that as a good indication.
“Ready?” He prompts, you nod.
“Remember our agreement. One hour. You get a feel of the place. Then we leave.”
He nods enthusiastically. You can’t help but smile.
The place is packed. You feel dread already when you and Seungkwan climb out of your cab, but your friend looks alarmingly apprehensive, enough for you to suck up your own negative feelings. You’re already here, might as well try and make this as enjoyable for Seungkwan as possible.
“Come on.” You take his arm, walking up the front steps and in through the open door. The music is so loud, the lights are dim enough that you’re worried about something spilling on your dress accidentally. Seungkwan has a death grip on your hand, and you try to navigate to the kitchen.
“Boo Seungkwan!” The voice is booming, so loud and bright, and it immediately catches both your and Seungkwan’s attention. From the relief on his face, you know instantly that this is Seokmin. He’s grinning wide, and draping an arm around his shoulder is another man with spiky blond hair and sharp eyes. They introduce themselves, Seokmin and his frat brother Soonyoung, and you do the same. Soonyoung watches you closely.
“I’ve never seen you here before.” He shouts over the music, leaning closer to you to speak. You think you would have heard him just fine even without it, but you suspect he is doing it on purpose to get close to you. This may not be your thing, but you’re not an idiot.
“I don't usually come to parties.” You reply, trying to be polite. Somewhere behind your back, Seokmin is putting drinks into plastic cups. You can see the exact path Soonyoung’s eyes take as they drag down your body, lingering on your chest. You almost want to sigh.
“Want a tour?” He offers. “I’ll show you around.”
You want to say no, but a tour would mean you and Seungkwan can see everything quickly and leave. So you nod and turn around, linking an arm with Seungkwan to pull him along. He’s got a cup in his hand, already half empty, and you want to groan. Drunk Seungkwan is almost impossible to deal with.
Soonyoung doesn’t seem perturbed. He just nods and gestures for you two to follow along. You make it through the seas of people in the huge house as he points and shouts names. You don’t even understand half of them, but you’re not particularly interested. Seokmin is trailing behind all of you, and when Seungkwan’s cup empties, he exchanges it for a new one. You wince. Seungkwan is a notorious lightweight. You play drinking games all the time, and he’s always the first one to tap out, leaning heavily on Hansol as he gets dragged out of your apartment. With the way his cheeks are flushing at a concerning rate, you know he’s getting to that point already.
Soonyoung occasionally grips your arm to steer you in the right direction. Seungkwan’s hold on you keeps increasing as you navigate through the house. Then, you’re in the living room, and your eyes find the large, sprawling couch pushing against the far wall, particularly, the man lounging on the corner of it.
He has a cup in his hand, arm thrown around a girl pressed to his side. On the arm of the couch next to him is a guy you vaguely recognise as his gym buddy. You watch him bring the cup to his lips and throw it back in one big gulp, shaking it at his friend when it’s empty, who just snorts and pours more in it from the bottle of clear liquid he’s holding.
His head turns to look at his glass, but his eyes meet yours instead. You see the exact moment he recognises you.
You feel it again, that hollow feeling in your chest, mixed with something else this time. You almost don’t recognise him. His hair is tousled, carelessly swept, his top is sleeveless and tight, silver chain hanging from his neck, pants baggy, legs sprawled without a care in the world. Your eyes are still on each other when the girl on his side leans in and whispers something in his ear, following it up with running her tongue up the side of his neck.
Bile rises in your throat. You look away.
Seungkwan has downed his glass, again, and Soonyoung is gesturing for you to follow him to some other part of the house. But the music is changing into something faster, and Seungkwan’s eyes widen with a gasp as he recognises it.
“This is the first song I know!” He exclaims. You want to snort at how excited he is. “Can we dance?”
Oh no. You open your mouth to protest, but Soonyoung nods enthusiastically and points to the dance floor not far off from where you are. You can feel Seungcheol’s eyes burning holes in the back of your head as Seungkwan tugs you along with him. Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn’t follow, because at that moment, he’s bombarded by another group of people. You’re left with Seungkwan only, which you prefer.
Except, Seungkwan is drunk, and pulling you close so you can sway together. You snort and indulge him, fully aware of how touchy he gets with alcohol in his system. He’s singing along to the song, hands on your waist, bobbing back and forth, side to side. You grin, laughing. You genuinely didn’t imagine yourself having a good time at this place, but being here with your friend is a little fun, though you would only begrudgingly admit that.
The song picks up, getting wilder, and you let yourself go to the music with Seungkwan. He’s laughing and grinning, turning you around so his back is against you. Bad idea, because as soon as you open your eyes, they meet heated, dark ones from across the room.
Seungcheol is watching, and he doesn’t look happy.
The girl by his side is now on her phone, tapping away. He’s not interested, raising his cup to his mouth and taking a long gulp while his stare is trained on you. Your heart pounds. You feel Seungkwan’s hands on your hips, your waist. There’s a voice in your head, and you listen to it, eyes fully on Seungcheol as you reach an arm up and behind you, running it through your friend’s hair.
Seungcheol’s face pinches. His lip curls in an ugly snarl. It catches you so off guard that you immediately turn back to Seungkwan, your heart pounding.
“I need air.” You shout over the music. “It’s too hot here.”
Seungkwan nods and points to the back of the house, past the staircase. You contemplate leaving your friend there. He’s having a good time, and you can let him dance a little before you start insisting that you should leave. Sliding glass doors take you into the patio overlooking the backyard. You take a deep breath.
The patio is less crowded, though there’s still people milling around. There’s a couple a few feet to your right, making out against the wall. You make a face and walk away from them. The cool air is working, clearing your head just a little. You wonder if there’s something in the hot, humid air inside that clouded your judgement, that made you look Seungcheol straight in the eye as you let your drunk friend sway you side to side. What did you want to achieve? Did you want to get a reaction out of him? Why? He doesn’t care about you that way, so what was the point?
Part of you is still annoyed at him because of the semi-argument in the kitchen. The other part is just…. sad.
“You came.”
You close your eyes. You were hoping he would leave you alone for the night.
“I did.” You reply.
Seungcheol stops right next to you, a little closer than you would like. You can feel the heat of his body. He doesn’t say anything, but he stays.
“Don’t worry, Seungkwan and I are just going to have one more drink and leave. I won’t….. disturb you much longer.”
He says your name, a tone of defeat in his voice. Your stomach twists. You turn to him, and for a brief second, your eyes meet his. He has that same look in them, that quiet desolation he had when he was with you in the kitchen. The heat from before, the simmering annoyance, has gone.
“Seungcheol.” Your throat tightens. Your chest is so hollow. “Just make sure to crash in your own bed this time. Okay?”
You turn and walk back into the house.
……………………………………
You don’t know the longest time you’ve gone without speaking to Seungcheol. You’ve never had any reason to count. You do now, and it has been seven days.
Seungkwan thanked you profusely for going with him to the party, vowed never to go again (that made you laugh), then bought you lunch for four days straight before you felt bad and just started paying for your own. You don’t think his experience was worth two weeks of comped meals, but you have a feeling he knows you’re bummed about something, so he keeps offering to pay.
You don’t even know why you’re bummed. You just are. And Seungkwan isn’t the only one who has noticed.
Jeonghan has been walking on eggshells with you too, watching you intently when you’re having a meal together, taking note of the fact that you leave to lock yourself in your room as soon as it becomes close to the time Seungcheol is due back home. It’s easy to avoid him because he himself makes no effort to talk to you either. It should make you glad, since it means you can dance around whatever this suffocating feeling between you two is. But it doesn’t. All you feel is more hollow, more crushed.
Something has changed between you, definitely for the worse. You regret going to that party every single day.
To Jeonghan’s credit, he never asks. You wonder if Seungcheol told him, but then you ask yourself what exactly there is to tell. Literally nothing happened. You don’t even know what to call that little stint on the dance floor, or the heavy way his eyes traveled over you. As for the girl he was with, you’re just upset because the man you have been pining for your whole life has a roster of romantic prospects outside of you. For so long, you had only known about it, like it was some far away entity, but seeing it with your own eyes, some unknown girl sprawled half on top of him, it broke something in you that you don’t know how to move on from. So while you grapple with your own mess of feelings, you just know you need to stay far, far away from him.
But seven days after your self-imposed Seungcheol ban, your roommate has apparently had enough, and he decides to break it. You hear a knock on your door and hum, expecting it to be Jeonghan asking about dinner or something. But instead, a head of thick brown hair pops in through your door.
“Can I come in?”
You're shocked for a good few seconds, before nodding and gesturing to him to do so. Seungcheol lumbers in, hesitating for a second before opting to sit on the chair in front of your desk, turning it around to face you. You’re still frozen in place, crosslegged on your bed, waiting for him to say something.
“I’m sorry.” He says.
You blink. “You didn’t do anything. What are you sorry for?”
He lets out a laugh, but it’s bitter and mirthless. “For everything. For all of it. For telling you not to go to that party. For going there myself and letting you see me like that. For even being like that….”
“Seungcheol.” You protest. “You didn’t do anything-”
“I did.” He cuts you off. “You don’t know it, but I did. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that my drunk, stupid mind thought it was a good idea to end up in your room that night. That I somehow genuinely believed that I could wake up next to you and you would be mine.”
Your heart pounds. Blood roars in your ears.
“I remember all of it.” He whispers, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. “How I felt that night. How badly I just wanted to be with you. No drink was helping, no one…..” He laughs again, shakes his head as if admonishing himself.
“You know what my drunken plan originally was? I wanted to wake you up and finally just tell you how much I love you. But I was so drunk and exhausted that by the time I got to you I just ended up passing out on your bed.”
“And then the next morning. I was awake the second you first moved. And I didn’t want to let go. Call it brain fog, I don’t know. I hoped I could lie there forever and just…… hold you.”
You only break your eye contact from Seungcheol when your vision swims, getting wetter and more blurred.
“This isn’t funny.” Your voice shakes.
“I’m not joking.”
You take a deep breath, trying to gather your frantic thoughts. Never, never in your life did you expect this. You remember that morning again, how Seungcheol’s hand tightened on you, how your ass pressed hard against his-
“You were awake.” It isn’t really a question.
“I was.”
When your eyes meet his again, it’s different. Something sizzles, sharp and anticipatory, like the air around you is afraid to move. But Seungcheol isn’t. He stands up and walks closer to where you are sitting, one knee planting on the mattress, until he’s right in front of you. His eyes are like melting pots of brown, and the intensity in them takes your breath away.
“You felt it, right?” He whispers. “That’s what you do to me, baby. You turn me on so much.”
You can’t move even if you try. It feels like something has severed the connection between your brain and body. When Seungcheol leans in, you don’t resist. Your eyelids flutter when you feel his breath on the side of your neck, just like that morning. His lips brush just so over your skin.
“Cheol….”
He hums, shifts just a smidge, and his lips plant a chaste kiss under your ear. But you don’t say anything more. You don’t know if you can. You’re overwhelmed, both physically and mentally, and the smell of the cherry and sandalwood in his cologne is making your mind foggy.
“Let me show you.” He whispers. “Let me show you how much I love you, just like I wanted to that night, just like I dreamed of for so long.”
You’re human, after all. And you’re weak for him. You’ve always been weak for him, and that’s why you’ve let all of it happen. Him in your bed, you at his party. So you turn your head and let your lips brush over his. You can almost feel his shaky sigh just before he closes the distance between you.
It’s rushed from the start, like he’s desperate. You feel the same, hands reaching up to cup his face, your heart squeezing when you realise that this is finally happening. You’re kissing Seungcheol, the guy you’ve been deeply enamoured with for as long as you’ve known him. The guy you never, ever thought you would have in this way, but still imagined it in the depths of the night when there was no one but you and your fingers. He was here now, on the same bed that you thought filthy things about him in, kissing you like he needs to steal the air from your lungs. He tilts his head, lips sliding over yours, capturing your bottom lip between his. He nibbles softly and it makes you moan.
The sound does something to him, because he curses brokenly and reaches for you. Strong hands grip your waist and tug, pulling you closer. Your legs scramble to find purchase, settling on either side of his as he pulls you into his lap. His tongue slides into your mouth, hot and wet, and you can feel something flutter right in the base of your stomach. Your panties are already damp, but from what you can feel, he’s straining through his sweatpants too. You whine into him.
“Cheol…”
He groans, hands digging into your flesh. They slide under your shirt to run over your bare skin. You instinctively arch into him.
“Love it when you call me that.” He rasps. “Only you do. Only you.”
So you say it again, whisper it into his mouth while his tongue is in yours, and you can feel how his force increases, how he unravels just a little bit more. His hands under your shirt get more frantic, and finally he pushes up, peeling it off your body. You let him, but when the cold air hits your skin, you realise you weren’t wearing a bra.
“Fuck.” He curses softly, eyeing your half naked body. You feel your skin heat under his gaze, squirming a little.
“Beautiful. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”
No, I’m not. Your mind immediately supplies. Because it’s true. You can’t help but think of all the girls he’s had like this, in his lap while he runs his tongue down the column of their throats, nipping here and there. He probably feels you stiffen, because he pulls away and looks you in the eyes, his expression cautious.
“What’s wrong?”
You swallow tightly and shake your head, leaning forward to kiss him again. But he pulls his head back before you can, watching you closely.
“Tell me, sweetheart. What is it?”
Your heart squeezes. You try to arrange your thoughts and look for words. You feel Seungcheol’s hands run up and down your back and sides comfortingly.
“I just don’t want this to be a one time thing.” You finally say, because you don’t want to tell him how much doubt you have. How deeply ingrained it is within you that you can never be with someone like him. You’re almost halfway certain that even this, what is happening right now, is some extreme exhaustion-induced dream and you will wake up to a cold, empty bed, but you don’t want to think about that.
Seungcheol’s eyes dart between your own. His face is soft, open, like he’s coming to the slow realisation of what you mean. When he sighs, you feel his breath on your skin. He leans forward so his forehead is pressed to yours. You don’t dare break your stare, even if it makes you go a little cross-eyed.
“I would never do that to you.” He whispers. “I’ve been in love with you for so long.”
Your breath hitches. Your hands on his shoulders tremble.
“I dream about you every night. I lay in my bed and I think of having you next to me. But I never did anything about it. You’ve always felt so far away. Like I can’t dare touch you or you will be tainted.”
Your eyebrows furrow. You watch as Seungcheol’s gaze dims into something like resignation.
“But seeing you at that party with Seungkwan, having you see me like that.” He shakes his head, a miniscule movement. “I knew something had to change. And it had to come from me. Whatever illusion I had in my head about us being just roommates, and me being happy with that, it wasn’t working.”
His hold tightens on you with that last sentence, hands running over your bare back again. His fingertips slide under the waistband of your shorts, just an inch, teasing you. You arch into him.
Seungcheol’s eyes travel to your lips and stay there. The air around you feels like it’s charging up again.
“Saw your little friend draped all over you, and I couldn’t stand it. Why does he get to touch you but I can’t?”
Your lips brush again. Your arms wind around his shoulders. “You can.”
“Hm?”
You can feel your cheeks heat. “You can touch me.”
Something flickers in Seungcheol’s eyes. “Where, baby?”
Baby. A shiver runs down your spine. “Everywhere.”
Your lips meet again. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. You feel his hand cup the back of your head, guide your movements like he wants them to, and it goes straight to your core, tightening it. You know you’re soaking your shorts, and you realise belatedly that you’re not wearing underwear either. Embarrassment hits you fleetingly, but before you can think about it more, Seungcheol is pushing forward to lay you on the bed, your hair sprawling on the pillow. He doesn’t break the kiss even once, fitting his hips between your legs and grinding into your heat. You gasp and cry out.
“You make the prettiest sounds.” He groans. “So responsive. I haven’t even done anything yet. Haven’t even touched you the way I want to.”
But he has. He’s all over you, taking over your every sense, infiltrating you until you can feel him thrumming in the hollows of your bones. You arch into him when he nips at your neck again, teeth digging in teasingly. If he leaves marks, so be it. You will wear them proudly. How long have you spent fantasising about having his lips on you? And here he is now, trailing kisses down until he reaches your chest. His tongue peeks out, smooths over your left nipple so that it is laved in his spit. He blows air on it, making you gasp. You wouldn’t see his smirk if it weren’t for the fact that a dimple cleaves through his right cheek. He pops your nipple in his mouth and sucks.
Seungcheol works you over while you whine and moan. Your hands meet his hair, running through the short ones on the back of his head before burying your fingers into it and tugging. He hums into your skin, and you can feel the vibration. It makes you clench desperately, making your hips buck.
“Cheol, please…”
He pops off your nipple after one last hard suck. You’re already taking in big, heaving breaths, like you’re losing your senses. You feel his tongue run up your sternum.
“What do you want, baby?”
You squirm, buck up again so that it brushes over his crotch. He chuckles.
“Impatient little thing. All you have to do is ask nicely.”
You blink through wet eyes, meeting his half-lidded, heated gaze. “I did. I said please.”
He groans. “Say it again, then.”
You make sure you’re looking him right in the eye as you buck up again. “Please.”
