cw/tags: ot13 x reader (not all at the same time no one can do that), overstim, bondage, tickling (blink and you'll miss it), tummy rubbing, fluff but in a sexy way, sexual acts but in a fluffy way, cunnilingus, groping, thigh riding, fingering, somnophilia in jeonghan's, svt is referred to as brothers (how mahabharatha really should've gone), reader is "picked up like a little kid" in joshua's,(no pedophilia), innocence kink, slight petplay in jun's, reader wears cat ears, heavy objectification, exhibitionism, excessive use of commas.
EVERYTHING IS CONSENSUAL but negotiated off screen uhhhhh its just free-use on 300% softness
a/n: this is just svt brainrot I wrote at 1 am okay pls bear with me this is unedited and grammer is a foreign concept I was straight up jorking it in the stripped clubr to this I wanna be their pretty doll so fucking bad.
Oh, to be Seventeen's little free use doll, whom they treat like their own sex doll and comfort plushie at the same time. Minding your own business, writing or scrolling or reading? Not anymore :333 you're always getting swept off your feet— literally— because there is someone's strong arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off the floor to be carried off to cuddle and touch. You can count on one hand the number of times you've been left alone without someone's hands on your skin. They pass you around, not just to be fucked dumb, but because everyone wants their turn to squeeze and play with their little dorm doll.
Movie nights would always end up with you stretched over multiple member's laps like a cat. Gentle hands draw up your arms above your head, half pinned down, half entwined with theirs. Your head is on one lap, your torso stretched over the next, legs in another's. In the darkness only lit up by the glow of the TV, it's hard to make out whose hand is petting your tit, pressing thumbs into the arch of your foot, or stroking the flat of your tummy. It's also hard to make out who's sliding fingers down your throat to keep your little whines muffled. Can't have you distracting them from the movie, right?
Seungcheol would be forever breaking up petty little fights that started from bickering over whose turn it was to have you (looking straight at bss) and taking it as an excuse to neatly pluck you from their arms and set you on his lap and wrap his arms around you. No amount of struggling will get you out of his grip, even though he finds it sooo adorable that you have to try so hard against a fraction of his strength. The squirming inadvertently makes him hard, so he flips you over so you're sideways on his lap, held up by one arm banding around your ribs, while he strokes along the curve of your back and gropes the flesh of your ass. Cheol is content with the softness of you on him, more than any completion.
Jeonghan thinks it's cute to ambush you. A midday nap is often interrupted by Hannie flopping on top of you and pressing his face into your back, sliding the point of his nose up the divot of your spine. Any and all activity is interrupted by him sliding behind you, hands sneaking under your shirt (if you're wearing one in the first place), squeezing your waist. He firmly believes there's no better place for his hands than the dip of your waist. That's where they end up even at night, sliding behind you on whomever's bed you're sleeping on for the night, his cock pushing into your warm, still wet heat. Fucking into you while wondering how many of his brothers had used you before he did.
Joshua, our resident sweetheart. He scoops you up like a child, both of you giggling, and sets off on little "adventures", as he was so fond of calling them. He affectionately pulls pretty clothes over you, dressing you how he pleases, then takes you shopping for more. Each outfit you try on earns you a little kiss. Shua thinks you're adorable in soft sweaters cropped too high, swishy floofy skirts that barely cover anything, cute stockings that hugged your thighs. He parades you around svt, forcing you to show off your new clothes, ignoring the blush high on your cheeks. No, his focus was completely on his teammates, watching their eyes darken at the glimpses of skin where delicate fabric rode up, where the pudge of your thigh stuck out over the lacy edge of the stocking. Later, he sets you on his lap— in front of everyone's hungry gazes— and knocks your knees open over his legs. Warm fingers soon find their place on your clit, further down to your hole. It's utter filth, the way his large hand stretches the fabric of your panties. Vulgar, really, when it's so obvious it doesn't belong there, but nothing feels more right when you fall apart around two of his fingers, his brothers' hands aching along his with the ghost of your release.
Junhui treats you more like a house cat than a sex doll. Always picking you up at random times of the day and carrying you to the couch, petting your hair, rubbing your back. He pokes your ribs and sides, just to see you twist away and push his hand down. Once, inexplicably, he grabbed your entire face as you would a cat you wanted to bother. The resulting cat fight (hehe) led to you straddling his face, your hands pinning his wrists down above his head. It was all a show really; he could push you off, flip you over, pin you down and have his wicked way with his dear kitty, all in the span of a breath, and you both know that. Yet, he let it happen because he loved the weight of you on his face, your pretty, breathy sighs and whimpers, your mewling when he didn't, wouldn't stop licking at your cunt. Jun loved when you initiated anything, cupping your pussy and affectionately calling you his "little cat in heat", scratching behind the cat ears he bought for you. He loved putting you face down ass up on the living room rug, where anyone could walk in on Jun slamming into you, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other pinning your wrists behind your back. If anyone walks in? Well, it's so commonplace they barely take note of it anymore, but sometimes—after a long day, or a hard practice— they push your teary face between their legs, cooing at how you rub your cheek against the bulge in their pants. Nothing relieves their stress and frustration like pushing your head down, large hand between your cat ears, seeing drool and cum and tears mix on your pretty face, but you curling up on Jun’s lap like a content cat comes in as a strong second.
Hoshi . Is bitey. Half man, half tiger, half toddler is really the only way you could even somewhat adequately describe him. He's forever teething against the soft inside of your thigh, licking at you until you cry, fucking into you like a rabid animal, pinching your cheeks and cooing over you, before burying his face in your neck and mouthing at the skin there. The other members teased you about the marks he left, pressing gently down on bruises new and faded. There was no embarrassing Hoshi, not when he proudly showed them off when he could, yanking your head back by the hair, exposing the delicate arch of your throat. His tongue laved over the bites, tasting the salt of your skin, and he paid no heed to your incessant squirming. Your shoulders are always adorned with perfectly circular bitemarks, to the point where the others were concerned by them. What they didn't know, not until Hoshi walked out smug and shirtless after a shower, was how much you marked him up as well (to Mingyu's scandalized gasp). You were usually so pliant underneath them, your hands always pinned out of the way and held down, but Soonyoung adored when your small hands tried to grasp onto him, when your pretty, sharp nails clawed at his back and shoulders, struggling to withstand the onslaught of pleasure. The result? Long, fine scratches adorning his spine, shifting under the toned muscles of his back and biceps. He wears them proudly like his own tiger stripes.
Wonwoo is a cat maid enjoyer trustttt. He is also a little shit. Even without the frills of the costume, the cat ears and his hand are permanently on your head. Number 1 headpat giver. Reading? His hands are stroking your hair. Sleeping together? His thumb is brushing over the arch of your ear. You do something mildly cute (breathe)? Pat pat pat. Loves cuddling you like a plushie against his chest, both while lying down and sitting up. The cuteness aggression is unreal. At least, it is until the sadist in him takes over. He loves nothing more than locking a remote controlled vibe against you and making you do menial household chores like dusting and scrubbing in your pretty, too-short outfit that did nothing to hide whatever lacy thing you had on underneath. His favourite is when you are on your hands and knees, pretending to scrub the floor, the ridiculously frilly uniform soaked through with water, skin slippery with suds, smelling like soap and desperation, all because he turned the vibe up too high, too quickly. He makes you come like that, shaking and crying on the floor. Once. Twice. You were well on the way to the third when he gathers you up in his arms and sets you on his lap, uncaring of the water soaking through his clothes. He presses a firm hand over your pussy, forcing the toy against your clit, and lets you sob your way through your climax. Wonwoo is gentle when he cleans you up after, undoing the ties of your dress with nimble, long-fingered hands, lowering your spent body into a hot bath, cradling you until you fall fast asleep against his chest. Of course, not without innumerous headpats.
Woozi has 3 loves in his life: music, working out, and you. According to him, there was no reason not to combine any of the three, which found you in his studio, curled up on his lap. His hands absentmindedly kneaded at your flesh, sliding from your chest down to the curve of your waist, palming at your ass, then up and over your thigh, to the round of your calf. Even the delicate swell of your ankles and the arch of your foot was not untouched, pale, elegant fingers stroking the skin and squeezing the entirety of your foot. Between the quiet of the studio and his warm hands, you barely notice the haze of dreamland drawing its veil over your eyes, or soft cushions meeting your back. You wake up to the soft click-clack of the keyboard. stretching, you watch your lover work.
One moment, you had been lounging on the studio couch— the next, plucked from it by a Jihoon that seemed to stomp in from thin air. His face, bright like the full moon, hovered directly over you, eyes meeting yours, glinting with quiet mischief. You blinked, and then you were weightless, rising, and your usually reserved Jihoon? Doing barbell curls of all things, using you as an exceptionally surprised piece of gym equipment. Usually, gym equipment did not stare at him with wide eyes and a mildly confused expression. Usually, gym equipment did not fist his shirt and cling to him. Usually, gym equipment was not this fucking adorable. What was Woozi to do with you, other than to set you on his cock and show you his new hip thrust PR?
Dokyeom gave Seungcheol and Hoshi a run for their money when it came to sheer clinginess, what with how you're folded into his side all the damn time. He's forever squishing you into his broad chest, arms and legs thrown around you, head buried in the crook of your neck. Rarely would you get to cuddle him back, because he seemed to have made it his life mission to bring any straying limbs back to your body and make you as compact as possible. Slender, long fingers wrap around your delicate wrists and pin them down, with seemingly little effort, but you can't move an inch. Forget being a plushie— you act as his living, breathing body pillow, always warm to the touch. Your skin? Free real estate. His hands are always roaming, cupping the curve of your tit, pinching your nipples and tugging until you arch against him. Further down, squeezing the softness of your stomach and pinching the narrowest part of your waist. Further, and he's stroking your thighs almost reverently, higher and higher until his palm is flush against your cunt, and he pets that too. It seemed like sacrilege to call it dirty, sexual; the slow drag of his finger against your clit was worship, your whimpers hymnal, your pleasure his offering. The scrunch of your face when you come is enlightenment to him. When he flips you over and pins you underneath him, Dokyeom can't help but think you're his own miniature goddess stolen straight from the altar, come to life and flushed and demanding under his reverent hands. When he's through with you, after carefully shaping your body into his, pressing you down into the mattress, bouncing you on his hips, drinking and eating from you until he can finally call himself somewhat sated, he cleans you like a devotee, presses his forehead against your sweat-damp stomach, and breathes you in, more fragrant than any incense.
You are Seventeen's doll, and Mingyu is their housewife. That's why he's always setting you on the counter next to him while he cooks, lovingly feeding you the first bite by hand. You looked so fragile to him like this, his oversized shirt falling off your shoulder, riding up your thighs, exposing impossibly soft skin. While dinner cooks, he spreads you on the counter as his appetizer, licking at you until you're begging him to let up, to give you a break. He finds your thrashing impossibly cute, how your thighs can't close around his shoulders, your helpless crying because it's too much for your little body to handle. It's so easy to manhandle you into whatever position he wanted, to hold you up and against him while he fucks into you. Some days, when he has too much energy, when practice and working out and taking care of others weren't enough, he would lift you up into the air and take you like that, your feet dangling off the floor. Out of everyone, you were the most doll-like with him, limp in his muscled arms while he uses you to his heart's desire. It had taken you so long to take him fully, needing days of prep before the first time. Days of him holding you down while he fingers you open, the pads of his fingers flush and rubbing against the soft, sensitive spot in you that your fingers could never reach by themselves. Days of Seventeen surprising you in the middle of the day by pushing a toy into you and forcing you to warm it. Days of Mingyu easing in inch by inch, making you come with each one, until you could finally, finally take his cock, flushed with pleasure and fullness and the endless praise spilling from his lips.
Minghao loves aesthetics. He asks you sit with him during his tea ceremonies, noting your perfect posture and neatly folded legs with an approving gaze. Everyone else is always bending you in half, but Minghao appreciates the neatness of your movement, the straight, elegant lines of your body, even in the mundane everyday— writing at your desk, molding the shape of your figure against one of his brothers', the swish of your skirt around your legs when you walked. It was in the smallest details to him— the tendons shifting under your hand, the stretch of an affectionate arm, the gentle arc of hipbone, the arch of your back off the bed when you come undone underneath his lips, his fingers, his cock. As far as Hao was concerned, this beauty was all the more perfect bound in cherry red rope, crisscrossing the narrow of your wrists and waist, digging into the fat of your hips and thighs. He spends hours with you in his studio, entwined together under warm afternoon sunlight, testing different patterns across your torso while your head leans against his chest. Every day was something different— arms tied to your ankles one day, calves and thighs bound together, forcing you to kneel, once tied to him while straddling him on a chair. The boundaries between his own touch and the bite of rope blurs, until the pinch of rope and the nip of teeth are one and the same.
You often called Seungkwan your "adorable boo bear", complete with holding up strands of his hair into fluffy bear ears. And indeed, he looked like a cartoon baby bear with his big eyes and clingy, soft tendencies. Evenings with him were always spent with you straddling him on the couch, your face buried in the crook of his neck, arms wrapped around each other, breathing the other in. He cared for you in a way that was softer, warmer, care which seeped in through your pores until you glowed from the inside out. Beyond nagging you to eat and drink water 2982139 times a day, he fetched you meals himself, held bottles to your lips, and scolded your ear off. When you were on his lap, however, the praise was endless. He didn't fuck— he rolled his hips into yours slowly, hands grasping yours, pinning both of you down, kissing the planes of your face slack from pleasure. It wasn't a powerplay like with the others, either. His hands are exceedingly gentle on your skin, holding you close, and closer, trying to merge the two of you together. Your own hand stroked his round cheek, resting soft against your palm. You were his doll and he was your boo bear, and that's all that mattered sometimes.
Vernon is the most peaceful of them all, never given to throwing you around like the others (or gnawing at you like Hoshi). It's simply enough to share company, and occassionally, cat reels. He holds you as casually as he does his phone, manspreading on the couch and setting you on his lap, wide hand palming the fat of your ass. The unspoken order—grind—hangs in the air, and you obediently oblige, pushing your hips against the seam of his pants, head falling into the perfect curve of his neck. He captures your lips with his, a soft, slick meeting. Unhurried, calm, like everything else was with him. He wasn't particularly inclined to pin you down and fuck you senseless (not that it didn't happen), but enjoyed the pressure of you on him, the gentle press of your hands against his chest. Afterwards, the two of you fall asleep together, hand in hand, space between your bodies like open fields ready for sowing.
Chan thinks you're the cutest ever, especially when snuggled up on his chest. He also thinks you're the cutest ever when you're overwhelmed and half dazed, making adorable little faces of pleasure and unable to speak from overstimulation. He likes making you whine into his neck and chest when his wandering hands squeeze a little too hard at your waist, ass and tits. Chan was always using his strength to his advantage, knowing it drove you insane, grinning cheekily when it did. Your pleasure was his, and he carved that knowledge in your mind until you knew it better than you knew yourself. Eye contact is a must for him, to the point where he stops moving if your eyes fall shut from the pleasure. His favourite activity? Placing you on one strong thigh, supported only by your entwined hands, and forcing you to grind and look at him until you're sobbing into his shoulder from exhaustion and frustration. His pants are soaked through, but you still couldn't find completion, needing more from him. Chan loved the desperate tears tracking down your face. Once he takes over, you wish you did it yourself— he's relentless, bouncing you on his thick thigh until you're cross-eyed and stupid from how good it feels. He keeps going, long after you've turned completely limp, using your body to vent his energy out. Afterwards, he collapses next you, and spoons you until you both fall asleep and wake up again, though you are significantly worse for wear. It's hard to stay mad when he flashes that boyish smile at you, with sweet kisses and promises of food.
a/n pt 2: if you see me post more fics with the same themes no you don't
feel free to ask if you want to see more from this universe (ot13 or member specific) because I have MULTIPLE scenarios that I haven't included here. Both fluff and smut reqs are accepted!
please send me asks/feedback/criticism/dms I do not bite
Hii so like could you either each member reaction or a drabble with woozi (whatever you're more comfortable writing) being sub and you riding them/him and making them cum over and over until they are milked up dry and cannot physically cum anymore
riding seventeen until they cant physically cum anymore (getting milked dry)
WARNINGS: smut, strong overstimulation, cock riding, sensitive content, may not be comfortable to some audiences, you're warned.
seungcheol: starts giggling. not in a “haha that tickles” way but in an “i am so fucked out of my mind i don’t even know what’s happening anymore” way. GETS IN DENIAL TOO!!. like, he’s still gripping your hips, trying to thrust up into you even though his dick is not responding. “no, i can—i can go again, baby, just—just gimme a sec—” except it’s been five minutes, and all he’s done is twitch pathetically underneath you. when you tell him he’s done, he gets all pouty, brows furrowed, whispering, “fuck… you really drained me dry?” like he just realized he isn’t the tank he thought he was.
jeonghan: not even moving anymore. fully limp, sprawled out, arms above his head, legs twitching, eyes hazy as he blinks at the ceiling. broken. defeated. ruined. you squeeze him and there’s nothing—just a weak, pitiful little tremor. “honey, i think you killed me,” he mutters, voice raspy as hell, before exhaling real deep, like he just finished a marathon. gives up completely, just lays there, blinking at you like you just rewired his entire system.
joshua: on the verge of tears. whimpering. shaking. clinging. you try to grind down on him again, but his hips jolt so hard, you swear he’s about to short-circuit. “baby—oh my god—i cant—icanticanticanticanicant” and it’s the most broken, high-pitched plea you’ve ever heard. his hands weakly push at your thighs, but they have no strength.
junhui: prob laughing in disbelief. giggling, eyes red and watery, his head lolled to the side, looking at you with this dazed-ass grin. “oh my god, i’m so done,” he breathes, chest heaving, abs clenching, still twitching with aftershocks. you grind down just a little, just to test, and his whole body spasms, a wrecked whimper escaping him before he laughs even harder, shaking his head like, “nah, babe, you actually ended me. oh? i cant feel my legs? ”
hoshi: BRO IS CLINGING FOR LIFE. good luck with the bruises, because he is full-on latching onto you, fingers digging into your skin, forehead pressed to your shoulder, legs raising in desperate spasms all the time, entire body trembling. “baby, baby, i—i can’t—oh my god—i swear~~~” his voice sooooo broken, and every time his dick twitches uselessly, he lets out the softest little sob, hiding his face in your neck like he’s so embarrassed that you just milked him out of existence.
wonwoo: completely unresponsive. eyes glazed over. mouth open. chest barely rising. looks like he just got hit by a bus. his arms are flopped uselessly at his sides, and when you move, his thighs twitch involuntarily. you squeeze around him and nothing happens—no pulse, no twitch, just nothing. “holy fuck,” he mutters like he just got his soul snatched straight out of his body.
woozi: shaking like a fucking leaf. wrists trembling, legs trembling, hands trembling, chin trembling, abs trembling, breath completely uneven, looking up at you like you just broke him beyond repair. “b-baby, i—i don’t have anything left—” and his voice cracks so hard, you actually feel a little bad. he tries to lift his hips, tries to respond to you, but his body refuses, and when you tell him it’s over, he just collapses back against the sheets. he's not a biiiig fan of aftercare, but that night, he will accept everything you can to repair his pieces together.
minghao: fully dissociating. bro is just staring at the ceiling, chest heaving, hands twitching, looking like he just had an out-of-body experience. you say his name and it takes him five full seconds to even register it. you squeeze around him, testing, and his head instantly tilts back, a wrecked groan falling from his lips, but there’s nothing left. “nah, that’s it, babe,” he breathes, completely spent, just laying there in absolute surrender.
mingyu: whimpering so much, you actually think he might start crying. clinging onto you, lips trembling, eyes wet, entire body twitching. “i—i can’t cum anymore—...?” and his voice breaks mid-sentence, you don't even know if its an affirmation or a quesiton bc he literally can’t. when you try to grind down one more time, his hips buck so hard, he yells, then collapses back, panting, eyes rolling back into his head.
seokmin: fully overstimulated beyond belief. whimpering, shaking, eyes glassy, hands weakly grabbing at your hips like he’s trying to slow you down but has no strength left. “b-baby, please—!!!” when you finally stop, he physically melts into the bed, body slack, chest heaving, just laying there shaking and completely ruined.
seungkwan: full-body twitching. thighs shaking, abs twitching, arms weakly draped over his face, hiding his wrecked expression. “fuck, baby, i’m—i’m done—” he gasps, his voice hoarse as hell, sounding like he just ran up a mountain. when you finally let him go, he just lets out the deepest, shakiest sigh, body going completely slack.
vernon: completely unresponsive part 2. bro is just laying there, eyes blank, mouth slightly open, looking like he just got his entire EXISTENCE reset. you say his name, and nothing. you touch his thigh, and nothing. when he finally blinks, he just tilts his head towards you, chest still rising and falling rapidly “you actually fucked me dry.”
chan: thought he could handle it but by the fourth orgasm, he was whimpering, “no more, no more—”, so now, he is completely silent. doesn’t even try to talk, just stares at you, mouth slightly open, eyes red form crying. he just lays there, staring at you like you just fried his last brain cell.
PAIRING: Hitman!Junhui x Spy!Reader
SUMMARY: You and Junhui have the perfect life together. Sure, you've failed to mention you're a spy for Clockwork and he never mentioned being a hitman for Protocol, but what couple doesn't lie? The lies work - until Junhui is tasked with killing you, his perfect wife who has secrets he never dreamed of.
TOTAL WC: 15,647
AU: 1920s Era, Action
GENRE: Established Relationship, 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: General violence, fighting, action sequences, shootouts, illegal activities especially for the 1920s, attempted assassination between spouses, mild depictions of blood and gore and death, mild bullet wounds and stitching, a lot of internalized guilt and shame, both characters are lying to each other about the same thing, some angst throughout, explicit sexual content including oral (f. rec), unprotected vaginal sex, mild overstim, mild praise kink, vaginal fingering, lil bit possessive during sex, multiple orgasms, multiple positions... I think that mostly covers it.
