#qian kun

[yum-nyang]

WAYV: 鸢 (Vision Wings)

[traumainpyjamas]

WayV 威神V '鸢 (Vision Wings)

[susicheng]

NCT members as MY HINGE LIKES

i found old screenshots from last year of some hinge replies i got from randos so here they are as nct members :3 disclaimer: i am happily in a relationship and no i am not dating from this pool of likes sorry to disappoint

hihihiiii i am back !!!! i'm hoping to drop a fic or two in the next month or so but i figured this was as good of a way as any to make my grand return after.... almost a full year.... i missed u all so much please forgive me

special thank u to my angel princess for confirming accuracy on all of these AND for being the og i stole the idea from :3 i love u user @lovietheory

[weishenkun]

cookie's debut 😻

[snowball-doie]

| pairing: Kun x afab!Reader

| information: 18+ MDNI. NSFW. kun just straight up eating pussy. overstimulation. squirting. hands-free male orgasm.

| aurora's note: everyone say thank you to @girlclosethedoor for this

| pussy eater!kun who will find literally any and every excuse to eat you out, no matter where you are or what you're doing. sitting on the couch, enjoying a movie? he'll tug your hips to be angled off the cushins so he can kneel in front of you. laying down in bed? he'll crawl under the covers. out at dinner with some friends? he'll ask you to meet him in the bathroom in 2 minutes so he can get on his knees and hold you steady as you lean against the sink for support.

| pussy eater!kun who uses every technique imaginable to make you cum with just his tongue.

| pussy eater!kun who likes to look at you through his lashes as you slowly lose your sanity and eventually cum.

| pussy eater!kun who holds your hips tightly because he doesn't want you squirming away from him.

| pussy eater!kun who overstimulates you because he's obsessed with your moans, your beauty, the way you look when you cum, and the taste of your cum-- he can never, ever get enough of you. even if you whine and beg for him to stop, your feet pushing at his shoulders, your hips vaguely wiggling in his grip, he keeps going.

| pussy eater!kun who curls his fingers in you as your cumming because he wants you to squirt.

| pussy eater!kun who moans against your clit when you tug on his hair.

| pussy eater!kun who begs and begs for you to cum while still lapping at your clit. he loves feeling you tighten around his fingers and having your clit pulse against his tongue.

| pussy eater!kun who gets hard from eating you out.

| pussy eater!kun who cums while eating you out one time, and he gets so embarrassed that he can't look at you.......

| pussy eater!kun who gets teased by the boys for being really good with his tongue when he shows off that he can tie cherry stems with it. little do they know.

| pussy eater!kun who leaves hickies on the inside of your thighs when he's down with you.

taglist: @henderysposts , @trash-number-one , @mystverse , @cyburrhyuvk

@sxmnc , @nctdreamchaser , @luvsooby

[viasdreams]

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

asking wayv “as a seahorse, could i get you pregnant?” !!

a/n: “via what is this???😱” WHAT DO YOU THINK IT IS??? GOD FORBID A GIRL GETS A LITTLE SILLY🙄

[sluttyten]

magic hands

Kun + “alright, let’s get you home” + gentle/soft sex

You love your job as a teacher to a class of third graders. Most of the time. Eight and nine year olds can be absolutely brutal or positively sweet depending on the mood you find them in. They’re also still in the age of discovery, of awe and wonder, amazement at things that you’ve started to take for granted at your adult age. Sometimes when you show them something new to them, as you watch their eyes widen with excitement and their mouths open with cries of “woah!” it makes you see the world in a perspective. 

But sometimes they teach you something new, too, like the day your excited and overly loud classroom informs you that the new librarian Mr. Qian possesses a wide and varied skillset. The one that has your kids most excited is that he does magic. 

You haven’t had much of a chance yet to interact with the new librarian. You’ve really only seen him in passing at faculty meetings and when you drop your kids off at the library for your free period. Just a cordial hello and a thank you and a reminder of what time you’ll be back, and then a thank you and a goodbye when you pick the kids up to escort them back to your classroom. So, basically, you don’t know enough about Mr. Qian to know if he’s feeding your students stories of magic and racecar driving and jumping out of planes and climbing mountains to snowboard, or if he’s full of nonsense. 

As the Halloween season is upon you, decorations pop up all over the school. Some teachers decorate their doors with leaves colored by the students, some have their kids paint pumpkins that line the windowsills of their classrooms. And on Monday at 9 o’clock sharp, as you lead your kids down the hall to the school library, you notice Mr. Qian has decorated the doors to the library with magic wands and cauldrons and witches hats, broomsticks and potion bottles and spellbooks. 

The kids maintain an orderly line as they pass through the doorway, but as if some magical spell is in action, they break as soon as they’re through the door, excitedly running towards the librarian’s desk where Mr. Qian is waiting, leaning on the edge of the desk with a book in hand, smiling and greeting the kids by name. 

His gaze flicks towards you and he nods in greeting. 

You don’t have anything in particular that you were planning to do during your free period, so you linger in the doorway to observe. 

A few of the kids wander off into the shelves or tuck themselves in the quiet reading area at the far end of the room with its comfy beanbag chairs and soft pillows. Most of the kids settle down on the floor in front of Mr. Qian’s desk, and once everyone has settled, he asks, “Should I pick up where we left off on Friday?”

The excited voices of your kids ring through the room. Mr. Qian grins and cracks the spine of the book. 

You step inside to lean more comfortably against the wall, watching as the librarian begins reading a new chapter of a story. He has a lovely voice, and the longer you watch him, the more you come to realize he has a lovely face too. He’s handsome and charming, a pair of round glasses slide down his nose as he animatedly reads the story, using multiple voices and waving his hands. And he has lovely hands too, you think to yourself as you watch the gentle way he holds the book, his fingers caressing the cover, and God, you wonder—

Snap out of it. 

You’re in school. In a library full of third graders that you’re going to be teaching spelling and grammar to once you return to your classroom. 

You don’t even realize that you’re really just staring until Mr. Qian ends the chapter. He snaps the book shut with such finality that you flinch a little, surprised out of your daze. The kids on the floor in front of him groan, begging for just one more chapter please, Mr. Kun!

Is that his name? Qian Kun. 

“You know the rules,” he tells the disappointed faces, “One chapter, then you choose one book to take back to class until Friday when I see you again.” 

A few more of the kids dart off into the bookshelves, looking for their reading book for the week. A couple of kids linger to chat with Mr. Qian, but after a few minutes, he sends them off into the shelves too. 

And then he looks at you. 

“You decided to stay today?” He places the book on his desk and folds his hands on his thigh. “Did you like the story?”

To be honest, you’re not sure you actually heard a single word he said. “Honestly, I stayed because I’m just curious about you.”

“About me?” He laughs, lifting a hand to flick a section of his hair back from his forehead. His hair is so fluffy, it looks soft, dyed a warm bronze-brown. 

“The kids love you, Mr. Qian,” you tell him, walking closer until there are only a few feet between you. “They tell me all kinds of stories. They say you do magic, but I’m assuming they mean more than just bringing a story to life?”

He smiles, his eyes sparkle like he’s a handsome Disney prince. “I’m Kun, by the way. Even the kids call me Mr. Kun. I just think Mr. Qian sounds so formal.”

“Kun, then,” you tilt your head a bit, unable to look away from him even as a flurry of giggles starts up in one corner of the library. “Are you as magical as they say?”

“I do card tricks, mostly. Do you want to see?” He reaches behind him for a deck of cards already sitting on the desk. 

What follows is a demonstration of magic so entertaining and difficult for you to figure out how he did it, that you’re almost as thoroughly convinced as your students that Mr. Kun is performing actual magic. 

You’re just as reluctant to leave the library as your students, and it’s difficult to focus on teaching spelling to disinterested third graders when all your mind keeps returning to is Kun’s hands shuffling the cards and performing magic. 

A couple days pass before you bump into the magician librarian again. 

It’s early in the morning on Thursday. School doesn’t actually start for another 30 minutes, and you're only halfway awake. It’s a cold, rainy October morning that would just be perfect for staying in bed, but you’re here in the cold walls of the school, in desperate need of coffee. You’re still wearing your fleece-lined jacket, scrolling on your phone through the emails the PTA and the principal have been sending out about the Halloween dance next Friday night, and as you step into the teacher’s lounge, you knock right into someone. 

“Oh! Sorry!” You apologize right as he says, “I wasn’t paying any attention to where I was going!”

You look up into the warm eyes of Qian Kun. Somehow he managed not to spill any of his coffee on you in the collision, but he wasn’t so lucky himself. Half of the mug’s contents appears to have sloshed onto the floor, with a small portion of the rest splashing onto him. 

“Ah, damn,” he curses, immediately reaching for the roll of paper towels beside the door. He squats down and cleaning the mess on the floor, not caring at all for the stain on himself. There’s something about the sight of him like that that you find cute. Maybe it’s the pinkish tinge to his cheeks and ears, or the way he tosses a sheepish smile your way. Maybe it’s his total librarian outfit today — the round gold-rimmed glasses, a sweater vest over a white tshirt, khakis — which he pulls off quite well. 

“Let me make another coffee for you,” you say, “it’s my fault for running into you.” You reach down and take the cup from where he sat it on the floor beside the spill. “How do you take it?”

Kun pauses in mopping up the puddle on the floor. “Just black is fine,” he says, and you can feel his eyes following you as you cross the room to the coffee machine. You look back at him, and he drops his gaze to the floor, finishing cleaning the mess. 

He dumps the brown sodden paper towels in the trash beside you, then he washes his hands in the sink. It’s incredibly difficult for you to not watch him dry his hands off; you think you’ve definitely got a thing for his hands. 

“The kids talk about you too, you know,” Kun says. 

“What?” You lift your head to meet his eyes, hoping he didn’t notice you watching him. “What on earth could they have to say?”

Kun comes closer, folding his arms across the vest as he leans against the countertop. “Only good things. They always tell me how nice and pretty and single you are,” he laughs, “Which they only started including the ‘single’ aspect of that after one of the girls asked me if I was married and I said no. But, honestly, they say you’re very patient with them and never lose your temper. They told me you took them on a field trip earlier this year to the science museum in the city, that it was the most fun they’ve ever had, except for when I'm reading to them or showing them magic.”

“Strong achievements for both of us, then,” you joke, “Impressing a bunch of eight year olds.” 

The coffee finishes brewing, and you take the pot, pouring a cup for Kun first. 

“Thank you,” he says warmly as you pass the mug to him. Your hands brush, and warmth flutters in your belly.

“And can I just say, that it’s so embarrassing that they told you I'm single.” You start to pour your own cup of coffee. “Do they think they’re little matchmakers or something?”

Kun laughs. “I think they do consider themselves matchmakers. I overheard a few of them talking about Mr. Jung, the first grade teacher. He’s also unmarried, and they’re considering trying to convince him to ask you to the Halloween dance.”

You take a sip of the coffee, deem it too hot to drink just yet, but you stand there and hold it, letting it warm your palms. “That does explain why a few of the girls have been asking me about if I’ve got Halloween plans.”

“Do you?” Kun asks, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Chaperoning the dance. What everyone dreams of doing for Halloween.” You’re only a little bit sarcastic about it. You do enjoy the dances to a small degree, especially the Halloween dance when the kids all come in costume (no masks allowed, and alternate costumes will be available for anyone whose costume is deemed inappropriate). But you also would much rather be spending Halloween with your friends, though this year some of them are married with kids that they’ll be taking trick-or-treating instead of going out drinking at the bars or even getting drunk at home and watching scary movies. 

Kun extends his mug, clinking it against yours. “I’ll see you there, then.”

“I’ll see you there.” 