Seungcheol’s fingers hook in your shorts and he tugs them down. His face twists when he realises you’re not wearing underwear. He curses long and low, pushing your legs open to peer down at the mess between them.
“Dirty girl.” He moans. “No panties?”
You shake your head. “I don’t wear them to bed.”
His eyes widen as he thinks back.
“That night….”
You know exactly what he is referring to. The night he spent in your room, spooning you. You shake your head.
“Fucking hell.” His lips crash into yours, near feral as he devours you. You whimper and let him, hooking one leg over his waist.
“Could’ve fucked you back then, right? Just pushed your shorts aside and put my cock in you. Bet you would’ve loved that.”
You would, in your deep, dark fantasies. The thought of just being used by him is so hot that it lights your nerves on fire. You tug his shirt, having had enough, and he immediately obliges, pulling it off. Your mouth waters as you eyes the large expanses of smooth skin stretched over his muscles. You’ve never seen Seungcheol shirtless around the house, he’s very careful about it. The most you have seen is his arms through those tight tanks he loves so much. You run your hands over him as he goes back to licking and nipping at your neck, hooking his thumbs in his sweatpants so he can take them and his boxers off in one go.
His cock springs up and hits his navel. He’s thick, so much that it makes you suck it a long breath. All the blood that has rushed to it has left it aching hard and throbbing, shiny at the head with precum. You’re just wondering how you can even take it all the way in when he slides down your body once again, this time going further than your breasts, until he’s settling between your open legs. Your face flames, fighting the urge to close your thighs when he stares at you like that, licking over his bottom lip.
He runs his fingers down your soft, heated folds, one on each side in a V-shape. He spreads his index and middle fingers, opening you up.
“Such a pretty pussy.” He mumbles, leaning down to barely dance his tongue through your slit. Your legs jerk at the feeling. He’s holding you open, which makes his touch hit deeper, in more sensitive places. You sigh when he flattens his tongue over you finally, licking a thick stripe. His hands position themselves on your inner thighs, keeping you open and his head shifts side to side, running his lips and tongue over every part of you.
He’s amazing at this.
He’s eating you out like he’s starving for it, eyelids fluttering, nearly rolling up, and just the sight of Seungcheol like this, face progressively getting more and more flushed and he leans down and sticks his tongue as far as it can go inside your cunt, has you shaking and crying, your high approaching embarrassingly fast. You want to sob, tell him to stop, that it’s too much all at once, but it feels so unbelievably good that you won’t dare, locking your legs over his broad shoulders, hands fisting the sheets as you wail and cum with no warning. His hold on you is iron strong, holding you in place and not stopping the rapid flicks of his tongue until tears slide down your face and you push his head away. He parts from you with a loud, filthy slurp, licking his lips. He’s breathing hard, but not as hard as you while you’re shaking from your orgasm.
He uses his index and middle finger to wipe the lower half of his face, his chin, the line of his jaw. Then he shifts forward to kneel between your trembling legs again. He taps the two slicked up fingers on your mouth.
“Open up, baby.”
You do, lapping your tongue over the digits as they slide into your mouth, making sure not to break eye contact with him. He watches heatedly as you suck on his fingers.
“Jesus.” He breathes. “Why’d I stay away from you for so long?”
He pulls them out when they’re slick with your spit, reaching down and immediately prodding at your entrance. You sigh and buck up. He smirks, a sexy sight that you barely have time to process before he’s sliding both fingers inside you at once. You gasp and arch, taken aback by the sudden intrusion. He’s already curling his fingers, slowly pumping them in and out.
“God.” You whimper, instinctively reaching down to grab his arm. He doesn’t mind, letting you hold it as he fingers you. You feel his muscles shift with every movement under your palms. As he works you open, he occupies his mouth with your neck and shoulder again, nipping and kissing. You realise Seungcheol is a little bit of a biter, not that you’re complaining.
You’re barely down from your last orgasm, so this one takes an even shorter time to build up. You moan with every ram of his fingers into you, he’s murmuring little encouragements and praises into your skin. His voice is rougher, breathier, and it acts as the catalyst that hurtles you over the edge again. This orgasm is just as intense, if not more, leaving your limbs boneless and your head empty. Your breaths come out chopped and heavy as he slows down, needling out the last remnants of your high.
“Gorgeous.” He hums. “I could do that for hours. Just make you fall apart over and over until you’re begging me to stop.”
Your insides twist. Seungcheol shuffles until he’s seated fully between your legs again. He watches your cunt flutter and twitch, already used and abused. You watch him wrap a large hand around his thick girth, jerking himself harshly a few times. He slaps his shaft over your slit. You gasp and jerk. His eyes shoot up to you and he smirks teasingly.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Too much?”
You vehemently shake your head. “N-no. Want your cock.”
He hums, running the swollen, leaking head through your folds. He rubs it back and forth over your clit. You whimper.
“Sure about that?”
You nod and buck your hips up. It catches against your opening, making you gasp. “Please, Cheol.”
That does it for him, because he’s lining himself up and leaning down over you, pressing his forehead to yours before pushing forward. Your jaw goes slack as he carves his way in through your gummy walls, inch by inch, until you feel his pelvis meet yours.
“God, you’re still tight as hell.” He grits. “After taking my fingers like that too. Why didn’t you loosen up, baby? Wanted to stay nice and snug for me?”
His words are filthy, and never something you ever imagined coming from his mouth, in his delicious, raspy voice. You don’t say anything, brain wiped clean as he chooses that moment to start thrusting. It feels divine, he’s so thick that he stretches and hits all your spots without even angling his hips any which way. His tip nudges your cervix just slightly with every thrust, a fluttering sensation ensuing in your stomach. Everything is so much, so intense, that it’s hard to even breathe. Your eyelids fight to close, but you keep them open, because no way in hell would you miss the sight before you right now.
The muscles in Seungcheol’s arms flex and shift, hands planted on either side of your head to hold himself up. His skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat that shines under the lights of your bedroom. His torso undulates, precise and well aimed thrusts that hit just the right spots. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, face pinched in arousal and focus. His hair sticks to his temples, the rest is messed up because of how much you’ve run your hands through it. The apples of his cheeks are colored a lovely shade of pink that makes him look sensual, his eyelashes curling over his skin when he closes his eyes.
You wish you could burn this image in your mind forever.
He’s watching you just like you’re watching him, and you see the exact moment his face softens.
“Look at you.” He coos. “So pretty. So sexy like this. I imagined this, you know? When you had Seungkwan all over you, I imagined you under me.”
You whimper. The train of thought of last week’s party somehow riles him up again. His thrusts get harder, your skin stinging slightly with every ram of his hips into yours.
“And then there was fucking Soonyoung-” Seungcheol punches out. “Eyeing you like a piece of meat. If he got his hands on you, I would break every bone in his body.”
You mewl and shake your head vigorously. You can barely speak, but you’re desperate for him to know. “There’s no one, Cheolie. Only you. I only want you.”
You claw at his shoulders, tugging him down when you’re unable to resist, planting a searing kiss on his mouth. He groans into you.
“That’s right. Mine. My girl, my body, my cunt. All this is mine.”
You feel his hand sneak between your bodies so he can toy with your clit. It makes you cry out, already so sensitive from being toyed with.
“I’m not cumming until I feel your pussy milk it out of me.” He grunts, thrusts getting sloppier, and you keen. He’s determined to get you there one more time, and with how wound up you are, you know you will give it to him.
He cums at the same time as you, your walls contracting around his sloppy final thrusts. Your sweaty bodies writhe together, pressing into each other and on the bed, his hands digging into your hips and thighs while you rake your nails down his back. Finally, he buries himself deep and stills.
You sigh as tension slowly drains from your body. Seungcheol takes a moment before pulling out, flopping down next to you with a grunt and running a hand through his sweaty hair. You watch him and he eyes you back, a small smile crossing his face. He grips your arm and tugs, maneuvering you so you’re on your side, his front against your back. You giggle. It’s the same position, except this time, you’re both naked.
Silence descends over both of you, your eyelids heavy with slowly encroaching sleep. You’re roused when you hear Seungcheol softly speak.
“I meant it, you know?” He mumbles. “That I’m in love with you. Been in love with you for a while now.”
You can’t help your giddy smile. You rest your hand on the back of his and squeeze. “I have been too, for a while.”
You can feel his smile on the back of your neck. “Good.”
You fall asleep to his lips laying careful kisses on your shoulder.
synopsis: an unsuccessful sneak around at your older brother’s house party led you to run into jeon jungkook, his best friend and your worst nightmare.
pairing: brother’s best friend! jungkook x f! reader
content: fluff, smut (MDNI), pwp, minor age gap (jk is 26, reader is 22), reader lives with her parents (think about the economy guys), lowkey enemies to lovers but not really (reader “hates” him), past rejection, reader experiences a series of unfortunate events, jk calls her princess, baby & sweetheart, reader sometimes calls him jeon, they were childhood friends at some point, lowkey a lot of cursing
word count: 8.1k
a/n: first bts fic kinda nervous lol. also forbode isn’t an actual word i just made it up for shits and giggles. also not proofread so there may be mistakes!
smut tags below the cut!
— likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!
warnings: unprotected piv sex, creampie, mild tit play, bit of spanking, doggy style, rough sex, mentions of birth control, very very mild possession (like one sentence), hinted multiple rounds
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You weren’t sure if you would call yourself a party person. Sure, you’ve attended quite a few parties during your early college years, and sure, you’ve danced to enough songs about sex to know what the experience is like. But there was something about the quiet of the night, and the peace of being alone that you loved just a little bit more than being around screaming frat boys and cheap alcohol.
You were currently trapped in your bedroom, door slammed shut and windows cracked open enough to let the midnight air in. Someone who read this description with no other context would full heartedly believe that the atmosphere would be tranquil, silent and calm. Maybe because they couldn’t physically hear the music blaring through the speakers, or the sounds of cheering and screaming that destroyed every ounce of peace that you were hoping to feel tonight.
Your older brother, Hyunwook, was passionately hosting a raging party against your own will. He begged and begged you to accept it for days on end, stating that his own apartment was “too small” to host a party big enough for all his grown friends to attend. It seemed that despite him being your older brother, and 25 at that, he was still very much a frat boy at heart. Much like he was during his own college era.
You hated the idea of having so many unknown people in your house, and you wondered if your decision to live with your parents throughout your entire college degree was a mistake you should’ve prevented long ago. You expressed your disdain in ways that weren’t subtle, so the fact that Hyunwook still held the party regardless meant that he was either an oblivious idiot or an inconsiderate asshole. With your brother’s track record, however, the latter seemed much more likely.
The only other thing that might’ve stopped him could’ve been your parents, but with your unfortunate luck, they were away on vacation for two weeks. And even if they were here, you honestly doubted that they would even care. They might host the party themselves if they could.
Right now, it was well past twelve AM, and you would think that any sane adult past the age of 25 would know that it was very much not an appropriate time to be loudly playing beer pong and disturbing neighbourhood peace. You groaned into your pillow, cussing out your brother with every known word in the book. You contemplated for a long moment whether or not you should buy a spell from an Etsy witch and curse him with it.
You tossed and turned in your bed, blocking your ears and covering yourself with your blankets. Your method, despite causing an unfathomable amount of heat to envelop your body, worked, and you were slowly beginning to fall asleep. The noises outside didn’t seem so bothersome anymore. You simply imagined it all as white noise and drowned yourself in it.
It was only when you felt an extreme and uncomfortable urge to pee that you felt your will to sleep slip away from your grasp. You kept your eyes closed. You hoped that if you ignored it and didn’t move, you would eventually edge back into falling asleep.
It didn’t work. Of course it didn’t.
In fact, the feeling only got exponentially worse the longer you waited. A frustrated groan escaped your mouth as you shot up from your bed, the midnight breeze immediately cooling down your overheated body. You quickly got ahold of yourself and went over your plan.
It was simple. Theoretically.
All you had to do was leave your room, sneak into the bathroom, quickly pee and sneak back into your room. The trip to the bathroom was barely 20 steps. It would be over before you know it. The only issue you would have is if someone saw you, but you highly doubted that anyone would be hanging around the bathroom when there was a thunderous gathering somewhere in the living room or out in the patio.
You slowly opened your bedroom door, your eyes carefully scanning the halls for any signs of human presence. Once you gave yourself the clear, you stepped out into the hallway. For once, you were thankful for the head-splitting noise for concealing the sounds of your footsteps.
You walked towards the bathroom, its door closed shut. A paper with the word “bathroom” scrawled over it was stuck to the door with a flimsy piece of tape. You recognised it to be your brother’s doing almost immediately.
You doubted that anyone was using the bathroom at this moment, but in the rare instance that someone was in there, you knocked on the wooden surface three times, loud and clear. You really did not want an unpleasant encounter with a toilet-using stranger.
You didn’t hear any response from within, but you weren’t sure if it was because no one was in there or if you simply couldn’t hear it. You knocked another few times for good measure. When you didn’t hear anything again, you slowly turned the doorknob to check if it was unlocked, and sure enough, it was.
You pushed it open, and to your horrifying surprise, someone was in there. Luckily, though, you only saw their back at the sink. You quietly thanked the universe and quickly turned away, horrified and utterly embarrassed. Before you were able to open the door to your room, a hand roughly grasped your wrist.
You flinched, your body immediately in fight or flight mode. Reluctantly, you turned your head around, humiliation coursing through your veins. You were about to desperately utter out an apology, but every thought disappeared from your brain when you registered the face of the man holding onto your wrist.
Jeon Jungkook.
Your brother’s best friend. Your old childhood crush. Your worst nightmare.
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Jeon Jungkook was a great guy.
Great looks, great body, great job and great lifestyle.
He was every girl’s dream man. At one point in your life, he was even your dream man. Of course, you had no one to owe it to besides your immature little self, who knew nothing about love or relationships. You were simply an enamoured little girl who was around the presence of Jungkook too much for a naive 9 year old to be.
Of course, that meant you couldn’t help the feelings of infatuation from creeping into your little heart. He was handsome, mature (in your eyes) and simply too kind for you to think otherwise.
Every time he came over from next door, the three of you would play together in the backyard, doing anything and everything that children would do. Eventually though, as your brother grew older and shifted into the puberty phase, he forbade you from hanging out with them, claiming that you were “too young” and he was “too cool” for you. Of course you despised him for that.
So for a long time, Jungkook was the untouchable, “forbidden” fruit that you could only watch from afar. It didn’t help that he only grew more attractive as he aged. Your teenaged self could never drop her feelings even if she desperately wanted to.
When you turned 15, you committed your most humiliating act to date. For some moronic reason, you deemed it would be appropriate to confess your immature attraction to Jungkook himself. To this day, you still could not fathom why you even conjured up such a thought. Or even went through with it anyway. You still smack your head at the mere thought of it now.
You remembered that day clearer than ever. You were stupidly giddy yet embarrassingly nervous, as you stood before 19 year old Jungkook with a small bundle of heart shaped chocolates in your hands. It was actually in the very same hallway you were standing in right now.
With shakey hands, you handed him the chocolates and quickly muttered an awful string of words that barely resembled a decent confession. You recalled the dazed state you were in, eyes timidly watching for his reaction. And when he smiled, you thought the universe had blessed you with all your wishes.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. You’re too young for me. You should find someone your own age.” You barely remembered anything he said after that. You were too heartbroken to even think straight. All you could remember was that he muttered something about your brother, pat you on the shoulder, and disappeared from your sight.
From that day on, you felt nothing but rage and anger towards your brother’s friend. You swore with everything within you that you hated him and everything he stood for. Not because he did anything wrong, but because you were too immature to think otherwise.
Thankfully, though, your brother moved out for college shortly after that incident, so you never crossed Jungkook’s path ever again.
You grew to forget him quite quickly, and because you didn’t get a chance to sit down and dissect the unnecessary hatred you had against him, it never stopped lingering. Neither did the embarrassment.
Your face warmed inexplicably when you noted Jungkook’s eyes boring into yours. You stood unnaturally still, and once you fully registered his closeness and his grip, you quickly stepped away, shaking off his hand.
“I’m really sorry. That was an accident.” You apologised, looking down at the wooden floorboards.
“Really? You didn’t hear the two times I yelled out a response?” He raised his eyebrows accusingly, voice sarcastic. It was only when you slowly looked back up at him, that you realised just how much he had changed in the seven years you haven’t seen him.
His hair was shorter and neatly styled, his shoulders were devastatingly broad and his height was exceptionally taller than what you remembered. His style had also changed completely. A thin, black tank top hugged his large frame a little too tight for your liking. His arms were covered with a black leather jacket, but it did nothing to hide his intensely muscular body. You gulped, the action subtle. You hated yourself for analysing his appearance like that. But you couldn’t help it, just like a moth can’t help but fly towards a light source.
You finally met his eyes, and you shook away every bit of nervous energy you had within you.
“I’m sorry, I must’ve missed it. But to be fair, you didn’t lock the door, so I assumed no one was inside.” You justified, just in case he thought you were some weird pervert who walked in on purpose. Or even worse, he might think you stalked and followed him in there because you still liked him. You didn’t do that, of course, but he didn’t know that.