AN: I am so excited to be releasing this today! I hope that Junhui's debut on my blog is as good as the people deserve and lives up to the hype! More Junhui to come soon, but for now, enjoy my Mr. and Mrs. Smith inspired world :) This is not beta-read sorry :/
A/N 2: This is for the Puttin' on the Ritz collab by @studiosvt and I could not be more honored to be apart of this project.
MAIN M. LIST | ASK | PUTTIN' ON THE RITZ COLLAB
JUNHUI ALWAYS SAYS YOU'RE A GOOD WIFE, BUT YOU KNOW YOU'RE NOT. Junhui excuses a lot of your behavior though, because he is a good husband. He is everything a good husband ought to be - hard working, intelligent, kind, strong, and doting. Better even, is that he's not exactly a traditional husband, which might make the neighbors think he isn't a very good one. He doesn't ask questions, he doesn't chastise you when you keep unexplainably strange hours and business travels, and he doesn't get mad at you.
Ever.
You know you're not a good wife. You're a decent cook and you cook meals as often as you can. You always send holiday cards to his coworkers. You make sure to pack him lunches. You kiss him when he goes to work. You sit through tutoring sessions with him, letting him think he's teaching you Mandarin. You show up for all of the neighbors party's on his arm, and you leave him to his hobbies without pestering him to clean up the house or do chores.
But you're a liar and good wives don't lie to their husbands.
Outside, the city that never sleeps is wide awake. The cab rattles up Fifth Avenue, the horn blaring as a Model T Ford roars past, the chrome reflecting under the glow of the streetlamps. Overhead, the skyline is filled with shadowy outlines of the buildings, the Woolworth Building tallest among them, watching over the city. Your eyes snag on a billboard for Lucky Strikes, bright and bold against the night sky.
Glancing at the slim watch on your wrist, you realize you're late again. Your business meeting had run long, and though Junhui thinks you were off in Brooklyn selling medical equipment, it's a far cry from your real job spent tangled in coded messages and back-alley assassinations for Clockwork.
Your agency demands perfection. Your husband does not, thank the Lord. He had agreed to meet you at the Harringtons' holiday party in their Upper East Side townhouse - probably because he expected you to be late - and he was probably fending off back-handed compliments and inquiries about where is your slippery wife?
Junhui wouldn't mind. He never did.
That was because he was the perfect husband. Your perfect husband that you lived with in your perfect home, a graceful brownstone on East 77th Street. It was a late-Victorian building made of warm brown sandstone, flanked by wrought-iron gates and a manicured front stoop. It was the perfect home inside and out, with parquet floors and walls paneled in dark walnut and decorated with the perfect art.
It was a perfect home for a perfect couple. You'd chosen it together three years ago, shortly after your wedding when Junhui's investments in radio stocks and automobile companies began paying well. He traveled nearly as often as you did - Chicago, China, Paris, London - but the house waited in its perfect little shadow.
Pretending to be perfect was a requirement. Junui didn't have to play the part, though. You did.
The taxi pulls up to the curb and you pay the driver with a crisp bill. The air has a chill bite to it when you step out, the faint scent of coal smoke drifting from nearby chimneys. Your heels click on the pavement as you hurry up the steps, the fur stole around your shoulders scratching against the silk of your dress as you go.
You briefly touch the necklace at your throat to ensure it's there - a gift from your husband when he had visited his parents in Shenzhen. You'd changed in a hurry at an agency safe house downtown, but you made sure to look every bit the part of a dutiful wife to a successful financier, including wearing the beautiful and often thoughtful gifts he showered you in.
As you reach the door, it opens. You startle when you see Junhui smiling at you, as though he had been waiting by the window for your arrival to time welcoming you just right. Which he had been. You'd seen his familiar silhouette on the second floor, but you hadn't expected him to beat you.
"There you are," he says softly, smiling.
He's dressed in a tailored black dinner jacket that pulls tight across his broad shoulders, a crisp white shirt with a wing collar underneath. The silk bow knotted at his throat is knotted with precision, but you reach up to tweak it anyway, just because you can.
Junhui's hair is slicked back, the lamps in the hallway turning his skin gold. Your heart skips a little as he escorts you inside, a strand of dark hair escaping his slick back to brush endearingly over his brows. You can't help but stare a little at his face - handsome and expressive, and a large part of the reason you'd noticed him at a gala five years ago.
A little flare of possessiveness goes through you. You wonder if he has any idea how all the wives of his friends wish they were married to him instead, the handsome and mysterious businessman from overseas.
As always, he doesn't ask where you've been. He never does. Instead, he reaches for your hand and leans forward, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. "You look stunning, tiānshǐ. The Harringtons will be envious. Mrs. Harrington was asking about you - said she missed your deviled eggs at the bridge club."
You force a smile, the guilt twisting like a knife. "I'm sorry I'm late. The client in Brooklyn was particular."
He waves it off, helping you out of your stole before hanging it in the hall closet. "No need to say sorry, my love. I finished up early at the office today. Seungcheol was in a mood about the margin calls, but nothing a good lunch at Delmonico's couldn't smooth over."
Your heart squeezes when he chuckles and shuts the closet door. If your husband had any idea how often your business dealings brushed against the very financial world he navigated, he'd be dizzy and confused for days.
Junhui is intelligent, which makes your role as his wife more challenging than most people of your profession were willing to take on. He dissected market trends, turning modest inheritances through calculated risks in utilities and aviation stocks. He's the kind of husband who notices things but doesn't say anything, and you love him for it.
You shouldn't love him. You do anyway.
It's hard not to. He's unwaveringly kind, always tipping waiters generously, remembering birthdays for neighbors and secretaries, volunteering on the weekends to tutor kids in English and Mandarin alike. And doting - flowers delivered just because, notes tucked into your pockets, evenings spent rousing you from the couch to move you to bed.
And he is stuck with you for a wife. He calls you a good wife, but good wives don't lie. Spies do, though.
The Harringtons' part waits, full of jazz and bootleg champagne. Another evening of playing the perfect couple. Another evening of secrets.
Inside the Harringtons' home glows bright against the December night. The air is thick with the scent of pine from the massive Christmas tree in the corner, cigar smoke, and sweet perfume. A jazz trio plays in the corner of the parlor where Junhui escorts you, his hand steady and warm at the small of your back.
The moment you step into the room, heads turn. Not dramatically, but you feel every eye flicker to you - you're trained to know that kind of thing - every gaze appraising.
"There she is!" Charles Harrington’s voice booms from across the room. "The elusive Mrs. Wen at last. We were beginning to think you'd been kidnapped!"
The small circle around him chuckles quietly. You smile but he has no idea that you have been kidnapped. Thrice, in fact, when you were younger and less experienced with the agency. Once recently on purpose as part of an interrogation.
"What a ridiculous notion, Charles," you laugh back, approaching with Junhui. "Only delayed by a very stubborn client. I'm afraid Brooklyn doesn't keep the same hours as Manhattan."
"Brooklyn," Caroline Harrington scoffs. She glides toward her husband in a gown of silver lamé that catches the light. "You're so terribly modern, darling. Most of us wouldn't be caught dead on that side of the bridge at night."
Junhui laughs that low, easy sound of his, dispelling tension before it can gather. "She's braver than most."
You think your husband would make a good spy. He works the room without even trying, nodding here and shaking hands there, dipping to compliment women appropriately and warmly. People like him because he makes them feel seen without ever making them feel studied, which is important in crowds like this.
You accept a teacup from a passing tray and sniff lightly. It's bootleg gin with a twist of lemon and when you take a sip, you wince. It's not very good gin, but with the laws around alcohol, who really can get good gin? You sip while Junhui drifts toward a knot of brokers near the fireplace,
Caroline tucks her arm through yours, steering you toward the buffet. "Come, let me show you what everyone's been raving about. The oysters came in this morning straight from the Sound. By the way, your deviled eggs were the talk at bridge club last week - which you missed. You'll have to give me the recipe."
"It's nothing special. Just a little paprika and too much mustard."
"Nonsense." Caroline flutters her fingers at you. They're covered in rings, a mix of antique and new. "Everything you touch turns gold, it seems. Junhui is a lucky man. And so patient, too! Most husbands would be positively feral if their wives were running around Brooklyn."
You feel the comment for what it is - a gentle probe. You're used to the women trying to ferret out your secrets, all of them more eager than the last to unwrap the mystery that is Junhui's wife. You meet her smile like you always do, unwavering as you sip your gin.
"He's very understanding," you reply. "I'm the lucky one."
She hums, agreeing but not liking your dodging of her question. She won't press until she's had more cocktails, at least. Caroline is not the boldest woman in the circle of people you tentatively call friends, but after a few drinks, she'll be demanding answers you won't give.
Across the room, Junhui catches your gaze. He tilts his head slightly, a silent question - are you alright? You nod once and he gives you a small, private smile. You smile back, heart still racing a little.
Stupid, traitorous heart.
The music shifts and turns the energy in the room, couples dancing. One of Junhui's friends - Chan, as you recall his name - offers you a dance. Junhui winks at you and you sigh, letting the younger man pull you into a dance.
You don't like dancing, but the muscle memory kicks in. Clockwork had you trained in all manner of skills, including dancing. It was a useful skill when you were at galas and parties, using it to move about the room as another form of surveillance.
You can't help but do it now, scanning the room over Chan's shoulder to take everything in. There's a banker who had been too friendly with a certain German attaché last month, a woman who touches her pearl choker like a nervous tick, a man in the corner who hasn't smiled a single time because his wife is giggling with a group of finance men, and there's Junhui, watching you watch the room.
When the song ends, your partner bows to you and you thank him for the dance, drifting toward your husband as he turns to you with another cup of gin. You step close to him and he leans down, breath fanning your ear as he murmurs, "Why is it you always look ready to start a coup?"
"It was only a small one."
He smiles and kisses your temple. "And this is why I don't play bridge with you."
"You don't know how to play bridge, Jun."
"I'd learn for you."
There he goes again. You don't know what to do with him. This song and dance is both familiar and strange. You'd married Junhui because you could and because it was allowed within your line of work. Marriages made people of your skill set seem normal. Harmless. And Junhui had been vetted and cleared, as normal as they could get.
You hadn't intended to marry him because you liked him, but you certainly did. Which is why you felt rotten guilt every time you thought too much about it, how he had no idea that his wife had an entire double life eliminating people that a secret agency deemed too dangerous to continue living.
Because that's mostly what Clockwork was about. World advancement and keeping humanity in a forward propulsion was Clockwork's main goal, which meant that the agency had its fingers in all manner of realms: political, financial, corporation, social, casual, cultural, environmental. There is no shortage of influences across the globe that your agency doesn't have, and you are only one of its thousands of agents.
You sip your gin, letting the burn ground you. The party swirls on, louder and looser now. Someone has opened the French doors to the terrace and cold air rushes in, carrying the scent of snow and distant coal smoke. A few brave souls venture into the cold to smoke, the acrid smell of cigarettes drifting in with their laughter.
Junhui eventually sets his cup on a side table, turning to face you with a soft grin.
"What?" You ask, laughing as he pries the cup from your hand to set it down.
"Dance with me?"
It's not really a question but you nod anyway as he takes your hand to draw you into the slow sway of the next song. His palm is warm at your waist, his other hand cradling yours, fingers rough. You always thought it was strange that he had such rough hands for a financier. You ignore it, resting your cheek against his shoulder, breathing in the bay rum and the faint trace of cigar smoke.
"You're quiet tonight," he notes softly, switching to his native tongue. You smile. It feels like you get a part of him no one else does. "Are you alright?"
"Long day."
It was. You'd killed a man today, but you can't tell him that. So you settle for this, swaying against him with the steady beat of his heart pumping underneath your cheek. He doesn't push you - he never does.
You look up at him - really look. The soft glow of the chandelier turns his eyes warm and dark, the single escaped strand of hair still brushing his brow. For a single, reckless second, you want to tell him everything. You want to tell him how you'd been recruited right after you turned eighteen to an agency more secret and elusive than the CIA. You want to tell him sometimes your weeks on trips are spent overseas hunting people down. Extracting information. That even when you're halfway around the world, you hope your gentle husband is reading a book in his study.
You don't tell him. You can't.
Resting your head against his chest again, you think how nice it is to have the perfect husband and how sad it is that he has a rotten wife.
-
The clock strikes midnight as Junhui stands in the alley behind the speakeasy on Mulberry Street, a siren wailing in the distance. The air smells like the rotted garbage coming from the flowing bins and the metallic tang of the rusted fire escapes above him.
His gloved hands are steady, keeping his hands dry from the warm blood that flows from the neck of the man in his clutches. The Clockwork agent gurgles, wet and desperate before he sags forward. Junhui lets him crumple against the cold brick wall, blood spattering as he goes. The body hits the ground soundlessly - no noise, just how Junhui prefers it.
Silence is Protocol's highest priority, and tonight, he is very much that.
He wipes the blade methodically on the man's coat, noting that it's a nice make from Paris. He only knows fashion because you like fashion, and he thinks that maybe the next time he's in Paris he should grab one himself. You'd like that, he's sure.
Junhui tucks the weapon back into the hidden sheath at his ankle and stands. His pulse is even and his breathing is controlled despite the adrenaline rushing in his veins. He scans the hallway, but the only witness to the murder is a stray cat prowling near the dumpster with luminous eyes.
As usual, it was too easy. Clockwork operatives are often arrogant, too reliant on their skills and their agency's aura of inevitability. They always were. Junhui stares down at the man with a flicker of irritation. The self-righteous architects at Clockwork think they're better than everyone, molding the future and the world to their vision of engineered perfection.
Sighing, Junhui straightens his tight, the silk smooth under his fingers. You'd bought him this tie for Christmas a few weeks ago. He makes sure to wear it often and to make sure you see that he's wearing it. He likes when you buy him things, even though he certainly deserves nothing for you. You're the perfect wife buying her seemingly perfect husband gifts, but if you had half the idea of the rot inside of him, you might not spoil him so much.
He steps out into the alley, merging into the foot traffic on Mulberry, the chill January wind whipping at his overcoat. Horns blare from taxis on Canal Street and the faint sizzle of chestnuts from a vendor's cart reaches him as he walks, hands shoved in his pockets to keep the cold out.
The walk to the subway is brisk. Businessmen stagger from speakeasies, ties askew, breath fogging in the cold. Junhui pauses to buy a newspaper from a newsboy, tucking it under his arm as he goes. Blending in is as important as possible. No one knows there's blood on his gloves and a murder weapon hidden at his ankle.
Protocol had trained him well. They'd recruited him early at university as an economics theory major, his mind and intelligence surgical - exactly the type of agents they like. His background in martial arts through his childhood proved lethal as well, making him the perfect blend of already dangerous and easy to teach.
He'd risen quickly, specializing in clean hits that required little glamour or grandeur. Being unnoticed was his preference, and he was good at it.
Except when it came to you. You had noticed him at that art gala five years ago, wandering over to him and asking him what he thought of the art. He'd recited something rote from his flashcards he had looked at in case someone had asked him his thoughts, but he hadn't expected to need them. You surprised him like that all the time, and he surprised himself by wanting to see more of you after that night.
Surprised himself even more when he asked you to marry him.
Junhui's life isn't exactly fit for marriage, but it works. You're busy as a medical supplies seller, traveling around the boroughs and often other cities. It's a strange job for a woman to have, but he doesn't care. It keeps you happy and out of the house when he's gone, which is really all that matters.
He boards the uptown train, finding a seat in a half-empty car that rocks northward as it takes off. The lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows on the faces around him. He takes it all in with a single sweep, a habit that he will never let go. No one here pays attention to him - there's a pair of young lovers murmuring in the corner and a single hotel worker asleep, his head against the window.
Junhui leans back against the vibrating window, the cold glass pressing through his coat to his shoulder. There's no one here who can give him any trouble, so he shuts his eyes for a bit and lets his mind wander back to you.
You're probably asleep by now, curled under the heavy quilt in the brownstone you share together. The image brings a faint smile to his face. You're a good wife, despite the whispers from the neighbors about your erratic schedule and why you have a job at all. Women don't need jobs.
But your job makes you happy, and Junhui is in the business of keeping you happy.
On more than one occasion Charles Harrington has told Junhui he should be asking more questions about a woman who travels around Brooklyn at night. Junhui doesn't ask questions, though. He never does. You don't ask questions about why a financier needs to come home after midnight from meeting with a private client, so shouldn't he return the favor?
Sometimes he wonders if you have affairs. He can't help it. He wouldn't blame you if you did. You say and do all the right things - and yet Junhui isn't around nearly as much as he should be. Plus, you're not very intimate. Junhui's guilt doesn't let himself touch you often, too afraid to kiss you the way he wants and breathe you in like he desires, knowing that it's the ultimate betrayal to do so while lying to you.
Husbands shouldn't be liars.
But no, Junhui dismisses the idea of you stepping out on him. It's not in your character. You're loyal and steadfast, and you like to pack notes in his lunches. You send holiday cards to his invented coworkers, let him delve into hobbies without a word of complaint, even if it's piano sessions that stretch into the night. You never complain about the lack of intimacy, never push for more.
You're just you. Perfect.
The train jolts to a stop at 77th Street, the doors opening with a hiss. He exits into the quieter residential part of the city, the wind carrying the promise of snow and the gas lamps lighting the way. Your home waits at the end of the block, the windows dark save for a single gold glow of the hall lamp you always leave on for him.
He smiles. It's a small thing, but it tugs at his heartstrings as he ascends the stairs. Coming home to you is far too easy when his marriage to you is mostly supposed to be a cover up. It makes him look normal in a world full of couples - that's what he told Protocol, anyway. It wasn't out of some silly attempt to make a normal life or anything beyond that except… he does like you.
Inside the house is dark. His shoes click on the parquet floors and he can smell lavender that you'd probably been burning again. He hands his overcoat in the closet and shuts it as silently as he can before he moves upstairs like a shadow.
The bedroom door is ajar, a sliver of moonlight spilling through. He pushes it open gently and sees you asleep on your side, one arm draped over his empty pillow, the quilt pulled to your chin against the winter chill. You look ethereal, your lips parted faintly, the tiniest snore leaving you.
Fondness surges through him. He has no idea how he ended up with someone like you, how he, with hands forever marked with violence, ended up with someone as kind and patient as you are. He creeps over to you and gives you a brief kiss on the brow, unable to help himself. It rouses you from sleep immediately but he hushes you.
"Y'okay?" You mumble.
"I'm fine, I'm sorry I'm home late. I'm going to shower."
"Okay."
He smiles at you. "Go to sleep, my love."
"Mhmm."
You thud back against the pillow and he smiles before heading over to the adjoining bathroom. He waits to turn on the light until he has the door shut behind him, unwilling to wake you again. He avoids looking in the mirror - he knows what he'll see: young, handsome, incredibly manicured. The perfect man who seems unassuming. It's all an act, the sins hidden beneath the curated surface.
Junhui strips methodically: jacket over the hamper, shirt unbuttoned to reveal the faint scar from a botched hit a few years ago. Thankfully it had happened before you, and he was able to use the excuse of surgery when you asked about the scar.
Steam billows when he turns the shower on as hot as he can get it. He feels like it's important to burn away the sin of the kill when he comes home to you, too afraid to get into bed like you'll smell the blood on his skin or sense the darkness in his shadow.
As he lathers soap, he thinks about the Clockwork agent briefly - the surprise in his face, the bubbling sound he'd made when the knife went in. Another life ended, another contract closed.
Protocol owns him. They have since they recruited him. Junhui never expected it to matter, but as the lies pile up, he feels worse and worse about it. You're as safe as can be with him, but sometimes he wonders if it would be a better life to give you over to someone who can be there for you more often.
When the shower is over, the silence is deafening. He rushes to pull his pajamas on, itching to be in the bed that smells like you and near your warmth. He exits the bathroom, letting his eyes adjust to the dark bedroom, smiling when he sees you're still sleeping.
He gets into the bed and you murmur incoherently in your sleep, shifting closer to him. He wraps an arm around you without thinking and your warmth seeps into him, chasing the alley's chill away.
For a fleeting moment, he lets himself forget the blade and the alley, pretends the kill didn't happen. Here in this bed with you, he's just Mr. Wen and you're Mrs. Wen. He's your husband, the financier, nothing shady, nothing nefarious.
It won't last long. Tomorrow morning he has to find an excuse to tell you he has to leave for Paris in two days. The assignment had come before he'd even completed his hit tonight, a terse telegram in one of the many safe houses assigned to him.
Two days to prepare for a hit isn't much, but he's used to it. It isn't a lot to go off of either, which meant it is a high profile hit. They hadn't even given him a name or affiliation, and he isn't sure what look for the flower meant. Junhui is smart though, and he has a feeling he'll know what it means when he sees it.
Tomorrow, he'll tell you over breakfast. Apologies, love. It's off to Paris. You'll nod and kiss him easily and pack his lunch without question. The cycle will repeat.
Junhui closes his eyes and pulls you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. You sigh and melt into him, and for now, it's enough. But tomorrow, the lies resume like clockwork.
He smirks at the joke before finally giving into sleep.
-
Junhui perches on the narrow roof of a building overlooking the Île de la Cité, directly across from the Notre-Dame. The sacred dome of the church looms over him like a giant while the Seine slithers below, its twin towers clawing at the sky.
The wind coming off the river is sharper than he expected, the damp chill of water and the faint rot of algae wafting to him. Below, Rue du Cloître is a churning river of people. Parisians in heavy coats hurry past the cathedral's facade while tourists cluster together and snap photos with box cameras.