Friday when you drop the kids off at the library, you can’t stay. You have quizzes to finish grading, so you return to your classroom, lose yourself in red pen marks, and finish up just in time to get the kids from Kun. You’re surprised when you reach the library to find the room utterly empty, but then a breeze flutters the loose ends of your hair, and you realize that the exit door in the corner of the library is propped open with a stack of books. A note taped to the door waves in the breeze. 

The exit door leads right outside the school building to a grassy area of the playground. That’s where you find Kun and your third graders all spread out as they listen to Kun’s storytelling. 

One of the girls spots you, and she sits up and waves, which draws Kun’s attention. 

“Is our time up?” He asks, slipping his fingers inside the book to hold his spots. He turns his other wrist, checking the time on his watch. You notice the glint off the face of his watch in the sunlight, a worn leather band wraps around his wrist. He’s dressed more casually today since it’s Friday. Jeans and a tshirt with a flannel thrown over top, the sleeves rolled up nearly to his elbows. 

You can’t make words, too tongue-tied as you look at Kun highlighted prettily in the sunlight. 

He sends the kids along to run back inside, and he is a little slower to push himself up off the ground, dusting his hand over the back of his pants as he walks towards where you stand rooted to the ground. “How’s your day, miss?” 

Splendid. 

You’re standing close enough you can smell Kun’s cologne. Close enough that you can see the slight freckles on his cheeks. 

“It’s Friday, so I can’t complain,” you finally manage to say. 

Kun nods, smiling with an absolutely delightful dimple making an appearance as he says, “I know. I have plans this weekend to play a show with my band. One of the guys is busy with his professional snowboarding career, the other drives for a living. They’re usually pretty busy, but we finally found a weekend that works for all of us.”

You laugh and shake your head in disbelief. 

“What?” Kun asks, nudging your arm with his. 

“You do realize how outlandish what you’re saying is, right? Being in a band, professional snowboarding, a pro racecar driver.”

Kun smiles wider. “I didn’t say he was a racecar driver. Have you been listening to your kids stories about me?”

“That you’re a risk taker? Skydiving, racing, mountain-climbing? They might’ve mentioned it.” You step inside the library to find your kids are shuffling themselves into line at the door back into the school. 

“I’m also a music producer and composer in my free time.” With the way he’s smiling at you, you can’t tell if he’s serious or not. And maybe your hesitation to believe him shows on your face, because as you start to usher your kids from the library, Kun calls out, “The show starts tomorrow night at 10 at Action Figure in the city, if you feel like fact-checking my stories.”  

You look back over your shoulder at him, but he’s already turning away, whistling to himself as he passes through the bookshelves of his domain. 

As much as you tell yourself that it’s silly, you just happen to coincidentally find yourself in the city. Around 9 o’clock at night. Near the area of the Action Figure bar. 

You slip inside and find a seat in the back near the wall, away from the stage area. You just want to see him, just want to see if Kun was telling the truth.

 Not that you think he is a liar, but on Friday after getting back to your classroom, all of the kids were full of their favorite stories from Kun. That he’s a great cook, that he volunteers at an animal shelter, that he flies planes and jumps out of them, that he can speak 3 languages, that he plays the piano, that he drives racecars, travels the world, rock climbs on dangerous cliffs. Now, you don’t think you’re going to find evidence of most of those things tonight, but you might. 

You’re sitting there, nursing your drink, when the band takes the stage. 

And there he is. 

Qian Kun. 

Though he looks a bit different than the version of him that you know at school. He’s wearing purple plaid pants that taper down towards his ankles where he wears grungy black boots. And you try your damnedest to keep your eyes from falling out as you take in the matching purple plaid suit jacket he wears. It’s decked out with pins and a couple chains for a very punk-ish look. But that’s not what has you trying to roll your tongue back into your mouth like a cartoon character.

He’s not wearing anything beneath the jacket. All you can see is bare chest, though he does modestly have two buttons of it done up, but there’s still more skin on display than you’ve ever seen from the school librarian.

There are five other guys with him, and it takes you an embarrassingly long time before you even really notice that they’re there. The real kicker is that all of them are just as gorgeous as him. They’ve got one guy on drums, one bassist, two guitarists, one guy stands up front with a microphone, and Kun slides into place behind a keyboard also with a mic. 

He sings too? Of course he does.

Once they start playing, you’re in absolute awe. They sound incredible, and Kun’s voice in particular has you ensnared. They perform a few cover songs of popular songs, but also some of their own original music. 

When their set ends about an hour later, you abandon your table in favor of weaving through the crowd to reach Kun and his bandmates. They’re standing at the bar getting drinks, and you catch Kun’s eye as you approach.

His eyes and smile both go wide, his face lighting up. 

“You came!” Kun has to step around one of his bandmates, but he walks forward to meet you. “Did you watch us?”

You have nothing but praises to give them, but you don’t want to come on too strong, especially now that his bandmates are all turning to look at you. Two of them start whispering with each other, both wearing shit-eating grins. All of them look curious about the woman that Kun invited.

“You guys were good. Where’s the record deal?” 

Kun laughs, and gestures at the one who’d acted as lead singer. “Ten actually does have a record deal. He’s pretty successful in Thailand, which is where he’s from originally. This band is just for fun. Like I told you, they’re all pretty busy with their own schedules.”

And that’s when they all come forward to introduce themselves to you.

Hendery, the drummer, is also the professional snowboarder. YangYang, the bassist, is the racecar driver you’ve heard so much about, who also sometimes lets Kun race with him for fun. But then Xiaojun introduces himself as a tax expert here in the city, and Sicheng is an actor in the local theatre scene.

“We met through an international student program in school,” Kun explains. “We come from all over; Macau, Mainland China, Thailand, Germany. We got along, created the band, and then it became more of a hobby than an actual career choice. Now we just get together when we can and play.”

You get to know Kun a bit better as you stand there talking with him and his friends. You realize that all the stories you’ve heard about him are true. Even if Kun doesn’t whip out his phone to show you the evidence, his friends supply it. Hendery has a video of them snowboarding together down an insanely beautiful mountain slope of pure, unblemished snow. Ten has a photo of Kun sitting in the pilot seat of a plane. Sicheng has the photos of a skydiving Kun. YangYang shows you a video of he and Kun racing fancy as fuck cars around a race course. Xiaojun proudly shows off the gourmet dishes Kun prepared for a large birthday dinner he’d hosted for Xiaojun just a few months ago. 

“And you do magic and sing and charm the entire student population.” You shake your head in disbelief as you pass Ten his phone back after looking at the video he’d just found of Kun flying them somewhere in a small plane.”You amaze me, Mr. Kun.”

Pride blooms on his face. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you for telling me I should come tonight.” You reach out and place your hand on his arm. “I’ve had fun.”

“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” Kun asks, twisting his arm around to take your hand in his. “I like seeing you outside of school. The night’s really just starting; there’s still a lot of time tonight that we can chat without being interrupted by a pack of eight year olds.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reassure him. “But I am going to use the ladies’ room, then I’ll be right back.”

You can hear the other guys in his band ribbing him before you’re out of earshot, and you peek back over your shoulder to see Hendery with Kun basically in a headlock, they’re all teasing him, which makes you a little nervous but also pleased. If they’re teasing him so much, then maybe the way you feel about Kun isn’t one-sided. 

YangYang, the racecar driver, is still teasing Kun when you emerge from the restroom. Kun looks up, his face warm and bright, and his eyes lock on yours. 

Distracted as you are by Kun’s attention, you’re paying no attention to where you’re walking, so you don’t see the spilled drink on the floor between you and where Kun stands at the bar. The shoes you’re wearing are far from being classified as non-slip, so as soon as the sole of your foot makes contact with the puddle and the ice, the very idea of traction ceases to exist.

It would be almost comical, you think, if you were a third-party observer to this moment.

The way that you completely lose balance, your feet fly out from under you, arms windmilling as you try to stop the inevitable. And then you’re slipping, falling, crashing into a table beside you. Your head hits something hard as you and the table and the chairs around it all hit the floor.

“Oh, ow,” you whine, reaching up to touch your head. God, everything hurts, including your pride.

And to make it worse, here comes Kun. 

“Wait, don’t touch.” Kun drops to his knees beside you. His hands flutter with concern over you, cool fingers touching your face and then slipping around to probe the back of your head. You wince. “Does it hurt? You’re not bleeding, but that was quite a fall.”

“I just think I need to lie here for a moment.” You feel foolish, but at least if you keep your eyes closed, you can almost pretend that that didn’t just happen. Except that your head is kinda throbbing, you’re sorta dizzy, and you can still feel Kun’s cool fingers on your hot skin as he brushes your hair away from your face. 

After a few minutes of just staying still and breathing, listening to Kun fuss over you by demanding someone bring water and a cool cloth, telling people to back off and give you space, finally the dizziness subsides a bit.

“I think I’m ready to sit up.” You peer through your eyelids to find Kun still kneeling right there beside you. “Can you help me, Kun?”

Kun is careful and gentle as he holds one of your hands. His other hand cradles the back of your neck. He helps you into a sitting position, then he hands you a glass of water to sip while he scoots around to check out the back of your head now that you’re upright. It’s still definitely a bit tender as his fingers comb gently through your hair. 

“I think you’re still in one piece,” he reassures you. “But you should probably take it easy the rest of tonight and tomorrow. Maybe go to an urgent care tomorrow for a check up. And, don’t take this the wrong way, but do you live alone?” You throw a wary look his way, and Kun holds his hands up. “I just mean, is there someone who can watch you for signs of a concussion. You hit your head pretty hard.”

“I live alone,” you admit quietly. “And I drove myself here, but if I’m potentially concussed, I probably shouldn’t drive myself all the way home, should I?”

He’s shaking his head before you can even finish the question. “Do you want me to take you to the hospital? They could check you for a concussion tonight.”

You shake your head, but that sends a fresh hot pulse of discomfort through your skull. “No, that’s okay. But if you could maybe give me a ride home? I’d really appreciate it.”

“Absolutely, I can.” Kun places a hand gingerly against your back. “Do you think you’re good to stand up?”

You require his help a little bit as you stand, but once you’re fully on your own two feet (and clinging to Kun’s hand for stability), Kun says softly, “Alright, let’s get you home.” 

Kun’s friend Sicheng walks from the bar with you, helping to make sure you both make it safely to where you parked your car a block from the bar. Sicheng gets Kun’s keys, and leaves you both with a promise that he’ll safely and soberly drive the other guys back to their hotel.  

The drive from the city back to your much smaller town on the outskirts takes about an hour, so you settle into the passenger seat of your own car to get comfortable while Kun readjusts the drivers seat. You plug your address into the GPS and fiddle with the music until the car fills with a song that you like, and to your surprise, Kun starts singing along to it as he pulls out of the parking spot onto the road. 

It turns out that you and Kun have very similar tastes in music, that you have a lot in common. You talk the entire drive about everything and anything – about the kids at school, about your own school days when you were younger, about your childhoods in general – and you quickly come to realize that you’re much more than just physically attracted to Kun. He has an attractive personality. He possesses most, if not all, of the qualities that you’ve always desired in a partner. 

By the time that Kun puts the car in park in front of your home, you’re not quite yet ready for the ride to be over. You’re not sure that he is either. You both sit there in the car for a few moments, and finally you break the silence.

“Do you really think I could be concussed?” Honestly, the throbbing in your head has greatly subsided in the past hour. “Because, if so, like I don’t think I should probably sleep tonight. Isn’t that one of the rules of concussions?”

“I think you’re supposed to sleep, actually,” Kun says, “But someone should wake you every few hours, just to check for signs of it being worse.”

You think about that for a few seconds, and then you decide that that’s your key to not let the night end right here. 