“Are you sure you live here, princess? The door lock is broken. How am I supposed to lock it?” He tilted his head and crossed his arms mockingly, and that’s when it dawned on you. You stupidly forgot that the bathroom’s lock broke a few days ago.
Damn it, Y/N.
You lowly cursed yourself under your breath, mentally knocked yourself on the head, and then calmed yourself down. You didn’t even realise the nick name he called you.
You forced a polite smile.
“My apologies, Jungkook. It slipped my mind. I hope that didn’t make you uncomfortable.” You lept your tone as neutral as possible, not wanting your voice to waver in case he really did think you still harbored feelings for him.
You didn’t wait for him to respond and quickly stepped towards your room, slamming the door shut once you were inside.
Humiliation seeped through you, and your embarrassment was so immense that you had to stand there with your eyes closed in shame.
The party sounds were very much still alive, but it did nothing to hide the presence of Jungkook lingering outside your room.
When he eventually stepped away, your heart finally calmed down.
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You wondered if Jungkook was an NPC who existed only to make you feel the emotions of shame and mortification. You honestly couldn’t associate anything else with him.
You wouldn’t normally call yourself an embarrassing person. You really just weren’t like that at all. But it seemed that every time you encountered Jungkook, it would be a guaranteed moment of humiliation.
It had been weeks since you had run into Jungkook at your brother’s party in your home. Just like you had done with the confession, you quickly grew to forget about it and moved on. Simply because you weren’t graced with his presence, so naturally it could only slip from your memory.
Today, you were inside your room, glued to your desk with an assignment open on your laptop. For the entire morning, you were busily staring at the screen, doing a bunch of mindless research, and typing paragraphs of words you didn’t properly proofread.
The coolness of the morning passed quickly, and when the heat of the afternoon sun greeted you, you immediately grew hot in your long-sleeved pyjama set. You paused whatever you were doing and stood up from your chair, stretching your limbs before stepping to your wardrobe. You rummaged through the drawers for reasonable pieces of clothing, and once you found your favorite pair of shorts and a matching shirt, you threw it onto your bed.
You quickly stripped out of your pyjamas, and as you picked up your chosen t-shirt, the door swung wide open.
“Y/N, do you happen to have a spare phone char-” Your brother’s voice questioned, and before he finished his sentence, you screamed out loud. You looked over and without hesitation, threw a pillow at his direction. It wasn’t until he swiftly dodged that you realised Jungkook was standing behind him, staring directly at your half naked form. Before you could react, the pillow hit him right in his face, knocking him back slightly. Unfortunately for him, you were in no state to apologise.
“CLOSE THE DOOR!” You screamed. Hyunwook immediately complied, and slammed the door shut without another word.
Your heart was slamming in your chest as the situation dawned on you.
What. The. Hell.
You stood there silently, in utter disbelief at what just occurred. You cussed out your incompetent brother under your breath. Had he never heard of knocking? Jesus.
You weren’t even aware he was home today. Nor were you aware that he brought Jungkook along with him. You were appalled to even think that he saw you in an unclothed state. You wondered if it was the universe was punishing you for hating him unnecessarily. Because how can anyone possibly hate God’s gift to mankind, right?
You slapped your head repeatedly, hoping that the action would delete the memory from your brain. And any thoughts relating to it.
When you eventually stopped and snapped out of it, you finally slipped into your clothes. You composed yourself before quietly stepping to your door. You pressed your ear to the surface, calmly checking for any signs of your brother or his best friend.
When you didn’t hear a sound, you slowly opened the door, and were immediately graced with the sight of Jungkook standing out in the hallway, staring right at you.
You flinched viciously, shock travelling through your body at lightning speed. You were about to let out a yell, but Jungkook’s hand immediately covered your mouth, the warmth of his palm shutting you up immediately.
“Shh. Don’t scream.” He whispered, voice stern. You nodded meekly, your hand lightly grabbing onto his. When he confirmed that you weren’t going to scream out loud again, his hand immediately left your face.
“Here.” He held out the pillow you threw at him moments ago.
“Oh.” You quietly took it from his hand, holding it close for a bit of comfort.
A brief moment of silence engulfed the air. It felt awfully stuffy and warm. You wondered if it was because of the weather or Jungkook’s close proximity.
“You’re not going to apologise for hitting me?” He asked, an eyebrow raised, his presence overbearing. You didn’t even register what he said for a few moments.
“Oh…uhm. Sorry. I was meant to throw that at Hyunwook.” You looked down at the ground, your voice meek with awkwardness. You wished a hole would open up from the ground and swallow you entirely.
“What’s up with you?” He suddenly asked, his eyes inspecting you closely. You looked up at him instantly.
“What do you mean?” You asked, confused.
“Your attitude. You seem weird and different.” You couldn’t help but feel offended at his deduction.
“Well, excuse me for feeling embarrassed about my brother and his friend seeing me half naked.” You muttered, voice dripping with sass. The shame you felt earlier was almost completely gone, replaced with nothing but irritation at his audacity. It made you question whether the “hatred” you had for him was unnecessary after all.
“Embarrassed? Why would you feel that?” He asked, head cocking to the side as if he were genuinely curious.
“Are you asking me to piss me off or are you just damn stupid?” You crossed your arms, annoyance filling your body increasingly.
He copied your movements and scrunched his eyebrows.
“I’ve known you for over a decade. What’s so bad about it?”
“Because I don’t like getting undressed in front of others? What’s there to not get?”
“You weren’t even fully naked.”
“It doesn’t matter. I simply don’t like it.”
He grew silent at your response, and it made you feel a wave of satisfaction that he was finally quiet. He looked better that way anyway.
“What the hell are you guys arguing about?” Hyunwook’s voice resounded from the other end of the hallway, his head peaking from around the wall. Both of your heads turned to him, but neither of you uttered a word. Jungkook turned back to look at you, scanned you momentarily, before walking away.
“Nothing.” He said.
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You hated him.
You hated the way he talked to you. You hated the way he stood too close to you. You hated the way you could feel his presence even if he wasn’t even around.
Fuck.
I hate Jeon Jungkook.
You repeated it in your head. Your hands were mindlessly grazing the pieces of clothes hung up on display. You couldn’t even think about what piece you wanted to buy. Your mind was too consumed by a man you claimed was awful and irritating.
I hate Jungkook I hate Jungkook I hate Jungkook I hate Jungkook.
Almost as if you willed him into existence, his figure, standing about fifty steps away, caught your eye. You immediately hid behind the clothes rack, not wanting to be seen by the same man you were just thinking about.
You carefully watched him, staring at his unbelievably attractive form. He was in a sleeveless black tank and dark slacks, his arms on full display for the world go see. You immediately observed the bold sleeve tattoo covering the entirety of his right arm. You gulped nervously when he flexed, his muscles making you feel an immense attraction you could only pray would go away.
Fucking hell.
You pulled yourself together and quickly stepped behind another clothes rack, your head dipped to conceal yourself from his line of sight. You peeked again to see if he was looking, and once the coast was clear, you hastily ran out of the store.
Your heart thrummed against your chest, your body throbbing with adrenaline. You let out a breath you had no idea you were holding, and continued on into another direction you hoped Jungkook wouldn't walk toward.
Hours passed, and you were still milling around the shopping mall with hopes of finding a nice outfit to treat yourself with as compensation for the hellish few weeks you recently experienced. It didn't help at all that the same person that caused you such anguish wouldn't leave your mind for even a second.
You genuinely believed that the feelings you had for him seven years ago dissipated completely when he exited your life. To be honest, it was difficult for the feelings to even remain constant when the two of you never crossed paths for literal years. Becauss even though you kept in touch with your brother and saw him occasionally, Jungkook was never part of the image. You almost forgot what he looked like at some point because he really was gone like he never even existed.
You wondered why he suddenly seemed to be everywhere now, because it was actually driving you to insanity. And the fact that you couldn't stop the attraction from seeping through made you question whether the feelings came back or if they never truly left.
While you were in the middle of contemplating/denying your attraction, the store clerk tapped your shoulder, snapping you out of your train of thoughts.
"I'm very sorry, Miss. But the mall's about to close in 5 minutes." You blinked momentarily. You swiftly pulled your phone out of your pocket, checking the time. It was indeed much later than you anticipated.
"Oh my. I'm sorry. I'll get going now." You quickly bowed before exiting the store. The entire mall was basically empty, with only a few shoppers and cleaners walking around. With no hesitation, you made your way to the exits, back to the bus station where you got off at earlier.
You calmly sat down on the bench, eyes looking up at the sky. The sun was preparing itself to set, and the fact alone meant a beautiful ombre of blue, pink and purple would grace the cloudless skies.
You breathed in the clean air and took in the breathtaking view before you. Your mind felt a moment of quietude that you hadn’t experienced in a while. You let yourself bask in the world’s tranquility, your brain briefly letting go of the troubles it experienced recently.
While your eyes were closed and your mind was still, a loud honk broke you out of your peace. You winced at the sudden intrusive noise, eyes shot open at once.
You were about to mentally (or physically) curse at the perpetrator, but your mind blanked when you recognised an awfully familiar face, in the driver’s seat of an expensive car, staring at you with the window down and his arm hanging out.
You didn’t move from your spot. You didn’t want to.
Why was he here?
You pinched yourself in hopes that this was somehow a stress-induced dream, but to your disappointment, the same annoyingly handsome face was still staring back at you.
“Come here.” He yelled out, his hand ushering you to come to him. You hesitantly stood up, gave yourself a mini pep-talk, and stepped towards his irritatingly extravagant vehicle. Of course he had a nice car, too.
“Why are you everywhere?” You almost groaned out, disdain clear in your voice.
A small smirk formed on Jungkook’s face.
“Why, is it making it hard for you to not fall for me again, princess?” His voice was almost mocking. You wanted to slap the arrogant expression off his face.
“As if.” You rolled your eyes. He let out a low chuckle.
“Get in.” He said.
“Huh?” You replied, face morphed into one of confusion and shock.
“Get in. I’ll drop you off.” He clarified. Your eyes widened with surprise.
“No…it’s okay. I’ll take the bus.” You politely declined, not wanting to be a bother.
Actually, the real reason was because you didn’t want to be in a car alone with him. You couldn’t really trust yourself not to blatantly ogle him, especially in a time when you were adamantly denying your attraction towards him.
He raised an eyebrow at your response.
“Are you gonna wait until tomorrow for the bus to come? The last one just left a few minutes ago.”
You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion.
“What?” You couldn’t have sounded more horrified.
“Go check the timetable, princess.” You completely ignored the pet name and ran towards the bus timetable, your mind desperately chanting a string of incomprehensible wishes.
You hastily scanned the table, checking for today’s day and time. When you didn’t see a bus scheduled for the rest of today, your heart sinked to the bottom of your chest.
Fuck.
Are you actually serious?
You looked back at Jungkook, and the bastard was smugly smiling back at you.
For God’s sake.
You begrudgingly stepped back towards his car, ignoring the triumphant look on his face.
“Told you so.” You rolled your eyes.
“Now, get in, before I make you.” You sighed in defeat before walking around to the other side of the car. You reluctantly opened the door to the passenger seat and slowly seated yourself in. It was awfully uncomfortable though, because the seat was reclined way too forward.
Your hand fumbled around the side of the seat for a button or lever, or really anything that would recline it back.
“How do I recline this back?” You asked, realising it would be quicker than to awkwardly touch around for a button you didn’t know the location of.
A quiet chuckle left Jungkook’s mouth. You ignored the way it made butterflies erupt deeply in your body.
“There should be some small buttons on the side. It’s the one on the very right.” You listened to his words and touched around for buttons, but you slowly wondered if he was messing with you, because you felt nothing but a frustratingly smooth surface.
After about a minute of your tomfoolery, he undid his seatbelt and leaned over towards you, his sudden proximity making you infinitely nervous. His thin silver chain dangled over your thighs, tickling it ever so slightly. It made a familiar pressure form in your lower belly. You cursed yourself for feeling such a thing at such a small action.
You willed yourself to focus on literally anything else. Until he began holding himself up with a palm to your thigh, which unfortunately made everything exponentially worse. You gulped deeply and tried your best to ignore the heat of his palm and the simultaneous tickle of his chain against your jean-covered thigh.
He eventually reclined your seat back, and when he was done, he slowly pushed himself off of you, his other arm accidentally grazing against your clothed chest. You pushed your thighs together unconsciously, hoping it would make the dull ache between your legs disappear.
He casually did up his seatbelt, his face neutral as if he wasn’t the least bit affected by touching you.
Of course he wasn’t.
Why would he be?
I’m probably like a sister to him.
You looked out the window, ignoring the mildly painful thought that had just entered your brain.
Eventually, the car started up, and Jungkook began to drive you back to your home.
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The entire journey was dead silent but your mind wasn’t. You could barely hear the radio host talking over the endless train of thought you were lost in.
Of course, they were about none other than the person beside you.
Fucking Jungkook.
Can’t he just leave me alone already?
Or can be at least not look so good if he’s going to linger around?
Fucking hell.
You carefully peeked over at him, watching the way his hand was tightly wrapped the steering wheel. You noticed the way his veins bulged against his skin, and the way his bicep flexed with each movement. You were increasingly growing more aroused, and it made you feel deeply shameful that you were feeling this way about your brother’s close friend.
But you couldn’t help it. He was genuinely so attractive, that it almost made you angry.
“How long are you going to stare at me for?” His voice interrupted your thoughts. You didn’t even have to look at his face to know that he was smirking.
“I’m not.” You lied, turning your head away to face the window.
He let out a low chuckle. It made your face feel unnaturally warm.
“I can see you ogling me, princess.” He said, voice smug yet devastatingly soft.
“Keep your eyes on the road. And don’t call me that.” You replied, voice barely stable.
“Why? Does it make you nervous, princess?” Your heart did a flip. You closed your eyes and exhaled deeply.
“Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“Because your legs are shaking like crazy right now.” He pointed directly at your legs which were doing exactly what he said.
You cursed yourself before stopping immediately.
“Are you even looking at the road? Why do you keep noticing what I’m doing?” You muttered, annoyed.
“How can I not when you’re basically shaking my entire car?” You rolled your eyes.
“Am not. My legs aren’t that strong.”
“They looked pretty toned to me.” He spoke, and almost immediately regretted it.
“And how would you know that?” You turned back to look at him, eyes squinting at him. His tongue poked his cheek momentarily.
“Have you already forgotten that you were practically naked in front of me a few weeks ago?” You didn’t register his grip tightening on the steering wheel. Your face burned when you recalled the moment. You did your best to hold yourself together before continuing, wiping away every inch of shame you felt.
“But that was only for a few seconds. You couldn’t have seen much.” You didn’t know if you were trying to convince him or yourself. Maybe it was both.
“I saw everything, sweetheart.” Your face burned further as you wished for a black hole to randomly appear and consume you completely.
You groaned quietly with embarrassment, your hands covering your face.
Jungkook chuckled quietly at your reaction.
“Don’t be embarrassed, princess. You looked great.” You didn’t know if that made you feel better or worse. It had to be worse, right?
The rest of the journey was dead silent, but the tension was so thick it was palpable.
You regretted even getting in his car. You should’ve just stayed at the bus station instead. Maybe called an Uber or even just waited until the next day for the morning bus to arrive. You would’ve preferred that a million times over experiencing this uncomfortably tense ride home again.
When he pulled into the driveway of your home, he turned to look at you, his face unreadable. You swallowed nervously under his intense gaze. Before he could say anything, you quickly thanked him for the ride and exited the vehicle. You speed walked to your front door, used your keys, and bolted inside. You didn’t look back for even a moment.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
The blaring sounds of club music and endless chatter pulsed within the venue. It was almost a deja vu of the house party your brother threw about a month ago. Except, this one wasn’t hosted at your house, and nor was it one you weren’t attending.
Currently, you and your girl friends were dancing in a club. Actually, girl friend. You initially came here with three girls, but right now, you were only with Minji. Your other two friends, Jennie and Ana, ended up throwing up from alcohol-induced sickness and upsettingly had to retreat to their respective homes.
It was only 10pm, yet the crowds were dead, the music was terrible and your only remaining friend, Minji, was also feeling ill. You were the only person who hadn’t sipped an ounce of alcohol tonight, with the goal of being the designated driver in mind. Unfortunately though, the car you all arrived in, Jennie’s car, was driven back when her boyfriend came to get her by Uber. So not only did you have two less friends to hang out with, you also had no ride to get back home.
You were trying your best to enjoy the night, but it was growing increasingly difficult. You couldn’t help but feel that you wanted to go back home and go to sleep instead.
Minji tapped on your shoulder, making you turn around. She ushered you closer, making you bring your ear towards her face.
“My boyfriend’s coming to get me. Do you need a ride?” She yelled over the deafening music.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll call my brother to come get me.” She scrunched her eyebrows.
“Are you sure?” She asked, voice worried.
“Yes, it’s okay. He lives near here.” She looked at you concerned before nodding.
“Okay. Let’s go wait outside together.” She gently pulled the two of you through the crowd of dancing drunk people, being careful not to bump into anyone and anger them accidentally.