It's hard to hear anything up here with the wind, but the clatter of hooves on cobblestones and the shrill honk of a black car trying to navigate the narrow bridge echoes to him as he finishes his set up, adrenaline pumping already.
He's set up on the flat roof of an old ecclesiastical residence, the kind of old and rotted place no one looks at. He wishes he had an overcoat, the thin shirt doing very little to keep him warm. Warm is a luxury he can't afford today, dressed in grey to blend in with his surroundings with a compression scarf pulled up to cover his lower face.
A rifle rests steady on its bipod, a sleek prototype from Protocol with a silencer and a modified Berthier with a German-made telescopic sight that lets him count the threads in a jacket on his victim if he needs to. It's obscene in its precision, and it required him several forged and real documents to get it through security and onto the private plane he took to get here.
Junhui watches below, shivering in the early morning. He's been here since first light, watching the cathedral steps, the parvis, the bridge. The crowd thickens as the morning wears on, and he watches a priest in a black cassock moving with purpose toward the side door.
No flower though. He's not sure what exactly it means, other than he'll know when he sees it. Not even the women here are dressed in floral, but the fleur de lis is everywhere. Somehow, he thinks that's not what the message meant, though. So he waits, mind straying errantly to you on occasion.
He'd felt his usual stab of guilt when he told you he was going to Paris. You'd simply smiled and told him to bring you back something pretty. The perfect wife, letting him disappear like always. He doesn't deserve you. He thinks he never has.
Sighing, he moves the scope, strafing right and then left. A flash of gold flints in the sun, small but unmistakable. He thinks nothing of it first, adjusting the scope to fix the focus. He's got the scope on a woman's throat, the delicate chain of her necklace glinting in the light. The lotus pendant on the thin chain shifts as she walks and Junhui's blood turns cold.
The pendant looks exactly like the one he'd purchased you in Shenzhen. For my wife, he'd told the jeweler, smiling because you remind him of a lotus - pure and resilient. He adjusts the scope again, heart pounding as he zooms out.
And sees you.
His stomach drops. The rifle trembles for the first time in years and he readjusts, hoping his proximity to the church lends him a miracle as he prays that it's a trick of the light, that a stranger is wearing the same necklace. But the profile sharpens and he sees the line of your jaw, the way you tilt your head, the small scar on your chin you'd told him was from a childhood fall.
You're here. In Paris. At the exact coordinates that Protocol had given him, at the exact time. With a flower he gave you.
You stop in the middle of the parvis, suddenly still. The crowd flows around you like water around a rock, a vendor bumping into your shoulder. You don't react, though. Your head turns, sweeping the crowd like you sense danger. Junhui's heart is hammering, his hands shaking as he watches you through the scope until you suddenly lift your eyes, sweeping the rooftops.
Your gaze lands impossibly on his position. He knows you can't see him - there's no way. He's three stories up with the sun at his back, and his in shadow. But he recognizes the look on your face, a predator suddenly aware there is something bigger and scarier than them hunting. Your shoulders go stiff and he tracks the way your hand twitches toward your coat pocket.
Panic slams into him. Not you. Not the woman who kisses him goodnight, who leaves notes in his lunch, who makes the brownstone feel like home instead of a safe house. The rifle is suddenly too heavy in his hands. How can you be the target? And why are you here? Only a single answer makes sense, and he cannot even think the words, lest they come true.
Suddenly, you bolt. It makes Junhui lurch, jerking the scope to track your movements but you immediately blend into the crowd. He curses and tears the rifle away, shaking as he breaks the weapon down and shoves the pieces into its satchel with frantic speed.
Gravel scrapes under his boots as he bolts for the stairwell, heart hammering. The stairs are dark and narrow but he takes two at a time, bursting onto the street level and startling a flock of doves. The crowd is thick, bodies pressing close. He weaves through them, shouldering the satchel as he scans for you.
Terror grips him. What if you disappear? What if Protocol has a backup for you? What if you're here to kill him?
He cuts through a narrow passage off Rue du Cloître. He spots you up ahead, your coat flashing as you turn into a shadowed courtyard entry. He accelerates, boots splashing in shallow puddles, his hand slipping into his pocket for the concealed gun on instinct.
He steps into the courtyard mouth just as you whirl, a gun in hand pointed directly at him. His heart squeezes painfully, both of you freezing. A thousand emotions flit across your face in that second, the gun trembling in your hand as you stare at him, open mouthed. You look as terrified as he feels.
"Junhui?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, voice cracking.
A patch of sun hits you between roofs. You don't squint in the light, trained to stare at him. The light catches on your necklace, the lotus looking right back at him. Find the flower. He sure has, he just hadn't expected it to be his wife.
"Hi, love."
-
You circle the parvis of Notre-Dame slowly, the cobblestones uneven beneath your low heels. The cathedral looms above, its twin towers dark against the pale sky. Gargoyles leer down at you, watching you as though they know what you're here to do. Perhaps they do. You're not particularly religious, but the marvel of Notre-Dame inspires a healthy respect for religion as you eye the stone facades.
The air is sharp with the smell of the Seine, the damp stone and river mud serving as a faint undercurrent to the coal smoke from barges sliding past on the water. Tourists cluster together near the main facade, collars turned up against the wind. You duck your head as you walk, your necklace swinging with every step.
Clockwork's instructions had been simple, delivered through the encrypted telegram in your hotel room: enter the cathedral, eliminate the woman in the blue coat near the altar, no witnesses, vanish.
Bone-deep anxiety has clung to you since you docked in La Havre. Junhui had mentioned his business trip was in Paris as well, though you know he's off doing finance deals or something in the Bourse. He's somewhere buried in tickers and ledges and here you are walking toward a holy place to will a stranger.
Still, the feeling won't leave you.
The anxiety gets worse, turning to a sharp prickle at the back of your neck, the same instinct that has saved you in back alleys and safe houses over the years. It's the instinct that tells you someone is watching you.
You pause near a vendor cart selling postcards of the rose window, pretending to browse. Your eyes sweep the crowd, but there's no one obvious or lingering too long. You move again, circling as the wind picks up, carrying the scent of chestnuts.
The prickle sharpens.
You stop in the middle of the parvis, the crowd flowing around you. A vendor bumps into your shoulder and murmurs a quick apology in French, but you don't listen to him. You tilt your head, eyes lifting slowly as you scan the rooftops across the way. There's a bunch of old ecclesiastical buildings, their grey roofs slick with frost and chimneys.
Sunlight catches something - metal bright and brief. Your heart lurches when you realize it's the unmistakable flash of a rifle scope glinting from a high vantage point.
A gunman. Your stomach drops. Clockwork hadn't mentioned backup, which means this is opposition. Protocol, most likely. Their agents have been trying to kill you for years, but the paid thugs aren't nearly as refined as they think they are.
Without thinking twice, you bolt.
You weave through the tourists, shoulder clipping a man, apologies lost in your flight. The parvis gives way to a narrow street and you fash down it, your breath coming out in short gasps as you run, coat flapping. You hear nothing but your own pulse as you turn right and then left, ducking under an archway and past shuttered shops with faded signs.
What you need is a dead end, somewhere to wait and eliminate whoever follows. The gun in your pocket is loaded with two shots - enough to get the job done.
The alley narrows further, the walls high and mossy, sunlight barely reaching you. You spot a courtyard up ahead, a small and forgotten space behind an old residence, the iron gate half opened with ivy crawling over it. Perfect. You slip inside, drawing your gun and turning, ready.
Footsteps echo, fast and deliberate. You ready yourself, widening your stance as a shadow appears at the gate and -
Your husband stands there in a gray shirt, compression scarf pulled down around his neck, pistol in hand but low. His hair is mused from the wind, strands falling in his eyes that widen when they see you - shock, followed immediately by something raw and pain.
You freeze.
"Junhui?" The word comes out cracked, a million thoughts racing through your mind.
He doesn't move closer, gun still raised. "Hi, love."
The courtyard feels too small, the walls pressing in. The damp air is thick in your throat, and the lotus necklace burns against your skin like a brand. You stare at him - your husband - the man who kisses your forehead, who plays piano in the parlor, who never asks where you've been. Here. In Paris. With a rifle bag on his shoulder.
The pieces crash together.
"You were on the roof." Your voice was shaking. "That was you."
He nods. "Assignment."
The word turns your stomach to acid. Assignment. Not finance, not stocks. Assignment.
"Protocol?"
He swallows, gun lowering a little as he nods. "Clockwork?"
Understanding hits you like a physical blow. His agency has hated yours and vice versa for years. Clockwork's vision of controlled progress doesn't quite match with Protocol's military pragmatism, and somehow despite both agencies vetting, the two of you have married enemies.
Or have you? Has he known all along? You're not sure, but the horror on his face is either well practiced or genuine. You don't lower the gun just in case, despite the fact that he sags, defeated.
"You're here to kill me," you tell him. It isn't a question.
"I didn't know it was you. Until I saw the necklace. The flower." You don't move. "I'm not going to kill you."
"How do I know that?"
"I guess you don't." He puts his gun in his coat pocket and holds both of his hands up, a white flag. "Kill me if you wish."
His words hit like a slap. You recoil physically, your arm dropping as you lower the weapon. He seems a little relieved, but you're horror stricken. Kill him? You don't think you could, even if your life was on the line. Which it is, the two of you facing each other, breath misting the air.
"What about you?" He asks, drawing you from your whirlwind thoughts. "Why are you here?"
"Assigned to some woman. I obviously didn't complete it." You tuck your gun away carefully, eyeing him carefully. "I saw the flash on your scope."
He frowns. "The sun was behind me." You lift a shoulder. You're unsure what reflected off his scope, but perhaps it had been divine intervention after all. "We have to get moving. They're expecting confirmation. If we don't, they'll send someone else."
"We?"
He nods, checking a watch. "You're my wife."
"I'm… I'm Clockwork. You're Protocol."
He lowers his wrist and looks at you - really looks at you. You study him, your heart hammering, a dull ache in your chest blooming. He's still Junhui - at least he looks like it. He's your husband with warm brown eyes, who speaks softly and loves to kiss you on the forehead, who is patient and kind and steady.
And apparently he's a contract killer. But he didn't kill you. You hope it means something.
"You're my wife," he says again, softer this time.
Junhui extends his hand, slow and careful. He's wearing gloves but you take a few tentative steps toward him, placing your hand in his. His fingers close around yours, and even through the leather, they're warm. You step closer and he pulls you through the gate and into the alley, keeping you close.
"We're going to need to run," he murmurs looking down at you. "Just trust me enough to get us somewhere. Then we can talk. Can you do that?"
You think about it. Your training is telling you to kill him and run, to save yourself. But every instinct you have that is not the rained spy is looking at him - the man you married, the man who has rubbed your back when you were sick and warmed your hands in his pocket - is looking at you with nothing but honesty.
It's stupid. You know it is. Protocol isn't known for their spies as much as they are for their hitmen - Junhui would have been taught to blend in and run, but they're not an intelligence agency the way Clockwork is. They aren't taught to manipulate to the degree you are.
So you nod. You see the relief pass on his face as he tugs you gently, both of you breaking out into a run.
The city presses in, the narrow passageways smelling like damp stone and yesterday's rain. Your breath syncs with his, footsteps matching, the panic there but shared now. Not once does he let go of your hand, tugging you out of the way of a passing bike and into the safety of his arms for a brief moment.
Junhui leads you to a small doorway behind a boulangerie, the scent of fresh bread wafting out. He pulls out a compact telegraph key from his pocket, and for a second you think he's going to notify Protocol he has you in his hands. Your heart starts to slam in your ribcage, realizing that the love you have for him - that you're not supposed to - has been your undoing. Still, you don't reach for your weapon, unwilling to kill him even if-
He catches your panic. "I'm telling them you're dead," he notes, voice dry.
"Oh."
You do the same, tapping out a coded message to your operatives at Clockwork. It'll only buy you hours - maybe a single day. You're not sure.
"We need to get out of Paris," he says. "Home will be dangerous, but if we're going to survive we need to go there first." You hate that you agree. "Le Bourget? Private flight?"
"Yes."
Junhui hails a taxi near the river, the water dark and choppy under the bridges as an afternoon storm rolls in. You sit close to Junhui as the driver navigates the city, but not touching, the space between you heavy. Your mind spins - the brownstone waiting back home, its walnut panels, the piano - a life of mutual lies catching like tinder and burning down around you.
-
Le Bourget airfield is bustling with activity in the afternoon gloom, hangars looming like metal beasts under the gray sky. The smell of fuel hangs heavy in the air and the hum of propellers whirring buzzes in your ears as you cross the wet tarmac.
Junhui's hand hovers at your elbow as you walk, not quite touching. You feel the loss of his touch acutely, a small ache at the sudden distance between you. You don't know where you stand now, the man you've known for the last five years suddenly a complete stranger.
Somehow, you feel it only serves you right.
Junhui leads you to a waiting plane, the engines warming with a low rumble that vibrates through you. The plane is small, the cabin cramped with leather seats worn from use, the air inside tinged with tobacco. You climb aboard, settling into a seat by the window, rain streaking the glass like tears. Junhui sits across from you, the space between your knees too close in the small plane, knocking awkwardly.
Tension threads your shoulders as the plane readies for takeoff. You feel exposed and out of control - it was Junhui who arranged the flight, assuring you that he could do it discreetly and safely. Still, there was no guarantee there were Clockwork or Protocol agents already working on knocking your plane out of the sky and into the Atlantic.
The thought unsettles you as the plane taxis and takes off, your ears popping as the city falls away below Paris, a patchwork of stone and river. You watch it shrink, the Eiffel Tower a distant spike on the horizon.
Your mind whirls like the propellers, skipping between the flash of his scope and your agencies turning you against the other. But mostly your thoughts are on the man across the way from you. Your husband. The man you thought was perfect, who called you tiānshǐ and kissed your forehead. The man who is Protocol, a killer like you, but from the opposite side.
You weren't supposed to, but you'd fallen for him along the way. You wonder now if that was on purpose, if he had lured you into his arms to act as a shield of normalcy. Your intention had been to seem normal and married, but you'd fallen for the way he smiled at your broken Mandarin, the way he kept the notes in his lunches, the quiet evenings where he'd play piano.
But now? Doubt creeps in, cold and insidious. Was any of it real for him?
The plane levels out, the rumble steady now. You turn from the window and look at him. He's watching you already, expression unreadable.
"How'd you charter this without Protocol?" You ask. "Sounds difficult."
He hesitates, then nods. "Someone in Interpol owed me a favor. From a job a few years back. Clean flight, no records."
Interpol. It shouldn't surprise you - he's Protocol after all, with connections in shadows you never imagined. It's another small layer peeled back, revealing the man you didn't realize was your husband all this time.
The cabin is silent for a long moment, just the hum of the plane and the rain on the fuselage. Finally alone, the questions he seems to be holding bubble to the surface.
"Can we talk?" He switches languages, watching you dubiously.
"Of course we can. You first."
His lip twitches. "So you do speak it fluently." You flush, caught. "You learned way too fast. I'm a good teacher but your accent was always good."
"I speak seven languages."
"I speak eight."
"Show off."
He leans back, the smile fading as he looks you up and down. "It started in college," he tells you. "I did study economics at Columbia. I was good at it. Money was tight with my family in Shenzhen and me in school. Protocol approached my senior year and said I had potential. Offered training, pay, and a way to send money home." He pauses, fingers drumming. "Martial arts from childhood helped. I specialized in going unnoticed."
You listen, heart aching. The man he describes is the one you married - intelligent, steady. But now this one is darker. Something else.
"And me?" You ask. "At the gala?
"I was there for a job," he admits. "You approached me and asked about the art and I recited flashcards but… I didn't anticipate you. You were smart and funny, and I liked you. After I checked that you were safe - which was wrong, I should add - the agency realized marrying you made me look normal. Protocol approved."
The words land like a punch even though you saw it coming. Cover. Normal. Not love. Not the way you'd fallen for him, piece by piece. You'd thought maybe it was real - that despite your lies, he loved you. But for him, it was a necessity. Fondness? Sure. But you were a tool to appear harmless.
It serves you right, you suppose, but sadness swells. You've been in love with him for years - or were, before this. The man who called you angel, who never pressed for intimacy despite your guilt keeping you from touching him most nights. And here you are expecting him to love you when he did the very thing you were supposed to do.
He's succeeded where you have failed.
It breaks something in you and you cross your arms over your chest, suddenly needing it like armor. If he notices, he doesn't say anything.
"Your turn," he urges.
You swallow, nodding as you start, your throat tight. "Clockwork recruited me when I turned eighteen. Right after high school. Saw potential in my test scores or whatever. Trained me in everything - codes, killing, covers." You pause and look at the wedding ring on your hand. "The gala was a surveillance job. You stood out - handsome, different. I approached on impulse, which was rare for me. Didn't intend to keep seeing you until I did, and Clockwork thought a husband would help me blend in."
He nods, absorbing it. The plane dips slightly, turbulence rattling the cabin. You grip the armrest, mind still spinning. Three years of marriage, built on agency approvals. Lies on lies. And now, exposed.
Neither of you speak for a while. You watch out the window at the clouds, the grey Atlantic stretching below. Your stomach is in knots, the truth between you doing nothing to seal the gap. It only pushes you further apart.
Finally, Junhui breaks the silence. "I don't want to kill you."
"I don't want to kill you either."
"The agencies won't stop. We're loose ends now."
You nod, the reality settling like lead. They'll hunt. Aggressively. No mercy for traitors.
"I fear we're at a deadlock."
He nods. "We have to escape their reach."
"How?"
The urge to reach for him is strong. You don't, though. Not now that you know it's not the same, that this isn't the same for him as it is for you.
"Collect what we need. Cash, papers. Then go our separate ways. Safer that way and harder to track."
The words slice through you. Separate ways. It breaks your heart, a sharp, quiet pain that steals your breath. You'd imagined - stupidly, perhaps - a life together, even now. Running away as one. But he's right. And perhaps it's better for him to be fond and not in love so it makes this easier, to be at a deadlock in which no progress can be made.
"Agreed," you nod.
He looks at you, something unreadable in his eyes, but you turn to the window, watching the clouds. You reserve the part of you that wants to beg him to stay, knowing you don't deserve it and he doesn't want to.
The flight drags, hours of tension and unspoken words. You land in New York under cover of night, sleet slashing the tarmac. When you step out of the plane and he hails a cab, you know nothing will ever be the same.
-
The plane touches down with a jolt. Junhui looks at you but you're staring out of the window, face turned away. The cabin feels too small, air thick with the tension of unspoken words and the faint scent of fuel seeping in from outside.
Junhui stands first, offering a hand to help you up. You stand up on your own, movements reserved, eyes not quite meeting his. It makes his heart squeeze, knowing now that everything was a lie.
He'd fallen in love with you slowly and unintentionally. He'd thought maybe it was mutual - always felt guilty for it - but now? Doubt poisons everything. You're Clockwork - were Clockwork. The marriage was a cover. He was convenient. Safe. Normal.
The sadness twists in him like a blade, even though he was supposed to be doing the same thing to you. But for him it had turned real. Foolish, really. But he's glad there's enough fondness in you to let him live, to part ways.
He'd suggested separate ways not because he wanted it, but to save what little pride he had left. If you didn't love him, better to let you go without begging. Without admitting how much that it hurt.
The pilot nods as you exit, no questions, just like Junhui had paid for. Outside, the sleet stings Junhui's face, wind whipping through his coat as you both rush through customs and back out into the wind to hail a cab. The driver is an older man that complains about the weather, but he takes the cash as you both slide into the back.
Despite the small space in the back of the car, there's a chasm between you. He wants to bridge it - wish he could. He wants to reach for your hand and pull you close, to tell you that it was real for him. That he had been lying, but not really. Not all the time. But he doesn't. You're reserved now, words sparse, gazed fixed outside of the window.
The silence stretches, broken only by the slosh of tires on wet roads and the driver's occasional cough. Junhui's mind races, replaying every moment over the last five years with you - the gala where you'd approached him, your smile bright and charming. The proposal he'd made because he couldn't imagine life without you. He night's he'd held back from you, guilt over his lies making him afraid to take more than you offered.
He'd thought you were content, that what you'd had was enough. But it was all a facade for you. Cover. The word echoes, bitter. He loves you - fiercely, achingly - but it was never real for you. And he doesn't blame you one bit. He cannot hold you to trial for a crime he was also committing.
Sadness swells, a silent grief that makes his chest tight. He will miss you more than you know. It's the right call, despite the fact it makes him want to fall to his knees.
The brownstone appears like a ghost in the sleet. He helps you out of the cab and you let him this time, though you step away from him the moment you're outside. The stoop creaks under you both as you hurry inside, the key turning into the lock with a familiar click.
You head upstairs without a word, movements quick. Junhui follows, heart heavy, watching you rush into the bedroom to start packing. He stands in the doorway for a moment, the reality hitting him. This was his home, a perfect life that he'd clung to, even if it was built on lies. Now it's ending and you're eager to go.
He moves to his side of the closet, packing his own things - cash from a hidden safe, false papers tucked into a book spine, weapons from certain shoes. His fingers linger on the tie you'd given him for Christmas, silk smooth, a reminder of you. He keeps it, wanting to hold on even when you're gone.
In the middle of folding one of his shirts, something prickles at the back of his neck. It's the same instinct he's had before ducking before being shot at. The house is too quiet, the sleet outside rhythmic. He glances up, drawn to the window where your back is turned as you pack, the curtain half-drawn. A red dot appears on your bag, small and steady.
His blood turns cold.
"Get down!" He yells, lunging across the room.
You startle, but he tackles you to the floor just as the window shatters, glass exploding inward. Bullets spray through the bedroom, thudding into the walls, splintering wood. Junhui's body covers yours, shards of glass raining down on you both. Pain blooms in his shoulder - glass or a bullet graze, he doesn't know - but adrenaline surges.