“I live alone, though.” You watch Kun closely, trying your best to read his face in the semi-darkness. He opens his mouth and closes it a couple times, his fist clenching and unclenching on his thigh. Damn, you really hope you’re not stepping wildly out of line when you ask, “Could you be that person for me? To stay with me tonight?”

Kun lets out a breath. 

He doesn’t answer, but instead gets out of the car. You sit there, watching as he paces back and forth along his side of the car. Shit, have you gone too far by asking him to stay tonight? Kun laces his fingers together atop his head as he stops his pacing, facing away from the car and staring down the street. And then suddenly he’s moving again, walking around the car to open your door. 

“Kun, I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to if it would make you uncomfortable. I know we don’t know each other all that well, so maybe staying here and waking me every couple hours would be weird or–”

“I’ll do it,” Kun blurts, holding the door open a little wider. “I was just mentally running through the handbook to see if there was any reason I should say no.”

You laugh. “The handbook?”

Kun offers you his hand, and he explains, “The employee handbook.” 

You lay your hand in his, feeling slightly giddy as he helps you from the car. Like a young girl with a crush, you’ve got butterflies from properly holding his hand for the first time, though Kun’s held your hand several times tonight. 

Kun doesn’t release his gentle hold on you even once you’re standing outside the car. He instead runs his thumb back and forth over your knuckles, and he bows his head towards yours, and as if you’ve got eavesdroppers out in your neighborhood at this time of night, Kun whispers, “Please, tell me I’m not reading this all wrong.”

Again, like a girl with a silly crush, your heart flutters. 

“I think you’re probably the best reader I know, Qian Kun, but even if you weren’t,” you lean a little closer to whisper, “I’m an open book. And I also happen to know that there’s nothing in the handbook expressly forbidding you from spending the night.” Your hand that isn’t held in his you wind up to his chest, feeling his bare skin under the jacket, and his racing heart. You lean even closer, then extend the invitation, “Come inside, Kun. Please?’

So maybe you checked the employee handbook earlier today out of curiosity. The handbook only outlines that workplace relationships must be reported to the principal and/or the schoolboard. But this isn't a relationship, not yet. 

Tonight it’s just Kun coming inside your house with the excuse of being your alarm clock in the case of a potential concussion. And if anything more happens, well, that’s no one else’s business.  

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, still keeping his voice intimately low so the stars and the trees won’t hear how much he wants you. 

Kun’s hair is soft and fluffy as you bury your fingers in it in your hurry to bring his lips to yours. He laughs at your eagerness, still smiling about it when your mouths meet. Not that he has any room to judge you as he’s already wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you against him. 

You kiss him breathless. You kiss him until Kun breaks away to take a breath, to step back and rake his fingers through his hair. 

“You’re dangerous,” Kun says, “You’re possibly concussed, so you need to go to sleep and take it easy, but kissing me like that…. It won’t be good for your health.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, and you pull him away from the car by the hand. “I thought you were a risk-taker, Mr. Kun. Skydiving and all that crazy stuff.” He trails silently behind you as you climb the steps of your porch to the front door. “Is kissing me any more dangerous than falling through the sky?”

“I think it might be,” Kun admits quietly, standing at your back as you unlock the front door. 

Your house is small and quaint and generally tidy. You like it a lot, and you’re thrilled when Kun immediately starts saying nice things as soon as you flick on the overhead light in the front hall. He peers to the living room on the left, checks out the dining room to the right. He compliments the artwork hanging along the front hall that leads to the kitchen in the back of the house. 

And then your cat comes trotting down the hall, meowing his greeting to you, and Kun drops into a crouch to introduce himself to your cat, who immediately takes a liking to Kun. 

“I’m going to go shower,” you tell Kun, “Wash the grime of the bar floor off of me.”

He nods as he scratches behind your cat’s ears. 

“Feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Water, tea, soda, I think I’ve got some wine left in there.” You realize he’s not listening, and rather than that irritating you, it charms you because Kun is so wrapped up in petting your cat and letting him rub his face against Kun’s chest, that he doesn’t hear a word you’re saying. 

You shower quickly in the bathroom off your bedroom, dressing more comfortably in a big sweatshirt and some short sleep shorts before you emerge and go in search of Kun. You find him sitting on your sofa, looking simultaneously at home and also out of place. The purple plaid outfit clashes horribly with the floral pattern of your vintage sofa, but Kun looks otherwise comfortable. He’s sitting there with one ankle resting on the opposite knee, your cat cradled in the dip of his lap, and he scrolls on his phone. 

He looks up when you enter the room. 

“Do you feel better?” He sits the phone down beside him. 

“Lots better.” Your head doesn’t even really hurt anymore unless you directly touch the spot you’d hit. Honestly, you would probably be fine without Kun here to wake you. You don’t think you’re concussed at all, but at this point, you’re not sure that either you or Kun want him to be anywhere but here tonight. 

The moment Kun’s fingers lift a section of your damp hair, tucking it back behind your ear, you’re done for.

You lean in again, making the first move.

Kun makes a quiet sound of surprise when you kiss him, but he kisses you back. Your cat flees from Kun’s lap as Kun twists towards you. You tip yourself backwards on the sofa, pulling Kun down with you, your thighs bracket his hips. The pins and chains of his jacket make soft clinking sounds as your fingers brush over them on your way to unbutton those few buttons keeping his chest covered.

“We shouldn’t,” Kun murmurs against your lips once you’ve got his jacket undone and your hands on his bare torso, brushing the jacket off his shoulders. “You have a head injury.”

A laugh bubbles out of you and you kiss him once more before stating, “I am of sound mind and body despite a few aches and future bruises. I want you, Kun. And if you want me too, then I’m saying yes. And I know you think I’m dangerous, but take the risk.”

Kun laughs too, and then he’s moving in, kissing you deeply while he shrugs out of his jacket and drops it to the floor.

Kun’s hands are gentle and warm as he slides one against the back of your neck and the other goes to your lower back, wrapping his hand in your sweatshirt as he pulls you closer by your waist. The air around you grows hot, sticky with lust, buzzing with arousal. 

Admittedly, it’s been a minute since you last had sex with someone. Your last relationship ended almost a year ago, and after the first month or so of trying to get over your ex by sleeping with other people, you’d gotten burnt out on the emotionless connections. But this? This moment with Kun is fully charged with heat and desire and the connection you’ve built with him over the last, like, week but especially in getting to know him tonight. You’re wet just from kissing him, from the noises he makes when you nip at his bottom lip, and the way he says your name when you break away from his lips to kiss his throat. 

Kun is so hot. You can’t get enough of him right now. He’s touching you everywhere, it seems, but it’s still not enough.

“More,” you moan against his throat. You slide your hands down his back, dragging your nails over his tan skin, and pushing at his hips. He’s hard against you, rolling his hips forward experimentally as you dig your nails into his lower back again, and again when you reconnect your lips with a moan.

Kun gives you more. You feel like you have him wrapped around your finger, that he would give you everything and anything you asked for right now. 

He glides one hand beneath your sweatshirt, his skin hot on yours, his fingers spread over your belly. You gasp into the kiss as Kun’s palm meets your breast, his thumb draws an electrifying circle over your nipple. Kun moans in return.  

You can tell by the way that he keeps his touches light and his kisses sweet, that Kun is going to be gentle with you tonight. You find that you don’t really mind. You love the tender exploration of your body reminding you of the way he’d held the book in his attractive hands the other day. 

Parallels flash in your mind: his palm at your lower back is a glimmering memory of his hand caressing the spine of the book, and when Kun thumbs over your nipple and all you see is his thumb fluttering the edges of the pages. 

You appreciate his patience, too. Because your handsome librarian is sporting a very hard erection, pressed up against your thigh, and he’s not doing anything to rush you. There is the occasional way that he shifts and his erection grinds against you, but it’s less like he’s doing it to get something from it, and more like he’s just simply readjusting. He’s taking his time with you, and seeing as you’re kinda touch-starved and also a little bit sleepy while also being very turned on by Kun’s presence and making out and his satisfying touch, you truly don’t mind if you just make out on the sofa tonight and fall asleep with him. 

Tomorrow is Sunday. You can sleep in. You can have more of each other in the morning. You’ve got nowhere to be but right here—nothing to do tomorrow that can’t be done Monday morning before your students arrive. Except for the delicious exception of Qian Kun. He is something that you feel deep in your core you need to do before Monday morning. 

You push your fingers into his hair, and Kun lifts his mouth from yours. 

His eyes sparkle in the lamplight as he gazes down at you. He sucks his plump bottom lip inside his mouth for a moment, then asks, “Do you want to move somewhere more comfortable? I just don’t want your head to hurt if we’re lying like this for—“

You cut him off with a kiss. He moves when you do, as you start to try to sit up, Kun sits back. His hands are still on your body beneath your sweatshirt, and neither of you break the kiss as you push Kun more and more until he’s lying back with his head resting against the throw pillow, and you’re straddling him. 

“Is this more comfortable?” You ask. “Me on top?”

Kun’s now got both hands on your boobs beneath the sweatshirt. You slide your hands across his chest too as you trail your mouth away from his, along his jaw, and down his throat. 

“I was just worried about your head,” Kun explains, his voice jumping a little when you suck at a certain spot on his throat. 

You slide your hands lower, lower. You trail your mouth down further and further. Kun’s breathing picks up as you start shifting your weight, shifting backwards. And when your lips reach his diaphragm, you finally lift your eyes to meet his as you say, “I don’t think you need to worry about my head at all.”

Kun’s pants come undone easily beneath your fingers, and his erection twitches when you slide your hand inside his pants, feeling the heat and heft of him against your palm. He drops his head back with a groan, lifting his hips to meet the friction of your hand. 

“Wait,” Kun gasps as your lips leave his skin. “I don’t just want a blowjob from you. That’s not why I’m here.”

No, he’s here because he’s worried that you’re concussed. The kissing and touching and the hope that you’re going to have sex is just a very fortunate side effect. 

Kun sits up, repositioning and sliding his legs out from under you until he’s sitting there with his shoulders against the back of the couch. Not touching you. But then he’s looking at you with this deep look of desire in his dark eyes, filled with a longing and a strong sense of affection and a bright gleam of arousal that grows brighter still when you resume your position straddling his lap. 

“I like you,” Kun confesses. His hands fall to rest on your hips. “I like you, and I’m embarrassed to admit that I want you so much that I’m afraid I’m not going to last long tonight.” Embarrassment colors his cheeks, but he continues, “I swear I’m not usually like a five minute fuck, but, if I’m being honest, I’ve kinda had a very mature, adult crush on you since my first faculty meeting before the school year started.”

You remember that meeting. 

Partway through the summer break, the faculty had gathered in the school auditorium for the principal to go over the expectations for the year, to field questions, to introduce new faculty. You remember her waving Kun up on stage along with a few of the other new staff. He’d been in khakis and a short-sleeve button down with a tie. You’d thought he was cute, but not much else at the time. There’d been a lunch, chatting and mingling, and you vaguely remember maybe talking with Kun then, but that was months and months ago. 

“You were beautiful,” Kun tells you now, “You still are. That day you were wearing a sundress, you were smiling and sweet and charming, and I felt like a schoolboy with a little crush on the popular girl. I saw you around a few more times while you were prepping your classroom for the year, and then when you first brought your class to the library, oh God, I think my crush really kicked in then.”

You drape your wrists over his shoulders, play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I thought you were cute at that first meeting.”

Kun smiles, and it crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t think you noticed me at all until I showed you my magic tricks.”

“I did,” you say, “But there just wasn’t much chance to interact when we saw each other. Usually at the library or during meetings. I wanted to talk to you, Mr. Qian. The idea was quite exciting, especially the more I heard about you from my kids.”

