you have known your entire life that your existence is political. second born to the Throne, a daughter no less, your only purpose is to be wed to a prince to strengthen alliances. but you still hope to mean something to your new husband, despite the intentions behind your union.
you are sorely mistaken.
you realise quickly that you are as alone in your new home as you were in your childhood one. this is the fate that has been written for you, the reality you must live. but one knight might change it all when he swears an oath of fealty to you, and means it with every piece of his heart.
pairing: knight!choi seungcheol x princess/queen!reader
genre: medieval au, royalty au
category: limited series
word count: tbd
warnings: some swearing, angst, feelings of insecurity and low self worth, arranged marriage, brother!mingyu, infidelity (a lot of it, by everyone), forbidden love, mentions of war, injuries, blood, fighting, character death, there might be some historical inaccuracies lol, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, quickies.
a/n: okay, this has been in the works for a while now. im ngl i almost scrapped the whole thing and didn’t post at all, but thank you to @milk-moonbunnies for all her encouragement. you’re the reason this story happened xx i hope you all like it at least a little bit ㅠ
summary: ten years ago you made a deal with a demon to save your mother’s life. now its time to collect your soul for hell, but the hellhound sent your way decides he is not too fond of the way you’re living your last days.
word count: 8k
warnings: hellhound!seungcheol, human!reader, demonic lore, demon deals, reader is depressed, some elements of fear and anxiety, mentions of violent death, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, fingering, mentions of public sex, mild angst, he’s a hellhound so ofc he’s a bit of an asshole
a/n: this came to me like a divine revelation and I wrote it in two feverish days. it isn’t beta read so forgive me if it’s actual slop
It starts with an eerie, unsettling feeling.
You feel it when you walk home at night, from the train station all the way to your apartment. There are always people around, walking urgently down sidewalks, on their phones or with their friends, cars speeding down the roads, someone yelling across the street. It’s not quiet. Your neighbourhood is very lively.
But there’s a tingle, right at the shell of your ear. Like someone is breathing over your shoulder. It sends shivers down your spine, makes your skin tingle, and sometimes, when you’re tired enough, you think you can feel a warm exhale right over the bounding pulse in your neck.
The feeling of having eyes on you is unnerving. Like you’re being analysed, broken down, exposed. It settles like a chill in your weary bones. You can sense it even when you lay down at night, wrapped tight inside your blanket against the cold air around you. But it lingers, still strikes ice in your veins. When you close your eyes and curl your fists in the soft fleece, you pray that the feeling will go away by morning. You’re wrong every time.
Your house starts to smell like a dog. You don’t own pets. No one in your building does, they are not allowed. So you know this smell can’t be explained away, especially not when it is accompanied by a low, reverberating growl, one that goes away the second you mute your television and listen for it. The one that even haunts your dreams when you finally manage a few fitful hours of sleep.
Any normal person would think they are going crazy. But you know better.
There’s a small, shoddy looking store downtown, just a few blocks from the train line, and you pass by it every day on the way to and from work. It’s a hole in the wall, barely noticeable, but you recognise some of the stuff in the windows. Hell, you had used some of it a decade ago yourself, so you know it’s hoodoo. You walk in with little to no hope, not even a plan, but when you walk out, there’s a tiny inkling of it curling in your chest, your purse heavy with the weight of a small sack of black powder.
Goofer dust. It’s supposed to keep hellhounds away.
When you get home, you’re careful with it. You measure it out. Even such a small quantity of it cost you a lot, but it’s not like money means much to you now. Not when you have a mere two weeks left to live anyway. You scatter the greyish black powder cautiously on all your window sills. You line the doors with it, any other opening you can find in your bedroom. When you are finally done, you take a deep breath and listen.
No growling. No wet breathing on your ear. All is silent.
Something in your chest uncoils. You close your eyes and let out a shaky breath of relief. For the first time in weeks, you feel like you’re really, truly alone. As you climb under the sheets, weary to the bone, you know you can finally get good sleep. Good enough to let you do more than just barely function. You haven’t believed in the gods for a long time, but you thank them tonight, just before you sink into unconsciousness.
………………………………
The sunlight actually feels nice on your body when you wake up the next day.
You stretch and groan with satisfaction, limbs feeling like liquid. You almost don’t want to get up at all, happy with how loose your muscles feel. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut before finally opening them. When you take in the sight before you, all your relaxation melts away, hot iron striking your nerves.
You scream.
He doesn’t even flinch, the man sitting on your window sill. He is fiddling with something, and you recognise it as the coin pouch you keep in your desk drawer. He doesn’t look at you, focused on unzipping and zipping the small pouch. You scramble to sit up, pulling the blanket closer around you for some false sense of security.
“Nice touch with the goofer dust.” He says, lips pulled into a pout. “Kept me away for a few hours.”
Fear curls in your heart, rises up until it is knotting your throat. You stare at him, unable to speak. He tuts and stretches his left leg out in front of him, scowling at it.
“I don’t much like my human form. But you forced my hand. I’m a little irritated now.”
Things start to click in your head a little, more sense rushing into your head as your sleep is effectively banished and replaced by this fear.
“You’re a hellhound.”
He hums, standing up and tossing the coin pouch carelessly. It lands on the floor a few feet away. He brushes off his back. Some goofer dust on the window sill is scattered, broken.
“I have to say, I’m thoroughly unimpressed.” He comments, looking around your room, hands stuffed in the pockets of his baggy jeans. His shirt hangs off him loosely as well. He looks cozy, not intimidating at all. You don’t buy it, of course. You know from experience. The demon you made a deal with ten years ago looked like a little ball of sunshine too.
“Where is the big house? The fancy car? The unending fortune?” He keeps talking. He scrunches his nose a little in disgust. “This place is a dump.”
You sigh tiredly, still feeling a little on edge. You don’t move from your place, not even the slightest shift. You know he’s not here to take your soul, not just yet. You have a couple more weeks. Surprisingly, the folks down in hell are super rigid about their contracts.
“I didn’t sell my soul for money.”
“What for, then?”
“My mom’s life.”
That gets his attention. He looks at you, finally, almond eyes half lidded and bored. But he watches you closely for a few seconds, finally scoffing.
“Fool.”
You don’t take it personally. You don’t expect a demon dog to understand why you did what you did. It didn’t matter. Your mother is still alive, healthy and happy, currently on vacation. She will come back in a few weeks and find you dead. She will mourn and move on, live a long and disease-free life, not stained by the horrific reality of Huntington’s disease.
You don’t regret your choice.
You stand up on shaky legs. The hellhound watches you. You walk to your bathroom but keep the door open. The water feels cool on your fingers. You splash your face with it.
“Where’s Jeonghan?” You ask.
“Busy.”
“So you’re taking his place?”
He scoffs, looking irritated. “I’m not taking his place. This is my work. He makes the deals. I collect.”
You hum, patting your face dry. Your movements feel robotic. “But it’s not time to collect.”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. The goofer dust pissed me off. I wanted to tell you to get rid of it.”
You clench your teeth. “Then can you back off a little? The incessant breathing and growling is really annoying.”
Your words catch him off guard, because he raises a thick eyebrow and steps closer to you. You gulp and try not to step back, but you can feel how your knees are wobbling.
“You’ve got some nerve, human.” He spits. “You’re the one who sold your soul. You’re the one who is earmarked for hell. This is the consequence. Deal with it.”
You jerk your head in a nod, swallowing tightly. He moves away, walking to your bedroom door. He kicks at the line of goofer dust there, breaking it. You feel that familiar fear come back, the one you have lived with for weeks now. You feel weary, exhausted. You can’t do this again. You bite your lip hard, contemplating over the idea that’s forming in your head.
“Do you make deals?”
The man scowls and looks back at you. “Not really.”
You shift a little. “I will give you my soul one week early if you stay away until the actual second you have to take it.”
He looks so flabbergasted by your sentence that he doubles back around, watching you incredulously.
“You want to cut your remaining lifespan in half because you’re that scared?”
You clench your fists. “You want the deal or not?”
His face smooths. For a good few seconds, silence stretches over both of you. He watches you closely, like he’s trying to figure you out. You feel a bit intimidated under the weight of his stare, but you try not to flinch. He tuts.
“No can do. I need to shadow you closely or I can’t reap your soul.”
You sigh in defeat, nodding tiredly. He keeps watching you.
“I can follow you in human form.”
You blink up at him, considering it. He’s still very scary, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of having a huge, wolf-sized invisible black dog breathing down your neck. You hesitate.
“Ten days instead of the remaining fourteen?”
He snorts. “Still bargaining until the very end. Ballsy. Fine, ten days.”
You nod slowly, he disappears through your bedroom door. Minutes later, you can hear your television running. You let out a long breath.
This is what your life has come to.
…………………………..
His name is Seungcheol, and he has been a hellhound for longer than he can remember.
It’s been a few centuries, at least. He remembers collecting souls in medieval times. A farmer who wished for fortune and ended up ruling over his country as their king, a down on his luck merchant who sold his soul for enough wealth to last generations. That’s what the theme always is, according to him. Most people sell their souls for money or fame. Some sell their souls for love. A prominent politician’s daughter forced to marry a stranger, only to sell her soul for ten peaceful years with the man she really loves. Or two lovers across enemy lines, selling their souls for a way to live together undisturbed until it’s time to collect.
“Love and money.” He mumbles as he watches you eat breakfast over the kitchen counter. “It’s always that. Almost always.”
He watches you. “You’re in the love category, I guess. Except I don’t think the price you paid is fair for the reason.”
“She’s my mother.” You reply, staring at the cereal that’s quickly getting soggy. “If I didn’t make that deal, she would die.”
“And she will die anyway.” His eyes feel so heavy on you, like he’s scrutinising your choices. “A few years from now.”
“But she’s lived a full life.” You sigh. “Free of disease. I know people who have died with Huntington’s. It’s agonising. I couldn’t bear to see her go through that.”
“And what do you think she’s going to feel when she finds you torn to shreds in your apartment, blood all over the walls?”
You grit your teeth. You try not to think about that. Truthfully, you didn’t think of any of that when you made the deal. You were barely sixteen. All you wanted was for your mother to be okay. Everything else was secondary. You stand up and place your bowl in the sink, turning away from Seungcheol’s unnerving stare.
“I need to get ready for work.”
“That’s another thing,” he pipes up, swinging around on his stool, “why the hell are you still going to work when you’re going to die in ten days?”
You walk into your bedroom and he follows you, leaning against the doorway.
“I don’t know what else to do.”
He huffs. “You’re so depressing it’s pissing me off.”
You walk into the bathroom and close the door behind you. Truthfully, he’s not wrong. For the last year, you’ve been acutely aware that your time is short, and people with that belief either go all out or they retract into their shells completely. Unfortunately for you, you fell into the latter category. These days, you felt like you were just going through the motions, counting down the days until you would be dragged to hell.
When you come back out of the bathroom, Seungcheol is sprawled on your bed, your laptop on his stomach, and your credit card in his left hand.
“Pack your bags. We’re going to Italy.”
You gawk at him. “What?”
“I just bought your one way ticket. Trust me, it’ll hurt less when I claw your insides out with some authentic wine in your veins.”
You continue to stare at him. He levels you with a hard look. Your shoulders sag. Is there even a point in fighting? What are you going to fight for anyway? The chance to rot in bed until you die? In every sense of the word, this sounds more appealing than whatever your plan was. So you just nod, feeling numb.
“Okay.”
When Seungcheol grins, you notice that a dimple cuts right through his cheek. It makes him look almost human.
…………………………………
Even the air feels different.
You don’t know if it’s just your fucked up state of mind, or if it really is different, but somehow it feels less dreary than what you are used to. When you land, you’re a little jittery with nerves. You’ve never traveled alone, but you suppose this is a good time to have some firsts. Something you can look back on in your very last moments. You haven’t even stepped off the plane and you already know that this will be better than whatever plan you had for your final days.
Seungcheol is there at the airport when you land. It’s disconcerting, but you’re jealous that demons don’t have to suffer through long travel times. He’s looking at you with that same hard, contemptuous look he always does, but you’re learning not to be scared at the very sight of him now.
“Where to first?” He asks, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.
“The hotel.” You reply dryly. “I’m so tired. I need to sleep.”
“You can sleep when you’re dead.”
The irony of the statement is not lost on you, and you wonder if he did that on purpose. Getting a cab is easy enough, and you do go to the hotel because you still have to dump your luggage somewhere. Seungcheol complains about it, saying belongings are a hassle that he thankfully doesn’t have to deal with. He complains about the commute to the heart of Rome as well, saying cars are restricting. You don’t understand why he has to sit with you through it, when he can just teleport or whatever, and you voice the thought.
“I told you, I need to shadow you.”
“You weren’t on the plane.” You mumble. He huffs in annoyance.
“You have a lot of snark for someone talking to the thing that will kill her.”
He has a point, so you just keep your mouth shut.
Life moves slower here, less urgent. Winding cobblestone paths and the bluest skies you have ever seen. The air smells just slightly of citrus, not the unpleasant kind, and the sun feels warm but not very hot on your skin. It’s like a perfect balance of the elements. The shops are tiny and packed with goods, so many souvenirs that you’re almost overwhelmed. Everyone you meet is welcoming, and the man who serves you gelato wishes you a good day. A small, barely there gesture, but somehow, in your last days of life, everything feels magnified ten times more than usual.
Seungcheol is barely interested and uncharacteristically quiet. He follows you everywhere, fiddles with whatever he finds curious. Amusingly, he even sniffs a few things, and you’re reminded heavily of a dog. Which he is, technically. He doesn’t talk to you unless it’s to scoff at something you’re doing, but he’s strangely good company. You’ve been alone for a while now, cutting off friends and colleagues hoping that no one grieves you when you die. You’ve become used to not having anyone around, but Seungcheol’s presence isn’t overwhelming, despite the fact that he is a demon dog. He’s just….. there. You’re not completely alone, but you’re not bothered by him either. Again, it’s a good balance.
When you want to take a cab to a winery you looked up nearby, he scrunches his face.
“I hate cars.”
“Well, I can’t exactly fly there, so unfortunately I have to take a car.”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable and pathetic.”
He catches you off guard when he grabs your arm tightly, but before you can protest, the ground beneath you lurches and your world tilts. Your voice dies in your throat, chest squeezing tightly with nausea. Your body goes rigid, and you feel your feet float for a brief second and then slam again on the ground, this time earth instead of cobblestone. You blink furiously, and things finally stop swimming in your vision. You eye the board outside the winery building.
“Holy shit.” You whisper. Seungcheol releases your arm and you dip forward as your head still spins. Desperately, you clench his bicep.
“Give me a second.” You scowl up at his floaty face. He huffs.
“You’re so weak.”
Regardless, he doesn’t move as you take a few breaths, hoping your nausea will pass. As efficient as teleporting is, the queasy feeling that comes with it is almost too much. Seungcheol eyes you, then looks up at the winery.
“Come on. You need to get drunk.”
The wine you’re served tastes nothing like what you’re used to, the cheap bottom shelf one that you sometimes drink with your dinner at home. Every glass has something different, and as your host talks you through the different rules of wine tasting, as well as the many notes and flavors there are, you’re more focused on the drinking than anything else. This amuses Seungcheol, who is naturally completely unaffected by the alcohol. A couple of hours later, you’re buzzed, more than a little tipsy as you exit the winery. You’re holding Seungcheol’s arm tightly so you don’t fall, and you’re shocked he hasn’t pushed you off him yet.
“I can’t feel my feet.” You giggle. “I need more wine.”
“That’s the last thing you need.” He shoots back. “What you need to do is lie down.”
“Okay, dad.” You stick your tongue out at him. He gives you a withering look.
“If I teleport you like this, you’re going to throw up all over me, aren’t you?”
You grin. “That would be so funny.”
“I’ll kill you right now.”
You giggle as he drags you forward. Before you know it, he’s ducking you inside a cab, grumbling in irritation as he slides in beside you. Up close, he smells like the earth, and not like a dog at all, not like that smell you would have in your apartment all the time before. Maybe his human form is different. His leg bounces, like he’s restless, and it reminds you of a wagging tail. Before you can think, you lean your cheek against his shoulder. Shockingly, he doesn’t pull away.
“Will it really be better to die here than at home?” You mumble, watching his leg as it shakes.
“Based on the fact that I’ve seen you smile and laugh today for the first time in weeks, I’m gonna say yes.”
You hum, closing your eyes when they start feeling too heavy. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you really do need to make the best of what you have. Whether it’s here or in your drab living room, death is coming for you. Hell, death is sitting right beside you, letting you lean on its shoulder. Either way, your fate is sealed. So you can either sit in your apartment and go to your boring desk job, or you can eat gelato and drink wine in the winding streets of a country you’ve never been to before, a hound from hell by your side.
The latter sounds more appealing, surprisingly enough.
……………………………
You have a hangover the next day, and you want to bury yourself in the cold ground.
Seungcheol is puttering around your hotel room way too early for your taste, but then he tells you that it’s nearly noon. You eye the ceiling, eyes bleary with sleep.
“Can you cure hangovers?”
He snorts. “I’m a demon.”
You roll over to the side table to see a bottle of water there, chilled. You turn to look at Seungcheol, who is now sticking his head out of the second storey window. His shoulders are too broad to do it properly, and he curses under his breath a little. You can’t help the amusement that curls your lips upward. During times like this, you can often forget that he is the pure embodiment of evil, corruption and hatred. In fact, he feels more human than anything.
“What are we doing today?” You ask, sitting up and grabbing the bottle. He shuts the window a little too loud. You wince.
“Sightseeing.”
“You don’t look like the sightseeing type.” You comment. He flops down on the mattress on his stomach, brown hair a mess around his head.
“This is your trip, dumbass. We’re doing this for you.”
It’s a little heartwarming, despite the colorful insult. And considerate in a way you didn’t think demons were capable of. You bite the inside of your bottom lip as you watch him.
“Why are you doing this?” You finally ask.
Seungcheol pops one eye open to look at you, raising an eyebrow in question, so you elaborate.
“You could’ve easily just let me simmer in my apartment. Counted down the days. Then collected my soul when it was time. But you brought me here instead. Why?”
He scoffs and turns, lying on his back instead, eyes shut. This close, you notice how rosy his cheeks are, matching his lips. You wonder briefly if demons get to choose how they look when they take on a human form. Did he purposefully make himself look so attractive? You shake your head. What are these thoughts?
“I would rather shadow you in Italy than whatever drab, pathetic existence you were living back at home.”
You purse your lips. “That’s very insulting. Can’t you be a little nice?”
“That wasn’t part of our deal, woman.”
“It also wasn’t part of our deal that you help my drunk ass get back here. Or leave water for when I wake up. So why are you being selectively nice?”
He sits up abruptly and leans closer to you, hand reaching up to grip your jaw tightly. You stiffen a little as he glares at you, leaning close. His eyes are almond brown, but you can see flecks of gold in them. They look more mystical than they do scary.
“You talk too much. Shut up, or I will cut your tongue out.”
You blink. “No, you won’t. That’s not part of our deal either.” You managed to say from puckered lips.
He sneers. “Maybe you were better when you were drowning in depression and self loathing.”
When he lets go, you can’t help the grin that stretches across your face.
…………………………………
Today is even more tiring than yesterday, since you’re on your feet for most of it. But you don’t mind at all. You’re buzzing with energy somehow, and breaking the ice with Seungcheol really helped. He engages more with you now, endless banter and insults that don’t sting at all. You are sure it’s just part of who he is. There’s no such thing as a nice demon, so it isn’t like you expected anything different. But Seungcheol is really all bark and no bite, so you let his words roll off you easily. He’s too big of a convenience in every other sense of the word. Since you’ve gotten the hang of teleporting, everything has become so much easier. You let yourself really enjoy what you’re doing, taking in the sights and nearly inhaling the food. There’s something warm curling in your limbs, like a pleasant buzz just under your skin.
You can’t remember the last time you felt anything other than complete, overpowering loneliness.
When you insist you want to climb all the many, many stairs up the Leaning Tower, Seungcheol looks particularly annoyed. He insists you can just teleport, but you refuse.
“That’s not part of the experience!” You say, gearing up for the walk. He doesn’t say anything but looks ticked off. It only amuses you more.
Despite his lack of willingness, he takes the stairs with you. You want to question him, ask him why he’s so hellbent on being so closely attached to your side, but having him there is comforting, so you don’t. You’ve become so used to having him around, even if it’s only been two days. But then again, two days feel like two years when you have only ten days left to live.
Around two-thirds of the way up, you tap out, legs shaking. Seungcheol takes sweet pleasure in saying ‘I told you so’ over and over. Other tourists trudge past you as you lean against the wall, trying to catch your breath. You hold your arms out to your demon companion.
“Carry me?”
He makes a face filled with disgust. “Hell no.”
“It’ll take twice as long if I try getting up there myself.”
The bribe works, and Seungcheol groans before turning around. You grin and wrap yourself around his back. His hands are swelteringly hot on your bare thighs as he grips you tight, trudging up the final length of stairs to the top.
The view is breathtaking.
It’s still afternoon, but the sun isn’t harsh on your skin. It feels invigorating almost. There’s people mingling around you, taking pictures of the view and of each other, but you have no need for those. This memory will last for only a few days. Then, you won’t be here any longer. So it won’t matter. So you look, and you look, and you look. Even when you walk down the steps, back outside, taking in the view of this large piece of architecture, you look with wide eyes, hungry eyes, trying to etch it into your brain.
When you turn your head to the side, you realise Seungcheol is looking at you. When you meet his eyes, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he steps closer, wrapping a hand around your arm carefully.
“Come on.” He says softly. “Next stop.”
You end up at a pier.
You don’t know exactly where you are. Frankly, you don’t care. The sun is slowly setting, and it hits the waves in beautiful hues of golden and auburn. You lean against the railing, taking it a long breath. The smell of sea salt invades your lungs. The wind is stronger here. It rushes over you and Seungcheol, messing up your hair and your clothes. He squints to prevent his hair from pricking at his eyes, fluttering around his head, all over the place. You don’t resist the urge to reach up and run a hand through it, confirming what you have been wondering all along. It’s silky smooth and soft under your fingers. Seungcheol gives you a questioning look.
“I still don’t know why you brought me here.” You say, barely audible over the crashing waves. But he seems to hear you just fine. “But I’m grateful for it. Even though I’m sure that doesn’t mean much to you.”
“It doesn’t. I have no use for gratefulness.”
You hum, still running a hand through his hair. Absentmindedly, you scratch at his scalp a bit. His head jerks, leaning into your touch. You grin.
“You really act like a dog.”
“I am a dog.”
You scratch again. His eyelids flutter.
“Dumbass.” He adds, almost as an afterthought. You can’t help your laugh. When Seungcheol smiles, that same dimple makes an appearance again, the one that makes him look human.
You stand on the pier until your feet are numb with cold. Then, you let Seungcheol whisk you away again, to another place, just as beautiful as the last. You don’t feel strange at all putting so much trust in a demon of all things. Because right now, he doesn’t feel like one. He just feels like…. a companion.
“Seungcheol,” you mumble the next morning, sitting at a tiny table outside a café with a croissant and some espresso. He hums, showing you that he’s listening, but his eyes are wandering around the street.
“Do you remember the time you were human?”
He obviously isn’t expecting that, and he gives you a weird look. “No. That was centuries ago. Also, how do you even know demons used to be humans once?”
You shrug. “I read up on a lot of demon related stuff after my deal.”
You eye him closely, he goes back to watching people. “So you don’t remember at all?”
His lips purse. “Not really. I remember I was really poor. And I remember I made a deal. I remember the hellhound who came to get my soul. Got to know him really well later on in hell. His name’s Mingyu. Great guy.”
You wonder what his definition of ‘great’ is, especially when referring to someone who ripped him to shreds.
“Do you think I’ll become a demon too?”
He laughs. “Hell no.”
You frown. “Why not?”
“You just won’t. I was an asshole even as a human. Becoming a demon was very much in the cards for me. You’re not cut out for that shit.”
“Because I’m not an asshole?”
He hesitates. “It’s your soul. It’s….. too pure. There needs to be something there, you know? Some evil that can be worked on, made to fester and grow. But even your demon deal was selfless, for someone else rather than a personal desire. Souls like that, they can’t be corrupted. They can only be tortured.”
You shiver a little at his words. At the thought of eternal torture. Seungcheol watches you, his face free of its usual contempt. It’s smooth, and you can’t figure out what he’s thinking. He shakes his head, lip curling down a little.
“You piss me off.”
You snort, turning back to your coffee. “I know. You’ve told me many, many times.”
“It’s so much fun ripping into some evil soul, torturing them in hell for eternity, knowing they had it coming. What pleasure am I gonna get from ripping into you?”
You laugh bitterly. “I doubt that matters. Won’t you just be glad you have a soul to torture?”
He doesn’t reply. You can see him actively bite back his words. You wonder what he is holding back. He just huffs and shakes his head, as if you’re a lost cause he doesn’t want to waste time arguing with. And maybe you are.
The mood doesn’t remain grim for long, because before you know it, your spirits are lifted again as you walk down the streets and wander the shops. It’s easy for you to banish your earlier conversation from your mind and focus more on living in the moment. But it seems that it weighs on Seungcheol, because he’s quieter than before. Despite the heavy activity of the day, when you get back to your hotel room, ready to sleep, he’s still lost in his thoughts a little.
“Can demons feel?”
He looks up from where he’s perched on the windowsill, a strange habit he has, scowling at you. “Feel what?”
You shrug. “Anything.”
He purses his lips. “Of course we do. Just not the same way humans do.”
You undo the clip in your hair and shake it out a little bit, contemplating. He still looks like he’s distracted.
“Can I ask you a question?”
He rolls his eyes. “You’ve been annoying me for days. Why ask permission now?”
You walk closer to the window, peering outside. You don’t know why he likes sitting by it so much.
“Do you think I deserve to go to hell?”
Seungcheol barks out a laugh at that, chopped and bitter. “Of course you don’t.”
You blink, a little surprised by the quickness of his answer. “Really?”
When he looks at you, it’s with his usual heated glare. “You’re dumber than I thought if you really believe for even a second that your soul should be in hell.”
You don’t know why, but his words warm something in your lungs. You have never talked to anyone about this except the tiny voice in your head, and you had accepted that you belonged in hell because you sold your soul. But Seungcheol is from hell. He is everything that hell presents itself to be. Demonic, corrupt, the collector and torturer of souls. And even he thinks you shouldn’t be there. Even he thinks you should live another existence.
He’s still looking at you. And maybe it’s the connection you feel to him that pushes you forward, making you press your lips to his.
Seungcheol lurches back, his head hitting the glass behind him. He looks at you incredulously.
“What the hell are you doing?”
You blink once, twice, before shaking your head. “I don’t know.”
His eyes dart between yours, eyebrows pulled together in a heavy frown. Thick, uncomfortable silence stretches over the two of you, and then it is broken in a quick second when he leans towards you, devouring your lips once more.
His grip is rough, enough to jolt you slightly. His presence is overwhelming, squeezing your sides until you gasp, which makes him tilt his head and deepen the kiss, hot tongue sliding into your mouth. He stands from the window sill, making your head tilt upward more. Your hands find purchase on his chest, fisting his T-shirt. You tug him closer, try to match his force when you kiss him back, and he groans in approval, a sound from deep in his chest that makes something zip down your torso, settling like a weight in your lower stomach.
“I’m gonna ask you this once,” he pulls back only enough to speak, his lips still brushing over yours, “you really wanna do this?”
You nod frantically. “Please.”
It’s all he needs. His hands find the backs of your thighs and he picks you up again, walking you to the bed and tossing you down on it. You try to catch your bearings as your world tilts, but he is on you instantly, nipping at your jaw and then down your neck. He is quick to discard your clothes, shucking his own off immediately afterwards. You scramble to meet his movements.
“Slow down.” You finally say. Seungcheol bites on your bare shoulder a little.
“I don’t do slow.”
You grip his arm tightly, pushing on his chest a little. “Please, Seungcheol.”
He pauses, pulling back enough to look you in the eye. His eyes run over your face. This close, his cheeks are even more flushed, lips swollen from your previous kisses. He sighs.
“Fine.”
You lean up to kiss him, slower this time, deeper. He tries to match your pace, moving his lips more languidly. Whenever he pushes harder, you grip his hair tight, tugging him back a little. The air charges more, dense with sensual tension that lingers over your undulating bodies. You can feel his cock heavy at the crease of your right thigh, but you’re so focused on his lips, the plush fullness of them, how they seem to envelope every part of your senses. You sigh and arch into him. His hand slides under your back and he pulls you flush against him. You run the fingers of your other hand down his back, feeling the strain of the muscles under his skin.
“You’re testing my patience.” He mumbles, but his voice is slow and lazy now instead of the usual punchy and irritated. You hum, running your tongue over his. He groans.
“Let me savor this.”
More time passes just like this, kissing Seungcheol fluidly and taking your time as you map his body. He occupies himself like that too, large hands traveling down your skin. He pinches on your left nipple, making you twitch a little. It makes him grin against your mouth, and he does it over and over, brushing lightly over it, pinching, even tugging a little. You clench around nothing, slowly feeling that same impatience that has been plaguing him. He shifts his body enough that his cock rests right at your core. When he grinds down, his shaft drags over your clit. You moan and arch, finally breaking away from your kiss.
He’s already trailing his tongue over the column of your throat, nipping slightly right over your pulse point. For a brief second, you are reminded of who he is, or more accurately, what he is. He could rip you limb from limb right now, end it all in one instant, but instead, he’s mouthing at the dip between your collarbones, his fingers prodding over your weeping entrance.
“You’re so wet already. Don’t think you even need my fingers.”
Your hips buck and mouth drops open when he sinks two into you immediately, middle and ring finger, down to the knuckle. He pulls away so he can look at your face.
“But I’m gonna give them to you anyway.”
He curls them right away, searching for that one spot that will make you crumble. He finds it so quickly that you wonder if he just knows where it is. You clench hard around him and cry out, one hand curling into his hair while the other fists the sheets under you. He sets a fast pace from the get go, and this time you don’t stop him. The pleasure is too good, you wouldn’t dare torture yourself by dragging it out.
He fingers you like he has a point to prove, quick and harsh movements that make your body jolt and jerk. He hits all the right parts with all the right pressures. There’s no learning curve with him, and you wonder if demons are just better at this because lust is technically a sin. You don’t have it in you to think about it further, because your brain is scrambled when your orgasm hurtles into you at lightning speed, knocking all the air out of you as you moan and cry through it. He doesn’t slow down even a little bit, not until you’re reaching down to grip his wrist tightly, forcing him to stop. You watch him through teary eyes. He smirks at you.
“Now that is a sight.”
He pulls his fingers out of you, drenched in your juices, running down the back of his hand. He doesn’t let them drip, licking a fat stripe up his hand and then popping his fingers in his mouth. You flush as you watch him, biting your bottom lip hard. When he’s done, he leans down to connect your lips again, and you taste yourself on him. It’s so dirty, but it makes you wind up like a coil, wanting more and more. Seungcheol settles between your thighs again, grinding down on the wet mess. This time, he doesn’t wait, lining himself up quickly until his sinking all the way inside you in one smooth motion.
Your jaw goes slack when his pelvis meets yours, pushed in to the base. He growls, an animalistic sound that shows how much this is affecting him. He pulls back just enough to jerk forward again, enough to jolt you upwards on the bed a little. You gasp, unable to prepare yourself before he sets a hurried pace, thrusting in and out of you steadily.
The temperature in the room rises, the air charged. In the dim lights, Seungcheol’s pale skin gleams, slightly shiny from the thin layer of sweat forming. His arms bulge, muscles shifting as he holds his weight up and off you, using them as leverage to piston his hips into yours. His hair hangs over his face, but through the thick brown strands you can see his eyes, fiery as they run over your trembling, writhing form under him. Every thrust punches out a moan from you, choppy but constant. When the weight of his stare becomes too much, you close your eyes, savoring this feeling, probably the last time you will experience pleasure like this. But you don’t feel sad, or regretful. It hits you like a finality, like this is what it all culminated to. His cock feels too good to let anything negative form in your mind. In fact, he effectively banishes all other notions in your head, until all you can think of is how good he feels, how tingly waves are running down your body and collecting in the pit of your lower stomach, gathering and snowballing into your next orgasm.
“I’m gonna cum.” You choke out. A hand comes up and grabs your jaw, tilting your face up.
“Open your eyes. Look at me.”
You do, because no part of your brain can say no to him right now. The brown of his irises is darkened, cloudy, hazy, and you can see the pleasure swirl around his dilated pupils. He’s close too. He’s going to come with you.
He paints your insides white the same second you clench hard around him and hurtle headfirst into your climax. You gasp and choke on the air in your lungs, nails digging into his shoulders. He leans down, face burying in your neck as he groans, body twitching and shuddering over you. His warm breath hits your skin as he catches his breath, still buried deep inside you and not moving.
“Hey,” you say finally, voice a little raspy from overuse, “when you take me to hell, will you stay with me?”
He doesn’t reply, but you can see his hand tighten on the sheets next to your head, fisting them in his fingers. When he finally pulls away, his face is the softest you have ever seen it being, devoid of his snark and the hard, asshole exterior. If you didn’t already know what he was, you would never guess he was a demon dog.
“I wish I didn’t have to take you.”
You crack a smile at that, reaching a hand up to run through his hair. It’s so silky soft under your skin. His eyelids flutter at the feeling.
“I’ll be fine. You turned out okay, right?”
He barks out a laugh. “Sure.”
He pulls out and falls to your side, wrapping you in his arms tightly. You relax into him, closing your eyes. You think about your words, wondering.
Who exactly are you placating here? Him or yourself?
You don’t know why the days pass so quickly, despite being so packed with activity. The great part about having Seungcheol around means you don’t have to worry about commuting, and you end up seeing a lot of places and sights which would otherwise be impossible. Things are different now. He looks at you different, touches you gentler, more lingering. Every night, he lays you down under him, taking you slow and deliberate, and then quick and rough. You’ve experienced more pleasure now than in the last ten years combined. When he intertwines his fingers with yours and cums deep inside you, his grip tightens to the point that you can’t feel your hands anymore. You don’t mind. In fact, you welcome the intensity of it.
You count the days down every hour almost, from seven, to six, to five, dwindling one by one until midnight strikes on your last day.
You’re sitting on the cobblestone pathway outside your hotel, watching Seungcheol, who is leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the tiny street. He doesn’t look back at you.
“I’m hoping you don’t kill me as ruthlessly as you usually would.” You joke.
He doesn’t reply, doesn’t meet your eyes. You wonder if this is difficult for him. If he can even feel a conflicting emotion like this. Is he even capable? His behavior over the last week would tell you that yes, he is. But you’re not sure. You can never be sure.
“We’ll do it tomorrow.” He finally says.
You blink. “Tomorrow? But my time is up.”
He scoffs and straightens, pushing off the wall. “You want one last good breakfast or not?”
His voice is sharp and leaves no room to argue. Plus, the thought of a nice, warm espresso cup and flaky croissants stops you. If he is offering, who are you to decline?
So you don’t argue. In fact, you don’t say a word, not even when he says the next day that you should see the sunset on the pier one last time, or have a nice bowl of authentic warm pasta, or some good wine, or a walk down the winding country lanes. With every passing day, Seungcheol gets more intense, more on edge. The air feels is thick with anticipation, like everything in your surroundings is holding its breath. One day bleeds into the next, then the next, and the next. His hold on your hand is tight every second, like he’s worried you will drift away. He kisses you in the middle of the street, urgent, desperate, and when he crowds you against a stone wall in a darkened alley, you don’t stop him. You relish in it, in how fast your heart beats when he looks at you with so much heat, so much passion, when he drives his cock hard and rough into you, groans into your hair and breathes you in like you’re the only thing he wants to smell. Your chest squeezes, your stomach blooms with something you don’t recognise.
What is this feeling?
But it’s momentary, as all good things are, because when you get back to your hotel, a week after the clock stopped ticking, and see a darkened shadow perched on the window sill, you know your time is up.
“You’re usually so meticulous with timings, Seungcheol.” Jeonghan’s voice is as dark and buttery as it was ten years ago. He looks even scarier now, gaunt, cheeks sunken in to highlight his jaw, hair brushing over his face and obstructing it a bit. Behind you, Seungcheol stiffens, but his hand finds your hip, holding you tight.
Jeonghan’s eyes follow the motion and he chuckles, as if he understands perfectly.
“You owe me a soul.” He continues, but it feels more teasing now.
“I will get you one.” Seungcheol replies.
“You owe me this soul.” His eyes turn to you. You swallow hard. Seungcheol’s grip on you only strengthens.
“Not this one.”
“Oh?” Jeonghan moves then, straightening. You feel a tug, stepping back as Seungcheol winds around to stand in front of you. You can barely see the intrigue curling in Jeonghan’s eyes over Seungcheol’s shoulder. This all looks like it’s deeply amusing to him.
“I haven’t let you down once. In centuries.” Seungcheol says, his voice deepens with a tone you don't recognise. “Jeonghan, do this for me.”
Silence stretches over the room for a few seconds, the only sound being the wind swooping in from the open window. You shiver a little, wanting to curl closer to Seungcheol’s broad back, but too afraid to even move. Finally, Jeonghan speaks.
“I’ll talk to some people.”
You can visibly see Seungcheol relax. You don’t dare try to think of what this means to you. You don’t dare hope, but the implication seems quite clear. Seungcheol reaches a hand back and grips yours, intertwining your fingers and squeezing tightly. There is a finality in his action, and the air it seemed like your surroundings had been holding is released in a long whoosh. You are reeling, and before you know it, tears prick your eyes
You startle when Jeonghan meets your stare, but his smirk is riddled with amusement and humor. Your blood is warming more and more. Your lips struggle to hold back a smile. He finally speaks up.
“So how do you feel about having a pet dog for the rest of your life?”
› pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader
› aus: dilf jeonghan, boyfriend jeonghan, jeonghan is a girl dad
› genres: angst, fluff, smut (18+)
› word count: 23k
READ PART ONE HERE
› warnings: toxic family dynamics: jeonghan's ex is a bad person in general (a neglectful parent), talks about speech therapy, speech impediment. jeonghan is an idiot. reader is emotionally constipated. so there's A LOT OF drama.
› smut warnings: smut with plot (this part has more plot than the previous one, you're warned), they're both crazy for each other, dirty talk, pussy eating, jeonghan is pussy drunk, quickies, make up sex, breeding kink, cowgirl, daddy kink, edging, bathroom sex, silence play, unprotected p in v sex (i'm such a bad influence, wrap it up!), creampies, mating press, yn is slightly 🤏🏻 bratty, dom jeonghan, aftercare. pet names: babe, baby, beautiful, darling, sweetheart, (hers) babe, daddy (his)
› author's note: hiiii! i'm here to say thank you guys for the support in the pineapple on pizza? post! it was really nice to see that so many of you enjoyed it, so here is a part two! honestly i enjoyed writing dilf!hannie quite a lot and couldn't get him out of my brain for months so here it is, a part two lol. and this chapter is looooong, so buckle in!
also another note: this is incredibly self indulgent. like everything i write. but i think this one takes the cake.
› disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂
“Have you seen my keys?”
Morning routines were always a mess. Something different happened every time, and somehow, even though you’ve done this more than a dozen times, it was still hard to catch up.
But you were getting the hang of it.
The apartment was a controlled chaos, as you liked calling it. The air smelled of coffee and the soft fragrance that Jeonghan wore to work. Repetition was starting to have its effect as you began to associate your mornings with those two scents.
“Have you tried looking under the couch?” you asked, turning around with a small bowl in your hands. You placed it carefully on the small tabletop of Sohee’s booster seat and watched quietly as she sank her little spoon into her bowl of cereal and milk.
“I should’ve added more milk,” you mumbled, biting on the inside of your cheek.