Once you stepped out of the club, the cool air of the night immediately wrapped around you, making you momentarily forget the awful club atmosphere you were just in. The quieter vibe here made you feel relieved.
You pulled out your phone from your purse, and quickly called up Hyunwook. You held the device up to your ear. You heard it ring for a few seconds before he picked up.
“Hello?” Thankfully, it didn’t seem like he was just asleep.
“Is it okay if you can pick me up?”
“Depends. Where are you?”
“Club [___]. I think it’s pretty close to your place.”
There was a brief pause.
“Uh, yeah okay. Send me the location. I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay, thank you.” You hung up the call, and quickly texted your brother the club’s address.
Minji patiently waited beside you, trying to keep herself up and not puke all over the pavement. Her boyfriend eventually arrived, but she insisted that she would wait until your brother arrived to pick you up. You did tell her to go, but it resulted in a long back and forth that probably made her feel more sick than she already was.
About 5 minutes later, a familiar car pulled into the parking space on the side of the road.
But it wasn’t familiar because it was your brother’s car. It was familiar because it was Jungkook’s.
You instantly denied it, thinking it was just someone else’s car who had the exact same make and model as Jungkook’s.
Yes of course.
Why would Jungkook be here to pick me up?
Hyunwook told me he’d be here.
Stop thinking about that damn man, Y/N.
While you were in the middle of gaslighting yourself, the window of the black car rolled down, and unfortunately, your worst nightmare was true.
Jungkook was indeed here to pick you up.
“Are you going to get in?”
You hesitated, just like you had when he asked you the same question a week ago.
A loud ping resounded from your phone. It was a text from your goddamn brother.
Sorry. Kook went instead. I have a shift early tomorrow.
You quietly read the text over and over, hoping that if you did, the contents of the message would miraculously change.
Fuck you, Hyunwook.
You cursed. You switched your phone off and resisted yourself from smashing it to the ground. Minji looked at you worriedly.
“Are you okay? Is that your brother?” She asked. You sighed in exasperation. You’ve never felt more defeated.
“That’s my brother’s friend. But it’s okay. He’s my ride.” You reassured her, and gave her a hug before walking over to Jungkook’s sleek black car. You got into the passenger side again, and it was only when you noticed him staring at you, thar you realised just how little you were wearing right now.
Your top was a black, lacy corset, and your bottom was a black mini skirt with dark lace stockings covering your beautifully long legs. Of course you knew you looked great, but you were slightly conscious about wearing this around a man you felt uncontrollably attracted to.
You just hoped that he wouldn’t care and ignore it.
The car ride was silent for the first few minutes. You had nothing to say, and it seemed he felt the same.
“So, why are you leaving the party early?” He broke it almost immediately after you thought that he wouldn’t.
“Friends all got sick. And the club was dead and the music was god-awful. Wanna just go home and sleep.” You sighed into your seat, your body relaxing against the smooth leather.
Jungkook hummed at your response.
You carefully looked over at him again. Tonight, he was adorning a simple white t-shirt with grey sweatpants. It was the most basic outfit anyone could wear, yet, he looked breathtakingly beautiful.
You absentmindedly continued watching the way he turned the steering wheel with only one hand, ignoring the way it made you grow hot all over.
“You’re staring at me again.”
“…No I’m not.” You shamelessly denied, but this time, you didn’t turn your head away. You kept your eyes on him, your gaze unwavering. You weren’t sure if it was a side effect of the outfit you were wearing or if you had gone officially mad. Whatever it was, you simply didn’t care anymore. What more did you have to lose anyway?
“Don’t do it, princess. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” He warned, voice stern. His tone made your pussy ache with need.
“And what will that be? You’re not doing anything even while I’m staring at you so blatantly.” You teased, voice almost inaudible.
“Because you’re drunk, baby.” He gripped tightly onto the steering wheel. You giggled at his words.
“I’m not actually. I haven’t touched an ounce of alcohol at all tonight.” The tone in your voice changed, and it made Jungkook grip the steering wheel tighter. His hand was basically white at this point.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” You affirmed. Jungkook let out a shakey sigh.
“So why are you flirting with me so boldly, then?”
“Because I’m attracted to you and I have nothing to lose. I’ve been rejected once, I couldn’t care less if it happens again.” You shrugged, tone casual.
“Who says I’m rejecting you, princess?” His words made your heart skip a beat. You felt your face heat up as if the weather was stinking hot. The space in the car suddenly felt so much smaller.
“Don’t you think of me as a sister?” You hesitantly asked, watching carefully for his reaction.
“No.” His response was immediate and simple, yet it made you feel like you were going to explode.
“And aren’t I too young for you?” Your tone turned teasing, repeating the words he uttered to you seven years ago. He rolled his eyes at you.
“Keep teasing me, baby, and you’ll see what I’ll do to you.” He warned again. It only heightened your arousal even further.
“Are you going to take me back to your place?” You asked sweetly, batting your lashes. You watched his face again, and you could tell about a million different things were flying through his head all at once. You could tell the exact moment he lost all resolve, which made him immediately U-turn the car and speed off into an unfamiliar direction.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
Jungkook’s hand rested casually on top of your lace covered thigh, absentmindedly drawing shapes against your barely clothed skin. It took every ounce of effort within you to stop yourself from pouncing on him right this instant.
When he eventually pulled into the car park of his apartment, he wasted no time in undoing his seatbelt and getting out of the car. Before you could do the same, he stepped to the passenger side of the vehicle and opened the door for you. Your face warmed at his gesture, and you suppressed a giggle before hopping out of the car. His hand gently held yours as he led you through the apartment entrance.
The brief journey to his apartment went by in a motionless blur. In just a few moments, you were already inside Jungkook’s place, pressed up against him in a heated embrace.
“You don’t know how much I was holding back, princess. I wanted you the moment I pulled up and saw you at the club.” He whispered into your ear, before gently giving your cheek a soft kiss.
“Show me, then. Show me how much you want me.” You whispered, your tone inextricably seductive.
His lips immediately crashed against yours, tongue gliding into your mouth in a heated exchange. You moaned deeply when he squeezed your ass harshly. You pressed your body up against him, wanting his body in ways you couldn’t possibly explain.
He groaned when he felt you grind against him desperately.
“Fuck, don’t do that, princess, unless you want me to make a mess in my pants.” He warned. You cheekily smiled at him before pressing a kiss to his nose.
“Then hurry up and take me.”
He wasted no time in picking you up, his lips never leaving yours as he walked to his bedroom. You broke the kiss when he laid you down gently on his bed. You watched him strip out of his shirt, and when you saw his sculpted chest and washboard abs, you had to resist the urge to jump on him like an animal.
He kissed you again, his wet tongue entering your mouth yet again. You moaned when he began fondling your tits through the corset. You wished however, that the restrictive top could be ripped right off of you.
“Take it off me, Jeon.” You begged.
“As you wish, baby.” In no time, your chest was bare before him, and it only made him stare at you lovingly before kissing you on the lips briefly.
“You look beautiful, princess.” You flushed at his compliment. He licked his lips before going down and taking one of your perky nipples into his mouth. His mouth felt hot and wet around your bud, and the sucking motion made you throw your head back with a moan. His tongue swirled in circles around your engorged nipple while his hands fondled your mound harshly.
He eventually let go of your tit with a pop, and slowly began unzipping your miniskirt to take it off. Now, you were only left in your lace stockings and your drenched lace underwear, both of which he already ripped off without any hesitation. The cold air of his room immediately hit your bare, dripping folds, making you clench around nothing.
He gave your ass a tight smack before undressing himself fully. You watched the way his girthy cock bounced out when he pulled is boxers down, its tip leaking precum down its side. You took pride in the fact that you were the one who made him aroused like that.
You got on all fours and shook your ass in front of him, hoping that he would take the hint and fuck you. A low chuckle left his mouth before he smacked your ass again.
“Such a tease, baby. Who else are you this cheeky to?” He asked, a hint of possession hidden in his tone.
“Just you, Jeon.” A lazy laugh left his mouth. He nodded approvingly before lining his cockhead up to your hole.
“Wait. I don’t have a condom.” Jungkook muttered, his tone suddenly worried. He was so caught up with fucking you that he almost forgot one of the most important rules of sex.
“It’s okay. I’m on birth control and I trust you.” You reassured.
“Are you sure?” He asked, his voice unsure.
“You don’t want to fuck me raw?” You asked, a puppy-eyed look on your face when the question was asked.
“No, that’s not it, baby. Of course that’s not it.” He affirmed, shaking his head. “I just wanted to check that you were sure.”
“I am. So if you don’t fuck me right now, I will go crazy.” He chuckled at your words.
“As you wish, princess.” He slowly entered your hole, taking his time to make sure you could adjust comfortably. Once he was fully bottomed out, you couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of his length pulsing against your walls. He groaned loudly when you clenched against him uncontrollably.
“Fuck, baby. If you keep gripping me like that, I won’t last a minute.” Once you began to feel comfortable, you slowly thrusted out of him, hinting for him to finally move.
He began at a slow yet powerful pace, his veiny length entering and leaving your hole deliciously. You threw your head back and moaned again.
“F-faster, please, Jungkook.” You begged, and he immediately complied. His thrusts sped up instantly, his roughness only getting more intense as he went on. You gripped tightly onto the sheets as he harshly pounded his aching cock inside you. Your swollen tits bounced with each harsh thrust.
“You’re doing so well for me, princess.” He groaned softly, his hand tightly holding your hands behind your back. Your face mushed against his pillow and your ass was up in the air, completely at his mercy. His thrusts never stopped, his heavy balls slapping against your engorged clit with immense force. The sensation was driving you closer and closer to the edge.
“J-Jungkook, I’m so close.” You whimpered, your back arching as deep pleasure continued rolling through your body.
“I know, baby, me too.” With the same force and pace, he continued pounding into you, his grip on your wrists not faltering. As your tits harshly rubbed against the mattress, you finally felt your orgasm wash over you, making you convulse around his length with intense pleasure.
The sensation made Jungkook lose all control, and he eventually shot his hot, gooey cum deep into your tight and swollen hole. A deep groan left his mouth as more ropes of milky white cum entered you, the warmth of it making you moan with satisfaction.
He slowly pulled out, watching carefully as his release leaked out of you deliciously. He was so tempted to whip out his phone and take a picture so he could never forget the sight. But he realised that he had many more opportunities to do this again, because he knew for sure that this would definitely not be the last time.
Your chest rose up and down as you tried to catch your breath from the intense orgasm you just experienced. You turned onto your back and looked up at Jungkook, a lazy yet satisfied smile formed on your face.
“Should I get you cleaned up? Or should we go for round two in the shower?” He asked as he caressed your head gently. You smiled seductively at his question.
“The latter.”
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
The next day’s sun was shining brightly into Jungkook’s room. You tossed around in the king-sized bed, your body comfortable in one of Jungkook’s oversized t-shirts. Suddenly, his arm grabbed you lazily, and slowly pulled your body up against his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively.
“Morning.” He greeted, voice deep with sleep. You giggled before turning around to face him. His eyes were still closed, and his dark hair was messy with evidence of being unstyled.
“Morning.” You smiled, eyes staring at his incredibly attractive face. The domesticity of the moment made you feel giddy. You never wanted this moment to end.
You wrapped your arms around his neck tightly, not wanting to let go for even a second. The two of you stayed like that for a while, basking in each other’s warmth and love.
It was when you were about to fall asleep again that the door suddenly swung open, and you jolted awake.
“Kook? Are you in here? You haven’t answered my calls so I thought you died.” You immediately recognised the voice to be your brother’s.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Didn’t he say he had work today?
You hid under the blanket, hoping that it would conceal you from your brother’s vision. You slowly shook Jungkook, alerting him of the current crisis. Unfortunately, however, he seemed to be a deep sleeper, because instead of waking up and panicking with you, he only hugged you tighter.
“Y/N wasn’t answering her phone either, so I wanted to ask if you got her home safe.” You heart pounded in your chest at the mention of your name.
You hoped and prayed that he would just leave, but to your incredible dismay, he didn’t. He rambled on about something incomprehensible before he suddenly lifted the blanket off of the two of you.
“What the fuck?” He swore when he registered the sight before him.
“Surprise…” You spoke nervously, your voice shaking. You used this opportunity to jolt Jungkook awake, not wanting to deal with this emergency on your own.
He immediately shot up, his eyes barely even open.
“Care to explain yourselves?” Hyunwook crossed his arms across his chest, feet angrily tapping against the floor.
When Jungkook fully registered the situation, he merely shrugged.
“I’m into your sister. And you can’t stop me.” He yawned before pulling you against him again and laying back down. You stared at him in shock, and so did Hyunwook. But he eventually accepted his defeat, and walked on out of Jungkook’s room, closing the door tightly behind him.
It was silent for a moment, until Jungkook’s groggy voice broke it.
SUMMARY: You can tolerate a lot. You don’t care when someone messes up your documents or when your situationship ghosts you after two dates or when your manager is drowning your work in red ink. It was annoying, but survivable. If someone steals your lunch, especially the one you woke up early to make for yourself, that's where you draw the line. No one is hot enough to be forgiven for food theft. Not even the annoyingly calm, morally upright, infuriatingly handsome attorney from the legal department. And you’re about to catch him.
add tags❦︎: attorney! wonwoo, reader is in pr team, strangers to lovers, food puns (intended), wonwoo is kinda of an asshole here, minghao side quest, booseoksoon mentioned ft. mingyu, jeonghan you piece of shit, crackfic, dom!wonwoo, implied inexperienced reader, happy ending aye.
a/n: i'd like to think that im creative. also pls don't play with your food guys, inspired by one of the indie VN games i played.
No one is hot enough to be forgiven for stealing food.
And you’re about to catch that rat in action.
There’s nothing more infuriating than someone eating your lunch, especially when you made it that morning. With your own groceries. Your own money and your own time.
Your blood, sweat, and tears.
Oh, you’re about to be devastatingly mad. You want to throw the trash bin across the pantry, curse at the manager, maybe even consider resigning on the spot.
But did you?
Obviously not. Moment of weakness, as we speak.
Two hours earlier.
…
Work-life balance? Don’t know her.
Your life had been mundane as usual, and honestly, you didn’t mind that. You just wished your corporate life would stop trying to actively ruin it. Ever since the new CEO took over the man who stepped in after his father—you weren’t sure what to think of him. What you did know was that the company had been overworking its employees nonstop.
You wouldn’t even complain if they at least upgraded the cafeteria menu.
The new caterer didn’t seem to care about repeating the same dishes over and over to the point that one of your coworkers ended up with a stomachache. Not to mention the coffee drip machine sucked. Like, genuinely sucked. Thousand-dime company, yet they never bothered to upgrade the damn coffee machine.
No one wanted to drink that brown liquid. You’d rather dehydrate than willingly swallow it.
Since then, most people have started going out for lunch. Some just kept working through it, to the point of developing gastritis or borderline malnutrition.
But not you.
You refused to starve yourself.
Your mother always said: never be stingy with money when it comes to food. Money comes and goes.
That’s what she said.
Nothing beats a home-cooked meal. You’d choose that over takeout any day, unless you were really busy.
Just in time, it was finally lunch.
You had been anticipating this. Your lunch. Your heavenly five-star meal that you poured your whole heart into this morning.
Heck, you didn’t even eat breakfast. Just that cheap black coffee from the café downstairs.
Today’s packed treasure? A hamburg steak with a molten cheese filling in the center, paired with soft, fluffy rice.
You didn’t forget the fiber either broccoli and roasted potatoes to balance the meal. You swore nothing beat homemade meat: freshly ground beef, breadcrumbs, and spices that actually made sense together.
You’d like to think you’re very good at pounding meat.
The mental image of that juicy steak, gravy cascading over the top and soaking into white rice, made your stomach growl loudly.
God, you couldn’t wait to devour the whole thing. It was your self-reward after hours of sitting in your office chair to the point your ass might permanently imprint into it.
Sure, you couldn’t eat it fresh off the stove but at least the microwave here was more competent than the company’s infrastructure.
With a small, happy hum, you walked to the pantry fridge.
Around this time, the shelves were usually emptier. Only one or two transparent containers remained, so spotting yours should’ve been easy, the pink lunchbox. Your trusted Tupperware.
Of course your food deserved the best of the best. Duh.
You picked it up.
And immediately, something felt… off.
There was a sauce stain around the lid. And now that you thought about it somehow felt lighter than it had that morning.
You frowned but didn’t overthink it.
Until you opened it.
Your steak was…
Gone.
Like, all gone.
Your thick, juicy steak. Your fluffy rice. Your vegetables drowned lovingly in gravy.
Vanished.
Your stomach growled again as you blinked down at the empty container.
You weren’t just hungry. You were starving.
A small, devastated wail almost slipped out of you.
How could someone steal another person’s lunch? That was straight-up cruel. There was absolutely no excuse to think someone needed it more than you.
If anything, you needed it the most.
Because you deserved it. After all the prep. The early alarm. The effort.
You inhaled slowly, trying to be rational.
It would be wildly unprofessional for someone from the PR team to crash out over stolen food. So fine. You’d handle this professionally.