“Let’s not talk about school right now,” Kun says, his eyes dropping to your lips. 

You smile. “You’re the one that brought it up!”

“Just to tell you I’ve had a crush on you for months, and I just want to be inside you.”

Your core heats, hips unconsciously rocking against his erection beneath you.

Kun slides a hand up your back, skin-to-skin, and the cool air in the room rushes over your heated skin as he pushes the sweatshirt higher and higher. He leans in, reconnecting your lips. 

You want him inside you, too. Soon. Now. Immediately. 

“I’m gonna go grab…” You try to talk but Kun kisses you. “Someth…” Another kiss. “From my room…” Another. “A condom. We need a condom,” you finally press the words out, pushing a hand against his chest. 

Kun falls back with a cheeky smile as he watches you hurry from the sitting room, back down the hall to your bedroom. You have to dig through the drawers of your bedside table, but after a couple moments, you uncover a box of condoms. You all but fling yourself back down the hallway. 

Kun has stripped off his pants, is just sitting there in only his underwear (ridiculously also a purple plaid), and you have to fight the temptation to sink to your knees in front of him. You know he won’t accept a blowjob from you tonight, not when he’s so concerned for the state of your possibly injured head. Plus, you think you’d much rather have the real thing with him. 

You toss the condom onto the couch cushion beside Kun. He watches you with this adorably awe-filled expression as you reach down and pull your oversized sweatshirt up and over your head. His gaze heats up even more when you drop the little shorts you were wearing, and you stand in front of Qian Kun entirely nude.

He quickly shucks off his underwear, and then it’s just the two of you, naked and looking at each other, the heat building higher and higher. 

Your thighs are damp, shiny with arousal, and you give Kun a glimpse as you part your legs to straddle his lap once more. He moans. Kun’s hands are on you immediately, fingers navigating through your wetness until he’s sinking his middle finger inside you, his thumb circles your clit. 

“So wet,” Kun moans, dropping his head forward to your shoulder. “You want me this much, sweetheart? You’re dripping down my wrist.” 

“I love your hands,” you gasp, “Been obsessed with them since watching your magic tricks.” Kun has very handsome hands, sturdy and yet refined, clearly skilled in all of his many talents, and now you add a new talent to the mental list of his skills. You’re quickly racing towards climax on his fingers. 

Kun’s other hand trails up to your chest, drawn to your boobs. He lifts his head from your shoulder, and you kiss him quickly, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. You rock your hips to meet the thrusts of Kun’s fingers, lean your chest into the heat of his palm gently massaging your boob. You whimper and moan softly into the kiss, continuously pressing yourself closer to him until you can’t take it anymore. 

You need him inside you. Now. 

“Enough,” you mumble into the kiss, pushing lightly against Kun’s chest. “I need you fully, Kun. I want you inside me.”

Your hand searches over the couch cushions for where you left the condom. Kun’s fingers leave you empty, moving instead to settle simply against your lower back as you lean over to grab the foil wrapper. His skin is damp with your arousal, sticky against your back, and somehow the thought of that makes you want him even more. 

You tear open the wrapper, and reach for Kun’s erection. His hand covers yours, helping you roll the condom down his length. You love the feel of him in your hand, but you’d rather feel him inside you, so you waste no further time in bracing your hands on his shoulders and lifting yourself up on your knees slightly as Kun guides the head of his dick to your entrance. 

You both let out sighs of relief and pleasure as you sink onto him, as he rolls his hips off the cushion, needing to be deeper. 

There’s something so nice and simple and yet incredibly wonderful about finally having something like this again. 

Towards the end of your last relationship, the sex wasn’t good. Your hook-ups with random people after the break-up weren’t truly all that satisfying either; they were rushed encounters fueled by the need to fuck your ex out of your system. 

But this tonight here with Kun is something entirely different. 

You’ve missed this feeling of intimacy. The hungry kissing paired with holding each other tight, skin-to-skin with not a breath of air between you, moving in sync. Your body buzzes with the energy shared, the intensity vibrating you through to your core. 

The sex isn’t, like, intense in a feral and rushed, hot and heavy way. It’s intense in that intimacy, the gentleness and the desire and emotions that burn beneath it all, the way that Kun touches you with his hand sweeping your hair back from your neck so he can kiss you there, the way you arch into his body as he sucks a mark low on your throat that just zings straight to your core. 

It’s not like either of you do anything special or particularly fantastic. There isn’t anything kinky or any strange and exciting positions. As a matter of fact, you barely speak, just soft moans of each others names occasionally, and Kun’s low groan of “damn” when you sink fully onto his length and grind your clit against his belly as you moan his name. 

It’s just good sex. 

Gentle and simple, and yet so good. 

Kun rocks his hips up off the couch, meeting the way you roll your hips. 

When Kun cums, the sounds he makes are immediately autosaved in your mind, bookmarked as a new favorite sound. 

His hands on your hips move you faster on him as he spills inside you in the condom. You follow soon after, leaning back with your hands on his knees as you ride him. His gaze devours you, hands rushing to touch you everywhere as if he needs to just get his fill, to experience everything right now in case he doesn’t get the chance again. 

But he will. 

You’re a very satisfied woman when you climax with Kun. It rolls through you, flooding every inch of your body with endorphins, spreading heat and a nice buzz when Kun pulls you back forward against his chest. He kisses you like that until he’s gone soft and your legs are buzzing with pins and needles from being in this position for too long. 

It takes a little time to pull apart from each other. Kun draws out of you slowly, moaning at the loss of your heat around him. Your legs are asleep, so you have to brace yourself with your hands on Kun’s shoulders as you try to shake some feeling back down to your feet. You make a joke about him being so good that you can’t walk afterwards, and you laugh lightheartedly about that until he stands and offers to help you walk to the bathroom. 

By the time you’ve regained feeling and used the bathroom, cleaned yourself up, you’re starting to feel slightly self-conscious about being naked. Kun waits outside the bathroom, a gentleman who didn’t want to invade on your privacy despite the level of intimacy you two just shared a few minutes ago. You wrap around you the bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and when you open the door, there he is. 

A small part of you had worried while you stood in there that Kun would leave. That he would decide that the sex was all he’d really come here for tonight or that the risk with this kind of relationship was too high, and he was just going to vanish without another word. 

But he’s still here. 

He’s put his underwear back on, and his skin is a bit damp, like he used the sink in the kitchen maybe to give himself a quick rinse. 

“You could’ve used the shower,” you joke, following a water trail down his chest with your finger. “I promise I wouldn’t mind, Kun.”

“I didn’t want to intrude.” He drops his gaze to the floor as he says, “It felt a bit intimate to ask if I could use your shower.”

You drape your arms over his shoulders. “We just had sex, but you think that using my shower is too intimate?”

Kun laughs a little, and looks at you from under his eyelashes. “When you put it that way….”

“Come to bed. Unless that’s too intimate too?” You tug him towards your bed. “You could sleep on the couch, if you want.”

You’re teasing, but you’re also serious. If Kun genuinely would feel more comfortable sleeping out on your couch, too concerned about the intimacy of this, then you understand. This is risky business. Sleeping with each other and sleeping with each other, the involvement of crushes, developing feelings. A relationship. 

“No, the bed is good.” Kun laces his fingers with yours, and the butterflies in your belly go insane. There’s just something about that feeling of his palm against yours and his fingers folded through your fingers, laying warm against the back of your hand. You love it. 

Reluctantly, you do let go of Kun’s hand. You ditch the bathrobe and instead pull on a big tshirt. Kun smiles at you when you turn to face him, a big amused grin. 

“What?” You fold your arms against your chest. 

“The kids make that for you?” He draws you closer, his hands on your hips. 

You didn’t even pay attention to what you grabbed. It’s an oversized shirt that your students a couple years ago made for you. The back of it has a class photo you’d all taken together on a field trip with the school year on it, and the rest of the shirt is covered in the kids multi-colored handprints, their names scribbled across the palms. 

“It’s cute,” Kun says, and he sinks down to sit on the edge of your bed. You climb into the now familiar position over his lap. “You really love your students, don’t you?”

“I do.” You agree. “But I thought we weren’t going to talk about school tonight?”

Kun nods. “You’re right. Tonight is about you and your concussion. I’m supposed to keep a close eye on you.” He dips forward and kisses your throat. “Keep you company and check you for signs of injury.”

His hands wander beneath the hem of the shirt, rising over your bare thighs and hips. You moan softly, threading your fingers through his hair. 

And then, to your surprise, Kun wraps an arm around your waist, and he flips you over beneath him. Gently. His other hand comes up to cradle the back of your head as he lays you down, shifting around so you’re almost among the pillows. His body settles against yours, and he’s smiling as he looks down at you. 

God, he’s handsome. 

He’s smart and adventurous, kind and talented. He’s gentle and loving, and you can’t believe that you wasted months of the school year before you finally actually talked to him. You could’ve been doing this for longer if you’d only taken that first step ages ago. If only you’d realized your crush months ago. 

“I like you, too, Kun,” the words come out without you really thinking about it. 

He cocks his head slightly. “What?”

“I like you.” You tangle your fingers together behind his neck. “I don’t know if I actually said that earlier, but you don’t have a one-sided crush. I like you too. A lot, in case coming into the city to see you, begging you to come stay the night with the flimsy excuse of my possible concussion, kissing you, having sex with you, and now bringing you into my bed weren’t already enough of an indication of my feelings towards you.”

He says your name then, like a prayer or like a wish come true. And then he’s kissing you again. 

You happily tangle yourself up in Kun again, happily lie there in bed kissing him and kissing and kissing. Until all the events of the day and the late hour of the night finally begin to catch up. The feeling of tiredness hits you like a wave. You break from the kiss to yawn. 

Rather than being offended, Kun laughs and tucks a section of hair back from your face before quietly telling you, “You really should sleep.” He brushes his lips across your forehead. “I’ll wake you in a few hours, do some quick brain checks.”

“No math questions,” you mumble, pressing your cheek to his bare chest. “I don’t do math on the weekends unless I can help it, and never before 8 in the morning.”

Kun laughs, tightening his arms around you. “Deal. Now, sleep.”

You’re out like a light before you can even manage to tell him goodnight. 

You wake the next morning with a satisfied weight to your limbs, the heavy feeling of a really good night’s sleep, the kind that lingers in your muscles and bones and makes it hard to actually wake up. Especially when you’re in your warm bed and the morning outside is overcast and a little chilly. Perfect weather to stay rolled up in bed with —-

Kun is gone. 

You vaguely recall him waking you probably twice in the night. Gently shaking your arm to rouse you. But the last time had been when it was definitely dark out, and now it’s mid-morning. 

The other side of your bed is unmade, sheets wrinkled and empty and cool to the touch. He’s been gone a while, you surmise. He left. 

What the hell.

You sit up, flinging the sheets back. You grab your robe from where you left it the night before, stuff your feet into your slippers, and you leave the bedroom to go fetch your phone from where you left it in the kitchen last night before your shower. 

You freeze in the doorway. 

Kun is sitting at the kitchen table, studying his phone. He’s pulled his gold wire-rimmed glasses from somewhere even though he wasn’t wearing them last night, his hair is currently ruffled from sleep, he’s got no shirt on. A half-empty mug of coffee sits in front of him. 

“Good morning,” he greets you. “I woke up and couldn’t fall back to sleep. I hope you don’t mind I used the coffee-maker.”

He’s still here. 

Kun stayed. 