The little girl didn’t seem to notice, though. She ate happily, kicking her feet in the air and clapping her tiny hands together as she chewed, milk dripping from the corners of her pouty mouth.
You heard a sigh, and then the sound of footsteps approaching from the hall, and you lifted your head.
Jeonghan was still buttoning his perfectly ironed shirt, his hands going lower and lower, distracting you from your initial task. You felt your lips parting before forcing any kind of control onto your facial expression. His black trousers were also yet to be fixed, but as he finished buttoning his shirt, he tucked it inside his pants, quickly fastening his belt.
You lowered your gaze to the little girl slamming her palms onto the tabletop. Sohee was dancing happily. And you were glad that you had zero witnesses to your ogling your boyfriend quite shamelessly.
You brushed crumbs off the table, picked up the empty bowl and put it away. “Alright,” you said with a sigh, pretending to be deeply focused on the morning routine. “Did you find them?”
When you looked up, you found that Jeonghan had also been staring. His eyes were trained on the scene happening before him. His mouth parted, and he appeared to be confused for a split second—giving himself a very brief shake. “Yeah,” he smiled shyly and patted the pocket of his trousers. “Under the bed.”
“Huh,” you grinned. “How could they have gotten there?” you asked, innocently tilting your head.
Jeonghan sighed. The smile was still glued to his face, but it slowly brushed off as he raised his wrist to his face, looking at his watch. “I’m late,” he said, delivering the words with an annoyed edge in his tone. “Fuck. I’m so late,” he added, turning around to grab the jacket that had been previously placed on the couch.
Panic rushed in your veins. It was a big day for Jeonghan at his work—he had a big meeting in which it was certain that he would get some good news about a project that he had proposed for the company he worked for. You knew what this meant for him.
You looked at the time. His shift started earlier than yours did, and with another twist to your stomach, you knew that he wouldn’t be able to drop Sohee off at the daycare and then make it on time to his meeting.
“Go. I’ll drop Sohee at daycare,” you blurted right as he was throwing Sohee’s things into her bag.
His gaze snapped up and locked onto your face. The shock was flitting, but you were able to catch it before he blinked and parted his mouth to say something.
But you were quicker— “Here. Take my car and I’ll take yours so I can put Sohee in her car seat. We can switch later,” you said, stumbling over your words as you fished your car keys from the pocket of your smart trousers, handing them to him.
Jeonghan straightened, fixing the wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose—you always went a little crazy when he did that—but this time he placed his hands on his hips, his face thoughtful, calculating. “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause an inconvenience with—”
“Babe, you’re not causing anything,” you insisted, thrusting your fist holding the keys into the space between you and him. “Take my car. Go to your meeting. I’ve got Sohee.”
At that, Jeonghan’s face relaxed, starting to approach you with a softened look on his face—like he could melt just at the sight of you. He took the keys from your hand. “You’re godsent, did you know that?” he asked, his tone low as he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you to his body.
“I’m just here to help,” you said lightly, meeting his gaze as he bent his head to meet your lips with his own.
Jeonghan gave you one feathery kiss. “Thank you, baby,” he whispered, pushing his lips on yours again. “Be careful, okay? Call me if anything happens.”
You smiled against his lips. “I got this,” you repeated in a sweeter tone.
Part of you was sure that Jeonghan knew this as well. But Sohee was his entire world. And he was quite literally leaving her in your hands.
And you were unsure as to what to think about it.
Jeonghan turned, peeling himself from your lips with a begrudged groan and placed a kiss on top of Sohee’s head. “Goodbye, sweetheart,” he cooed gently.
Your tummy twisted again. This time, the reaction was from the way Jeonghan switched into dad mode in the blink of an eye. The switch from hot boyfriend to diligent father never failed to mess with you.
Sohee lifted her head, her eyes looking at her dad, but she didn’t respond.
“Be good today, okay? Eat all of your meals and try not to miss me too much,” Jeonghan insisted, trying to get her to utter something. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart. Byeee,” he cooed again.
But Sohee kept looking at her father fixedly.
“Sweetheart, say bye,” Jeonghan encouraged Sohee again, this time lower but still gentle.
“Maybe she’s not feeling it today, babe,” you muttered behind him.
A few weeks ago, Jeonghan confided in you that he started to notice that Sohee often froze at the moment of speaking full sentences. Initially, he had brushed it off, thinking that his daughter was innately shy, just like himself. But as months passed by and she continued developing other social skills, he began to believe that it was something else.
“Right,” Jeonghan mumbled, not hiding the slight look of worry on his face. But he leaned and propped another kiss on her forehead before stepping back. He kissed you on the cheek, handing you the keys to his car.
“Good luck,” you mumbled, and he replied with a quick nod. You and Sohee watched quietly as Jeonghan slipped through the door.
As soon as the door clicked shut, you realized what you had gotten yourself into. It was supposed to be a simple task, yes. But it had a thousand layers of meaning beneath it. Taking Sohee to daycare was something you could do every day, gladly—but something felt off.
Like you were starting to cross a line, and neither Jeonghan nor you knew how to talk about it.
Taking Sohee to her daycare was one thing—driving Jeonghan’s SUV was another.
It wasn’t a particularly daring task either, but it also put your nerves on edge. After fixing Sohee’s daycare bag and your own stuff, you grabbed her first, hoisting her up your hip, and then you swung your bag and Sohee’s on your shoulder.
“Ready to see your friends today, Sohee?” you asked, raising your tone into a sweet one. It felt practiced, and you remembered the first few times you ever did it—how it made your cheeks flush in embarrassment. But after a time, you could say that you understood why people would talk in a cute way to kids, it came naturally.
“Yeah,” Sohee replied, the word landing almost aloofly. Like you had just caught her in a moment where she didn’t find any barriers for her to speak.
You pushed the button of the elevator and slowly moved your head to look at her.
Sohee was a perfect little girl of almost three years of age. When you met her over half a year ago, you were sure you were holding a little angel. She was gentle and sweet. Her head was full of dark hair that matched her long eyelashes, just like her father’s.
“Oh, yeah? What are their names?” you asked, eyeing her as you stepped into the elevator with her still attached to your hip.
“Dany,” she mumbled perfectly, raising her tone as though she were about to make a list of names.
“Dany? Okay, and who else?”
“Nora,” she said, quieter this time.
The elevator paused on its way down, opening the doors for another person to step in. You knew the conversation was over.
Sohee fell silent, lowering her gaze from you and fixing it on one point on your shirt. You realized after a few seconds that she was staring at your hand, at your painted fingernails. What made you certain was the way she raised her hands to her gaze, comparing her fingernails to your own.
Something twisted inside you, the idea of her and you doing each other’s nails dawned in your head. And you knew what that pang in your stomach was—possibility. You were thinking of the future.
“Here we go,” you mumbled as you approached Jeonghan’s navy blue Kia Seltos. The fresh smell of new and clean leather still lingered inside it as you opened the door and put Sohee in her chair.
She never complained, just quietly sat on the chair and looked at you as you fixed the buckle of her safety belt.
“Safety first,” you said, trying to fill in the silence. You grabbed one of the toys from the toy basket sitting beneath her seat and showed it to her. “Look, it’s Rory!” you cried dramatically, showing her the dinosaur plushie that you knew she loved.
Sohee extended her arms and made grabby hands at the green and very cute T. rex. She didn’t speak again, no matter how hard you tried to get her to say something.
The parking lot was buzzing with activity, cars coming and going, hustling parents coming in and out of the building, dropping their kids off—and you for sure felt like a fish out of water, but you didn’t want to entertain the thought for too long. You signed Sohee in without an issue—the staff mentioned that as you were dropping Sohee off, Jeonghan had phoned them to let them know you were coming in his stead.
You soothed Sohee’s hair and gave her a quick kiss on her head as she scrunched her fingers on your back, almost affectionately. “You be good, sweetie,” you said before leaving her and turning to the parking lot, feeling strangely empty when you climbed inside the SUV.
You carried out work as usual. You didn’t think about the odd feeling clawing at your heart for the rest of the morning. The second the clock hit one o’clock, your phone started vibrating, snapping you out of your monitor screen. You scrambled to get your phone, only to see Jeonghan’s face on the screen.
“Hello?” you responded with a hushed tone, looking over to see if you had interrupted the workflow in the office. But you realized the space was nearly empty, and everyone had left for lunch.
“Am I interrupting?” Jeonghan noticed immediately by your tone alone.
“No. I just didn’t look at the time,” you told him, pushing yourself off the chair and walking in the direction of the elevator.
“Oh, I see. Is this still a good time to speak with you?” he asked.
You smirked at his choice of words. “I don’t know, you tell me. Is this a good time for you?” you retorted, noticing that he was also in his cubicle.
“You got me,” he said, and you could imagine the shy smile on his face. “I’m stepping outside, hold on.”
You pushed the button to the elevator and waited while on the other side of the line, you heard Jeonghan moving.
“Okay, I’m out,” he said with a sigh. “Are you going to the food court?” he asked.
Jeonghan knew your schedule well, and he was also very familiar with your routine since you always kept him in the loop of the things you did. When you started dating, you would quite practically narrate to him your daily life through text messages, to the point that he knew all of your co-workers by name without knowing them in person.
“Yes,” you replied, stepping out of the elevator.
“Chicken salad?” he asked with a low tone, making you think that he probably had some co-worker passed him by.
“Oh, I think I’m moving on from that,” you told him. “I want a burrito. A chicken burrito.”
“Oof, how different,” he teased.
“Let me be,” you bit back and then frowned, suspecting something was off.
“I will. But I’m going to tease you about it either way,” he said with a brief laugh. “How is work going?”
“Fine,” you replied simply. But it was then that you dared to ask, “Is something going on, babe? You’re never this weird.”
Jeonghan sighed, and you knew he was smiling. “Am I being that obvious?” he said, and then, before you could say something, he continued. “I just wanted to tell you to come tonight and have dinner with Sohee and me.”
“Mmn, why do I feel like this could’ve been a text,” you said as you sat down at an empty table that was cluttered with a tray and a single French fry sitting on its box.
He laughed. “I am trying to get somewhere here,” he said.
“You’re taking a lot of detours!” you laughed with him. “Of course, babe. You know I love having dinner with you and Sohee.”
“Good. Great,” he mumbled, and something about the dejected way his words came out made your ears perk.
A long moment of silence happened between you, where you could hear the sound of his breathing and nothing else. Your gaze fell out of focus, landing on a single grain of salt on the dirty table in the very crowded food court.
“Is everything alright, babe?” you asked, your tone lower. “Did the meeting go well?”
“Yeah. It’s not that. I want—” he cut himself off, but then, “I want us to talk,” he said.
Your heart fell to your stomach, the feeling so impactful that it left you completely stunned. There was nothing in the world that could replace the feeling you’d get when you heard the words we need to talk, and all of its variations.
“Oh, then—t-that changes things,” you mumbled awkwardly, not forgoing that he ignored your initial question.
“Wait, no,” he started, noticing the tension in your words. “It’s nothing bad.”
“Okay,” you said under a heavy sigh. “Then tell me now,” you said.
“I’d rather wait until tonight—”
“Did I do something wrong?” you asked instead. And perhaps you could’ve controlled yourself better, but you were fully induced in anxiety now.
“No. I swear it’s nothing bad,” he told you firmly. “It’s something I have been wanting to ask you.”
You started toying with the lonely grain of salt with the tip of your finger. “If it really is nothing bad, then you could ask me now,” you said, fully aware of how shaky your tone was.
“Are you sure?” he asked slowly, stretching out each word.
“Very.”
Jeonghan sighed and then paused. You could picture him clearly—standing on the balcony of the building where he worked, looking very polished on the outside but probably tense, judging by his tone alone.
“I was just thinking that we’re always so busy, you with work and me with—well, with everything and…” You heard him pause, and then release a sigh, and that’s how you knew he was also steadying himself. “I wanted to know if you would like to move in with us. With Sohee and me.”
In all of the things you could’ve possibly imagined him saying, this wasn’t one of them. You straightened in your seat as a chill ran down your spine. “Jeonghan, are you serious?” you asked, unable to control how firm you sounded.
“I don’t mean now, but sometime in the future. We can plan and see how things go from there,” he offered, and he sounded steady, but you could notice the slight edge of nervousness in it.
The feeling invading your body made you feel as if you had been dropped from a very tall building.
“Babe…” you started, looking for the words to say.
“It’s okay if you want to say no,” he said. “I just wanted to talk about it with you tonight over dinner.”
You closed your eyes, swallowing hard. “I’m not saying no,” you told him.
“You’re not saying yes either,” he sighed in defeat. “I’m rushing into things.”
Your chest caved in. You wanted to say yes, you wanted this. But there were so many things that you thought needed to happen before you moved in with him and his daughter. In your book, things like the first I love you had to happen before sharing a roof with that person. Or at least knowing them for a full year.
Oh, and the judgment. Your friends already thought you were insane for dating a single parent, and now you were moving in with him eight months after meeting him? Not only that, your whole life had taken a turn when you started dating Jeonghan—to the point that the person you were a year ago wouldn’t recognize the person you were now.
“Can we talk about it tonight over dinner?” you asked, your tone tiny.
“Of course. We can talk about it more calmly,” he said, and you couldn’t ignore the note of sadness in his words. “I get it, baby. I should’ve waited. I’m sorry.”
“No, Jeonghan. You did nothing wrong,” you said, but then something felt off.
“Listen, I have to go back. See you tonight?” he asked, and you caught the way his tone picked up. Something had come up.
You deflated completely. “See you tonight, Jeonghan.”
And then something hung in the air. An unspoken thing between you, something that needed to be said.
Your heart started to hope.
But then the line went dead.
There was a thought that you couldn’t quite keep away. When you met Jeonghan, you instantly knew this man was for you—every bone, every nerve ending in your body told you that. Then, when you knew he was a single father, you knew that a relationship with him would be challenging. But it turned out to be easier than expected.
However, things started to shift from the first night you and he took things to the next level. Spending the night in his bed was a very conscious decision you both made. You were both ready, and truth be told, aching for each other. What you didn’t foresee was that you were climbing those steps into a serious relationship without paying attention to how fast and how uncontrolled you were.
Now, it felt as though you were in too deep, but there were no rules or boundaries in place.
You gnawed on your lower lip, debating whether to write him a text telling him that you knew he meant well by his proposition.
Instead, you got up and went to the nearest convenience store, got a sandwich, and ate half of it on the elevator ride back to your office.
The rest of your shift happened in a blink. Thankfully, you were so busy that the aftermath of that call with Jeonghan was pushed to the second plane of your brain. You would sometimes remember it with a jolt in your stomach. And he also didn’t text you afterwards, which meant that he was also probably busy—or that’s what you wanted to believe anyway.
You came out of the office some four hours after the phone call, scrambling inside your handbag to get your car keys.
Your phone started vibrating furiously somewhere in one of the many pockets, your heart deflating stressfully in the thought that it could possibly be Jeonghan. A flashing thought drove that anxiousness right into your soul, telling you that he would be telling you that tonight’s plans were off.
But it was an unknown caller. And you picked up solely on the thought that it would be a work-related thing.
“Yes?” you said, putting your bag on top of the trunk of your car.
The caller was a woman with a very polite tone, asking for you using your full name.
“This is her,” you replied almost routinely.
“Hi! This is Katy from the Speech and Learning Center. Am I speaking to Sohee’s mother?”
“Oh—” you gasped, leaving the task of finding your keys completely abandoned due to the sheer shock that question gave you. “No. I’m her father’s partner. Is something wrong?”
“Oh, no. Everything is fine. I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Katy responded kindly. “We have you on Sohee’s file as the emergency contact in case her father doesn’t answer, and we’ve tried him three times just now, but no answer. Are you able to make choices about her appointments with us?”
“God,” you mouthed to yourself, screwing your eyes shut. “Um, Sohee’s birthday is on Friday, so Thursday would probably be better,” you responded automatically, and then you stopped yourself with a shake. “But I think you should try her father again.”
But then you remembered—Jeonghan had mentioned a very important meeting, the one where his boss would determine whether he had the promotion or not.
“I believe he was in a meeting. Maybe you should try in…” you checked your watch. “Twenty minutes. He should be off by then.”
“Understood. I will call him instead. Well, I thank you for picking up this call and wish you a good rest of your day. Bye!”
“Thanks. You too,” you replied shakily.
And then she hung up.
The drive to Jeonghan’s apartment felt like an out-of-body experience. You felt yourself driving, but at the same time, your mind was somewhere else. After being hit with two reality checks, one after another, you were reconsidering what to do, what to say to Jeonghan once you saw him.
He had assigned you as Sohee’s emergency contact. Not her grandmother, not her aunt. And certainly not her mother. You.
It shouldn’t be a big deal—maybe you were making it into a big deal. But after Jeonghan had told you he wanted you to move in with him and his daughter, this just felt like too much.
You turned the doorknob of his apartment door as you released a shaky sigh, trying to drive out all your nervousness. But as you entered and laid eyes on him, you knew it would be impossible not to be nervous for the remainder of the night.
Jeonghan was sitting on the couch, baby Sohee sitting safely on his thigh as he held a triceratops in one hand, making it clash gently against Sohee’s brontosaurus. His gaze immediately switched to the door as you crossed it. Then tension set in, making the features of his face harden.
And you probably were mirroring that same expression. You closed the door behind you quietly and removed your shoes by the entrance.
Jeonghan placed Sohee on the couch carefully as you walked to the living room, feeling strange.
“Hey,” he said, reading your face with his eyes.
Your heart was racing incredibly fast. “Hi,” you replied.
“I got it,” he said with a big sigh.
Understanding dawned on you with a blink. “You got promoted?”
He nodded, but his expression was still blank.
“Oh my god!” you gasped, thinking that the tension in his demeanor was due to the call from earlier. “Congratulations!” you said excitedly, going for a hug.
Jeonghan didn’t appear to be happy, not precisely. But he wrapped your torso in his arms, hugging you tightly. “Thank you, baby,” he sighed, sinking his face into the crook of your neck.
Then you felt a pair of tiny hands palming your leg intuitively. You pulled away from Jeonghan’s arms, looking down to spot Sohee trying to get your attention.
“I think she’s feeling left out,” Jeonghan interpreted keenly.
“Oh, my bad,” you giggled and bent down to hug her. “Come here, princess,” you spoke softly to her as you lifted her in your arms.
“Look,” Sohee said quietly, showing you a new dinosaur toy.
“Wow, what is this?” you asked her, your tone turning into honey.
“Saurus,” she mumbled shyly, still showing you her dinosaur figurine.
“A stegosaurus,” Jeonghan informed you quietly as he watched you carry Sohee in your arms. And there was that look again. The one you had seen in the morning. He was watching intently, calmly—like he wanted to remember this moment forever without missing a thing.
“This is so cool,” you told her, still using that tone. “Is this the one you liked the most?” you asked her.
She listened to you intently, but her gaze was fixed on her figurine. She shook her head.
“Show her your favorite one, sweetheart,” Jeonghan said as you placed her back on the floor.
She ran back to the couch, grabbed the forgotten dinosaur and brought it back to you. You crouched to be at eye level with her as she showed you a new Triceratops.
“Did you just get these?” you asked her sweetly, your tummy twisting in cuteness aggression as she just nodded, ruffling her black hair.
“It was one of her birthday gifts. I thought that it would be safe to keep them stashed in my closet, but I guess that I should’ve known better,” he said guiltily, crouching with you as Sohee went on to show you her new collection of dinosaur toys.
“You’re a very observant girl, aren’t you?” you asked her, to which she ignored completely.
You could feel Jeonghan beside you, his gaze set on you as you continued your silent exchange with Sohee. After some seconds of feeling the weight of his gaze on you, you glanced to his direction.
“Can we talk?” he whispered as soon as he caught your eye.
You nodded, tummy twisting uneasily.
Jeonghan opened and then closed the fridge in one short motion. He placed his empty hands on his hips as he released a sigh. You noticed then that he was anxious. “Sohee’s mother is coming to town.”
You froze in place.
Of course. You should’ve expected her to be for her daughter’s birthday. But part of you was also completely vexed about this piece of information—since you had believed for a moment that Jeonghan wanted to talk about the proposal he’d made earlier. But Sohee’s mother rarely called, to the point that in the eight months you’ve been dating Jeonghan, you had never even seen her in person.
“Oh, I see,” you said, swallowing hard. And then you added quite awkwardly: “Is she… did you… Did she call to see what you would do for Sohee’s birthday?”
Jeonghan understood where your curiosity came from. But he was still looking at you wearily, just like all the times he talked to you about a difficult thing in his life. Like the time he told you about his daughter, or the time he told you about Sohee’s absent mother.
It made your stomach churn.
And you knew what it was. It was selfishness.
“No. I called her,” he said. You knew that he was telling you the truth, and in doing so, he was nervous. “Sohee’s birthday is one of the few times I can get her mother to come see her, so…”
“I understand,” you said, resuming to set the table with the tablecloth and the dishware. “Do you… want me here that day?”
“Of course I do,” he said. You glanced his way, seeing his worried face—his eyebrows knitting softly. “Do you want to be here?”
“As long as you are comfortable with it, yes,” you said, and then added: “I just don’t want to complicate things.”
Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “Believe me, things can’t get more complicated with her. Soomin is just…” he shook his head lightly. “Well, you’ll see.”
You exhaled sharply. “Okay… no pressure,” you mumbled.
All you knew about Soomin was that she was not present in Sohee and Jeonghan’s lives from the moment Sohee turned eight months old. Her reason for parting and leaving everything behind was simply—I don’t want this life—and one day she packed her bags and left. Some months later, Jeonghan asked her for full custody of the baby, receiving it without any fight from her.
“Is she coming the day of?” you asked.
“On Thursday afternoon, after Sohee’s therapy,” he said. And then you noticed that the anxiety hadn’t quite brushed off. “I want you to meet her that day. That way we can have the party without any issues, if any.”
You raised your eyebrows, watching him from the other side of the table. “That bad?”
He nodded silently, throwing a look to the living room, where Sohee was dancing around to the music playing on the TV screen. “I just don’t want her to make a scene on Sohee’s birthday, you know? It’s supposed to be her day.”
The tension in your shoulders dissolved when you turned over your shoulder and saw baby Sohee bending her knees to the rhythm of the music, her tiny hands planted on the sofa to keep herself steady as she danced happily. Your stomach twisted with the realization that you loved Sohee in a way that you wanted to protect her, care for her.
You had gotten irrevocably attached.
You took a deep breath, slowly turning to see Jeonghan. “Don’t worry, babe,” you told him, smiling at him as you approached him again. “We’ll make Sohee’s day just about her, alright?” you said, pushing yourself to your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
Jeonghan smiled softly. “Alright,” he said.
You stared at that smile on his face for one long second, and slowly, the memory of the phone call from earlier came back to your mind. Your heart faltered. You carefully thought of how to open the conversation, but nerves got the better of you first— “About earlier…” you said in a whisper, pausing to clear your throat. “Were you serious? About me moving in?”
Jeonghan inhaled slowly, blinking away from your face briefly, glancing to where his daughter was in the living room. “We don’t have to rush,” he said, licking his lips before turning his gaze back to you. “It’s a big step, but it makes sense, right? I mean, you’re already here all the time…”
You studied him for a brief moment. You were hearing him, but all you could think about was the way his shoulders were tight, the way he was gripping the back of the chair with one hand. And more than everything else—the way he wasn’t meeting your eyes.
“It feels fast, Jeonghan,” you said carefully.
“It feels right,” he countered, taking one step towards you. His face had changed now that you could see him with more closeness—his dark eyes were full of certainty, full of tenderness. “I want you here. With us. You’re already here all the time, you do morning routines with us, put her in bed, and drop-offs…”
Your chest tightened. Something felt off. And then by pure instinct, you glanced at Sohee. The baby had stopped moving, her gaze fixed on the flat screen mounted on the wall, sticking her index finger in her mouth quite aloofly.
But the sight of her made your tummy twist even harder. It was the realization hitting you like a train. If you lost this—if Jeonghan and you ever get to a point where you split, you would lose Sohee as well. The mere thought threatened to break your heart.
His gaze shifted—and without following it, you knew that he was looking at Sohee. “I’m just… scared of doing this wrong way, you know?”
You reached for his face, cupping it with your hands to draw his gaze back to you again. “Then we should slow down,” you said, your heart protesting against your words with a stabbing pain. “Just a little.”
He swallowed hard. “Okay,” he breathed.
“Yeah?” you replied in kind. “We slow down for just a little while. We could talk about it again when the timing feels right.”
Jeonghan grabbed one of your wrists, squeezing it gently. He looked relieved, so much so that the next sigh he let out was slow as he leaned his forehead on yours. “I’m sorry. The last thing I want is to rush you,” he whispered.
“It’s okay,” you replied, despite your heart deflating a little. “I understand. Just know that I’m not saying no. Okay?” you said, raising your tone just a little bit higher, trying to swallow your nerves.
“Okay,” Jeonghan replied with a breathy giggle, hearing your nervous tone.
You felt his lips grazing yours before he kissed you fully. It was then that you felt those three littlewords sitting on the tip of your tongue. You were falling for him, fast and uncontrollably. But instead of telling him that, you pushed your lips against his, kissing him fervently.
But then a sharp, and very high-pitched laugh pulled you both apart. Baby Sohee was laughing at something happening on the TV. You broke away and stepped back from Jeonghan.
“I’ll… bring her to her chair so she can have dinner,” Jeonghan said. And by the look in his eyes, you knew that there was something else on his mind.
You let out a tired breath. “What a Monday,” you sighed.
“Welcome to my life,” Jeonghan replied.
After dinner, Jeonghan started to ready Sohee for bed, and that usually involved a bath, brushing teeth and then bed. It took him around thirty or forty minutes. And in that time, you usually took it upon yourself to tidy the space up. Initially, you had started doing it to kill the time while waiting for Jeonghan to come back—despite his insistence for you not to do it—but lately, it felt like it was part of your routine too.
You had put all of Sohee’s toys in the basket, folded the blankets and were now doing the dishes. The task had fallen into a steady rhythm, and so you were deeply focused on washing a pan when a pair of arms snaked around your waist, startling you.
“Stay the night,” Jeonghan said, his tone low as he bent his head to rest it on your shoulder.
Your tummy twisted.
Ever since you slept with Jeonghan for the first time, you had fallen into a pattern of addiction. You would stay over at every chance you could get, which, granted, weren’t as many since you had a very hectic work schedule as a CEO Assistant and he as a single parent, and now newly ascended to Director. But even as you had finally stepped to that level of intimacy, it was life that constantly would get in the way. It wasn’t as easy to find a time for you to come to his apartment, and it would be nearly impossible for Jeonghan to spend the night at yours.
You felt his lips grazing a particular tender spot on the crook of your neck. “Hannie,” you sighed, recoiling from his sweet kisses.
“What?” he mumbled against your skin, you could tell from his tone that he was smiling. But he didn’t stop kissing your neck slowly.
You swore you could melt. When you took too long to respond, he giggled gently against your skin.
“Want me to stop?”
You had already scrubbed every inch of the pan you were holding under the stream of water; the task had been long forgotten. “No, I want you to let me finish doing the dishes,” you replied with a playful tone.
“Alright, my bad,” he said, stepping back from you and starting to put things away in the kitchen.
You watched him through the corner of your eye as he roamed all over the space. Feeling the absence of his touch on your skin made you swallow hard. “I didn’t say you had to stop,” you mumbled, feeling hot on the cheeks.
Jeonghan huffed, clearly still amused. “Baby, we’ve been going like this for weeks,” he said pointedly, then chuckled as he threw a look at your face, finding your pout.
Since the night when you slept with Jeonghan for the first time, you have had very few occasions of true intimacy. However, that didn’t stop Jeonghan from teasing you, touching you in places he hadn’t dared before that night, but now he did it at every chance he could get when no one else was looking.
It got you nervous. You liked him too much. Every time he touched you intimately, your mind would be thrown back to those nights where it was just you and Jeonghan. It made your blood dance, heating your entire body.
Only Jeonghan had that power.
You placed the last item on the drying rack and grabbed the hand towel, drying your hands before returning it to its place. “Fine, I’m done doing the dishes,” you said, putting your hands on your hips. “Where were we?”
Jeonghan let out a teasing huff. “You’re cute,” he said with a chuckle.
“You’re a tease,” you bit back, trying to sound as annoyed as you could, but instead your tone denoted how flustered you already were.
Jeonghan rolled his eyes at you, the smirk not washing off his face. “So? Are you staying or not?” he asked, his tone still playful.
“Only if you behave,” you said impishly.
Jeonghan raised his eyebrows, stepping closer to you. “Me?” he asked, his tone rising. He was close enough now that all he had to do was lift his hand to cup your face, fixing your gaze on him. “All I do is what you tell me, baby,” he said, his tone so low and raspy it was almost like a purr.
“So whenever you misbehave, is it because I told you to?” you huffed, not caring that his face was closer to yours now.
He smirked slowly as his eyes outlined your face. “Obviously,” he shrugged lightly. He finally closed the space between your lips and his, kissing you tenderly. “I always behave. While you, on the other hand…”
He didn’t finish his sentence, his gaze dipping to look at your lips briefly before he kissed you again. You smiled into the kiss, despite it being chaste in the way that he was only pressing his lips to yours repeatedly, creating soft, wet noises that only incited you to get more.
“Babe,” you muttered, laughing sweetly. “Kiss me properly,” you told him.
Jeonghan didn’t waste a second. Repositioning his hands around your face, he only leaned in, locking his lips with yours. His kiss was soft, but slow, wet, and so full of heat. You closed your eyes and let him dominate the kiss, parting your mouth when you felt the tip of his tongue swipe your bottom lip, and then you felt his tongue against yours.
Your legs tensed as an automatic response, a shot of arousal coursing through you like lightning. His hands switched from cupping your cheeks to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. That made a silent moan bubble in your mouth, so you grabbed him by the belt in his jeans, pulling him closer to you.
Jeonghan grunted in your mouth and then pushed you to the kitchen counter by simply taking two steps forward, making you take two steps back. His lips took yours with more vehemency now, kissing you deeply, with a very unique urgency. It made you lose control, it made you feel hot all over.
So you pulled back, but not far. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?” you said breathily, running a hand over his clothed chest.
Jeonghan smiled, making you think that he’d say something about your nervousness again. But he grabbed your hand, “Alright,” he said, and then he pulled you in the direction of his bedroom.
Whenever you stayed the night, you would wear Jeonghan’s clothes—mostly oversized t-shirts and sometimes sporty shorts. So much so that you’d noticed Jeonghan kept the clothes he’d lent you in a particular spot in his closet, making you suspect that he probably had stopped wearing them, only to keep them clean in case you came to stay the night.
Your gut twisted when Jeonghan pulled the same oversized t-shirt and handed it to you. “You know, you could bring some stuff in. I’ll empty a drawer for you,” he mumbled, turning on the bedside lamp.
He always said something akin to those words whenever he had the opportunity. It reminded you of his other request—of moving in. “Yeah, I’ll bring some spare pyjamas,” you replied nervously, turning on your feet to start unbuttoning your shirt.
“And maybe clothes for work?” he asked, and you could hear the hint of hope in his tone.
You already had a toothbrush and makeup remover wipes that you once bought to keep in Jeonghan’s bathroom. That time you’d also felt you were stepping over a line, for some reason. But Jeonghan thought it was endearing that you had asked him for permission beforehand. You don’t have to ask, he told you every time.
“Yeah, that too,” you replied, sounding short of breath. When finished unbuttoning your shirt, you threw a look behind you, seeing that Jeonghan had just turned his gaze elsewhere in that instant. You smiled to yourself, noticing that he, too, was acting strange, fidgety.
Or perhaps it was just staying behind the line you always painted. That was another thing that drove you crazy about this man—he always waited for your word. But he kept a keen eye on you, certainly making sure that you were not having trouble initiating. And this time was no different.
You liked Jeonghan. No, you loved him. And tonight, with all those questions roaming about in your mind, questions about moving in, taking care of Sohee, meeting her mother… You were simply too much in your head.
And Jeonghan knew.
After brushing your teeth and cleaning your makeup off, you slid into the bed beside him. He was eyeing you and the screen of his phone back and forth, waiting for you. “Ready?” he asked.
Your stomach twisted again. “Huh?”
Jeonghan smiled at you. “To sleep?” he added.
“Ah. Yes. Oh, yeah,” you stuttered nervously, scooting closer to him.
Jeonghan left the phone on the bedside table and turned the lamp off. He turned around, draping an arm around your waist as you also turned, forming up a spooning situation where he was the bigger spoon. He kissed your shoulder over his clothes, and then your cheek.
“Did you have a good day at work?” he asked, his tone soft and low.
You blinked, turning slightly to look at him. “Yeah. Why?” you asked.
He shrugged. “Hopefully I didn’t distract you too much with my stupid phone call,” he said.
Your heart softened. “It was okay, babe. Today's work was nothing out of the ordinary,” you told him, and then showed him a playful smile. “And I love your phone calls.”
“No matter how inopportune they are?” he asked, his tone waning ever so softly.
You nodded. “They never are. Stupid or inopportune,” you replied, your tone waning too.
He paused, looking briefly at your lips before bringing a hand to pinch your chin softly. “Where were you my whole life?” he asked.
Your heart could burst. You wanted to say a million things to him. You wanted to tell him how you fell in love with him at first glance, you wanted to tell him you loved him.
But you choked up. “I could say the same,” you whispered. And you weren’t lying—despite having had other boyfriends in the past, you had never ever felt love like this in your life. It only made you think that Jeonghan hadn’t either. And the thought broke your heart.
He smiled, moving his head so he could touch your forehead with his. “I’m never letting you go, you hear me?” he said.
You nodded. “Never.” Please.
You and Jeonghan fell asleep shortly after that, going back to your original spooning position. He wrapped an arm around you, and you snuggled close to him under the covers. Sleeping with him was extraordinarily good—he never moved, never snored, and you were careful not to disrupt his sleeping either.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, you felt him stir and slip out of bed. You became too conscious about it because the bed grew colder around you, and it was getting harder to go back to sleep.
You turned over, thinking that you might’ve done something to wake him up. But he was nowhere to be seen. “Jeonghan?” you called.
He stepped into the bedroom, carefully leaving the door ajar. “Did I wake you?” he asked, his tone low.
You watched him as he came back to bed. “What’s wrong?” you asked instead.
He sucked in a breath when he felt your warm body, as though he had been exposed to a chill temperature. “Sohee’s mother called.”
“This late?” you asked. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah. She’s fine. I suppose she didn’t look up what our time zone was before calling,” he explained calmly.
“Well, what did she have to say?” you asked, feeling sharply awake now.
He slipped his arms around your body, pulling you closer to him. His clothes were cold, as well as his skin. He was probably having the phone call outside on the balcony so as not to wake you or Sohee up. “A bunch of nothings. She cancelled Thursday’s plan. Said she’ll be meeting us at the party.”
You couldn’t help but feel relieved. “Did she say why?”
Jeonghan shrugged. “Yeah. But it was all an excuse.”
Something inside you deflated with shame. Here you were, feeling relieved that you wouldn’t meet Soomin a day sooner; meanwhile, that also meant that Sohee wouldn’t see her mom either until the party. And Jeonghan’s lower tone reflected that pity.
“I’m sorry, babe,” you murmured.
“It’s fine. I had expected something like that,” he replied, but you could still hear the hurt in his tone. “She promised she’d be here for Sohee’s birthday. So, I’ll take whatever at this point.”
Now, you were even more reluctant to meet her. Your gut twisted, but before you could even process what type of feeling you were having, Jeonghan kissed your brow, easing the storm cooking up in your mind.
“Shall we go back to sleep, beautiful?” he whispered, moving his lips to kiss your eyelid, then your cheekbone.
Jeonghan was so sweet, so loving, that it scrambled your brains to think how he was yours.
His lips reached your cheek, and you moved your face so that the next kiss landed on your lips. He planted a sweet kiss, but then you parted your mouth, trapping his bottom lip in. You kissed him deeply, trying to put all of your feelings into one single kiss.
You wanted to show him that you were madly in love with him without having to say the words. You kissed him with such force that had him moaning in your mouth. He said nothing, only letting you lead as you pushed him by the shoulders, wordlessly telling him to lie on his back.
He gave you one confused look that quickly evaporated once you straddled him. His hands snaked on your thighs as you bent forward, taking his face in your hands to kiss him, moaning on his lips once his fingertips grazed the lace hem of your panties. The sound only gave him the green light to continue, exploring your skin with the pads of his fingers as he hiked the t-shirt up your torso.
You pulled back, but only to let him take the t-shirt off, leaving you only in your panties, and your chest bare for his view. His gaze roamed all over your bare skin, but it was for just a moment. You leaned in again, his hands latching to your waist, while the other fisted your hair by the side of your head.
You shifted on your knees, grounding your hips down on him—but just barely. Jeonghan was already hard, and you could feel him just by moving on top of him a little.
Dragging your fingernails down his chest, you crawled back to give yourself space to pull his shorts down. Your fingers hooked around the waistband of both his boxers and shorts, and you pulled, uncovering an inch of skin as one of your fingers traced a line over his thin but dark, happy trail.
Jeonghan sucked in a breath—but this time it was because of something else. “Sweetheart,” he mumbled, looking at your hands as you pulled his cock out, grabbing it with your other hand.
“Mn?” You raised your gaze to him.
His hands slipped on your hips, clutching you gently as you lifted them to move your panty line aside. “Condom?” he mumbled, groaning and clenching his jaw as you guided the head of his cock down your folds.
You pretended not to hear, lowering your hips and slipping him inside your warm walls, all in one go. And fuck, he was perfect—his cock was perfect too. The feeling of having him raw and stretching your pussy was the sweetest feeling you’ve ever felt. Your mouth fell open, eyebrows drawn together as you started bouncing on him gently.
“Fuck,” Jeonghan gasped, closing his eyes before sinking his head back on his pillow.
You anchored your hands on his chest, using him as support to roll your hips on top of him. And yet again, you wondered what the scene would look like—middle of the night, his pants halfway pulled down, you bouncing on top of him with your panties still on and trying your best to be quiet.
But it was nearly impossible. Jeonghan moved his hands from your hips, palming your breasts and caressing your pebbled nipples with the pad of his thumbs. You clenched your teeth together, letting out a soft whine as you ground your hips on him, trying to take his cock deeper into you.
“Quiet, baby,” he said, smirking. But then he moved his hands, one to your hip, the other on your lower abdomen. He pushed your panties further aside, pressing your lower belly with his palm before starting to rub your clit with the pad of his thumb.
“Fuck—Daddy,” you mewled, hips buckling on top of him.
“Do you like that?” he asked, his tone low. He glanced at your face once before his gaze dipped to your cunt, moaning at the sight of his cock disappearing inside you.
You nodded, picking up the pace of your hips. The pad of his thumb rubbed your clit steadily, not switching, unstopping. It was driving you closer to the edge with every second that passed, making your walls tighten around his girth.
“Is this what you wanted, baby? Daddy’s cock?” he asked with that lazy smile still on his face, his tone raw, but waning.
It drove you insane—the switch from being sweet and gentle to talking to you like that. “Mm-mmph,” you admitted.
He tilted his head back slightly, teeth clenched tightly as he tried to exert some control on himself. But as you continued rolling your hips on top of him, you saw him starting to fall apart—his eyes went white before he squeezed them shut. And then, he made a sound, a long, raspy moan that was stuck in his throat. “Baby, I’m not going to last long,” he said.
It was your turn to smile now. “That’s okay, Daddy,” you told him sweetly, and then you tilted your head, showing him a playful side. “I could slow down for you.”
Jeonghan’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. “I don’t think that’ll make a difference,” he gritted, smiling despite himself.
His hands switched to your sides, lifting your hips with one powerful groan that rumbled in his chest. The sound made your pulse quicken, and your gaze immediately shot to the door, as though trying to fish for any kind of sounds coming from down the hall.