"They know," he gasps, rolling off of you. He pulls a pistol from the nightstand.
You nod, gun drawn as you both turn. Another spray of bullets rips through, punching holes in the wallpaper, the chandelier downstairs crashing. The house shakes with the assault, sleet cutting in through the broken windows, cold and stinging.
Junhui crawls to the edge of the bed and looks over to see shadows moving outside. There are three figures in black downstairs advancing on the stoop, rifles up. He fires twice through the window, the suppressed pops lost in the chaos.
"Back stairs," You tell him, already moving.
A bullet whines past your head, embedding in the walnut paneling. Junhui's heart lurches but you don't flinch as you return fire, turning into a woman he doesn't know at all. He follows, shoulder burning still, pistol steady as he shoots at a figure bursting through the front door below. The man jerks and falls, but more come in, footsteps thundering.
The back stairs are narrow and dark, the air thick with fust. You descend first, sweeping the landing as you clear it while Junhui covers you, exchanging fire. A shadow appears at the bottom but you fire once, the man crumpling. Junhui is suddenly thankful that you're trained and lethal.
The kitchen explodes into view. Bullets shatter the window over the sink as Junhui grabs a knife from the block, hurling it at an assailant charging through the door. The blade hits the man in the throat, blood spraying in a crimson fan as he falls. You snatch a revolver from a hidden drawer - Junhui realizes it's his - and fire at another in the hall.
"How did you know that was there?" He asked, stupefied.
"I thought you were just trying to protect the house," you admit. "I assumed you didn't know how to use it. It was sweet."
He doesn't have time to be offended as the kitchen erupts into chaos, men pouring in through the door from the garage. They're dressed in tactical gear like the rest, faces masked, rifles swinging to take aim.
You're too close for guns. Junhui shoves you around the island cojunter top as the first gunman shoots at you, the bullet pinging off the fridge. You squeeze the trigger of the revolver as you duck, feeling the click of the rotating chamber as you unload the full round into the first man, his vest catching them before you catch him in the throat, red spraying.
Chamber empty, you grab the cast iron skillet off the stove as another man charges Junhui. Your husband doesn't hesitate, ducking under the barrel of the rifle as twisting as he drives his elbow up into the assailant's ribs. You hear bones crack but Junhui doesn't stop, slipping behind the man and kicking out with a foot directly in his back, sending him forward.
The third man comes for you, dropping his rifle in the closed space to grab your arm. You swing the skillet hard, catching him across the temple. He goes stumbling, blood trickling from a gash. He recovers quickly, tackling you against the cabinets.
Pain flares in your back as things shatter, the drawers rattling behind you. You knee him in the groin, buying a second to scramble for a knife from the butchers block. His hand snaps out, iron clad on your wrist as he tries to keep you from the weapon. You snarl and throw your head forward, pain exploding behind your eyes as you use your head to crunch his nose.
Across the room, Junhui has turned into a weapon. His strikes are blindly fast, driving his palm up into his opponents nose before bring the knife down across the chest, the arms, the neck. He drops down and spins, sweeping the man's feet from under him as he goes down in a wet gurgle, vanishing on the other side of the island.
The man grappling you pins you to the counter and you scream, reaching for the knife, fingers slipping as his grip locks around your throat, squeezing tighter than anything you've ever felt. Panic flickers in your chest, air cutting off, vision spotting. You stomp on his instep and elbow him hard in the gut but he ignores it, dragging you across the counter and toward the garage door.
Then he's gone, thrown to the side as Junhui yanks him, chest heaving with rage. The violence in his face is raw as you choke down gasps of air, mouth wet with spit as you suck in breaths.
"Do not," Junhui growls, slinking forward. "Touch my fucking wife."
He collides with your attacker, sending them both into the wall. Plaster cracks under their weight as Junhui lands a series of strikes to the mans face, middle, ribs. The man gasps and Junhui grabs his head in both hands and twists violently, a loud crack echoing before the man goes limp to the floor.
Panting, Junhui turns to you, his shoulder wound seeping through his shirt, glass shards glittering in his hair. His eyes scan you frantically, rage morphing into panic. He storms over to you, cupping your face gently, turning your head side to side. "Are you hurt?"
"No," you rasp, voice hoarse from the choking. "Thank you."
He lingers a moment longer, something flaring in his face before he nods, hands dropping reluctantly. "Let's go."
You both plunge into the garage and you bolt for the motorcycle that Junhui never uses. It's a sleek, black Indian Scout. You'd never asked to ride it and he never really bothered with it, only using it on the summer nights when you were out of town. He assumed you didn't like motorcycles, but now you don't hesitate.
"Come on."
"Are you serious?"
"Get on," you demand, moving toward it.
You reach the bike first, swinging a leg over the seat without pause. The engine is cold, but the key is in the ignition. You twist it, thumb the starter, and the bike roars to life.
"You can ride?" He asks, as you kick the stand up and rev the throttle. "Since when?"
"Since I was twenty, get on."
Junhui swings on behind you, arms coming around your waist automatically. His grip is tight and he feels your hammering heart as he presses his chest to your back. You drop the clutch and twist the throttle, the scout lunging forward.
The acceleration is brutal, the front wheel lifting a bit before you muscle it down. He lets out a startled breath against your neck as you peel out onto the street, the bike fishtailing. You learn into it and the bike straightens, rocketing down the block as gunfire pops behind you.
Sleet and wind sting his eyes. Neither of you are dressed for this but he clings to you as you flick the bike through the street, taking the first corner harder, nearly laying it down. He lets out a shriek and a curse as you straighten out, gunning it.
"Where the hell did you learn to drive like this?"
"Clockwork," you yell. "Some of us learned more than guns!"
He laughs, the sound vibrating through him. He doesn't know what to think as the wind screams in his ears, biking roaring under him.
You weave through the late night traffic on Fifth, dodging Model T's and taxes, the bike's headlight cutting a white blade through the sleet. He turns to see a sedan following you and he curses. You steal the breath from his lungs again when you cut left onto a side street, narrow and barely wide enough. You downshift and fishtail as you come out of the side street and onto the road, swerving around a car.
Junui's arms flex around you, one hand sliding up to brace against your shoulder. "You're insane!"
You don't respond, but the admiration sings in his veins, nearly warm enough to fight off the bitter cold as you drive through back roads. He gives you directions as you drive, the two of you shivering as you lose your pursuers, cutting through the city.
His hands stay firm on you. He feels you shiver and he pulls you tighter, trying to keep you warm. At least, that's what he tells himself. He knows he's doing it to keep you a little longer, anchoring himself to you like he can keep you. He wonders if you feel the same fracture he does.
He wonders if it matters.
Dawn is grey and cold when you finally slow, the Scout's engine ticking as it cools. You're both shivering as you kill the engine and pull up in front of a farmhouse with a sagging porch and oaks surrounding it.
Junhui slides off first, offering a hand. You take it, shivering and shaking. You look up at the house, tears frozen on your face, lips swollen with cold. "What is this place?"
"Friend of mine. Not Protocol. From college. He's in Milan."
Minghao's place is cold as you step in. Junhui bolts for the fireplace, knowing it's dire to get it going. You stand in the threshold of the living room, trembling and freezing as he manages to get the dry wood lit. He turns and gestures you over. You come wordlessly, nearly collapsing as the orange flames lick over the logs.
Both of you hold your hands to the fire, trembling. It almost hurts to feel heat again, both of you shivering in silence as the fire roars to life. Slowly, you both sit, unwilling to move from the flames.
"We're safe," Junhui murmurs, tired, switching languages on instinct. "We rest first. Then plan."
You nod, slowly getting up to move to a chair, the distance between you vast.
-
You step out of the shower, steam curling around you. You dry off quickly and change into pajamas Junhui has given you - they're not exactly your size, but they work. Everything in this house belongs to Minghao who hadn't been preparing for you to stay, but Junhui swears he won't mind anyway.
Reentering the bedroom, you stop short. Junhui is standing in front of the small dresser mirror, shirtless. He's turned around, trying to look at the injury on his shoulder, the lamplight carving shadows across the muscles of his back, the narrow taper of his waist. He prods at the graze, wincing as he looks at it.
He sees you reflected and straightens, hand dropping. "Sorry, it's the only mirror in the house."
"Let me help," you say, setting your things down and rushing to him.
He nods as you riffle through the bathroom for medical supplies. Minghao thankfully has a simple one and you make Junhui sit on the edge of the bed as you wet cotton with antiseptic. He smells clean like the shower he took immediately before you, his skin warm as you near him, heart hammering.
Suddenly, it feels too intimate. You shake off the feeling - he's your husband. So you kneel on the bed, mattress dipping under your weight. Up close, the graze looks a little worse thank you though, jagged and angry. You feel a pang in your chest. He didn't complain once during the ride, didn't mention the pain. Just held on to you on the bike, arms tight around your waist.
Carefully, you start to dab at the wound. He doesn't hiss or make a sound, but his muscles twitch under your fingers. He turns his head to watch you, dark eyes intense. You swallow, feeling the tension crackle to life as you watch. You're close enough that you can feel his breath on your face, your fingers nimble and careful as you clean the cut.
"When did you get this?" You ask, voice quiet.
"The glass."
You realize what he means. A piece of jagged must have caught him while he was shielding you - protecting you - from the spray of glass and bullets that moment he saw the sniper before you did. It makes you feel guilty immediately. How stupid of you to turn your back to the window, even for a moment. You're lucky he was there - lucky he still cares.
The heat of him radiates toward you and you fight a shiver as he watches, eyes half-lidded. You could count every single one of his lashes this close, but instead you put down the pink-tinged cotton and exchange it for a needle and thread.
"It's not deep," you murmur. "But I think it needs stitches."
Carefully, you pierce the skin and pull the thread through. He doesn't react. Instead, he says, "You're pretty good at this. How many times have you done it?"
"Oh? Are we exchanging work stories?"
His mouth curves. "Indulge me."
It makes your stomach flip when he says it. You pause as you think about all of the times you've stitched someone or yourself. It feels weird to think of a story to tell him, the barriers between you suddenly gone.
"I've done it a lot," you admit. "Sometimes on myself, but mostly on other people. One time in Vienna a partner I was working with was shot in the leg during an extraction. I had to stitch him up in an awful basement with almost no light. He lived but Joshua literally never forgave me for the scar."
"Well Joshua should mind his tongue when speaking to you."
Your mouth twitches as you pull another stitch through. "What about you?"
"Botched hit in Berlin. The one on my chest."
You pause, narrowing your eyes. "You told me you got that in surgery."
"I'm a bit of a liar, love."
Your heart races from the nearness of him, his knee brushing your arm as you shift to tie off another stitch. You've been this close before, but never like this, vulnerable and exposed, everything tripped away.
"I had to patch myself for the first time in Shanghai," you continue. "It was in an opium den. Could barely figure out where the hell I was from the contact high."
"I've been there." You give him a look. "Protocol sends me to a lot of places, angel."
The nickname makes your heart trip over itself. He's called you that since the early days of your relationship when you were pretending not to speak Mandarin and letting him teach you, the warmth and fondness for him just as strong as it is now, despite the lies.
"I'm sure you had lots of pretty girls to stitch you up." You don't know why you say it, but it's out before you can stop it.
"None as pretty as you."
You don't know how to respond, your fingers shaking. You tie the last stitch, snipping the thread, your hand lingering for a second too long, craving the warmth. He's quiet, watching you with an expression that you can't read.
"There," you whisper. "Done."
He flexes the shoulder, looking away from you to the injury. You use the break in tension to shift away from him, sucking in air, wishing you felt cooler than you did.
"Thank you," he murmurs.
You stand, suddenly too aware of the charged tension. "I'm going to start dinner."
Junhui nods, but his eyes follow you as you head out the door, clicking the bedroom shut behind you.
In the hall, you lean against the door, heart pounding. The closeness - the heat of his skin, the shared stories - it's too much. You love him, but you know that your marriage wasn't built on love. It was built on deceit and versions of yourself you never really let the other have, and now you don't know what to do with it.
The kitchen is sparse, but the cupboards are filled with canned goods and a variety of spices. You light the stove, flames flickering to life as you rummage for potatoes, onions, and spices. Stew is the only answer for dinner tonight, and you're thankful there's at least chicken stock in the pantry.
Your hands move automatically, chopping, stirring, but your mind is on him. The graze, his quiet admission of jobs, the way he let you help without protest. Footsteps creak and you flinch, turning with the knife raised. It's Junhui, shirt on and hands up.
"Sorry," he notes and you drop the knife, sighing. He watches you for a moment before walking toward you. "Let me help."
You nod, handing him the knife for the onions. He stands too close, his arm brushing yours as he chops. The space is small, the stove's heat warming the room as you work together. It feels normal, almost, the two of you working in perfect tandem that you've built over the years. You stir the pot, making room for him as he leans for salt, arm brushing yours.
Junhui is different now - quieter, more intense - but he's still him. His mouth curves when his eyes flicker to you, something fond and understanding. It makes you nervous, the desire and sadness gnawing at you. You itch to touch him but you're unsure you can.
When the food is done, you eat at the small table, stew steaming in bowls. The fire crackling from the living room is the only sound as you both eat quickly, avoiding his gaze that keeps finding your face from across the table.
After, you clear the plates, doing anything to put space between you, thoughts spinning and full of him. You don't know what happens now - where to go or how to leave him. You watch him as he grabs blankets from the hall closet, intending to sleep on the couch - away from you, away from everything you've built.
You feel the fracture in your heart widen, the separation between you looming and wider than ever. The question falls from your lips before you can think twice, unable to stop yourself from asking any longer.
"Did you ever love me?" The words hang there, Junhui freezing. "Or was it just a cover all the time? I assume the latter, since we were fond but never very intimate, I guess. But I just - did you ever?"
Junhui freezes, the folded blanket clutched in his hands. The firelight paints him in flickering orange and gold, catching the way his composure cracks. He sets the blanket down slowly, moving toward you as he shakes his head."
"I loved you from the start," he murmurs. "Before I even married you. Marrying you was convenient, but I fell in love with you at that stupid gala. You asked me about that painting and I panicked and recited an entire catalogue of notes memorized the night before and you laughed - not at me, in delight. Like you found something unexpected and wonderful. And I remember thinking that I was the worst thing that could happen to you."
He laughs once, a small, broken sound as your heart hammers in your chest, breaths coming fast.
"You made it worse by being you," he admits, softening as he takes another step toward you. "You did small things for me, made my life perfect in ways that mattered. You never asked anything of me, you just… were there for me. I thought if I stayed gentle, if I stayed careful, if I never asked too many questions, maybe you’d never realize what kind of monster was sleeping beside you. I thought the guilt would be less if I never took more than you offered. So I kissed your forehead and pretended that was enough.”
Junui's palm is warm when he cups your face and turns you to look up at him. His thumb swipes across your cheek and you realize you're crying. His face is pained as he looks down at you, freehand snaking around your waist to pull you chest to chest with him, warm. His heart beats in time with yours as he looks down at you, gaze searching.
"It was never enough," he admits. "I love you so much it makes me sick with it. Every time you came home late I wanted to pull you into my arms and ask where you’d been. Every time you smiled at me across a crowded room at one of those awful parties I wanted to drag you into a coat closet and kiss you until neither of us could breathe. I didn’t. Because I thought it would make me evil to take what I wanted and lie to you at the same time."
You hiccup a sob. "I thought you didn't want me. You said you wanted to go our separate ways on the plane."
"I suggested it because I thought it was what you wanted. Because I thought letting you go was the kindest thing I could do for the woman I love."
"You absolute idiot!" Junhui blinks as you hug him, pressing your face to his chest. He laughs, a little confused as you squeeze him. "I took the forehead kisses and the gentle hands and the soft words and tried to convince myself it was enough, because I thought that was all you wanted from me and all I thought I deserved!”
"Really?"
"Yes, you oaf! I was so guilty for lying to you that I accepted what love you offered and felt grateful for it. Asked no questions. Thought I was awful."
He laughs squeezing you tighter, arms warm and secure and home. The arms of your husband, the Junhui you've always known.
You pull away from him a little, looking up at him. "When you said separate ways on that plane, I thought my heart was going to cave in. I agreed because I thought that’s what you needed. Because I thought you didn’t love me the way I loved you. And I was going to let you go. I was going to let you walk away because I thought it was the kindest thing I could do for the man I love.”
He cradles your face again, eyes dark as he looks down at you. Tears cling to your lashes and you sniff unceremoniously. He smiles, fond - in love - fingers pressed to your cheeks.
"What do you want, tiānshǐ?"
You reach up slowly, fingers trembling as you brush the hair from his face, his eyes shining.
"I want my husband," you tell him, heart racing. "All of him. The man who tutors neighborhood kids on weekends. The man who remembers birthdays and tips too generously. And the man who comes home with blood on his hands. The man who shielded me from bullets tonight. The man who’s been carrying the same guilt I have for years.”
For a single heartbeat, the world narrows to just the space between you. Then he moves, pulling you in - not gently or careful like you're used to - but desperate, with half a decade of starvation. He kisses you like he's starved, his mouth warm and wet and tasting of the salt from your tears.
You kiss him back, fisting his shirt in your hands, the years of things you've held back crashing through you - guilt, longing, terror, the stupid, vicious love you have for him. He makes a sound in the back of his throat and pulls you in closer, desperate for you.
When you finally break apart, his mouth doesn't go far, his lips ghosting across yours as he murmurs, "Wǒ de Tiānshǐ."
"Lǎo xiàng hǎo."
He stares down at you, snorting, unbelieving. "We really need to talk about how you pretended not to speak Mandarin."
"Yeah?"
"Yes, but right now I have other things on my mind."
You raise your brows, heart skipping a beat. "Like what?"
His lips curve into a slow, predatory smile, one you rarely see. It's possessive and hungry, your stomach knotting as he knocks his nose against yours. "Making love to my wife."
The words hang in the air, sending a shiver down your spine. Before you can respond, he scoops you in one fluid motion, his arms strong and sure beneath you. You gasp, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist, your hands clutching his shoulders as he carries you toward the bedroom.
He moves effortlessly, body honed from years of training, muscles shifting under your touch. He kicks the door open with his foot, the wood creaking in protest, as he enters and throws you on the bed. You laugh, the breath escaping your lungs as he smiles at you while pressing you backward into the mattress, leaning over you.
Junhui shrugs his shirt off in a swift pull, revealing the scars you now know the stories to - the stitches on his shoulder fresh and delicate. There's no pain on his face now, just unrestrained hunger as he presses his waist to yours, leaning to kiss you again.
"You have no idea how often I've wanted this," he murmurs. His hands find your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you arch toward him. "To claim you all the time. Often."
You reach for him, sliding your fingers through his hair as he kisses you again, teeth clashing. His weight on you is comforting, the mattress dipping under you both. He braces one knee between your thighs, breaking the kiss to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawn and down your throat. He nips the skin there, soothing the sting with his tongue. It makes you whimper and he groans in response, the flat of his tongue sweeping up your neck.
"Jun," you whisper, shivering.
He pulls away just enough to strip away your top, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of you bare. "So beautiful," he growls. "My wife. Mine."
Junhui's hands roam, calloused palms skating over your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. You arch into the touch, heat pooling low in your belly as he lowers his head to catch a nipple in his mouth. The sensation makes you writhe, his tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through you. You gasp, hips bucking instinctively, making him chuckle.
"Patience, my love," he teases.
His free hand slides down your stomach, hooking into the waistband of your pajama bottoms and panties, tugging them off in one rough motion. The cool air hits your exposed skin, but it does nothing to cool the fire inside of you. He tosses them aside, gaze fixed between your legs where you're wet and aching for him.
"Look at you," he breathes. "Have you been waiting for this too? Waiting for me to take you apart like you deserve?"
"Yes." His fingers trace the inside of your thigh, teasing higher but not quite touching where you need him most. "God, yes."
He hums in approval, shifting down the bed until he's kneeling between your legs, his broad shoulders forcing your knees apart. You feel exposed, breaths coming in quicker as he looks up at you, pupils blown and fucked out when he hasn't even touched you.
"I want to taste you first," he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to your knee. He kisses your inner thigh, your muscles twitching. "Want to make you come on my tongue. Can, I love? Will you let your husband devour you?"
"Please," you laugh, breathless and desperate. "Please, Jun."
He doesn't need more than that. His hands grip your thighs, holding them open as he leans in, his tongue flattening against you in one long, slow lick from entrance to clit. The sensation scrambles your brain, his tongue hot and wet. Your back arches off the bed as you suck in a harsh breath, his mouth closing against you as he groans. The vibration goes through you, making you squirm. He holds you harder, tongue diving in deeper before circling your clit lazily.
"Shit," you gasp, the curse leaving your lips before you can stop it.
Junhui laughs as you twist your fingers in the sheet, his mouth lethal against you. He switches between broad strokes and pointed pressure, sucking your clit into his mouth gently before releasing it with a pop that makes your toes curl. You feel the way you melt in his mouth, arousal and spit dripping from your cunt to the curve of your ass. He chases it, tongue hungry and greedy and you let out a broken sound.
He's relentless, possessive in a way he has never been with you all this time, tongue fucking you in shallow thrusts that have you grinding against him. One of his hands leaves your thighs, drifting to slide two fingers into your heat, curling upward to press against your front wall. Stars burst behind your eyes, one of your hands going to his head, fingers twisting in his hair.
"So tight," he murmurs, words muffled against you. "So perfect."
He suctions his mouth on your clit, sucking in time with the thrust of his fingers. Pleasure curls in your stomach and you feel yourself teetering on the edge, squirming in his hold.
"I'm - shit I'm gonna-"
"Come for me," he pants. "Let me taste you."