You pulled out your phone and speed-dialed HR. It was important to keep essential contacts ready. That’s what Seungkwan always said.
The call connected.
“Hello, this is Hyunsuk from Human Resources,” a flat voice answered. “How may I help you?”
“Hi, Hyunsuk. I’d like to report a theft.”
“Okay,” he replied. “What was stolen?”
You didn’t hesitate. “My lunch.”
There was a brief pause.
“Was it during company hours or on company property?”
“Yes and yes.”
“Unfortunately, we cannot compensate for your loss.”
You frowned. “I don’t want compensation, Hyunsuk.”
You swore you could hear him sigh. “An employee’s lunch is considered personal property.”
“Yes, but isn’t it concerning that theft is happening on company grounds?”
“We have cases like this happen very often,” he said. “The company is not responsible for them.”
“Yes, I know, but—”
“If you have anything else to report, please send an email,” he cut in. “My lunch break is starting.”
The line went dead.
Hyunsuk hung up.
You stared at your phone in disbelief. “…But my hamburg steak…”
Your eye twitched.
He just said it happens often.
Then do something about it?
“Whatever. Nobody even likes Hyunsuk.”
In fact, you weren’t sure he liked anyone at all.
With nothing else you could do, you begrudgingly poured yourself a lukewarm cup of coffee and returned to your desk with empty stomach, extra caffeine, and a growing vendetta.
The next day, you decided to let it go.
Okay, maybe you were being too forgiving. But hey, you were just hangry yesterday. Surely it was a one-time thing.
Still, the way Hyunsuk said these “theft incidents” happened often baffled you. As if they were normalizing it.
Like, what’s even the function of all those security cameras around the office?
If they can draw a hard line on “no inappropriate office activities,” then surely they can give justice to your stolen lunch too.
Crazy.
The last time people went into the pantry, they literally saw used condoms in the bin. Goodness gracious, as if the toilet didn’t exist. You’d rather not walk past and hear… unwanted noises either.
You did consider writing a company-wide email and CC’ing everyone. After all, who the hell knew who ate your lunch?
You refused to take this as egg-ceptance.
…Maybe not yet.
Despite yesterday’s tragedy, you still brought your lunch today.
After all, you made mapo tofu. And you were not backing down.
How did you make it again?
Oh, right.
Sichuan peppercorns.
While you weren’t a huge fan of overly spicy food, the spice of life played an important role in cooking. You could never forget the nose-numbing aroma of roasted Sichuan pepper. The thick red oil from the fermented bean paste. The firm, bouncy cubes of tofu holding heat so intense it transcended taste buds.
The Mapo Tofu.
You paired it with plain white rice but nothing could overpower the fragrance of chili oil and peppercorns.
It reminded you of that business trip, when Minghao introduced you to mala hotpot and a whole new universe of Chinese spices. You even brought souvenirs back, mostly seasonings to experiment with.
Bless him and his encyclopedic knowledge.
But today’s version?
Different.
Just in case, you doubled the heat. Twice the ground peppercorn. Extra chili flakes. A spice level too powerful for the mortal tongue.
Right before sealing the lid, you sprinkled a little more pepper.
If anyone dared to open your lunch, a red powdery explosion would await them.
Maybe you did this on purpose.
If they stole it again, you hoped their ass would explode in the toilet like that scene in White Chicks.
Serves them right.
…
Lunch break came.
You approached the fridge like a soldier returning to war.
You prayed the thief hadn’t struck again.
But the moment you picked up your Tupperware, the weight or lack of it—felt ominous.
You opened it and found it was already gone.
Again.
Empty.
But how? Why?
First of all, what the fuck? Second of all, who the hell devoured that hellishly spicy mapo tofu? Surely their stomach would declare war soon.
And third…
What. The. Fuck.
Who was this food-crazed glutton?
“…Wait,” you muttered to yourself. “If someone ate my super spicy Sichuan mapo tofu, their lips should be bright red right now!”
You didn’t hesitate.
Within the remaining minutes of your break, you scanned the entire floor like a detective on a mission.
Red lips. Red lips. Red lips.
But to no avail.
Your pepper-kissed burglar was nowhere to be found.
Much to your annoyance, there were simply too many employees in this company. Half of them wore bold red lipstick anyway. You couldn’t tell if it was spice-induced inflammation or just cosmetics.
You didn’t care.
You just wanted the rat-stealing-food burglar.
It was almost time to go home but unfortunately, a major project was in peak season. Several departments had to stay for overtime.
Including yours.
No one liked overtime.
Sure, you got paid. But was it worth it?
Maybe you should start your own business one day. Open a brunch café. Lower stress. Maybe finally use your bachelor’s degree properly.
You sighed.
Seokmin had given you a small box of macarons earlier after seeing the fury on your face but you hadn’t eaten them. You refused to fill your stomach with pity sweets. Too busy drowning in despair and caffeine as you typed aggressively at your keyboard.
The loud clacking and flipping of papers earned you a few glances.
You didn’t care.
Your food had been stolen. Twice.
Why should you care about their peace when they didn’t care about yours?
Fair is fair.
Eventually, you brushed it off and went downstairs to the convenience store before returning to the office. Instant noodles and sausages.
How classic.
You weren’t alone though.
There was a guy sitting a few seats away. Still in work clothes. His blazer hung over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled just above his elbows. He was eating two cups of buldak ramen, the spicy kind.
It reminded you of your Sichuan mapo tofu.
You felt like you were mourning a loss.
And for some reason, you caught a faint scent of pepper clinging to his suit.
Maybe you were imagining it.
People had been avoiding you all day anyway, some even spraying air freshener after you walked past.
Still, you kept glancing at him.
Was it common for two people to coincidentally crave spicy food on the same day? Watching him slurp down two buldak ramens made your stomach twist.
Noticing your stare, he paused.
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and turned to you. “You got some staring problem?”
His voice was deep and calm but the tone carried an edge.
“What?”
“I said,” he continued, face still stoic, cheeks slightly puffed with noodles, “got some staring problem? I know I’m a sight for sore eyes, but didn’t anyone teach you it’s rude?”
You blinked.
“Excuse me?”
Now it was your turn to feel offended.
You almost apologized earlier. Good thing that you didn’t.
This guy is insufferable.
Judging by his face alone, of course he was. The only good thing about him was his face. And unfortunately, the bad thing was also his face. What a waste of something that pretty.
You couldn’t help but hope there was at least one imperfect thing about him. Maybe his personality was rotten. Maybe he snored. Maybe—
Whatever.
You just hoped his dick is ugly. Then again, no dick is ever pretty anyway.
“Rude…” you muttered under your breath before returning to your convenience-store “meal.”
After a while, you finished dinner and headed back into the company building, americano in hand.
And much to your surprise—
The guy was there too.
Walking in the same direction.
For a second, you almost thought he was a creep.
And then came the real disappointment.
He fucking worked here.
You nearly lost it on the spot.
Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? People in this company were either painfully dull, aggressively gray, or casually insufferable. If you were lucky, you’d meet someone with a decent moral compass.
Rare species.
Standing in the same elevator as him didn’t help. You had a talent for meeting the worst people at the worst possible times.
What’s new?
Still, you caught it again.
That scent. It was faint now but familiar.
The lingering peppery aroma. The same one from your stolen mapo tofu.
Okay. Maybe you were slightly unhinged, grieving over lost lunch.
But still.
You sniffed subtly and shifted a little closer.
The man frowned at you like you’d just malfunctioned.
“Hypothetically speaking,” he said flatly, “if you want to fuck me, you could just say so.”
You blinked.
Excuse me?
Oh, you would absolutely fuck him up alright but that was a different story.
He was insufferable. And irritating him suddenly felt therapeutic.
You scoffed and stepped back into your space.
“You have your entire life to be a jerk,” you shot back. “Why not take today off?”
Now it was his turn to look at you properly.
“I don’t know what your problem is,” he replied calmly, “but I’m guessing it’s difficult to pronounce.”
Oh, he was annoying.
“If I wanted to hear from an asshole,” you said sweetly, “I’d fart.”
There was a brief silence.
He stared at you.
You stared back.
He genuinely looked like he was calculating whether you were capable of doing it.
The elevator doors slid open.
You stepped out first.
“See you not later, Mr. Hodenkobold.”
He looked like he was about to fire back but the doors closed before he could.
For once, it felt nice to rage-bait someone else.
Especially after your lunch had been stolen.
So you decided.
For the next two days, you were going to catch the rat-stealing-lunch and end this once and for all.
For a brief, dangerous second, you did consider rat poison. But the thought of going to jail?
Absolutely not.
As tempting as it was, you couldn’t risk it. You had a baby to feed back at your studio apartment.
Your cat.
While you were suffering over your stolen gourmet lunches, your cat—Wonton, the name you lovingly gave her, was happily eating premium-grade cat food.
It was unfair. Really.
So you came up with a plan.
This time, you packed a cute bento-themed lunchbox: omelet nori rolls and rice balls.
Except—
They were made of wax.
Yes. Wax.
You followed a YouTube tutorial. Styrofoam base. Acrylic paint for texture. You even added gloss to make it look freshly glazed. Turns out, you had raw talent for this.
It looked absolutely gouda. An egg-cellent fake lunchbox.
You were certain the food stealer was souper hungry right now.
Okay. You really needed to stop hanging out with Seokmin and his endless food puns.
You even added a faint pepper scent to make it smell convincing. Surely no one was dumb enough to fall for fake food.
…Right?
But if they did? It would be hilarious.
…
When you returned at lunch break and opened the lid, you froze.
“….”
There was one—no, two chunks missing.
A bite taken out of the fake omelet.
You blinked.
What kind of unhinged human gluttony was this?
You couldn’t brie-lieve it.
They actually ate the wax.
The next day, you switched tactics.
You made curry fish head, rich curry paste blooming in oil, coconut milk thickening the broth just the way you liked it. You had to thank Minghao again for that Southeast Asia culinary expedition.
This time?
Untouched.
The container was slightly shifted, the lid smudged but the food remained intact.
You assumed the thief wasn’t a seafood fan.
Or maybe allergic.
That theory lasted exactly twenty-four hours.
The following day, you packed creamy rosé pasta with shrimp and clams. Garnished with basil. Sprinkled with oregano. And, of course, little octopus-shaped cocktail sausages.
You stared at it in disbelief at the bold, neat handwriting.
Slowly, you lifted the paper then tore it to shreds with your teeth, pure rage simmering in your veins.
The audacity must be on clearance sale.
When you opened the container, your jaw tightened.
Your pasta? Gone. The noodles devoured and the octopus-shaped sausages? Missing.
The shrimp and clams?
Only to be left behind.
Oh.
So they weren’t allergic.
They were picky.
You clenched your jaw, saliva dampening the dry paper as it scraped against your tongue. “Wow. Tasty, indeed,” you mocked under your breath.
This needs to end now.
You honestly need to lock the fuck in this time, to catch that rat-stealing-food burglar. You just hoped they stepped on dog shit today, that both their pillows smelled horrible, and that they’d have the worst fucking nightmare the moment they woke up.
“Hey,” Seokmin approached you with Soonyoung beside him. “Rice to meet you today.” He greeted cheerily, but the moment he noticed your moody face, he faltered. “Okay… berry sorry for that.”
Both of them leaned against the railings beside you. Soonyoung offered you a lollipop. You needed that so much instead of lighting up tobacco, which you’d quit back in your college days.
“Is it about the lunch stealing again?” he asked. “I carrot believe that person’s kept the stealing streak going this far.”
You gave him a look. It seemed like Seokmin had rubbed off on him with all those food puns.
He raised his hands in surrender. “In my defense, I’m feeling saucy today. It’s alright, we can grab dinner after this—my treat, of course.” Soonyoung tried to reassure you, knowing how furious you get when your food gets stolen.
“Yeah, let’s meat up for dinner!” Seokmin chimed in, making you roll your eyes.
Wait.
That’s it.
You have to meet that fucking rat-stealer face to face.
...
This time, you made your well-crafted most scrumptious, katsu sandwich. Cut in halves, three thick slices stacked neatly inside your Chiikawa-pattern container. Minghao had given it to you after his business trip to Japan, and you gladly accepted it since the cartoon was trending everywhere lately.
You liked the yellow rabbit character. It reminded you of yourself because he’s a big back.
Just like you.
Anyway.
You were not about to let your lunch get taken away this time.
And this time, you were going to protect it like it mattered more than your own life. For the sake of your health insurance, you tried not to pounce on that food burglar.
You were not about to let your money, sweat, and time go to waste again.
Now that you think about it, you probably should’ve shown up ten minutes earlier before catching the culprit.
Standing from your seat, you headed toward the office pantry and peeked inside.
You couldn’t believe your eyes.
Someone was hunching over the fridge, hand hovering over the transparent containers then toward your Chiikawa lunchbox.
“Hm, this is new…” he murmured. “…and tacky.”
Excuse me?
You weren’t about to back down when someone literally mocked your precious lunchbox pattern. So what? You liked when your mom packed your food in a Hello Kitty container with those little fruit picks shaped like cat ears.
You cleared your throat to catch his attention. He jumped slightly, straightening up.
“Isn’t it too early for lunch break?” you asked, slowly approaching him, arms crossed.
He blinked.
It was the same four-eyed dude who inhaled two fire spicy bowl ramens the other day. You almost scoffed.
“You again,” he echoed. “And who are you?”
He still stood there, relaxed like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed.
“Me?” you repeated nonchalantly. “I’m not that important. Rather, why don’t we start with you, buddy.”
He looked like he didn’t want to continue this conversation. Probably hoping you’d leave.
Fine.
You indulged him for a moment and gave your name. When he finally replied, you learned his.
Jeon fucking Wonwoo.
You plastered a smile on your face. He turned away, ignoring you. The two of you just stood there for a few tense seconds.
“Don’t you have work to do?” he asked, sounding impatient.
“How’s that coffee?” you shot back, blatantly ignoring his question.
Wonwoo frowned, more like bristled at it, as if offended.
“Why would I drink that slimy brown liquid?” he said. “Don’t tell me… you drink that thing?”
“It’s not that bad,” you shrugged.
(It absolutely sucks.)
He chuckled, clearly mocking you. “You sound like you hate yourself.”
Oh, he’s so cocky.
Three days. Three days you’ve suffered because of this stealing bitch.
“Actually…” you stepped closer. “What did you do these past few days?”
He cocked an eyebrow and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Why? It’s a workweek. What else would I be doing?”
You weren’t buying it. “Do you always come to the pantry this often?”
“…I mean, I have to eat,” he replied like it was obvious. “Of course I come here.”
“Wow, me too!” you exclaimed sarcastically. “I have an idea—why don’t we eat together then?”
That made him falter.
He suddenly looked uneasy at your smile. Like you were plotting something.
“…No, thank you. I prefer eating alone. Now can you leave?”
“Why not?” You stepped closer, almost chest to chest even though he was much taller.
He stiffened but tried to maintain composure, clearing his throat before a grin slowly spread across his face.
“I see. If you wanted me so much, you shouldn’t have thrown yourself at me like that,” he chuckled lowly, eyes dragging down your figure. “All you had to do was ask.”
Your smile dropped instantly and stepped back.
You wanted to wipe that stupid grin off his face. That smug look made you want to chop off all his limbs.
“Oh, don’t lose that smile,” he tutted. “I’d rather think that mouth could do better. Maybe you’d be my cup of tea. Either way, it’s cheesed to meet you, Miss ____.”
Hell nah.
You were not backing down either.
Smiling sweetly, you replied, “You know what else my mouth could do, Mr. Jeon?”
His eyebrow lifted.
“Hurt your feelings. I think dildo is a perfectly acceptable insult. I’d call you a dick—but you’re not real enough.”
That caught him off guard.
He opened his mouth. Closed it again.
For the first time, Jeon Wonwoo didn’t know what to say.
“Cat got your tongue?” you smiled. “Or maybe my words are true—your dick isn’t that real.”
His eyes darkened as he stepped forward.
“Watch it. Say that again and I’ll put that mouth to good use.”
And then—
A sudden loud gasp from behind.
Both of you turned toward the doorway to see Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung frozen in place, hands dramatically covering their mouths.
“You heard that, guys?!” Seungkwan gasped. “What the fudge—she was about to get dicked down!”
Seokmin clutched Soonyoung’s arm. “Look at them pudding up against each other! They’re both nuts!”
“That’s tea-rrific,” Soonyoung added, “but whisk I’m willing to take for a pear like this!”
“GET OUT OF HERE!” you and Wonwoo barked simultaneously.
In the end, you shared your katsu sandwich with him.
Somehow, it turned into a mutual rant session about Hyunsuk. No one likes him anyway. Glad you’re both on the same boat.
He ended up taking you to dine at a downtown French bistro. Claimed it was “compensation.” Not that you were entirely forgiving about it.
You learned he works in the legal department. Recently promoted. Employee of the Month. Overworked to death.
“So, do you not have a life then?” you asked, noticing he’d loosened two buttons of his dress shirt, sleeves rolled up.
He’s handsome.
Annoyingly attractive.
If only he’d shut up.
But again, no attractive person should be forgiven for food stealing. Especially your lunch.