Jeonghan acted quickly—rolling your back onto the mattress effortlessly. A gasp spilled from your mouth, eyes locking with his as he slid your panties down your legs. And then he crawled between your thighs before taking his t-shirt off.
“We should be quiet,” you told him, smiling shyly as he placed his palms on your knees, pushing your thighs up to your chest.
“Let’s see how long you can do that,” he replied, letting out a tired giggle.
And he had a point about that. Last time you and Jeonghan had sex, you had been so noisy that the downstairs neighbors made some tacit remarks about a creaky bedframe. So you watched as Jeonghan grabbed a pillow, probably thinking the same as you and placed it behind the headboard.
“Can’t make any promises,” you mumbled, still looking as he pulled his shorts and boxers down, taking his hard cock in one hand and guiding it to your drenched pussy. You swallowed hard, holding your breath as the crown of his cock nuzzled against your entrance, and then he slipped inside you, so fucking slow.
You couldn’t resist it. The sight of his length disappearing in your mound was alluring, and the feeling of him reaching so deep inside you was even more delicious than riding him. He pushed your thighs to the sides of your ribs by climbing on top of you, so he was now fully pressing your body with his.
Jeonghan smiled. “See? Didn’t last long,” he said, hearing your soft whines as he bottomed out inside you.
“Fuck—daddy,” you gritted, breathing hard under the weight of his body, but you loved it. “Move, please, move.”
You didn’t need to beg—he did it right away, pulling back to push right in, creating a steady pace effortlessly. He framed your face with his forearms, his face so close to yours that he only leaned slightly to get a swift kiss. You cupped his head in your hands, lifting your head so you could kiss him deeper, earning a soft moan from him.
It was truly suffocating. The warmth of his body, being so close to him. Looking into his eyes as he claimed your body like it was his. It overwhelmed you—the need to be his woman and have him like this every night, forever. You were going insane with the mere thought—waves of love and lust coursed through you uncontrollably.
The room became flooded with the muffled sounds of pleasure—the small whines you made, the short moans Jeonghan let out in between tired breaths, and the very obvious creaking of the bedframe despite the headboard having a pillow to not slam against the wall.
You loved it. Loved how you both had fallen into an addiction of silent quickies in the middle of the night, stifling moans and speaking filth in hushed tones. The sheer adrenaline of trying and failing to be quiet made you wet. You could even catch the slippery sound of your arousal as Jeonghan pushed his cock deep inside you.
“God,” you gasped when he picked up a pace, fucking you faster, still massaging that glorious spot inside your walls.
And you let pleasure bloom inside your body with a hot, intense shiver. Long ago, it was so rare that you’d cum with penetration alone—but somehow Jeonghan always made you cum like that, effortlessly. Your mouth dropped open, almost tasting your orgasm on the tip of your tongue.
“You close?” he asked with sharp, ragged breaths. He gave you a dazed look, outlining your features with his gaze. When you nodded, he gave you another light smile. “Let go, baby.”
You stared into his eyes, watched him as his jaw twitched when he ground his teeth down—you noticed he was close too. “Cum with me?” you asked, cheeks turning hot as you heard how fucking sweet you sounded.
Oh, you were in love. You had come to this realization a while ago, but now it was becoming more and more unbearable. Your mind spun with questions—did Jeonghan know? Could he see it in your eyes? Hear it in your tone? There you were, riddled with questions while you were begging for him to cum with you, and he wasn’t wearing a condom.
“You’re cumming first, Babygirl,” he replied, his tone waning.
You could’ve sworn that he had a way to hear your thoughts, but you didn’t let that distract you—because you were instantly swept over by an intense wave of pleasure. A gasp tore from your chest, and before you could let out a scream, Jeonghan crushed his mouth against yours, drowning out your sounds of pleasure.
He continued thrusting in that same calculated pace until you became a puddle of pleasure. You were wet. Sweaty, hot, and quivering on his bedsheets. And he was kissing you softly, passionately, like he hadn’t done before.
“Felt good?” he mumbled.
You nodded. “Amazing,” you drawled sweetly.
“Good,” he mouthed, the muscles of his face tightening, like he was in pain—he was close.
Your heart skipped a beat. “Don’t pull out,” you said.
He blinked, his gaze finding you instantly.
“Please,” you whispered, linking your wrists behind his nape, as though trying to hold him right there.
He blinked slowly and then let his forehead rest on top of yours. “Fuck,” he sighed, pushing his hips against yours with tight, deep thrusts. You closed your eyes as another euphoric rush gripped your body wholly. “God—fuck, baby,” Jeonghan drawled, letting out a raw, quiet moan as he gave you a final push, his cock twitching in your walls as he spilled himself deep inside you.
Jeonghan remained there, breathing fitfully, his body completely glued to yours as though unable to move. And then you wished you’d known what to say next. You wished you knew what to do or say after making love. So instead, you moved your face, finding his lips with your own. You kissed him slowly, trying to convey the quick rhythm of your heart, the butterflies swarming inside your chest.
He pressed his lips against the corner of yours, then he kissed your cheek. “You’re okay?” he whispered, gently pushing the tip of your nose with his before pressing another kiss against your lips.
Your heart gave another leap. “Yeah,” you mumbled shakily. “We should probably get ready to sleep. You have work tomorrow.”
Jeonghan pulled back, blinking at you confusedly. “Yeah. Sure,” he replied, his gaze outlining your features. “But after I’ve taken care of you, baby.”
And when he peeled off your body, you knew you had made a mistake. You felt foolish then, because this man was clearly thrown off by the switch in your tone, confused by your evident refusal to talk about what was going on in your mind.
But he took care of you with the utmost gentleness, offering to start a shower for you, which you declined due to how late into the night it was. However, you cleaned up in the bathroom, and when you came out, he had a glass full of water ready on the bedside table, and he’d already changed the bedsheets.
“I put your clothes in the washing machine and programmed it for a quick start early in the morning,” he said thoughtfully as he unstuck the pillow behind the headboard. “They should be clean and dry by the time we both get up.”
It made you smile—the very careful manner in which he was fluffing the pillows as you approached the bed. “Thank you, babe,” you replied, feeling your heart warm up.
“Don’t thank me,” he whispered, lifting his head as you stood beside him before the bed. “Hopefully you will remember to bring in some spare clothes next time?” he insisted, smiling shyly about something, and then— “Sorry. I keep bringing it up.”
Your heart deflated. “Don’t apologize,” you replied, placing your palm on his side, feeling the muscle of his abdomen contract at your touch. “I’ll remember to bring some stuff in. I promise.”
“Okay,” he mumbled, grabbing your hand and taking it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. “Let’s go to sleep.”
You nodded, climbing back on the bed and snuggling him close. Jeonghan wrapped your waist with one arm, the little crook beneath your earlobe.
Your heart fluttered. “Do we already have a cake?” you asked suddenly.
Jeonghan pulled back. “What?” he mumbled.
You turned slightly. “For Sohee’s party. Did you order a cake?”
His brow creased. “Yes. Why?” he asked curiously.
You turned again, face to your pillow. “It’s nothing. I can bake really good chocolate cakes,” you gave him a light shrug. “Thought I could help with something.”
Jeonghan smiled; you felt the change in his breath on your neck, making you shiver. “I’ll remember that,” he said, pressing his lips to the first spot of skin he could find. “For her fourth birthday.”
The knot in your tummy twisted harder. “Yeah…” you trailed off, deciding to snuggle closer to him, silently telling him to hold you tighter to his body.
“Sleep well, pretty,” he whispered, unaware of the shift happening in you.
Your head was about to blow up. You were sure. And every time you blew air out of your lungs, your abdomen screamed in pain and exhaustion.
“Perhaps I’m not made for this,” you mumbled to yourself quietly, wrapping the bead around your fingers to secure a tight knot, and then proceeded to put tape on one side of it, sticking it to the wall.
You had successfully decorated the side of the dining room that had the most cleared space for it. There perched a big and colorful daisy of white and light blue petals, with a Happy B-day Sohee sign sitting in the centre in baby pink colors, made by your hand. You had pulled out your party decorating skills, which you had put away since entering college, but they came in handy the moment you realized Jeonghan wasn’t planning on decorating.
“Okay,” you sighed tiredly, looking at the wall. Now that you had one task done, you needed to tend to the other two tasks you had set for yourself.
Task number one was decorating, done. Task number two was tidying up the place for the guests. And task number three was psyching yourself up for meeting your boyfriend’s ex, and the mother of his daughter.
Your stomach did that thing again—it felt like some deep part of you protested against what you had ahead for you, and it wanted to draw your attention to it by stabbing you right in the gut.
But you went ahead and tidied the place up—putting toys where they belonged, folding blankets and taking them to the bedrooms, cleaning the kitchen counters, and setting the table just nicely.
Two hours had passed since you’d arrived at Jeonghan’s place, and all of your tasks were done. You realized you could sneak fifteen minutes of mirror talk and touching up your makeup before Jeonghan and Sohee arrived back home.
When you came out of the bathroom, you felt like something was shaking inside your veins, leaving a trail of prickled nerves in its wake. But you took a deep breath—catching the sweet smell of vanilla, sugar, and cinnamon from the birthday cake set in the centre of the round dining table. You outlined the entire space with your gaze, mentally checking every single item you told Jeonghan you were in charge of getting for the party.
Balloons. Fruit tray. Candy tray. Banana milk. Peach drinks (Sohee’s favorite), candles and goodie bags, which were dinosaur themed.
The smart lock of the main door clicked and beeped, making your stomach contract and your nerves fire up in different directions inside your limbs. Jeonghan was crossing the door carrying a backpack on one shoulder, gift bags hanging on the same arm he was carrying Sohee with.
“Hello, you two,” you chirped, anxiety instantly swept when you saw Sohee’s adorable face. “What took you so long?”
“Sohee’s teachers,” Jeonghan exhaled tiredly, closing the door behind him and watching you approach him and Sohee. “They had a lot to say to me. One of them even got emotional.”
“And what did they have to say?” you asked, eyes set on the little girl perched on her father’s arm.
“Oh, just how much they appreciate Sohee,” he replied, bumping his daughter on his arm and turning to her. “They said you were the best girl, right? The smartest, kindest and friendliest. She’s been pretty talkative at school,” he added at the end, giving you a meaningful glance.
You made a shocked expression. “Is that true?” you asked, and then giggled at the sound of your own voice.
Sohee was listening to the conversation while she chewed on the tip of her index finger. But she nodded intently.
“They gave her a couple of presents,” Jeonghan said, gesturing to the gift bags on his arm. “Some of them were from her friends, two of them were from her teachers.”
You took one glance at the gift bags. “Oh, shoot,” you muttered.
“What?” Jeonghan said, brow furrowing.
“I forgot the present I got for her back in my apartment,” you said dispiritedly. But you turned to Sohee, extending your hands at her. “Hi, sweetheart!”
Sohee inclined her little body forward, just as you grabbed her by the torso and wrapped her around your hip. The movement was so natural that it went almost unnoticed, but it was Jeonghan’s gaze, the way he blinked, and his eyes lit up as he looked at his daughter, pointing at the wall behind you.
“That’s okay, we can go get it tomorrow morning,” Jeonghan mumbled faintly, still looking at his daughter perched now on your hip.
“Mn,” Sohee hummed softly, kicking her legs up in the air and pointing at the wall slightly harder.
“Oh, right,” you turned on your feet, taking the baby girl to the living room area so she could see the wall decorations. “We made this for you, kiddo,” you chirped, looking at her pretty face.
She pointed again.
“D’you like it?” you whispered, heart warming up at the sight of her sweet brown eyes taking in the big daisy on the wall.
She nodded aloofly. And then kicked her legs, pointing them to the floor.
“Alrighty,” you mumbled, carefully setting her on the floor. You watched her run joyfully to her bedroom, perhaps to get something, a toy for her to show you.
But then you turned, catching Jeonghan still staring at you, hands deep in his pockets, head tilted to one side. But it was the tenderness in his eyes that made your heart flip in that same rhythm as before—the one you had been so keen on avoiding, but was becoming unbearable.
“Do you like it?” you parroted, showing him the wall with your hands. You exhaled, trying to calm your nerves down—but it was futile.
“I love it,” he replied with a warm tone coating his words. Then he approached you with a slow step, slipping a hand on your waist to pull you closer to his frame. He leaned his head forward, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
A vehement shudder crossed your entire body, and you let your eyelids fall closed as he planted another kiss on your forehead, this time longer. The words he said were ones you knew your heart was aching to hear—but the noise inside your head didn’t let you form a response.
The doorbell rang loudly, making you cringe visibly and turn to the door. “I’ll get it,” you said, slipping out of his embrace.
“No, I’ll get it,” Jeonghan said kindly.
“Then I’ll go get the birthday girl,” you said, forcing a smile that didn’t feel too stiff on your face—but your heart was going a thousand miles per second.
Jeonghan caught something in your face, his eyes outlining your features before you turned around and hurried down the hall and to the toddler’s bedroom.
Sohee was playing with the new dinosaurs that her father had gotten for her birthday. She already got them all lined up on the colorful bookshelf in one corner of the room. Your stomach twisted with cuteness overload when you heard the tiny noises she was making for a triceratops as she made it stomp across the shelf.
“Hey kiddo,” you cooed, approaching her and crouching behind her. “Your friends are here. Do you want to come with me and greet them?”
She turned around and directed a steady look at your face. “Yeap,” she nodded happily, taking another dinosaur in her fist and running out of the room, squealing like she knew she was the star of the day.
You rose, and with a big sigh, you followed the toddler down to the dining room. You greeted the guests, parents of Sohee’s friends from daycare. And before you knew it, the party had already started, and it was going smoothly.
You made light conversation as you got juice boxes for all the kids, who weren’t many, but they felt like a massive multitude when they were swarming around you trying to get juice boxes and goodie bags.
“Alright, alright!” you laughed, holding up both hands. “Everyone will get one, I promise!” you said while handing a goodie bag to each kid.
You felt a hand on the small of your back. “That includes me?” Jeonghan asked close to your ear before planting a kiss on your cheek.
You leaned into the kiss. “If you behave, I’ll consider it,” you replied warmly.
“Mmn,” he hummed, pressing another loving kiss. “You know you’re all I want.”
Your heart stammered, making you blink and find his eyes. Your tongue twisted, and you wished you had been quick enough to quip back something as enticing—but it was already too late. The doorbell rang again, but this time, neither you nor Jeonghan had to go get it.
It was Sohee’s mother, Soomin. She had only rung the doorbell to announce her arrival, since she knew the combination to the smart lock—a thing you had thought only you and Jeonghan knew, but you were proven wrong.
The person who crossed the door was entirely not what you had imagined. In all the scenarios where you had pictured yourself meeting Jeonghan’s ex and the mother of his child, you’d never imagined that it would be like this.
Soomin was beautiful. She was tall and had a bright smile as she crossed the door. “Where’s my girl?” she shouted from across the apartment, and your poor heart fell to your stomach when you saw Jeonghan smile widely.
“Oh, thank god,” he mumbled beside you. He ran quickly to his daughter, snatching her from the floor and making her squeal with the abrupt movement. Sohee laughed, drawing the attention of the room as Jeonghan carried her to see her mother. “Sohee baby, mom’s here!”
“Hi, peanut,” Soomin said in a high-pitched tone. “Happy birthday, sweetheart! Mommy is here,” she said, and then she leaned towards Sohee, who was sitting in Jeonghan’s arms.
But Sohee recoiled, turning her back to her mother. It was only natural, you thought, since the child barely recognized the face in front of her. But the scene before you hurt to watch either way. Jeonghan bounced the toddler in his arms, trying to drag her attention back to Soomin, who was getting something out of her leather handbag.
“Look what mommy got for you!” Soomin said, still speaking in that faux sweet tone. “Look!”
Sohee turned to see her mother getting a red gift bag, small enough that it fit inside the slick black leather bag. Sohee stared at it for a hard second before extending her hand and grabbing it, and then she proceeded to kick her legs to the floor.
“Alright,” Jeonghan said, putting the toddler back on the floor.
Sohee ran freely, and back to her little friends. Your gaze followed back to Jeonghan, who greeted Soomin with a very dry hey, but then approached to give her a quick hug, devoid of all kinds of affection. It was almost like neither of them knew how to treat each other anymore.
“Wow, you really went out this time,” Soomin said, looking at the decorations, the birthday cake carefully set in the centre of the table, birthday plates piled up, and trays of fruit and candy already about to empty.
“Oh, it was all her,” Jeonghan said, extending an arm towards you almost ceremoniously.
Your heart warmed up at the gesture, but your nerves had eaten you up already. You approached them with a stiff step until Jeonghan wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you up to his side, showing you off proudly.
“So I can put a face to the name, finally,” Soomin said, showing you a dashing smile. She extended a hand towards you. “I’m Soomin, Sohee’s mother.”
You took her hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” you said, smiling at her politely.
At that exact second, one of the little kids had pulled one of the candy trays from the table and thrown the candy all over the floor. “Oh—” you uttered, motioning to go clean the candy from the floor.
“I’ll get it,” Jeonghan said, giving you a quick but reassuring look. And then he said to you, “I’ll be back, baby.”
And you knew he didn’t want to leave you alone with his ex, but he also didn’t want you to go and clean up the floor. So you stood there, anxiously watching as Jeonghan picked the candies and put them back on the tray one by one.
“Can I help with anything?” Soomin asked, more for decency than true intentions of helping.
“Nope,” you said awkwardly. “Everything’s set up.”
Soomin leaned her head to one side slightly before throwing one glance to the kids playing with Sohee. “You’ve done a lot already.”
“It’s not that big of a party,” you said, shrugging.
She smiled faintly, and you knew what she was looking at. “It’s big enough,” she said faintly.
You followed her gaze, finding Sohee playing with one of her little friends. They were both sharing a soundboard that someone at the party had gifted her.
“She’s shy, isn’t she?” Soomin said, her tone was devoid of snark, but then she added, “Kind of like her father.”
Although the comment wasn’t ill-natured, it hurt your heart to hear it. “She just takes a minute,” you replied, wishing you hadn’t sounded so harsh towards Soomin. But your heart was beating frantically, making you afraid that it was going to jump out of your chest.
And then you watched as Soomin’s gaze went around the room again, stopping on the wall behind you. Her dark brown eyes went over the balloons forming a giant daisy, and the big birthday sign made by you.
“You’re really good with her,” Soomin said after a moment. Her eyes found you. “Jeonghan has told me about you.”
Your tummy clenched. “I care about her.”
“I can tell,” she replied, and then you caught an edge in her tone. And then added, softer, “Not everyone would step into something like this.”
You frowned. “Like what?”
Soomin raised her eyebrows, gesturing around the apartment, the toddlers. “Well, a life that’s already in progress, you know what I mean?”
You told yourself that the words were neutral. Nothing was targeted towards you. But it still felt like it was.
You forced a smile. “I didn’t see it that way.”
Soomin’s expression didn’t change; it was as though she were having a great time talking with you. “That’s probably why you’ve made it work. It was really brave of you to have stepped in. To do what I couldn’t.”
Your stomach clenched again, and your mouth twitched like you were about to tell her something you’d regret.
“Baby! Where are the candles?” Jeonghan called from the kitchen.
You exhaled, glad. “Excuse me,” you said, and as you walked away, you felt Soomin’s gaze on you, following you.
Your ears were ringing, anger still boiling inside you. Jeonghan was closing a drawer, his expression hardening at once as he took one look at you. “Everything okay there, beautiful?” he asked, glancing towards the living room.
You could still feel Soomin’s eyes on you. You nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” you said, trying to mask your anger. You would talk about it with him later.
His eyes outlined your expression. “Sure?”
“Sure,” you said, opening the top cabinet and then handing him the pack with green and pink candles in it.
Jeonghan grabbed the candles, sighing. “Looks like the party is going well,” he said, giving you a hopeful smile and glimmering eyes.
Despite the rage still tightening your stomach, you smiled at him. “Sohee’s happy,” you said, casting a look at Sohee. “I’ll go get her,” you told him, turning around and walking towards Sohee.
The toddler was happily focused on her toys and her little friends. Her eyes were wide and glimmering in excitement, and candy wrappers were spread all across the floor. Something caught your eye—a red, unopened gift bag, forgotten in one corner of the living room.
“Princess, come here,” you called softly, crouching behind her to see her at eye level. “Do you want cake?”
The question caught her attention immediately, making her turn around and face you. You stretched your hands to her, and she silently responded by stretching her little arms to you. You grabbed her, standing up to secure her at your hip, and she instantly wrapped her legs around you.
“Oh, I got her. Let me.”
Soomin was already behind you, showing you her palms so you could transfer Sohee to her grip. A pang of jealousy sank deep inside your belly, making you want to hold Sohee closer to your body, almost like a protective defence mechanism.
You conceded, though begrudgingly. “Of course,” you replied, but there was no way you could hide the disappointment in your tone.
With a fretful pain lacing your heart, you handed Sohee over to her mother. The toddler kicked her legs anxiously and turned to look at you as though trying to understand she wasn’t in your arms anymore. And with little control over yourself, you glanced in Jeonghan’s direction, almost as knowing he’d be looking. He had watched the whole exchange from afar, and he immediately recognized the dispirited look on your face, because all he did was offer you a solemn smile.
It made your blood boil. What else could he do? A tiny voice called inside your head. You’re not Sohee’s mother. The voice said with painful regret.
It was the truth. No matter how bad it hurt, you weren’t Sohee’s mother. And you were getting attached to her—attached to this life without having a true anchor to it.
And the thought ruined the rest of the night for you.
So you watched as Soomin sat on the table with Sohee sitting on her lap, the toddler forgot about the anxiety of being with a stranger as soon as Jeonghan stepped beside the chair and lit up the candles on the cake.
You debated whether to step closer or just watch from afar. The candles you had picked for Sohee’s cake were green and pink, and a single sparkling candle that, once Jeonghan got to light it up, stole the attention of the toddler. Her big, brown eyes glimmered in the dark against the sparkles that flew up to the ceiling, and instead of gasping or crying out as the other kids did, Sohee just stared at it, fascination spread across her face, parting her little lips.
Your stomach twisted in adoration. And you couldn’t resist it. You pulled out your phone and hit the record button, determined to save this little moment forever—even if in real life it only lasted about fifty seconds.
Sohee was happy. She ate cake happily, shared her toys with her friends and seemed to be getting better at talking with others. And that was the only shining light in your night.
By the time that all the guests had left, the apartment didn’t look as wrecked as you half expected it to be after hosting about fifteen people in it. The paper plates were stacked in a crooked tower, forks and spoons piled next to it on the kitchen counter, breadcrumbs spread all over the surface. There were plastic cups everywhere, toys, gift bags and confetti all over the living room floor.
The front door opened, and Jeonghan slipped inside the apartment, quietly closing the door behind him. The minute he stepped in, you decided to busy yourself by looking for a large trash bag that you had left somewhere in the kitchen.
“Well, that’s everyone,” Jeonghan said, pleased that all of the guests had gone home. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing.
You started shoving trash into the bag as quickly as you could without making too much noise, and you were half glad that there was so much to do before you went home because you needed to think.
But Jeonghan had already noticed you were in a mood, and you could feel him hovering in the kitchen, trying to get a read on you. “The party went really well. Everyone had a lot of fun,” he said, his tone gentle.
You were grabbing a bunch of plastic cups in one hand, throwing them inside the bag without caring that they were still half full. “Yeah. Sure,” you huffed, continuing to clean the dining table.
The silence that followed was truly unsettling, making you weigh on the tone you had used and the manner in which you were moving. You were stepping out of control, and you didn’t care where you were taking this conversation.
By the time you found the courage to raise your gaze, you found Jeonghan frowning at you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Air left your lungs like you were suddenly punched in the chest. “Did you have fun today?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. “Because I didn’t.”
Jeonghan’s frown didn’t ease; he was confused. But his gaze softened, showing you worry. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone dropping when he added, “Did something happen?”
You left the bag aside on the floor, dropping your arms at your sides in a defeated manner. “I mean, I spent the entire evening running around, trying to make sure everything worked,” you said, gesturing around you. “I made the food, drinks, decorations, and cleanup. I didn’t have the chance to sit down once.”
Jeonghan blinked. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
You sighed. “That’s easy to say now.”
He shifted his weight, motioning to approach you. “That’s not what I meant—”
“I know,” you cut him off, putting a hand between him and you. “I know you meant it nicely.”
You could feel the waves of emotion coming closer, coming to get you. And your body acted off of instinct, picking up one stray napkin on the table and folding it in half, almost as though preparing yourself to have something in your hand for when you started crying.
With a tearless sob, you added. “It would’ve been nice if someone had noticed while it was happening.”
Jeonghan’s frown disappeared. “I noticed.”
“Did you?” you asked, still holding your emotions back.
“Of course I did,” he said, his tone dropping to an even gentler one.
But you could still feel the tears prickling in your eyes, everything you held back making you taste them in your tongue. “Then why was I still doing everything while everyone else was enjoying the party?”
Jeonghan tilted his head to one side, looking at you as though finding you endearing that you were about to cry for something like this, but still approached you with caution. “Why didn’t you ask for help?” he said, and then he hesitated, almost as though wanting to take back his words, so he added instead, “I was busy with things as well, I thought we were both busy, baby.”
You deadpanned to him. “You really didn’t think I wanted to enjoy the party too?”
He opened his mouth, his eyes widening as his mind started to reel, you knew it.
But you kept going. “I wanted to sit down with her when she opened her presents. Or be next to her when she blew out the candles. Honestly, Jeonghan, I felt like a guest at a party I helped throw. I couldn’t even hold Sohee for two minutes!”
His face fell in utter worry, his shoulders going slack. “Is this all because Soomin wanted to hold her?” he asked, his tone hollow, like he now couldn’t believe you were throwing a tantrum over this.
You let out an exasperated sigh. “No—! Yes! But it’s not only that!” you stammered.
Jeonghan stepped back, but just slightly, as though he wanted to take a good look at your face—disbelief still contorting his face. “Soomin was just trying to have a moment with her as well,” he shook his head. “I don’t see that as a bad thing. Maybe you’re reading too much into it.”
“Am I?” you asked, raising your tone.
And Jeonghan sighed. “Baby… she’s Sohee’s mother.”
It wasn’t necessarily cruel. His tone was devoid of venom, but it still hurt—like a bitter truth being forced down your bloodstream, burning and leaving an ache in its wake.
Your entire body shook before a powerful shudder. “Right,” you said slowly.
Jeonghan immediately realized the weight of his words, the pain translating in your features. “Wait—” he said, his jaw set tight as his eyes widened in worry. “Baby, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—”
You shook your head. “No, I get it,” you said, but your voice had lost all power, and the wall you had put between reason and emotions crumbled. Tears burst in your eyes, and a sob broke through your chest.
“You’re right. I’m not her mom,” you continued, giving him a brittle smile. “I never forgot that. Not for a second,” you said, voice cracking slightly. “You know, I keep reminding myself of that. Of where I stand.”
Jeonghan took another step towards you, this time more decisive. “Baby, you’re blowing this out of proportion,” he said, trying to be nice still, trying to figure out how to calm you down.
You looked down to wipe your tears. Confetti was spread all over the floor, and your stomach twisted at the thought of how this scene might appear from the outside. The apartment was a mess—gift bags, wrapping paper, candy, and new toys scattered across the living room. A half-eaten cake sat on the table, and balloons were stuck to the walls. The lights in the kitchen and living room remained on. You and Jeonghan were arguing, trying to keep your voices down so as not to disturb the little girl’s sleep.
You finally found the strength to look at him again. And when Jeonghan saw your tired face, fear replaced the worry in his eyes. He saw the determination in your eyes—he knew you well. “I think I’m going to go.”
Jeonghan sighed, motioning a step closer. “It’s late. Stay,” he said, his tone still wrapped in a careful gentleness.
You shook your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jeonghan,” you said, your tone fading into a mere whisper. “I’m going home.”
He took a pause, studying you with his gaze roaming all over the features of your face, finding something in your eyes that made you wonder what you would look like. Because he seemed to lose all composure. “Baby, come on,” he said, his eyebrows drawn in. “We just had a fight. That doesn’t mean you need to leave.”
You sighed tiredly. “It wasn’t just a fight, Jeonghan,” you said calmly. All need to fight was gone now. You had lost. You shook your head. “I’m done.”
You turned around, heading towards the door. But you caught a glimpse of Jeonghan’s expression, the shock and worry making his eyes wide and glistening. “Baby.”
You grabbed your sweater and your handbag. The only two non-disposable belongings you had in his house.
“Baby,” he insisted again, more firmly now. “You’re not seriously leaving because of something I said.”
You paused, but you didn’t let the moment catch you in your determination. “It’s not just something you said. It’s a fact.”
Jeonghan stiffened, but words got stuck in his mouth, making his throat bob visibly.
You wrapped your fingers around the doorknob. And then all self-control slipped out of your hands. “Today I learned two things. One is that I was changing my whole life to fit into yours,” you told him, pulse quickening when you realized what you were doing, what you were breaking. “And the other thing is that I was the only one doing that.”
Jeonghan took a weak step towards you, his eyes showing the realization of what was about to happen. “We can still figure things out,” he whispered, eyes wide and glossy.
And something reminded you of how easy Soomin walked back into Jeonghan and Sohee’s life, how fleeting her presence was compared to the mess you had in your hands now. Your heart was breaking, and you couldn’t fit in your head how easy it was for her to walk out and walk back in. You envied that for a split second, because now you had a broken heart to fix.
Jeonghan still thought the problem was logical. And not something you had been wanting him to truly see.
You took in a deep breath. “Goodbye, Jeonghan,” you whispered, slipping out through the door and shutting it quietly behind you.
Coming back home to your apartment felt hauntingly out of the ordinary. It was as though you were stepping into a scene that had been put on pause. There was a forgotten glass of juice half empty on the kitchen counter, and you couldn’t remember leaving it there. The ironing board was standing in the middle of the living room, iron unplugged and in the holder—two things you had left there while in a hurry to get to your work in time. Plants all over the apartment were starting to wither, neglected.
A secondary instinct kicked in, telling you that at this hour you’d be helping Jeonghan tidy the place up while Sohee slept. You’d be stacking toys back into their place, folding blankets while Jeonghan did the dishes.
You closed your eyes slowly, finally hurting when you realized that you had walked out on all of it.
And your apartment didn’t feel like home.
You left your things on the counter and decided to plop down on the couch, face down against the cushions. Your pulse hadn’t slowed down since the moment you’d said goodbye to Jeonghan—and when you collapsed on the couch, you realized that you were crying. And you weren’t crying angry tears like when you were having a fight with Jeonghan, no.
You sobbed uncontrollably, tears kept coming and blurring your vision. And there was nothing in your mind except the memory of Jeonghan’s face when you walked out on him. You did the right thing, you told yourself, but your heart felt empty.
It had been the right thing. That much was true.
You loved Jeonghan. You loved Sohee.
Somewhere in the kitchen, you heard your phone buzzing, vibrating furiously inside your handbag. You ignored it. And you ignored it ten times all through the night, until it eventually ceased ringing.
Quiet settled around the empty apartment. An apartment that was yours, with all the things you built on your own. And the worst part is that it didn’t feel like home anymore. You kept wanting to reach for your car keys and leave somewhere.
Did you overreact? You wondered. I probably did blow everything out of proportion. You thought, remembering Soomin’s satisfied face when she told you that you were brave for stepping into her shoes.
Your chest tightened.
But you pushed it down.
The first twenty hours were hell.
That’s how Jeonghan felt. Like a long, gruelling torture that only pushed him to reflect.
The balloons on the wall had started to deflate, but he didn’t want to take them down. The rest of the things that you had prepared for the party had already been cleaned up, one thing that Jeonghan had done the morning after you left. It helped him think instead of bombarding your voicemail with messages pleading with you to call him back.
I could just go to her apartment, he thought. But he imagined the scene—Sohee on his arms as he begged you to come back. And he instantly pushed the idea away.
The apartment was awfully quiet. Until his phone started to vibrate on the dining table, making his stomach drop, and his hand reached for it instantly, thinking it was you, finally calling him back.
Soomin.
Jeonghan sighed, his heart deflating.
But then, a knock came to the front door. And for a moment, he thought he imagined it.
Then it came again. You knocked two quick times, deciding to step back from it and wait, clasping the gift bag with your hands. Standing there, your gaze fell out of focus, and inevitably started comparing the times you had stood there, how quickly Jeonghan would get to the door and welcome you in with open arms.
When Jeonghan finally opened the door, it was the first time you had seen him truly torn. It was normal for you to see him untidy after a long day at work, hair messy, unmade tie, untucked shirt, whatever. But no, this time was different. His face was darkened by the dark circles under his eyes, but it was the deep, conflicted sparkle in them that disheartened you completely.
“Hi,” you croaked, and cleared your throat nervously.
Jeonghan let out a quick sigh, running a palm down his mouth and chin before stepping aside, letting you in.
Your stomach twisted. You didn’t know what you were expecting him to say, but silence was the last thing you had anticipated. But you stepped into the apartment anyway, immediately spotting the quietness, which could only indicate one thing.
“Where is she?” you muttered, turning around to see Jeonghan shutting the door behind him quietly.
“Asleep,” he told you quietly, leaning back against the door with his hands tucked behind his back. You noticed the tired look he gave you, but that wasn’t the only thing that consumed your attention wholly—he was wary. “I just put her to bed.”
Your heart squeezed one more time, and you gave him a reproachful look. “Oh, okay,” you sighed, looking at the green gift bag in your hands. “Then I’ll leave this with you. She’ll like it, I’m sure. It’s a—it’s an axolotl plushie,” you said, stammering over your words with the need to hurry and get this over with. You wanted to run back to your car and cry.
Jeonghan nodded, licking his lips in a way that told you he had a lot to say, but decided to remain quiet. See how things would unfold first.
But this wasn’t going according to your plans. Your eyes began to brim with tears, which you blinked away quite successfully. “I wanted to see her one last time. Say goodbye properly,” you told him, tone lowering as your throat closed up.
He leaned the back of his head against the door, and as he blinked slowly, you saw his walls crumble down. “I know,” he said, his tone lowered too. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly.
You saw him blink up, fixing his gaze on the ceiling. “Is that why you put her to bed earlier than usual?” you asked keenly. “So I wouldn’t get to see her?”
Jeonghan nodded slowly, moving his arms and crossing them on his chest. “I didn’t want her to see this. I’m sorry,” he shrugged with a look of pity on his face. “But I think we should talk first.”
You felt your brow furrowing. “I thought we already talked, Jeonghan. Last night,” you said, feeling lost.
“Yeah, but last night you walked out on me,” he said, tilting his head to one side as his gaze changed, quickly being filled with disappointment and resentment. He pushed himself away from the door, approaching you with the same wariness.
“There was nothing left to say,” you muttered, trying to keep down the tight knot sitting in your throat.
“Really?” he gasped, stopping dead in his tracks just one step in front of you. His face had fallen in something that went far beyond resentment now, like uncontrolled exasperation and anger. “We could’ve solved things last night before you ended everything!”
Shame filled your bloodstream, coursing through your body and leaving your skin feeling hot and prickling with anger. You carefully set down the gift bag on the table, deciding to leave. “I won’t let anyone treat me like I’m second-best, Jeonghan. That’s why I walked out.”
It was as though you had slapped him in the face. He stepped back, blinking in a way that told you that your words had hurt him. But before you could have a confirmation on this, Jeonghan took another step, but now in your direction. “I didn’t treat you like second-best,” he replied, his face crumpling with hurt, and most shocking—you saw fear in his eyes.
“No? I was trying to make everything perfect for Sohee. And by the end of it, what did I get? Your ex walking all over me like I’m her stand-in!” you blurted, words coming out raw and shaky. But you were glad that, despite the overwhelming need to cry, you could still speak what troubled your heart.
Jeonghan looked at you like he was finally seeing the truth. Almost as though he had willingly blindfolded himself throughout the party last night, but now, he finally saw something he didn’t want to.
So, with heat flooding your chest, you continued, “You truly didn’t notice, Jeonghan? The tacit remarks she’d make? Or when I wanted to hold Sohee and she would casually step in? Or what about the moment she told me I was brave for doing what she couldn’t?” you said. Your throat tightened, anger burning as tears finally spilled. You wiped them angrily, refusing to look away.
“She said that?” he said with an empty look in his eyes as his shoulders sagged a little. “I didn’t hear her. I actually thought she was being nice. For once.”
“Maybe you didn’t want to see it because she was being nice to you,” you accused, crossing your arms to hold yourself steady. Or to protect yourself. “That’s myproblem. She doesn’t have to fight for a space!”
“That’s not fair. You don’t have to fight for a space—”
“No, but I do,” you interrupted, blood heating up after remembering how it felt. “And what’s not fair was pretending she was being nice. She knew exactly what she was doing, and whether you meant it or not, you let her.”
“I should’ve known she would do things when I wasn’t looking,” Jeonghan replied, his tone firm. But then his gaze softened, right as he too crossed his arms, making you think that he was guarding himself up as well.
You let out a resigned sigh. “But this isn’t truly about your ex, Jeonghan,” you finally said, gulping hard. “This is about us failing to do things right.”
And when he lifted his gaze back to you, you noticed a glint in his eyes, like sorrow taking over him. He wasn’t crying, but your heart slowed down at seeing that torn-up look on him. Your words had struck a nerve. “This isn’t on me—I tried making things right!” he said, not lifting his tone, his words devoid of heat.
“You were rushing into things! Asking me to move in? Putting me as the emergency contact on Sohee’s file without telling me?” you said, trying to keep your tone light, but instead you sounded like you were on the brink of tears again.
He still looked hurt, but now, he was beginning to detach himself from you—and you could tell. He shook his head like he couldn’t believe you, running a hand down his mouth, frustratedly. “I thought that you moving in with us would make us stronger. But now I know we weren’t on the same page with that.”
You understood why he delivered his words dryly, but it still made your aching heart deflate even more. Tears burst from your eyes again, and you hated that you were now out of control. “I just wanted to know that you weren’t just looking for someone to share the burden with.”
He let out a huff, a cold smile painting his face. “I don’t need someone to share the burden with; I have been doing fine on my own since Soomin left.”
You rolled your eyes—he was missing the point. “I wanted to be certain that you wanted me.”
That left him cold. His arms were still crossed on his chest, but you saw the smallest of budges, as though the very air had left his lungs, cracking that wall he was putting between you. “Is that it? Is that why you said no?” he asked, his tone softer. He motioned to approach you, but the look on your face stopped him.
You were fully crying now. No sobbing, no hiccupping, no runny nose. Just unstoppable tears streaking down your cheeks. Your lip trembled, just as you were looking for the words to tell him what you needed to hear from him.
His mind reeled—you could tell from the way his gaze shifted quickly, dropping from your face to the ground and then back to you. His brow twitched. “I thought you knew.”
You nodded. “I still needed to hear it, Jeonghan.”
His gaze fell to the space between you, as though trying to untangle this mess in his mind.
But it didn’t matter now. Nothing he could say now would ease the pain in your chest. You were done now. You wanted to go home.
You didn’t say goodbye this time. You didn’t want to drag it any further.
You walked past him, rushing to the door before he could stop you—or to be quick and have the confirmation that he wouldn’t try to stop you. And when you were safe in the elevator, your heart broke anew when you blinked and saw the image of Jeonghan standing in the dining room, a grief-stricken look on his face.
Oh, this would take you months to heal.
Your friends were right. Getting into a relationship with someone like Jeonghan would only bring you pain. Nothing else.
The walk from the elevator to where you had parked your car was excruciatingly long. Your chest was constricting more and more as you fished your key out of the pocket of your jeans, unlocking the car door from afar.
“Wait!”
Jeonghan’s raw voice crossed the parking lot like lightning shooting through the night sky. You stopped, not because you wanted to follow the request, but because of the sheer shock of knowing that he’d chased you down to the parking lot.