His fingers thrust harder, tongue circling your clit until you shatter. Your orgasm crashes over you, body convulsing, thighs clamping around his head as you ride it out. He doesn't stop, licking you through it, drawing out over sound until you're shaking and oversensitive. Only then does he pull back, lips and chin glistening with your release, grinning.
"You taste like heaven," he rasps, leaning up to kiss you deeply, letting you taste yourself in his mouth. You moan into it, nails dragging down his back.
Junhui's fingers drift back between your legs, pressing in again. You whine and he hushes you with a kiss, stretching your cunt around three of his fingers, thrusts gentle.
"You can take it," he whispers. "Want you ready for me, yeah? You can do it, my love."
You nod as he pumps them slowly at first, scissoring to open you up. It feels so good, the edges of your vision blurring while his thumb circles your swollen clit in lazy strokes. The overstimulation borders on pain, but it melts into pleasure, your body singing.
"You've been holding back too, hm?" He asks. "All those nights I could have had you like this writhing for me."
"Yes," you pant. "Wanted you so badly but didn't know how."
Cur curls his fingers again, hitting that sweet spot over and over again. Sweat beads on your skin and it feels like your heart is going to pound out of your chest, slamming in your ribcage as you arch, head pressing backward into the mattress.
Junhui attaches his mouth to your throat, sucking the tender spot underneath your ear as he works you toward another orgasm. The slide of his chest against yours, the way he groans - it all makes you come again, squeezes his fingers hard as you flood his hand, making him curse.
"That's it," he praises. "Just like that, love."
He withdraws his fingers with a wet slide, bringing them up to this mouth, sucking them clean with a hum of satisfaction. You look at him, dazed as he grins and kisses your forehead. You press your hands to his shoulders, anchoring your knees to his hips and he only has a second of warning with your grin as you roll, flipping him under you.
Junhui looks up at you with stars in his eyes as you lean up on your knees, panting. His hands automatically go to your hips, squeezing as you catch your breath, looking down at him. His mouth is swollen and covered in spit and slick but you don't care - he's the most beautiful creature you've ever seen.
With shaking hands, you help him out of his pants, only making room so he can kick them down before you have him pinned under you again, letting you grind against his leaking cock. He groans and you grin, watching as his eyes squeeze shut as you tease him, the heat of your cunt nearly unbearable.
You reach between you, grabbing his hard cock, pumping a little before you line him up at your entrance, the thick head pressed tight against you. He hisses, watching as you sink down slowly, taking him inch by thick inch. It's a lot and you feel the air punch from your lungs until you're ass it flush to his thighs, stretched so tight you can barely breath.
"Fuck," he bites out. "You are fucking perfect. I love you."
You grin. "I love you, even though you were going to leave me."
"I'm an idiot."
"Yes," you agree, gasping as you start to move. "You are."
It's slow at first, your hips rolling in languid circles. The friction feels so good, his cock dragging against your walls, hitting deep. His hands roam, squeezing your ass, thumbs digging into your hipbones to urge you a little faster.
"That's it," he rasps. "Use me."
Emboldened, you pick up the pace, bouncing now. Every thrust feels like it knocks the sense out of you, sweat slicking down your body as you try to catch your breath, thighs trembling. His hips thrust up to meet you, driving deeper, and you lean forward, nails raking down his chest.
"Mine," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your back to hold you to him. "No more holding back." You whimper and he thrusts up harder, gasping. "You're going to come on my cock, aren't you?"
You nod, unable to find the words, the angle letting him hit that spot inside of you that renders you useless. He takes over, banding you to his chest as he thrusts up hard and fast. It's too much, making you clench around him as you come with a scream, body sliding against his.
In one smooth motion, he rolls you, pressing you into the mattress. He's buried deep till, the weight of him pressing into you makes you delirious. He uses a hand to pin yours above your head, his hips grinding into yours, public bone pressing your clit as you whimper his name.
"One more," he begs, his thrusts turning deeper and slower. You nod as his free hand slides between you, gently circling your clit. "One more for me, love. My perfect fucking wife."
The overstimulation is torture, your body on fire, every nerve singing as he pulls you toward another high. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, hands squirming in his grasp as he pins you.
"That's it," he whispers, pace faltering as he starts to fall apart.
You come together, vision whiting out as you squeeze around him. He lets out a broken sound, burying himself to the hilt, spilling inside of you as he twitches. You can barely breathe, both of you tangled together, hearts pounding in sync.
He presses gentle kisses to your shoulder, murmuring in Mandarin, all the things he's always wanted to say - everything you needed to hear. You hold him close, never wanting to let go, uncaring that you were never the perfect wife and he was never the perfect husband. You're perfect for each other, two congruent pieces of a puzzle.
"I love you," he says again, voice rough. "From the moment I meant you."
"I love you," you whisper. "Before I even approached you."
-
The sun hangs low over the Aegean, painting the whitewashed walls of the stone house in gold. Naxos is beautiful this time of year, the sun painting the small kitchen with cracked blue tiles in the perfect light.
It's a simple thing - two bedrooms with a terrace overlooking olive groves that slope down to the sea. Junhui stands on the terrace now, sleeves rolled to his elbows, nursing a cup of coffee from the beans you'd found in Chora. You watch him from the doorway, arms crossed loosely, still wearing the faded linen dress you'd thrown on after your morning swim.
He glances over his shoulder and catches you staring. A smile curves his mouth, the same one he used to give you at flashy New York City parties.
"What are you staring at?" He asks.
"My very beautiful husband." You step closer, slipping your arms around his waist from behind, cheek pressed to the warm plane between his shoulder blades. "You know the ladies in Chora love you?"
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through you. "Do the ladies in Chora know I am desperately in love with my wife? And also that she could kill them without a second thought if she got jealous?"
Junhui turns in your arms, careful not to spill the coffee on you as he sets it down on the railing. He cups your face with both of his hands, warm from the mug. The callouses on his hands are the same calllouses you've always known, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.
"I'm retired," you tell him, squeezing him tighter. "No more killing for me." You pause. "Unless they keep staring at you, then perhaps."
tell him how you love his cock, how big he is, how it hits so deep inside you. tell him “right there,” and “keep going,” and to do it “just like that.”
stroke his possessive side too. tell him no one else can fuck you like he can, no one else can stretch you out so good, no one else can make you cum like he does. tell him that your pussy is made for him only.
be loud for him. god, he loves hearing you moan. say his name, beg for more, sob, whimper, gasp for him. don’t be shy about it. it’ll only be a matter of time before you butter him up enough to make him cum.
jeonghan —; beg
everyone knows yoon jeonghan likes having people at his mercy. he gets a little unhinged when he has power over someone—so imagine what he gets like when you’re writhing on his cock, gasping his name so sweetly, your eyes glimmering with tears as he fucks you hard.
“what is it, pretty?” he asks, and like the devil he is, he slows the movement of hips, pulling out of you until his tip barely kisses your also weeping hole. it’s torture for him too, to leave the hot, tight haven that is your cunt, but to him it’s worthwhile.
“wanna cum, hannie,” you whimper.
“hm… i don’t know if i should let you yet,” he says, dipping back inside just an inch. years of him being yours means you don’t miss the tiny strain in his voice that betrays his perfectly collected demeanour.
“please, hannie, please, please, please, let me cum. i’ve been so good,” you sob, squeezing your thighs where they rest on his hips.
you watch as a switch flips in his eyes within a millisecond. a grin lights up his face and he shudders, and he’s sliding back inside you, fucking in and out of you harder and faster than before. safe to say it doesn’t take long for either of you to cum after that.
joshua —; make eye contact
his pretty doe eyes make staring into them your favourite thing in the world, and if you asked him his favourite pastime, he’d tell you that it was gazing into your irises.
it’s also his biggest weakness. from the way you’ve got your mouth wrapped around his dick, throat gagging even though you’re only halfway down it, joshua feels his sanity slipping away. his fingers curl into the bedsheets below as he watches you work him, revels in the warmth of your tongue sliding up and down his shaft.
when your eyes flick up to meet his he doesn’t stand a chance. not with how glimmering they are, brimming softly with tears, yet swimming with adoration. with worship.
heat washes over his whole body, he’s gasping, and the salty warmth of his release pools on your tongue.
jun —; put his fingers in your mouth
when junhui gets inside you he has a one-track mind. he becomes rapt with pleasure, drunk from the warm squeeze of your pussy around him, focused on nothing but the sensation of you, the sight of you under him, the sound of you in his ears.
the effect you have on him is dangerous, because you’re equally obsessed with him as he is with you, and you’re not afraid to show him.
and you love his hands, he knows you do—knows how you love his slender fingers and their soft touches all over you, inside you. your brain is cloudy, fogged by lust when you take him by his wrist and bring his fingers to your mouth. your eyes sparkle as your lips wrap around his index finger, your soft tongue swirling around it.
jun’s mouth parts with awe, his eyes growing round. a second later, he stills inside you with a gasp of your name, like he’s praying to you, all the while you’re sucking on his finger like a devil.
hoshi —; scratch him
he’s a little bit of a freak, and a masochist too.
when he’s got you folded in half, hitting all the right spots inside you, you cling to him in every way you can—fingers grabbing at his biceps, his shoulders. one particular stroke of his hips has you squealing.
your nails sink into his skin, crying out his name as you rake them down the toned planes of his back. the second you do, soonyoung is grunting, hips stilling, cock twitching as a sticky warmth suddenly floods your cervix.
the worst part about it is how he always has the stupidest, most shit-eating smug grin on his face when he examines your damage in the bathroom after, and you know that if he could, he would post the selfies he takes in the mirror all over instagram. what’s even worse though? seeing your marks makes him hard again.
wonwoo —; cry
you’re such a sensitive little thing and wonwoo adores you. one orgasm on his fingers and you’re already overstimulated—“but baby, i haven’t even put my cock in you yet,” he’ll coo.
like it’s your fault you have a boyfriend with skilled fingers and a skilled tongue and who knows you inside and out like the back of his hand, who knows where to touch you and how hard and what pace makes you writhe the most.
by the time he does get inside you, you’re gasping and whining and clawing at him, tears springing to your eyes because he’s so big and so deep, but the stretch is so addictive that it’s dizzying. his voice is low and husky as he mutters to you a mixture of teases and praise, calls you his pretty girl and then laughs at sensitive you are, pretends he’s not on the verge of coming from the sound of your choked gasps.
your belly starts to pulse with that familiar heat and by then you’re keening for him, whimpering a mixture of his name and endless pleas as it starts to become too much. your sobs go straight to his cock, and it’s only a matter of time before he reaches his climax, and his gasps of pleasure harmonise with your own cries.
woozi —; pull his hair
he’s been growing his hair out. after all your begging, he finally listened. in a way, though, it’s backfired a little on you, because the longer it gets the more insane you become. and the thing is you never expected him to let it get to his shoulders—and still he doesn’t plan on cutting it. well, good. you would kill him if he did.
when his face is between your legs you’re nothing short of a feral animal—your hips bucking wild against his mouth, your legs trembling on his shoulders, your fingers, of course, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. he makes you whine when he pulls away from your needy, sticky cunt to tsk at you, tells you to cut it out and keep your hands to yourself. (it’s because he’s about to cream his pants).
when he bends you in half beneath him, ruts into you hard and fast and relentless, you need leverage. your hands land on the back of his neck, fingertips grazing at his roots, then one slam of his hips into yours has his cock bumping against the most sensitive spot inside you and your grasping at his hair and crying his name so desperately. no longer can he hold back, strained groans slipping past his lips as he lets go inside you.
dokyeom —; hold his hand
a sentimental sweetheart, seokmin is an utter romantic who thinks that being inside of you, whether in your mouth or your pussy, is intimacy in its purest form. now imagine showing him just how much more intimate things can get.
he’s losing his mind at the feeling of your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, the way you swallow his length down making him see stars. he can’t bare to look at you—he needs to focus on taking deep breaths so that he doesn’t cum straight down your throat. then he feels you grabbing at one of his hands, lacing your fingers together, and no amount of deep breathing can stop him from releasing.
and when he fucks you it’s no different—it’s him in near tears, whimpering your name between incoherent words over and over, and as soon as you take his hand in yours and your fingers wrap around his, there’s nothing else he can do but succumb to his own pleasure.
mingyu —; take control
he’s big and strong; strong enough to put you into whatever position he wants, to make you cum at his command, to do just as he pleases with you.
but that’s exactly why he likes it when you slap him around a little.
you can’t exactly bend him into doggy or use your weight to keep him pinned to the mattress, but you can sit yourself pretty on his cock and ride him teasingly slow. you can tell him he’s not allowed to touch you or you’ll stop moving. you can tell him to kiss you, to go slower, to go harder.
you can sit up and put a hand around his throat, still your hips, and tell him he can fuck you himself if he wants to cum. and he’ll do just that—and as soon as you utter the words, he’s gone, whining out curses as he fills you up in white, warm spurts.
minghao —; whisper in his ear
minghao often tells you how he adores your voice. when you talk to him he’s entranced, and he’s always been more of a listener than a talker, and it’s perfect because you always have so much to say, and minghao will listen to every last word of yours.
your voice—minghao’s kryptonite, his achilles’ heel, his undoing and, oh, the way you moan for him when he’s got you on his cock is enough to make his heart stop beating. the perverted part of him wishes he could record you, hide the file away on his phone and listen to you when he’s overseas and he can’t call you. maybe he’ll ask you about that, if he can find the courage.
the final blow is when you’re getting close. you lean in, right next to his ear, so close that your breath sends shivers along his skin. “please, hao, i’m so close,” you whisper, yet you still sound so desperate and depraved. “you are too, right? cum for me, please. i’ll cum for you too.”
so he does just that—minghao gives in and lets his orgasm wash over him, fingertips drawing circles on your clit until mere moments later he hears the sound of your own cresting pleasure and he feels himself getting hard again.
seungkwan —; wrap your legs around him
it’s a fact that seungkwan loves to be close to you. if he could, he would crawl inside of your skin and live in your heart. but since he can’t, constant physical touch is the next best thing.
he likes to think he has relatively good self-control…most of the time. like when he’s buried to the hilt inside you, he’s incredible at keeping in rhythm, fucking into you at the most perfect pace for both you and him, hitting the spot that makes your back arch off the bed.
somehow he never sees it coming—when your arms are snaked around his neck and you’re holding onto him for dear life as he takes you to heaven, and your legs wrap around his waist so that you can pull him in impossibly deep. then you bring his face to yours, and you have the most irresistible little pout on your face when you make your request. “cum inside me, seungkwannie?”
and it’s not like he has much choice with the way you’ve trapped him inside of you, but that’s the very reason why the next second he’s pumping you full, because when it’s you, how is he supposed to have any self-control?
vernon —; touch yourself
it’s not like vernon can last long in general. he thinks you’re the hottest thing alive and he’s so enamoured with you that it’s too much for him sometimes, but you best believe he’ll put his all into holding out just for you.
there are times, however, where he’s just a man. and what’s a man to do when he has a goddess riding his dick? when your tits look so pretty, bouncing in his face, when you have that fucked out look in your eyes, when you feel like heaven and hell all at once?
and what the fuck is a man to do when your hand drifts down between your legs, to your aching clit, and your fingers start to rub it in circles, or when your other hand grasps one of your tits and tugs at one of your own nipples? and your sweet pussy clenches around him so tight when you do, clamps down on him in an hot, wet embrace, so what else can he do but cum?
dino —; say ‘i love you’
another sweet, sentimental boy. lee chan is head over heels for you, enamoured, obsessed, smitten, infatuated with you… the list of things he is around you is endless.
it shows in the way he fucks you—always takes his time with you, never rushes taking you apart. every touch of his is intentional, meant to set you both ablaze. when he eats you out to prep you for his cock, he has to try not to cum in his pants from how pretty you are.
where he really doesn’t stand a chance however is when he’s bottomed out inside you, as close as he can possibly be with you—so close you’re practically one. the sweetest sounds fall from your lips, spurring on his expert thrusts.
his forehead is plastered to yours, the pair of you revelling in one another’s sweat and gasps for air. “i love you,” you confess gently, and chan falls over the edge of pleasure not a moment later.
☁️ pairing: fwb!jun x fem!gradstudent!reader
☁️ genre/content: casual hooking up, suggestive language
☁️ warnings: suggestive language, nudity, mentions of sex
☁️ summary: you reevaluate your relationship with Jun, your situationship.
☁️ thank you to @/saradika-graphics for this super cute border!!!!!
“How come you never stay the night?” You pause, shirt halfway on, processing what you’ve just been asked.
After buttoning up your jeans, you finally turn to look at Jun.
Jun, Jun, Jun.
It’s hard to focus when he’s sitting up in his bed, looking at you with shiny, earnest eyes. When you know he’s entirely naked underneath the covers.
It’s always the same.
You text Jun, or he texts you, you come over to his place when his roommates aren’t home, you let him rearrange your guts for hours, you cuddle under the covers until it gets dark out, then reality kicks in, so you get dressed and leave, convincing yourself that it’s better this way.
You met Jun six months ago at your college campus’s local bar. Grace, your best friend, was invited to hang out with this guy she was seeing- Wonwoo, so she dragged you along, subjecting you to a dissection into how long it would take for Wonwoo, whom you’d never met, to kiss her. And what kind of kisser he would be.
Wonwoo turned out to be incredibly handsome, so it only made sense that he had equally handsome friends. Like Wen Junhui.
However, his personality was a tale as old as time.
I’m not into anything serious.
Haven’t you heard? He never sleeps with the same girl twice.
I like to keep it casual.
It’s not like you had to worry much about this because Jun didn’t notice you at all that whole night. The more Grace dragged you to places to see Wonwoo, the more you saw Jun, and finally, one fateful night in December, he noticed you.
He was a lot softer than you were expecting, having a genuine conversation with you, bending occasionally to hear you better over the loud noise, looking deep into your eyes like you were the only person in the room.
It was inevitable that you’d fall into his spell. And his bed.
You’re not sure if you really like him, because even though he knows every inch of your body and you know every inch of his, you don’t know anything about him. What are his dreams? What does he do for fun? What is his biggest fear? You don’t know and you don’t ask.
It’s better this way.
It’s always going to be better this way.
“I have a cat.”
Jun tilts his head curiously.
“Um, he doesn’t really like my roommates, so I need to be home to feed him and take care of him.”
Jun perks up at this. “I love cats! What’s his name?”
“Peanut.”
The smile you receive is breathtaking.
“I need to see a picture of Peanut sometime.”
You’re caught so off guard by this whole exchange that you don’t even flinch when he pulls the covers off his body, exposing himself to you before standing.
He grabs your elbow to pull you into his bare body and plants a kiss on your forehead just like he does every time you leave. He’s walking to the bathroom when you suddenly have a thought.
“Wait.”
Jun turns around.
“Do you, perhaps, want to meet Peanut?”
Peanut is the love of your life. He’s a Balinese, so he has super long cream colored fur with a mixture of dark brown around his face and paws. Your favorite features of his are his big, bright blue eyes.
He’s incredibly apprehensive when you pull Jun forward to introduce them to each other. Peanut immediately runs to hide behind your vanity, slightly peeking his head out like he’s intrigued. You watch in profound dumbness as Jun gets down on his knees and starts meowing back at Peanut. How is Wen Junhui, one of the hottest guys you’ve ever met, this cringey? Before an ick can start to develop, Peanut slowly comes out of his hiding spot, approaching Jun like a fox on the prowl for prey.
Step by step.
Before you know it, Peanut is curled up in Jun’s arms, purring contently. He looks at you, his big blue eyes saying one thing: I approve.
After taking your much-needed hot, steaming shower, you emerge from the bathroom to find Jun laying on his stomach, playing with Peanut, tapping his paws like a game of cat and mouse, giggling at Peanut’s tiny meows. You smile at the scene, glad that Jun is getting along so well with your cat, who isn’t even fond of your roommates. It also gives you the opportunity to observe the guy you know so little about.
When you first started messing around with Jun, he had very long bleached blonde hair, bangs framing his incredibly gorgeous and well-structured face. Now his hair is back to its original color- black. It’s still long, parted slightly to the side, with bangs up to his sharp cheekbones. He wears small gold hoops, one on each ear, and lastly, dark brown oval-shaped glasses. When you see Jun outside of his bedroom, he’s typically not wearing his glasses, so you feel the slightest flutter in your heart that only you see him like this.
You also take the time to admire his muscular back, grateful that he chose to only wear loose gray sweatpants. Gosh, where do you even begin? Jun looks very tall and lanky, but underneath everything, he has an extremely well-defined body that you know takes lots of effort to maintain. From his chiseled abs, to his hard pecs, to his bulging arm muscles- you can’t even express just how beautiful he is.
He turns around to you, standing there ogling him, and of course, he gets a bit cocky, even flexing his biceps just for you.
“I see you and Peanut are getting along?” you hum, curling yourself into Jun’s arms. He stares down at you with a look you’ve never seen in him. Before you know it, his lips are on yours, his big hand cradling the back of your head. It slowly starts to entangle in your hair, and you feel yourself melt into him.
When you break apart, you feel soft fur brush against your arm. Peanut settles himself on Jun’s chest, nuzzling against his chin. The two of you let out a laugh of disbelief at getting cockblocked by your own cat. But, if you were being honest, you weren’t really in the mood. Just being with Jun like this was all you wanted.
Draping the covers over him, you nestle into his side, making eye contact with Peanut. Jun wraps his arm around you, massaging your scalp in slow circles.
“Is it really better this way?” you ask softly.
Jun’s hand in your hair pauses. “What do you mean?”
You shift so you can look up into his face. “Is what we have right now the best for us?”
“No, but to be honest with you, I don’t feel confident in my ability to be a boyfriend. It’s a lot of effort that I selfishly don’t feel like I can give. I just don’t want to disappoint you.”
