A Deal With The Devil;; BBH
Word Count;; 6.1k
Genre;; Mafia AU, Smut
Pairing;; Baekhyun x Fem!Reader
Summary;;
There is a man following you. No matter where you turn, he's quick to follow. Evening is fast turning to night and the streets are getting colder, they're getting darker. Fear forces your hand, or rather your legs, and you soon find yourself lost deep in a concrete, merciless jungle. It isn't until you come across café de l'univers that a shimmer of hope flickers within. Not all that glitters is gold, however, and the men you seek protection from are far from knights in shining armour.
Warnings;;
Explicit Content and Colourful Language!! Smut (vaginal fingering) and Mafia-themed Violence (mention of a gun, some mild physical violence). Past Mental Abuse and Manipulation by the Reader's mother. Mommy AND Daddy Issues!! Reader is a bit weak / timid.
Request;;
hi! i love your writing. i was wondering if you do a mafia Beakhyun smut au. thank you!
Notes;;
HAPPY BIRTHDAY BAEKHYUN! Return to us safely <3 This fic was written for TheBBHDay Event hosted by @supermwritersnet! Check out their network for the full masterlist~
Main Masterlist || EXO Masterlist
There is a man following you.
You shouldn't have noticed him. He is taking extreme precautions to stay out of sight, after all. The care he puts into avoiding your line of sight borders professional. He's doing everything right - and yet you still noticed him.
While unsure if he knows this fact yet or not, you know it's only a matter of time before he realises. Lacking a believable poker face, you're a mess. It's a struggle just to keep your eyes off him. Every few seconds, you risk assessing him through the reflection of a shop window. Only a fool would keep looking but not knowing just how close he's trailing you has your stomach churning.
Ducking around a corner, you debate dipping into the shadows of a nearby alley. It'll provide decent cover, sure, but that cover works in both ways. If he catches up to you in a secluded alley, you would be done for. No one will notice you cower and no one will care if you scream.
With this in mind, you pass the open-ended divets in the street and continue heading in a straight line. The footpath is crowded. It always is. No matter the time of day, the streets are bustling. Evenings, however, are the worst. People swarm and squirm in desperation. Whether this desperation is to escape home or to escape into the bottom of a bottle, nobody wants to stay out in the bitter cold for long and you're no different.
Someone curses at you and it isn't until you glance down that you realise you've collided with them. He's an angry little businessman around forty years of age with a pot belly and bad knees that wobble as he stands. You can tell by his cheap suit and tattered briefcase that he's far from successful. The crass language he directs at you doesn't aid his case.
It's while pointing an accusatory finger in your direction that his briefcase lock snaps and paperwork dumps free of the faux leather knockoff. White sheets rise in the wind, floating just above his combover before taking flight. Courtesy of a sudden gust rolling off the sides of a speeding moving truck, the papers zoom in every direction. Some even enter the alley you had passed, dancing and somersaulting as if on two feet until they're lost to darkness.
"What have you done, you dumb tart!" The man bellows and the sheer reverberation has you wincing. Had he been any closer and your eardrums may have burst.
Though the man is loud and wide (with how his arms flail all around in an attempt to collect his papers all while steadily losing his breath, he looks almost like a tomato), the crowd doesn't stop. They weave and some avoid standing on the once-white papers but most people don't even look down.
In a city this big, no one ever stops.
Except… the man following you has.
Just about five feet back he waits for you to start moving again. With his back against a streetlight, he watches your little mishap with a smirk. Cigarette smoke whirls around him. He is a patient man, unlike the seething, little man in front of you. You can't help but stare. He offers you a nod and you stumble backward.
Despite the harmless vibe he emits, you're not a fool. Many killers have been remembered for their façade of innocence, for baiting women with good looks and a sob story. Your mother, God rest her soul, would roll over in her grave had she heard you entertain the possibility of any goodwill in the mystery man.
"You cannot trust a man from the streets."
Your mother always had something to say about everything.
Ignoring the man panting on the ground with beadlets of sweat forming on his brow, you sidestep him. He calls after you and you can't help but quicken your pace when he tries to grab your wrist. It doesn't surprise you. People in the city are all a little crazy; it comes with the territory. Nightfall only exacerbates the issue.