“I was going to make breakfast,” he babbles as you stay silent. “But I wasn’t sure if you like breakfast, and if you do, what you would like. It also felt a bit invasive to go through your cabinets and use your kitchen, and I didn’t want to make a bunch of noise and wake you. I also didn’t know how late you might sleep in, and I didn’t want anything I made to get cold.”

Kun would probably keep babbling to fill the silence if you didn’t stride over to him and fold yourself into his lap. His arms wrap around you familiarly now. 

“You stayed.” 

He nods. “You didn’t think I’d left, did you?”

You haven't had anyone stay. Your hook-ups were brief and just that, none of them stayed the night. Even your ex, towards the end of the relationship, would just go back home afterwards. But Kun stayed. More than that, he wanted to make you breakfast, he considered your privacy and your comfort, he wanted to stay. 

Instead of actually answering Kun’s question, admitting that you did think he’d left, you pull yourself from his lap. “Let’s make breakfast. I’m starving.”

You make breakfast together, Kun wrapped around you. He shows off that he’s got skills with cooking too. 

After eating breakfast, as the morning trickles into afternoon, you both have to remember that tomorrow is Monday. You have lessons to plan, Kun has work to do planning how to teach some of the older kids how to research their projects instead of relying on AI. So he has to go back to his own home, plus he’s left his car in the city, and one of his friends is driving it back here for him.

It hurts a little to see Kun cover himself back up with that purple plaid suit. You’ve grown used to his bare skin, but you’ll be seeing him all buttoned up at school again tomorrow. 

You pull leggings on under the oversized shirt from your students, and when you walk Kun out to the front porch, you fold your arms across your chest to ward off the slightly damp chill in the air. 

A car rumbles up the street, one you recognize from the faculty parking lot at the school. It pulls up to the curb in front of your house, and Kun’s friend Sicheng leans over to wave at you both through the passenger window. 

“I’d better go,” Kun says, “But I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

You nod. “9 o’clock, not a minute later.”

Kun grins and leans in to kiss you one more time. You curl your fingers in his jacket, holding him there just a little longer. And before you finally let him go, you slip a piece of paper into his jacket pocket. 

“There’s my number. Use it.” You peck his lips with a brief kiss. “Especially if we’re going to keep doing this risky, secretive thing.”

Kun is quiet for a moment, then he says, "Actually, I was kinda thinking of asking you to the Halloween dance this Friday. If we’re both there chaperoning anyway, we might as well make it a date. Grab dinner afterwards?”

God, maybe you are a giddy schoolgirl with a crush, feeling butterflies after being asked to a school dance by your crush. 

“Yes, absolutely. That sounds good.” You agree, trying to keep your true level of excitement from your voice, but you think Kun can tell or maybe it’s just his happiness showing through on his face with his bright grin. 

Sicheng impatiently honks from the curb. 

“I’ll see you,” Kun promises, “Tomorrow.”

a/n: I feel like this turned out a lot more soft than smutty, and definitely longer than it was originally meant to be, but I adore Kun so I just kept going. And I love the picture of him as a librarian idk also love his hands, which I feel like that may have come across here just a little bit lol 

[haefpuffs]

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ Skating On Thin Ice | 钱锟 Qian Kun

synopsis after a scandal destroys figure skater y/n’s reputation overnight, who was at the peak of her career. she’s offered an unexpected deal by qian kun, the ceo of the QN group. desperate to secure his inheritance before his father dies, kun needs a wife, and y/n needs her name cleared. a marriage committed for mutual benefit can bloom a flower called love?

pairing: ceo!kun x figure staker fem!reader

au/genre: fake marriage, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, smut, ft winwin, xinyu of triples and shuhua of idle

wc: 11k

warnings: mentions of drugs, death

an: hehe, ceo kun, what a snack, the fact i get story ideas only when im about to study well... enjoy!

playlist: bending my rules by flo, no one like you by wayv, un village by baekhyun, fit by d.o, loving you by michael jackson, knock on by nct 127

"national figure skating star zheng y/n, 23, has been accused of violating anti-doping regulations after reports alleged the presence of AAS, commonly known as performance enhancing substances, during a recent investigation. as the controversy spreads online, additional allegations surrounding misconduct and favouritism within the federation have also surfaced, causing public backlash and placing her career under intense scrutiny."

the sound of the reporter echoed through the empty ice skating rink, her voice bouncing off the cold walls like a cruel reminder of everything crashing down around you.

your coach stormed across the ice, dress shoes scraping harshly against the surface before he shoved his phone inches from your face. his fists were balled so tightly his knuckles had turned white. he was furious. beyond furious.

“tell me this isn’t true.”

on the screen was your face plastered across every headline.

zheng y/n accused of doping scandal.

your breath caught as the reporter continued speaking in the background.

“—additional allegations have begun surfacing online, causing severe backlash against the twenty-three-year-old figure skater…”

the rink suddenly felt colder than ever.

you looked down, with glossy eyes. you shouldn't cry, this isn't your place to cry, you embarrassed your coach, your teammates, your family, and yourself. you bit your lower lip, forcing back tears. you let out a sigh.

"coach," you exhaled, wondering if he'll believe what you say. "i didn't do it. i swear," a tear falling against your cheek, your throat tightening. a lump forming in your throat, your heart felt suffocated; you couldn't get the words out of your words.

your throat tightened painfully, as your chest rose unevenly. it felt like the air had disappeared from the rink entirely, your heart squeezing so hard it hurt to breathe.

“i would never do something like that…” you whispered. your coach furrowed his eyebrows, not convinced, though he knew you wouldn't do something like this. not because he thought you were guilty; no, he had watched you bleed on the ice for years, watched you train until your ankles gave out and your hands trembled from exhaustion. he knew you better than anyone.

but scandals like this didn’t care about the truth. before you could say another word, he grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the rink exit.

“okay then,” he said quickly, desperation slipping into his voice, “we’ll go to the police and tell them everything. i’ll talk to the higher-ups myself. i’ll make sure you stay on the national team until this gets cleared up.”

his words lit the smallest candle of hope inside your chest. for a second, you wanted to believe him and wanted to believe this could still be fixed.

your lips trembled as you slowly pulled your hand away from his grasp, fingers curling tightly into your palms until your nails dug painfully into your skin.

“coach,” you said shakily, forcing the words out through gritted teeth, “listen to me.” he furrowed his brows, beads of sweat dropping from his forehead in this cold room.

“it’s not that easy.”

your coach stared at you, confusion and frustration mixing across his face. “what do you mean it’s not easy?” he snapped quietly. “if you didn’t do it, then we fight this. we prove them wrong.” a bitter laugh almost escaped you. you swallowed harshly, your voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

“they already decided i’m guilty.”

⛸️ A WEEK LATER

a week later, the world outside had only gotten louder. headlines, accusations, interviews, every channel still had your name plastered across the screen like you were some criminal waiting to be sentenced. sponsors dropped you one by one. your federation released a vague statement. even your social media had become unbearable to look at.

so you stopped.

stopped answering calls. stopped opening curtains. stopped stepping outside.

your apartment was dark, cold, buried in silence as you laid curled beneath layers of blankets on the couch, staring blankly at the muted television.

ding dong.

your brows furrowed, for a moment, you ignored it, thinking whoever it was would eventually leave. but the bell rang again. and again, letting out a tired sigh, you pushed the blankets off yourself and dragged your feet toward the door. the moment you opened it, your breath caught slightly.

“y/n…”

standing outside were your teammates, xinyu and shuhua held a paper bag tightly in her hands while xinyu offered you a small, hesitant smile. both of them looked worried the second they saw your exhausted appearance.

and suddenly, after spending an entire week alone, the apartment didn’t feel quite as empty anymore.

you stepped back, to let them inside,the familiar warmth of their presence filling the stale air, their expressions melted into visible sadness after seeing your state. concern, sadness, almost painful in your eyes. you were wrapped in exhaustion. i mean you looked pitiful, understandable.

"y/n, i'm so sorry this happened to you," shuhua whispered with a frown on her face, xinyu nodded behind her, agreeing what shuhua was preaching. you simply nodded at her words because what else can you do, but you were honestly happy when they told you about their achievements.

you moved quickly, motioning for them to sit before going to the kitchen to grab glasses of water, after a week of hibernating inside your blankets.your movements felt somewhat slow as if your body was still catching up to the week you'd lost. you felt warmth within you, seeing your friends.

xinyu hesitated before putting the glass on the table. "i got selected into the national team, replacing you," complete silence. "honestly, i feel so guilty, i'm so sorry, y/n." xinyu frowned with a pout on her lips.

your chest tightened, not because you blamed her, but the world had already taken so much from you, another good news sounded like a kind of loss for you.

you exhaled slowly, forcing a soft smile to form even as it wavered at the edges. “i’m so happy for you, xinyu,” you whispered, voice gentle. you gave her a look that tried to be reassuring, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “i’m glad you’re getting opportunities… you don’t have to feel guilty.”

your words came out steady, but something sharp formed in your throat right after, like a lump made of thorns pressing down every breath you tried to take. xinyu opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, but shuhua gently touched her arm, stopping her.

and just like that, the conversation drifted, thirty minutes passed like that. soft voices filling the space you thought had forgotten how to hold people. shuhua talked about practice sessions, about the coach being stricter than ever, about how the rink felt emptier without you. then she hesitated, glancing at you carefully.

“coach… and everyone,” shuhua said quietly, “they still talk about you.”your fingers paused around your glass. “they said they miss you,” she continued. “and… they’re waiting for you to come back.” for a moment, you didn’t respond.

something warm and fragile stirred inside your chest — unfamiliar after days of cold silence. you blinked once, then again, as if making sure you heard her correctly.

they still… wanted you back?

your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. instead, your shoulders sank just a little, like your body was finally allowing itself to feel something other than emptiness, and for the first time in a long while…you didn’t feel completely alone.

you opened your mouth to speak, but before any words could come out, xinyu’s phone suddenly rang. the vibration cut through the soft atmosphere like a crack. she reached for it quickly, glancing at the screen before answering.

“oh, alright, i’ll be there!” she said brightly, a smile instantly appearing on her face. she ended the call and looked up, only to meet two silent stares; yours and shuhua’s. who was it? the question hung unspoken in the air.

xinyu hesitated for a second before shifting in her seat. “guys… i think i have to leave earlier than expected. i have practice.” her eyes lit up slightly as she said it. “you know the finals are coming up…” for a moment, something flickered in your chest.

that expression. that excitement.

it used to be yours.

you used to speak like that about practice. about skating. about everything waiting for you on the ice. shuhua shot xinyu a sharp look, inhaling through her teeth in frustration, but xinyu immediately looked guilty. “oh—i didn’t mean to—”

you raised your hands gently, cutting her off before she could spiral. a small, genuine smile formed on your lips. “no, no! it’s fine,” you said softly. “it’s good seeing you happy, xinyu.” for a second, the tension eased. xinyu smiled back at you, a little relieved now, and quickly stood up to gather her things.

“i’ll text you later,” she said, adjusting her bag. you nodded at her, she gave both you and shuhua a small wave before heading out the door, her steps quick with purpose, already returning to the world you had been pulled out of and just like that… the apartment grew quieter again.

💊 AT SHANGHAI INTERNATIONAL HOSPITAL

the room was too quiet for something so expensive. it didn’t feel like a hospital room, more like a luxury apartment dressed in white walls and sterile silence. polished floors. soft lighting. a skyline view that meant nothing when you couldn’t step outside.

monitors beeped steadily beside the bed, each sound a reminder that time was still moving, even when everything else felt frozen. qian kun sat in a chair beside his father, posture straight but heavy, elbows resting on his knees.

on the wall-mounted television behind them, muted news footage played, headlines, scandals, names flashing across the screen like they were disposable. he didn’t really look at it.

his gaze stayed on the man in the hospital bed instead. his father. the man who built QN group from nothing. the man who now lay pale and still, weakened by something money couldn’t negotiate with. kun’s jaw tightened slightly. all of this, the wealth, the empire, the influence, and none of it could fix this.

his fingers curled once, slowly, then relaxed again. controlled. always controlled. but control didn’t change the fact that the beeping monitor was the only thing proving his father was still here and somewhere behind the noise of the television, another name flickered across the screen.

zheng y/n.

kun’s eyes finally shifted, just slightly distant, calculating as the reporter continued, the muted television filled the room with a soft, distant hum.