“I did,” he said, sipping his wine. “Until they put me to work.”
You nodded slowly. Then circled back.
“You could’ve just ordered takeaway. Why my lunch?”
He grinned, leaning back. “Why? Your lunch, of course. Yours is the best I’ve tasted so far.”
The audacity.
Rich in audacity. Poor manners.
“So… what would you like to order?” the waiter asked.
“Right. Food.” Wonwoo skimmed the menu.
“What do you recommend?” you asked.
He hummed, closing the menu and looking directly at you. “Anything that tastes good.”
Your throat dried slightly. Maybe you’re imagining things.
“Oh? Like what?”
“Meat.”
Silence.
“…Okay. I’ll just get ratatouille.”
“But that’s all vegetables.”
“Shut up, meathead.”
The waiter coughed. “How cooked would you like your steak, sir?”
Wonwoo was still looking at you.
“Make it medium rare. And make it two,” you smiled. “I’d like a piece of meat too.”
The waiter jolted and left immediately.
“How long have you been stealing?” you circled back.
He sighed. “Look, I didn’t mean to do that—well, that was until I met you.”
“M-me?”
“Your lunch.”
Oh.
“I don’t like takeaways. I used to live with my roommate, Mingyu. He cooked for both of us until I moved into my own apartment,” he said. “And I can’t cook for shit.”
“Can tell,” you replied smoothly. “Your personality is probably as shitty as your cooking.”
He glared.
You smiled.
“Watch that,” he warned. “I’m definitely putting that smart mouth to good use—”
“Shut up. Save it for later. I’m not riding that fake dick.”
“…”
Silence.
You took a sip of wine, scanning the dim lights of the restaurant. Fine dining. Expensive plates. His salary was probably double yours anyway.
“Here’s the deal,” you said. “Stop eating my lunch. That’s it.”
He considered. “Fine. I’ll pay for your groceries. How about that?”
“Nah.”
Wonwoo frowned, fingers lacing together. “Okay, I’m sorry. But I really don’t like the dripping coffee machine. And the cafeteria sucks. And I hate that the caterer keeps slipping her phone number onto my tray.”
“All I ate were ham and cream cheese bagels,” he continued. “Depressing, I know.”
You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Why not? For an attention whore like you, I thought you’d enjoy it.”
“She’s married. With five kids.”
“….”
Okay. Fair enough.
“Alright,” you sighed. “I’ll bite.”
His eyes lit up.
He almost reached across the table, close to your hand then thought better of it and grabbed the napkins instead.
“Can I go to your place after this?” he asked suddenly.
You nearly choked on your wine. “Excuse me? Aren’t we going too fast?”
“To inspect your goods,” he deadpanned. “Your fridge.”
Yeah.
He’s definitely messing with you.
You did let him come back to your studio apartment, after all the groceries were paid for by him, of course. In return, you taught him how to make the katsu sandwich he’d been annoyingly edging about all night.
And yes, it turns out he really doesn’t like seafood. Wonwoo said it upsets his stomach, and once was enough for him to swear it off forever.
You set the groceries aside just as your cat greeted you, weaving around your ankles while you washed your hands, Wonwoo hovering awkwardly behind you.
Your place was cozy. Very you, he thought.
“Who’s this little companion?” he asked, crouching down to pet your white Persian cat. “Got a name?” He glanced up at you, finally noticing the frilly apron you were wearing.
“Wonton,” you said, peeling onions as you passed him another apron, this one reading Kiss the Cook.
He slipped it over his head without complaint. “That’s funny. Do you have a food phase or something?”
Now that you thought about it… yeah.
“Yeah. I got dumpling takeaway that night, and she was inside the box when she was still a kitten. So I named her Wonton.”
The rest of the time, you walked him through each step carefully.
“So,” he said casually, “how often do you pound the meat?”
Silence.
You looked up.
He looked back, utterly oblivious. “The fried chicken sandwich yesterday was delectable.”
“Not much,” you muttered, going back to chopping potatoes. “Other than salty food—do you like sweets?”
He hummed while dipping the meat into egg batter and breadcrumbs. “Not really to be exact. I had it during a business trip in Europe. I don’t remember what it’s called. Something like… quickie?”
Your knife froze mid-chop.
“…Quiche,” you corrected. “It’s called quiche, Wonwoo.”
His face lit up, nodding like he’d just learned a new word.
For a moment, you wondered if he was messing with you but the genuine reaction told you otherwise.
“Are you messing with me?”
He blinked. “What? Did I say something wrong?”
You didn’t push it. It was pointless.
“Why can’t you cook?” you asked instead, lowering the coated meat into hot oil.
“Well, there’s this thing called ‘I just don’t,’” he said. “I once almost ate half-burnt scrambled eggs and decided never again.”
You scoffed. “It costs nothing to be kind with your words, you know.”
“Some days it costs me my fucking sanity, honey,” he shot back, eyes sharp.
Which would’ve been intimidating if he weren’t wearing that Kiss the Cook apron.
Your mom was right. There’s nothing romantic about cooking together. Move the fuck away.
“You know what?” you said. “Let’s split up to cover more ground. I’ll go left, and you go fuck yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” he grinned. “Just don’t ogle me when I pound my meat. I’d know myself for the whole course of the meal.”
He’s so hot. If only he shut up.
“Calling yourself a meal when you’ve had an STD?” you said, setting the fried cutlet aside. “Okay, food poisoning.”
He frowned. “I’d have you know I’m very healthy and clean. So you’re safe.”
“No one said I’d fuck you.”
“Fuck you.”
“Gladly,” you replied. “But after we finish this, I’ll have my way with you later.”
“…..”
“So,” he said, scanning your apartment. “You live like this while working at a million-dollar company?”
“I live alone,” you shrugged, cutting the sandwich in half and handing it to him. “No reason for a big place. I do need a spacious kitchen, though.”
He nodded, biting into it. “Fair. What about a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”
“Don’t have time for that.”
“It’s alright,” you added. “At least I get to rest on weekends. What about you? Hobbies?”
He hummed. “I dissociate. I play games. And lately, my bed is the only thing calling me.”
“Oh,” you said. “Then… hookups?”
He leaned closer, smirking. “Are you offering?”
“Hell no,” you said immediately. “I don’t have the energy.”
“For what?”
You gestured at him.
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Half of your personality is just symptoms.”
“Your mom.”
“My mom passed away four years ago,” he said simply.
Well. That rhymed.
Silence stretched between you.
You swallowed. “…Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay,” he said, finishing his sandwich. “It’s been a while. I still miss her.”
Another quiet beat.
“So…” you said carefully, “wanna catch up on Bridgerton?”
...
That night, you both sat on the couch with a noticeable gap between you, a cushion clutched to your chest like a shield.
The room was dim, lit only by the TV. Surprisingly, he was fully invested in Bridgerton. What was supposed to be one episode turned into a full marathon.
For some reason, it felt intimate.
Jeon Wonwoo, your coworker. The man who stole your lunch for a week. Also, the cause of your suffering.
Insufferable. Infuriating. Hot as fuck.
It would be a lie to say you’d never found him attractive. Well, except for that foul mouth. Not that you were any better.
The problem with this show was the sex scenes.
You’d completely forgotten how many there were.
Every time one came on, you felt the urge to skip it but Wonwoo didn’t move. He watched with the same unreadable expression, completely composed like poker-faced.
It was impossible to tell what he was thinking inside his head.
Another scene started.
Just great.
You were very aware of how you shifted slightly, how your fingers tightened around the cushion, how your knees pressed together. The small breath you exhaled without meaning to.
The couch shifted.
He turned his head toward you.
He definitely noticed and yet, he said nothing. That somehow made it worse.
Because he remembered the way you talked to him.
The insults. The degradation. The way you never backed down.
Fuck.
Maybe that’s what did it.
Maybe Jeon Wonwoo was turned on by the way you spoke to him like you weren’t afraid.
“Do you want to make out and make noises?” he asked suddenly, looking at you like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You blinked.
For a moment, your brain short-circuited.
Then you thought: when else are you going to get the chance to make out with a disgustingly attractive man like this?
Exactly.
“Thought you’d never ask,” you muttered, dropping the cushion before swinging a leg over his lap.
“Hell yeah,” he breathed.
His hands found your hips instantly.
The kiss wasn’t gentle.
It was messy. Almost clumsy at first, teeth knocking, breaths uneven but it quickly deepened. His mouth moved slowly against yours, deliberate now. One hand slid up to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, holding you there.
You let out a soft sound against his mouth without meaning to.
Your body pressed closer.
He let out a low groan, restrained but it vibrated against your lips. You could feel his hardness pressed against yours, and it’s big.
When his tongue brushed yours, it wasn’t rushed. It was slow and intentional. Like he was testing how much you’d let him have.
You were already giving too much.
Time blurred.
When you finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Just enough to breathe. A thin string of saliva caught in the dim light before breaking.
He looked up at you, and whatever was in his eyes now wasn’t smugness.
It was hunger.
Like he hadn’t had enough.
His head leaned closer until the tip of his nose brushed yours as he murmured, “…I want you,” he breathed. “Please. I need to have you tonight.”
Your heart pounded at the sound of his voice. The way his ragged breath fanned against your lips.
His hand wandered, softly caressing your back before sliding lower to grip your ass, making you jump slightly.
He grinned at your reaction. “Is that a yes?” he chuckled lowly, squeezing more firmly this time, drawing a gasp from you as your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders.
“Cute,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your lips before looking up at you again. “…I need that pretty mouth of yours working now, since you’ve been such a smartass with me the whole time.”
Something about his piercing gaze made the heat pool low in your stomach. God, his commanding voice alone was enough to make you melt like chocolate left out too long under the sun.
You’re not a masochist, of course.
His thumb traced slowly over your lips before pressing gently, parting them as he slid the pad of his thumb just inside. His voice dropped.
“Get on your knees. Now.”
Did you listen? Hell yeah.
“Normally, I wouldn’t get on my knees for a man, but here I am,” you muttered as you moved between his thighs, while he spread his legs slightly, working at his belt and the sleek pants he’d worn earlier to dinner.
“I’m flattered to be the first man,” he chuckled. You could see the damp, slight pre-cum stain against his boxer. Then pulling the underwear down to reveal his shaft.
Giving a few pumps as he strokes his dick, groaning as his head goes over the couch. “Fuck, now go make use of that pretty mouth, baby.”
You breathe out, seeing that shafts make you hesitate a bit. Okay, that was a real dick; you take that back for insulting and calling his stupid dick fake.
Slowly wrapping your delicate hands around his shaft, you glance up to see his head thrown over the couch as you give a kiss on the tip of his cockhead.
His breath hitched as he watched you kneel between his legs, those soft eyes looking up at him with a mix of nervousness and determination. The sight alone made his cock throb harder in your gentle grip.
"Fuck..." he breathed out, his head tilting back against the couch cushion as he felt your lips brush against his sensitive tip.
His fingers instinctively tangled in your long wavy brown hair, not pulling but just... holding on. Grounding himself. The way your hands wrapped around his shaft made him stroke himself slower, more deliberately, letting you set the pace.
"You're so fucking pretty like this," he murmured, his voice rough and low as he watched your every move. "But you know what... I don't want your hands right now."
He gently guided your head down, his cock pressing against your lips as he guided you to take him in. Not all at once, he didn't want to make you gag or feel uncomfortable. Just... enough to feel you.
"Mmm... that's it," he groaned softly, his other hand moving to cup the back of your head possessively. "Use that pretty mouth of yours now. I want to hear from you."
His hips gave a subtle thrust, not demanding but encouraging. His eyes stayed locked on you, watching the way your lips stretched around him, the wet sounds filling the room.
"Christ... you're incredible," he breathed, his thumb stroking along your jawline tenderly despite the rough situation.
You stiffen slightly, feeling his whole length around your mouth. Slowly making your jaw work as you bobbed your head, sucking him good.
He stopped you mid-blowjob, pulling you up by your waist with surprising strength. The way you were panting, lips swollen from worshipping his cock, made him nearly lose control entirely.
"Fuck... you look so good like this," he growled, his voice strained as he guided you toward the bed.
Setting you down gently on the mattress, he immediately followed, positioning himself between your thighs. His hands pushed your skirt up slowly, deliberately, savoring how exposed you were for him.
"Shit…" he breathed, his eyes darkening as he stared at your glistening core. "So fucking wet for me already."
Without hesitation, he leaned down and buried his face between your legs, his tongue immediately seeking out your clit. The taste of you made him groan against your sensitive flesh.
"Mmm... fuck, you taste so good," he murmured against you, his tongue working in slow, deliberate circles. "Let me eat you properly before I take you."
His fingers gripped your thighs gently but firmly, spreading you wider as he feasted on you with renewed focus, determined to make you come on his tongue first.
You gasped sharply, your palm flying to your mouth, feeling his mouth dive in like a starved man. He knows exactly what you need to push you over the edge. Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close.
He laughs against your core, feeling your fingers tangle in his hair. It made him groan with satisfaction. The way your body trembled beneath his mouth, your gasps growing louder.
It was fucking intoxicating.
He continues to lap on your cunt, wanting you to come undone by his tongue. He could feel you’re coming close as he works closer and closer to the edge. His fingers thrust in and out of you, over and over again.
“Fuck— you’re so close already,” he murmured against your soaked folds, his tongue working faster now. “Let go baby, let me taste it.”
You could feel your orgasm coming closer as he kept pumping into you. When you finally came, his fingers still pumping inside you, he felt your walls clench around him rhythmically. The sight of you completely undone, head thrown back as pleasure washed over you— it made him nearly lose control too.
You swore you almost saw stars and later, he was going to make you see the entire fucking galaxy once he was inside you.
“God, you look so beautiful like this,” he breathed, slowly pulling his fingers out of you with a soft, wet sound. “So fucking beautiful when you let go.”
You gave him a weak tap, blinking as you tried to catch your breath. God, you hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Or maybe no one had ever made you feel this good.
It was embarrassing to let him see you like this. Kind of pathetic, honestly, to get so worked up just from being eaten out.
Wonwoo chuckled, settling himself between your thighs as he looked down at you, almost menacingly. “Take your time, sweet pea. I’m not done with you yet.”
Then, surprisingly, he said something reasonable. “Just to make sure—give me a safe word.”
You blinked, finally propping yourself up on your elbows against the mattress as you considered it.
“Strawberry,” you said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Make it shorter. Do you think you can say that before I pound you like dough?”
You huffed. “Cherry, then.”
“Fair enough.” He leaned in to kiss you again but stopped midway. “I don’t have condoms, though…”
And you weren’t on pills. You couldn’t blame him. No one had expected this to happen.
You checked the drawer beside your bed. It had probably been sitting there for two years, back when you never expected there’d be a man in your life again.
When you handed it to him, he bristled, letting out a laugh and flashing a cocky grin. “This isn’t my size, sugarplum. It’s alright—I’ll pull out immediately,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your temple then running his hands along your curves possessively.
He sheathed himself slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There was no hesitation in his movements, yet something raw, almost vulnerable flickered across his expression.
“I’m clean,” he murmured, his voice more serious now. “And I’ve never done this without protection before. So… yeah.” His gaze softened just slightly. “I’m trusting you, too.”
You let out a small whimper, feeling himself positioned at your entrance, his cock pressing against your wet heat. His thumbs framed your face, cradling it gently.
“Tell me you want this,” he said softly, eyes searching yours. “Tell me you want me inside you bare.” His hips gave a small thrust, just teasing waiting for your answer.
Almost cussing out at him for purposely made you feel this way, you breathe out almost pleadingly despite your bite. “...you asshole, stop playing—” you sharply inhaled when he thrusted his cock inside you.
He felt you gasp as he pushed inside, his cock stretching you open slowly.
Fucking hell.
The way you clenched around him immediately made him grit his teeth, might as well come inside you at this point.
“Fuck…” he breathed out, his hands moving to grip your hips. “So tight…fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He didn’t slam in, he took his time, letting you adjust to him. The way your walls squeezed him rhythmically was almost too much, but he forced himself to stay controlled.
And you—you never felt so fucking amazing right now. You think you might ascend to heaven. Eyes rolling over with your grip tightens on the sheets.
“Still with me, sweet pea?” he asked, voice strained as he hilted himself completely inside you.
You nodded slowly at him, murmured softly, “...yeah…you can move faster now.”
His fingers dug into your skin slightly, not quite bruising but definitely holding on tight. Breath hitched when you finally gave him permission, that single nod making his control slip dangerously. The way your walls were already clenching around him was driving him insane.
“Thank fuck,” he breathed out, hips already starting to move. He pulled back slowly, feeling every inch of you squeeze around him then thrust forward with more purpose. The wet sounds of your tangled bodies filled the room.
Your poor cat, Wonton, is already scurrying away somewhere.
He could feel your body trembling beneath him, and it made something possessive ignite in him. He wanted every gasp, every moan and every shudder of pleasure entirely for himself.
His thrusts became faster, more desperate as his breath came in harsh pants against your neck. “Tell me how it feels,” he demanded softly, one hand moving to cup your chin, fracking you to look at him. "Tell me when you’re close.”