Ahead is a crosswalk. The light is turning and there are very few pedestrians left on the road, most having crossed already. Cars idle at each set of lights. Their headlights gleam in hungry anticipation.
Behind you is an oncoming swarm. Amongst those waiting for the light to once again favour them are the two men. One is boisterous and close to pulling his own hair out while the other is silent. They're both following you now and you can't help but wonder if their motives run parallel.
Without thinking much of the consequences, you run onto the zebra crossing. Despite the little green man having just turned red, the drivers go mad. There's the screech of brakes. A cacophony of horns scold you. A symphony of anger expands outward from the front lines and soon every car from this light to the next has something to say. Once inside a vehicle, the otherwise lifeless citizens of this nonstop city regain a single emotion: rage.
"You crazy bitch!"
"Get out the road, you damn broad!"
"Fucking moron!"
A bumper clips the back of your thigh halfway across the road. All those on the side closest to where you had come from have started driving once more, not bothering to wait until you're safely across. Deep down you hope it isn't true but on the surface you can't deny how callous the world is.
Once across, you glance back at the men. The plumper of the two flips you off, glee rampant in his squinting eyes upon realising the car had hit hard enough to cause a limp. He wipes at his cheese-like cheeks, petting himself down with a handkerchief and huffing in your direction one last time before turning on his heels and forgetting you just as quickly as he had come to know you.
The other man, however, doesn't move to leave. He watches you with a frown at the forefront of the crowd. Once again stumbling backwards, your mind scrambles to find the best course of action. In a matter of seconds the light will turn and he will be right back on your tail.
Whipping your head to and fro, your options are limited. There's some small stalls and businesses. None seem safer than being on the street. You are, however, injured and you won't be able to run on your sure-to-be-bruising thigh for long. If you can just manage to shake him, you can get home. Home is best. Home is where you need to be.
But what if you lead him home, to your safe place?
What if he finds you all alone in the dark with nowhere left to run?
Your breath hitches in your throat when your gaze returns to him. In a brief second, you see all you need to see. Brushing his black coat open and reaching into an inner pocket, he pulls out his phone. The phone and whatever call he's making isn't what strikes fear into your heart - it's the shining gleam of silver holstered on his hip.
A gun.
As if on autopilot, you bolt. Your body doesn't give you time to slow down or think. There isn't time to decide on a plan, not when the man could take a shot and use the heavy crowd to disappear like mist.
Pain wells deep in the flesh of your thigh, each step only serving to exacerbate the problem. Winds whips against your face and through your hair. There's a nip in the air and it lingers on your cheeks. The shadows around you elongate and reach for your silhouette. Nightfall is around the corner. You have to find a solution soon.
Nightlife in the city tends to be quite vicious and you're not equipped to handle those that come alive after dark. Thugs, criminals and assailants of all types prowl the streets once the sun goes down. Despite all the warnings your mother provided, you've fallen prey to one anyway.
"Men that play in the dark love to devour little girls like you."
A cold chill jolts down your spine and you tremble, fear building in the pit of your stomach as you look around. The crowds are thinning out, conglomerates of people filing into bars and restaurants in droves. Your breath comes in soft pants and your face is warm despite the rapid drop in temperature since you first started running.
This part of town is unfamiliar to you.
Weaving through a large group of blue-collar workers that stink of alcohol and smoke, you cut through an open-air business and come out onto another unfamiliar street.
It's getting dark. Dusty, dull street lights flicker on and off. There's a gnawing pain in your gut. You haven't eaten in hours. All you've done is run and now you can't get your bearings.
Dare you say you're lost?
To your right is a narrow road that summons a sense of déjà vú.
To your left is a bustling main road that's well-lit.
Despite the familiarity of the curved brick buildings lining the way, you're not willing to risk travelling the road to your right alone. Not at this time of night. Not in this city. The man is still a concern, but he isn't your only concern. Many predators prowl dark roads like that one. Watching. Waiting.