“figure skater zheng y/n… accused of misuse of AAS, also known as performance-enhancing doping…”

kun’s gaze, previously fixed on his father, slowly lifted, his eyes moved to the screen. the image of her appeared; bright arena lights, a frozen moment of perfection, a smile that didn’t match the chaos now being spoken over it. his expression changed almost unnoticeably.

his eyes narrowed slightly, studying the face on the screen, the gaze so sharp as if he could shoot razors into the screen. around him, the monitors kept beeping steadily, indifferent to the world outside the room, the reporter’s voice continued, but it blurred into background noise.

his father’s eyelids fluttered before slowly opening, the beeping monitors shifting slightly in rhythm as his condition stabilized just enough to return to awareness. kun’s posture straightened immediately. the screen behind him was forgotten in an instant.

“father…” he spoke quietly, almost restrained, like even his voice had been trained to stay controlled in moments like this. chairman qian turned his head with visible effort, lips curling into a weak, almost teasing smile.

“ah…” he rasped, voice rough but still carrying that familiar vigour of authority, “i forgot i had a son who actually cared about me.” a faint breath of laughter escaped him, strained but real. “you finally visited me, you punk!" kun exhaled slowly through his nose, expression unchanged, though his eyes softened just slightly.

“i couldn’t before,” he replied evenly, “due to overlapping meetings.” it sounded like a report more than an excuse. the chairman narrowed his eyes at him, unimpressed even in his weakened state. “meetings,” he repeated, as if the word itself was offensive. “you always have meetings.” kun didn’t respond immediately.

his gaze stayed steady, composed, the kind of calm that didn’t break even under pressure, but the faint sound of the television behind them still lingered in the room’s atmosphere, like something unfinished.

his father kept talking, voice still weak but carrying that same stubborn energy that never really left him “my son…” he muttered, staring at the ceiling like he was already exhausted by the conversation, “how old are you already? you’re thirty this year.”

his father let out a long breath, half annoyed, half amused“you know,” he continued, “i was already married at twenty-one.”he turned his head slightly, squinting at kun like he was personally offended by his life choices.

“and you?"

“what about you, you punk?”

kun blinked once, slow. the question landed, but he didn’t rush to answer it. his expression stayed calm, almost unreadable, but something behind his eyes shifted, faint, complicated, like he’d heard it a hundred times before but never felt like replying. he glanced down for a moment, then back at his father.

“you were forced to marry, i am not,” he said simply.

not rude. not defensive. just… honest.

his father clicked his tongue softly, clearly unimpressed, but there was no real anger in it. just a tired kind of concern buried under years of expectation, his father raised an eyebrow suddenly, eyes narrowing with visible curiosity despite how exhausted he looked.

“kun,” he started slowly, “are you gay?”

kun stared at him blankly.

the chairman continued anyway, completely serious. “you’re always stuck to your secretary’s hip. uh… what’s his name again…”his brows furrowed as he tried to remember. then his face lit up faintly.

“ah, yes. sicheng.”

kun looked at him with complete deadpan silence for a solid second before exhaling quietly through his nose. “that’s not the case, father." his tone stayed calm, though faint disbelief slipped through. kun met his father’s eyes directly, and posture is still composed as ever.

“i’m not interested in marriage,” he said simply.

a brief pause followed before he added, quieter this time,

“not right now.”

his father hummed unconvinced, giving him a long look like he could see straight through him. “you punk! i'm on my deathbed, just let me see you married.” kun rubbed a hand over his face, he said with genuine care.

“father, don't get rile up over something so useless, your blood pressure is gonna spike up again.” the chairman shot back "qian kun,” his tone alone made him look at him properly.

the chairman suddenly straightened slightly, whatever weakness in his body was momentarily overshadowed by pure stubbornness.

“if you do not get married while i’m still alive…” he paused to exhale, breath shaky from exhaustion, “then i will donate every last cent of my fortune.”

“no chairman position. no inheritance. nothing.”

the older man narrowed his eyes at him.

“stay a bachelor for the rest of your life since that’s apparently what you like.”

with a dramatic huff, chairman qian crossed his arms as best as he could and turned his back toward him like an upset child refusing to continue the conversation. silence filled the room for a second. kun stared at the back of his father’s head, almost in disbelief.

“…father.”

“hmph.”

“you’re blackmailing me from a hospital bed..?"

“and?” the chairman grumbled without turning back. “is it working?” kun let out a breath of amusement, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple slowly.

kun raised an eyebrow for a brief moment before letting out a quiet sigh. he stood from his chair and leaned down slightly, carefully pulling the duvet higher over his father’s shoulders. despite everything, the motion was instinctive. gentle.

“rest,” he said quietly. “i’ll be taking my leave now.” his father didn’t reply this time. whether asleep or simply ignoring him out of stubbornness, kun couldn’t tell, he stared at him for a second longer before finally turning away.

the vip room door slid open smoothly. outside stood two large bodyguards dressed in black, stiff as statues. beside them was his secretary, sicheng, completely absorbed in his phone as he scrolled through something with zero awareness of his surroundings. kun walked toward him with measured, clean steps.

then snapped his fingers directly in front of his face, and sicheng nearly jumped out of his skin. “oh—my god,” he breathed out, clutching his chest dramatically. “you scared me.” kun looked at him blankly. “slacking off?” the question immediately made sicheng straighten his posture like someone hit a reset button.

“absolutely not!” he said quickly. “i was just, uh… checking the deployment of the new—” kun cut him in “didn’t we already do that?” sicheng visibly froze, “…double checking,” he recovered weakly, forcing out a nervous laugh. “is quite efficient, boss.”

kun stared at him for a long second, thoroughly unconvinced, then he started walking again. sicheng hurried after him as the bodyguards followed behind. the polished hospital hall echoed with their footsteps while the two continued bickering on the way toward the elevator.

“you spend more time on your phone than working.”

“that’s not true.”

“your screen time says otherwise.”

“…you checked my screen time?”

kun glanced at him flatly. “you left it open during a meeting.” sicheng groaned quietly in embarrassment while the elevator doors slid open in front of them.

❄️ TWO WEEKS LATER ❄️

your name slowly disappeared from television screens. the headlines that once screamed your downfall were buried beneath newer scandals, newer tragedies, and newer people for the world to tear apart. tv stations stopped mentioning you. reporters stopped camping outside your apartment. even the internet seemed to move on.

the chaos died down, but for you, the world had stopped the moment everything was taken away because people didn’t understand that it wasn’t just your reputation you lost. it was your first love.

ice skating had been there before the medals, before the cameras, the pressure. it was the only place where your mind ever felt quiet, the only thing that ever made you feel free and now, even looking at your skates hurt but still… some habits were impossible to abandon.

so sometimes, late at night when the city was asleep, you would sneak into the ice rink. hidden beneath oversized hoodies and caps, hoping no one would recognize the fallen athlete everyone once adored, the rink was always freezing. empty and silent but the moment your blades touched the ice, something inside you loosened.

you skated alone beneath dim lights, movements softer now, slower not for practice, not for competition, not for perfection, just to breathe, to let out the emotions trapped inside your chest; the anger. the grief. the humiliation, all the words you couldn’t bring yourself to say out loud became etched into the ice instead..

so lost in your thoughts, your blade slipped slightly against the ice, your balance gave out in an instant

“ah—”

you twisted your ankle awkwardly before falling face-first onto the freezing surface with a harsh thud. ouch. usually, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. twisted ankles, sore muscles, and bruises they were normal in skating. you’d learned how to endure pain years ago, but today…

today it hurt.

you slowly pushed yourself upright, sitting on the ice as you reached for your left foot. your fingers trembled slightly while untying the skate, carefully pulling it off, the moment you rotated your ankle gently, pain shot through it sharply. a small yelp escaped your lips as you inhaled through your mouth, trying to breathe through it.

it hurt more than before or maybe… maybe it was everything else hurting at the same time, the humiliation. the loneliness. the silence. all the emotions you kept forcing down finally felt too heavy to carry. a tear slipped down quietly, landing against your knee. then another, and another.

your vision blurred almost instantly as your breathing became uneven. you pressed a hand over your mouth, trying to stop it, trying to stay quiet, but the sob that escaped you sounded broken after weeks of holding everything in, you finally shattered.

your cries echoed through the empty rink, small and helpless against the massive walls surrounding you, sitting alone on the ice, crying harder than the injury itself deserved.

you asked your manager to drive you to the hospital. your eyes were swollen and red, exhaustion still lingering in them after crying for what felt like hours. strangely enough, part of you felt lighter now, like all the emotions trapped inside your chest had finally spilt out but another part of you felt miserable. pathetic.

your manager helped you through the hospital entrance, your limp uneven as you walked through the polished white halls. the scent of antiseptic filled the air, you’d been here countless times before because of skating injuries. sprains, bruises, and overworked muscles.

but this time felt different.

ridiculous, almost.

later, you sat quietly in front of a nurse while she carefully wrapped gauze around your swollen ankle. you winced slightly at the pressure, earning a small chuckle from her.

“you have low pain tolerance, don’t you?” she teased lightly.

the nurse looked young, kind, the type of person whose warmth naturally made people relax around her. you gave her a small smile.

“you figured.”

before she could reply, the door suddenly swung open. your manager rushed inside hurriedly, nearly out of breath. “can we speed this up a little?” she asked the nurse quickly. “we have to leave soon.” you looked up at her, confused.

“why?” your brows knitted together. “we just got here. the doctor said i still need more tests—”

“xinyu just called me,” your manager interrupted immediately. “i need to drop her off at practice. we can’t let her be late.” she spoke urgently, wiping sweat from her forehead like this was obvious.

oh.

something inside your chest stung quietly.

you lowered your eyes to your injured ankle.

was i not important anymore?

am i just… a burden now?

the thoughts came so naturally it scared you, you stayed silent after that, lost in your own head while the nurse continued wrapping your ankle gently; a few minutes later, she finally leaned back with a satisfied nod.

“miss zheng, i finished it.”

you blinked and looked up at her, the nurse hesitated briefly before leaning closer, lowering her voice into a whisper only you could hear.

“good luck,” she said softly. “i hope your scandal gets resolved soon.”

your eyes widened slightly and she smiled warmly at you.

“you didn’t do it. a lot of people are waiting for you to return.”

for a second, your throat tightened again, not because of pain. but how overwhelmed you felt. your heart swelled, and your eyes got somewhat glossy. you had to keep your composure, so you smiled at her softly.

as you carefully stood up, your hand gripping the chair for support, your manager quickly moved to help steady you. you thanked the nurse quietly before limping toward the door. just before leaving, you glanced back once more. the nurse gave you a small wave, you slowly waved back.

somehow, that tiny interaction stayed warm in your chest. the two of you made your way through the hospital hallways, the polished white floors reflecting the bright overhead lights. your ankle throbbed with every uneven step. then your manager’s phone rang again.

xinyu.

she answered immediately, the call wasn’t on speaker, but xinyu’s voice was loud enough for you to hear clearly through the phone.

“where are you?” she complained sharply. “i told you to come at 3:30. it’s already 3:23 right now!”

your manager instantly tensed.