Silence fills the room as you process this subtle blow of rejection.
“How about this? Let’s go on a date. We can go to that new chicken spot downtown and get to know each other more?” he asks.
“Really?”
“Yeah. You’re worth trying for,” Jun reassures you with a smile.
With a kiss to your forehead and the promise of something more, the three of you fall asleep.
He’s always been a fighter and a protector in every lifetime. No matter how hard he tries evil always follows you in one way or another. You have no clue who he is until you come face to face with the man, warding off the evil from your dreams. You find him in an abandoned warehouse fighting in an illegal boxing match. The man in the ring winning instantly captures your attention in every way possible.
˙⋆✮ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): romance, smut, angst
˙⋆✮ 𝐚𝐮(𝐬): underground boxing au, reincarnation au, egyptian god au, soulmate au
˙⋆✮ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 14k
˙⋆✮ 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit adult content, violence, gang activity, fighting, injuries, blood, mc has a shitty ex that won’t leave he alone and is harassing her and practically stalking her, attempted murder, sex work, and stripping.
˙⋆✮ 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected p in v, creampie, fooling around in the shower, hand job, choking, body worship, couch sex, riding, fingering, they’re both kinda desperate, lots of making out, nipple play Nicknames: baby, bunny (hers)
˙⋆✮ 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw
˙⋆✮ 𝐚𝐧: this was written for ‘Sand of Time’ hosted by @sailorsoons & @daechwitatamic thank you @aeristudios for helping me figure out this story. Thank you for beta reading @thestraybunny. Divider by @/saradika-graphics.
🎧: kiss it better - rhianna | dying for you - charli xcx | do i wanna know - the arctic monkeys | shrike - hoizer | chains of love - charli xcx
Every single existence he's ever had, he's been a fighter. He's lived too many lives times to count. His life as the god Bes makes him a protector. He's lived so many lives protecting people and warding off evil spirits. There’s another repeating situation when it comes to every one of his lives, you. He is put on earth in every life to protect; women, children, and you.
This life is no different. His weekend nights are spent in a warehouse on the dark side of town. This time he wears a mask to hide his identity. The crowd knows him as Bes.
In every lifetime he has you. He sees you in his dreams, and he knows you see him in yours. He counts down the days until he can finally meet you again.
ONE: NOT ALWAYS PROUD OF WHAT YOU HAVE DONE.
Too many nights you spend working in this hell hole of a club. This place is located on the rougher side of town, and a seedy owner who works with very powerful men. The front looks like a normal bar, but through a pair of metal doors the darker and scandalous things unfold. On the stage there is a pole and girl who is dancing to the beat of a sultry song. You've found yourself up there too many times. It's been a couple months since you've stripped. Recently you've been working as a waitress. You're dressed just as scantilly as the girls who walk on that stage. Dressed in a tiny dress with no bra, and a pair of sky high heels.
With a tray in hand you're walking from table to table taking orders. Walking over to the bar you find your favorite bar tender Jeonghan.
"Table ten wants an old fashioned."
"Bunny, why are you here tonight?" Jeonghan is only one of two people you're close with here. He's been calling you Bunny since he met you. He says you're cute like a bunny.
"I'm working." He's asking you why you're here, because this is the ninth day you've been here in a row.
"Why aren't you taking any days off?" Jeonghan asks, as he's making the drink.
"I'm saving money so I can take a self defense class."
"Is Dae still threatening you?” Jeonghan knows all about you ex. Dae and you dated for two years, and broke up over eight months ago and since your break up, he has been harassing you. He's connected to the gangs that run this city and isn't someone to mess with. Over the last two months he's been basically stalking you.
"He won't leave me alone." Jeonghan sits the drink on the counter.
"Bunny, I know a guy. His name is Junhui. He's a fighter and if I tell him about Dae, I know he'll teach you to fight. He's got his own gym and everything."
"Okay." You know that Jeonghan wouldn't send you to a sketchy man, to teach you to fight.
The night goes on in a blur. You keep waiting tables, and you can't count the amount of men who have tried to touch you.
The doors swing open, and you see Dae and a few gang friends walk in. Immediately you feel sick. You glance over at the bar and see Jeonghan watching carefully.
Looking over by the stage you see your boss signaling you towards their table. You shake your head and try to walk away, attempting to rush backstage.
Someone grabs your hand, and immediately you know it's Dae. "Baby, why are you running away?"
Stopping dead in your tracks. You look at him, trying not to show any emotions. "Let go of me."
"If I let go, you'll run away, and we need to talk."
You groan, pulling your shoulder back attempting to get away. "I have nothing to say to you."
"Baby don't be like that."
"Let go of me." You seethe.
This isn't the first time he's shown up. He's just never been brave enough to touch you like this. When you were with him he definitely sucked and was an asshole. He was the definition of a shitty boyfriend, but he never laid a hand on you.
You pull forward quickly, before he drops your hand. You look up to see Mingyu, the body guard holding your ex. "You don't touch the girls, asshole." Mingyu pulls him back.
Dae throws his elbow back attempting to hit Mingyu. Except he doesn’t stand a chance at even moving the mountain that is Mingyu.
'Time to leave, buddy." You look behind him to see another bouncer kicking out Dae's friends.
"Baby, you can't avoid me. We will talk." Mingyu drags him out of the club. Shaking your head rush to the back. Your eyes brim with tears, you're overwhelmed and caught off guard.
The door to the back opens and Mingyu steps into the back. Reaching up you push away your tears. Mingyu silently watches you for a second before he holds open his arms. You don't say anything, you step into his arms. He holds you close and rubs your back.
Since you started working here you've grown close with Mingyu. The bouncer has become like a brother to you. He always goes out of his way to protect you.
"Bun, you should go home." He's picked up on using the same nicknames for you that Jeonghan uses.
"I need the money." You pull away from his hold.
"Jeonghan told me about his friend who is a fighter. I think you should talk to him."
"Okay."
-
The night comes to an end finally. You're sitting at the bar with Mingyu counting your money. Most the girls are in the back packing up, and some waitresses are heading home. You don't plan on leaving until Jeonghan and Mingyu can walk out with you. Jeonghan is working on cleaning up the bar. He doesn't have too much more to do before he's good to go.
"Bunny, Junhui has a fight tomorrow at the warehouse on twenty-third tomorrow night. Why don't you go with me tomorrow and you can meet him?"
"Okay." At this point you want to know how to protect yourself against Dae.
"Should you guys be going to an illegal fight night?" Mingyu asks, looking up from his phone.
It's probably not the best idea, but you're desperate. If Jeonghan thinks this Junhui guy can help you, you're willing to go meet him.
"I'll keep her safe." Jeonghan responses.
Mingyu sighs, and rolls his eyes. "Just call me, you guys need me. I have a date, but if things go south I can meet up with you guys."
TWO: THE MIDNIGHT MAN AND THE GIRL WHO HAUNTS HIS DREAMS
It's late at night when Jeonghan picks you up. He takes you to the sketchy part of town that's filled with warehouses.
Based on the amount of people hanging out outside smoking, the loud music that is pulsating all you would swear this is a night club.
Lacing his fingers with yours Jeonghan pulls you inside. You weave your way through the crowd where all the noise is coming from. Pushing your way through he brings you over to one of the corners for the fighters. A tall man dressed in very fashionable street wear greets Jeonghan.
"Minghao, this is my friend _____."
Minghao nods in your direction. "You're the one Bes is going to teach to fight?" You've never heard the name Bes before, you thought you were meeting up with someone named Junhui.
"Bes?"
"That's the only name he goes by here." Minghao responds.
"Oh."
"How is Chan doing?" You assume Chan is one of the boys in the middle of the empty space fighting.
"He's doing good, he's winning."
You watch as the smaller of the two men, seems to be winning. He’s getting a few good punches in. This warehouse is packed, the sounds of booming base music, and the loud cheers rattle your chest. Looking around you see a mix of people like you, struggling to get by and people who are dressed in high luxury brands.
Minghao pats Jeonghan on the back. “You should go see Bes before the fight.”
Jeonghan takes your hand leading you towards the back. Standing at the door you see a buff man in a suit blocking the back door.
“Hao told us Bes wants to see us.”
The bouncer glances passed both of you. Turning back, you see Minghao nod his head, the bouncer steps aside. The backroom is practically empty other than a couple folding chairs, and a few duffle bags. In the middle of the room you see a man wearing a face mask covering from below his eyes down. He’s clearly warming up. The other man is holding up gloves helping him practice.
“Soonyoung.” Jeonghan says releasing your hand.
Immediately the boys stop practicing. Soonyoung walks over and gives Jeonghan a hug. The man who was referred to as Bes stares at you silently. Slowly he tilts his head as if he’s studying you. Without thinking you step closer to him. There is something about him that you’re immediately drawn to. He doesn’t move, he’s locked in place watching you.
The door you walked through swings opens. Another man dressed in an expensive suit steps into the back.
“Bes, it’s your turn. Kick Parks ass. I have a lot of money riding on this fight.” The man shouts before walking out.
Jeonghan grabs your hand pulling you towards him. “We’ll meet you guys back here after the fight.”
The man behind the mask doesn’t say anything, he just watches as Jeonghan leads you back out the door.
Walking back into the warehouse things feel different. EDM music is booming through the speakers. Jeonghan leads you back over towards Minghao. You look to the other side of the ring to see a tall man with a similar build as Junhui. He’s covered in tattoos with dark hair.
The speaker crackles as someone shouts, “Bes!” The room instantly erupts. Soonyoung walks out next to Junhui, with the man in the suit flanking behind them. Junhui shirtless, wearing black cargo pants, and no shoes. Your eyes are instantly captivated by his beautiful body. He stops next to you and nods before walking to the center of the empty space.
Jeonghan never releases your hand as the fight starts. The bass is booming as they go blow for blow fighting. It’s clear that Junhui who everyone refers to as Bes is a very skilled fighter. The other fighter lands a solid kick on Junhui ribs, sending him shuffling back. Your eyes never leave him. He takes another step back gathering himself, before launching towards Park. With every single punch Junhui is getting the upper hand.
Park doesn’t give up though, he keeps giving Junhui firm kicks to the ribs. Junhui gets a strong kick to his jaw, sending Park down to the floor. The crowd erupts the moment he hits the concrete.
The same person that was dressed in the expensive suit walks into the middle and declares Bes the winner. Junhui dips his head, before walking back to back. The man in the suit hands Minghao a huge stack of money. Minghao gives him a curt nod, before him and Soonyoung follow Junhui to the back. Jeonghan squeezes your hand before dragging you off. Jeonghan locks the door as you step into the to room.
“Is it locked?” Minghao asked.
“Yeah.” Jeonghan says before releasing your hand.
Junhui takes off his face mask. He’s maybe ten feet from you. He takes a deep breath as he stares at you. For years you’ve had dreams of the man who is standing in front of you. Maybe it’s not him, but you feel like you know him.
“Jeonghan, who is this?” Junhui finally speaks.
“This is ___, she’s the girl who I mentioned.”
Reaching into his duffle bag, he pulls out a black hoodie. He pulls it on slowly, clearly sore from the fight. “You need to learn self defense right?”
“Yeah.” You finally speak.
“Why does she need to learn to fight?” Soonyoung asks.
Minghao seems like he’s barely paying attention. He’s more focused on counting the wad of money he was handed.
“My ex won't leave me alone."
“Fuck.” Minghao chimes in.
“The dude is an asshole. He won’t leave her alone at work now. Mingyu and I are trying to protect her, but we can’t always be there.” You’re scared of your ex, but at least you know at work and whenever you’re with them, they’ll keep you safe.
“I’ll teach you to fight.” He steps closer to you. “I’ll help keep you safe.” You don’t understand right now, but Junhui will do anything to protect you.
“I appreciate it.” He steps closer and instantly stops in his tracks.
“Jeonghan can give you my contact info.”
“Okay.”
THREE: A SPARK LIKE YOU’VE NEVER FELT BEFORE
The address Junhui gave you is a gym on the west side of town. It’s about a twenty minute walk from your place.
Standing outside the gym, you notice there are brick apartments above. Looking at the address again you realize that it’s for one of the apartments. You see a glass door. Walking over to it you pull it open. His building is nice, it definitely is newer than yours. Walking up the stairs you see the numbers and walk two doors to the left.
You aren’t quite sure why you’re nervous. You give the black painted wood door two firm knocks. You step back and wait. It only takes about thirty seconds before Minghao opens the door.
“Hello.” He gives you a small wave, before stepping aside.
You give him a polite nod. Stepping inside you look around. The apartment is an open concept for the kitchen and living area. There looks to be a small hallway where you assume the bedrooms are located. The walls are a mix of brick, and grey paint. The floor is a dark hard wood with a big green rug in the living area.
“Jun is in his room. Let me go grab him.” Minghao excuses himself, leaving you go awkwardly stand in the living room. You keep looking around, taking in the details of their shared space.
Looking over at the hallway you watch as both boys walk out. Minghao is now wearing a coat. He gives you another nod.
“I’m going to meet up with Chan and Soonyoung.” The front door clicks and suddenly you’re alone with the familiar man.
He’s dressed more casually today. He’s wearing a black tank top that hugs his toned body, and a pair of black joggers. His hair looks fluffy, almost as if his hair has been freshly washed.
“I feel like I should properly introduce myself.” You realize that at the warehouse he only really learned your name. “I’m ___, you can call me bunny if you want. Jeonghan and Mingyu call me that.”
He smiles at your cute nickname. “Bunny?”
“Yeah. It’s a long story, but the short version is, according to Jeonghan, I’m cute like a bunny.”
“I’m Junhui. My friend call me Jun, and you can as well. Whenever I’m fighting I go by Bes. If you ever watch me fight again, or you see me in a mask please just call me Bes.”
“Why Bes?”
“Bes is a god who is a protector. I’ve lived my life trying to protect women and children.” Something about him feels so safe. You don’t know him, but you feel as if you’ve always known him.
“I like that.”
He steps closer to you. “I’ll teach you to protect yourself, and I’ll protect you.”
“Thank you.”
“Let me take you to the gym downstairs. I own it with Hao.”
He leads you to the door. He slips on a pair of sneakers and grabs a set of keys from the bowl that’s sitting on a table by the door.
Neither of you say anything as you head downstairs. He walks up to the door and slowly opens it. Stepping inside you see some fighting equipment. It’s clear based on the fight you watched, and Junhui’s build that he's a trained fighter.
He leaves you standing on the padded mat to look around, walking over to the box and pulls out gloves. He walks back over to you. “Do you know how to fight?”
“I know how to punch someone.”
“Do you know how to defend yourself?”
“Not really.”
He hands you the gloves. “Put these on.”
You put them on with his help. He moves so you’re standing in the middle of the padded floor. Holding his bare hands up, he nods. “Alright, punch my hands.”
“Won’t that hurt you?”
“I take punches for a living. No offense you don’t hit as hard as the men I fight.”
You throw a punch at his left hand and then his right now.
“Good job, now do it again.”
For about two hours he trains you on fighting and defense. You’re absolutely exhausted, and sitting on the floor with your back against the wall. Junhui is sitting next to you. He holds out a bottle of water. You take a huge gulp of water.
“You did good.” He says.
“How are you still standing after fighting? I’m exhausted.” You lean your head back against the wall.
“I’ve trained for this for a long time.”
You take another big sip of the water. “What made you become an underground fighter?”
He pushes his fingers through his hair. “I’ve always been good at fighting. I realized early on when I would fight I would get this adrenaline rush. Fighting in that warehouse just became quick and easy money for me.”
“Oh.”
He grabs his own water and takes a big sip. “I feel like I should get to know you. Where do you work?”
“I work at the same club Jeonghan does.” Junhui has never been to a club, but what he has gathered from Soonyoung and Jeonghan it sounds like it's a club and a strip club. He’s not sure what your job is, but he doesn’t care if you’re a stripper.
“What do you do there?”
“I’m a waitress.”
“Where do you live?”
“Downtown, near the train station on seventh street.” Junhui knows exactly where that is. That isn’t the best part of town. He knows the rent is cheaper there. Soonyoung used to date a girl who lived a couple blocks from there. It’s about a twenty minute walk from the warehouse district.
“Do you walk to work?” He doesn’t like the idea of you walking home at night.
“Sometimes. Other times Jeonghan or Mingyu take me home.”
He pushes himself off the ground. “Maybe you shouldn’t be walking home if your ex is stalking you.”
“I know. It’s really rare for me to walk home.”
Junhui holds out his hand. You take it, and he pulls you up. “Call if you ever need a ride home. I’ll pick you up or Hao can.”
“You’re already doing too much for me, by helping me learn to fight.” You look down and realize he’s still holding your hand. Him holding your hand feels so natural.
“I promised you that I would keep you safe, and I meant that.” He releases your hand.
“I feel like I know you for some reason.” You knit your brows, you can’t fully explain what you’re feeling.
He doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you with an unreadable expression.
“Maybe we were meant to know each other.” He finally responds.
“Maybe.”
“Did you walk here?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me drive you home.”
FOUR: ALL THE MESSED I’VE MADE, LEAD ME BACK TO YOU
Over the last month and half you’ve been going to Junhui’s place by train three times a week. You’ve grown quite close to the masked fighter. You’ve even gone to a handful more of his fights. It's become clear that Junhui is the star fighter of that underground fight scene.
It's a day you're off and went to Junhui's gym for training. You've gotten quite good at boxing. Junhui is holding up his hand helping you hit moving targets. He's wearing a proud smile at how good you've gotten.
Junhui is standing by the wall drinking water while you fix your hair. Junhui can't help but be distracted sometimes at how beautiful he thinks you are.
You turn and give him a smile. "What are your plans this evening?"
"I don't have any. Minghao is out on a date so I think I'm home alone."
"Would you want to hang out and get dinner together?"
"Sure." You don't realize but Junhui will do anything you ask him to do.
You end up at a little hole in the wall bar that serves delicious Thai Food downtown that you love.
There is a cozy little booth by the back wall. You're each drinking a bottle of beer while sharing a couple plates of delicious food.
You notice how comfortable Junhui has grown around you. He's dishing himself some pad thai while listening to you tell a story about growing up.
"How long have you been at the club?" He asks.
"Five years. The money is really good there." You really hope he doesn't push for too much more information about the club.
"How long have you lived alone?"
"About two years. I used to live with a shitty ex."
"Was that shitty ex Dae or another one?"
"Another one. I have a bad track record with men." You don't know the last time you actually dated a decent guy. Your last three relationships started out good, before they both crashed and burned.
"You’re too good for those men." He says confidently.
"I wish I believed that." You used to be so confident, but since Dae and you broke up he's seemed to break your confidence.
"You're beautiful, kind, and compassionate. I think that makes you too good for most men." He picks up his beer and stares at it for a moment. "Any man you choose to give any of your time to, should feel lucky."
"I'm really glad Jeonghan introduced us." Junhui feels like he's the missing piece in life.
"I think I definitely owe him."
You both sit there enjoying your food. You hear someone yell your name. You look over at the pool table to see Dae and some of his gang friends.
You must look like you've seen a ghost. Junhui glances at you and quickly looks over at Dae who is walking towards you. Your hand that is sitting on the table instant clenches.
Junhui reaches out grabbing your hand. You relax it as he holds your hand. He squeezes it once, gaining your attention.
"There's my girl." Dae says walking up.
"I'm not your girl." You say firmly.
"Who is this guy?" Dae turns his attention to Junhui.
Junhui narrows his eyes at him. "None of your business."
"I think it's my business who my girl is seeing." Dae tilts his head.
"She's not your property and she sure as hell isn't your girl."
Dae barks out a laugh. "You're just her new toy. Soon she'll get bored with you, and come running back to me."
"Fuck you, Dae."
"We both know it's true, baby."
"I think you should leave her alone." Junhui releases your hand and stands up.
"Or what?" Dae says, shoving his finger into Junhui's chest.
You look behind your ex to see his friends are paying attention to what is unfolding. You stand up and grab Junhui's hand. You're scared of what will happen if you don't leave now.
"Let's go." You tug on his hand.
"What's wrong lover boy are you going to let her boss you around."
"I think it’s for the best that I leave. Just know if you lay another finger on her, I will end you."
Junhui squeezes your hand as he leads you out of the bar. Neither of you say anything as he leads you back to his car.
He unlocks the door and helps you into your side. He gets in and silently starts driving. Your chest aches, realizing your ex possibly ruined everything you could have been building with Junhui.
You expect him to drive you back home, but are surprised when he takes you to his place.
"What's going on?" You finally ask.
"I don't want you home alone in an apartment where Dae can find you."
Heading upstairs to his place he walks up slowly behind you, almost as if he's protecting you.
Once inside you notice how quiet the place is. Minghao must still be out for the night.
"Let's head to my room."
You follow him down the small hallway. He opens the door and you both head inside. His room is cream colored with dark hardwood floors. His bed is a queen with dark grey sheets and a cream comforter. The floor is partially covered by a grey rug. There is a door that sits against the same wall as his bed. That leads to the ensuite bathroom.
"You can sleep in here tonight and I'll sleep in the living room."
You hate the idea of him giving up his bed to you. "We can share the bed. I don't mind."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
"Would you like to shower before we go to bed?"
"Please."
He shows you how to use the shower and tells you all his products in the shower can be used.
"I'll find you some clothes to sleep in."
"I'll close the curtain so you can just bring them in if you don't mind."
"Okay."
He leaves you alone in the bathroom. Pulling back the curtain and the sliding glass door you turn on the water giving it a moment to warm up. Stripping away your clothes, you try to fold them up neatly.
Stepping into the hot water you instantly start to relax. You just stand there letting the warm water washes the stress your ex caused.
The door opens and it takes everything in you not to peek through the curtain to him. "I got you a pair of shorts that are pretty comfortable and a baggy shirt."
"Thank you."