When you break free of the side streets and burst onto the main road, your heart sinks. This road, too, is a mystery. None of the establishments are ones you know. The ones closest to you are pitchblack inside with their shutters drawn. There's a clothing store and a bookstore across the street (both of which are also closed) with an emptying café between them.
café de l'univers.
You've never been to this part of town and yet you distinctly remember the name.
A customer exits the building with a to-go cup in tow. Their scarf blows in the wind, the red of the dyed cotton etches into the thickness of the night air and lingers long after they disappear. Upon their departure the café's main lights turn off just as the street light overhead goes dead, plunging you into darkness. A gust of wind brushes past you; it carries whispers of your name and the pattering of footsteps.
Dull, backup lights illuminate the café. Though it's difficult to make out the faces of the people still inside from this distance and with most of those remaining inside fading into the deep shadows of corners or exiting through a backdoor, you yearn for safety. There are at least five people inside, which is much greater than your measly self and the singular pursuer on your tail.
"I never understood why your father got involved with that place. Only a fool would go to them for help."
Perhaps you are a fool, or perhaps he had been as desperate as you are right now.
Jogging across the street once more without bothering to look for oncoming traffic, you're quick to wrap your hand around the cold door handle and give it a yank. The door, however, doesn't open.
It is locked.
Of course it is.
The café is closing for the night, after all, and you want to scream. Instead you cry and continue to yank on the door, the clanking of the metal lock mechanism doing naught to deter you.
There is movement inside. A figure is approaching from one of the booths near the back. He is tall and broad and the closer he gets, the further you shrink from his imposing frame. Once in front of the glass door, he gives you a once-over before unlocking it and wedging it open with his foot. He looks beyond you, back where you had come from.
"I'm sorry, but I nee-"
"Hurry up and get inside."
You don't hesitate to scramble through, entering beneath his arm that rests with lazy indifference against the door and hopping over his long leg and the Corthay-clad foot propping it open. Once inside you release a shaky exhale. You didn't realise you had been holding your breath.
The door closes behind you with a soft thud. A much harsher click follows after the man locks it. Though there isn't much light inside, there's no denying how beautiful the café is. Chrome beams, spotless glass features, and silver detailing form the majority of the room. Complementing the sleek design are blank, pristine white walls. The floor reflects your image back to you with a sparkling gleam just as a still, dark pond in the summer might.
Turning back to your rescuer mere inches behind you, you're unsure of yourself and of the situation now that your nerves are settling. You don't know what to say to break the silence. Your mind is a mess after the wreck of a day you've had and his emotionless glare isn't offering any help. "Aren't you… closed?"
"You didn't come for a coffee though, did you? You're scared of that man, aren't you? If not, get out."
There's an odd, almost proud smirk playing on his lips when he shuffles to the side, breaking the barrier that once shielded you from the ugly truth. The man is there. He is waiting for you right where you had been. When your eyes meet, your blood runs cold. Without thinking, you spring behind your saviour, reclaiming him as your shield.
It is within this moment you realise just how posh this whole café really is. This man is an employee and yet his suit jacket is like silk. What kind of barista wears a suit to work? Your fingers slide down the material when you peek around him again, taking note of your stalker's retreating form.
If he's the owner, the business must be booming to afford such fine material. Though it also wouldn't surprise you if they charged ten dollars for a single cup of coffee. It seems like the kind of place where you pay for the experience rather than the goods.
"Thank you. He has been following me since I left work."
He sighs and you wonder what his name is, who he is. "Come on, then. Get comfortable. I'll escort you home after I finish up here."
"What? No! We need the police! He has a gun! A gun!"
The man just snorts at you and points at a booth near the back, out of view from any window. When you continue to protest, he nudges you toward it. Between his strong push and the lack of grip your shoes have on the polished floor, you lose ground fast. Passing some tables here and there, he soon corrals you into the shadows that surround the back booths. His grip on your shoulder loosens and he gives you one last nudge, using the shallow of your back as his main point of contact.
Your knees tap into a soft cushion when you take a hesitant step forward into the booth you have been assigned. "Wait here. I'll be back soon. If you want a drink, you might be able to convince Jongin to make you one."