Jeonghan was catching up, running to where you stood, frozen to the ground. “Wait,” he pleaded, breathing hard as he reached you. “Don’t go… please.”
Had he run down the emergency stairs just to catch you before you got in your car? Had he left Sohee alone just to get to you? You stared at him, beyond disbelief.
He composed himself with one deep breath, raising his palms at you warily. “I know I don’t deserve this, but please hear me out.”
When you didn’t respond, a wild look of fear shot across his face, making his eyes widen slightly. “I didn’t ask you to move in with us because I wanted someone to share the burden of being a parent,” he said, his words honest despite the tremble in his tone. “I said those things because Sohee is my priority. I was dumb, and that was the first thing that popped into my mind. I wasn’t thinking of how I sounded.”
He gulped air, hard. “I asked you to move in with us because I feel empty when you’re not around,” he said, more fiercely, his eyes glimmering as he took another step towards you. “I asked you to move in with me because of the most selfish reason—because I don’t want to be without you.”
And then the look in his eyes turned to complete despair when you remained motionless. His confession had done nothing to you, or so he appeared to believe. But your heart was beating wildly, thumping in your eardrums. You stood there, torn between holding your ground and giving in to him.
His mouth parted, and he took half a pace to where you stood. But he stopped, as though all strength and courage had dissipated the moment your eyes began to brim with tears again. “Please,” he whispered, gulping hard once again. And you knew what he was feeling—his heart thrumming in his throat. “Don’t do this.”
He wasn’t scared of losing a perfect candidate for his ex’s stand-in. No—and you were a fool to have believed that. You had seen the terrible person his ex was and still decided to run with that idea.
What you had failed to remember was that Jeonghan had gone through difficult breakups before. His ex left him with a baby in his arms. And even if his relationship with Soomin had been loveless from the start, it was still hard, and it still hurt.
God knows how long it had been since Jeonghan felt love.
And the truth is, you trusted that not even he remembers it as well.
Jeonghan was exceptionally bad at sharing his feelings aloud. That is one thing you’ve learned in all eight months you’ve been with him. But then you saw his posture change, the strength in him waning. “I won’t let things go this way again,” he told you, his eyes pleading.
A brutal shudder coursed through you. You loved this man. There was no way you could just turn around and walk away.
Your lip trembled. “You promise?”
It was as though life had been injected into him, hope glimmering in his eyes now. “I promise,” he replied.
With just a couple of paces, you closed the space between you and him, grabbing him by the collar of his black t-shirt and pulling him in. And he simply let you, receiving the impact of your smaller body against his by grabbing you by the waist, already knowing you were aiming for a kiss.
Your lips clashed with his in a crushing kiss; it almost hurt, but you didn’t care. Your body brimmed with energy, making your fingers curl around the fabric of his t-shirt. It was a leap of faith—but this time, you were ready. “I love you,” you said, squeezing your eyelids tightly.
A small sigh escaped him. “I love you too,” he replied, switching his hands from your waist to your face, cupping it before going back to kissing you. “Please, stay,” he whispered before pressing his lips against yours tightly.
You melted in his embrace. “Okay,” you replied, nodding.
He wrapped you with his arms completely, placing one hand on your back and the other on your head, making your face nuzzle against the crook of his neck. “You scared me,” he whispered, the sound of his voice strangled.
You swallowed hard. “You scared me too,” you admitted.
He kissed the top of your head, moving to cup your face again. “I know this doesn’t solve everything,” he said, his tone brittle. That’s when you noticed his eyelashes crumpled with tears. “So I think we should talk about what comes next.”
You shifted slightly to get the tears on the corners of your eyes. “What do you mean?”
He seemed to calm down with one breath. “Soomin is still going to be part of our lives.”
You nodded. “I know.”
His eyebrows knitted slightly. “And sometimes our lives will get messy.”
“I know that, Jeonghan,” you whispered, smiling at him softly.
He caressed your cheek tenderly. “But I want you to talk to me every time something feels off,” he said.
“And will you?” you asked.
He nodded. “Every single time,” he said. “I want us to be stronger together.”
The certainty in his demeanour made you pause. “You mean that?” you asked with a tiny tone.
“Yes, I do,” he replied. “I should’ve told you this before. I don’t want to be without you.”
And now the honesty was the thing that disarmed you completely. For a second, you almost felt like your vulnerable side was about to win, but you sighed. “I was jealous of her,” you confessed.
He blinked in disbelief. “Of Soomin?”
You nodded. “She’s Sohee’s mom. I didn’t like to feel that I was competing with her.”
“You weren’t,” he said with certainty. “Things got messy yesterday. I didn’t notice she was trying to make you feel insecure.”
You shook your head lightly. “This whole thing feels ridiculous now.”
He frowned. “What does?”
“All of this,” you gestured to the space between you and him. “We nearly blew up our entire relationship because we couldn’t talk about what we actually feel.”
He let out a light laugh. “It won’t happen again,” he said, stepping back and grabbing your hand, motioning back to the building. “Let’s go back inside?”
You nodded, walking with him, feeling ten times lighter than before.
You both stepped into the elevator, still holding hands. But as soon as the doors closed, Jeonghan tugged at your hand, pulling you closer to his frame. He wrapped an arm around your waist, finding your cheek with the other hand. “Will you forgive me?” he mumbled softly, smiling at you like he was shy. “I let things go out of hand.”
Your heart softened again, making you choke up, so you just nodded. “Me too,” you whispered. “I apologize too.”
He blinked slowly. “We talked about this before, remember?” he told you. “My life is messy, and I haven’t had a relationship since Soomin. I think this is us trying to find the balance in everything.”
You smiled at him. “Please don’t tell me that finding the balance will look like this every time.”
He laughed lightly. “I told you, baby. I won’t let this happen again,” he said, full of certainty. “I mean it.”
You sighed softly, relief finally setting in. “Okay,” you whispered, closing your eyes as he leaned in to kiss you, pressing his lips against yours ever so tenderly, like he was trying to isolate every single feeling and just focus on how your lips felt against his.
The kiss deepened, lips locking together in a heated dance that had your blood dancing in your veins almost instantly. A moan bubbled in your mouth when you felt the tip of his tongue swiping on your bottom lip, touching your tongue as it rolled inside your mouth.
You placed a hand square on his chest. “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” you said, faking a stern look on your face.
The elevator reached the floor, doors parting with a soft ding. Jeonghan took your hand again, as though not wanting to let you go for one second. “I didn’t think it would be that easy,” he said with a smirk. “But please tell me what I can do to get there faster.”
You laughed. “Well, first, you could give me a neck massage.”
He raised his eyebrows. “That’s starting strong?” he laughed.
“And take me for dinner at that restaurant you keep telling me you wanted to take me,” you said.
“You free tomorrow?” he said while opening the door for you.
He quickly pushed your back against the wall of the hall to his bedroom, locking his lips with yours in a quick, but passionate kiss. “I could pick you up at eight,” he said, his tone raw.
“I dunno. I’ll have to check my calendar,” you replied jokingly, putting your hands on his chest, feeling him up.
Jeonghan giggled into the kiss. “You do that,” he replied.
You smiled, letting him dominate the kiss. And Jeonghan quickly took on the task, kissing you vehemently, like putting every emotion he felt for you into a silent dance of his lips with yours. His hands slipped from your face, finding your waist to clutch on as his tongue rolled inside your mouth.
You moaned, feeling his tongue against yours sent a shiver down your spine. Your hands on his torso slipped further down, finding the hem of his clothes and slipping beneath his shirt, feeling his warm skin.
The muscle of his abdomen contracted softly. “Wait—” Jeonghan said, pausing mid-kiss with a smacking sound from his lips and yours. “Bathroom.”
You were only able to moan out a sound of affirmation. The door to the bathroom was a couple of steps away from you, and when you both got there, it was as though a lightbulb had been switched on in your mind. Jeonghan was intending to take you to the most secluded place in the house—far away from the baby’s room.
Jeonghan turned the lights on with one hand, undoing the button of his jeans with the other. You acted quickly—taking one step in his direction and grabbing the black t-shirt, enjoying the look in his eyes, the hunger, the lust and devotion in them.
The clothes came off quietly—hurriedly, while his gaze remained trained on your face. Jeonghan was quiet, unusually quiet as you worked your trembling fingers to undress him. “Do you want to undress me?” you mumbled, your tone sweet, but low.
He blinked slowly and nodded, biting his bottom lip. He first grabbed the hem of your tank top, hiking it up your torso while you raised your arms to help him in the process. His gaze shifted to your chest when your bralette came into view. “I like this,” he whispered, running the pad of his thumb along the pretty lace hem of the cup of the bralette. “You know I like this one.”
You smiled softly. “If you’re suggesting that I wore the bra you liked to break up with you in case something happened, then you’re sorely mistaken,” you replied smugly.
He matched your smile. “I’m glad,” he whispered, tilting his head to meet your lips with his. He kissed you once, softly at first, his lips creating a low smacking sound when he pulled back, but not far. “I’m glad you didn’t break up with me.”
“I guess all we needed was to talk it out,” you joked in between hurried, heated pecks. Then your breath hitched, Jeonghan’s cold fingers had found the clasp of your bralette.
Jeonghan sighed in amusement. “Who would’ve thought,” he replied with an obvious tone while his hands gently eased the straps off your shoulders, and took your bra off your chest.
You needed one second to take in the situation in—you had just gone through one of the worst moments of your life, thinking that you were breaking up with the man you had fallen head over heels for. And now to be back in his apartment, hiding in the bathroom with him so that whatever went down in there wouldn’t wake the baby up.
It felt strangely exciting.
He pushed the tip of his nose against yours softly, making you angle your face as he swiped the tip of his tongue on your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You parted your mouth, letting him in with a silent moan, right as his tongue found yours. He kissed you slowly, sensually, like he had been aching to do that for the longest time, but things just got in the way.
You understood then, all the intense gazes, the way he kept looking at your lips…
“From now on, I’ll tell you everything,” he told you suddenly, giving you small kisses as his hands came up to cup your face lovingly. “Every single thought that crosses my brain, you’ll know it.”
You laughed at that, the sound louder than anything else; it bounced off the walls in a denouncing manner.
“Quiet, baby,” Jeonghan uttered, but he let out a tiny giggle with you anyway. “Sohee might hear you.”
You couldn’t help it; your heart melted. “Sorry,” you whispered, but the smile didn’t wipe off your face.
He tilted his head to one side, smiling endearingly at you. “I have a feeling you like this,” he muttered, voice low like a purr.
You nodded, biting your lower lip as you pushed his boxers down.
“You like it when I tell you to be quiet,” he kept going, keeping his tone down.
His gaze dropped to your hands as you grabbed his cock and started stroking him with your hand wrapped around the underside of his shaft. He had a pretty cock, soft and veiny on his thick shaft, dark pink on its head.
Seeing your hand rolling up and down his erect cock made him swallow a grunt, but as you twisted your grip around him, the sounds he made grew louder. How easy it was for him to surrender under your touch caused a deep satisfaction to bloom in your chest. But more than that, arousal had already started to pulsate between your legs. You enjoyed giving him pleasure just as much as you enjoyed receiving it.
“I like everything you do, daddy,” you mumbled, your tone wrapped in honey.
“Fuck,” he sighed, pressing his forehead against yours. He slipped his hands on your waist, clutching your skin tightly but not enough for it to burn. “You make me crazy.”
Your fist tightened around the crown of his cock, smearing the slick precum leaking from his slit. You loved pleasuring him, yes, but you needed him inside you—the thrumming between your legs ached to feel him. A cunning smile painted your lips, considering playing with him some more.
But Jeonghan caught that naughty smirk on your face.
In one motion, he pushed your back to the countertop of the sink. You gasped at the sudden movement, but before you could protest, he was already getting to one knee in front of you.
“If you make a single sound, I’ll stop,” he told you, his eyes darkened with need and lust.
And without waiting for your verbal response, his head dipped down, pressing his mouth to your mound. He kissed the top of your pussy first, pressing his lips to your skin tenderly, almost adoringly as his sweet brown eyes found yours, but briefly. You let out a ragged breath, parting your legs by half, sitting on the countertop. That gave him all the access to your slick folds, which he nipped and licked eagerly.
You instantly tensed, your hand finding his head and the other holding onto the basin like your life depended on it. Jeonghan knew you well; he knew how you liked being touched, how to eat your pussy out until you were a mess of tears and babbles. He knew how to make you cum. What he was doing now was just to tease you, to drive you crazy—licking the juices off your folds with pleased grunts from his part, loving the way you were always ready for him.
He grabbed your thighs, spreading you further apart so you stopped twitching and moving—and licked your pussy up and down slowly, thoroughly, only to tease you some more.
But then he finally wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it ever so lightly.
Your jaw went slack, and to not let a scream out, the hand that was previously clutching the basin flew and landed on the tap, accidentally pushing it open. The sound of water flowing freely was the perfect mask for your whiny moans, because Jeonghan had started to run his tongue flatly on top of your engorged clit, all the while his lips kept it trapped.
Thoughts ceased to exist. Nothing mattered to you except for the sweet waves of pleasure running uncontrollably through your veins, making your skin prickle and your nipples pebble. It was as though you were submerged in a pool of pleasure. Your breathing turned ragged, and your body tensed solely to let the orgasm build up—because Jeonghan wasn’t stopping, and apparently, he had forgotten about the no noise rule.
Or maybe he liked this too.
But then he lifted his face slightly, keeping his lips and tongue on the top of your pussy as his lust-filled gaze met yours. You sank your teeth on your bottom lip, using the hand that was cradling the back of his head to push his face against your cunt, begging him silently to continue.
Jeonghan eyed the basin swiftly, briefly. And that was all the command you needed. You pushed your thumb against the tap, shutting it off.
However, he continued being a tease. Or a menace. He dragged his tongue against your swollen clit, pushing the wet muscle against you, achingly slow.
Your eyebrows pinched. Please, you begged with just one look.
There was a smile that only showed in his eyes right before he resumed eating you out, sucking and licking your clit. And he only needed to do it for mere thirty seconds before your orgasm tore through your body. You forgot about pulling his hair, taking that hand against your own mouth to stop yourself from screaming.
The waves of pleasure running through you were beyond anything else you’ve felt before. He’d teased you for so long that you were very much ready for that orgasm, leaving you limp and trembling on the countertop.
Your chest was rising and falling dramatically. Embarrassed, you cast a look at Jeonghan, who was pushing himself onto his feet with a light but wicked grin on his face. He didn’t need to say anything, he knew that you’d liked that.
And you needed him now.
You grabbed his wrist, pulling so that he stood between your thighs. “Wait,” he whispered, sliding his hands on your thighs to bring you to a halt.
You instantly knew what he’d say. You shook your head. “I want you now,” you mumbled.
But he motioned a hand to the cabinet behind you, where you knew he kept one large box of condoms. He kept it there and would also restock the bedside table every night you stayed in.
You grabbed him by the hip, pulling him closer to your body. “Now,” you whined.
Jeonghan didn’t resist, didn’t question you.
His hands returned to your thighs, wrenching them further apart and positioning himself between them. Tilting your hips up, you angled yourself for him while still sitting back on the countertop—you knew he liked the view of his bare cock entering you, the view of your pussy stretched open with his girth.
So his head dipped, keeping his gaze where your body and his were about to join. He pushed his hips closer to yours, and you took his cock, guiding it to your sopping core. His mouth parted when the crown of his cock nuzzled your entrance, and a rush of excitement flowed through you when you felt him push inside.
Feeling him raw, skin on skin, was a delicious experience. Maybe it was more in your brain than in your body—because you swore you could cum right there and then, and he wasn’t even fully inside you.
You caught a glimpse of his face changing, of the pleasure taking over him quickly as he gave the first thrust, the muscle of his jaw twitched, and he immediately crushed his mouth with yours. With a muffled moan, he started moving, languidly at first, as though testing you.
“God, baby, you feel… amazing,” he whispered, pushing his hips with gentle motions. You believed that he wanted to take it slowly, so he wouldn’t finish fast and inside you. But then you heard how fucking wet you were. You could hear his cock slipping in and out of your walls, and Jeonghan wanted to enjoy it.
You cupped the side of his neck with one hand, motioning his gaze back to yours. You stared into his eyes for a long moment while he took your body slowly. Jeonghan blinked, his hands grabbing your thighs and motioning them around his hips, making it even harder for him to pull out.
It was a game you both had. And it made you feral. You loved it.
Jeonghan pushed his body flushed against yours, thrusting slowly, but deeply. “Like that?” he asked, although he didn’t need to—the look on your face told him enough.
But you nodded either way. You remembered what he said about telling you every single thought that crossed his brain, and you decided to give him some of your thoughts in return. “I love this,” you whispered. “I love feeling you like this.”
He let out a grunt, bowing his head to kiss your shoulder. “I know,” he sighed, his breath fanning your pert nipples. “I love it too.”
You slipped your hand from his neck and then locked your arms around his shoulders. All reason flew out of your brain, and then you knew you were just babbling—but you didn’t care. “The thought of you cumming inside me makes me cum,” you mumbled, uncaring of how pathetically sweet your tone sounded.
“Oh, fuck,” Jeonghan moaned loudly, the sound barely muffled by the crook of your neck, hips stuttering against yours for half a second.
You cupped his nape with your hand as he lifted his head to face you. “Yeah?” he hummed, his gaze taking you in. “Want me to pump you full of my cum?” he asked with a playful lilt.
You nodded, incapable of giving him a verbal reply. The question was crude; it sounded beyond dirty and sinful as it came out of his lips. This surely wasn’t the first time he spoke filthy things to you, but it was the first time he asked a question like this.
And you loved it.
The pacing of his thrusts quickened, but didn’t relent on their depth, keeping his body flush against yours. You could feel the film layer of sweat covering his skin, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell if you were sweating as well.
But you noticed that Jeonghan was forgetting about your game of keeping quiet. The pacing of his thrusts quickening also meant that the sounds of skin slapping against skin were harder to avoid. You thought of mentioning this to him, but it turned you on to see him lose control slowly.
“Babe,” you whispered, “be quiet.”
Jeonghan had to bite his smile back. And fuck, you loved this man. One of the things you loved about him was how sexy he could be. He pushed his hips against yours in a particularly thorough way that made you think he was trying to reach as deep into you as he could, making you whimper loudly.
“You be quiet,” he bit back, continuing to slip his cock in and out of your walls deliciously, making you see stars.
Your eyelids fell closed, but you could capture the image of him leaning his face closer to yours, feeling his breath on your lips before he kissed them. “Quiet or you won’t get to cum,” he said, his tone raspy, tired.
“Doesn’t that mean you won’t either?” you taunted, loving the way the pacing of his thrusts changed. You knew he was trying to draw out his own pleasure, make himself last longer.
Jeonghan laughed, the sound languid. “Remember how I got you to shut up that one time?” he asked, his tone still low, waning. And when the memory instantly flashed behind your closed lids, your walls tightened around him, drawing out a moan from him.
That time, he showed you a different side of himself. You were being louder than most nights, having fun by testing how far Jeonghan would go to make you submit to him.
“Yeah, you remember it,” he drawled, moving his face ever so slightly so he could join his lips with yours, all while still moving inside you painfully slow. He was edging you, and in turn, he was edging himself as well. “I thought you looked pretty with my cock inside your mouth,” he said.
You could’ve fallen over the edge in that second. A shameful whine came out of you, but you were too gone to even think of how pathetic you were sounding. You didn’t care. Having Jeonghan inside you, raw, and speaking filth to you felt so good. “I’ll be quiet, Hannie,” you told him. “Just don’t stop.”
With a grunt, Jeonghan obliged, changing the push and pull from a painfully slow one to a deliciously hard and deep one. You let out a silent moan, angling your hips to him so he could reach deeper inside you, so you could feel him completely.
Jeonghan cussed, his voice drowned out by the dull sound of skin hitting against skin. And it was then that you knew that this was his obsession—the quiet play, the bickering, the very obvious sounds of pleasure…
And you simply let him take you. The closer he grew to his orgasm, the closer you felt like giving in to the sweet pleasure dancing beneath your skin. Jeonghan parted his mouth, and you felt his hips buckling, his hands gripping your hips, his body flush and pushing against yours…
“Fuck, baby,” he said with a tired, but blissful drawl. “I’m close,” he said, his words heavy with meaning.
And you knew what he wanted to say. “Inside,” you moaned. “Do it inside me.”
Jeonghan gave you another one of those hazy smiles, tilting his head back so you could see his face, while pleasure took over the features of his beautiful face. “Are you going to cum for me, sweetheart?” he asked, looking like he was in between happy and tired.
You nodded. “Uh-huh,” you mewled, aware that the sounds bouncing off the walls of the bathroom had become louder. But you didn’t care, and Jeonghan didn’t seem to pay attention.
He pushed inside, slamming his front to yours, switching the grip on one side of your thigh to your hair at the base of your head. “Then give it to me,” he whispered, the sound raspy and full of greed. “Cum for me.”
You could’ve gone off simply from the way he was talking to you. But you needed to get it done, fast, now. You moved your body slightly, taking your hand in between his body and yours and started rubbing your clit, teasing it with fast swirls. “Daddy,” you moaned, louder. His thrusts were deep, hard, and so fucking good. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Jeonghan responded with a deep moan of his own. “Baby,” he gasped, releasing the grip he had on your hair, his hand sliding down your back as he dropped his forehead on your shoulder.
You closed your eyes, letting your orgasm barrel down your body, letting Jeonghan push his cum deep inside you with a couple of final, languid thrusts. His face was pressed tightly against the crook of your neck, making your skin prickle as he breathed hard against you.
The inner side of your thighs trembled quite dramatically as you tried holding onto him. Jeonghan let out a light, breathy giggle, right as you, too, were composing yourself, caressing his naked back with the tips of your fingers.
Then you felt his lips on the crook of your neck, your shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. “I’ll start a shower for you,” he croaked, lifting his head to direct a tender look at you. “I have to go check on Sohee.”
You nodded. “Okay,” you replied.
But there was a great reluctance in his following movements. Casting a look down your body, he carefully peeled his body back from yours, turning around to start the shower. You watched him as he walked back, only to plant a sweet kiss on the tip of your nose before grabbing his shorts and slipping through the bathroom door.
Once you found your limbs, you climbed off the counter and stepping before the shower. After testing the temperature, you stood below the stream, closing your eyes as you let the water wash down your face.
Your heart still felt heavy with the weight of a thousand questions and things that you still wanted to say. But one thing was finally clear to you.
The gentle sounds coming from the door announced he was back, right as you were halfway done washing up. When he stepped into the shower, he immediately wrapped his arms around you, his chest pressing against your back as he embraced you tightly. “Hey,” you mumbled, grabbing his forearm to squeeze him.
He inhaled deeply, pressing his lips to your hair. “Hey,” he replied, his tone low and raspy.
You turned around, moving on the shower floor so that the stream bathed his bare skin. “Let me,” you said, grabbing the soap and washcloth.
Jeonghan gave you a sheepish smile. “Oh, are you going to wash me?” he asked, his tone turning playful as you nodded at him silently, looking into his eyes. “Alright, just don’t give me those eyes, or we’ll never get this done.”
You laughed, the sound filling the bathroom. His glimmering eyes found your face, and you could see the minute his mind snapped with decision. Cupping your face in his hands, he pulled you in for a kiss full of passion and endearment. “I love you,” he mumbled, his tone so gentle that it made you think he was relieved to say it.
“I love you,” you replied, laughing softly before he pressed his lips against yours again.
“What’s that?” he asked in between pecks.
“Nothing,” you huffed as he moved to kiss your cheek. “You’re very confident now.”
He responded with a light laugh of his own. “I don’t care. I’m going to say it more,” he told you, sounding serious like a warning.
“Good,” you mumbled faintly, as he bent down to kiss your neck.
“Starting now,” he said, slipping his hands from your lower back to your rear, pressing you against his frame.
“Careful,” you replied. “You might start sounding desperate,” you teased.
You felt him smile against your skin. “Desperate, huh?” he asked, his voice low and in your ear.
“Well,” you said, tilting your head to give him more space for him to kiss, “you did just almost lose me.”
He nodded. “That put things in perspective.”
A sigh escaped your mouth when he kissed a particular sweet spot on your shoulder. “You’re going a bit overboard.”
“Mmm,” he sighed against your skin. hands squeezing your ass, but just softly, tenderly. “I love you.”
You bit back a smile. “See?”
“You’re the one who wanted me to say it.”
“I didn’t say you had to start saying it every minute,” you said, smiling despite yourself.
He pulled back, making you miss his lips on your skin instantly. “I can slow down.”
You bit your lower lip, nodding. “Please.”
But he showed you a charming half smile. “I love you.”
You laughed, trying to push his shoulder. “You’re a tease.”
A pause. The smirk wiped off his face as he exhaled softly. “And yet,” he said, his eyes glimmering with something you hadn’t seen before in him, “you’re still here.”
You watched his eyes for a moment, your pulse quickening. “That’s still under review,” you tried to joke, sounding out of breath.
If Jeonghan heard your tone, he made no comment about it; he played along. “What can I do to help my case?”
“I already told you,” you said, looking at his eyes and then his lips.
He nodded, leaning to kiss the tip of your nose. “What else?” he whispered.
You slipped your hands from his shoulders, down his torso, feeling his warm and wet skin. “Let’s go to that water park… all three of us together.”
He smiled before pressing his lips against yours. “You got it,” he replied.
Your heart shuddered. “Jeonghan?” you mumbled softly, feeling his hands all over your skin, exploring you, getting you aroused again.
“Yes?”
“Ask me to move in with you,” you said, tone falling to a mere whisper.
He pulled back, only to look into your eyes. He didn’t hesitate. “Move in with me.”
Your eyes glimmered, your whole body trembling with joy, relief, and love. You nodded. “I’ll move in with you.”
Jeonghan smiled. “Good,” he mumbled, content. “I love you.”
You groaned softly, rolling your eyes playfully. “Oh my god,” you said, loving the sound of his laughter bouncing off the walls. He leaned over, showering you with kisses again. “I love you more,” you replied shyly.
“Impossible,” he said.
› author's note pt. 2: hi hey hello!!
so, we're are so back. and jeonghan is coming back? hannieween is writing again? hell yeah
OKAY BUT I WANT TO TAKE A MOMENT TO ADDRESS SOMETHING HERE. apparently, tumblr has moved some things so that if someone comments, likes or reblogs a post that has been previously reblogged by someone else, i won't get to see those notifs. so for example, if you're not reblogging this from my page directly, i won't get to see it 😭 so if you guys comment, like, reblog, etc, i appreciate you all so much, i might not get to see it, but i appreciate it anyway!
pairing: kwon soonyoung x f!reader
genre: psychological horror, enemies to lovers, angst, smut [18+ mdni]
wc: 12,667
warnings: depictions of gore, violence, guns/weapons, scary creatures, anomalies, liminal spaces, minor character death, dystopian vibes, a bit lore heavy, reader has a panic attack at one point, brief mention of suicidal ideation, fingering, nipple play, unprotected piv sex (don't do this irl), creampie, praise kink, body worship, talking u through it, dirty talk, petnames (baby, pretty girl)
a/n: i am finallyyyyy getting back to the remainder of my halloween series fics!! truly so so sorry it's taking me this long, life has been kicking my ass but i am doing my darndest. as the title suggests, this is an au based on the backrooms!! if you don't know what the backrooms is, it's basically vague internet lore about an alternate reality of liminal spaces you can glitch into. you start at level 0, but there are infinite levels, each one a distinct creepy setting that may contain hostile creatures and appear to go on forever. this was SO fun to write, and although it's fairly dark and a bit scary i hope you guys will enjoy the story :) huge big ol thank u to @miniseokminnies for beta-ing, u da realest ily <3
SYNOPSIS: Your expedition into the Backrooms takes a turn when all of your crew members are killed, picked off one-by-one by the monstrous Entities that live within this labyrinthian abyss. Now it's just you, left to explore this never-ending liminal hellscape on your own, pressing onward as far as you can go before you too are killed. But when you unexpectedly run into another human, you have to decide whether or not to trust him. His cold, unfriendly demeanor is certainly off-putting, but your life very well might depend on his intel — so what choice do you have, really?
Day 42
Commander Jarvis is dead. I was able to retrieve his pack before the Entity Epsilon dragged his corpse into the nether. As the First Officer I am to resume his command of the crew — what's left of us anyway. Privates Pierson and Yu also did not survive Level 8. May their souls rest in peace.
According to the limited records recovered from prior expeditions, we should be nearing the Null Zone to Level 9. As far as the Axiom Company is concerned, Level 9 is the furthest any crew has reached before being fully exterminated. In my opinion, however, it remains a possibility that others from prior expeditions may have survived — perhaps moving on to higher levels, beyond the Company's reach. Whether they are out there, I suppose we will either find out or die trying.
Day 46
We encountered another Entity Epsilon — that makes five. We have not once escaped from one of them as a full crew, and this time was no different. Privates Klipp and Jameson fought valiantly until the very end, but that thing is a monster. May their souls rest in peace. It's just me, Sanchez, and Finn left now.
We should have reached a Null Zone by now, but no such luck. I have a bad feeling we've just been going in circles — but we have no choice but to press on.
Day 47
Sixth Entity Epsilon encounter. We were so close. The Null Zone was right there, but it was faster. May Privates Sanchez and Finn rest in peace. I have retreated and am writing this in haste from our previous post, but I won't be safe here for much longer. I am going to make a run for the Null Zone. If I don't make it, then so be it.
You slip the tablet into your pack and raise your gun at the ready. Quietly slipping out of the abandoned makeshift tent you've been hiding under, you take a deep breath. Scanning the cavernous tunnels in your periphery, it looks clear — though, that doesn't mean much. You've unfortunately had enough run-ins with the Epsilons at this point to know that they can practically materialize out of thin air. Those fuckers are fast. You know your odds aren't great, but it's not like you have much to lose left anyway.
Heading in the direction of the Null Zone, you break into a sprint. Normally you'd take greater care to move in silence, but you've learned the hard way that all the stealth in the world is fruitless against the Epsilons. So you bolt at top speed, the echoes of your boots thunking against the limestone ground booming through the stale, damp air. If there's one nearby, you're done for.
Your senses start to sting, picking up on the empty resonance of the Null Zone ahead. You're almost there. Just 30 meters more. So close you can taste it. Then a horrific screech fills your ear.
You don't stop, you don't slow, you don't even dare to peek over your shoulder. You know once you do, you're dead meat. You run and run, muscles screaming in agony as you push yourself onward. 20 meters. 10 meters. Five. Four, three, two—
Against all instincts you hurl yourself at the cavern wall between two towering stalagmites. For a split millisecond you consider the possibility that you have misjudged the location of the Null Zone, and that you are about to slam face-first into solid rock. You squeeze your eyes shut and brace for impact.
But it doesn't come.
A sudden deafening silence hits you like a truck. You open your eyes you see yourself hurling face-first into slick, oily pavement. You brace yourself just in time — your palms slamming into the rough ground as you catch yourself. Quickly rolling over you leap back to your feet, reaching for your gun and raising it to position as you rapidly scan your surroundings, but the Epsilon is gone — as is the miserable cave system you'd been in for nearly two weeks. Instead, you find yourself standing in the middle of a street in a suburban neighborhood, dim and shadowy in the moonless nighttime, shrouded in a chilly lingering mist. The caves were an insufferable flavor of quiet, but you had gotten used to its reverberating echoes; here it is just as quiet, but instead of claustrophobic it feels uncomfortably vast. You're not sure which is worse — but you're here now, and there is no going back.
Your head swivels as you peer down the street in both directions. As expected, both ways appear endless — you're used to that by now. No immediate anomalies are detected, and since the Company's intel on Level 9 is practically nonexistent anyway it really doesn't matter which way you go at this point. You decide to go left.
You walk down the center of the silent street, observing the mundane cookie-cutter houses that pass. The only source of light here is the sparse low-wattage street lamps, their incandescent glow seeming to cast more shadows than anything, but still they all look more or less the same: color palettes ranging from gray to beige, windows darkened, manicured lawns sitting picture-perfect without a blade of grass out of place. Painfully bland. You note none of the houses have numbers, but of course they don't.
Eventually you spot a four-way intersection. Approaching the cross street, you pause at its stop sign — the first and only bit of color you've seen thus far. Logistically, it makes the most sense to continue straight; there are no street signs, so the more turns you make the more likely you are to get lost. But there's no logic to the Backrooms — just when you think you're starting to figure things out, everything can change in the blink of an eye. Try to strategize your way out of a situation, and you'll probably end up in a worse one. You decide to turn right.
The pure silence is deafening, causing your ears to ring just enough for it to be irksome. You don't know what Entities await you in Level 9 — anyone who does most likely did not live to tell the tale; and while this place feels somehow even more devoid of life than the cave systems of Level 8 your intuition tells you something awful is present here. Yet you walk for miles and come across nothing but endless empty houses. You wonder what would happen if you tried to go inside one; the thought is appealing — as is the potential of finding an actual bed to sleep in for the first time in months. But the illusion of shelter might cause you to let your guard down, and you're not yet sure if that's a risk you're willing to take.
You stroll for another 15 minutes, passing a few more intersections but continuing on your path ahead. The protocol for a new level is always to scope out the environment first, provided you deem it safe enough to do so. You've always found that a bit laughable — only Level 0 is free of Entities, after all. After that, any sense of safety is merely an illusion. It's a matter of when, not if, something finds you. But by Backrooms standards, you currently feel about as safe as it gets.
Your feet start to drag as you walk on. You have been going practically non-stop for the brutal two weeks spent in the Level 8 caves — a little rest would do you wonders right now. You begin to study each house as you walk past, trying to get a sense of any danger that may be lurking behind their doors. Much of surviving the Backrooms boils down to natural survival instincts; yours are pretty damn good (it's why you were recruited, after all), but you're exhausted. Even the best soldiers start to lose their grip on reality in this state.
You pass on a few dozen houses. None of them have felt dangerous, but uncertainty is making you hesitant, so you reluctantly press on. You're nearly past the umpteenth beige house when something makes you stop. Turning to your left, the house standing before you looks as unremarkable as the rest. But something about it feels different. Whether that's a good thing or not, you are unsure — but there's only one way to find out.
You step onto the sidewalk, slowly approaching the front door. Even up close, you can't make out any single thing through the boxy windows; it's as if they are solidly opaque rather than just dark. Reaching for the handle, you turn it slowly. You were half expecting it to be locked, but it turns, granting you entry. You push it open just a crack, raising your weapon as you peer into the dark house; it looks like an ordinary modern home interior — no immediate signs of Entities or other danger. Slowly you let yourself in, shutting the front door behind you. You tug a small flashlight from your utility belt — an item infrequently used in the Backrooms, as many Entities are attracted to light. Clicking it on, you scan the room, finding nothing but furnishings as dull and uninteresting as the house's exterior. A set of stairs stands before you, but you proceed past it down the first floor's main hall. You open the doors you pass along the way, only finding a half bath and a few empty closets. Stepping into the kitchen, you find it as ordinary as the rest of the house. You're about to head upstairs when a slightly ajar cabinet catches your eye.
Walking over to the counter, you hesitantly reach for the cabinet door. You open it, eyes widening as your flashlight beam falls on the stock of cans and provisions packs behind the door — food.
Your mind starts to race. Without a doubt, humans were once here. But where are they now? If they had moved on to higher Levels, it's unlikely they would have left food behind. Did they die? Are they still here? If so, where are they?
click
The metallic sound behind your ear sends an immediate chill down your spine. You freeze, body going rigid in fear.
"Put the gun down and turn around. Slowly."
The gruff male voice comes from right behind you. You do as it says, cautiously setting your weapon on the counter and raising your hands in the air. Turning slowly you come face to face with the black muzzle of a pistol, held by a tall, scowling man.
"Who are you?" he barks. "You Company?"
He glares at you through narrowed eyes. Between his spiked hair, tattered headband, eyebrow piercing, and the large scar across his cheek, he would look scary even if he weren't holding a gun to your head.
"I'm Commander l/n of the Exodus Crew, Expedition Andromeda. Our mission is to—"
"Yeah, whatever, I know the spiel," the man scoffs. He cocks his head at you. "Where's the rest of your crew?"
"Dead," you answer him with a glare.
"You kill 'em?" he questions, pressing his pistol threateningly into your forehead.
"What?" you balk. "Of course not, why would you even think that?"
"What do you know of Expedition Crusader?" the man continues, disregarding your question.
"Crusader?" you repeat, your brow shifting in confusion. "There's no such expedition from the Axiom Company with that name."
He lets out an incredulous huff.
"Okay, so you know nothing. Got it."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" you inquire. You glance up at the barrel of the man's pistol. "And can you get this fucking gun out of my face?"
He stares at you for a moment, considering. You are a potential threat, but you also could be of use to him. Eventually he lowers the gun, letting it rest at his hip; you note that he doesn't take his finger off the trigger.
"It means you're just another pawn in the game."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" you stare at him, growing annoyed already. "Who even are you?"
The man looks at you, unanswering, the gears in his head clearly still turning.
"Call me Hoshi," he finally tells you. He gestures to your gun on the counter. "Get your weapon. But try anything funny and I will kill you."
"I won't," you respond as you grab your gun and put it back into its holster. "I'm just glad to see another human," you admit.
The man huffs again. "Right."
"What's your fucking problem?" you question, following him as he walks off toward a door at the other end of the kitchen. As he opens it you see it appears to lead down to the basement. He descends the staircase without responding; you roll your eyes, trudging after him.
"Shut the door behind you," he barks from somewhere in the darkness. You oblige, extinguishing the already inadequate light source. You're about to complain when you hear the strike of a match — Hoshi ignites a single lantern in the middle of the room, casting a faint flow over the basement's contents. You see a neatly piled stash of rations in one corner, an assortment of rifles and weapons in another, and a twin sized mattress with a single blanket pushed up against the wall — clearly this is where he has hunkered down. Hoshi sits down at the single table, where various maps and tablets are scattered, as if he had been studying them.
"Tell me everything you know about the Company and its missions," he says as you sit in the chair opposite from him.
"That's classified—"
He crosses his arms as he shakes his head, cutting you off. "I already know it all. I just want to see how much you know."
"So you're Company then, too."
"Formerly," he grumbles.
"What does that mea—"
"We'll get there. Just start from the beginning."
"The beginning?" you raise your brow at him. "You want a fucking history lesson?"
"Skip the details," he waves his hand dismissively. "Just give me a summary."
You stare at him, mouth slightly ajar. You don't like the idea of just sitting around wasting time, but you are fucking exhausted.
"Fine," you sigh. "In the year 2135 a group of scientists conducting research on particle physics accidentally discovered a gateway to an alternate dimension that became known as the Backrooms. One of the scientists, Zhang, volunteered to be the first person to enter. He went in, and the team waited patiently for him to report back — nobody knew whether time progressed at the same velocity in the Backrooms, after all, so there could be some sort of delay. They gave it a few days, then a few weeks, then several months. But he was never heard from again. The team then decided to set up a base camp in the Backrooms, to conduct further research and transmit data back to Standard Earth. It was a groundbreaking endeavor, and every day it seemed there was a new discovery that made physicists question everything they knew about the fabric of reality. The research was thriving, but there was a major problem: the initial team who went in could not find a way out. Transmissions from the team became less and less frequent; and eventually, radio silence. Optimism began to dwindle, and funding started to run out. The project was in danger of being shut down entirely — but a coalition of wealthy donors founded the Axiom Company to continue the research. They launched Expedition Pioneer, and sent the first official crew in on a recovery mission. They found the base camp, but it seemed abandoned — and the scientists were nowhere to be seen. The recovery operation turned into reconnaissance, and soon the first Null Zone was discovered. That's when they realized there was more than one level to the Backrooms — but just like nobody could return to Standard Earth from Level 0, those who proceeded to Level 1 could not return to the previous Level. This encouraged Axiom to turn the Backrooms into a full-fledged enterprise. More and more expeditions embarked, and more and more Levels were discovered; the physicists began to theorize that the Backrooms actually contained an infinite number of Levels — a never-ending labyrinth of dimensions within dimensions. But of course, there were also the Entities. Entity Alphas were the first, lurking in the shadows of Level 1's parking garage enviro. They were awful enough as is — large, gangly, and fleshy, strong enough to rip humans apart in a single go. But it only got worse when the Pioneer crews discovered they also had the ability to mimic — disguising themselves as fellow crew members, luring you in with a false sense of security and then shredding you into pieces."