"I'll be on the other side of the door if you need me."
The door clicks shut signaling you're alone again. Looking on the corner shelf you find shampoo and conditioner. You're happy to see Junhui doesn't use two in one like some men. It looks like he has nice moisturizing shampoo and conditioner.
You take your time washing your hair, before using his citrus scented body wash. He always smells so fresh and clean and now you know why.
After you finish showering you work on fully drying yourself off and taming your hair.
Walking into his bedroom you find him laying on the top of the comforter in just a pair of sweat shorts. You already have a crush on him and the thought of him laying in bed with you, looking like that is enough to make you go crazy.
Crawling into bed you lay there staring at the ceiling. "Thank you for keeping me safe." You glance over at him.
"I promised you that I would protect you."
"I appreciate it. It's been really nice having you in my life."
"I'm glad we met." He says as he starts to crawl under the covers.
"Maybe we should get some sleep."
Closing your eyes you try to sleep. Anytime you get close to falling asleep, you keep having visions of the man lying next to you. Your dreams of him almost feel like déjà vu.
Your eyes slowly open. Laying on your side you stare at him. Since meeting Junhui you can't help but feel like your life is changing for the better. The problem is, you're terrified he's going to grow tired of you and all your baggage. What if he doesn’t like the sides of you that you desperately try to keep hidden?
His eyes flutter open. "What are you looking at?"
"You."
He reaches out, setting his hand right next to yours. The room feels incredibly small. It's taking everything not to reach out and touch him.
"Are you tired?" He asks.
"Yeah."
"You should get some sleep." He laces his fingers with yours. "Sweet dreams, bunny."
FIVE: KISS IT BETTER
Over the last week you find yourself constantly with Junhui if you aren't working. He's become a very important fixture in your life. Jeonghan and Mingyu have even started teasing you at work, about your crush on him. You don't even bother lying to yourself anymore. You're well aware you've fallen for the masked fighter.
The tension between the two of you is starting to be too much. Your days spent at his gym leave your yearning for the smallest touches. It's been too long since you've been intimate with someone, and the fact that you like him so much isn't helping. You feel touch starved. You would do anything just to hold his hand again.
It's another rainy day and you find yourself in Junhui's empty gym with him. Instead of boxing like you normally do, he's teaching you how to get out of a submission hold.
He’s hovering over you, with your hands pinned to the floor next to your head. You didn't make it easy on him trying to pin you down. You shift slightly trying to pull away.
"You can get out of this." He pushes your hands back down. Lifting your hips, you try to knock him off you. He shakes his head. "I'm not going to make it easy."
You know you have one chance if you can throw your leg hard enough to knock you both over. You take a deep breath before throwing your leg.
Jun releases you, tumbling off you. Pushing yourself off the ground, you make quick work of crawling on top of him. You sit on his lap. There is absolutely no way you can keep him pinned down, but you wanted to prove to him, you could get out of his hold.
Grabbing his hands you pin them next to his head, just like he did to you. He looks up at you giving you a wicked grin.
"That's impressive."
You release his hands knowing he'll pin you again to prove a point if you don't wave the white flag.
One of your hands rests over his chest. You can feel his heart beating below. He lifts his head slightly.
"Do you like the view?" You give him a smile.
"The view is great."
You lean down slightly. God, up close like this he's so damn beautiful. He pushes himself up so you're still sitting on his lap but his face is close to yours.
Silently he pushes your hair out of your face. His hand rests on your cheek. "You're so pretty. The view from here is even better."
Leaning in close you test the water. Resting your nose against his. Your lips part as you take a deep breath.
"I'm going to kiss you." He whispers.
The moment your lips touch for the first time, you feel alive. Kissing him is everything you've dreamed of. One of his hands stays on your cheek while the other rests on your hip, holding you close to him.
Pulling back you can't help but smile. "That was nice."
He gives you the cutest crooked smile. Leaning back in you crash your lips into his. One of his hands roams your back. Your lips move together in perfect sync. He runs his tongue across the seam of your lips. Opening your mouth he slides his tongues against yours.
His hand rests on your butt, squeezing it he pulls your body closer to his. You're making out on the floor of his gym, like a couple of horny teenagers.
Tangling your fingers in his hair you hold him close to you.
"I like you." You whisper against his lips.
"Fuck—" He moans.
You have no concept of time as you kiss him like your life depends on it. It could be five minutes or even an eternity.
Pulling away you both need a minute to catch your breath. He rests his large hand on your cheek. He drags his thumb across your bottom lip.
"Where have you been all my life?" You sigh.
"Waiting for you."
SIX: LITTLE SECRETS YOU CANT TELL
You hate nights like this when neither Jeonghan or Mingyu are at work with you. Your rent is due, and the only way to avoid being absolutely broke for a few weeks, is getting up on stage. Normally it would be fine if you knew the boys were here as a safety net.
Just knowing you’re alone always leaves you feeling unsettled.
Looking in the mirror you work on reapplying the makeup you caked on when you know you're going on stage. A couple of the dancers sitting on the other side of the mirror are talking about some work gossip. Since you started dancing here you try your hardest to stay out of drama. You have enough going on in your life. The last thing you need is for people at work to be involved in your life.
This is the final half hour of your night. You just need to do one more dance and you're able to go home, with plenty of money.
"____ you're up next." The DJ pops into the back and shouts.
You walk out to the stage. You take a slow deep breath as the music starts to play. The guitar intro to "Kiss It Better" by Rhianna plays you in.
Walking on the stage the bright lights are blinding. You hand grips the pole as you spin around.
As the song goes on you start shedding what little clothes you're wearing. The song comes to a close and you're left standing on stage fully naked. Walking off stage in your sky high heels you wrap a robe around you tightly.
You walk into the back room and immediately grab your toiletry bag. You head into the wash room and work on washing away the stage make up that's caked onto your face. You have no problem with Junhui seeing you barefaced, but you don't want to see him in full stage makeup.
Heading back to your locker you're greeted by one of the managers handing you your tips from the last dance. You pull out some for the djs and bartender and then shove it into the pouch you keep in your bag.
"Are you heading out?" Your manager asks.
"Yeah."
"Have a good night."
Reaching into your back you pull out a pair of joggers and sweater. You get dressed in your warm and cozy clothes quickly. Grabbing your phone from your bag you see a text from Junhui. It reads "be outside in five minutes."
You gather your purse and make sure you have your money bag. You shove the rest of your dancing stuff in your locker. You make your way quickly through the club hoping to get to Junhui.
Walking outside into the cool night air you see him parked close to the entrance. You jog to his car and quickly get in.
Sitting your bag on the floorboard you turn and give him a smile. "Thank you for picking me up."
"How was work?" He asks. Your stomach twists in knots. You hate talking about your job. You don't want to lie to him, but you can't bring yourself to tell him that tonight was one of those nights you took your clothes off on stage.
"Fine." You know you probably sound short with your answer but you can't help it.
"What happened?" He raises his brow, clearly confused by your tone.
"It's just work."
"Did you want to talk about it?"
"Can we please not?" You can't do this tonight. You aren't ready for things to blow up between you.
"We don't have to talk about it." He leans over and presses his lips to your cheek for a gentle kiss.
"I know it's late, but did you want to stay at my place tonight? The guys are over hanging out and they asked if you would join us." This isn't the first time he's asked you to stay over since your first kiss. You've stayed over enough that Junhui has gotten toiletries of things you use in his bathroom. Your sleepovers are quite innocent outside of some kissing. You both just like the intimacy of sharing a bed and cuddling.
In the process of getting close to Junhui, you've also grown close with his three best friends.
"Is there possibly food there? I'm starving."
He holds his hand out. Without thinking twice you lace your fingers with his. He lifts his hand and kisses the top of your hand.
"Chan brought pizza over."
"Perfect."
The drive to Junhui's place isn't too long. He parks and turns the car off. He doesn't move to get out and neither do you. He turns towards you and gives you a look. You unbuckle your seatbelt and practically launch yourself at him. You move so you're sitting on his lap, with the steering wheel against your back. Your fingers are tangled in his hair as your lips move together. Since your first kiss you shared at the gym, it's not uncommon for you and him to make out like a couple of horny teenagers. His hands roam your back. His hand dips below the back of your sweats. His finger toy with the back of your thong because he grabs the fleshy cheek of your ass. You realize he's definitely an ass man. Whenever you're on top of him he's constantly grabbing your butt.
"Fuck—" he moans against your lips. "I'm going to get hard if we don't stop."
"Is that a problem?" You tease him, pulling back.
"Yeah. Our first time shouldn't be in my car. We should take things slower." You've never had a man want to take things slow like this. But you have no problem waiting. You know when you finally have sex it will be intense, just like everything is with him.
After your intense makeout session in the car you find yourself in the living room of Junhui and Minghao's apartment. It's two in the morning but none of the guys seem to be tired. Soonyoung is sitting on the floor next to Chan. They have been talking about some huge fight with some man named Johnny.
"Dude, Johnny is in Sung's gang. Last time I checked Sung is still pissed he lost money when you beat him." Soonyoung says. If you remember correctly, Sung was the first man you saw Junhui fight.
"Is fighting Johnny a good idea?" Minghao asks.
"No." Chan chimes in.
"The money would be crazy though." Soonyoung responds.
Junhui isn't saying anything. He's just silently sitting on the couch next to you.
"Jun you don't have to do it." Minghao says.
"If I don't fight him, Sung is just going to be more pissed."
"Dude Johnny is huge. He knocked out Bronx and broke his arm." Chan says.
Everything they're all saying is making you extremely uneasy. You look over at Junhui, unable really read his emotions.
"What is the payout?" Junhui asks.
"Double the Sung fight." Minghao says.
"I'll do it." The moment he agrees you suddenly want to cry. You push yourself off the couch.
You don't say anything as you walk off to Junhui's room. You don't want to make a scene begging him not to fight. You clearly have something going on with Junhui but you definitely aren't his girlfriend.
You head off to the bathroom to brush your teeth and to start getting ready for bed. You go about your business brushing your teeth and changing into the oversized shirt and shorts Junhui keeps in the top drawer for you.
You walk out of the bathroom and find Junhui sitting on the bed waiting for you.
"You're clearly upset."
You stop in front of him and stand between his spread legs. "I'm worried."
"I can count on one hand how many fights I've lost." He rests his hand on your thigh.
"If you're going to do this fight I want to be there."
He shakes his head, leaning back away from you. "It could get ugly, and I don't want you to see it."
Closing your eyes you take a deep. How could you possibly explain to him that you care so much about him that you'll be worried sick about him?
"I need to be there. I can't just go to work or sit at home and pretend everything is okay." You crawl on to his lap. "I'm begging you, please."
Reaching up he holds your face with both hands. "You need to bring Jeonghan or Mingyu with you."
He leans up, pressing his lips to yours. You don't realize but he cares about you so much, that he can't stand the idea of you being upset with him.
"You can go back out with the boys if you want." You feel guilty he left his friends because you got upset.
"They're just drinking and hanging out. I don't want to do that. I want to lay in bed and hold you."
Crawling off of him, you shimmy out of your shorts you're wearing. You're standing there in just a little thong and an oversized shirt.
"I think you're trying to make me hard." He groans laying down flat.
"It's more comfortable to sleep this way." You flash him a faux innocent smile.
He lets out a heavy sigh before sitting up. "Should I sleep naked?"
"I would prefer you did." You tease him crawling into the side of your bed you find yourself always sleeping on.
He heads off to the bathroom leaving you alone for about five minutes. He comes back dressed only in a pair of tight boxer-briefs that leave little to the imagination.
He crawls into bed next to you. Reaching over he turns off the light. He pulls you close to him. Your head is resting on this chest and he has your leg pulled on top of his stomach. You're as physically close as you can be.
You never feel as relaxed as you are in his arms. It doesn't take long until you're sound asleep curled up against him.
SEVEN: EVERYTHING WAS MIDNIGHT RAIN
It’s hard to watch the fight unfolding in front of you. Jeonghan holds your hand tightly. Johnny is bigger than Junhui and his hits are landing hard. He throws a head right hook to Junhui's jaw. He stumbles back, spitting out blood.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you can’t watch this. The crowd erupts screaming. Opening your eyes just a little you see Johnny on the floor. Junhui is on top of him throwing punches.
Johnny gets a firm kick in, getting Junhui off of him. Junhui stumbles back. Johnny is throwing punches, and kicks nonstop. Junhui is able to block most of them. Johnny gets another firm hit in, splitting open Junhui eyebrow.
Burying yourself into Jeonghan’s side, you squeeze your eyes shut. You care about the man in the mask too much to watch him get this hurt.
“Keep your eyes closed.” Jeonghan says.
You try to block out everything. The cheers get louder, and you hear the noises both the fighters are making. The crowd groans and suddenly erupts.
Pulling away from Jeonghan slowly you find Johnny knocked out on the concrete and Junhui standing tall. Blood is dripping from his eyebrow down his face. Lifting his hand he wipes away the blood. His eyes stay locked on yours.
Your chest aches staring at him. He’s staring at you in the room filled to the brim with people cheering, like it's only you two. The vice grip on your heart, leaves you stuck standing there.
Hao and Soonyoung rush over to Junhui. Soonyoung is working on checking on him while the man running the show hands Minghao a duffel bag. Junhui and the boys walk towards the back. The moment they’re close to you and Jeonghan, Junhui grabs your hand. Lacing his fingers with yours, he squeezes your hand.
Once in the back, Jeonghan locks the door. Junhui takes off his mask. You instantly notice his lip is busted open. You want to work on cleaning him up, but before you can, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug.
You can feel the eyes of the other three boys burning into you. Closing your eyes, you lean into him. Wrapping your arms around him tightly. You don’t ever want to see him in another fight like that.
“I’m sorry, you had to see that.” He says just loud enough for you to hear.
“I can’t see you get hurt like that again.” Tears brim your eyes. You can’t help but cry. Sniffling back tears, you try to keep yourself together.
He pulls away slowly. He stares at you for a short second. Reaching up he rests his hand on your cheek. His thumb drags across your cheek, pushing away your tears.
“I should get looked at.”
Stepping back, you nod. “Yea. Soonyoung needs to clean up your wounds and doctor you.”
Junhui slowly walks over towards the boy. You stand locked in the same place Junhui left you. Jeonghan walks in over to you. Your eyes are locked on the man you’ve grown to care for, as his friends are inspecting his injuries.
Jeonghan stands next to you. He nudges your side, catching your “Do you love him?” He asks, just loud enough for you to hear.
“I think so. I think there is something in the universe that pulled us to each other. Before him, there was a part of me that always felt like it was missing. He makes me feel whole.”
“It seems like he loves you.”
“I’m bad luck, and I’m so scared he's going to get hurt because of me.”
“He won’t get hurt because of you. Let him protect you, and take care of you.” Jeonghan nudges your side again.
You finally look away from Junhui. “What if he doesn’t like who I am? What if he finds out about my job, and it’s too much for him?” Everything you’ve done at work that you’re not proud of, was so you could survive. You never planned on taking your clothes off for money, but sometimes you have to so you can survive.
“He’s not going to judge you. I know him, he’s a really good guy and he cares about you. He’s not going to care that you strip every so often.”
Junhui slowly stands up. Minghao hands him another mask. As soon as you all walk out of the back door, you don’t want people to fully see his face.
He puts on the mask and glances over at you. He walks over to you and laces his fingers with yours. Being close to him feels natural.
Walking out of the crowded warehouse. Soonyoung helps clear a path. Stopping at the entrance you see it’s now raining.
“Can I come to your place, to take care of you?” You don’t want to be alone tonight. You’re just going to stay awake all night worrying about him.
“Yeah of course.”
Jeonghan and Soonyoung say goodnight, before running to their cars. Junhui leads you through the rain towards Minghao’s car.
The ride to the boy’s apartment wasn’t too long. Minghao walks behind as Junhui slowly makes his way upstairs. Once inside, Junhui heads off to his room. Before you can follow, Minghao grabs your wrist stopping you.
“Hey?”
“Yeah?”
“He doesn’t do this with other women. I know you seem kind of guarded, and I want you to know he’s not some player or something. He’s pretty guarded himself, and only let you in because he cares about you.”
“I care about him too.”
“I know.” Minghao releases your wrist. “Take care of him tonight.”
“I will.”
You head off towards Junhui’s room. Slowly pushing the door open. He’s nowhere to be seen. You look by his hamper and find his clothes he was just wearing. The door that leads to the bathroom is cracked, and you can hear the water running.
Pushing the door open you see the curtain is pulled shut. “Jun?”
“Yeah, bunny?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, you can join me if you would like.”
Walking in you shut the door fully. Without even thinking you start stripping away your clothes. Being naked in front of people isn't anything new for you, but the idea of him seeing you naked for the first time feels intimate.
Pulling back the curtain, you slide the door open. You step into the shower carefully. Your eyes instantly lock onto his beautiful body that is drenched. His ribs are already painted with water colored bruises, blooming on his skin. His lip is slowly healing. He turns around letting the water rinse away his shampoo.
You could spend hours admiring all the details of his beautiful body. Your eyes can’t help but wander down to his large cock, which is resting between his legs.
“You’re beautiful.” You say.
He gives you a gentle smile. “You’re breathtaking.”
He steps out from the water and holds his hand out. You reach out, taking his hand. Stepping under the hot water, your body instantly starts to relax.
“You know we’ve only ever kissed and now I’m naked in the shower with you.” You try to make light of the situation.
“I’m sorry.” He leans in close, while the water is pouring down on both of you.
“Don’t be sorry.” You want anything and everything this man will possibly give you.
His large hand rests on your cheek. He leans in even closer so his nose is bumping yours. His lips just barely brush yours as he takes a deep breath. Your lips part, as you’re dying to say something. Silent pleads sit on your tongue.
“Jun—“
“Let me take a moment to enjoy this.”
“Kiss me or I might drop dead.”
The softest laugh passes his lips. Everything melts away as his lips crash into yours. Your fingers tangle in his wet hair, holding him close to you.
He pulls back slightly, just giving you each a moment to breathe.
“Are you hurting?” You know he’s in pain after that terrible fight.
“A little but, I want to be close to you. I want to kiss you, just like I do in every lifetime.”
“Lifetime?” You have no clue what he’s talking about.
“I was made in every lifetime for you.” He rambles before crashing his lips into yours again.
He moves your both, so your back is pressed up against the cold white tile. Your lips move together like you need each other to breathe. Junhui is the air in your oxygen deprived lungs. He moves from kissing your lips, across your jaw, and down your delicate neck.
Echoing moans pass your lips as he finds the sensitive spot on the side of your neck. “Jun—“
He kisses the tops of each of your breasts. Mindlessly reach between your two bodies. You find his hardening cock against your stomach.
“Can I?” You ask.
“Please.”
His lips travel back to yours. The way your lips move together is intoxicating. You focus on pumping his length at a steady pace. He groans into mouth as you continue to kiss. One of his hands is on your breast, squeezing it. His thumb teases your nipple, reaching moans from you.
“Fuck—“ he whispers against your lips.
“You feel good.” You whisper.
“I’m going to cum.” You take this as your sign to pick up the pace.
His nose rests against yours. His lips part, and soft moans and groans pour out. His breathing is heavy, and his eyes closed.
“Fuck—“ He paints your hand and stomach with his milky white release.
You pull back and smile at the sight of him. He looks heavenly in his post orgasmic bliss.
You step back under the water rinsing off your hand and stomach. Junhui moves so he’s leaning against the wall. His eyes slowly open, he looks at you in a haze.
“Baby, come here.” He reaches for you. “Let me take care of you.”
“Later, right now I’m taking care of you.”
He steps back towards the water again. He presses his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. “I can make you cum.”
“You don’t need to. Let’s finish up and go to bed.”
Getting out of the shower you both take your time drying off. Neither of you bother putting on clothes. You crawl into his bed. You’re laying on your side with Junhui curled up behind you, holding you close. Nothing is said as he presses kisses to your bare shoulder.
“Jun?”
“Yeah, baby?” You love when he calls you baby.
“What do you mean, you were made for me in every lifetime?” You aren’t sure if he was just rambling on if what he said actually meant something.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“Jun, I feel things for you I can’t explain. I don’t think you’ll say anything I think is crazy.”
“I’ve lived so many lifetimes , they all just feel like recurring dreams.” He pauses for a moment. “But in every single lifetime, I have you. We’ve had many different names, but in every single one we look the same. I find you in every single one of those lives, and I always love you. In every life I protect, I'm the protector Bes, and in every lifetime I protect you.” You should run away and tell him he’s crazy, but you know deep down this is true. You’ve had dreams of him, long before you met him. You know deep down inside you’ve lived many life times together.
“I believe you.”
He presses a kiss to the back of your neck. “That’s why we’re drawn to each other.”
“It makes sense.” You let out a yawn. It’s been a long day and you can barely hold your eyes open.
“Let’s get some sleep.” He says softly.
It doesn’t take long before you both fall asleep curled up with the echoing sounds of the rain outside.
EIGHT: ALL THE PAIN AND FEAR
Nights like this are the worst. You went into work telling yourself you would just work as a waitress. That the tips and pay from that alone would get you in the clear for a few weeks. You didn't expect your boss to ask if you wanted to get on stage.
Sitting in the back Jeonghan comes over and sits down next to you. He places soda down in front of you.
Glancing up at him, you find him giving you a sympathetic smile.
"You don't have to get up there if you don't want to."
"I know. I'm worried about what Jun will think." Before him you didn't really worry about what someone would think about you getting on that stage.
"I promise you, he won't care."
"What if he looks at me differently?" You grab the lemon lime soda he placed in front of you.
"Neither me or Mingyu looked at you differently when you started doing it. Jun won't care. You just need to be honest with him."
A heavy sigh passes your lips. You bring the ice cold glass to your lips and take a drink or the crisp soda.