You perceive him nodding but by the time you look up, he's already walking away. Had the café been as empty as you originally thought it to be, it wouldn't have been a problem. There are, however, a lot more people in here than you are prepared for. Despite the late hour, there's at least ten men inside. Your stomach churns.
There isn't a single other female in sight.
All their suits look to cost more than a year's worth of your salary. Glints of light tease your peripheral vision whenever one of the men walk by. Without fail, they each have some form of jewelry gracing their skin. Diamonds.. They shine even in the dark, catching even the faintest of lights and illuminating the men in the glow of wealth.
After your second yawn and the very real threat of passing out from pure exhaustion, you search for the man named Jongin from the comfort of your seat. The one who let you in hasn't returned from the backroom and a few others that followed also haven't come back. Time is ticking and all you want is to return to the comfort of your home.
Three men lean against the pitch-black counter of the coffee bar while a man stands behind it, on the side a barista would usually serve drinks from. He is, however, leagues beyond any barista you've ever seen before. Though shorter than the ones loitering near him, he possesses a glare powerful enough to silence them, plunging the room into silence.
Every single one of them is beautiful.
Despite the uneasy vibe that floods your mind, all you can think is how effortlessly handsome each man is. Even without smiling or speaking, you're drawn to their presence. People like this only exist in the movies. They don't just happen to run a café in your city, and yet here you are, surrounded by the improbable.
The black seat cushions of your booth are like memory-foam beneath you. With each shuffle toward the edge, you fall a little deeper into them. Their softness is a trap you don't want to escape - you have half a mind to just give up on getting home tonight and embracing a peaceful slumber inside this expensive café cut straight from a fantasy.
"And just who do we have here?"
Your hand sinks further in the plump cushion when you glance back, chasing the sound of the melodious voice. To your right is the final, largest booth in the room. When you first sat down, you had thought it to be empty. While you hadn't been able to see into it through the partitions and dense curtain of shadows, you hadn't sensed anyone within. That had been enough for you to clear it as empty. What hubris. After having caught the man following you earlier, your ego seems to have inflated to the point of feeding a talent that simply doesn't exist.
"That pride of yours will be the death of you, girl."
"Cat got your tongue, little lady?"
Squinting into the deep, dark expanse that cloaks the final booth, you frown. He can see you but you cannot even find his outline. The disadvantage leaves an uneasy feeling in your gut. Whispering a quiet 'excuse me', you continue to slide out of your booth. It's quite the trek considering how large and soft the foam cushions are but soon you're free.
The group by the coffee bar had dispersed while you were distracted by the mystery man. Upon further inspection, the entire café is empty. Or rather it looks empty, since you cannot trust your own senses to provide an accurate reading. You take a step toward the bar. All the machines appear to be off and the faint aroma of coffee that once lingered in the air is all but gone.
"The meeting is almost done. Sit with me while you wait."
"I… wanted to ask Jongin for a drink," you say, once again turning toward the disembodied voice. This time, though, you're able to see him. He's left the comfort of his booth and is leaning against the edge of yours, head resting against the partition that once separated you both.
"Why Jongin? I can make you one, baby. Would you like that?" You nod, distrusting your own voice to respond after his casual flirting. "But you have to keep me company until Sehun comes back. Deal?"
"Sehun?"
"He didn't introduce himself?" The man chuckles before standing tall and brushing imaginary dirt off his suit jacket. "Sehun grabbed the door for you. He's a bleeding heart, that one. But more importantly, I'm Baekhyun. Pleased to meet you."
Baekhyun extends his hand and, after a quick glance around the room to assess your options, you give him a tentative shake. There's a glint of irritation in his eyes before his expression morphs into a smile. When you try to retract your hand, his grip tightens.
"What's your name, kitten, or do you only talk when it benefits you?" There's animosity in the words he spits and you want to flee, to escape. Instead your name spills forth from your lips in a whisper, fear tainting the word with a bitter aftertaste. While his features are soft and graceful, his eyes are sinister and cold. He stands before you like a statue cut from diamond, grand and invincible. "That wasn't hard, was it? I mean, I am hosting you in my establishment after hours. I think the least you can do is show me some common decency."