You pause as the gruesome imagery flashes through your mind. Gritting your teeth, you reach for your canteen and take a swig of lukewarm water. You've had no one to talk to since the last of your crew were exterminated (except for yourself, but you try to keep that to a minimum — for your safety as well as your sanity), and your throat is already growing hoarse.
"Anyway," you continue, recapping your canteen and clipping it back onto its place on your utility belt. "I'm sure you're all too familiar with the known Entities." Hoshi doesn't respond, continuing to stare at you coldly from across the table. A grimace seems permanently etched onto his face, but you can't get a read on his motives. Frustrating.
"Despite all the setbacks, incredible progress was made. The Company developed a massive database, recording everything known about the Backrooms and each of its Levels. The first few Levels are the most well-known, but documentation exists through Level 8. No reports from further Levels have ever been received, and nothing is known of Level 9. There has even been speculation that Level 9's enviro is inhospitable to humans, that no one who has entered it has survived — but we are currently in Level 9, so clearly that's not true."
You stop, wondering if Hoshi is satisfied with your rundown of the shit he certainly already knows. His lips remain pursed, saying nothing but continuing to glare at you.
"Do you have a fucking problem with me?" you spit suddenly.
"That depends," he responds, unfazed by your hostile tone.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"It's complicated."
"It's a yes or no question," you scowl.
"You are naive. Things are not as straightforward as you think they are."
"Go ahead then," you huff, growing exasperated. "Explain to me how things really are, since apparently I'm fucking stupid."
"You're not stupid," he states matter-of-factly. "You wouldn't have made it this far if you were."
"Then why are you speaking to me like I am??"
"The truth can be hard to grapple with."
"I've seen Entity Alphas rip a human to shreds in seconds," you glare. "I've seen a Gamma boil my crewmate's skin off with their projectile acid venom. I've watched helplessly as Epsilons picked my crew off one by one, taking them alive and dragging them off to to god knows what kinds of horrors lay waiting in the nether. I assure you, whatever it is, I can handle it."
"That's not what I mean."
You swiftly draw your gun and aim it at Hoshi's forehead, switching the safety off.
"I don't appreciate you wasting my fucking time with your cryptic bullshit," you sneer. "Tell me whatever it is that's so important, or die. Your choice."
Hoshi laughs. An infuriatingly haughty chuckle, aggravated even further by the smug smirk spreading across his face. Your scowl deepens, but he just reclines in his chair, raising his hands and resting them behind his head, nonchalant and arrogant.
"Go ahead darling, shoot me," he shrugs. "I've wanted to blow my fucking brains out every single day for a very long time now. You'd only be doing me a favor. But just know that without me, you'll be dead within days."
Your jaw clenches. Unfortunately, you know he's probably right. You don't know how long Hoshi has been in Level 9, but if he's survived this long he certainly has knowledge that would be useful to you.
"Fine."
You switch the safety back on and lower your weapon.
"But call me darling again and I'm gonna start breaking fingers."
If your threat had any effect on him, his callous face shows no sign of it. Rising to his feet, he begins to quickly move to gather the documents on the table.
"For now I will give you a very basic rundown," he tells you, rolling the papers up and shoving them into a small metal canister retrieved from his pack. "But we can't risk staying here any longer. I'll tell you on the way to our next location. Grab any weapons you want," he instructs, pointing to the stockpile in the corner. "Good chance you'll need 'em."
You have dozens of burning questions, but you hold your tongue. You don't think Hoshi would answer any of them right now anyway.
"Anything I can do?" you inquire after arming yourself with an additional automatic rifle and several hand grenades.
"Collect the provisions from the kitchen," he orders as he folds up the safety blanket into his pack. "I'll be up in a minute."
You turn to head back up the stairs, but you are halted by Hoshi's hand grabbing your wrist. Turning to face him, his piercing eyes bore into yours.
"If anything looks out of place, run."
"What do you m—"
"I mean exactly that. Use your instincts. Your life depends on it now more than ever."
As much as you want to trust Hoshi, you don't. Something about him scares you. You're not sure what — but according to him, there's no time to stand around and think right now. It's either trust him, or fend for yourself. Neither is very appealing, but for the time being, you decide to do as he says.
"Understood," you reply bluntly. He releases your arm, and you proceed up the stairs.
As you saw before, there's not much in the cabinet. It takes you approximately thirty seconds to stow the provisions in your pack. You hear Hoshi's footsteps echoing as he climbs up the stairs; turning, you see him emerge from the dark basement, hauling his belongings and also wielding an automatic rifle. You're about to ask where it is exactly that you two are going, when you notice the houseplant in the hallway. It's a large fern, tall and leafy, and it definitely wasn't there before.
Hoshi's eyes dart to where yours are fixed, immediately registering the anomaly. He turns to tell you to run, but you have already bolted out the back door. He runs after you, following you as you kick down the fence gate with a single blow and bolt into the street.
"LEFT!" he shouts at your back. You turn left, sprinting down the center of the road off into the permanent suburban night. He's fast, advantaged by his height, but you're faster. He lengthens his strides, pushing onward, finally catching up to you at the next intersection.
"Stop!!" he orders, and you do. Back to back, you survey the streets around you. You're not entirely sure what it is you're looking for, but as far as you can see in every direction you find nothing. Intuition tells you you are safe — for now, at least.
"We're clear," Hoshi states. He lowers his gun a bit, but still grips it firmly. "For now."
He turns to face you, his sharp eyes locking onto you.
"You're very good at following orders," he says to you, but by the bitterness in his tone you can tell that it's not a compliment. He walks off, continuing straight down the same street.
You follow him for several blocks, walking a couple meters behind him without conversation, but you quickly begin to grow annoyed.
"What was that?"
"An Entity Zeta," he responds curtly, not bothering to turn around. You wait for him to elaborate, but of course he doesn't.
"And what exactly are the Zetas?" you inquire, speeding your pace to catch up to him. "What's their M.O.?"
His jaw clenches. "They're a hive mind," he answers bitterly. "A massive, interconnected colony of festering, insect-like creatures. Their M.O. is to stalk and ambush. They don't attack right away. They watch you, disguising themselves as familiar objects — waiting until you least expect it, striking when you're at your most vulnerable. If you feel safe for even a moment, you're not."
"And that houseplant was one of them."
"Yes."
"What would have happened?" you press. "If we hadn't ran away?"
"It would've erupted into a swarm of vermin and cleaned all the flesh off our bones within a minute tops."
"Oh."
"Yeah," he huffs. "'Oh' is right."
"Is there any way to fight back?"
"Depends how close they are. If they're too close, no. You either run or you're fucked. If they're further away, fire will deter them, but not for long. There's no true way of 'killing' them off — it'll just retreat back into the hive mind and regenerate."
"You say fire. Are grenades the best bet?"
"Grenades can be effective. But your best bet—" He slips his pack off his shoulder, pulling out an empty beer bottle with a rag sticking out of it. "Is one of these."
You raise your brow at the crude Molotov cocktail, but as you think about it it does makes a lot of sense.
"What do you use to ignite it?"
Hoshi reaches into the breast pocket of his cargo jacket, pulling out something small and tosses it at you. As you catch it, you see it's a matchbook.
"Here," he adds, extending the bottle in his hand to you. "Take this one."
You tuck the matchbook into your own pocket and slip the makeshift bomb into one of the external pockets on your pack.
"Thanks," you tell him amicably. "Hopefully I won't need it."
He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. He still wears the same scornful expression, but unless your eyes are deceiving you, it seems to have softened ever so slightly.
"You will."
You walk in silence again for a few moments. The question lingering on your mind nags at you, begging to be asked.
"Is your crew still around or is it just you?"
Hoshi stiffens. "Just me," he answers grimly.
"I'm sorry for your loss," you tell him sincerely, but he just scoffs. He continues onward, lips pursed tightly shut as he doesn't reply.
"Did they—"
"I don't want to talk about it," he sneers.
"Okay," you accept. "Sorry."
He says nothing. You go back to walking in silence.
At the next intersection, Hoshi turns right.
"Are we going to a specific location or are we just wandering until we find something?" you ask.
"Specific location. We're close."
You wonder if his bluntness is related to you bringing up his crew, ripping open a not-so-old wound. But in the short span of time you've known him, you've gathered this is just how he is.
"Here," he says a few blocks later, stopping in front of another perfectly nondescript house. He heads for the front door — you follow.
The house's interior is almost identical to the previous one you were in, bland and impersonal.
"I'll sweep upstairs. You take downstairs," he instructs, quickly disappearing up the stairs. You're not sure exactly what you're looking for, since the Zetas can apparently shape shift into anything, but you investigate anyway. The living room, dining room, kitchen, closets, and bathroom all seem fine. The last room to be checked sits behind a closed door; you swing it open, your gun at the ready — but you find nothing but an ordinary bedroom. You check its bathroom as well, but it too is clear.
Hoshi materializes in the doorway as you exit the bathroom.
"Upstairs is clear."
"Downstairs too," you inform him. "I can't believe this one has a real bed," you remark, a grin appearing on your face for the first time in god knows how long.
"They all do," he replies. You turn and give him a look.
"Then why were you sleeping in the basement in the other one?"
"It's not important."
You stare at him blankly for a moment, but then you just shrug.
"Well I'm sleeping here," you announce, plopping your pack down on the floor. "An actual bed, in the Backrooms. It's a goddamn miracle."
"Don't get too comfortable," Hoshi tells you dully, turning to exit the bedroom.
"Will we have to move again soon?" you inquire. He stops, looking back at you.
"It's likely."
"Is there a pattern to the Zetas' movement?" you ask, making him stop in his tracks again. He lets out a small sigh.
"Get some sleep," he says plainly, and then he leaves.
You're about to plop yourself on the bed and go right to sleep, but a thought crosses your mind. You step back into the bathroom, walking over to the shower and turning its knob. To your surprise, it actually turns on, an inviting stream of water spraying from the faucet.
"Holy shit," you mutter to yourself, a wide grin spreading across your face. You're about to begin undressing when an arm reaches from behind you and shuts the water off. You whip around abruptly, finding Hoshi's face hovering above yours. His broad stature towers over you — from this close up, he is even more intimidating than he already ways.
"What the hell?!" you bark at him.
"I told you," he glares down at you. "The Zetas will attack at your most vulnerable."
"I'll be fast."
"No," he insists, crossing his arms. "It's too risky."
"Oh come on," you groan. "I haven't taken a proper shower in ages. Let me have this."
"You're asking to get killed."
"Oh go fuck yourself," you roll your eyes, taking your shirt off anyway. Hoshi averts his eyes; you reach for the knob and turn the water back on. "I'll be five minutes."
"Fine," he grumbles. "I'll stand guard I fucking guess."
You're about to point out that you never asked him to do that, but you just shake your head. There's no point in arguing with him, it seems.
"Suit yourself."
He shuts the door behind him as he exits. You spend the next five minutes basking in the glory of a real, functioning shower. The water is cold, but you don't even care — as far as you're concerned this is the peak of luxury.
After, you exit the bathroom to retrieve the change of clothes from your pack. Sure enough, Hoshi is standing right outside the door; when he sees that you're naked, he quickly turns away.
"Could've given me a fucking warning," he mumbles under his breath.
"Sorry," you say uninterestedly as you get dressed again. "I wasn't about to put those filthy clothes back on."
"I'm dressed now," you announce about a minute later.
"Great."
He starts to walk out of the room when you grab him by the shoulder.
"You should take a shower, too."
"I'm fine," he responds, trying to walk away, but you cling to his shirt, yanking at it to spin him back around.
"Take a fucking shower," you glare at him. "Give me your gun, I'll be on watch."
He grits his teeth, but to your surprise he stomps back into the bathroom.
"I'm not giving you my gun. Use your own."
The door slams shut behind him. You grin as you hear the water turn back on, picking up your weapon and stationing yourself beside the door.
Eight minutes later the ambient rush of the water dissipates. Hoshi appears a few moments later, marching out of the bathroom and making a beeline for the door. You consider teasing him for taking so long, but you are promptly distracted by his stark lack of clothing. He wears only his underwear and headband, the rest of his clothes balled up in his fist sopping wet as he walks out of the room. It was clear from the moment you met him that he had a strong build — but seeing him shirtless, water droplets beading down his back between the crevices of his muscles, very much takes you by surprise.
"See? Wasn't that nice?" you call out to him. He turns back around, his thick pectorals also glistening with water despite the darkness of the room. He stares at you intensely, but the harshness which you've grown accustomed to from him has seemed to mellow slightly.
"Goodnight, Commander l/n," he says calmly, exiting the room and closing the door behind him.
You wake about eight hours later. Level 9 has no daylight, so there's no such thing as a true morning — but for the first time in months you actually feel refreshed. You don't know when was the last time you slept this long in one go. Certainly well before your time in the Backrooms.
You find Hoshi in the kitchen, eating beans straight from a can. He still wears a deeply wearied look, but he too seems like he slept well.
"I was just about to wake you," he states, extending the can of beans to you. "You should eat."
You gladly accept the can of beans, spooning a large bite into your mouth.
"I don't know when the last time I had real food was," you comment gleefully as you chew. "All I have left is the dehydrated powder shit and calorie pills."
"We seem to have been the last crew sent in with canned goods," he tells you. "The Company shifted to processed nutrient provisions after us. Cheap bastards."
Your lips twitch into a grin. Getting a full night's rest has seemingly done wonders for the man's demeanor. You consider commenting on it, but you figure he wouldn't appreciate that very much, and the last thing you want to do is piss him off even a little. But, you do still have about a thousand questions for him.
"What were they like?" you ask, treading carefully. "Your crew. You haven't told me much about them."
Hoshi tenses up, a cold expression washing over his face.
"I don't see how it's relevant."
"Okay," you nod acceptingly, not wanting to aggravate him. "How about you then?"
He narrows his eyes at you, confused. "What about me?"
"I don't know, anything. What's your rank?"
"What's it to you?" he cocks his head at you.
"Just trying to make conversation, damn. Sorry," you spit. Irritated, you turn to walk away. You're nearly out of the kitchen when he decides to answer.
"First Officer," he says, his voice less harsh this time. You turn back around; he's still staring at you sternly, but he no longer seems hostile.
"Oh shit, really?" you ask, surprised but interested. "Me too."
"I thought you were Commander," he frowns, wondering if you lied to him before.
"Only after an Epsilon got our initial Commander," you reply, trying not to relive that memory too much.
"Oh. I see," he says quietly, accepting your answer.
"But I suppose rank doesn't mean much of anything anymore," you comment neutrally. "Not when you're the last remaining crewmate."
"I suppose not."
"Well, First Officer Hoshi," you say as you finish off the beans. "What's our course of action for today?"
Hoshi lets out a bewildered laugh. You raise your brow at him, but he just shakes his head.
"Hoshi isn't my real name," he explains. "We all had nicknames, me and my crew."
"What is your name, then?" you ask, genuinely curious, but the minute amount of warmth present in his face quickly fades.
"That's not important."
"That seems to be your answer for everything."
"That's because most things are no longer important," he responds coolly. "Not if you're to survive Level 9."
With that, he departs the kitchen. You sigh. It's exasperating dealing with Hoshi — but you decide to follow him.
"You didn't answer my question," you remind him as you join him in the dining room. He is sitting at the table, notebooks and tablets and maps strewn across its surface just as they were in the previous house's basement.
"What question?"
"I asked you what our course of action is."
"Our course of action is to not die," he states.
You roll your eyes. "Yeah, no shit. I mean, is there anything I can do to help?"
"No."
"That can't possibly be true."
He glances up at you, sharp eyes locking into your gaze. Every time, it's intimidating.
"You don't have the intel needed to be of use here."
He says it matter-of-factly, without contempt, but you're still irked by his unintentional rudeness.
"Well, you could fill me in," you suggest, but he just waves his hand at you dismissively.
"That would take too long."
"It's not like we have anything else to do!" you point out, growing annoyed.
"Fine! Here," he barks, grabbing a handful of the maps and shoving them toward you. "Study these."
"Thank you," you say curtly, snatching them from his hand and marching out of the room.
You spend the next few hours studying Hoshi's maps of Level 9. For the most part, they are incomprehensible, and you genuinely start to wonder if he might just be insane. Eventually you bury your head in your hands, groaning with frustration. A few moments later, you sense movement, coming from behind you. You reach for your gun and jump to your feet, swiveling around and pointing the weapon, but it's just Hoshi.
"Fucking hell, don't sneak up on me like that!" you chastise him.
"Apologies." He extends to you an additional piece of paper; you take it, seeing an assortment of keys, diagrams, and notes. "This should help you understand the maps better."
"Gee, thanks, this would've been really helpful several hours ago," you say sardonically as you scan the sheet.
"I made it just now."
"Oh," you reply, lifting your gaze to meet his. "Well, thank you."
He gives you a single nod, spinning on his heel and retreating back to the dining room.
With Hoshi's new notes, you're quickly able to start making sense of the maps. What had previously looked like the scribblings of a madman turn into a vastly complex mathematical schematic depiction of the known areas of Level 9. You're still on the fence about whether the man is insane, but one thing becomes very clear: he's a fucking genius.
A few more hours and your brain is aching from overuse. When the maps start to become convoluted, you decide to call it quits. You gather the papers and return them to Hoshi in the dining room; he's in the exact same spot he was hours ago, poring over some sort of document on his tablet.
"Thank you for the notes," you tell him as you set the maps on one of the few empty spots on the tabletop. "They really helped me start to make sense of things."
"You're welcome," Hoshi replies, the polite words feeling awkward rolling off his tongue. It's been a long time since he's had a casual conversation with anybody that didn't involve giving or receiving orders.
"I'm going to sleep now," you inform him.
"Okay."
"Goodnight, Hoshi," you say cordially.
He simply nods. You figure that's about as much as you're going to get out of him; as you walk out of the room, you hear his voice echo calmly from behind you.
"Goodnight."
As you sleep you have a nightmare.
It's a recurring one — one you've been having for a while now. In it, you're wielding a gun, but it's not like the ones you carry with you in the Backrooms. It's a .45 handgun, and you're frantically reloading it as you crouch behind something that resembles a desk. Your hands are shaky and covered in blood, but it doesn't appear to be yours. A curly-haired man is perched beside you, reloading his own pistol. He's wounded, appearing to have been grazed by a bullet in the arm, one of his glasses lenses half-shattered, but he appears determined; he signals to you to advance.
"Go!! I'll cover you!" he mutters to you under his breath.
"I don't feel very good about this anymore," you reply, cocking your gun. He looks at you somberly, but you can tell he understands.
"Me neither," he says, then smiles at you. "If I don't see you again, it's been a pleasure working with you."
You grin back. "Likewise," you reply.
"On my signal," he tells you. You take a deep breath, shifting to prepare yourself to make a run for it.
"Three… two… one… GO!!!"
You jump to your feet and hurdle yourself over the desk, coming face to face with three men in full riot gear and guns much bigger and scarier than yours. A shot rings out from behind you as your companion shoots at the nearest one — he hits him, and the armed man collapses to the ground. You manage to yank the ballistic shield out of his hands as you pass, wielding it as you sprint toward the emergency exit that the remaining two men are blocking. You hold your fire, focusing on protecting yourself from their bullets with the shield. To your surprise you manage to make it all the way to them without getting hit. You shoot one of them in the leg as you ram the other with the shield as hard as you can — it's enough to knock him over slightly, giving you a chance to shoot at him once before you throw yourself against the door. It opens into a maintenance hallway, its concrete walls and flooring sallowly lit by sparse fluorescent lighting. You bolt toward the left, running as fast as you possibly can muster, hoping to escape before they come after you; but the hallway is vast and open, with no places to hide. Suddenly you are surrounded, flanked by a dozen armed men who seemed to materialize from the walls. One of them shoves you to the ground, your knees slamming into the floor. A siren wails hauntingly in the distance, your ears pound with the rushing blood coursing through your veins, your breathing harsh and erratic. You hear the sound of a rifle cocking into position behind your head, and then—
"Commander! Wake up!"
You bolt upright, finding yourself in the bedroom again. Hoshi hovers above the bed, staring down at you— a menacing sight to wake up to, but not worse than the dream you were having.
"We have to go," he tells you urgently. "Pack your shit as fast as you can."
You don't question him. The alarm in his voice is enough to light a fire under you, and within a minute you've gathered your things. Hoshi reappears in the doorway as you finish lacing your boots.
"Come on," he orders. You hurry after him, following him out the front door into the never-ending suburban night. You run for several blocks, turning down a new street a few times, but soon he begins to slow his pace.
"We should be safe now," he tells you. "But don't let your guard down."
He continues, walking along the sidewalk with his weapon at the ready.
"There's another house nearby. We'll be there soon."
You nod, walking beside him silently for a minute or two.
"How do you know where to go?" you decide to ask. "Like how do you know where is safe?"
He turns, facing you as he speaks. You notice that this is the first time he's done so.
"I've been tracking Zeta movement for long enough now that I can recognize their patterns," he explains. "Once one is activated in one area, there seems to be a recovery period before they can strike within the vicinity again. They also seem to stick to certain paths, though I have no idea why. I assume it has to do with the physical logistics of the hive mind network."
"Damn, you're really fucking smart," you tell him. "Not that I thought you were stupid," you add.
"I used to be an engineer," he replies gruffly.
"What?! How did you end up in a tactical unit then?"
He lets out a bitter laugh. "That's a long story. We turn left here."
"I'm all ears," you try, following him as he turns down the next street.
"Maybe later, when we—"
He stops in his tracks, thrusting his hand out in front of you and forcing you to halt too. Ahead of you are several dozen mailboxes — the blue collection receptacles that you would typically find at a street corner. It occurs to you that you've never seen a mailbox in Level 9 before, but these aren't just posted on the sidewalk — they're on the sidewalks, in the yards, in the middle of the street. All of them seeming to be turned toward you, facelessly staring you down with sinister intent.
"Shit," Hoshi hisses as he frantically reaches for one of the grenades clipped to his pack. He pulls the pin with his teeth and launches it toward the nearest cluster of mailboxes, but it doesn't go off. You reach for the grenades on your own pack, but as you do so one of the blue boxes close to you begins to turn into static, coming to life in a festering swarm and growing tall and sprawling and disgusting. You toss your first grenade, swinging your rifle back into your hands and firing into the mass. It seems to hinder it slightly, making it squeal, but the explosion of the grenade does significantly more damage. It begins to retreat into itself, but two others near Hoshi start to shift into their true form. His second grenade goes off, holding them off momentarily as they let out a grating screech, but the rest of the Zetas are already activating. Remembering the bottle Hoshi had given you, you grab it from your pack.
"Cover me!!" you shout to him as you kneel. Setting the bottle on the ground you reach into your pocket, digging around for the matchbook. Hoshi fires a stream of bullets into the Zeta currently charging toward you; you almost panic, unable to find the matches, but finally your fingers locate the small paper packet. You pry one of the matches off and strike it, holding it to the rag sticking out of the bottle. For a horrible moment you're not sure there's even anything flammable inside it — but giving it a good shake you hear something sloshing around in there. Saying a silent prayer you try the match again, and this time it ignites. A fucking miracle.
"Incoming!!!" you yell to Hoshi. He ducks, and you throw the Molotov cocktail as hard as you can toward the center of the largest cluster of Zetas. The bottle shatters on impact with the pavement, igniting into a massive fireball and engulfing the Entities. The flames spread quickly to the others, extracting a cacophonous symphony of horrible screeches as they all begin to burn — the one weakness of being a hive mind, you suppose.
"RUN!!" Hoshi screams. He takes off in the opposite direction, with you sprinting right behind him. As you dash across the intersection you hear a thunderous BOOOOOOOOM bellow out from behind you. The sound of the Zetas' awful squeals swells, and then disappears, returning the street into silence aside from the crackling of the spreading fire and the pounding of you and Hoshi's boots upon the pavement. You steal a glance back, but there's no mailboxes or Zetas in sight — just the flames lighting up the block with an ominous orange glow.
"Are we clear?" you ask Hoshi through labored breaths. He slows down, walking now instead of running. Turning to look behind him, he nods approvingly.
"Yeah, we're good."
"For now," you add.
"For now," he agrees.
"Where to now?" you inquire as he continues down the street, seeming to know exactly where he's going. He lets out a long sigh.
"My crew's original base camp is not far," he says bitterly. His tone sounds reluctant, and you get the sense he does not want to return to this location — but he knows it's the smartest option.
You turn right a few blocks later, and the base camp comes into view. The tall makeshift fence surrounding the house makes it glaringly obvious where you're headed.
"Damn," you comment as you and Hoshi approach the gate, staring up in awe at what looks to be like electrical wiring rigged on top of and all over the scrapped-together fencing. "This is impressive."
Hoshi doesn't reply. He fiddles with the gate's crude latch, letting the both of you in and shutting it again behind you.
"Let's see if we can light this shit back up," he mutters, stepping up to the tangled assembly of wires beside the gate. He fiddles with it for a minute, a low humming sound filling the air as the electricity comes back on. You look at him in amazement; he gives you a slight smirk.
"I told you, engineer," he says nonchalantly, brushing past you and heading into the house.
You were expecting another lifeless interior, like the past houses, but your eyes widen with surprise as you step through the door. The house does have the same style of bland furnishings as seen before, but scattered everywhere are various belongings: clothes strewn over the couch, papers and notebooks atop the coffee table and floor, empty cans and rations packs discarded haphazardly all around. Most prominent though are the spray painted walls — playful graffiti scribbled alongside what appears to be basic map outlines. You realize you haven't seen this much color, this much life, in a long fucking time; the thought nearly makes you emotional, but you quickly shake it off.
"Do you mind if I sleep now?" you question.
"Sure," Hoshi responds, dropping his pack in the middle of the room and plopping himself onto the couch. "We'll be safe here for a while."
"Great," you reply with a relieved grin, excited at the prospect of getting to sleep in a bed again. You head toward the door that appears to be the master bedroom.
"No!!" Hoshi shouts as you go to open the door. He leaps off the couch and gets between you and the doorway, blocking you from entering.
"Don't fucking touch it," he spits angrily.
"Okay, okay!" you say as you swiftly back up, raising your hands in the air apologetically. "I won't, I'm sorry."
He's glaring at you, but his face quickly drops, his irate expression shifting into one of sorrow.
"Take the room with the blue door upstairs," he orders you quietly. "At the end of the hall."
"Okay," you agree gently. As you turn to go up the staircase, you hear him sigh deeply.
"It was my Commander's room."
You look back over your shoulder. Hoshi stands before the door still, arms crossed and staring down at the floor.
"Were you close?" you ask softly.
"Yes."
"I'm sorry," you tell him with sincerity. He nods, saying nothing. You stand there for a few more moments, watching him, wondering if you should say anything else. But you don't; you continue up the stairs without another word, leaving him be.
Sure enough, the room at the end of the hallway sits behind a door spray-painted bright blue. You enter, finding a standard looking bedroom covered in a similar disarray to what was present downstairs. Even with the mess, it feels surprisingly cozy.
You drop your bag to the ground, removing your boots and flopping onto the bed. You're asleep before you can even bother getting under the covers.
As usual, you wake up to darkness. You never thought you would miss daylight this much, but the lack of distinction between day and night in the Backrooms, quite frankly, fucking sucks.
You decide to go downstairs to get something to eat. As you drag yourself out of bed, you see something flutter off the nightstand and onto the floor. You pick up the small piece of paper; it's very wrinkled, edges tattered and slightly torn, but you see that it's a photo. Flipping it over, you see a group of eight people, bright faces smiling with enthusiasm and laughter. Many are holding beer bottles, raising them to the camera with cheers. Hoshi's face pops out to you immediately, but the huge beaming grin on his face makes him looks drastically different, as does the distinct lack of scarring across his cheek. One man in the middle of the group seems to be the central focus of the photo — he holds a cake with lit candles on it, the others pointing at him gleefully.
This must be his crew, you think to yourself. You figure the man in the middle is probably his Commander; it appears to have been his birthday in the photo. You tuck the photo into your pocket, careful not to rip it any further.
Traipsing down the stairs, you spot Hoshi crashed face down into the couch, fast asleep. Carefully you wake up him, patting at his shoulder gently. He flies off the couch, making you nearly jump out of your skin.
"Fucking hell!" you instinctively shout in reaction. Calmer, you add "It's just me."
Hoshi stands before you, looking frazzled, the bandana around his head askew and partially covering one of his eyes. He blinks, realizing you are not a threat. He relaxes slightly, adjusting the headband back into place and sitting back down on the couch with a thump.
"Sorry," he mutters, a yawn overtaking him.
"It's fine. Why didn't you sleep in a bed?" you inquire.
"You were in my bed," he states plainly.
"What?" you say with a laugh. "There's more beds in this house—"
"The couch is fine," he insists firmly. You roll your eyes, but you don't press it any further.
An unopened can of what appears to be beef chili sitting on a nearby shelf catches your eye.
"Mind if I open this?" you ask Hoshi, showing him the can. "We can share."
His face seems to lighten up at the prospect of something besides beans or nutrient powder. "Fine with me," he nods, getting up and walking into the next room. "Here, there's probably some utensils in the kitchen still."
He returns with a very bent metal spoon and a fork that is missing a prong. You sit at opposite ends of the couch, passing the can of chili back and forth as you eagerly devour it.
"As far as I'm concerned," you say, breaking the silence as you shovel a spoonful of the stew into your mouth, "this is a gourmet fucking meal."
Hoshi takes the can as you hand it to him. It disappears in a flash, but the briefest hint of a grin appears on his face for a split second.
"Can I ask you about your crew?" you say delicately after a minute or so of silence. You know it's clearly sensitive topic for him, but you have a feeling he might be more open to talking about them now that he seems to trust you at least a little bit.
Hoshi stares down at the can in his hand, mindlessly stirring the chili with his fork.
"I'm not sure why you want to know about them so bad," he says quietly.
You consider whether you should for a moment, but you decide to ask him about the photo. Carefully removing it from your pocket, you show him the tattered photograph. His expression changes, the coldness disappearing from his face, replaced by wistfulness and regret.
"I found this in your room. I assume this is them?"
He takes it from you, staring at the eight smiling faces in the photo.
"Yeah, that's them."
"This was from before your expedition," you comment, looking at him for confirmation. He gives you a small nod. The room falls silent again, and you accept that that's the most you're probably ever going to get out of him. You start to get up, figuring you should leave him alone.
"It was the week before we set out."
You freeze. Sitting back into the couch, you look over at him again. He's still staring at the picture.
"It was our Commander's 30th birthday," he continues. "His name was Laughlin, but we all called him Blaze. He accidentally started a fire once in the middle of a training course, and the name stuck."
A smile appears on Hoshi's face. It's subtle, but it's a real, genuine smile.
"Tell me about your past," he says, turning to face you.
"My past?" you respond, thrown off by the sudden request. "Um, well I started out at Axiom training in the Research Department, but then I was switched over to Tactical—"
"No," Hoshi cuts you off. "I don't mean that. I mean before Axiom."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean what you did prior to joining the Company. Your job, your hobbies, your family, anything."
"Well, I…" you start to tell him, but your mind spins. You rack your brain, trying to picture your life before all this, but you're completely drawing a blank.
"I… can't remember?" you say quietly. You think about your parents, your mom, your dad. You know they exist — so why can't you picture their faces? You try to think about your siblings, but did you even have any? You don't know.
Your heart starts to pound in your chest. You jump to your feet, beginning to pace around the room.
"Why can't I remember?" you whisper, barely audible. You suddenly feel very dizzy.
"It's okay, don't panic," he tells you calmly. But it's too late — your chest has already tightened, and you feel like you're going to throw up. You don't know what else to do, so you bolt upstairs.
"Commander!" Hoshi calls after you, but with your heartbeat pounding in your ears you barely hear him. You run back into the bedroom, slamming the blue door shut behind you. You fall to the ground, your back to the door as you try to steady your breathing. You don't ever remember having panic attacks before, but then again you apparently don't remember anything at all.
You hear the doorknob turn above your head. Hoshi tries to open the door, but it doesn't budge with you slumped against it. He pounds on the door, the knocks thumping against your back.
"Let me in," he insists, but you barely even hear him. He sighs, turning the knob again and forcing the door open with his body weight. It opens enough for him to slip inside; he picks you up off the ground, lifting you with ease and carrying you across the room. He sets you on the bed, sitting down beside you.
"Hey, breathe," he instructs, shaking you gently but firmly. It brings you back to reality a bit; your eyes are able to focus on your surroundings again. "Take a deep breath, you're starting to hyperventilate."
You do as he says, inhaling and exhaling slowly several times. Finally, the panic dissipates. You turn to look at Hoshi beside you.
"Why can't I remember?" you ask again, your voice wavering. He sighs.
"It's a long story, but I'll explain. Do you remember what you told me about Axiom's history before?"
You nod. That was only a few days prior, but it feels like ages ago.
"Well, most of everything you said is true. But there's more — secrets they kept from you and me and almost everybody. There's a reason you don't remember anything about your past: nobody does. And there's good reason for it. Because if the truth got out, the Company would go down in flames."
"That's what you said before, 'the truth'," you recall.
"I wasn't lying when I said it's a tough pill to swallow," he reminds you. "I didn't want to believe it at first, either. But it all goes back to the initial discovery of the Backrooms. It was an accident, a byproduct of a top-secret government experiment conducted as part of research efforts to create a new weapon of mass destruction — one that would make the atomic bomb look like child's play. Word got out, spreading to various government agencies, and people were pissed. Almost everyone opposed the development of the new bomb, so they said they were halting the research. But they lied. A whistleblower eventually exposed them, leading to a massive strike amongst the scientists and engineers working on classified government projects. But the government didn't budge — they executed the whistleblower, hoping to instill fear that would lead to compliance, but it backfired. It instigated an uprising, the scientists and researchers fighting back, but despite their numbers they were no match for the militarized response units. Those who weren't killed were imprisoned and forced into menial labor. That's when Axiom comes along — the 'wealthy donors' it boasts of as its founders were on the government's payroll. The Company was founded as a ruse, pretending to be a neutral third party purely interested in the research, but they quickly rounded up the prisoners to use for their dirty work. But even with brute force and violence, the scientists refused to work. They knew they couldn't just kill them all off — they were far too valuable of assets. So they came up with an alternative solution: implant a neural chip in everyone's heads. The chip repressed memories, and with that they had a blank slate of brilliant minds to brainwash into compliance. Those who were least valuable were sent into the Backrooms first, guinea pigs sent off to their deaths. Once the imprisoned scientists were milked of their knowledge and no longer useful for research purposes, they shipped them off to training for the tactical units to send on their little expeditions. Smart, obedient, but also disposable — it was the perfect source of labor for the job."
You stare blankly at Hoshi, processing everything he just told you. I was right, you think to yourself. He is actually insane.
"You don't believe me," he observes.
"How do you expect me to believe… all that?? This is ridiculous."
"Think about it," he insists. "What other explanation could there be for you not remembering anything pre-Axiom?"
"I don't know!" you shout in frustration, rising to your feet as you begin to pace again. "But surely there's a much more likely explanation than that—"
Hoshi stands, grabbing your shoulder and spinning you back around to face him. He glares down at you, an intense fiery gaze, as he grasps onto your wrists tightly. Your heart begins to pound again in fear — you're stuck here, deep in the fucking Backrooms, in the clutch of a crazy delusional man. What if he kills you? What if this is the end?
He raises your right hand to your head, pressing your fingers into your scalp above your right ear. As he pushes further, you feel something… sharp. It's small, but you wince as it nearly pricks your finger.
"There's your truth," he says quietly. You stare up at him, wide-eyed with disbelief.
"How… how did you figure this out?"
He lets go of your right hand; with his free hand he removes the bandana tied around his forehead, sliding if off his head and dropping it to the floor.
"Look," he says, tilting his head to the side. You let out a soft gasp. Above his right ear, previously concealed by the bandana, is a large, deep gash. It's old enough to be mostly healed, thick scar tissue filling in the wound, but you can tell it's still somewhat recent.
"What happened?" you whisper.
"An Alpha tried to rip my head off," he smirks. "I was fast enough to avoid death, but it still got me pretty good."
He lifts your left hand, drawing it in to the scar. You resist, trying to pull your hand away, but he doesn't let go.
"It's okay, it doesn't hurt," he assured you. "In fact I can't even feel anything there."
He guides your fingers into a groove in the healed skin. As he presses them into his head you feel a similar sharp sensation, but smaller, and more of them.
"I guess it hit me just right," he says with a slight huff of a laugh. "It broke the chip, and suddenly I remembered everything. I was free again. Except, of course I'm not really. I'm still stuck in this fucking hellscape. Some days I wish I had never learned the truth — it would be less painful that way."
The truth. You think back to your recurring dream. What if it wasn't a dream at all, but a memory?
You suddenly realize how close you are to him right now. It should be far too intimate, but you don't want to move for a second.
"Did you tell your crew?" you ask him.
"Yes. Fortunately, they believed me. One by one we helped each other remove the chips. None of us were surgeons, so that part was a bit rough," he grimaces. "But once they were gone, they too remembered everything. The only—"
He stops himself. That part isn't important, you don't need to know about it. But for some reason, he decides to tell you anyway.
"The only member of our crew who didn't remove their chip was Blaze."
"Your Commander," you affirm softly. He nods. "Why not?"
"I don't know," he admits. "I don't know much about his past — but think some part of his unconscious mind remembered something, something too painful experience all over again. I tried to convince him several times, but he didn't want to. So I respected that. But then we made it to Level 9. We'd only lost one crew member up until that point, but the Zetas started to pick us off one by one. Before long, it was just him and I left. He told me he decided he wanted to remove his chip. I was going to do it that night, once we got back to base camp, but he didn't make it back."
Without thinking, you cradle his face in your palm. He inhales sharply, looking into your eyes with equal parts surprise and want.
"I'm so sorry," you whisper. He reaches up to take your wrist in his grasp again, rubbing his thumb slowly over the back of your hand. His eyes close as his head drops, his forehead falling against yours.
"You don't have to be sorry," he mutters. Opening his eyes again, he meets your gaze. Your heart palpitates in your chest, the intimacy making you ache with need. Then, you kiss him.
Your lips crash into his, leaving him momentarily stunned, but quickly his hands drop to your sides, grasping at your waist urgently as he kisses you back. Your hands cling to his face as you press your body into him; he lets out a soft moan into your mouth, making your core throb. His arms squeeze around your torso, drawing you in as close as possible, hands wandering desperately as he eagerly explores every curve of your body. You wrap your arms around his head, clinging to him as you grind against him.
"Fuck," he groans against your lips. Suddenly you are lifted in the air as he picks you up, carrying you back to the bed where he lays you down gently. He crawls on top of you; your legs instinctively open, wrapping around his hips as he presses his weight into you. You pull him back into a kiss, hungrily tugging at his lips once more. You push your hips up against him, your center greeted by a stiffening bulge and drawing another moan out of him.
You sigh as his mouth wanders to your chin, kissing along your jawline up to your earlobe and nipping at it; his lips return to your neck, planting soft, slow pecks into the delicate skin as he works his way down to your collarbone. Your soft whines are driving him insane already; he abruptly sits up, taking off his shirt. He reaches for yours as well, prying it over your head and dropping it to the floor. He makes quick work of your bra, discarding it aside and immediately grasping at your breasts, tugging and kneading the soft flesh in his hands while pinching your nipples between his fingers.