“ah, i’m sorry, xinyu—”

“and why are you still managing y/n anyway?” xinyu scoffed. “she’s completely washed up now.”

your steps slowed.

“she’s such a burden to you. to me. to all of us.”

the words pierced through you so suddenly it almost felt physical, your chest tightened painfully. that horrible lump returned to your throat instantly as your eyes began glossing over again still, you kept your face forward.

pretended you didn’t hear it.

pretended your heart hadn’t just shattered all over again.

your manager kept apologizing nervously into the phone, “i’m really sorry, xinyu. i’m coming right now, i’ll just drop her off first—”

“i’ll drop her off.”

a calm, deep voice suddenly interrupted.

you flinched immediately, and both you and your manager turned around at the same time. standing a few steps behind you was a tall man dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his posture composed, expression unreadable.

qian kun.

your eyes widened slightly.

wait, what...qian kun…?!

his eyes briefly flickered toward your manager — sharp enough to silence her instantly before settling on you and somehow, under that steady gaze…you suddenly became painfully aware of how small you looked standing there injured and humiliated.

📂 KUN's POV

kun had been visiting his father more frequently these days, too frequently. the kind of frequency that didn’t come from habit, but from something heavier, something he didn’t say out loud.

his father’s condition was deteriorating day by day, and even though kun never showed it on his face, it sat behind his ribs constantly, like a weight that refused to leave. stress from work didn’t help, neither did the silence that followed him home and at night, he would lie awake staring at the ceiling, thinking in loops he couldn’t break out of.

what if this was it? what if nothing got better? dark circles had started forming under his eyes, subtle, but there. a detail only people close enough would notice.

this was his third visit to the hospital in a week, he stayed with his father for about an hour, listening more than speaking, as usual. his presence alone seemed to be enough for the older man, even if they argued half the time.

when he finally stood to leave, it was supposed to be routine.

leave. work. repeat.

but then he saw you, limping through the hallway, small and slow, like you were carrying more than just an injured ankle. his steps stopped without permission; behind him, sicheng immediately caught up, phone in hand.

“boss, the team reported that the prototype is ready—”

kun didn’t even look at him.

“empty my schedule.”

sicheng blinked.

“…what?”

his voice cracked slightly in disbelief, kun finally glanced at him, expression completely flat.

“empty. my. schedule.”

a pause.

“you heard me.”

sicheng looked like he’d just been personally betrayed by reality “what do you mean empty your schedule?” he asked loudly, gesturing at the tablet. “you have three meetings, a board review, and—”

kun exhaled slowly, already done with the conversation, “today,” he said simply, “i’m playing hooky.” sicheng stared at him like he’d never met this man before in his life

then, with visible frustration, he stomped away and started aggressively tapping at the tablet, muttering under his breath while cancelling everything in existence, kun didn’t move.

he just watched you from a distance. waiting, not rushing. not interrupting, just timing, calculating it like this wasn’t a coincidence at all, even if he would later call it one.

an accidental interaction.

kun stepped forward with quiet, controlled steps, the kind that didn’t make noise but still somehow filled the space, almost eerie and ghostly.

he didn’t know what exactly he’d interrupted. he only knew something felt wrong, you looked… not okay. not in a dramatic way, not something he could define properly. just a feeling. broken wasn’t the word he would’ve used; kun didn’t really use emotional labels like that but something was clearly off.

and then he heard it.

your manager, talking about dropping you off. she was rushing, stressed and distracted. something in the situation didn’t sit right with him, so he stepped in.

he stopped right behind you, close enough to be heard but not close enough to invade, he was calm, composed and unreadable as always.

“i’ll drop her off.”

your head snapped towards him, your manager turned too, both of you looked surprised. kun paused for half a second.

why are they surprised?

it wasn’t like he’d said anything unusual. it was a simple sentence, a simple solution. his brows lifted slightly, as if trying to decode your expression.

was it confusion? disbelief? panic? before he could decide, he cleared his throat and repeated himself, voice a little firmer this time.

“i said, i’ll drop you off.”

you blinked, once, twice and then thrice. “...what?” you muttered, turning briefly toward your manager instead, like she would somehow explain this situation better than reality itself.

your manager looked between you and kun with an expression that clearly said: i am about to abandon you in the most brutal way possible, you widened your eyes slightly, shaking your head at her in a subtle “no, don’t you dare” motion.

but her phone rang again.

xinyu.

and that was it. your manager froze for a second, looked at her phone, then looked at kun like he had just descended from heaven personally.

“oh my god!” she blurted out. “you’re a lifesaver, ceo kun!”

your eyes widened immediately.

of course she said it.

“please take care of my precious y/n!” she continued dramatically, already backing away. “i’ll leave her in your care! goodbye!”

before you could even react or protest, she rushed toward the almost closing elevator, the doors slid open just in time, she gave you a nervous smile, continuously pressing the close the door button and then she was gone.

silence, you stood there. kun stood there and somewhere down the hallway, the elevator doors closed like a final verdict.

your mind drifted right back to the extremely awkward situation you were now stuck in. your fingers moved unconsciously to the back of your neck, scratching lightly as you tried to process what was happening.

“uh… you didn’t really have to—” you started.

“can we talk for a moment? i wanted to discuss something with you.”

he cut you off cleanly, as if your sentence had never existed. your mouth opened slightly, then closed again. you narrowed your eyes at him, confusion clear on your fvae.

“what discussion could you be having with me..?” you asked, genuinely curious now, despite everything, he didn’t hesitate, his tone stayed firm, controlled.

“i don’t think you should stand for too long. let’s sit there.” he motioned toward the hospital café without waiting for your response, you blinked once, then slowly nodded, too tired to argue.

a few minutes later, you were sitting across from him. the café was quiet, too clean, too bright, like every hospital café ever. he had placed a cup of bitter coffee in front of you, the kind that tasted as if someone combined water with dog shit.

You stared at it for a second, then back at him, he sat perfectly straight and composed, expensive-looking in a way that somehow felt unfair in a hospital setting, he looked perfect— what.

you shook your head slightly, forcing yourself back into focus before your thoughts could wander anywhere else, your arms rested on the table as you finally spoke.

“what did you want to discuss with me…?”

you hesitated slightly before adding, raisng a brow.

“ceo… kun?”

he looked at you deadpan and, without any hesitation, slid a file across the table. it stopped right in front of you. neat, official, almost too deliberate for what it represented.

you only glanced at it at first, not really registering the word contract before your attention was completely pulled away by what he said next.

“marry me.”

you stayed staring at the file for a second longer, as if ignoring it would somehow rewind reality. then your head snapped up slowly. “…come again?” you asked, voice unsure.

kun didn’t react to your shock. his expression stayed calm, controlled. “you make me repeat myself a lot,” he said flatly, then added, “marry me, miss y/n.”

your brain went completely blank. your mouth opened, then closed again as you blinked at him like he had just spoken in a language you didn’t understand. you even glanced around the empty café, just to confirm this wasn’t some mistake directed at someone else. “…huh?” you muttered.

then, still trying to catch up, you blurted out, “sorry, what? marry? like marriage? getting married? husband and wife?” your hands moved slightly as your thoughts spilled out faster than you could control them. kun listened without interrupting, completely steady, and then simply nodded. “yes,” he said. “i would like you to be my wife.”

silence fell immediately after that. you froze, staring at him like your mind had temporarily shut down, before slowly looking back down at the file. your voice came out quieter this time. “what is this then..?” you asked, pointing at it. “a marriage contract,” he replied calmly, almost convincing you as if he asked you to do a small favor

you swallowed, still trying to make sense of it. “why me? i mean… so suddenly?” you asked. he exhaled lightly, almost like the question was expected. “relax,” he said, as if this was all simple. “my father’s health is deteriorating. if i don’t get married, while he's alive. he’ll donate all his fortune and step down as chairman.”

you frowned slightly. “why don’t you marry someone you love…? wouldn’t that be better than… wasting your time with me?”

kun looked at you for a moment before answering, completely straightforward. “i don’t have time to love,” he said. then, without changing his tone, he looked at you, almost sincerely, "what do you say?"

his words almost made you believe this was some kind of soap opera you were in, you instantly snapped out of your bubble, after you grasp what kind of situation you are in right now. you swallowed, trying to form a sentence but couldn't find the words to.

"don't worry," he says flatly, "i will not pressurize you, so please take your time, considering my offer." he looked at you in such a genuine and desperate way, you almost melted.

you let out huff, straightening your horrible posture, a sign of confidence that you understand where he's coming from. "why should i have to marry you..? what do I gain from it, and my career—"

kun raised a brow, his gaze steady and unflinching as it stayed on you. there was a bit mockery in his expression, with blunt honesty.

“your career?” he said calmly. “isn’t it already over?”

the words landed without softness, without hesitation with no remorse, no cushioning. just fact, spoken like a report. for a second, you went completely still. the café felt quieter than before, like even the background noise had stepped back out of respect for how direct that was.

you clicked your tongue, letting out a sharp scoff as irritation finally broke through your shock. your brows knitted together, disbelief written clearly across your face.

“excuse me,” you said, voice rising slightly, “you’re the one asking me a favor and now you’re insulting me?”

kun didn’t react immediately. he just watched you for a moment, as if measuring your response rather than being affected by it then he leaned back slightly in his chair, expression still calm, still infuriatingly composed.

he then, states with a firm and deliberate tone, "if you marry me, i will clear your name, get you back into the national team, and chase the person who accused you til the end of this world," his gaze stayed on you, firm and unwavering. “and i will make sure they face consequences.”

maybe you were out of your mind to think it sounded kind of romantic. you were losing your composure for the nth time, while he sat on the chair, showing little to no expression for the past 15 minutes. you sighed, again.

“why? why work so hard for me? to clear my name… get married to a respectable woman. don’t get involved with an alleged druggie like me,” you said, eyes dropping back to the file like it was safer than looking at him.

kun didn’t answer immediately. his gaze stayed on you, steady, unreadable, like he was deciding how honest to be without making it worse then he spoke, calm as ever.

“because i feel bad for you.”

a pause followed, brief but firm.

“and if i marry another woman, i’ll be leaving them with no reason one day.”

his tone didn’t soften, but it shifted slightly, less detached, more bluntly practical.

“i asked you,” he continued, “because we both have something to gain.”

silence settled between you again, the café suddenly felt too bright, too clean for a conversation like this. kun’s eyes stayed on you, unwavering. “you get your name back,” he added simply. “i get what i need to satisfy my father’s condition.”

your teeth gritted as your voice finally rose, frustration breaking through everything you were trying to hold in “i don’t need your pity, and i don’t need you to clear my name.”

your eyes stung immediately after the words left your mouth, glossy despite how hard you tried to keep them steady. the lump in your throat returned instantly, heavier than before, making it harder to breathe normally.

kun didn’t react right away instead, he reached into his pocket and calmly pulled out a handkerchief, placing it in front of you on the table like it was the most casual thing in the world.

you stared at it, then at him.

“what’s this?” your voice wavered despite your effort to keep it steady.

“you look like you’re about to cry,” he said simply, brutally honest.

you immediately turned your face away with a scoff, rolling your eyes upward like that alone could force the tears back where they came from.