"I'm sorry," you mumble, trying to free your hand from his strong grasp.
"It's okay, baby. I'll let it pass this time, but next time I expect some respect, okay?" You nod, averting your gaze. A smile expands across his features. He releases your hand and it falls back to your side limp. Blood starts to circulate back down to your fingertips and it leaves your whole hand numb. You want nothing but to be angry, to slap this stranger until feeling returns to your dangling limb, even if that feeling is just from the sheer pain of lashing out against such an immovable force, but you freeze when your gaze locks with his.
"Now what would you like to drink?" He's warm now, much warmer than the ice prince that had stood before you mere seconds ago. When he speaks, his voice is like a song you could fall in love to. "I can get you anything you like. Anything."
Once you recite your usual café order, refraining from testing the limits of his offer, he gestures toward his private booth and you don't waste time slipping inside, not wanting to see his personality flip again. It's much larger than the one you had just occupied. You cannot make out any details, not with how dark it is, but you can smell his cologne lingering the closer you scoot to the center of the circular lounge chair.
Along your short journey, you slip on the smooth edge of the cushion, sliding down under the table with an unceremonious plop. Heat floods your body and embarrassment overwhelms your already shaken mental state. Tears prick the edges of your eyes.
The table is large enough to hide you in your entirety as you sit sprawled beneath it. A chill settles in your lower half from extended contact with the cold tiles. Looking around, you see nothing except a sort of blurry, endless dark. While you hadn't broken down enough to bawl, the few drops welling in the corners are enough to provide a sort of out-of-focus filter.
No light sneaks in from the outside and you cannot tell which direction the small barrier that blocks the café's light is. If you could just nudge it a fraction, a slice of anything that isn't pure darkness would be enough to ease your nerves.
It's also much, much colder on the ground. So much so it's uncomfortable. You know you should crawl back into the seat and wait for Baekhyun to return. Until Sehun collects you, you're at his mercy and from what you've experienced thus far, he's strict. The kind of strict that reminds you of your late mother.
You want to hurl.
"Live on the streets like a dog if you prefer, you ungrateful bit-"
Pain thrums in the back of your skull after you slam your head against the underside of the table in an attempt to scramble out of the cold darkness. You don't want to stay here any longer. Whether here is just under the table or the café as a whole, you're not quite sure. All the same, you reach out into the dark to find the space between the table's edge and the seat, using the table to pull yourself free of the dark's embrace just as Baekhyun returns.
There's a click and then a small flame ignites between his fingers, the lighter in his hand gleaming as he picks up a candle from the center of the table. Once lit, the small candle casts a soft glow across the whole booth and you find yourself calming down. Both the cold and the dark flee from its flame but you lean toward it, enraptured by its beauty. It isn't until you feel the cushion beside you depress that you snap free of its entrancement.
"Here, your drink as promised."
He slides it in front of you and you thank him not once but thrice, unwilling to make the same mistake twice. Ice clinks inside the plastic cup as you lift it to your lips.
Cold.
It's cold but you can't stop yourself from chugging down half the cup at once. Both tired and parched, you relish in its refreshment as it pours down your sore throat. You've never tasted anything like it and you frown, pulling away from the aromatic drink.
"Extravagance comes at a price the likes of us would never understand."
Perhaps there are gold flakes inside, or the ingredients are imported from every corner of the Earth. All doubt is, however, washed away alongside a second, smaller gulp: this café doesn't run on aesthetics but rather merit. Extravagance like this comes at a price your paycheck can't justify.
It's when the cup meets your lips for the third time and the liquid truly quenches your thirst that you realise there's something off with it. Despite having just asked, you can't remember if you had requested it chilled or not, and yet there's a small splinter of ice crunching between your teeth as you chew on the thought. It seems close enough and it tastes delectable so you don't want to complain, even if it's not your usual order, but you're not sure how he could have messed it up.
It's not even the right flavour.
"Do you like it?"
"I love it," you blurt out, taking another gulp to empathise your point. He scrutinises you and you feel small under the intensity of his stare.
"Interesting. Now, why were you under the table?"
"I… slipped."