"You're amazing, so fucking hot," he praises. He steals another kiss before hopping up and tugging at your waistband. You hurriedly unbutton your pants, wriggling out of them as he follows suit. As he slips his pants down his thighs his cock comes into view, erect and red with anticipation; the mere sight of it makes your mouth water.
He reaches for your bare pussy as he lays down beside you; you whine softly as his fingers discover the pooling wetness present between your legs.
"God, you're so fucking wet, fuck…"
You let out a moan as his fingers slip inside you, lazily working them in and out of your pussy, your slick collecting on his hand and glistening in the dim lighting.
"That's it, let me hear you baby," he encourages. You let go, moaning unrestrained as you let your hips rock to his touch, grinding your clit against the heel of his hand. It feels incredible, like you never want him to stop touching you.
"Fuck," he hisses through gritted teeth. He leans over, licking your nipple with the tip of his tongue. He starts to swirl his tongue around it, eliciting a string of whimpering from you, curling his fingertips to press against your g-spot.
"Oh my god," you groan, your head falling back onto the pillow.
"So pretty, so perfect," he croons, switching to your other nipple, wetting it with his saliva and dragging his tongue in circles around the bud.
"Feels so good," you mutter breathily, your body writhing as a burning heat swells in your gut.
"Go on, cum for me baby, I wanna see."
He wraps his lips around your nipple, latching on as he sucks on it, his hand speeding its pace. You feel your release wash over you, whining as you cum on his fingers, their deep strokes sending thick pulses of pleasure through your whole body. He slows as you do, releasing his mouth from your breast and lifting his head so he can kiss you again, long and slow, so he can savor it. He slips his fingers out of you, sticking them in his mouth and lapping up your juices, moaning at the taste of you.
You've barely caught your breath when he rolls over on top of you. His tip brushes against your wet cunt; he strokes it up and down over your folds a few times before pressing into your entrance. His cock slips inside, making you gasp, slowly filling you with his whole length.
"Ready?" he asks softly. You nod eagerly, eyes begging him to fuck you. He drags his cock out of you, almost all the way, then plunges it back in, watching himself disappear inside you. The sight is tantalizing, but his eyes meet yours again, falling deep into your gaze as he fucks you with slow, measured strokes. Your arms snake around his torso, clinging to the warm skin of his back as he presses his forehead into yours, his breath becoming more labored with each accelerating thrust. Your shift your hips forward, allowing his cock to reach even deeper inside you, eliciting a string of moans from your throat.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispers, lips hovering above yours as his eyes remained locked with yours. "Never wanna leave this pussy."
"Please don't stop," you beg, voice breathy and desperate.
"I won't baby."
He fucks you with burning desire, each powerful stroke sending a delicious shockwave through your body. You cling to him tight, drawing him in even further into a passionate embrace. He groans, savoring the divine way your body squishes against his.
"You're amazing," he mutters into your mouth, frantic kisses placed upon your lips as he tries not to cum just yet — but it's an impossible feat. "Such a perfect little pussy, gonna fill you up baby. Gonna make you nice and full with my cum."
"Please," you whine.
"Keep begging for it, pretty girl," he hums, beginning to lose composure.
"I want your cum," you plead. "Want you to cum inside me and fill me up."
"God, that's so fucking hot," he growls.
"Your cock feels so good," you continue babbling, mind spinning so much you can no longer think straight. "I want you to fuck me every day for the rest of my life."
"I will, baby, I will."
His hand caresses your cheek, rubbing at the warm skin with his thumb as he stares into your watering eyes — utterly intoxicated by you.
"I'm cumming," he groans. "Ohhhh…"
With a series of grunts he releases, powerful ropes of cum shooting up into you as his cock throbs against your squeezing walls. After several bursts he slows, his cock stilling deep inside your cunt as his heavy breaths fall against your lips. He collapses, laying his weight on you as he tucks his head into the crook of your neck. You drag your fingertips up and down his back, delicately dancing across his hot skin and rippling muscles.
"Fuck," he mumbles into the mattress, making you smile. He eventually lifts his head up, kissing you again. "You're incredible."
He slowly pulls his cock out of you, rolling over to your side taking you in his arms. He rests his hand on your belly, planting gentle kisses on your cheek as he holds you.
"Tell me your name," he hums softly into your ear after a few silent minutes.
"It's y/n," you reply, falling into a deep relaxation in his embrace. "Tell me your name."
"Soonyoung," he says quietly.
You lay together, the uncomfortable silence of Level 9 forgotten as the sounds of your breathing and the thumps of your heartbeats fill the air. Eventually, you're unsure whether he's fallen asleep beside you.
"Do you ever think we'll get out of here?" you try anyway.
"No," he replies plainly.
"Why keep going then?"
He thinks for a while. "I don't know," he finally says. "I've been stuck in here so long that this is all I know anymore."
"Do you dream of going back, to your life before?"
You feel him shake his head. "Those are such distant memories at this point. Sometimes I don't even know if they are real or if it's all in my head."
You think back to before, when you questioned whether he was insane and delusional. You think you believe him, about Axiom, about the chip in your head — though, something inside you still isn't entirely convinced. But you're not even sure if any of that matters at this point.
"But it doesn't matter," he continues. "I'm here now, and I can't go back. The only way is forward."
"Does that mean you're trying to find Level 10?" you ask.
"I know where a Null Zone is," he replies.
Surprised, you turn to look at him. "Why haven't you gone yet?"
He sighs. "I lost hope after my I lost my crew. I didn't want to walk further into hell by myself. But I couldn't bring myself to end it all either — so here I am, stuck here in limbo."
You gaze at him, a soft smile appearing on your face. He stares back at you, hopeful.
"I'll go with you," you say quietly. He smiles again — another true smile. You think it suits him well.
beautiful, everyone had called you. the compliment lost its charm on you, knowing fully well it’s paid only for the surface-level appearance you kept up and nothing else you had to offer.
irritating, he had called you. you let him fuck you.
TAGS ⇝ uni!au, fratboy!jeonghan, fwb, smut, a dash of angst (oopsy!).
WARNINGS ⇝ language, fem!reader (she/her), houseparty scene (not exactly detailed), gossip, explicit sexual content (MINORS DNI!), bathroom (mirror) sex, unrequited crush (or is it?), reader has commitment issues, reader is kinda mean, mentions of p*ss and sh*t but not in a sexual manner, just for jokes.
WORD COUNT ⇝ 4.1k words.
note:
funnily enough, i had two requests specifically for house party sex with yoon jeonghan. i lost the ask for them both (accidentally deleted while my laptop glitched). i am insane. and before anyone asks, yes there'll be a part two/prequel :) and also this is somewhat connected to my upcoming cheol fic. so i hope you stay tuned!
proofread by the star of my life @cheolhub. sar fr put up with every version and my constant anxiety over every paragraph. i couldn't have done it without them. i love u so much.
@szakias was also helpful in keeping me sane as i wrote this out 🙇 i love u so bad.
loosely based on the song heaven angel by the driver era. don't think it'd go with the fic but you know :)
reblogs & comments are very much appreciated.
explicit tags under the cut.
EXPLICIT TAGS ⇝ semi-public setting (bathroom sex while there's a party), unprotected sex, dom/sub dynamics, mean dom!jeonghan, sub!reader, dumbification, teasing, petnames (angel), degradation (whore, bitch), dacryphilia, marking, briefest thigh-fucking, clit stimulation, cumming inside, squirting, light overstimulation, (a little) aftercare.
A strange rumor went around the campus. A rumor of a person whose beauty was so out of this world that it was terrifying.
Unreal. Everyone had said. You won’t be able to look her in the eyes!
But beyond that angelic beauty was a personality so sour, no one dared thought to approach her. Those that tried their luck had it beaten right out of them and they came to hate her to hide their broken hearts.
What a bitch, they had said. Does she think she’s all that?
Yoon Jeonghan, for one, thought they were being overly dramatic. It was a strange and interesting phenomenon how gossip can evolve to add in such theatrics. It was like living in one of those regency novels his sister owned which he had perused over on one particularly boring day. Had these people really had nothing better to do with their lives? Were they trying to live in a novel of their own? Jeonghan never understood them, neither cared for these kinds of things. He’d much rather form his opinions. He had better things to do than to dabble in such frivolity.
What a stuck-up, one would say. What better things could Jeonghan be doing that puts him above everyone else?
Oh, fucking the subject of the rumors of course.
“How irritating,” Jeonghan sighed, abruptly ceasing his thrusts inside you to harshly yank you back by your hair.
You yelp, a deer in the headlights, when your neck is forcibly craned back, made to look up at his looming figure. You looked pathetic from where you were pinned against the wall, exposed breasts pressed flush against the cool tiles and your mini skirt flipped upwards to reveal the swell of your bare ass flattened against his hip bone.
“I said to keep your voice down,” he tuts. “Do you want the whole house to hear you?”
“I’m s-sorry,” you stammer out, throat raw and chest heaving.
“Are you?” He mused with a raised brow, mocking and unbelieving.
You couldn’t meet his gaze, or at least you tried to. Jeonghan liked to make eye contact, he once told you, for he loved to see your sanity visibly ebb away from your eyes, leaving you a mindless, glassy-eyed whore. You had not reached that stage, not yet, not when some semblance of your being remained clear in your gaze, dilated pupils fearfully wavering back and forth between his simpering face and the bathroom door where a rather large, booming frat party laid beyond.
He cocked his head to the side and tightened his grip on your hair, forcing your eyes back on him. He leaned forward until he’s breathing your air, and all you could do is stare up at him pitifully with quivering lips. “Or…” he starts, his lips twisting cruelly. “Do you want them to hear you? Want them hear how good you’re being fucked right now?”
You remain silent, the lump on your throat bobbing as you swallow hard. But your walls tighten around him and Jeonghan couldn’t help the curve of his lips.
“You’re really weird, you know that?” Jeonghan sighed, releasing his hold on you. A lithe finger curls a lock behind your ear, the gesture jarringly affectionate from his prior cruelty, before his mouth moves to hover over it, his warm breath tickling. “You moan loudly when I tell you to shut up. You shut up when I ask you questions. Have I fucked you stupid already? Or have you always been stupid?”
You let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Is that all you know what to say?” Jeonghan laughs. “A renowned bitch, known to reject her admirers without so much of a second thought, now reduced into this pathetic bitch in heat. What would everyone else think, hm?”
His derogatory spats clamored down to your bones, making you shake with emotions that you couldn’t quite place with your hazed mind. At one point, with the last bit of pride you had left, you’re irritated, and it’s shown in the twitch of your eye and narrowed gaze. Then there’s embarrassment, shown by how your face warms and flushes. There was no denying how fucking dazed and desperate you had been, that much was true, and the demeaning tone of his voice did its job of filling you with shame. The twisted part of it all is that you enjoyed every minute of this ridicule thanks to pure, carnal desire. You couldn’t care less about what other people would say about you, what matters now is when the fuck would Jeonghan move his dick inside you.
But Jeonghan being Jeonghan, he wanted his answers. His last question was rhetoric. You knew. He knew. And yet he looks down at you with cruel expectancy masked in the sweetest, angelic smile that has fooled so many, and had once fooled you.
“I-I don’t care,” you say, deciding to be honest. “Who the fuck cares what they think?”
“Oh, but I’d like to know,” Jeonghan said. He hums for a moment, looking you over in consideration, before speaking again. “But you’re right. They don’t matter right now, do they?”
You release a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.
And Jeonghan watched, amused. He wasn’t done speaking. “But I’d at least like to know what you think.”
You blinked. “What?”
Before you could question him some more, Jeonghan pulls out of you, leaving your weeping cunt fluttering around nothing. You cry out, high and broken, from having pleasure ripped away with such cruelty. Jeonghan ignores it and his own throbbing problem as he goes to peel you off the wall with a rough tug on your arm. He has you by over the sink, has you staring at yourself through the vanity mirror. Jeonghan casts a smile at you through the reflection, his gaze weighted as he drinks in the sight of you as well.
Jeonghan had to admit, the rumors weren’t all baseless. You were stunningly beautiful, there was no denying that when anyone with functioning eyes could see it. The way you carried yourself tells him you’re well aware of it too. You held confidence with a raised chin, an allure with your own posture and stance even in this vulnerable position you were forced in, looking as disheveled as you are with tufts of your hair sticking out in every direction, framing your flushed face. Your blouse had been carefully unbuttoned despite how desperately urgent you both had been for each other the moment the bathroom door shut closed, but the rush was evident in how your bralette had been roughly tugged down enough for your perked breasts to spill over. Jeonghan had been anything but kind to your skin, having left angry red splotches blossoming all over your chest; you weren’t either on his, knowing if Jeonghan had craned his neck enough from behind you, they’d find similar markings on his throat, though considerably less in quantity.
Jeonghan also looked considerably less damning. He had not made moves to remove any of his upper clothing and so he remained presentable with his black varsity over a loose white shirt. Even his long hair had not looked loosened from where it’s tied up. But below, away from the mirror’s sight, his dark jeans had been unbuttoned and unzipped for his curved dick to spring out freely, for it now to rub over your ass teasingly.
“So?” Jeonghan asks. “What do you think of yourself?”
You glare at him through the mirror. “Fucking awful.”
“Of course you’d see it that way,” he laughs, resting his chin on your shoulder. “For me, I think this is the most beautiful you’ve ever been.”
It’s your turn to look unbelieving, but your pulse rouses.
Jeonghan grinned. “Ask me why.”
You reluctantly indulge him, “Why?”
“Because you finally look fucking awful,” Jeonghan said cheerfully. You turn to glower at him but stop when he lifts a hand to trace a line over your chest, mapping out the marks adorning you with a nimble finger. “And because I’m the reason for it.”
“A little vain, don’t you think?” You remark, albeit breathily, your face heated.
“I can be proud of my work,” he quipped, pressing his smile against your skin. He looks you over once more, taking in every detail down to the last freckle, and something deep in him thrums sweetly. “And I had a beautiful canvas to begin with.”
“How charming,” you sighed, derisive, as you threw your head back against his shoulder so you could look at him with batting lashes. “Can you fuck me now?”
“But I mean it,” Jeonghan murmured and relented, reaching around you so he could press a roughened finger over your swollen clit.
“Mean what?” You ask, but you’re barely listening, not when your focus is narrowed to the deft circles he’s making on your sweet nerves.
Jeonghan guides his length between your thighs, letting it glide languidly right under your weeping and throbbing cunt at a lazy pace. His lips are still curled, his eyes bright when he gazes down at you before he’s responding, “You’re absolutely beautiful.”
Sincerity was not something you’re used to when it came to the ever sarcastic Yoon Jeonghan, and yet here it was, bleeding into his tone in its purest form. Never in the entire three months of sleeping with him had he ever complimented the way he had just now, and if he had uttered any, it was quickly followed with ridicule or said with ridicule.
Good, he called you when you were obedient.
Cute, he called you when you were crying.
Beautiful. It was new. From him at least.
It was a temporary moment of clarity in your lust-addled head as you blink at him, making sense of what he had said, making sense of the warmth that starts to bloom throughout your chest. And temporary it remained as Jeonghan led his cockhead right back to your entrance, pushing himself in without so much of a warning, and the bare grasp you had on lucidity loosened.
You gasp out loudly, doubling over the bathroom counter as your walls tense and quiver painfully from the sudden breach, but still yield around him nonetheless. Jeonghan was quick to catch you, to force you right back up with his long fingers encircling your throat.
“Again?” Jeonghan barked out a laugh but it’s hoarse. “You really want everyone to hear you.”
“I c-can’t help it,” you whined, your head resting weakly against his shoulder, warm breath puffing over his marred skin.
Jeonghan looked unimpressed. “Well, help it.”
“Oh, fuck!” you cry out when he starts driving into you with no sense of leniency, your body thrown fully forward and voice shaking from the repeated impact that clatters your bones.
“You’re horrible at this,” he cackled. He grips at your hips this time, pulling you hard against him, balls slapping heavily against your ass. He's practically pulling and pushing your cunt onto his cock as if you weighed nothing, as if you were nothing but a cocksleeve for him to enjoy. Each decadent slide of his length in your heat draws out breathy grunts from him, his head drunk with pleasure.
You weren’t faring any better. Your head is thrown back to reveal flushed skin stained with tears that drip from closed eyes as you try desperately to hold yourself up with palms flat against the cold marble counter. There was nothing else for you to do but feel it, feel his cock stretch your pussy, its silken insides practically making way for him with each piston that has you crying out more in volume and pitch.
“Open your eyes.” His hot, staggered breath wafted over your ear. His thrusts ease its pace, slowing into something more languorous and teasing. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
You whine but your eyelids flutter open. Glassy, unfocused eyes find Jeonghan.
A devious smile splinters across his face.
There you are.
“Please,” you whimper, your hand reaching to paw at his nape.
“What is it, angel?” His tone is sweet but it rolls off his tongue sharply.
“I n-need - ”
Jeonghan laughed cruelly. “I don’t think you’re in the position to demand something from me when you can’t even listen to my one demand.”
You grab at the ends of his hair and rock your hips back into him, fucking your cunt right on his dick in a faster, but struggling, rhythm.
“Hannie,” you mewl. “You feel too good. Please, please, just fuck me. I can’t help it, I just - Please? I’ll b-be good. Just please fuck me, Hannie.”
Jeonghan doesn’t respond right away to your pleas, allowing himself to revel in the broken desperation you display with an amused smile and delighted throbs made inside your velvety walls. Perhaps Jeonghan should be used to this sight now. He’s seen you in much messier and miserable states, ruined you far worse than he had now. And yet he’s plenty invigorated than he’s ever been, pure excitement searing his veins.
What would everyone else think, hm?
Jeonghan thought it was rhetoric. Jeonghan said it didn’t matter.
It wasn’t. It did.
“I don’t think you can be good,” he began as a hand inches forward between your legs, “But if you’re going to be loud, then at least use my name. That way, everyone will know who’s fucking you so good.”
“H-Hannie!” You mewl, oh so pitchy, as your frame jerks from the brush of the roughened pads of his fingers on your clit, pleasure flickering up your abdomen so wildly that you could not easily bear through it.
“There we go,” he crooned, pride gleaming in his eyes. Jeonghan was much too familiar with your body by now, so it’s easy when his hips brings back its pace, fucking at your insides at an angle so the length of him glides over your sweet nerves with each impact.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you sob out like a mantra, spreading your legs a little wider to accommodate his brutality, your channel tightening around his throbbing girth. “Ngh, Jeonghan, right there! Oh my god - !”
The nectar that leaks out of you coated his shaft with an amazingly significant amount that makes the slides so much easier and louder, the wet noises bouncing off the four walls and meshing with your own cries of his name like he wanted. It was almost enough to drown out the muffled music of the party that seemed many worlds away now.
Jeonghan soon enough joined in this sinful chorus, letting out panted moans of his own. Some were incoherent but when it wasn’t, it was mostly your name, just in case everyone couldn’t tell who was screaming his name like a wailing prayer. How he’s managed to keep himself restrained and sane for this long was a strong feat in itself. Your everything put him in a trance, every touch of you—nails, fingers, and obviously your tight cunt, was a little too much, it was dizzying.
Even at your seemingly waning state, your hips somehow finds itself moving back against him, undulating with the same force and rhythm. You’re driven by the tightness both in your chest and in your abdomen, white flashing across your vision the more you keep up your pace, your moan becoming more muddled as your thoughts were. And when balance fails you, having you bow back down and lean all your weight on your forearm, Jeonghan inclines with you, his chest pressed right against your back and you could feel his raging heartbeat that very well matched your own.
“How are you holding up, angel?” He chuckled and pressed his face against your neck, his breathing hard and warm on your skin, as his thrusts become more shallow. “Doing okay?”
“I-I’m close,” you whimper. “Please, Hannie - ”
“I’ve got you,” he whispered back as nails dig crescents on your waist, muscles flexing as the intensity of his strokes inside you extends once again and remains at the same tempo. He doesn’t know what came over him the next moment, his senses just completely overtaken and all he could do was be at awe at all this perfect bliss you’re bringing him, and only him. “You’re mine tonight,” he breathed. “I’m going to fucking ruin you for everyone, angel, you understand that? You’re mine.”
There it was again. The clarity. The warmth. It all happened in a single moment.
You turn your head and stare up at him. Jeonghan stared right back at you. A completely indecipherable expression confronts another.
Where it had been temporary then, it intensified now. Where there had been questions, suspicions took its place.
Then came fear.
Jeonghan catches a glimpse of it in your eyes and for the very first time, his stomach sank at the sight of it.
But his facade is flawless. It comes too naturally before he’s fully aware—a sweet curl of lip, the faintest crinkle at the corners of his eyes. He’s fooled too many. He could fool you again.
Jeonghan takes advantage of your moment of daze to toy once again with your clit, and is relieved at how immediate your body reacts.
“Ngh, J-Jeonghan!” You keen high as you reach a hand to cup over to where his fingers flicks and pinches at the delicate bud, pressing down on him for added pressure to alleviate your own self. Oh, how embarrassingly easy it was for your thoughts to be completely overwritten by your own lustful desires, but as you have learned, it always prevails, doesn’t it?
Your thighs seize up from the overwhelming pleasure crawling up your spine; while your rhythm falters from it, Jeonghan’s is relentless even when his own breathing turned ragged and his body strained from the effort. It all becomes so much so fast; the feverish heat spreads under your skin, tightening up coils in your abdomen, but your frame is trembling, as if a chill settled so deeply into your bones.
“Hannie, Hannie, I’m going to -”
“I know,” Jeonghan grunts as his face falls in the juncture of your neck, lips pressed right over your pulse point. He can feel your walls start to restrict around his twitching girth, and it did little to aid his own self-control. “Let go for me, angel. C’mon. Let me hear you. Let them hear you.”
And you do. With the most shrilling wail, you come, your warm release spilling onto his cock and, much to your surprise, squirting onto themselves, their clothes, and his hand.
“Holy shit,” Jeonghan marveled under his breath. If he could burn a memory into his brain, this would be fucking it. Just you shivering and quivering around his dick. Your back prettily arched back with tits hardened and perked. The fluids spurting all over yourself and him so shamelessly and so intensely until you're convulsing back down on your front from it all.
Watching this whole brilliance of you, just reminded Jeonghan of how lucky he truly was to have you like this, to be able to make you this fucked out with crossed eyes, pupils blown wide out of proportion. Hidden concerns were washed away by this single glance, replaced with nothing but gratitude, pride, and true bliss. And with all that and a poorly thrown out warning, he’s thrown over the edge. A moan is punched out of his gut as he’s releasing inside you with one last valiant thrust, his cum white and hot as it spurts and paints your walls.
And poor you having to tolerate this continued abuse of your insides that pushes you close into the sphere of overstimulation. You’re spent, fatigue already ebbing into your consciousness, but you stay still for him, letting him use you for all your worth until the last few twitches of cock, until the last few spews of his cum is fucked back into you.
For the next few moments, only a dulled bass fills the air as two heaving bodies try to steady themselves. When the remnants of carnality wane, Jeonghan finally pulls out of you, your channel left with nothing but their shared release dripping out of you, beading down your legs. There’s a crack of a smile thrown your way through the reflection just as you feel a light tap made over your cunt. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the gesture. And to rock back into it.
“If I clean you up,” Jeonghan began, eyeing the puddle on the floor, “could you help me with the rest of your mess?”
Now you did roll your eyes. “Ever the gentleman.”
“Hey, I just thought I should ask. It’s a lot.”
Your face warmed up. “Forget it, I’ll clean myself up. You clean the floor.” You move to lift yourself up from the counter, but catch yourself as your muscles start to strain, limbs shaking.
Jeonghan raised a brow.
You winced. “Can you help me over to the toilet?”
“Need to piss it all out again?” He jests and takes a hold of your arm to gently pick you up.
You sneered. “That wasn’t piss, asshat.”
Jeonghan laughed. “I know it wasn’t. But it was hot as hell.”
“Shut the hell up.”
That only made him laugh again.
Then came a knock, a very aggressive one.
“Yoon Jeonghan, are you done fucking in there?” Said a male voice beyond the door, sounding just as irritated as his knock was.
“Ah, damn,” Jeonghan muttered quietly to himself, then raised his voice at the door, “There are other bathrooms, Cheol!”
Choi Seungcheol, you now recognized Jeonghan’s fellow frat brother, responded right away. “All occupied! Can you hurry your shit up?”
“No!” said Jeonghan, but he’s quick to guide you over next to the toilet with an arm now encircling your waist; you tell yourself this was just a helpful gesture, but there’s no helping how your skin heats up under his touch. From where you stand leaning against the wall, you watch him rush around the bathroom, first cleaning himself up and shoving his dick back in his jeans before he throws a clean towel down on the floor to soak up your mess.
“I’ll leave first,” Jeonghan explained as he sauntered back to you with soap and another fresh towel in hand, setting them down where it’s within your reach. “I’ll appease Cheol first and buy you some time to clean up.”
“Is he always so impatient?” You asked.
“Always,” he sighed, “but once I explain, he’ll understand. I don’t know why he’s fussier than usual though.”
“Maybe he needs to shit.”
“Shitting at a party? That’s disgusting of him.”
“He has no respect for the partygoers out there.”
You exchange grins with each other.
Then another round of knocking came around.
“In a minute!” Jeonghan called back, trying to sound calm but his face was scowling. He lowers his voice when he speaks to you again, “Are you sure you don’t want any help? Now I just want to make him wait.”
“Go,” you tell him and wave him off. “He sounds like he’s about to kick the door open. I’d rather not have that.”
Jeonghan huffed a laugh at that. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”
Jeonghan turned to leave. Your heart lurched from your chest.
“Jeonghan?” You call out before you could stop yourself.
He looked back. “Hm?”
“Do we…” You didn’t know what to say, how to phrase it. “Should we talk about it?”
It was miniscule, but you caught his wince. “Talk about what?”
“About what you said?”
“Angel, I said a lot of things.”
“Don’t play stupid with me. You said - ”
Another loud knock, quickly followed by Seungcheol yelling. “Jeonghan! Hurry up!”
Jeonghan let out another sigh, a mix of annoyance with a tinge of relief. “We’ll have to talk about it another time.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Jeonghan - ”
“We will talk about it,” he said firmly, his tone spoke of sincerity, but his face said otherwise. “Just not now. Not yet.”
You gave him a skeptical look.
He tried for a smile, perfectly saccharine. You saw right through it.
“Fine,” you relented.
Jeonghan gave you a grateful nod of his head and made a move to leave again. You watch again with the strangest restriction in your chest.
“Cheol, you have got to learn patience,” Jeonghan said once he cracked the door open.
“And you have got to learn to be quiet,” the disembodied voice of Seungcheol parried back. “I’m sure the people passing the hallway could hear you both.”
“Well, we were trying to get the whole house to hear us.” Jeonghan spared a quick glance your way and grinned. You wanted to punch his teeth in.
Seungcheol groaned. “Of course you fucking were.”
Jeonghan laughed and finally stepped out of the bathroom. “At least I’m getting my dick wet. You haven’t been with anyone since - Oh, I spoke too soon. Cheol, you sneaky son of a - ”
The door shut closed behind him, leaving you all alone, and you buried your face in your hands.
beautiful, everyone had called you. the compliment lost its charm on you, knowing fully well it’s paid only for the surface-level appearance you kept up and nothing else you had to offer.
irritating, he had called you. you let him fuck you.
TAGS ⇝ uni!au, fratboy!jeonghan, fwb, smut, a dash of angst (oopsy!).
WARNINGS ⇝ language, fem!reader (she/her), houseparty scene (not exactly detailed), gossip, explicit sexual content (MINORS DNI!), bathroom (mirror) sex, unrequited crush (or is it?), reader has commitment issues, reader is kinda mean, mentions of p*ss and sh*t but not in a sexual manner, just for jokes.
WORD COUNT ⇝ 4.1k words.
note:
funnily enough, i had two requests specifically for house party sex with yoon jeonghan. i lost the ask for them both (accidentally deleted while my laptop glitched). i am insane. and before anyone asks, yes there'll be a part two/prequel :) and also this is somewhat connected to my upcoming cheol fic. so i hope you stay tuned!
proofread by the star of my life @cheolhub. sar fr put up with every version and my constant anxiety over every paragraph. i couldn't have done it without them. i love u so much.
@szakias was also helpful in keeping me sane as i wrote this out 🙇 i love u so bad.
loosely based on the song heaven angel by the driver era. don't think it'd go with the fic but you know :)
reblogs & comments are very much appreciated.
explicit tags under the cut.
EXPLICIT TAGS ⇝ semi-public setting (bathroom sex while there's a party), unprotected sex, dom/sub dynamics, mean dom!jeonghan, sub!reader, dumbification, teasing, petnames (angel), degradation (whore, bitch), dacryphilia, marking, briefest thigh-fucking, clit stimulation, cumming inside, squirting, light overstimulation, (a little) aftercare.
A strange rumor went around the campus. A rumor of a person whose beauty was so out of this world that it was terrifying.
Unreal. Everyone had said. You won’t be able to look her in the eyes!
But beyond that angelic beauty was a personality so sour, no one dared thought to approach her. Those that tried their luck had it beaten right out of them and they came to hate her to hide their broken hearts.
What a bitch, they had said. Does she think she’s all that?
Yoon Jeonghan, for one, thought they were being overly dramatic. It was a strange and interesting phenomenon how gossip can evolve to add in such theatrics. It was like living in one of those regency novels his sister owned which he had perused over on one particularly boring day. Had these people really had nothing better to do with their lives? Were they trying to live in a novel of their own? Jeonghan never understood them, neither cared for these kinds of things. He’d much rather form his opinions. He had better things to do than to dabble in such frivolity.
What a stuck-up, one would say. What better things could Jeonghan be doing that puts him above everyone else?
Oh, fucking the subject of the rumors of course.
“How irritating,” Jeonghan sighed, abruptly ceasing his thrusts inside you to harshly yank you back by your hair.
You yelp, a deer in the headlights, when your neck is forcibly craned back, made to look up at his looming figure. You looked pathetic from where you were pinned against the wall, exposed breasts pressed flush against the cool tiles and your mini skirt flipped upwards to reveal the swell of your bare ass flattened against his hip bone.
“I said to keep your voice down,” he tuts. “Do you want the whole house to hear you?”
“I’m s-sorry,” you stammer out, throat raw and chest heaving.
“Are you?” He mused with a raised brow, mocking and unbelieving.
You couldn’t meet his gaze, or at least you tried to. Jeonghan liked to make eye contact, he once told you, for he loved to see your sanity visibly ebb away from your eyes, leaving you a mindless, glassy-eyed whore. You had not reached that stage, not yet, not when some semblance of your being remained clear in your gaze, dilated pupils fearfully wavering back and forth between his simpering face and the bathroom door where a rather large, booming frat party laid beyond.
He cocked his head to the side and tightened his grip on your hair, forcing your eyes back on him. He leaned forward until he’s breathing your air, and all you could do is stare up at him pitifully with quivering lips. “Or…” he starts, his lips twisting cruelly. “Do you want them to hear you? Want them hear how good you’re being fucked right now?”
You remain silent, the lump on your throat bobbing as you swallow hard. But your walls tighten around him and Jeonghan couldn’t help the curve of his lips.
“You’re really weird, you know that?” Jeonghan sighed, releasing his hold on you. A lithe finger curls a lock behind your ear, the gesture jarringly affectionate from his prior cruelty, before his mouth moves to hover over it, his warm breath tickling. “You moan loudly when I tell you to shut up. You shut up when I ask you questions. Have I fucked you stupid already? Or have you always been stupid?”
You let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Is that all you know what to say?” Jeonghan laughs. “A renowned bitch, known to reject her admirers without so much of a second thought, now reduced into this pathetic bitch in heat. What would everyone else think, hm?”
His derogatory spats clamored down to your bones, making you shake with emotions that you couldn’t quite place with your hazed mind. At one point, with the last bit of pride you had left, you’re irritated, and it’s shown in the twitch of your eye and narrowed gaze. Then there’s embarrassment, shown by how your face warms and flushes. There was no denying how fucking dazed and desperate you had been, that much was true, and the demeaning tone of his voice did its job of filling you with shame. The twisted part of it all is that you enjoyed every minute of this ridicule thanks to pure, carnal desire. You couldn’t care less about what other people would say about you, what matters now is when the fuck would Jeonghan move his dick inside you.
But Jeonghan being Jeonghan, he wanted his answers. His last question was rhetoric. You knew. He knew. And yet he looks down at you with cruel expectancy masked in the sweetest, angelic smile that has fooled so many, and had once fooled you.
“I-I don’t care,” you say, deciding to be honest. “Who the fuck cares what they think?”
“Oh, but I’d like to know,” Jeonghan said. He hums for a moment, looking you over in consideration, before speaking again. “But you’re right. They don’t matter right now, do they?”
You release a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.
And Jeonghan watched, amused. He wasn’t done speaking. “But I’d at least like to know what you think.”
You blinked. “What?”
Before you could question him some more, Jeonghan pulls out of you, leaving your weeping cunt fluttering around nothing. You cry out, high and broken, from having pleasure ripped away with such cruelty. Jeonghan ignores it and his own throbbing problem as he goes to peel you off the wall with a rough tug on your arm. He has you by over the sink, has you staring at yourself through the vanity mirror. Jeonghan casts a smile at you through the reflection, his gaze weighted as he drinks in the sight of you as well.
Jeonghan had to admit, the rumors weren’t all baseless. You were stunningly beautiful, there was no denying that when anyone with functioning eyes could see it. The way you carried yourself tells him you’re well aware of it too. You held confidence with a raised chin, an allure with your own posture and stance even in this vulnerable position you were forced in, looking as disheveled as you are with tufts of your hair sticking out in every direction, framing your flushed face. Your blouse had been carefully unbuttoned despite how desperately urgent you both had been for each other the moment the bathroom door shut closed, but the rush was evident in how your bralette had been roughly tugged down enough for your perked breasts to spill over. Jeonghan had been anything but kind to your skin, having left angry red splotches blossoming all over your chest; you weren’t either on his, knowing if Jeonghan had craned his neck enough from behind you, they’d find similar markings on his throat, though considerably less in quantity.
Jeonghan also looked considerably less damning. He had not made moves to remove any of his upper clothing and so he remained presentable with his black varsity over a loose white shirt. Even his long hair had not looked loosened from where it’s tied up. But below, away from the mirror’s sight, his dark jeans had been unbuttoned and unzipped for his curved dick to spring out freely, for it now to rub over your ass teasingly.
“So?” Jeonghan asks. “What do you think of yourself?”
You glare at him through the mirror. “Fucking awful.”
“Of course you’d see it that way,” he laughs, resting his chin on your shoulder. “For me, I think this is the most beautiful you’ve ever been.”
It’s your turn to look unbelieving, but your pulse rouses.
Jeonghan grinned. “Ask me why.”
You reluctantly indulge him, “Why?”
“Because you finally look fucking awful,” Jeonghan said cheerfully. You turn to glower at him but stop when he lifts a hand to trace a line over your chest, mapping out the marks adorning you with a nimble finger. “And because I’m the reason for it.”
“A little vain, don’t you think?” You remark, albeit breathily, your face heated.
“I can be proud of my work,” he quipped, pressing his smile against your skin. He looks you over once more, taking in every detail down to the last freckle, and something deep in him thrums sweetly. “And I had a beautiful canvas to begin with.”
“How charming,” you sighed, derisive, as you threw your head back against his shoulder so you could look at him with batting lashes. “Can you fuck me now?”
“But I mean it,” Jeonghan murmured and relented, reaching around you so he could press a roughened finger over your swollen clit.
“Mean what?” You ask, but you’re barely listening, not when your focus is narrowed to the deft circles he’s making on your sweet nerves.
Jeonghan guides his length between your thighs, letting it glide languidly right under your weeping and throbbing cunt at a lazy pace. His lips are still curled, his eyes bright when he gazes down at you before he’s responding, “You’re absolutely beautiful.”
Sincerity was not something you’re used to when it came to the ever sarcastic Yoon Jeonghan, and yet here it was, bleeding into his tone in its purest form. Never in the entire three months of sleeping with him had he ever complimented the way he had just now, and if he had uttered any, it was quickly followed with ridicule or said with ridicule.
Good, he called you when you were obedient.
Cute, he called you when you were crying.
Beautiful. It was new. From him at least.
It was a temporary moment of clarity in your lust-addled head as you blink at him, making sense of what he had said, making sense of the warmth that starts to bloom throughout your chest. And temporary it remained as Jeonghan led his cockhead right back to your entrance, pushing himself in without so much of a warning, and the bare grasp you had on lucidity loosened.
You gasp out loudly, doubling over the bathroom counter as your walls tense and quiver painfully from the sudden breach, but still yield around him nonetheless. Jeonghan was quick to catch you, to force you right back up with his long fingers encircling your throat.
“Again?” Jeonghan barked out a laugh but it’s hoarse. “You really want everyone to hear you.”
“I c-can’t help it,” you whined, your head resting weakly against his shoulder, warm breath puffing over his marred skin.
Jeonghan looked unimpressed. “Well, help it.”
“Oh, fuck!” you cry out when he starts driving into you with no sense of leniency, your body thrown fully forward and voice shaking from the repeated impact that clatters your bones.
“You’re horrible at this,” he cackled. He grips at your hips this time, pulling you hard against him, balls slapping heavily against your ass. He's practically pulling and pushing your cunt onto his cock as if you weighed nothing, as if you were nothing but a cocksleeve for him to enjoy. Each decadent slide of his length in your heat draws out breathy grunts from him, his head drunk with pleasure.
You weren’t faring any better. Your head is thrown back to reveal flushed skin stained with tears that drip from closed eyes as you try desperately to hold yourself up with palms flat against the cold marble counter. There was nothing else for you to do but feel it, feel his cock stretch your pussy, its silken insides practically making way for him with each piston that has you crying out more in volume and pitch.
“Open your eyes.” His hot, staggered breath wafted over your ear. His thrusts ease its pace, slowing into something more languorous and teasing. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
You whine but your eyelids flutter open. Glassy, unfocused eyes find Jeonghan.
A devious smile splinters across his face.
There you are.
“Please,” you whimper, your hand reaching to paw at his nape.
“What is it, angel?” His tone is sweet but it rolls off his tongue sharply.
“I n-need - ”
Jeonghan laughed cruelly. “I don’t think you’re in the position to demand something from me when you can’t even listen to my one demand.”
You grab at the ends of his hair and rock your hips back into him, fucking your cunt right on his dick in a faster, but struggling, rhythm.
“Hannie,” you mewl. “You feel too good. Please, please, just fuck me. I can’t help it, I just - Please? I’ll b-be good. Just please fuck me, Hannie.”
Jeonghan doesn’t respond right away to your pleas, allowing himself to revel in the broken desperation you display with an amused smile and delighted throbs made inside your velvety walls. Perhaps Jeonghan should be used to this sight now. He’s seen you in much messier and miserable states, ruined you far worse than he had now. And yet he’s plenty invigorated than he’s ever been, pure excitement searing his veins.
What would everyone else think, hm?
Jeonghan thought it was rhetoric. Jeonghan said it didn’t matter.
It wasn’t. It did.
“I don’t think you can be good,” he began as a hand inches forward between your legs, “But if you’re going to be loud, then at least use my name. That way, everyone will know who’s fucking you so good.”
“H-Hannie!” You mewl, oh so pitchy, as your frame jerks from the brush of the roughened pads of his fingers on your clit, pleasure flickering up your abdomen so wildly that you could not easily bear through it.
“There we go,” he crooned, pride gleaming in his eyes. Jeonghan was much too familiar with your body by now, so it’s easy when his hips brings back its pace, fucking at your insides at an angle so the length of him glides over your sweet nerves with each impact.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you sob out like a mantra, spreading your legs a little wider to accommodate his brutality, your channel tightening around his throbbing girth. “Ngh, Jeonghan, right there! Oh my god - !”