His cock throbbed inside you, pre-cum leaking out but he was determined to make this last. To make you feel as good as you made him feel earlier with that perfect, needy mouth.
“You’re killing me,” he admitted breathlessly, his forehead resting against yours. “But I’m not pulling out until I see you completely destroyed…”
...on my cock.” you heard him finished, his voice thick with need.
God, you can’t even talk properly with him. Did he just fucked you this good?
His hips snapped against yours, making you gasp. The change in rhythm was almost punishing— harder, faster and deeper. Each thrust he gave, sent pleasure spiraling through your waves, making your toes curl and your visions blur.
“Fuck…fuck— Wonwoo! You cried out, back arching off the bed slightly as he drove into you relentlessly.
One of his hands moved from your hip to your hair, fisting it rough;y and tilting your head back. His lips crashed against yours in a desperate, messy kiss that tasted like desperation and need.
“Say my name while I fuck you.” He demanded between kisses, his other hand moving to your throat, just barely pressing, not choking but claiming.
“Wonwoo!” you sobbed into the kiss, voice breaking.
It was all too much. His mouth on yours, hands on you and the way he was fucking you like he wanted to imprint himself on your very soul. Your orgasm built faster than you could handle, climbing higher and higher until you were breathless and dizzy.
“I’m—oh god— I’m—” you couldn’t even finish the sentence as pleasure crashed over you in waves, your inner walls clamping down around him.
He felt you come, your body shaking and clenching around his cock, and it was his undoing. With a guttural groan, he buried himself deep inside then immediately pulled out as he promised. His remains spilled on your stomach, giving a few last pumps as he stays there.
“Fuck… fuck…” he breathed against your neck, his body collapsing onto yours as aftershocks rippled through both of you.
You stayed like that for a while, limbs tangled, your body slowly growing heavy with exhaustion.
But goddamn. That was the best sex you’d ever had.
(You’d only had, like, two back in school, but whatever.)
Just when you thought he was finished, he lifted his head and looked down at you before finally shrugging off the dress shirt that had been hanging open. He pulled it over his broad shoulders, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the lean muscle beneath.
God, you silently thanked the heavens for giving you an asshole that looked like him.
Grinning cockily, he hovered over you, his voice dropping into a husky murmur. “Oh, I’m not done yet, honeybun. That was just the appetizer. We still have the full course and dessert.”
Okay, maybe you should’ve bought the condoms and pills when you were grocery shopping with him.
“Now strip bare before I devour you for real.” He smacked your ass and squeezed, making you yelp.
The rest was history.
The next morning. Thank heavens it was Saturday. You would not have survived this if it were Monday and a workweek.
You fumbled beneath the comforter, still half-asleep. Then it hit you.
You’d been dicked down by the most insufferable, food-thieving man alive.
Slowly, you sat up, immediately feeling the soreness between your thighs.
Thanks a lot to that bastard for bottoming you out so good.
And you loved every single second of it.
Noticing the empty space beside you, your gaze drifted across the room—only to find him in nothing but his boxers, crouched beside Wonton, your cat. It looked like he’d already fed her.
Wow.
The sight of him watching your cat eat was almost… innocent.
Was that really the same person who pounded you like a beast last night?
Whatever.
You looked down and realized you were wearing his dress shirt. He probably cleaned you up before you passed out.
Pushing yourself out of bed, you shuffled toward the kitchen. You were starving, might as well whip something up.
He noticed you rummaging through the fridge and followed after you.
“Morning,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around your waist as you worked at the counter. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Me,” you joked.
He immediately groped your chest, making you yelp as you slapped his hands away.
He didn’t look sorry at all. “You said it. I’m just taking what I want,” he grinned against your ear, pressing a soft kiss there.
“Let’s get married,” he suddenly said. “I need you for a lifetime.”
You hummed thoughtfully while whisking the pancake batter. “For what? The food or the sex?”
“Both,” he confirmed easily. “I already paid for the groceries. I’m basically your wallet at this point. Marry me and you get both—my dick and my money.”
You had to stifle a laugh.
His arms tightened around you as he added, “Then I can finally fuck you without using those damn condoms and pills.”
That made you turn to look at him, eyebrow raised as he flashed that stupidly annoying grin.
“Was that a threat?”
“A promise,” he corrected. “We’d make a great pear. And I wouldn’t mind putting a few little peanuts in you.”
He nuzzled your nape like an oversized cat.
You stared at him in disbelief.
“You’re crazy.”
“Yeah,” he said smoothly. “I’m nuts for you, sweetie pie.”
Since that day, you kept seeing Wonwoo during lunch breaks at work.
With a price, of course. The lunch arrangement.
For some reason, you couldn’t help but notice the change in his personality. Well… he’d been a lot nicer lately.
And it scared the shit out of you.
You’d rather have him insufferable as always, wearing that stupid cocky grin.
Okay, maybe not. That was too annoying. You weren’t sure you could restrain your fist from connecting with his majestic face.
“Have you been sitting in all that sugar you bake with? Because you’ve got a sweet butt,” Wonwoo suddenly said.
A loud crash echoed through the kitchen as you dropped the baking tray in your hands, staring at him in horror.
Noticing your mortified expression, he took a step back. “Sorry. Too forward?”
He’d been crashing at your place again, insisting on driving you home as an excuse to spend more time together.
“Have you been laying in sugar, sweetheart?” he tried again. “Because you’re looking pretty sweet. Is that better?” he asked, almost apologetically.
You honestly didn’t know what to say, setting the meatloaf aside.
“I mean…” you started slowly, “…you always smack my ass whenever you get the chance, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do it when I’m about to get into the passenger seat.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “I think all of you are sweet, really.” Then he added, “I can tell your parents were bakers—they’d have to be to make a cutie pie like you.”
You blinked, finally turning to look at him. “…Well, my mom was a baker. And my brother owns a café, so yeah. Technically.”
“Wait, really?” he asked, momentarily dropping the act. “Why didn’t I know that?”
“You never asked,” you replied simply, waving him off. “By the way, what’s with all these cheesy pick-up lines? Where did you even learn them?”
Completely ignoring your question, he continued, “Are you bread? Because you’re the loaf of my life.”
Your lips twitched. “Okay, now you’re up to something. Did you lose a bet?”
“I think I’ve got cavities, because you’re too sweet.”
You chuckled, leaning against the kitchen counter in your pink frilly apron. “If you’re trying to seduce me into baking cookies, you could’ve just asked.”
“I don’t know about cookies,” he shot back smoothly, “but you and I would bake a great couple.”
Your smile widened as you pushed off the counter and slowly walked toward him. “Oh? Is that what you think?”
He audibly gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he watched you approach.
“Did you just come out of the oven?” he continued weakly. “Because you’re hot.”
You let out a soft giggle, stopping in front of him and placing your hands on his shoulders. “I don’t know if I’m scared of you or attracted to you.”
His hands naturally found your waist. “Marry me, please. Let me be your husband. I’ll take care of you… and our little peanut. Soon.” He nuzzled into your neck.
Smiling, you couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey, Won,” you murmured, “if you want something sweet, there’s plenty of sugar right here.”
You tapped your lips playfully. He didn’t hesitate before pressing his mouth to yours.
A moment later, you both pulled back, laughing and giggling like idiots, foreheads resting against each other.
“By the way,” you asked softly, “where did you even learn those pick-up lines?”
He paused, thinking for a second.
“Jeonghan,” he said simply.
Ah.
Of course.
You never liked him. Same department as Wonwoo…just more obnoxious.
He definitely put him up to this on purpose.
One thing you actually learned from your mother's advice that surprisingly worked was that the fastest way into a man’s heart was through his stomach.
Turns out, he stopped stealing your food. He found something sweeter to keep instead.
FIN.
A/N: once again, thanks a lot for staying until the end, apples!! finally we've come to the end. if you're interested in more of my fics, feel free to check my page and my masterlist, if any of you guys are interested include in my taglist, feel free to sign in the form link.
feedbacks and comments are appreciated!! (for future purposes, so that i will improve my writings more.)
𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐨 (travelling chef seungcheol! x f! reader) — fluff. 2.1k words.
synopsis: your lack of familiarity with the roads of tokyo led you into the arms of choi seungcheol, a travelling chef with an exquisite taste for roadside romance.
synopsis: your lack of familiarity with the roads of tokyo led you into the arms of choi seungcheol, a travelling chef with an exquisite taste for roadside romance.
pairing: chef! seungcheol x f! reader
tropes/content: meet cute/fated encounter, fluff, oneshot. no warnings !!
word count: 2.1k
a/n: instead of finishing up my other story i decided to start a new one :,) this one’s quite short but i really enjoyed writing it!
enjoy <3
— likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶ ︶⊹︶︶︶⊹
The recent rain left a damp smell over the city of Tokyo. The delicate, pale pink petals of Japan’s famous sakura trees littered the paved out concrete roads of the bustling streets, a few stray pieces also falling atop your head.
The beauty of spring was something you always adored since you were a small child. Unfortunately, however, your own cursed luck meant that right now you had no chance to bask in the elegance of Japan’s spring time.
Like any traveller’s worst nightmare, your phone battery had died sometime during your journey to a restaurant you were supposed to meet your friends at. It was right when you were about halfway through your trip when your overheated phone screen, which was already struggling to display your route on Google Maps, turned blank with a single click.
Your heart dropped the moment you registered your own reflection staring back at you from your dead phone screen. You resisted the growing urge to fling the device onto oncoming traffic, instead opting to slip it into the back pocket of your black trousers.
It took a moment for the anger in your heart to completely dissipate. You closed your eyes, hopelessly wishing that your muddled mind could somehow miraculously remember the exact route you were supposed to follow to the restaurant. Unfortunately for you, however, you were famously terrible with directions. Even worse—you couldn’t even remember the restaurant’s name.
As you stood there on the side of the street staring off into a distant void, a certain dark-haired man approached you.
You didn’t even notice him until he placed a warm hand onto your sullen shoulder. You flinched upon contact, turning around immediately to face whoever just touched you.
Soft, mildly downturned brown eyes gazed into your own cautious ones. One thing you noticed were his irresistibly long eyelashes. Another thing you noticed were his prominent eyebrows. And his soft looking hair. And his incredulously thick arms. Maybe you noticed too many things about him.
You didn’t say a word. You couldn’t.
As stupid as you looked, you couldn’t even open your mouth.
“Are you alright, miss?” Concern enveloped his face. A wave of heat traveled down your neck.
“…Yes. What makes you think I’m not?” You brushed off, your mind painfully aware of how awkward you just sounded.
“You look like you’re about to break down into tears.” You were mildly taken aback by his straightforwardness. A viciously fake laugh escaped your mouth. The man simply raised an eyebrow.
“I’m doing fine, thank you for asking. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be.” You gave him a tight lipped smile before speeding off, only to nearly walk yourself into oncoming traffic. Before you had enough time to react, a hand tightly clasped your wrist, pulling you back roughly.
A few loud honks pulled you out of your short lived trance, and a tight grip pulled you into a rock-hard chest. It took a few moments for your poor heart to calm itself down. It took another three moments for you to feel the man’s warmth enveloping your body.
“Is this ‘somewhere you need to be’, heaven, perhaps?” Your mind was very much still muddled with shock, but when his words finally registered in your mind, a simple eye roll was the most you could muster.
His hand was still wrapped around your wrist, and your face was evidently still in his chest. You stepped back immediately, your hands gently pushing against his chest, which was inexplicably hard. It made you wonder what kind of workouts he hit at the gym to acquire such a physique.
“I’m sorry. I should really get going.” You spluttered, shaking away the intruding thoughts, your face heating up with embarrassment.
“Can I trust that you can get there without becoming the subject of a news headline?” He raised a thick eyebrow. You were about to slip out of his line of sight when a small idea popped into your mind.
“Would you happen to know where the best steak restaurant in this city is?” You chose your words carefully, because while the actual name of the place was wiped clean from your mind, the conversation about it was not. Two days ago, you and your friends were discussing food places to try during the totally well-planned vacation. Between a long, intellectually charged conversation about the wonders of Japanese ramen, your friend, Jia, instead suggested visiting Tokyo’s number one steak restaurant.
Of course, your selective memory betrayed you again, as you could very well recall Sooyeon's unending, descriptive speech about the restaurant’s so called mouthwatering, divine beef cuisine, but you couldn’t even place your finger on what the name of the place was.
The eyes of the man before you lit up, like you had unintentionally used a trigger word. You wondered if he was even the right person to ask. You hoped that he was the right person to ask.
“I am just the person to ask.” He says, as if your thoughts were vocalised to his brain directly. He gestured at a direction you weren’t familiar with, and began walking. You, not wanting to get even more lost than you already were, followed beside him quietly.
“So, I guess taste is really a subjective thing, but there is this one restaurant that has been around for years. The reason simply being that the food they sell—steaks—are indescribably delicious. It has been the number one rated place for decades, now, and even with their recipes being old and unchanged, people seem to still love it despite our current food trends being completely different.” The look in the man’s eyes changed completely. Earlier, he couldn’t shake off the look of concern and scepticism in his heavily lashed eyes. Now, he looked like nothing but a profoundly passionate man who adored nothing but the culinary world. It made your heart pinch with a delight you weren’t expecting yourself to feel.
“Are you a chef?” You asked, a small smile landing on your face, curiosity cracking your tight and guarded exterior.
“Travelling chef.” He smiled, the corners of his lips subtly twitching with well hidden excitement.
“Is there such a thing?”
“Not abundantly. But it’s what I like to call myself since it’s what I do.”
“Travelling while cooking?” You raised an eyebrow, genuine curiosity laced in your voice.
“Kind of. I have a lot of chef friends in many different places so I like to travel around and work at their restaurants for a certain time period. This month I am in Japan helping out a ramen chef whom I met back in culinary school.” A sincere feeling of wonder creeped into your heart. You had never met someone with a job so peculiar yet intriguing.
“Is there a reason why you aren’t just working at a singular restaurant?” You questioned, watching carefully for his answer. A boyish grin formed on his face.
“I love travelling. I’ve always loved exploring new places and experiencing different cultures and traditions. It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember. That paired with cooking. Cooking has been my ultimate passion since I was a young child. Of course, that naturally made me want to do something that incorporated both, so that gave birth to the idea of becoming a travelling chef.” His explanation was incredibly simple yet so inspiring. His passion was extremely evident, and the way his entire face lit up when asked such a question made you feel warm.
“So, what brings you to Tokyo?” He shifted his attention onto you, his soft eyes full of intrigue. You felt yourself burn under his gaze. You quietly cleared your throat.
“My friends and I are here for a little girls trip. We each went our separate ways earlier to explore the city and decided we would all meet each other later for dinner, but my phone ended up dying, so naturally I was very lost.” He nodded in response, quietly taking in your words.
“I take it you’re terrible with navigation?” He joked, only for you to giggle.
“Is it really that obvious?” You felt mildly embarrassed. He simply chuckled in response.
“You looked like it was your first day on earth.” He joked, making you hit his shoulder playfully.
“My apologies, Mr. Traveller. I’ve never been to Japan before, so of course I would get lost.”
“Speaking of travel, you came here at the right time. The spring time here is lovely. Sakura trees are in full bloom so everything is twenty times prettier.”
“I’ve noticed. But I haven’t been given a good chance to revel in its beauty with my luck today.” A sheepish laugh made its way to your face. You stared down at the ground as you continued walking.
“Really? But I see you haven’t been able to escape the famous petal downpour.” His hand neared your head, and before you could process it, he gently picked a small, pink petal off the top of your hair.
“Guess I’ll keep this for good luck.” His hands entered the pockets of his jacket, a pleased smile planted upon his lips. You quickly turned your head away, afraid that he would notice the bashful look on your face. He laughed almost inaudibly, as if he knew exactly what effect he had on you.
“Are you usually such a flirt with the women you just meet?” You pressed, once you were able to pull yourself together. A humoured chuckle resounded from his lips.
“Only you, sweetheart.” You tried your absolute hardest to keep yourself together. You wanted to be cautious around strangers. You knew better than to trust a random man and get yourself in an uncomfortable situation. But damn, he was making it astronomically difficult.
Before you were able to think of a witty response to fire back, a bouquet of flowers appeared before you, held up by his muscular arm. A magnificent arrangement of pink roses met your eyes. A true feeling of shock pulsed within you.
“Where did you…?”
A hearty laugh resounded through the air.
“As if I'd reveal my special trick. What if I wanted to do it again someday?”
“For me or for someone else?”
“For you, silly.”
“You intend to give me street flowers again in the future?” A small smile formed on your face.
“If you tell me it worked, I’d do it for eternity.” Heat crept up on your cheeks as your heart pounded like a drum. You almost didn’t have it in you to keep your wobbly legs upright.
What is up with this man?
“You’re such a flirt.” You hit his shoulder shyly, before gently taking the bouquet out of his hands. You brought it up to your nose, the delicate floral scent overtaking your senses. A wave of calm washed over you.
“Thank you. They are lovely.” You breathed, the corners of your lips gently lifted. Truthfully, they’ve been lifted for the past fifteen minutes. You weren’t sure if they’d ever come down. Not for another hour at the very least.