"Oh? I thought it was your idea of a thank you," he teases, glancing down at his crotch. Your eyes widen and you shift backward. He grins, shaking his head with a click of the tongue. "I'm just messing with you. Now tell me about the man that was following you."
Baekhyun is like a magnet. You can't help but be attracted to him. The more your story progresses, the stronger his gravity becomes. All the space you created from your prior retreat is long gone by the time you wrap up your tale. As if possessed, you trap his wandering hand on your thigh but not to stop it from travelling any higher. Rather you hold it so he cannot leave, so the warmth of his palm remains on your skin at all times.
"Does this sort of thing happen a lot around here?" you ask. Caught in his pull, you lean in close enough to taste strawberry bubblegum on his breath. His lips brush against yours as his hand squeezes your thigh, rotating inward and resting cozy between the clenched muscles. You pretend to fight against his touch but you've long been lost to his spell.
"Women being kidnapped? Oh yes, it happens quite often."
"Shouldn't I contact the police?"
Your voice is a meek whisper in comparison to his firm, commanding speech. Baekhyun's tone never falters and his eyes never waver. Needing to break free of his hold, you down the remainder of your drink. It goes down easy and you're grateful of his skills as a barista, though you're starting to doubt that it's what he actually does for a living. Claim as he might that he runs the establishment, it doesn't explain why all the 'baristas' carry such a dangerous aura.
It doesn't explain why he exudes danger.
"Why waste your time on them, baby girl? Those types of guys have the police in their pocket."
"Then what should I do?"
"If you need protection then you've come to the right place."
Tilting your chin back toward him, he caresses your cheek with his thumb. Heat blossoms under his touch. There's something swirling in his chocolate eyes but you can't pinpoint it, not when his plush lips meet yours in a deep kiss. His lips are much softer than yours - he didn't spend the evening fleeing a man throughout the windy city, after all. He also moves with a lot more experience than you do and you're quick to become malleable like putty in his hands.
Dominating the kiss, he holds you firm in place with his vice-like hold on your jaw while his other hand snakes higher up your thigh until he brushes against your clit and you whimper. Your pulse thunders in your ears. It's been awhile since you've been touched in such a way and you can't think straight, all logic and reason abandoned in favour of desire.
"Whore."
His tongue chases yours and you're once again aware of how he tastes like strawberry bubblegum. Something as innocent as candy shouldn't leave you in a daze and yet you're intoxicated. Vaguely you realise your right hand is holding your drink still so you discard it with a little too much force and the empty cup rolls off the table into the darkness lurking just beneath the surface. With your left, you comb your fingers through his silky hair. As with everything about him, it's just as soft as it is exquisite.
When he breaks the kiss, you gulp down stale, warm air. There's no ventilation in the booth, at least to your knowledge. Perhaps during regular hours, but not now, not after dark. It reminds you that you shouldn't be here.
A gasp breaks free from your agape mouth when his hand slips into your panties, bypassing your skirt altogether, and you feel him smirk against your skin as he presses chaste kisses on your overheating cheeks. He toys with your clit, rubbing faint circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves with his thumb. Electricity jolts down your spine and you tremble, melting under the pleasure.
"Relax. You're in good hands," he coos, grasping the base of your skull. Guiding you back to him, he devours you again. He's hungrier now, more forceful in his assertion of dominance.
You give him full control.
"Whore!"
With his thumb still working some kind of magic on your clit and his tongue luring you back into a drunk-like daze, he takes the opportunity to slip a finger into your pussy. It shouldn't have been so easy - it's never this easy when you do it on your own - and yet you're soaking him, practically dripping in his palm as he cups your cunt. Another finger slides into your pulsing heat and you moan. He swallows the sound.
The angle is uncomfortable for him, at least you assume it is, with how his wrist is bent and all. You can't be sure, but you don't want him to be in pain, not when you're in pleasure. Breaking free once more of his addictive taste, you fall backwards onto the plush cushions. Too deep in the feeling, you don't take notice of how close your head was to colliding with the table until you open your eyes and the table is mere inches above you.