"If you don't want to do it, you can always say no. Woojin is an asshole but I doubt he would make you get on stage if you don't want to."
Jeonghan stands up and pats your back. "Whatever you want to do I support you."
You finish drinking your soda and decide you're just going to do it. You've never felt shameful for being a stripper and you know deep down inside Junhui won't care.
One dance that's all you'll do, and then you'll be a waitress the rest of the night.
Heading off to the room the dancer get ready in, you go to your locker where you store things for nights like tonight.
You're dressed in a tiny white lace set that leaves little to the imagination. Putting on your heels you go over to the DJ and let him know what song you want him to play.
Standing on the side stage you take slow deep breaths trying to calm down. The beat to the song "Do I Wanna Know" by the Arctic Monkeys starts to play. The DJ says your stage name as you walk onto the stage.
Being on stage feels like a blur. Leaning against the cold pole you sway your body to the beat of the music. Reaching for the front clasps on your bra, you disconnect it and let the white lace fall to the floor.
Looking around you just see the bright light and the money hitting the stage.
Grabbing the pole, you walk around it just dressed in your tiny white thong. Stepping out of it, you leave yourself standing there fully naked. You dance around a little as the song comes to a close. Walking off the stage you grab a robe that you left on the hook.
Tying the robe up you walk back to the dancers room. You don't want to sit back here and think about what just happened. You just quickly put on a tiny white dress, not bothering to wear a bra and another thong. You know you could make more money in tips if you're dressed like this. You switch to a pair of chunk white boots that have a heel and a platform that are comfortable.
Walking back onto the floor you let your manager know you're going to wait tables. You see your first table and head over to the bar where Jeonghan is.
"How are you feeling?" He asks as he starts making your drinks for table seven.
"Fine. I just made my rent on stage."
"You don't sound fine." He responds as he cleans a glass.
"Jun is fighting tonight and I'm always on edge when I'm not there to make sure he's safe."
"That's understandable. Did you want me to drop you off at Jun's tonight?" He sets the glass down on the counter.
"Yes please."
You go back to taking drink orders and waiting tables. You've got maybe two hours left at work and instead of fully waiting tables, you're running out drinks for Jeonghan.
You're on the far side of the club, out of view of Jeonghan or Mingyu. You've just brought a large tray of shots to a group of men dressed in suits.
Turning around you feel sick instantly. Dae locks eyes on you immediately. He finds you walking around near the stage. You look around hoping Mingyu will show up. Jeonghan has a swarm of people at the bar, so he definitely can't see you.
"Leave me alone." You say firmly as he approaches.
"Baby, don't be like that." He walks up.
Holding your arm out you keep a distance from him. "I'm just trying to talk to you without your little masked fighter being your body guard."
You take a big step back. "Leave!"
"Why won't you talk to me anymore?" He takes another step closer.
"We're broken up. We have been for eight months. Just leave me alone."
He barks out a laugh. "Does your little fighter Bes know about you getting up on that stage?"
You don't respond, you just stare at him.
"I'm shocked you're here and not watching your new man's fight tonight. I heard Sung wants revenge." You've heard Minghao and Soonyoung talk about Sung. He's the first guy you ever saw Junhui fight. He's a big strong guy with ties to Dae's gang.
"Shut up."
"I wonder if Sung and everyone else knows that your sweet Junhui is good at fighting." The moment he mentions Junhui’s name, ice runs through your veins.
Without thinking you shove him away from you. "Shut the fuck up, you don't know what you're talking about."
He lets out another laugh. "Oh it seems I've hit a nerve."
Before anything else can be said Jeonghan and Mingyu are here. Mingyu grips the back of Dae's shirt, pulling him away from you.
"What your little fighter can't help you, you still need Jeonghan and this goon." He pushes his elbow back towards Mingyu.
Jeonghan pulls you back a little. Dae rolls his eyes and laughs. "I think your boy Junhui should be worried that you're fucking Jeonghan." You and Jeonghan have never done anything sexual together. Dae has always and will always be jealous of your friendship with him.
Mingyu tightens his grip pulling him back more. "Dude, shut the fuck up. You have no clue what you're talking about."
"I hope you said goodbye to your man before you came to work."
"What?"
"Turns out Sung and the boys brought a gun to the fight. It looks like no one is a fan of the masked fighter, Bes." Your stomach instantly drops.
Dae lifts his wrist looking at the time. "I would say things have probably already kicked off. Maybe if you leave now you can say goodbye."
Bile crawls up your throat. The room feels like it's spinning. Stepping forward you slap Dae.
"Good luck, baby." He laughs.
Mingyu pulls him into a chokehold pulling him back.
Without thinking Jeonghan grabs your hand. He drags you through the crowded club. He stops at the bar where your manager Woojin is. He says you're having an emergency. Hand in hand you sprint out of the club together. The concrete is wet from the rain that just ended.
Jeonghan drags you to his car. You both hop in and he drives, breaking too many laws, to get you to the warehouse quickly.
Parking, you hop out and see chaos is already unfolding. Jeonghan looks around frantically.
The sound of the gun shot ringing out echoed outside.
"Fuck." Jeonghan says.
Immediately people start sprinting outside. Another gun shot rings out. Then everything suddenly starts happening too quickly. Jeonghan runs towards the door and luckily sees no one has been shot.
You see Minghao looking terrified with blood on his hands. You sprint towards him.
"What happened?"
With wild eyes Minghao grabs your shoulder. "One of Sung's guys shot Chan."
"How bad is it?"
"It grazed him."
Another group of people rush out. You look inside to see Junhui has Sung pinned to the ground with Soonyoung helping. Jeonghan rushes inside to help Chan.
You follow Minghao inside, you desperately want to get to Junhui.
"Oh my god." Your voice immediately catches Junhui's attention.
You look at Sung and see he's definitely been knocked unconscious. Junhui jumps up and pulls you into his chest. He wants to kiss you so bad, but you both know he needs to keep his mask on.
"We need to get Chan out of here." Jeonghan says.
Chan lets out a groan as Jeonghan and Minghao help him stand up.
Soonyoung stands up and follows behind everyone as you head outside. The boys take Chan towards Jeonghan's car that's parked in the alley behind the warehouse.
Junhui stops and pulls you into another hug. When the first gun shot rang out he was terrified he would never see you again.
You walk towards the alley with him holding your hand. As you get to the entrance you see an expensive looking mustang driving toward you.
Everything moves in slow motion as the head lights get closer and closer.
Junhui moves your body like a force of nature. He shoves you hard and quick, getting you out of the way of the car bearing towards you. You hit the concrete wall with a thud.
He throws himself the other way attempting to save himself. You're just far enough away from the boys that they can't see what is happening.
Everything aches as you hit the hard concrete. Closing your eyes, you feel disoriented.
The car speeds off after clearly missing their target.
“Baby,” he shouts, pushing himself off the cold concrete. His attempts to save you from the car, left him on the cold hard ground. His heart sinks, seeing you laying on the wet asphalt. God he hopes he didn't hurt you, trying to save you.
Frantically he runs to you, praying to any god that you're okay. Being thrown against the wall, left your ears ringing. You held your ears feeling dazed. Slowly you sit up groaning in pain from the impact. He pulls up to your feet and presses you against the brick wall, his hands reached up to hold your face. His eyes are wild as he studies you.
Opening your mouth to speak nothing comes out as you stare at him. His breathing is rough just like yours. The car that tried to hit you, is long gone. You know exactly why they tried to run you off the road.
He releases your face, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. He's still wearing his gear from the fight. His face is still partially covered by his mask.
Glove covered hands roam your soft body. No one’s touch had ever felt quite like this. It wasn’t soft by any means but it was sensual without trying. With your body pressed against the cold brick wall you mind drifts to places it shouldn’t go. Junhui has never touched you like this. He's touching you as if he's trying to make sure you're real.
All that could be heard was heavy breathing between the two of you and the sound of passing cars below.
Your breathing is shallow as you’re focused on Junhui’s eyes.
You're in an alley in the dark side of the city. You had left work in a hurry dressed in nothing but a tiny dress and he was in his outfit he fought in.
It felt wrong because of what had just happened, but you had never been so turned on in your life.
“Jun—,” as you went to speak, he places his hand over mouth, silencing you.
Leaning forward with his lips brushing your ear he whispers, "you can’t say my name out loud right now.”
Slowly he removes his hand.“Okay.”
“Are you okay,” his hands went from your mouth to gently gliding down your throat.
“I’m fine. Maybe a little bruised up,” reaching out you rest your hand on his chest.
“Your pulse is racing,” he rasps.
“I’m on edge.” You're absolutely rattled, after someone clearly tried to kill you, by running you over.
“We need to get you back to my place,” he reaches down and takes your hand.
“What about my place?” Your apartment is way closer and you don't know if you could make it to his place.
“We can go there,” his hand rests in the crook of your neck.
Holding your hand he leads you into the alley where the boys are standing by their cars looking at Chan's wound. It looks like the bullet grazed his arm. They had no clue what just happened.
"We need to go to the hospital." Soonyoung says.
"You guys take Chan, I'm going to take the car and get bunny home safe."
Jeonghan puts his hand on his shoulder. "Please take care of her."
NINE: I BEG FOR YOU, AND EVERYTHING WE COULD BE
You're about ten minutes away from your apartment. He parks his car and leans over and presses his lips to your cheek for a soft kiss.
"In case Dae has people waiting for you outside, maybe we should take the fire escape."
"Good idea."
Arriving at the bottom of your apartment where the fire escape is, leads up to your second story apartment. You climb up the ladder well aware you're barely covered by your dress and tiny thong you're wearing underneath it. You left work in a rush and didn't have time to change into anything else. You're basically in nothing but a skin tight dress that leaves very little to the imagination. Luckily Junhui is a gentleman and wouldn't intentionally try to get an eyeful as you climbed up the ladder.
Climbing through the window into your apartment you help Junhui crawl in behind you. You shut the window quickly and lock it. You proceed to pull the blinds closed and turn to Junhui who's standing by your couch taking deep breaths.
“Are you okay?” You asks, walking towards him quickly.
He reaches up and slowly removed his mask. His black eye already coming in and his cheek is split.
Wide eyes lock on him as he works on taking his outfit off slowly. Low groans pass his lips as he works to strip away his clothes. He had taken quite a beating, tonight was clearly a set up. Sung had every intention of killing Junhui and taking you out after. Dae clearly knew what to say to get you to rush to Junhui. His hands grips the back of the couch as he walks around to sit down.
“I’m going to get my first aid kit.” You say.
The gash on his chest is pretty deep and you know you need to clean it. You hurry off to your bathroom and grab the first aid kit that's under the sink. Walking back into the living room you remove your shoes and walk over, sitting on the couch next to Junhui. His eyes are closed as he takes deep breaths.
“I thought you were dead,” you whisper.
“You don’t have to worry about me." He groans.
“It’s a little hard when I hear that you’ve been shot at the warehouse.”
With a peroxide cover cotton ball you gently cleaned the gash on his chest. His eyes are still closed tight as he groans. Gently you clean his wound, you're trying your hardest to make sure you don't hurt him anymore then he already is.
“Thank you for saving me,” you whisper, pulling away the cotton pad from his skin.
His black eyes open and a crooked smile formed on his beautiful face, “I don’t think you realize I will literally do anything to keep you safe.”
You go to move your hand away, and he reaches out, grabbing your wrist. His thumb gently rubs the underside, where your skin is more sensitive. Your eyes stay locked on him, as he touches you gently. You want to tell Junhui how much he means to you, but your brain doesn't seem to know what to say. Reaching up he takes the blood soaked cotton pad from your hand and placed it on top of the coffee table. He releases your wrist. He reaches down and places his hands on your soft hips. He moves your body as if you weighed nothing, and tugs you onto his lap. He's dressed in nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs as you straddle his thighs. You're only wearing a thin small dress that doesn't cover your body very much. You look like a stripper. The amount of make up that's cake on your skin doesn't help the look. His thumb rubs your hip, as the other hand rests on the side of your neck. His lips part as he takes slow breaths. One of your hands rests on his cheek while the other rests on your own thigh, holding down the short dress.
You lean forward resting your nose against his. Your heart is about to beat out of your chest and you know Junhui is aware of that.
“I love the way you smell, your skin always has this soft scent of vanilla,” he inhales.
Taking a slow breath you smile with your nose still resting against his.
His hand that's been resting on your hip crawls up your soft stomach, resting on the underside of your breast. His thumb grazed against the fabric of where your bra would have been if you were wearing one. Pulling his face away from you, he leans his head back and takes a breath. You could feel that he's growing harder beneath you.
“Why aren’t you wearing a bra?” He rasps leaning his head back up.
“Let’s not talk about that,” you whisper, praying that you weren’t going to have this conversation. He doesn't need to know that you get more money from tips if you aren't wearing one, or if you wear just a thin bralette.
"You don’t have to keep all these walls up around me." He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. "I meant it when I told you, I want you. I don't care about your past, or the part that you think you need to hide. I want to be with you and to protect you." He leaves out the part where he wants to tell you, that in every lifetime he's loved you, and in every lifetime he's had to protect you from evil.
“There’s some things I don’t want you to know about me,” you whisper.
“Okay.”
You know it isn't okay, but he isn't going to press you for more information.
“I was so worried about you, I couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt,” his voice is shaky.
“I’m okay Jun." Your lips are so close to his.
He must have read your mind, because he leans forward and connects his lips to your. His hand is still resting on your neck. You move your hand from your thigh and rests it on his cheek. Instinctively you roll your hips as your lips move together.
His lips move from your mouth, and he slowly start to kiss his way down your jaw. Holding your eyes close you take in his touch. His hand that's resting on your neck moves to the thin spaghetti strap of your dress.
With his lips ghosting your skin he asks, “can I?”
“Yes,” your tone is needy.
His hand that's resting on the underside of your breast moves up as he pushes down both the straps on your dress. He pushes the fabric down your skin, leaving you completely bare from the waist up. You stare at him, wide eyed as his calloused hands move up to massage your breast. His fingers rolled your nipples. Your lips are parted as you take deep a breath enjoying the feeling of his touch.
“Is this alright?” He asks.
“Yes it is,” you try to keep your tone even.
“I won't let anything like tonight ever happen again,” he leans forward and presses his lips to the side of your mouth.
His lips move against yours, as you slowly roll your hips against his growing length. Your lips move together, as if you need each other to breathe. If someone told Junhui he couldn't exist without you, he wouldn't even second guess them. Kissing you is like a breath of fresh air. You're oxygen in his air deprived lungs. Your hands move up resting on his chest. With his lips ghosting yours he whispers, "I need you.”
“Jun." You hold his face in your hands and pull away from him. "I'm so scared I'll ruin things between us. I'm bad luck, everything always falls apart because of me. I don't want to say something that will ruin things between us."
“Nothing you say will ruin anything between us. I want you, I don't mean I just want to have sex with you. I want to be the person you can lean on. I want to be the person who can take care of you. Baby just let me in." He's never sounded this desperate speaking to you before.
“Junhui I’m begging you just drop it right now,” your own voice is desperate.
“Okay.”
Your lips crash against his as your hips roll against his. Your hands move to the bottom of your dress and push it up so it's resting above your hips. Leaving you practically bare below, except for your tiny white thong. You lift your hips slightly, and pull your thong to the side.
"Please touch me."
His lips move to your neck, leaving wet kisses and gentle nips. His lips ghosts your skin and he whispers, "Are you wet for me?"
“Yes,” you rasps as his finger slide into your core.
You gasped as his fingers did slow circles on your sensitive nub. His lips never left your neck. His touch sent a shiver down your spine in the best way possible.
“I need more,” you moan.
Junhui removes his hands from your core. “Sit up a little bit,” he rasps, removing his lips from your skin.
You sit up as he pushes his boxers down his thighs enough to free his erection. Your eyes stayed locked in his face. He has a look of concentration playing across it. His hands grip your soft thigh bringing you back to a resting position on his thighs.
You sit up just enough to line yourself up with his cock. Slowly you sink down on to his length, gasping as you bottom out. Your hands rests on his chest. You stay still for a moment adjusting to his size. You haven't had sex in a while and your body is tense.
His hand rises up to rest gently on your throat, never in your life have you wanted someone to place even the slightest amount of pressure there. Leaning forward you rest your nose against his. Your breathing is uneven. His eyes are closed as his hand still rests on your throat, his thumb gently glides across your skin. All the oxygen seems to be sucked out of the room, and you need each other to breathe. Your ears are still ringing from being thrown against the wall. In this moment the only thing you can hear is yours and Junhui’s breathing.
Slowly your hips moved up. You start to move slowly up and down his length. The only other sounds passing your lips are pants and soft moans. You have never had sex in your life, that feels nearly as intimate as what is unfolding between you and Junhui. Your hands grip his shoulders as you continue to ride him. He's touching anywhere he possibly can, his hand travels from your throat down to your soft hips. He helps guide you as he moves you up and down his length.
The coil in your stomach tightens, with each drag of his cock. His length curves just the right way. With each thrust he touches that spongy spot inside of you, that has you seeing stars.
Gasping you lean forward, resting your head against his shoulder. Your lips gently nip at his shoulder. You know you're probably going to leave a mark reminding you both of what had happened between you on your couch.
With each thrust your stomach tightens. Leaning up you press your lips to his for a hungry kiss. He knows you're close by, your needy whimpers. Reaching between you, he toys with your sensitive clit.
With your lips ghosting his you moan his name, as he pushes you over the edge. Your walls flutter around his length; it didn't take too long for him to hit his high and spill inside you. Your body stops moving, you stay completely still sitting on his lap. Your forehead is resting against his as you both your breathing is uneven. His hand moves up, gently resting on your cheek. He places a wet kiss on your lips.
“You should probably take a shower." Your voice is shaky. He pulls away from you slowly.
“Will you join me?” He asks.
“Of course.”
You slowly crawl off his lap with wobbly legs and take his hands as he stands up. You lead him down towards the bathroom door that was next to your bedroom door.
TEN: FATED LOVERS
Laying in bed, your head rests on Junhui’s chest. His calloused hand rubs your back slowly. It was almost five in the morning and neither of you had been able to sleep at all. Your eyes were closed as you tried to take in his closeness. Not even two hours ago you thought Junhui was dead and now you were in bed naked with him.
"Can you promise me, I won't scare you off if I let my walls down?"
"Nothing you say could scare me." He leans down pressing his lips to the top of your head.
"I'm not just a waitress—" you pause. Outside of Jeonghan and Mingyu you don't really share the other side with people. "I also am a stripper when money is tight."
"Baby, that's fine. I fight people for money. You got to do what you got to do to survive."
"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you."
"Baby, it's okay. That doesn't change the fact that I love you." These final three words make your chest feel as if it's being squeezed.
"I love you too." You don't think you have ever loved anyone like you love him.
"I'm never going to let anything like tonight ever happen again."
"Okay."
"We should get some sleep."
"Yeah. Can you stay here when we wake up?"
He nods his head. "Of course."
Before long you both fall asleep. You dream of each other just like you always do. It's almost noon when you both wake up.
You take your time making you both lunch as Junhui sits at the table watching you move around the kitchen. Finding you in every lifetime gives his life meaning. Now that he's found you can't wait to spend the rest of this life with you.
After lunch Soonyoung calls and lets you both know that Chan is fine and he's home safe. Luckily the bullet just grazed him. He also informs you that Sung and a bunch of his gang were arrested. You aren't sure if Dae was arrested but you hope he was.
When nightfall comes around you and Junhui pack you an overnight bag and you head back to his place.
Junhui says now that he has you, he can't bear to sleep alone.
Standing in his shower he's taking his time scrubbing shampoo into your hair. He's using this time to take care of you. The moment you rinse your hair you work on washing his still very bruised body. Any chance he gets, he's leaning down to steal a kiss.
"I love you." He says between kisses.
"I love you too."
"I've loved you in every lifetime, and I'll love you in every single one that comes next." He means it. He's lived so many lifetimes as a protector and hopes he finds you in every single one.
welcome to my masterlist, you can guide yourself through it by the key below.
F — fluff M — mature/smut A — angst C — comedy
Requests are usually open but I take my time to write them. I will not write anything I am uncomfortable with + I only write for seventeen.
seungcheol
♡ dumb pretty princess | M • bodyguard!cheol x celebrity!reader
your bodyguard is tired of you leaving his sight, so he has to teach you a listening lesson.
♡ •cherryontop_ is live | M • adultstreamer!cheol x roommate!reader
coming soon.
jeonghan
♡ into the woods | M • camp counselor!jeonghan x f!reader
coming soon.
wonwoo
♡ watching | M • roommate!wonwoo x reader
After a night of confessions, your heart breaks but you still find yourself thinking about him on a lonely night, just to catch him watching you touch yourself to the though of him. ; or, wonwoo comes home to see you moaning his name while you play with ur toys ifywim
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ i’ve got a crush on u series | idol!wonwoo x popstar!reader
♡ butterflies | M
backstage rendezvous with your boyfriend, or wonwoo receives an award from the star of the night who happens to be a great singer iykwim
♡ no biting | M
Wonwoo is tired after a long week of working on the preparations for Svt’s new tour and finds comfort on you—literally; or, wonu is obsessed with you and your breasts.
♡ good to me | M
after a long show and an even longer tour, wonwoo finds himself at the last stop, los angeles. good thing he has someone very special to take care of him—in every single way. ; or, wonwoo stays over at your house after his last tour stop and a relaxing bath turns into a lot more.
mingyu
♡ loneliness is a bitch | M • incubus!mingyu x collegestudent!reader
your poetry professor starts showing up in your dreams after he praised you on your assignment—but it must be all in your head right? or why is he looking at you like he know what you dreamt about?
♡ sugar & spice | M • adultstreamer!mingyu x baker!reader