The nectar that leaks out of you coated his shaft with an amazingly significant amount that makes the slides so much easier and louder, the wet noises bouncing off the four walls and meshing with your own cries of his name like he wanted. It was almost enough to drown out the muffled music of the party that seemed many worlds away now.
Jeonghan soon enough joined in this sinful chorus, letting out panted moans of his own. Some were incoherent but when it wasn’t, it was mostly your name, just in case everyone couldn’t tell who was screaming his name like a wailing prayer. How he’s managed to keep himself restrained and sane for this long was a strong feat in itself. Your everything put him in a trance, every touch of you—nails, fingers, and obviously your tight cunt, was a little too much, it was dizzying.
Even at your seemingly waning state, your hips somehow finds itself moving back against him, undulating with the same force and rhythm. You’re driven by the tightness both in your chest and in your abdomen, white flashing across your vision the more you keep up your pace, your moan becoming more muddled as your thoughts were. And when balance fails you, having you bow back down and lean all your weight on your forearm, Jeonghan inclines with you, his chest pressed right against your back and you could feel his raging heartbeat that very well matched your own.
“How are you holding up, angel?” He chuckled and pressed his face against your neck, his breathing hard and warm on your skin, as his thrusts become more shallow. “Doing okay?”
“I-I’m close,” you whimper. “Please, Hannie - ”
“I’ve got you,” he whispered back as nails dig crescents on your waist, muscles flexing as the intensity of his strokes inside you extends once again and remains at the same tempo. He doesn’t know what came over him the next moment, his senses just completely overtaken and all he could do was be at awe at all this perfect bliss you’re bringing him, and only him. “You’re mine tonight,” he breathed. “I’m going to fucking ruin you for everyone, angel, you understand that? You’re mine.”
There it was again. The clarity. The warmth. It all happened in a single moment.
You turn your head and stare up at him. Jeonghan stared right back at you. A completely indecipherable expression confronts another.
Where it had been temporary then, it intensified now. Where there had been questions, suspicions took its place.
Then came fear.
Jeonghan catches a glimpse of it in your eyes and for the very first time, his stomach sank at the sight of it.
But his facade is flawless. It comes too naturally before he’s fully aware—a sweet curl of lip, the faintest crinkle at the corners of his eyes. He’s fooled too many. He could fool you again.
Jeonghan takes advantage of your moment of daze to toy once again with your clit, and is relieved at how immediate your body reacts.
“Ngh, J-Jeonghan!” You keen high as you reach a hand to cup over to where his fingers flicks and pinches at the delicate bud, pressing down on him for added pressure to alleviate your own self. Oh, how embarrassingly easy it was for your thoughts to be completely overwritten by your own lustful desires, but as you have learned, it always prevails, doesn’t it?
Your thighs seize up from the overwhelming pleasure crawling up your spine; while your rhythm falters from it, Jeonghan’s is relentless even when his own breathing turned ragged and his body strained from the effort. It all becomes so much so fast; the feverish heat spreads under your skin, tightening up coils in your abdomen, but your frame is trembling, as if a chill settled so deeply into your bones.
“Hannie, Hannie, I’m going to -”
“I know,” Jeonghan grunts as his face falls in the juncture of your neck, lips pressed right over your pulse point. He can feel your walls start to restrict around his twitching girth, and it did little to aid his own self-control. “Let go for me, angel. C’mon. Let me hear you. Let them hear you.”
And you do. With the most shrilling wail, you come, your warm release spilling onto his cock and, much to your surprise, squirting onto themselves, their clothes, and his hand.
“Holy shit,” Jeonghan marveled under his breath. If he could burn a memory into his brain, this would be fucking it. Just you shivering and quivering around his dick. Your back prettily arched back with tits hardened and perked. The fluids spurting all over yourself and him so shamelessly and so intensely until you're convulsing back down on your front from it all.
Watching this whole brilliance of you, just reminded Jeonghan of how lucky he truly was to have you like this, to be able to make you this fucked out with crossed eyes, pupils blown wide out of proportion. Hidden concerns were washed away by this single glance, replaced with nothing but gratitude, pride, and true bliss. And with all that and a poorly thrown out warning, he’s thrown over the edge. A moan is punched out of his gut as he’s releasing inside you with one last valiant thrust, his cum white and hot as it spurts and paints your walls.
And poor you having to tolerate this continued abuse of your insides that pushes you close into the sphere of overstimulation. You’re spent, fatigue already ebbing into your consciousness, but you stay still for him, letting him use you for all your worth until the last few twitches of cock, until the last few spews of his cum is fucked back into you.
For the next few moments, only a dulled bass fills the air as two heaving bodies try to steady themselves. When the remnants of carnality wane, Jeonghan finally pulls out of you, your channel left with nothing but their shared release dripping out of you, beading down your legs. There’s a crack of a smile thrown your way through the reflection just as you feel a light tap made over your cunt. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the gesture. And to rock back into it.
“If I clean you up,” Jeonghan began, eyeing the puddle on the floor, “could you help me with the rest of your mess?”
Now you did roll your eyes. “Ever the gentleman.”
“Hey, I just thought I should ask. It’s a lot.”
Your face warmed up. “Forget it, I’ll clean myself up. You clean the floor.” You move to lift yourself up from the counter, but catch yourself as your muscles start to strain, limbs shaking.
Jeonghan raised a brow.
You winced. “Can you help me over to the toilet?”
“Need to piss it all out again?” He jests and takes a hold of your arm to gently pick you up.
You sneered. “That wasn’t piss, asshat.”
Jeonghan laughed. “I know it wasn’t. But it was hot as hell.”
“Shut the hell up.”
That only made him laugh again.
Then came a knock, a very aggressive one.
“Yoon Jeonghan, are you done fucking in there?” Said a male voice beyond the door, sounding just as irritated as his knock was.
“Ah, damn,” Jeonghan muttered quietly to himself, then raised his voice at the door, “There are other bathrooms, Cheol!”
Choi Seungcheol, you now recognized Jeonghan’s fellow frat brother, responded right away. “All occupied! Can you hurry your shit up?”
“No!” said Jeonghan, but he’s quick to guide you over next to the toilet with an arm now encircling your waist; you tell yourself this was just a helpful gesture, but there’s no helping how your skin heats up under his touch. From where you stand leaning against the wall, you watch him rush around the bathroom, first cleaning himself up and shoving his dick back in his jeans before he throws a clean towel down on the floor to soak up your mess.
“I’ll leave first,” Jeonghan explained as he sauntered back to you with soap and another fresh towel in hand, setting them down where it’s within your reach. “I’ll appease Cheol first and buy you some time to clean up.”
“Is he always so impatient?” You asked.
“Always,” he sighed, “but once I explain, he’ll understand. I don’t know why he’s fussier than usual though.”
“Maybe he needs to shit.”
“Shitting at a party? That’s disgusting of him.”
“He has no respect for the partygoers out there.”
You exchange grins with each other.
Then another round of knocking came around.
“In a minute!” Jeonghan called back, trying to sound calm but his face was scowling. He lowers his voice when he speaks to you again, “Are you sure you don’t want any help? Now I just want to make him wait.”
“Go,” you tell him and wave him off. “He sounds like he’s about to kick the door open. I’d rather not have that.”
Jeonghan huffed a laugh at that. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”
Jeonghan turned to leave. Your heart lurched from your chest.
“Jeonghan?” You call out before you could stop yourself.
He looked back. “Hm?”
“Do we…” You didn’t know what to say, how to phrase it. “Should we talk about it?”
It was miniscule, but you caught his wince. “Talk about what?”
“About what you said?”
“Angel, I said a lot of things.”
“Don’t play stupid with me. You said - ”
Another loud knock, quickly followed by Seungcheol yelling. “Jeonghan! Hurry up!”
Jeonghan let out another sigh, a mix of annoyance with a tinge of relief. “We’ll have to talk about it another time.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Jeonghan - ”
“We will talk about it,” he said firmly, his tone spoke of sincerity, but his face said otherwise. “Just not now. Not yet.”
You gave him a skeptical look.
He tried for a smile, perfectly saccharine. You saw right through it.
“Fine,” you relented.
Jeonghan gave you a grateful nod of his head and made a move to leave again. You watch again with the strangest restriction in your chest.
“Cheol, you have got to learn patience,” Jeonghan said once he cracked the door open.
“And you have got to learn to be quiet,” the disembodied voice of Seungcheol parried back. “I’m sure the people passing the hallway could hear you both.”
“Well, we were trying to get the whole house to hear us.” Jeonghan spared a quick glance your way and grinned. You wanted to punch his teeth in.
Seungcheol groaned. “Of course you fucking were.”
Jeonghan laughed and finally stepped out of the bathroom. “At least I’m getting my dick wet. You haven’t been with anyone since - Oh, I spoke too soon. Cheol, you sneaky son of a - ”
The door shut closed behind him, leaving you all alone, and you buried your face in your hands.
COACH CHEOL AU?? he’s your personal trainer and like… the slow burn tension is insane. “adjusting your form” from behind??? catching you staring in the mirror??? help.
form check | choi seungcheol
ⓘ content info ⸺ paring. personal trainer!seungcheol x f!reader. genre | tags. one-shot, strangers to lovers, smut. rating. explicit adult content (MINORS DNI). warnings. porn with absolutely no plot, this is really, really filthy, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, squirting, pussy slapping, dirty talk, pet names, unprotected penetrative sex (please don’t), overstimulation, pussy drunk!seungcheol, light dom!seungcheol, manhandling, semi-public sex. word count. 5.3k+. requested: yes/no.
ʚ A/N: One of the many examples of HORNY JAIL from the cherryweek requests. I loved writing this actually, so thank you for this request! Also, I edited this as best as I could, but my eyes are fried at this point 😵 so if you spot any mistakes, just know it’s because I literally can't look at it again without going crazy lol.
You don’t notice him the first day you join the gym. Not really.
You’re too busy being annoyed with your own personal trainer, too focused on trying not to slip on sweat-slick floors and adjusting to this place that smells like protein powder, testosterone and overconfident men.
But he notices you.
It starts on a random Tuesday while you’re doing squats. You were focused, trying to keep your back straight, shoulders tight, knees not caving in, stealing a quick glance at the mirror to check your form every five seconds.
That’s when you see him. He’s not even facing you directly, just wiping his face with a towel, back broad and shirt clinging to his buffed chest in all the right aways.
The moment he catches your eyes in the mirror reflection you freeze mid-rep. Your legs nearly give out at the intensity of his gaze, and he smirks. Just a little, just enough, walking off like he hadn’t nearly made you collapse in front of the entire gym.
Over the next few days, it happens again. And again. Until eventually, it becomes a thing, something part of your daily workout routine.
You catch him watching you through the mirror as you bench, or stretch, or rest with your water bottle pressed to your lips. Sometimes he’s training someone else. Sometimes he’s lifting on his own, earbuds in, but somehow his gaze always finds its way back to you.
You keep telling yourself it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just in your head, even if, deep down, your subconscious is begging the universe that this Greek god of a man wants the same thing you do, with every lingering glance exchanged across the room.
Then he finally speaks to you.
“Your RDLs are solid,” he says after walking past you one morning. “Not many people get the hinge right like that. You’re a strong girl.”
You froze with the barbell still in your grip. “Thanks?”
He’s already walking away again with that damn smirk on his face, and it’s so stupid how the compliment sticks in your head the rest of the day.
Two days later, your current trainer gets fired. Something about client complaints, mismanaged programs. You left standing at the front desk with your membership in limbo.
You do some exercises alone for a few days, until the receptionist stops you one morning and points behind you before announcing, “We’re assigning you to Seungcheol. He’s one of our best.”
You turn, already knowing who it is, thanks to some light stalking after you found his Instagram through the gym’s tagged photos.
And sure enough, he’s there: towel slung around his neck, arms crossed, looking every bit like a man who knows you’ve been watching him too.
“Hey,” he says, casually. “Looks like you’re mine now.”
At first it’s fine. It’s all professional.
Seungcheol even builds you a better routine, talks about macros, modifies your warmups, pushes your reps, and you genuinely feel like you’re improving your skills.
But the tension is immediate. Every time he touches your back to correct your form, your skin burns. Every time he praises your endurance, your stomach does backflips. And when he stands behind you during split squats and murmurs instructions, your knees nearly buckle.
“Chest up,” he says one day, a hand lightly pressing between your shoulder blades.
You swallow, doing what he instructed. “Like this?”
He hums, his breath warm against the back of your neck, making the tiny hairs there stand on end.
“Almost.” His other hand finds your waist and you gasp lowly, surprised. “Tighten your core. Breathe with the movement. You’ll feel it more.”
His eyes stay locked on yours in the mirror, unwavering, meticulous.
Just then you realize there’s barely any space left between his chest and your back. For a second, you tear your gaze away from his, only to track his hand on your shoulder blades sliding it down, slow and deliberate, until it settles on your waist, both hands claiming the place as he gently guides your hips, fitting your body flush against his.
The sound that escapes your lips is undeniably a whimper, oxygen almost leaving your body.
“Go on,” his voice drops a note, no longer instructing, but commanding.
You do, feeling the exercise way more than just in your legs.
“Good girl,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. Your breath catches.
Then he steps away, leaving the space between you suddenly too empty.
You wiping sweat from your brow, still catching your breath from the lat pulldown machine exercises when Seungcheol leans on the edge of the bench, arms crossed over his chest. His compressed shirt clings to his body, making the full curve of his shoulders, chest and arms very evident.
“You ever tried Brazilian jiu-jitsu?” he asks casually, brows lifted in a way that always makes you wonder things.
“Uh… yeah. Why?”
He smiles, just a little crooked. “We’ve got a small mats room upstairs. I run private sessions when I’ve got time. Thought you might be into it.”
You narrow your eyes. “What, like… now?”
He shrugs. “Unless you’re scared of a little close contact with the instructor.”
Your pulse jumps. Not from the clear challenge tone of his voice and the implied suggestion. But from the way his gaze lingers on you when he says close contact.
“I’m not scared,” you respond almost immediately, standing up.
“Good,” he replies, grinning like a devil. “Let's go then.”
You don’t know what you expected. Maybe a few awkward rolls, maybe him showing you how to trip someone or how to self-defense. But what actually happens is far worse… well, at least for the good of your sanity, decency and good composure.
Because yes, the class is entirely private: literally just the two of you.
Alone. In a closed room with mirrors and big smoke windows overlooking the city.
Seungcheol walks you through the basics slowly. He teaches you grips, base, and how to break a fall. He’s very patient, thorough, and dangerously good at pretending this is a normal thing, like every bush of his fingers on your wrists and hips isn’t heating your skin. Or maybe it is just you and your overactive imagination and your stupid, traitorous horniness, even though you hope it isn't.
You’re barefoot on the mat, eyeing Seungcheol with suspicion as he adjusts the sleeves of his rash guard.
“You sure about this?” You’re the one who asks him, not feeling sure about it yourself.
He raises a brow, half-smirk in place. “You said you weren't scared.”
“I said I wasn’t scared of close contact,” you clarify, rolling your shoulders. “Didn’t say I wanted you throwing me around.”
It felt like you were walking on eggshells because everything that came out of both of your mouths was even the slightest bit suggestive. And honestly, you wouldn't mind at all if he decided to start throwing you around as long as he pinned you down right after.
You hear Seungcheol chuckle.
“We’ll go light. Just flow. Feel the movement. I’ll show you the pace.”
You just nod, mimicking his stance. “So what, I’m just supposed to attack you?”
“If you can,” he teases. “Come and get me.”
And you do.
The first few minutes are awkward, of course, you’re figuring out grips, the balance between force and control. But you surprise him when you lunge and catch him off guard, nearly managing a take down.
Seungcheol laughs in shock. “Oh shit—!”
You grin, pushing his buttons harder. He deflects and circles, but you’re quicker than he expected. Your hand catches his wrist, you shift your weight, hook his leg and then he’s flat on his back.
You land above him, both of you panting.
The room falls completely quiet. You watch as sweat runs down his forehead, hair wet, and chest rising beneath your fingers, hands frozen mid-air like he doesn’t know if he should push you off or pull you down, but that he clearly wanted to put them somewhere in your body.
“Not bad,” he observes, voice a little rough. “You’ve got instincts.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.” His eyes flick down. “Also… you’re kind of sitting on me right now, so…”
You freeze and your eyes widen as you slowly start to realize the position you’ve landed in: straddling him, hands spread out on his chest, hair falling into your face. His thighs are flexed beneath you, and you can feel him, warm, solid, clearly not unaffected.
Out of shock, you shift your hips without really meaning to and his hands are on you instantly. Firm, commanding, fingers digging into the sides of your hips halting your movement.
“Don’t do that,” he practically begs, closing his eyes shut. “That wasn’t part of the lesson.”
“Neither were you losing."
His hand slides up to your waist, slow and steady like he’s tracing a path as his eyes flutter open again, dark and full of something you can’t quite name yet.
“Well, I didn’t lose.”
“Sure looked like it to me.”
Your eyes lock again, and it feels like the air shifts. The playfulness suddenly fades into something heavier and the world narrows down to just the two of you, to the heat of his hands on your skin. It’s like the weight of weeks of stolen glances, small touches disguised as training instructions, has finally caught up to the both of you.
And then Seungcheol moves.
One swift motion and he rolls you both over, pinning you beneath him. His hands trap yours against the mat, broad chest pressing into you.
“You’re good,” he says, and you’re surprised at how deep his voice can get. His lips are now mere inches from yours, completely blurring the professional line. “But I’ve got better ground control.”
Your heart slams against your ribs as you whisper, “That so?”
“Mmmhm,” he hums, eyes slowly dragging down to your lips before flicking back up. “Think I’ve got you right where I want you.”
“And where’s that?”
Seungcheol’s grip on your wrists tightens just slightly, enough to make your breath hitch, enough to make it clear he’s not just talking about your position on the mat.
His nose brushes yours. His voice drops even more. “Under me.”
You don’t make a move to change positions. You just stay there, allowing yourself to be manhandled by him, feeling your core tighten at the feeling of his hands circling your wrists and the way he lowers over you.
“Comfortable?”
“Not the word I’d use.”
You're anything but comfortable. In fact, you’re practically squirming beneath him, hot and bothered in the best kind of way. Every inch of your skin feels too tight, too aware of how close he is without actually touching you in the way you want it so bad. All you can think about is how much you wish he would just close the damn distance already and kiss you.
“You’re supposed to push against me here,” he says, guiding your hands to his biceps, putting a small distance between you. “Use the momentum. Hips up.”
Your palms press against the hard muscle of his biceps, but it’s the warmth beneath your fingers that really gets to you. You try to focus, to remember what he’s teaching you, but your brain short-circuits the moment his hands settle low on your hips again.
“Hips up,” he repeats, more like a dare than a command.
You try, of course, but the second you arch into him, you both move the wrong way and crash sideways into the mat. You land tangled together, his forearm catching your head, his body half over yours, his thigh is pressed between your legs, and of course, your faces are inches apart again.
But this time, neither of you move. The tension shifts, no longer playful, no longer part of the drill. His breathing is shallow and uneven, his chest brushing yours with every inhale. His hand, still resting on your waist, isn’t guiding or correcting anymore, it’s very much holding.
You shift beneath him, feeling the way his body reacts, the way his muscles tense, the way his hips barely move into yours. Instead, the only movement he makes is the gaze flickering to your mouth again, lingering there this time.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, voice rough, almost pained.
You shake your head, biting your lip.
“I should get off you.”
You know he’s talking about the position you're in. But the way he says it, the implication makes your breath hitch, heat curling in your stomach. “Then why aren’t you?”
A beat. And then his mouth finally finds yours.
It’s not even slightly gentle. It’s hot, messy, full of heat and weeks’ worth of tension snapping all at once. His lips crush into yours like he’s been starved for it, like he’s been thinking about this moment since the second you stepped into this gym months ago.
You moan softly into his mouth, and he takes advantage, tongue sliding past your lips, greedy and relentless. His hand slides up your thigh, gripping firmly and dragging it higher around his waist. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, hands flying to his hair to feel and pull the soft, sweat-soaked strands between your fingers.
You arch into him instinctively, chasing friction, and finding it at his hardening cock. There’s no hesitation between you now, just heat and urgency, lips parting, tongues tangling, centers rubbing rhythmically through clothes, months of stolen looks and touches crashing all at once.
It’s very very messy. Breathless. Addictive. And neither of you want it to stop.
The mat digs into your shoulder blades, but you don’t care. Not when Seungcheol is hovering over you so deliciously.
His lips are soft but hungry, tongue sliding against yours with an ease that sends a wave of heat crashing straight through your core. Your hands travel to his back, gripping his shirt, fingers curling in the fabric like it might hold you together. But it’s no use—not when you’ve been unraveling for weeks.
Seungcheol’s hands skims under your top, palm dragging up your stomach until he finds your sports bra. He groans against your mouth when he feels how fast your heart’s racing.
“Some much for not being scared of close contact, huh?”
“Shut up.”
But he doesn’t.
“You know how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this?” His lips brush the shell of your ear. “How fucking hard it was not to watch you too much when you’re bent over in front of me? Lifting, stretching…”
You whimper, arching more into him. “Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I’m supposed to be a professional, sweetheart,” he growls, hand dipping slowly down your stomach. “But fuck that now.”
His mouth starts to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses from your lips down your jaw, to your neck, along the swell of your breasts, and over the bare skin of your stomach, each one slower, more deliberate, until he’s maddeningly close to where you need him most, licking sweat from your skin like it’s something to savor.
“You taste so fucking good,” he hisses. “Bet your pussy tastes even better.”
You don’t have time to answer before Seungcheol settles between your legs like he belongs there, making you let out a loud moan. His lips press softly and tempting inside of your knee while his hands are firm on your thighs, thumbs drawing slow, possessive circles against your skin, parting your legs just enough to drive you insane.
Then he looks up at you, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, that wicked smirk curving his lips like he already knows exactly what he’s about to do to you.
“Fuck, I can already smell you.” he murmurs, fingers grazing the sensitive strip of skin just above your waistband. “So pretty.”
The touch is fleeting before he yanks your legging down in one impatient pull. His gaze catches the damp patch darkening the center of your lacy pink panties.
“You’ve been ready for me this whole time, haven’t you?” His thumb ghosts over the wet spot, pressing just enough to make you moan again. You nod helplessly to his question. “Walking around like you’re so sweet and innocent… while letting me fucking suffer.”
Your legs fall open wider as he strokes slow, teasing circles over your clothed pussy, fingers getting cover in your juices through the fabric. You whine and squirm, bucking your hips up to chase his touch.
“Please, Seungcheol.”
He hums, lips brushing the exposed skin of your thigh. He’s so close. “Please what, baby?”
“Do something!” you gasp, frustration spilling into your voice.
“And what would that be?” he asks, low and teasing. “Hmm?”
“Anything.”
“No. Look at me.” Seungcheol’s tone shifts, still gentle but firm. He reaches up to grab your chin with two fingers, bringing your gaze back to his. “You can tell me what you want, pretty girl.”
“I—” you breathe in, steadying yourself with the way he holds your face, grounding you into him and making you feel comfortable, loose. His other hand is slow and deliberate, caressing the inside of your thigh getting closer and closer. “Want your lips. Your fingers. Please.”
Seungcheol’s smile is soft, but you can see that there’s fire behind it. “That’s a fucking good girl.”
His grip lingers at your chin a moment longer before sliding down, fingers brushing over your throat in a fleeting touch that makes you shiver. Then he’s gone, hand dragging slowly down your body until it rests heavy on your hip, keeping you open for him.
“You’ll get my lips,” he promises, lowering himself until his breath fans hot across your folds, “and my fingers, if you can keep asking for them like that. So nicely.”
A soft moan slips out before you can bite it back when Seungcheol’s fingers brush the waistband of your panties. His eyes flicks up, searching for even the faintest hesitation, but you only lift your hips more in response. Leaning on your elbows, you watch as he slowly drags the fabric down your legs, gaze fixed on your slick center like it was the most perfect thing he has ever seen, before tossing the panties carelessly across the room.
You catch Seungcheol’s gaze for a second, eyes locked on you. His jaw parts, and his tongue drag in one slow bold stripe from your entrance to your clit, and your head falls back with a loud gasp.
“Oh my God—”
“Mhm. Gonna take care of you, princess.”
Seungcheol’s tongue is slow at first, savoring you like he’s got all the time in the world. He flattens his tongue and eats you out like he’s starved for it, alternating between deep licks and tight flicks over your clit that make your legs shake furiously. You try to close them around his head, but his grip is iron. He keeps you wide open, helpless under his mouth.
He groans when your hips buck instinctively. “You taste so fucking sweet, baby.”
His mouth becomes hungrier, tongue plunging into your entrance before sliding back to your clit with unrelenting pressure. With the hand that is not holding your thigh, Seungcheol roams upward until it cups your breast through your top, the dual sensation pulling a gasp from you and forcing you to sink back against the mat.
“Show them to me, baby.” He pulls his mouth from you just long enough to speak, his index finger catching and pinching your hardened nipple through the thin fabric. “I want to see them.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. Tugging your shirt over your head and peeling off your sports bra right after, you bare your breasts for him. His low grunt vibrates against your pussy, and you press them together deliberately, biting your lip in a playful tease.
Almost like he wants to punish you—in a very good way—for doing that, Seungcheol does something wickedly good: fucks two fingers into you all at once while sucking hard on your clit.
Your whole body jerks.
“Cheol—!” you choke out, hand flying to his hair.
Seungcheol doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow down, doesn’t even come up for air. His fingers curl, fucking up into you faster, harder, while his tongue slide in wet circles. Your grip tightens in his hair, grounding yourself in the burn of his strands between your fingers while he takes a harsh suck on your clit again.
The starving sounds he makes shoots straight through you, and the way it reverberates against your most sensitive spot has your thighs trembling around his head. For a minute you forget everything—air, words, the fucking world. Everything that’s left is your hot personal trainer and the desperate pulse of pleasure he’s building inside you.
You come hard not so long after, thighs clamping around his shoulders, eyes rolling back and body shaking furiously as your orgasm pouches through you.
Still, Seungcheol doesn’t stop. He collects your juices with his tongue at your entrance, before returning to your swollen clit. His fingers keep working inside you, unrelenting, curling as if he’s memorizing every spot that makes you break.
The combination leaves you breathless, thighs closing around his head, but Seungcheol only growls against you, refusing to let up. “T-too much,” you whimper, squirming.
“I know, baby,” he pants, mouth glistening. “But you’re gonna give me another one.”
He pulls you impossibly closer to his face, locking you place, and goes back in.
This time is more sloppy, soaked, loud, completely unrestrained. He spits between your folds, dragging it through with his tongue, while his fingers never pause, plunging deep to hit your g-spot again and again.
The overstimulation crashes over you so hard your vision swims, heat and pleasure blurring every thought. “Fuckfuckfuck—” Your whole body’s trembling. “Cheol—!”
You feel it snap before you realize what’s happening.
Pleasure tears through you like lightning, violent and hot, and then it gushes out of you, hitting his face. A sharp cry escapes you as your body pulses, squirts, everything dripping down directly into Seungcheol’s tongue.
It’s too much. You try to squirm away but he growls, keeping you locked in place, licking and moaning through it like he lives for this.
“Fuck yes,” he breathes, voice husky. “Look at that. Look what I made you do.”
You’re gasping, boneless, trembling under him. And only then does he come up for air.
He is soaked from the nose down, sweat-slick and flushed, eyes blown black as he stares down at you like you’re his favorite thing in the world.
“You okay?” he asks, gently now, rubbing your thigh.
“I—” You blink up at him, dazed. “I’ve never squirted before.”
Seungcheol smiles, looking very pleased with himself with your revelation, eyes glinting with smug satisfaction. “And I bet you never will for anyone else. That was all mine, baby.”
You can only keep blink up at him, still reeling from the intense orgasms. He’s breathtaking like this, eyes fixed on you as if seeing you undone because of him is the greatest triumph of his life. And even drenched and trembling, you can’t tell if it’s the aftermath or something else, you still ache for more of him, desperately, uncontrollably.
Seungcheol crawls back up your body, lips trailing soft kisses along your skin, until he’s hovering over you again, hips nestled between your thighs.
“Kiss me,” you plead, suddenly desperate to taste yourself on his glistening lips.
He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth finds yours in a filthy slide of lips and tongue, and you moan into the kiss, hands fisting in his hair once again, loving the way he tastes, the way you can taste yourself on him too.
Seungcheol’s hard against your thigh, cock straining against his gym shorts. You reach between you to palm him through the fabric, feeling him throb under your touch.
“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth. “You want more, princess? Want me to fill this sweet little cunt up?”
“Yes,” you gasp. “Please Seungcheol, I want more.”
Your mind forgets how to breathe when Seungcheol pulls back just enough to look at you. His lips are swollen and glistening, the aftermath of your kisses leaving them more pouty then they already are. One hand grips your hip, thumb tracing the curve of your waist with lazy insistence.
“Turn over,” he says. The tone is the same as when he cues you during sets—quiet, commanding, certain you’ll listen.
And you do. Knees digging into the mat, palms pressing down, you shift onto all fours. The position is very familiar to you: countless glute kickbacks, donkey kicks, bear holds. The only difference is that this time your pulse hammers in your throat with anticipation, not tiredness.
“Such a good girl,” Seungcheol praises, his palm sliding up the back of your thighs, over your ass, squeezing the soft flesh firmly. “Back flat. Core tight. You know the drill, princess.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m consistent.” His hand lingers there, gripping harder and pulling a soft gasp out of you. “And right now? I’m thinking this form looks even better without anything covering this greedy pussy.”
Seungcheol smacks your pussy once, then the side of your ass, and you can’t help the moan that slips out, skidding forward just a little into the mat. He steps back for a moment, and your eyes land on the pile of his clothes discarded beside the mat just a moment after.
“Fuck,” he breathes, more to himself than to you. “Do you have any idea how many times I had to walk away before I lost control like this?”
You glance over your shoulder, catching him stroking himself deliberately, eyes locked on you. “Then don’t.”
That's all it takes.
Seungcheol lines himself up, rubbing his tip through your slick folds. His big hands smoothes up your waist, over the dip of your spine, palms spanning your hips as if he's aligning every angle of you to his. His breath is ragged, but his voice stays low, steady, that same time he uses during training, except now it's molten.
“Arch a little more,” he instructs, pushing gently at your lower back until your ass tilts higher. “Yeah… perfect. Just like that.”
Then he enters you without ceremony, filling you completely, a shared moan escaping both of you. He moves slowly at first, letting you adjust to his size, and he’s huge, definitely way bigger than anyone you had ever had before.
“You feel so good, fuck—” he grunts, bottoming out. “So fucking tight.”
“Move.” Your voice comes out slurred, drunk on the feeling of him inside you. “Please.”
His grip tightens on your hips, slowly dragging you back onto him with controlled, deliberate strength. When he thrusts into you again, deep, hard, perfectly aligned, your arms nearly give out. The sound you make bounces off the mirrored walls, filthy and desperate.
“Hold it,” he orders, steadying you when your elbows buckle. “Flat back, remember? Keep it tight for me, angel.”
Your laugh breaks on a moan. “You’re really—ah—still—coaching me?”
“Always.” His voice roughens as he sets a rhythm, his hips slamming into you from behind, each thrust pushing you forward on the mat. “You listen so well, don’t you? Take direction so perfectly.”
“Mhmm.”
You feel his hand grip the loose ends of your hair that falls down your back and over your shoulders, tugging your head back gently so you arch your back a little more.
“Strong girl,” he groans into your ear, tongue circling your earlobe. “Knew you’d be able to take me.”
You dig your knees into the mat, meeting his thrusts, and soon the room is filled with the rushed sound of skin against skin, breathless moans, and the occasional filthy praises from Seungcheol as he fucks you slow and deep.
“Oh, fuck, yes, Cheol—!”
You choke on a moan, arms trembling from the effort of holding yourself up. He notices, of course he does, and without warning, his tugging you upright until your back is flush against his chest.
The new angle is devastating. He’s buried deeper, his mouth dragging hot open kisses along your jaw, your shoulder. One arm wraps across your chest, holding you tight, while the other keeps its grip on your hip, guiding you back and forth onto him.
“You feel what I’m doing?” he pants against your ear, guiding your hand until you can feel him in your belly. “Using your pussy. Controlling the movement. You’re—fuck—you’re perfect, princess.”
Your head falls back against his shoulder, lips parting in a helpless cry as he rocks you harder, every thrust echoing through your body like a finishing rep that pushes you to the edge.
“Cheol—” his name breaks off into a whimper, your body trembling entirely.
“Come for me again,” he growls, one hand sliding down to rub circles against your clit. “I’ve got you.”
You cry out his name again and again, body shuddering as the sensations ripple through you. His hand presses harder, never letting up, and his voice anchors you just enough to let yourself go.
“Fuck, you feel perfect. So warm, so tight—”
You cling to him, your third orgasm building fast, overstimulated and desperate. “I’m—gonna—”
“Come for me. C’mon, sweetheart. Let me feel this greedy pussy cum around my cock.”
When you finally do, you almost feel like you’re gonna black out over the sensation, a gasping cry leaving your throat as Seungcheol buries himself deep and groans your name, spilling himself inside you.
He doesn’t move right away. Just presses kisses along your shoulder, your neck, your cheek, your lips. One arm stays wrapped around you, unwilling to let go, even as he eases you both down onto the mat. Slowly, he slips out, and the messy blend of your release spills, dripping onto the mat beneath you.
You rest like that for a while, basking in the afterglow. Eventually, Seungcheol gets up to grab your clothes.
“There's a shower in the back,” he says, handing you your discarded panties and his shirt. “Let's get cleaned up, princess.”
It doesn’t take him long to notice the way your legs tremble, keeping you from standing upright. With ease, Seungcheol hooks an arm around you and lifts you against his chest, carrying you toward the showers. Clothes are shed along the way, dropped carelessly in your wake.
The hot water feels amazing on your sensitive skin. Seungcheol washes you tenderly, running a soapy cloth over every inch of your body. You return the favor, taking special care with his cock and balls.
He gets hard again under your ministrations and pins you to the wall, kissing you deeply.
“I’m not sure I can take anymore,” you whimper against his lips.
“We don’t have to do anything else,” he murmurs. “I just like touching you.”
Clean and satisfied, you dress and head back to the mat room to grab your bags. Seungcheol trails at your side, walking you out to the parking lot, and just as you reach for your car door, he stops you with a gentle touch.
“Look, I don’t usually do this,” he says seriously. “With clients, I mean. But I really like you, Y/N. I’d love to take you out sometime.”
You smile up at him, feeling a happy warmth bloom in your chest. “I’d love that.”
He grins back, taking your hand in his. “Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night? My place.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
He gives you one last lingering kiss before letting you go with a smack on the ass.
“So,” you say, tilting your head with a teasing smile, “does this mean I get free training now?”
Seungcheol lets out a breathless laugh and kisses your cheek. “Not a chance,” he grins. “But I will be giving you extra stretching sessions.”
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seungcheol isn't the type to leave hickeys. he prefers to leave his mark in different ways.
★ genre/warnings: 18+ content. pwp, soft dom!seungcheol, lewd language, fingering, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, pet name ('sweetheart'). this fic was sponsored by fragrantica. word count: 993.
It's the black currant that hits you first. It lingers the most— the woody top note, rounded off with the complex blend of bergamot.
It's never quite as strong when you only catch it in passing, but it lingers. In the elevator. In the hallway. The clearest indicator that he's already here, somewhere. Always a step ahead of you.
The base notes of birch and cedarwood only really hit once you're within his vicinity. You have to be in the same room to catch a whiff of it. Earthy and raw; hints of smoke and leather. It's a cooling, prickly scent, which is a small grace.
At least it doesn't overwhelm your senses when he has your back pressed against the door of the recording studio.
If anything, it's the bite of citrus that always gets you. The bright, tangy scent of lemon that's meant to be clean and refreshing.
There is nothing clean about the way Seungcheol's tongue dips in to your mouth, the way he swallows up every pretty little sound that you make.
There is nothing refreshing about the almost lazy way he kneads your breasts over your shirt, the way he relishes at the feeling of your pebbled nipples underneath the calloused pads of his thumb.
When he pulls away suddenly, leaving you whining about the loss, he lingers for only a moment. Seungcheol had the capacity to be cruel if he wanted to, but not today.
"I know the studio is soundproof," he coos in to the crook of your neck as he nips at your pulse point, as he leaves open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. His hands never leave your hips because he wants to keep you in your place. Wants you to remember where you belong.
"But let's still try to be quiet, hm? Can you do that for me?"
And how could you ever deny Seungcheol, really, when he speaks and looks and smells like that? When he waits for you to nod and hums happily at your assent? When he rewards you immediately, with his hands slipping lower, and lower, and lower?
When you bury your face in to his shoulder to hold back your moans, he hooks your thigh up his waist and pulls you flush against him. He holds you steady, holds you tight, as his fingers curl deep inside of you. He whispers sweet nothings in to the side of your temple— litanies of you're so perfect and you're doing so well, contrasting the relentless place he's set.
This close, you can pick up on the fresh scent of pineapple. Seungcheol is a big believer in applying cologne where it matters. Neck, chest, pulse points.
And so it's always the sweet, tropical fruit that's there as he coaxes you to finish, as he revels in the feeling of you tightening around his fingers and biting back your screams. Because he is also a big believer in having you finish first.
After that, though, he doesn't hesitate to take.
He'll guide you on to the too-small couch until you're sprawled out underneath him, where he promises to give you exactly what you want once he's had his fill. He'll take your clothes off for you, and if anything is in the way— a stubborn button, a stuck zipper— he'll just rip the damn thing off.
"Sorry, sweetheart, couldn't help it. I'll get you a new one, alright? I'll get you everything you want," he promises you.
His attempts at appeasing you pale in comparison to the way he practically slams his aching cock inside of you, not even bothering, this time, to make you beg for it. Not when he wants it just as badly. He has half a mind to clamp one of his hands over your mouth, to muffle the shriek that rips out of you at the suddenness of it all.
It never seems to matter if he's opened you up, if he's scissored his fingers in to you for God-knows-how-long. You're always so tight around him, taking him so well, that he can't help but let out a guttural groan himself.
Seungcheol is a busy man, so he makes good use of his time.
He bullies in to your weeping cunt until you're writhing underneath him, until his palm is slick with your saliva and your teeth are catching on his fingers. He's a little better at keeping quiet than you are, but the occasional grunt will escape him— when your eyes roll back, when you flutter around him, when your pussy only seems to suck him in more.
At this point, the mossy, tropical notes of his cologne are a little harder to pick up, but he never fails to remind you of them as he angles himself to push in to you deeper, as he leans down to breathe absolute filth into your ear.
"How am I supposed to resist you when you look like that, sweetheart? How am I supposed to not lose my mind?"
"You're lucky I didn't spot you in the hallway. I would've taken you then and there. You would've liked that, hm? Want everybody in this whole goddamn company to know who fucks you stupid?"
"God, look at you. Getting all tight and wet at the thought. Maybe I should just let you scream, sweetheart. Maybe we can test just how good the soundproofing in this studio is—"
When all is said and done, once he's dragged you to finish another time— together, sweetheart, together with me, okay?— he takes care of you in the way that only he can. Promises of new clothes he'll probably tear off again, if he had his way. Praises of you, you, you.
Seungcheol isn't the type to leave hickeys. He prefers to leave his mark in different ways.
When the two of you walk out of that studio, he makes sure he's not the only one who smells like Creed's Aventus.