“who said i’m about to cry,” you muttered, your voice trembled.

but a tear slipped out anyway. then another followed. your brows furrowed as embarrassment quickly took over your entire chest, spreading fast, suffocating. your breathing turned uneven, a shaky exhale escaping you as your lips trembled.

you sniffed once, then grabbed the handkerchief without thinking any further, covering your face with it as everything you had been holding in finally collapsed.

you cried, fully and openly. like no one was watching, your sobs filled the quiet café, breaking whatever fragile stillness was left. a few people nearby turned to look, but before the attention could settle, kun subtly raised his hand and gestured to the guards nearby, who quietly guided the people away without disturbance.

time blurred after that.

you cried for what felt like forever, though it was only minutes; your shoulders shaking, breath uneven, everything you had buried for weeks spilling out all at once, eventually, it slowed.

you lowered the handkerchief, sniffing softly, eyes red and swollen as you tried to pull yourself back together, across from you, kun hadn’t moved much. he wasn’t looking at you.

instead, his gaze was fixed out the window, where the sunlight peeked in quietly, like nothing had just fallen apart at the table between you both.

⛸️ TWO DAYS LATER

two days later, you kept telling yourself it hadn’t really happened. it was easier that way, easier to pretend the hospital café, the contract file, and the calm voice saying something as absurd as marry me were just your brain trying to process stress in the worst possible way but it didn’t leave.

the words kept coming back at random moments, like they had settled somewhere in your mind and refused to move out. marriage contract, clear your name, get you back into the national team.

it didn’t sound bad when you broke it down logically. in fact, it sounded almost too clean for the mess your life had become. a solution with terms and outcomes instead of uncertainty but then reality would follow right after the logic.

your mother’s reaction and the media headlines. the internet turning it into another spectacle, raging headlines on news "disgraced skater marries qian group ceo after scandal"

even thinking about it made your chest tighten, so you called your friends over, though only shuhua came, since xinyu said she was busy practicing. right, it rubbed in like salt on a freshly cut open wound.

now she sat across from you in your apartment, legs folded under her, watching you with that familiar mix of concern and confusion as you fidgeted with your hands.

“so let me get this straight,” she said slowly, “the ceo of qian group offered you a contract marriage… in a hospital café?”you exhaled, leaning back against the couch.

“…when you say it like that, it sounds insane.” shuhua raised a brow immediately, "because it is insane.” you let out a small, tired laugh, rubbing your face before dropping your hands into your lap again.

“but it’s not bad,” you muttered. “i mean… it fixes everything.”the room quieted slightly after that. shuhua studied you for a moment, her expression softening just a little,“or it ties you into something you can’t walk away from,” she said quietly.

you didn’t respond right away. instead, your gaze drifted down to your hands, your voice lower when you finally spoke, “…i know.”

the silence that followed wasn’t heavy exactly, but it wasn’t light either. it sat somewhere in between, where decisions started to feel real instead of theoretical.

shuhua suddenly leaned forward with a grin that completely changed the mood in the room, “but he’s totally handsome!” she said, eyes sparkling like she was discussing a drama instead of your actual life. “like, the age difference is so cute. i can totally already picture you guys together.”

you immediately smacked her arm,“dude, that’s not what i called you for!” shuhua didn’t even flinch properly. instead, she grabbed your shoulders with both hands, shaking you lightly like she was trying to physically knock sense into you.

“okay, okay!” she said quickly, still smiling. “but think about it; what if it was some old sixty-year-old chairman offering you the exact same thing?” your face twisted instantly in disgust.

“…ugh.”

“exactly!” shuhua pointed at you like she had just won an argument. “plus he literally said you can divorce whenever you want!”you narrowed your eyes at her suspiciously.

“you look way happier than me, shuhua.”

she paused for half a second, then gave you a very guilty but very unconvincing smile “i’m just saying,” she said, letting go of your shoulders and leaning back, “objectively speaking… it’s not the worst deal ever.”

you stared at her in disbelief, “you’re supposed to help me think this through, not sell me on it.” shuhua shrugged lightly, clearly not helping at all “i am helping. i’m giving you perspective.”

you groaned, falling back into the couch again, falling into this madness of endless thinking about this shortcut ticket that effortlessly fell in your hands. “…your perspective is terrifying.”

shuhua inhaled softly through her teeth, her earlier teasing tone fading into something more grounded,“well… you can reject him,” she said honestly, shrugging a little. “that’s all i can really say.” the words landed heavier than expected.

you went quiet because deep down, you weren’t just confused. you were attached to the idea already. not fully, not logically… but emotionally, in your heart, you didn’t want to admit existed. you sighed, leaning back slightly.

could qian kun really change your life like that? or was it just another dangerous shortcut dressed up as an opportunity?

your gaze drifted to shuhua, steady now, searching for something certain in her expression. shuhua met your eyes properly this time, no jokes left in her tone.

“y/n,” she said more softly, “you should do whatever you feel is best for you. whatever gets you out of this situation.” she paused for a moment then added, “and honestly… one of the best chances you have right now is kun.”

you blinked slightly at that, her voice stayed firm, but not pushy. just honest“don’t let the opportunity pass you,” she said. “if you’re going to grab anything right now… grab the thing that helps you survive first.”

the room went quiet after that, her words didn’t feel like pressure. they felt like clarity you didn’t ask for but desperately needed.

you looked at her for a long moment, lips pressed together, something shifting slowly in your chest then you gave a small, reluctant nod, you said quietly

“…okay, i guess i'll have to grab that opportunity to survive."

🔆 THE NEXT MORNING

you woke up feeling strangely clear-headed, for the first time in weeks, there wasn't a heavy weight pressing against your chest the second you opened your eyes. the anxiety was still there, lingering somewhere in the background, but it felt quieter now, something that you can now manage.

you lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, the thoughts returned immediately. the marriage contract you got offered, qian kun. his offer.

you rolled onto your side with a groan, burying your face into your pillow. maybe if you ignored it for another day, the decision would somehow make itself, but it didn't.

instead, you spent the next four hours wandering aimlessly around your apartment. you made tea and forgot to drink it. sat on the couch and stared out the window. paced around your living room. sat down again. stood up again.

by the time you glanced at the clock, it was already two in the afternoon. four hours, completely wasted inside your own head you let out a long sigh, rubbing your face, "okay."

your voice echoed through the empty apartment. you couldn't keep thinking in circles forever. sooner or later, you needed to make a decision. your eyes suddenly widened.

the business card.

without another thought, you practically launched yourself off the couch and rushed toward your bedroom. drawers were opened. clothes were tossed aside, a pile of laundry stood up like a flood.

"where is it..."

you dropped to your knees beside the laundry basket, frantically digging through hoodies and sweatpants, then your fingers brushed against thick card. you froze, slowly you pulled it out. the business card. you stared at it for several seconds.

it felt ridiculous, but your heart genuinely skipped a beat, the simple black card sat in your palm like some sort of golden ticket. you swallowed hard. "i'm actually doing this..."

the realization hit you all over again. you stood up immediately before you could change your mind, grabbed your phone from your bedside table, and sat down on the edge of your bed, your thumb hovered over the number. once, twice, thrice, then you pressed call.

the ringing felt impossibly loud, you sat up straighter without realizing it. one ring. two rings, then the call connected.

"hello, this is the reception desk speaking. how may i assist you?"

you blinked with disbelief

right.

of course, someone like qian kun wouldn't answer his own phone. you cleared your throat.

"i want to speak to qian kun."

the receptionist remained professional, "may i know who is calling? i will need to check whether you have a scheduled meeting with him." your brows knitted together, meeting?

you hadn't exactly expected to need an appointment to call the man who proposed marriage to you.

"could you tell him it's zheng y/n speaking?" you asked hesitantly.

there was a brief pause, then the receptionist added, "please stay on the line, ms. zheng." the receptionist's voice softened slightly before she placed you on hold. you stared at your phone screen and suddenly, every bit of confidence you had gathered over the last four hours completely disappeared.

what exactly were you doing? your leg bounced nervously against the floor. the hold music continued playing while your heart somehow beat faster with every passing second and all you could do was wait.

on the top floor of qn group's headquarters, the receptionist sat perfectly upright at her desk, headset in place as she followed protocol. every call directed toward qian kun went through multiple layers before ever reaching him.

“sorry to disturb you, sir,” she said professionally after the line connected. her voice was so polished it almost sounded robotic.

“there's a caller by the name of zheng y/n requesting to speak with you. i'm just confirming it isn't a spam call before transferring—”

the tapping of a keyboard stopped, kun's eyes lifted immediately from the document in front of him. for the first time that afternoon, his attention completely shifted. he hadn't expected you to call this quickly.

not because he doubted you would consider the offer; he'd seen the way your eyes lingered on the contract but because most people needed time before making decisions that could alter their entire lives, a faint look of surprise crossed his features before disappearing just as quickly.

“transfer the call.”

his response came immediately, the receptionist blinked once“yes, sir.” the transfer happened within seconds. meanwhile, several kilometers away.

you were one nervous breakdown away from hanging up. your foot tapped relentlessly against the floor.

tap.

tap.

tap.

your palms had become embarrassingly sweaty. you switched the phone from one hand to the other then back again. why were you nervous? it was only the ceo of one of the biggest companies in the country who had proposed marriage and could change the trajectory of your entire life.

totally normal.

you groaned quietly, dragging a hand down your face, “get it together,” you muttered to yourself. your heart ignored the instruction entirely, and then the hold music suddenly stopped, and your entire body straightened. the silence lasted less than a second.

“zheng y/n.”

your breath caught. the familiar voice came through the speaker so clearly that it felt like he was standing in the room with you and suddenly, all the words you'd prepared over the past two days vanished without a trace.

your foot stopped tapping, your brain stopped functioning and for three horrifying seconds, all you did was stare at the wall in front of you because now that he was actually on the line and you had no idea how to start.

“uh—hi!”

your voice came out way too bright, and you immediately regretted it. your eyes widened slightly as you realized how ridiculous you sounded, you quickly cleared your throat, trying to fix your tone.

“i mean… good morning, ceo kun.”

there was a brief pause on the other end of the line. then his calm voice came through, steady as ever.

“good afternoon to you too.”

you pressed your lips together, biting back a scoff. of course he corrected you. and of course he did it in a way that made it sound normal, like you were the one who made the mistake. it irritated you more than you wanted to admit. you straightened slightly, forcing yourself back on track.

“let’s meet.”

there. straight to the point, at one point, you were going to pat yourself on the back. there was no hesitation from him.

“sure, i’ll send a car to you.”

your brows furrowed instantly.

“what? where?”

“your address.”

you blinked, “…my what?”

“your address.” he said quietly.

your voice rose immediately? “how do you know where i live?!” there was a brief silence on the other end, one that felt heavier than it should’ve. then, for the first time, he showed a bit emotion in his tone.

“i…recall i dropped you home last time we met,"

he, then added with hesitance

"i also did a background check on you."

your jaw dropped, “a background check?!” it came out louder than you intended, disbelief completely taking over your face as you stood there holding the phone like it had personally betrayed you.

“without telling me?” your voice spilled out immediately, full of disbelief and frustration. there was a brief pause on the line before he answered, completely unbothered.

“typically, it defeats the meaning of a background check.”

you bited back the urge to let out a groan, you inhaled to stop yourself from cursing at him, right there and then.

“ah, right.”

you ran a hand through your hair, pacing slightly as your mind tried to keep up with everything happening at once. “when will you be sending the car…?” you asked, already tired of the conversation but too deep in it to stop now.

his voice came again, steady and final. “it’s already on the way. meet me at the fortieth floor, in my office.”

your brain paused for a second, trying to process the sudden switch in instructions.

“huh—”

beep.

the call ended.

you slowly lowered the phone from your ear and stared at it for a second like it had betrayed you personally then your face scrunched up in pure frustration.

“wow, qian kun,” you muttered, voice rising as you stomped toward the bathroom, “you are so infuriatingly annoying!”

your steps echoed through your apartment as you prepared yourself for the future, still muttering under your breath, half annoyed, half… something you didn’t want to name yet.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ PART 2 . . . .