Baekhyun chides you for it, commenting on how you're much too pretty to mar and how he doesn't want you knocking out early, but you ignore him, indulging in how warm his body is now that he's hovering above you. His elbow rests near your ear while he continues to finger-fuck you, a third finger providing a stretch that leaves you quivering beneath him.
"Tell me, baby, do you want it?"
"I do, I want it."
"You want my help, princess? You need me, don't you?"
"But-" you stammer, your climax fast approaching as he pumps into your soaked cunt faster, harder, "-but at what cost?"
Your heart palpitates when he says your father's name. It should have destroyed the atmosphere, should've killed your libido, but instead you tumble headfirst toward your orgasm. He doesn't slow down, not even when your cunt is sucking him in on waves of pleasure. Riding your high, he circles your clit dutifully until the sensitivity has you whimpering incoherent babbling beneath him.
"WHORE!"
"You dirty, stupid whore! Trollops like you are why your father left!"
When your senses return to you and your mind clears itself of your post-orgasmic fog, you had half-expected Baekhyun to have started fucking you. But he isn't; he's watching. You can't hold his gaze, not when he looks like the cat who ate the canary. Shame wells in the pit of your stomach and you try to sit upright, try to escape his overbearing presence, but the cage that is his body doesn't budge. He just drinks in your every expression.
"Well that answers that."
"What?"
"You're so easy to read. It's cute, really. I just loved the way your tight, little pussy came all over my fingers at the mention of his name." Lifting his fingers to his mouth one by one, he tastes you, licking each digit clean before running his tongue along his lips. "Talk about daddy issues."
"How did you know-"
"I never forget the face of a man who owes me a debt. And you? You look just like him. It's uncanny. Much prettier, though. I prefer you already," he drawls, flashing you a wink.
"I shouldn't have come here."
"No, you really shouldn't have."
Your heartbeat escalates. Dizziness latches onto you as your mind spins, the overload of information too much to handle after the day you've had. All you want to do is sleep and forget the whole ordeal but it just won't end, you just can't escape the misfortune piling onto your already-full plate.
He doesn't move to stop you when you stand and sidle away from him. It's a circular booth, you remember this despite the dark trying to trick you, and he can't block both sides.
Bumping the exact spot where the car clipped you hours prior against the soft cushions, you wince. Your legs shake beneath you, wobbly both from your orgasm courtesy of a total stranger and from the dull ache building in the back of your thigh.
Upon reaching the edge of the table, you practically throw yourself free of him and the shame the thought of him brings. You slam the partition open and exit the booth with an exaggerated gulp, anxiety clawing at your lungs and restricting your breath.
Light burns your eyes and you take a moment to adjust. There are figures nearby, at least ten of them. By the time your vision clears, you've counted them each several times over. There's eleven. Twelve, if you count Baekhyun. There are twelve men surrounding you in this lavish, over-the-top café after hours.
If not for the suffocating knot constricting your airway, you would've screamed.
"Don't worry, princess." You jerk forward when Baekhyun's breath fans across your neck. He chuckles, ghosting his fingers along your arms. "If your daddy won't take care of you, I will."
"I'm not some whore and I don't belong to you or him!" You shout as you swivel to face him, slapping one of his hands away in the process.
Discontent to stop there, you raise your arm to strike again.
There's shuffling behind you, near the coffee bar. Before you even have time to turn, pain erupts deep in your shoulder and your face starts to sting. The sound of Baekhyun's hand colliding with your cheek resonates off every wall, including that of the man now standing behind you.
Glancing over the shoulder that isn't being yanked taut by an iron-grip, you see Sehun. He has the very arm you had primed for an assault on Baekhyun's cocky face pinned against your back. Indifference oozes from his passive eyes. This time, however, it frightens you.
Tears pour forth and you cannot control your sobs, not after having kept them under foot the entire evening.
"Don't bruise her. She's under my protection." Baekhyun's touch is feather light as he wipes away some of the wetness on your cheeks. When he leans in, you fight the urge to bolt. He whispers into the shell of your ear and it tickles, provoking a tremor so fierce your knees buckle under you.
"And all it's going to cost you is his life for yours. Now that's what I call a deal, princess."
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