“So what name can I call you?” He asked smoothly. A soft giggle left you.
“Y/N. L/N Y/N. What about you?”
“Choi Seungcheol.” He said coolly. You mentally remembered his name. You didn’t want to ever forget it. Even if the two of you were to never cross paths again.
Before you were able to conjure up a question to ask him, the glass door of an extravagant restaurant appeared before you. You noticed the heads of your friends inside, seated at a table with menus held in their hands. The fact that their table wasn’t piling with food made you wonder if they had just arrived or if they had waited for your arrival.
“Looks like we made it.” Seungcheol interrupted your thoughts, his voice content. You could only wish that you felt the same. Staring into your reflection in the glass door made you realise the state you were in. Face smiling, flowers held in your hands, legs wobbling. You never wanted this moment to end. You wished the world would stop spinning even for a moment jusf to let you bask in this overwhelming feeling of enchantment.
You quietly turned to face him.
“How will I ever see you again?” You asked, voice meek yet hopeful. A cheeky smile made its way to his exquisitely handsome face. His lightly calloused hand softly caressed your head before opening up the door to the restaurant.
“Check your pockets, sweetheart.” Before you could do what he asked, he gently led you inside, leaving you no time to react properly. He quietly waved you off before walking away, his large form slowly disappearing from your sight.
When you fully registered that he was actually gone, you quickly scrambled to put your hands inside your jacket pockets, checking each side for anything peculiar.
You felt a small piece of folded paper in your right pocket. You gently pulled it out, braced yourself, and opened it.
pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader
summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.
warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork
a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!
general masterlist
You blink at your paper.
98.
You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away.
2+2=5.
You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.
You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.
"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake.
Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.
He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.
"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.
Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.
"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."
You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”
He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”
Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”
“Digimon.”
“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”
You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt.
Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo.
Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board.
But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that.
You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.
As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool.
Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.
Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.
When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.
The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps.
Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?
There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.
When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—
To reveal his bare torso.
Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.
That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.
As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:
You’re screwed.
“You know what?”
You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves.
From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.
“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”
You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.
“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.
“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”
Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.
You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”
“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”
“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.
“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”
“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense.
“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.
Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”
Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.
“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”
Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”
You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”
“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.
Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.
You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”
But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”
Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.
It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.
“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.
“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”
You don’t have to turn to know who it is.
Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.
“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.
Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.
“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”
You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.
Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”
“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.
With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.
Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.
“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.
“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.
“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.
You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.
You freeze.
It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.
You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.
“I wanted to.”
Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—
Damn him. Damn him.
Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.
You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—
But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.
“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”
You pause.
He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.
So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.
You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”
But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.
It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.
You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching.
Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.
The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.
You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.
Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.
The two of you don’t speak.
It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.
You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—
He’s just really there.
You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.
You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.
The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.
A soft sound breaks through the quiet.
You glance up and freeze.
Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.
For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.
Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.
Cutie.
What?
The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.
Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—
You pull away.
Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.
You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.
Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.
It’s that you care.
And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.
The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.
You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.
Gojo is here.
You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.
And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.
It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.
You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.
You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—
You’re so screwed.
You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.
Or so you think.
Because then she appears.
A girl.
Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—
—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.
Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.
Your stomach twists.
This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.
It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.
He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.
Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.
Not you.
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.
You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.
But you do.
You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.
The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.
"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."
You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.
"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.
Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."
You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.
“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.
But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.
He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."
Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.
Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."
The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all.
But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.
You’ll never be his equal.
You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."
Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."
You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.
The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.
Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.
You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.
But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.
“Whoa—”
Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.
You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.
“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.
Shit.
You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”
Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”
“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”
Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.
Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.
So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.
There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.
To see Gojo.
What the fuck.
He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.
"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.
He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”
Oh. Right.
You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."
Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.
A beat passes.
"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."
Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"
"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”
“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”
Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.
"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”
Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.
And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”
You swallow.
Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.
"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."
Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”
Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.
“You really don’t know?”
“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”
“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"
Your brain short-circuits. “What—”
He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."
Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”
"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.
Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.
"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."
You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.
Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."
Your breath hitches.
He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.
Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.
Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.
But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.
“You can’t like me,” you whisper.
Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”
Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”
Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.
"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”
For a second, there’s only silence.
Then, Gojo exhales softly.
“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.
You don’t answer. You can’t.
Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”
"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."
You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.
Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”
Your breath catches.
“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”
Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.
And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.
Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.
It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.
You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.
When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.
“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.
You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”
“Maybe I’m into that.”
“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”
His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”
You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.
“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”
Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”
“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.
“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”
But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”
He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”
You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.
When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.
You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”
He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.
He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”
“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”
You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want, he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”
Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”
You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”
“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”
“Satoru, please eat me out.”
He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.
He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.
With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly.
He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.
Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.
It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”
“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”
“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”
“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”
You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”
He hums. “I get that a lot.”
“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”
Silence.
When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”
The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.
general masterlist
a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever
𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex (mc has an iud), creampie, dom wonwoo, needy/horny reader, big dick wonwoo,dirty talk, pussy streching, oral (both receiving), face sitting, 69, dirty talk, breeding kink, cum eating, deep throating, fingering, pussy whipped womwoo, p in v intercourse, spanking, nicknames: baby, brat, good girl, baby (hers)
𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw
𝐚𝐧: this is inspired by house tour by sabrina carpenter. Thank you @haologram for making this banner for me. Thank you @hongcherry for beta reading
🎧: bed chem - sabrina carpenter | house tour - sabrina carpenter | tears - sabrina carpenter
Tonight’s your third date. Everything leading up to this date has been very sweet and innocent. Wonwoo will hold your hand and kiss you goodnight, but that’s it. You’ve done nothing that is even slightly sexual.
Your date tonight has been absolutely amazing. He took you to an expensive sushi restaurant you’ve been dying to try. The dinner was delicious, and the conversation was flowing just like always. You didn’t want the night to end. That’s the thing about spending time with Wonwoo: it’s easy, and you can’t help but fall hard and fast for him.
Sitting in his expensive sports car, his hand is laced with yours as he drives. You smile at the sight of his pineapple air freshener hanging from the mirror. Everything this man does turns you on with little to no effort.
He parks outside your apartment building and turns the car off. He brings your hand up and places a kiss on your knuckles. He looks at you from over the top of his glasses.
“I’m not ready for this night to end.” You break the comfortable silence. The perfect night would be Wonwoo coming upstairs with you.
“I don’t either.” He presses another kiss on the top of your hand.
“Do you want a house tour?”
“House tour?” He releases your hand.
“I could take you to the first, second, and third floors?” You give him a flirty smile.
He arches his eyebrow. “You live in a one-story apartment.”
“There are other floors I could show you.” You say playfully.
“Oh, really?”
“I really just want you to come inside.” Now’s the time to be bold. If you want something, you need to go after it.
“Come inside?”
“Yeah, I’m insured, we could be a little reckless.” You unbuckle your seatbelt.
“Something tells me this isn’t about touring your actual apartment.” He unbuckles his seat belt.
“What do you mean?” You give faux innocence. “I just want to give you a house tour.”
Wonwoo gets out of the car, walks over, and opens your door. Taking your hand, he helps you out. You lead him inside knowing what’s about to unfold between you.
Walking into the elevator, Wonwoo pushes the button for your floor. He leans against the back railing while still holding on to your hand. It looks like that matching lingerie set you bought for this date is going to come in handy tonight. The elevator is thick with tension.
The doors slide open, and you lead him to your apartment. Opening the door, you release Wonwoo’s hand so you can take off the heels you decided to wear just for this date. Wonwoo stands there pushing his glasses up, intently watching you.
He takes his own shoes off before stepping towards you. He places his hand under your chin, tilting your head up. “Are you going to show me around?”
“Right this way.” You pull away knowing you have the upper hand.
You make your way through your two-bedroom apartment, showing him around as you constantly make innuendos about different things. You stop in the small hallway leading towards your bedroom–he only place you haven’t shown him yet. You could say you’re saving the best for last.
“Are you done showing me around?”
“Do you not like the house tour?” You lean against the wall with faux innocence.
“Something tells me there is something else you would like for me to tour.” He arches his brow and steps closer to you. Biting your bottom lip, you try your hardest not to smile at him. His hands are on either side of the wall next to you, caging you in. “Should we move to the bedroom?”
“Do you want to tour my bedroom?” Looking up with your lashes, you give him a smile.
“I want to tour other things in the bedroom.” He leans in close. “Can you be a good girl?” You can tell right away that Wonwoo likes to take charge, and that’s exactly what you want. You’ll be as good as he wants you to be.
“Anything for you.”
He closes the distance. Then, he kisses you like he needs you to breathe. Your lips are like air in his lungs. Pulling away, he gives you a smile.
Walking into your room, you take a minute to show him around. You start in your bedroom before leading him off to the en-suite bathroom.
Standing at the foot of the bed, he watches as you slowly undress for him. You’re thankful you decided to wear the sexy black lace lingerie you bought just for him.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He steps closer to you. You’re standing there in just your lingerie that is practically see-through. Your whole body is on display.
“I got this just for you.” You give him a little twirl, showing off the cute black lace thong you’re wearing.
“Next time, I’ll fuck you in this. Tonight, I want you naked.” He reaches out and toys with the side of your thong. He pinches the thin stripe of fabric before he snaps it against your skin. Dropping to his knees, he slides the lace down your thighs and looks up at you with lust-filled eyes. This is a sight you’ll never forget. He leans in close and presses a kiss to your stomach right above your mound.
He stands up and walks behind you. With little effort, he unfastens your bar. The lace falls to the floor with your panties. He gives your ass a quick smack before his lips brush your ear.
“On your hands and knees, baby,” he whispers with his lips against your ear.
Silently, you obey him and get into position. Looking over your shoulder, you give him a flirty smile. His hand grips your butt cheek before giving you another smack.
“Did you want to give me a house tour just for this?” He massages the spot he just smacked with his large hand.
“I just really wanted you to come inside.” Dropping down to your elbows, you wiggle your butt again.
“Fuck—“ he groans at the sight of you naked, wet, and practically presenting yourself to him. He runs his fingers through your folds, taking a moment to toy with your clit. A shiver runs down your spine as he rubs circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves.
“Wonwoo.”
“Yes, baby?” He pulls his fingers away.
“Don’t toy with me. I gave you a house tour, and I made myself all pretty just for you.” At this point, you’ll do anything he asks if he just fucks you. Hell, you’ll even beg if that’s what it takes. You’ll play whatever role he wants you to play.
He removes his hand, and you hear the sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor. Rolling onto your back, you rest on your elbows with your legs spread, watching as he slowly takes off his clothes. He’s standing there looking absolutely mouth-watering. His abs look so good that you want to lick them, and his happy trail leads down to a very large cock. You had a feeling he was big, but he’s definitely bigger than expected.
“Fuck, you're big.” You don’t even bother trying to hide your excitement.
He arches his brow and gives you a knowing smile. There is no way you aren’t going to at least attempt to suck him off.
“I want to taste you.” You sit up fully.
“How about you sit on my face, and I’ll let you suck me off?” That is quite possibly the best idea you have ever heard.
He crawls onto the bed and moves so his head is resting on the pillows. He taps your thigh, signaling for you to get into position. You move so your thighs are on either side of his head. Your wet core hovers just above his face. His arms circle your thighs, pulling your pussy down towards his face. Your hands rest on his abs, steadying yourself as he starts licking at your wet core. Biting your bottom lip, you hold back a moan. You reach for his large length and slowly start pumping it.
His chin repeatedly bumps your clit, sending a shiver down your spine. Leaning down, you hold his length in one hand. You place a kiss on the rosy head, earning a soft moan from him. Slowly, you take him in your mouth. He’s too big, so there is no way you can fully take him. You go until the tip of his length hits the back of your throat. Your tongue runs along the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft.
It’s hard to focus on anything as he’s practically making out with your pussy while pumping two fingers in and out of you. Closing your eyes, you try to focus on pleasuring him. You bob your head up and down his length while one hand plays with his balls.
Everything feels fuzzy as you get closer and closer to the edge. The way his abs are tensing lets you know that he’s getting close too. You take him deeper in your mouth, practically swallowing his length. You’ve never been able to deep throat any man before, let alone someone of his size.
“Fuck—” he moans against your wet folds. The vibration pushes you over the edge. You see stars as your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks.
You continue bobbing your head, hoping to push him over the edge with you.
“Fuck, baby, pull off—” he lets out a broken plea. “I’m going to cum in your mouth.”
The last thing you want to do is pull off. You want to taste him. You want him to give you everything he has. He tenses for a moment before he finds his own release. He stops playing with you as his orgasm hits him like a white hot wave. His milky release paints your mouth. You’ve never been one for swallowing, but without even thinking, you swallow everything he gives you.
Pulling off his length, you gasp for air. Wonwoo moves you, so you’re lying on the bed next to him. He rests on his elbow, looking down at you. Opening your mouth, you stick out your tongue, showing him you swallowed every last drop.
“I’m clean by the way.”
You’re realizing now, you should have had this conversation before you let him cum in your mouth.
“I trust you. I trust you enough to even let you cum inside me. I have an IUD, and I’m clean.” You reach out, resting your hand on his cheek.
“I’m going to need a minute.”
Glancing down, you see he’s already starting to get hard again. “Do you need help with that?”
He lets out a laugh and lies back down. “I think you’ve done plenty.”
Pushing yourself up, you crawl onto Wonwoo so you’re sitting on his thighs. He watches you intently. His eyes never leave your body. You take his almost hard length in your hand. You stare at him as you slowly pump his cock. A groan passes his lips as you focus on the mushroom tip.
“Fuck, you’re irresistible.”
You can’t help but smile. You’re attracted to every aspect of Wonwoo, and it’s nice to see he can’t get enough of you.
The moments he’s fully hard, you move so his length is nestled between your wet folds. Slowly, you roll your hips. Every time he nudges your clit, you let out a moan. Your hands rest on his chest as his hands grip your hips.
“I need to feel you fully,” he moans.
“As you wish.” Lifting your hips, you guide yourself down his extremely large length. You go slow to give yourself the proper amount of time to adjust to the sheer size of him.
Once you’re filled to the brim, you stop moving. Closing your eyes, you try your hardest to relax. His hand on your hip is gently rubbing circles against your skin, helping relax you.
“Fuck, you’re huge.”
“You’ve already said that,” he teases you.
“You’re practically splitting me open.” Not that you’re actually complaining. There’s a little bit of burn, but this feels absolutely incredible.
“We don’t have to do this. We can stop right now.” He sounds very concerned that he’s hurting you.
“I don’t want to stop. I just need a second. Your cock is massive, and I’m shocked you’re not being poked by my IUD.”
He rolls his eyes and lets out another laugh. “I’m not that big.”
“My cervix begs to differ.” You slowly lift your hips, pulling up until just his tip is left inside. Before he can even think of a retort, you slide back down. “It’s okay though, you feel fucking amazing.”
“Is that so?” His grip on your hips tightens, helping guide your movement.
“Are you telling me I don’t feel amazing?” You bite your bottom lip, picking up the pace.
“You’re so tight you’re practically suffocating my cock.” For such a pretty man, he sure has a filthy mouth.
“Am I too tight for you?” You once again put on an act of faux innocence.
“No, your cute little pussy was made for me.” He slams you back down until you’ve taken every last inch of him.
You’re practically seeing stars. He’s touching places inside of you that you don’t think have ever been reached before.
Closing your eyes, you tilt back your head, moaning his name like a sinful prayer. “Wonwoo—”
“You’re such a good girl. First, you gave me a tour of your cute little house, and now you’re giving me a tour of your body.” He pushes himself up, so you’re chest to chest. Without thinking, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you.
Rolling your hips against him, this new angle has him deeper inside you, and now his pelvis is brushing against your sensitive clit.
“If you keep clenching, I’m going to finish before you, baby.”
You can’t help but clench from your clit constantly being rubbed.
He leans in, pressing his lips to yours for another heated kiss. The feeling of his lips against your is enough to make you feel drunk. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close to you.
“Wonwoo—” you moan against his lips.
“Are you ready to cum?”
“Please.”
“Be a good girl and cum.” The floodgates open, and your high hits you like a tidal wave. Throwing your head back, you moan his name.
He moves you both with ease. He has you pinned below him. His length is still snug inside you. His fingers are laced with yours, holding them above your head. He starts at a slow but deep pace, helping you ride out your intense high. His lips are anywhere they can reach.
“Fuck—” Your brain can’t seem to process any words other than curse words or his name.
“I’m close, baby,” He picks up his pace. “Where do you want it?”
“Inside.” You want him to fill you to the brim.
“My filthy baby.”
“Please.” You aren’t quite sure what exactly you’re begging for.
Without any warning, a third orgasm hits you hard. You see white as your walls contract around him. With one loud moan of your name, his salty release paints your walls white. Your lips are parted as you moan with him. He looks absolutely breathtaking like this.
Slowly, he pulls out, watching as his release starts to leak. He stares at it for a moment before he pushes his finger through your folds and pushes it back inside. “That was one hell of a house tour.”
Your body is spent, but you can’t help but let out a laugh at his comment. The house tour went exactly how you planned it to go.