"Ten years, I’ve been using it since debut… The reason why I still keep using this perfume is that once I arrive in the company and go to the practice room, starting from the elevator, they’ll know I’m coming. It became my trademark." [S.COUPS and DINO exposing each other 🤣 Switching their bags to show what's inside 👜 by W Korea]
seungcheol isn't the type to leave hickeys. he prefers to leave his mark in different ways.
★ genre/warnings: 18+ content. pwp, soft dom!seungcheol, lewd language, fingering, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, pet name ('sweetheart'). this fic was sponsored by fragrantica. word count: 993.
It's the black currant that hits you first. It lingers the most— the woody top note, rounded off with the complex blend of bergamot.
It's never quite as strong when you only catch it in passing, but it lingers. In the elevator. In the hallway. The clearest indicator that he's already here, somewhere. Always a step ahead of you.
The base notes of birch and cedarwood only really hit once you're within his vicinity. You have to be in the same room to catch a whiff of it. Earthy and raw; hints of smoke and leather. It's a cooling, prickly scent, which is a small grace.
At least it doesn't overwhelm your senses when he has your back pressed against the door of the recording studio.
If anything, it's the bite of citrus that always gets you. The bright, tangy scent of lemon that's meant to be clean and refreshing.
There is nothing clean about the way Seungcheol's tongue dips in to your mouth, the way he swallows up every pretty little sound that you make.
There is nothing refreshing about the almost lazy way he kneads your breasts over your shirt, the way he relishes at the feeling of your pebbled nipples underneath the calloused pads of his thumb.
When he pulls away suddenly, leaving you whining about the loss, he lingers for only a moment. Seungcheol had the capacity to be cruel if he wanted to, but not today.
"I know the studio is soundproof," he coos in to the crook of your neck as he nips at your pulse point, as he leaves open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. His hands never leave your hips because he wants to keep you in your place. Wants you to remember where you belong.
"But let's still try to be quiet, hm? Can you do that for me?"
And how could you ever deny Seungcheol, really, when he speaks and looks and smells like that? When he waits for you to nod and hums happily at your assent? When he rewards you immediately, with his hands slipping lower, and lower, and lower?
When you bury your face in to his shoulder to hold back your moans, he hooks your thigh up his waist and pulls you flush against him. He holds you steady, holds you tight, as his fingers curl deep inside of you. He whispers sweet nothings in to the side of your temple— litanies of you're so perfect and you're doing so well, contrasting the relentless place he's set.
This close, you can pick up on the fresh scent of pineapple. Seungcheol is a big believer in applying cologne where it matters. Neck, chest, pulse points.
And so it's always the sweet, tropical fruit that's there as he coaxes you to finish, as he revels in the feeling of you tightening around his fingers and biting back your screams. Because he is also a big believer in having you finish first.
After that, though, he doesn't hesitate to take.
He'll guide you on to the too-small couch until you're sprawled out underneath him, where he promises to give you exactly what you want once he's had his fill. He'll take your clothes off for you, and if anything is in the way— a stubborn button, a stuck zipper— he'll just rip the damn thing off.
"Sorry, sweetheart, couldn't help it. I'll get you a new one, alright? I'll get you everything you want," he promises you.
His attempts at appeasing you pale in comparison to the way he practically slams his aching cock inside of you, not even bothering, this time, to make you beg for it. Not when he wants it just as badly. He has half a mind to clamp one of his hands over your mouth, to muffle the shriek that rips out of you at the suddenness of it all.
It never seems to matter if he's opened you up, if he's scissored his fingers in to you for God-knows-how-long. You're always so tight around him, taking him so well, that he can't help but let out a guttural groan himself.
Seungcheol is a busy man, so he makes good use of his time.
He bullies in to your weeping cunt until you're writhing underneath him, until his palm is slick with your saliva and your teeth are catching on his fingers. He's a little better at keeping quiet than you are, but the occasional grunt will escape him— when your eyes roll back, when you flutter around him, when your pussy only seems to suck him in more.
At this point, the mossy, tropical notes of his cologne are a little harder to pick up, but he never fails to remind you of them as he angles himself to push in to you deeper, as he leans down to breathe absolute filth into your ear.
"How am I supposed to resist you when you look like that, sweetheart? How am I supposed to not lose my mind?"
"You're lucky I didn't spot you in the hallway. I would've taken you then and there. You would've liked that, hm? Want everybody in this whole goddamn company to know who fucks you stupid?"
"God, look at you. Getting all tight and wet at the thought. Maybe I should just let you scream, sweetheart. Maybe we can test just how good the soundproofing in this studio is—"
When all is said and done, once he's dragged you to finish another time— together, sweetheart, together with me, okay?— he takes care of you in the way that only he can. Promises of new clothes he'll probably tear off again, if he had his way. Praises of you, you, you.
Seungcheol isn't the type to leave hickeys. He prefers to leave his mark in different ways.
When the two of you walk out of that studio, he makes sure he's not the only one who smells like Creed's Aventus.
"Ten years, I’ve been using it since debut… The reason why I still keep using this perfume is that once I arrive in the company and go to the practice room, starting from the elevator, they’ll know I’m coming. It became my trademark." [S.COUPS and DINO exposing each other 🤣 Switching their bags to show what's inside 👜 by W Korea]
smut warnings; protected sex, unprotected sex, oral (f & male giving/receiving), fingering, impact play, pussy spanking, dom!chan, sub!reader, rough sex, dirty talk/praise, big dick!chan, as always if there are things i missed let me know
w/c; 26k with Patreon bonus
summary; You have been friends with Lee Chan since you were in the second grade. He shouldn't be in love with you, but he is. He shouldn't be jealous of your boyfriend, but god... he is—especially when he knows he could be better.
song inspo; just better - a.c.e
a/n; thank you june for proofreading! i love you so much! i hope you guys enjoy this one and i do apologize for the delay in posting.
before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here
“Your coffee, darlin’.
You roll your eyes before taking the coffee cup out of Chan’s hand. He was always being sweet to you, especially when it was just the two of you. You had big plans to stay in the house all day and rot away until he showed up and drove you both downtown. Now you had one of the overly sweet coffees you liked. He knew everything you liked, down to the fact you preferred oat milk in your coffee instead of regular milk. Lee Chan was a special person and you had just been lucky enough to end up with him in your life.
“Thank you, honey.”
Chan is the one rolling his eyes now. He knew you were teasing him, but he meant every name he called you—darlin’, sweetheart, honey… None of them could match how he felt about you and how much you lit up his life. You deserved someone being nice to you and calling you pretty names that, even if they couldn’t match your beauty, would put a smile on your face. His eyes follow your hand as you bring the coffee up to your lips and take a sip, letting a smile spread across your pretty face. He might not get the cold coffee or like the taste of all that chocolate you liked in your drinks but he’d do anything to make you smile like that.
“Don’t let it rot your teeth out your head. They put about five pumps of that chocolate shit into it.”
You laugh, and Chan feels his chest tighten. This was a good day. The sun was out, the wind was moving through the trees, and you were with him. He couldn’t ask for anything better—well, he could, but that’d make him be as selfish as he felt when he was around you.
“Just how I like it. Want a sip?” Tilting the drink towards Chan, you watch his nose wrinkle before he leans to take a sip and then makes a face like he has something sour on his tongue. “You are such a baby. What’d you get anyhow? Coffee just black and boiling?”
Lifting his cup, Chan grins at you before he takes a sip of just that. It was strong and he could feel it go down his throat and warm his chest. “Mmhm, like a real man.” You laugh again following it with a groan, the smile that was on Chan’s face softens into something fond. You two could be picking at each other for just about anything and all you’d have to do is look at him and he’d fall on his knees for you.
Of course you didn’t know that. You just saw Lee Chan as your best friend. He’d met you on the playground when the two of you were in second grade. You had fallen off a swing and cut your knee. Chan had been the first person there. He had wiped away the big fat tears on your cheeks before running to find a teacher before coming back to you and telling you it’d all be okay. You still had that scar. Every time you’d wear shorts, like today, Chan couldn’t help but let his eyes move down to it. That scar marked the moment he fell in love with you but just like that 7-year-old boy, he still couldn’t tell you. Instead, he’d watched you grow up beside him and hated every man you’d ever dated, but none of them he hated more than the one you had now.
Sighing to the sound of your ringtone, you pout at the idea of being interrupted but seeing Ian’s name on the caller ID has you sitting up and a big smile on your face. You hadn’t been dating Ian Carrington for too long, just about six months, but he felt like the one. You don’t see how Chan’s smile fades to a scowl when you put the phone to your ear and answer it, so pleased to hear from your boyfriend. “Hi, baby!”
Chan looks down at the coffee in his hands as he listens to your voice change. It wasn’t necessarily that you were trying to be someone different with Ian; it was more that he brought something else out of you. He made you feel like you had to be perfect when that was impossible for anyone. It didn’t matter if, in Chan’s eyes, you were the closest thing to perfection; Ian still made you feel like you had to be better.
“Yes! Really? I’d love to see you.” A soft, flirty giggle slips past your lips as you lean your head towards your shoulder. Ian still had you in the schoolgirl-in-love phase. He was one of the most handsome guys you had ever seen and there was a layer of unattainability to him that you were breaking through piece by piece. “I miss you too, babe.” Glancing up at Chan, you give him an apologetic look, seeing him stare at his coffee. From the beginning of your relationship with Ian, you had made it clear that you still needed to have time for your best friend. That hadn’t really changed, but Ian did seem to have horrible timing. “Now? Ian, I’m out with Channie…”
Keeping his scoff to himself, Chan lifts his coffee to his lips, taking a long sip as he listens to your voice drop in volume. All he can think to himself is, here we go again. It may be lost on you that Ian didn’t like your friendship with him, but your boyfriend had made it very clear to him. It wasn’t like Ian didn’t already know where you were. You had no doubt texted him at the very least, and yet he was going out of his way to ruin a perfect day. Any other time he’d leave you sitting in your apartment bored and missing him, but the moment that Chan stepped up, suddenly Ian was the perfect attentive boyfriend.
“Baby doll, I left work early for you. Now, don’t you wanna come see me? Spend a little time with your boyfriend? You can see Chan any day of the week. You know I’m busy, baby…” You start to speak and Ian sighs softly, speaking over you. “‘Course if you wanna stay out instead of coming to see me, I can’t make you do something you don’t want. It was wrong of me to call you while you’re out. Tell Chan I’m sorry and you two have a good day. I’ll try to see you tomorrow.”
Meeting Chan’s curious eyes, you shift in your chair a bit uncomfortably before whining Ian’s name. You hated the idea that you might not get to see him today and the way he was talking, tomorrow seemed like it might not happen either. “No… No, baby. I can—I’ll be over in like twenty minutes, okay? I’m excited to see you.”
It was past noon but Chan rarely got up before 2 pm. There were few things that would make him get his ass moving, but you were one of them. You were pretending to be okay. You were always doing that—Chan could tell when it wasn’t the case. There was a slight whine to your voice, like you had been crying… again. “What happened, sweetheart?”
Closing your eyes tight, you hold the phone closer to your ear. How did he always know? Ian never knew. You could be outright crying and Ian would be oblivious. That wasn’t his fault. You were on the phone; how could he really tell? That’s what you kept telling yourself and yet your best friend caught on instantly. “No—nothing... I’m fine, Chan. What are you up to?”
You hadn’t looked at the time before calling him. If it were anyone else, that’d annoy Chan, but it was you. He had worked the night before and been asleep for about five hours—that’d be enough. “Nothing, just sittin’ here. What happened, Y/N? I know you aren’t fine. You’ve been cryin’. Did that asshole—”
“Channie! No… no, he didn’t do anything. Just—” Tears were on your cheeks again. You were trying to keep yourself calm but it was hard to do when you felt like shit. “We made plans and then one of his friends called.”
To anyone else that might sound silly; however, Chan knew what it meant. You two had made plans, maybe a date or something, and then either he didn’t show up or he left ten minutes into it because one of his stupid friends called wanting him to hang out with them instead. This shit was always happening. It was easier than telling the weather, knowing if Ian was going to break your heart or not. “Want me to come over? I can pick up some Chinese and rot on the couch.”
You felt bad putting this on Chan as often as you did. You were still dressed up, ready to spend the day with your boyfriend but instead you were crying on the phone with your friend. “That sounds nice. If you aren’t busy. I—” As if something comes to your mind, just then you gasp and whine, causing Chan to sit up a bit before you continue. “You worked last night! Oh my god! Go back to sleep. I’m so stupid. I’m sorry, Channie!”
Sighing to himself, Chan tugs his jeans up his legs, balancing the phone between his cheek and shoulder. “Stop it, darlin’. If I get tired again, I can nap at your place. You ain’t stupid. Don’t ever call yourself that. I’d kill someone for saying that to you. Smartest gal I know.”
You pout to yourself, wiping the tears from your cheek as you listen to Chan moving around his place. You knew he wasn’t kidding. He had gotten into more fights than you could count while the two of you were in school. All it took was someone to look at you wrong or say the wrong thing and they’d get Chan’s face in theirs. He was just protective, like you were his sister or something. “I’m not. Be careful drivin’. Love you.”
Chan knew how much Ian hated to hear you tell Chan you loved him. You hadn’t even said it to him as far as Chan knew. The thought makes a smile pull at his lips as he pulls his keys from the hook, shoving them into his jacket pocket. “Love you too. Be there soon.”
You had been telling Lee Chan you loved him since the second grade and that wasn’t going to change. That fact was a big reason that you and Ian fought. He had told you that he loved you around the third date, but you hadn’t been sure then. You thought you knew now but the words always got caught in your throat. You probably just needed to be a bit braver.
It didn’t take Chan long to drive to your place. He had made this drive hundreds of times and every single time, but especially lately, he felt his stomach get all tight with nerves. You were more special than you even knew. You were the type of girl to look in the mirror and think she had every single thing wrong with her, but Chan saw you for who you really were—the most beautiful girl that was ever born. He could see that you were made of everything that was good in the world, even if you thought you were plain and selfish.
Using his spare key to your apartment, Chan lets himself in and sighs softly as he kicks off his shoes in the entryway. This was just as much home for him as his own place was. He could remember falling asleep on your couch or in your bed multiple times after a long study session when you both were still trying the college thing. He remembered waking up to the smell of food and you singing along with some pop song on the radio as you swayed in front of the stove cooking. Chan had more good memories in this apartment, but he also had bad ones. Bad was seeing Ian show up and knowing he had to leave. Bad happened as soon as you started dating that moron that you seemed to be head over heels with. None of that could compare to walking into your apartment and seeing you curled up on the couch with tears drying on your cheeks.
“Darlin’...” The word slips off Chan’s lips like a breath as he moves across the room, only stopping to drop off the carryout in his hand before he kneels at your couch. Delicately wiping the tears from under your eyes, trying to control his face. The moment you look at him, you’d know he was upset. Chan had a hard time hiding those sorts of expressions. His brows would furrow deeply, just like his lips would turn down in a disapproving frown. “Come here. Let me sit with ya.”
Taking a deep breath, you try to push down your emotions but that look on Chan’s face breaks you again. You sit up and he slips onto the seat you were lying on before pulling you against his chest. You know you shouldn’t rely on him so heavily but it was difficult to say no to your rock. Chan was your constant and right now he was keeping you from sinking even as you sobbed softly in his arms. “I’m so stupid.”
Chan shakes his head and tugs you tighter to him when you start to blame yourself for your situation. You didn’t make yourself cry by treating yourself like you weren’t worth the time—no, that was Ian Carrington’s doing. “No, you ain’t. I already told you you’re the smartest and prettiest girl I know. Want me to kill him? I’ll do it.”
His words make you laugh, but you don’t even realize how serious Chan is. Of course he wouldn’t actually kill someone, but kicking his ass into the next century? That was something he could and would do for you.
“Don’t be silly.” Sighing into your words, you shift against Chan to get more comfortable. You were still sad but it never failed that you’d brighten up even a fraction when you were around your best friend. “He promised to make it up to me so I know he will.”
“Sure…” Chan wanted to tell you that maybe you were being a bit stupid, but those words never left his mouth. Instead, he tightens his arm around you and stares at the table in front of him. Ian was always making it up to you, but that didn’t mean that Chan believed it. “Enough of him, I got you sesame chicken. Eat somethin’.”
He watches as you perk up slightly and move back to sitting beside him instead of against him. You were cute as you carefully opened the bags holding the food, setting each container out like you always would. Chan finds himself wondering if your boyfriend took care of you like this. Did he come when you were crying? Did he bring you all your favorite foods and snacks? Maybe he did, but to Chan this was something only he could do.
Squealing under your breath when you open the crab rangoon, you look over your shoulder to meet Chan’s eyes, seeing the smile pulling at his lips. “You’re spoiling me.”
He was. That had been the intention. Chan knew he could have gotten you the bare minimum and you’d still feel the same, but after hearing you crying on the phone, he had gotten all your favorites. Leaning forward, he opens the last dish, his own but even it makes you shuffle your feet out of excitement. “Now don’t think you’re stealing my food. I’ll share with you if you share with me.”
You knew that Chan was teasing you, but even as you open your chopsticks and take a piece of meat from his plate, he smiles at you. Speaking carefully around the food in your mouth, you furrow your brows and lean to push your shoulder against his playfully. “You always say that, but then you get something I like.”
Picking up the other set of chopsticks, Chan looks down at them as he breaks them apart to hide the slight flush he was feeling on his cheeks. You were right. He could pick just about anything, but it felt better to get something you’d share with him. He could be plenty happy just watching you enjoy your food; however, there was something special about knowing just the right things to get to make you happy. “Yeah, whatever. Just wanna make sure you eat well.”
The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you eat. At some point you turn the TV back on and hit play on the latest series that you and Chan had been watching together. Nothing needs to be said until you are the first to break the silence, glancing over at Chan as he rests his hand over his stomach. “I—hey. Did you ever call Chuu back? She was texting me but—”
“Nah. I’ll text her later and apologize.”
Furrowing your brows, you put your chopsticks down next to the plastic container before pulling your legs under you so you can rest back on the couch. “Did the date not go like you wanted it to? She seemed to really like you.” You weren’t exaggerating. In the past two days you had gotten a dozen texts from your co-worker Chuu asking if Chan was ignoring her. This wasn’t the first time you had tried to set him up with someone only to watch it go nowhere.
Chan shrugs into a sigh, his eyes moving to you then quickly back to the TV. He knew he had a few unread texts from your friend but he didn’t want to lead anyone on. “Yeah, I mean, sure. The date was alright. Just got dinner at Charlie’s and I took her home.”
Now you looked disappointed as you nodded along with Chan’s words. Sighing once again, he shifts next to you and runs his fingers through his hair. “She just—I don’t know. She’s not my type. She’s a sweet girl, don’t get me wrong. I just don’t think I’m ready to date like that. I’m not interested in somethin’ serious like they seem to think I am.”
The disappointed look on your face had turned sour. You looked like you didn’t believe him now, like you were reading his mind. “I don’t think Chuu was lookin’ for anything too serious neither, Channie. I just want—listen to me, okay? You are always alone or stuck with me.” When Chan doesn’t say anything right away, his face only scrunching up like he’s tasted something that’s gone bad, you slide to your knees and reach for his hand like you are going to tug him along with you. “We should go out this weekend. I can be your wingwoman, and we can look for someone who’s more your type.”
Saturday rolled around too quickly for Chan’s liking. It wasn’t just that he knew what your plan was with this trip to the bar, but that Ian was coming along. He had been looking forward to tonight for days, and the moment he learned about Ian’s insistence to tag along, the night was ruined. Chan knew he could have told you that he didn’t want your boyfriend there, but how would that go over? So instead, Chan tugged at his jacket as he looked in the mirror, deeming himself dressed. He didn’t have high hopes for the evening.
You, on the other hand, were over the moon. Not only were you on a mission to get Chan a date but now Ian was actually making time for you. Leaning against your dresser, you close one eye, carefully applying your eyeliner as you listen to Ian from the other room. He had shown up about an hour early but again you weren’t complaining. Getting time with him lately was like pulling teeth. You knew that your boyfriend was a popular guy. He had tons of friends and he enjoyed his job, but sometimes you wished he’d pick you over a night out with work friends or whatever it was he did.
“You listening to me, baby?” Huffing into his words, Ian leans against the door frame to your bedroom as he watches you. You were gorgeous and tonight it seemed like you were putting in some extra effort. He was doing his best to tell him that was because of him. “That dress is pretty. It new?”
You smile at Ian from your mirror and shift your weight to your other leg as you repeat the process on your other eye. “Yeah, I got it yesterday after work. You really like it?”
How could he not? It was tight in all the right places and had his mind wandering as his eyes moved over your pretty legs. “Yeah, I like it. It’s a little tight.” Ian sees your smile fade slightly, but you still manage to seem unaffected by his words. “I’m just sayin’ that maybe it’s not a dress for tonight. I mean, this is about trying to find a chick for Chan, right? Why you gotta get all dolled up for him?”
You hated when Ian did that. When he acted like there was something between you and Chan. He was jealous of your best friend and it upset you. “No—I… I’m dressed up for you, babe. I wanna look pretty for you. ‘Sides, I don’t really wanna go out looking shabby.” Pouting as you put the cap back on your eyeliner, you avoid Ian’s eyes as you whine into your words. “You want me to change?”
God, he couldn’t stand when you were whining. You did it more often than his liking. At first it was cute, but the moment he said one thing that didn’t go in the way you wanted it to, you were whining and crying. You did a good job at making him feel like the bad guy when it wasn’t really his fault he had a life outside of you. Shaking his head, Ian moves to stand behind you, sliding his hands along your waist to pull you back against him. “Course not. You do look pretty, baby. You look too pretty, but that’s alright. Wear what you want.”
You smile, feeling Ian’s lips against your neck, his fingers kneading into your stomach as he takes a deep breath of your perfume. Times like this you felt like a million bucks. Sure, he could make you sad, but then he’d spend time with you like this and all that sadness would fade away. “‘Kay. Thank you.”
Humming softly against your soft skin, Ian hides how he rolls his eyes at your response. You were spoiled and it had to be his fault. Forever his bratty little baby. “Mm, anything for you, doll.” Moving back from you a bit, Ian lets his eyes move over your face in the mirror and down to your chest, where your breasts were being held up and tight by your dress, giving you mouthwatering cleavage. He should enjoy it and maybe he would if he were the one going to see it. “Maybe wear a jacket, though. Your tits are out.”
It doesn’t surprise Chan when you and Ian show up later than planned. He had already been sitting at the bar nursing a whiskey for around half an hour before he heard your voice call his name. He isn’t able to hide his smile when you carefully move between people to make your way over to him. Chan simply sighs and opens one arm for you, letting you hug him from the side as he feels Ian’s eyes linger on you both a bit too fiercely.
“Any luck yet?”
Ian’s voice seems bored when he speaks to Chan, drawing his attention away from you and up to him as he takes a seat one stool away from him. At least he had left a stool for you, but the way he pulled you away from him told Chan everything he needed to know. Ian was in a mood and he wasn’t tolerating Chan tonight. How you didn’t seem to be affected by his attitude was a mystery, but Chan forces himself to smile as he shakes his head. “Nah. Ain’t been here too long.”
Forcing himself not to roll his eyes, Ian offers Chan a tight smile instead as you sit between the two of them shrugging your jacket off. It was hot in the bar but the idea of you with all that skin showing causes the smile on Ian’s face to fall into a tight line. Though he doesn’t say anything, it seems his eyes on you are enough to have you tugging your dress up on your chest.
Chan lets himself get a good look at you and you take his breath away. You were always stunning but he had never seen you in this dress. It was perfect on you even as you fought with the deep cut of the neck that displayed your breasts so well. If this was anyone else and a different time, you’d have him on his knees for you begging for a single chance—but life wasn’t fair, and he could feel Ian’s judging eyes.
“Baby, let’s go dance.”
Already slipping out of his chair, Ian reaches for your hand as you whine. You two had just got there and you were on a mission. “I—yeah, okay. Channie, come with us?”
Chan didn’t need to see the look on Ian’s face to have him turning you down. It hurt to see that smile fade from your lips but Chan is quick to cover his own disappointment as he gestures around the bar. “Checking out prospects. You go have fun, sweetheart.”
You glance around the bar, seeing the few pretty girls that Chan had to be referencing, before biting at your bottom lip. This was what you wanted, so why did it make your stomach hurt? “Alright. Good luck!”
Watching Ian guide you into the middle of the small dance floor, Chan watches your smile brighten as you start to dance. He should look away and give you and Ian privacy, but instead he brings his drink to his lips and sips to cover his sigh.
“She’s pretty. That guy steal your girl?”
The woman’s voice is sultry as she slides onto the stool that had just been yours. Glancing to his left, Chan gives her a quick once-over before shaking his head to answer her question. “Nah. Nothin’ like that.” The woman was pretty. She was wearing a tight red dress that left little to the imagination. Her long black hair was shiny and it looked soft, but Chan feels that pit in his stomach getting larger as he even considers her.
He had intrigued her. He was one of, if not the most, attractive guys in the bar tonight and he had his eyes on some girl dancing with an equally hot man. Yet he was telling her that the girl he had his eyes fixed on wasn’t his. Maybe he wanted her to be, or maybe he just needed someone to help him forget. “I see. I’m Gabriela.” Offering him her hand, Gabriela smiles brightly, enjoying the moment that Chan finally looks at her, turning on his stool away from the girl he couldn’t have.
“Chan.” Despite the pit in his stomach, Chan remembers the reason you had begged him to come out tonight. He had hoped for one thing, you and him alone to just enjoy another night out, but had gotten another as Ian kissed at your neck for everyone to see. Keeping his eyes on Gabriela, Chan swallows hard and gives in to what’s easy. “What you drinkin’, gorgeous?”
Other girls were easy. Flirting was as easy as breathing on the surface; it was how he felt on the inside that made this unbearable for Chan. And yet it was working on Gabriela. She was batting her lashes and moving her hair over her shoulder to let Chan get a good look at her exposed skin. He could easily look away, but his mind was fighting him. Glancing out towards the dance floor, Chan’s chest tightens when he sees your arms around Ian’s neck as his hands slide down over your ass. That was enough to make Chan feel sick so he grins at Gabriela and lifts his hand for the bartender, ready to order her a drink.
Smirking to himself, Ian glances from Chan at the bar down to you. “He’s doing just fine. I don’t know what you were worried about.”
Your eyes quickly move to Chan and over the girl sitting next to him as he slides a cocktail towards her fingers. You should be happy. This was what you wanted to happen. You wanted Chan to come out and find a pretty girl to take out, but this girl looked like a viper wrapped in red spandex. You felt your chest tighten as she ran her red nails over his hand and leaned her head back to laugh at something Chan had said. “Oh… yeah, he’s— she’s—”
Ian sighs as he leans his head back, turning you slightly on the dance floor so that your attention is back on him. “Perfect for him. Just slutty enough, right?”
You hated when Ian talked like that, and that wasn’t the type of girl you pictured your best friend with. Then again, you hadn’t really pictured him with anyone. You wanted to, but it never seemed easy. There was always just you and Chan no one else… Glancing up at Ian, you put a smile on your lips but you don’t nod or shake your head to tell him that he’s right or wrong. You instead let him tighten his grip on your hip as you tilt your head, meeting his eyes, trying to ignore what you had caused at the bar.
“Security?” Tilting her head, Gabriela grins at Chan as he nods. “Like a cop? Are you gonna arrest me?”
Sighing into a strained laugh, Chan shakes his head this time. “Uh no, no, not like a cop. Just security. I—”
“So like a mall cop then?”
God, this girl was irritating. The only good things about her were how pretty she was and that she smelled nice. Chan had no intention of this going anywhere with how she was acting. “Sure, like a mall cop. If that’s what you wanna call it.”
Sipping at her cosmo, Gabriela smirks around the straw, seeing the irritation in Chan’s smile. Maybe she was pushing too hard, but she had come out to get laid and she was convinced that Chan was going to be the guy she left with. “That’s cute. Do you have cuffs?”
Chan tries to hide his scoff, but he doesn’t do it well enough as he watches Gabriela’s smirk stay in place. She was pushing his buttons on purpose and this wasn’t really Chan’s idea of foreplay. “No. Even if I did, I wouldn’t put them on you.”
“Why not? You wouldn’t wanna play cops and robbers with me, Chan?” Gabriela had always been bold. She went after what she wanted and right now that was Chan. Catching the buttons of his jacket sleeve under her nails, Gabriela bites her bottom lip, feeling Chan’s eyes move over her, landing on her cherry red lips. “I think it could be fun. Isn’t that why you came out tonight? To have some fun?”
Using his free hand, Chan pushes his hair from near his eyes and sighs in disbelief at how shameless Gabriela is. He didn’t fault her. He didn’t want to judge her, but was he really the guy she wanted to play this on? Just as Chan starts to turn her down, his eyes once again find the dance floor and he sees you with your back against Ian’s chest as you sway to the music. Did you even remember you had asked Chan to come out with you? Did you even care? “Yeah, maybe I did.”
Feeling eyes on you, you meet Chan’s eyes from the bar just as he turns his attention back to the pretty girl with her hand now resting on his thigh. You felt like you were feeding him to the dogs. This girl had her claws in his skin and you were watching him get eaten alive. You start to move away from Ian to go towards the bar when your boyfriend pulls you back against him and laughs against your ear.
“Leave him be. Anyone can see they are about to dip out of here. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
“I like your place.”
Sighing as he leans towards the fridge to take out two beers, Chan forces himself to smile as he acknowledges Gabriela and what she had said. “Thanks. It ain’t much, but it’ll do.” Chan rarely let girls come back to his place, but this was better than going to hers. When Chan was inside some random girl’s space, he felt vulnerable. That felt like he could lead to more than he was willing to give. In his own space he could control the narrative and keep his power.
“It’s very you.”
As if this chick knew who Chan was, but instead of voicing that out loud, he just grinned and offered her the beer. He wasn’t looking for this to last longer than it needed to. “That so, gorgeous?” Trying to enjoy the moment and the release he’d be getting, Chan sits down on his couch and guides Gabriela down to sit next to him. She was soft, but no matter how much he looked at her, Chan only saw you.
“Mmhm. God… You are so fuckin’ hot. How are you even on the market?” Gabriela had opened her beer and taken one sip before Chan had called her gorgeous again. The question was real and yet rhetorical. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She had seen how Chan had been looking at you, and if she thought too much about it, she might lose her confidence. “You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind, Chan. Want me to help you with that?”
Chan laughs, the sound getting caught in his throat as Gabriela puts her drink down with his and slides over his thighs. She was warm under his hands as Chan let her guide them over her sides and higher to her breasts. “I might have a couple things on my mind. How you gonna help me?” He knew the answer, but that was part of the game, wasn’t it? He could see how Gabriela’s smirk grew wider at the question, and now it was just a matter of time before he could shut off his feelings and just enjoy the moment.
“Oh, I got plans for you, Channie.”
Furrowing his brows at the pet name, Chan shakes his head, sliding his hands back down to Gabriela’s waist. “Don’t call me that. Stick to Chan…” He could see how her face fell, but she was a woman on a mission, so it only lasted for a moment before she was right back to business. Chan closes his eyes the moment that Gabriela’s lips brush against his. He didn’t like kissing his hookups, but tonight it didn’t feel too bad.
“Touch me.”
He nods in response to her request, sliding his hands back along her body and to her back. Catching the zipper of her dress between his fingers, Chan groans when Gabriela rocks her hips down over his. God, he hated how easily he had gotten turned on tonight. It wasn’t even that he had a pretty girl in his lap; it was that he had closed his eyes and pictured you in her place.
Every soft moan from her lips, Chan imagined it coming from you. The soft skin under his hands as he helped her out of her dress—that was your skin. It felt wrong, but then he had carried her to bed and kept the light off. In the darkness he could only feel her and that let his imagination carry him further.
“Oh, fuck—” Gabriela whines under her breath as she feels Chan’s fingers scissoring into her, his other hand pulling a condom from the nightstand. She wished she could see him a bit better, that maybe he had even left the door to his bedroom open, but instead even when she whined his name, Chan would shush her. Whatever, she could stay quiet. She could let herself enjoy this.
With one stroke of his hand to make sure the condom was in place, Chan buries his face against Gabriela’s neck and eases himself into her warmth. Would you feel like this? Would you be softer? Wetter? Tighter? God, the thought of it alone has him burying himself in her as deep as possible. What would you be doing now? Were you getting fucked by Ian? Why would Chan even think about that? It was ruining his mood—so he fucked Gabriela harder, listening to her sob his name, asking for more.
Everything meshes together—Gabriela’s orgasm and Chan’s frustration as he has to force himself to finish, but in the end he ends up with her resting against his chest, both of them catching their breath.
“Holy shit, that was incredible.” Gabriela wasn’t sure what she had expected, but Chan had exceeded it times ten. She had gone out looking to get laid, and she had ended up with more. Fuck, she loved the feeling of this man’s hands on her and how tender he had been with her until he fucked her like a man who was starved. “Do you want—”
“I don’t do repeats.”
Gabriela’s words get caught in her throat when Chan interrupts her with that. His hand wasn’t on her hip anymore; he was sitting up and turning on the light, picking up a pack of cigarettes and putting one between his lips. “What? What does that mean?”
Inhaling the smoke, Chan lets it sit on his chest for a few seconds before he turns his head away from Gabriela to blow it away from her. “Exactly what it sounds like.”
Sitting up quickly, Gabriela stares at Chan before scoffing. He had to be kidding. She had been with assholes before but Chan didn’t seem like one. This seemed like he was putting on an act and yet his eyes were cold now when he looked at her. “Are you really this much of a dick?”
Chan shrugs and licks his lips as he leans to flick the ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray on his nightstand. “Yeah, but it was good, wasn’t it?” He knew what Gabriela’s reaction would be and it was exactly what he wanted. He wanted her to be pissed off at him. He didn’t want her to stick around and try to get more than he could give her. Leaning out of her way, Chan sighs out smoke before resting the rest of the cigarette in the tray, watching Gabriela get dressed quickly as she curses under her breath. “I’ll order you a ride.”
“Fuck you.”
He knew he deserved that. He knew exactly what he was doing even if it made him feel worse about himself and the situation. “Fair, but you said you lived on the other side of town; it’s the least I can do. Don’t take some shady taxi.”
Like he actually cared. Gabriela sees red for a moment, her palm meeting Chan’s cheek before she turns towards the door, opening it with enough force to cause the doorknob to leave a place in the drywall. “Worst lay of my fucking life!”
Chan knew that Gabriela was full of shit. She had enjoyed it; he had made sure of that, but he let her say whatever she wanted to as he tugged his sweatpants on and followed her out into the living room as she struggled with her shoes. “Course, but I’m still ordering you a ride so calm your ass down for a minute.”
Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, Gabriela feels tears biting at her eyes, but she forces them to stay back. How was this guy treating her like this? One minute she felt like a common slut for him to use and toss out, and then he was being halfway decent, ordering her a ride home. Was this another act? What the fuck was his problem? “What did I do wrong?”
You had drunk more than you should have. Your mind was floaty like a dandelion in the wind and you were having to let Ian help you with everything. First it had been just to walk and now it was your shoes as you leaned against the wall at the first door. “Thanks…”
Ian laughs under his breath at how pitiful you sound, his fingers carefully tugging at the strap around your ankles in order to free your feet from the heels. “No problem, doll. You can’t hold your liquor. I told you that when you ordered another drink…”
He wasn’t wrong. He had told you that, and you should have listened, but you felt sad before, and you had hoped the alcohol would fix it. It hadn’t. “I know.” Sighing softly, you lean back against Ian as he guides you through the living room and towards your bedroom. “Do you think Channie—” You aren’t even sure what you are asking, so you stop speaking and pout instead, causing Ian to roll his eyes.
“Channie, what? That he got laid? Yeah, baby, I do. But why the fuck do you care?”
It was clear that you had annoyed Ian but that hadn’t been your intention. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”
You were whining again, and while it still annoyed Ian, he couldn’t stay mad at you for too long. You were too cute and now he did have you all to himself. “It’s fine. Stop pouting at me. Hey, Y/N…” Making sure you are looking at him, Ian runs his thumb along your bottom lip and tilts his head as you smile against his finger. “There you go. My pretty baby. This is better than being at the bar, isn’t it? Just me and you, like you’ve been wanting, right?”
It was what you had wanted. You had been so upset when he had cancelled on you earlier in the week, but this was making up for it. You were so tired, the alcohol clouding your brain, but it felt nice to be in his arms. “Mmhm. I love being with you.”
What Ian was hearing was that you loved him and that’s all that mattered. You weren’t whining over Chan anymore or the cancelled date; you were just putty in his hands. Carefully tugging your dress up on your hips, Ian grins at you when you stumble against him near your bed. “My clumsy girl. I’ve been thinking ‘bout this all night. You know that? How bad you drove me insane wearing this slutty little dress out in public.”
You didn’t know, but your cheeks were on fire now at the idea of it. Was it a slutty dress? You hadn’t meant to look that way. You had just wanted to be pretty, but maybe that was what Ian had meant. “You like my dress?”
“I like it plenty. Just don’t think it’s a dress you should be wearing out anymore.” Watching you fall backwards onto the bed, Ian knows he should just put you to bed and call it a night. You had drunk too much. You were obviously not in your right mind, yet you were talking to him. “Come here, baby. Cuddle with me.”
Sighing happily, you let Ian pull you against him as he lies down next to you. This was nice. You had missed this. You had missed him and how good he smelled. You were so tired. The warmth of being in his arms and the alcohol in your system were doing a great job at putting you to sleep. But then you felt Ian’s lips at your throat, you felt his hand sliding along your thighs, and you couldn’t stop the way your brows furrowed. “‘M tired, Ian. Not tonight…”
Now his brows were furrowing. You had been teasing him all fucking night and now you were saying not tonight? Groaning against your skin, Ian pulls you back against him, letting you feel his cock hard in his jeans. “But, baby—”
You push his hand from your thigh as you whine his name. You don’t see the anger that passes over Ian’s face before he lies back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Then sleep.”
And you did. You slept hard, but it was restless. You were still in your tight dress. You could feel Ian’s warmth radiating towards you and it made you feel uncomfortable. When the first bits of daylight peek through the curtains, you already feel like wanting to die. You’ve barely opened your eyes when you grimaced at the feeling of the layer of sweat covering your skin. Glancing behind you, Ian sleeps soundly, his arm over his eyes as he snores softly. He doesn’t seem to stir from his sleep until you slide off the bed and whine about how uncomfortable you are.
“Shh… Too fuckin’ early.”
It was too early to be awake after the night you had. Bracing yourself on the wall, you muffle your whimper, feeling your head ache. Your eyes felt like sandpaper and your mouth was all cotton. It takes you longer than it should to stumble into the bathroom before you fall to your knees on the white tile, heaving hard over the toilet. You were feeling your regret wash over you.
Making your way back to the bedroom, you whine under your breath as you tug the zipper of your dress down and kick the garment from your legs as soon as it reaches your feet. You don’t feel Ian’s eyes moving over your body as he lies in bed, his head resting on his arm. You only feel the pain behind your eyes and the churning in your stomach as you work to release your body from the rest of the uncomfortable clothes in search of new ones.
“Come here, doll.”
Your brows furrow as you do finally meet Ian’s eyes, seeing the look in them. He was much more awake than you were and clearly feeling better. All you wanted to do was pull on your softest shirt and a fresh pair of panties, but his fingers draw you closer to the bed. Letting him guide you down on it, you let out a soft sigh, hoping he just wants to hold you. His fingers trace your curves, causing you to shiver as the air moves over your body.
“You are so pretty. You know that?”
You don’t feel it right now, so you shake your head in disagreement, hearing him tsk at you. His fingers move further down your stomach to the middle of your legs, where you close your thighs a bit tighter. “I feel like shit—”
“Seriously? I took you out last night. I let you be the one who got shitfaced, and I got turned down then. You are seriously gonna do it again? Way to make me feel like an asshole, Y/N.”
A frown fixes itself on your lips as you force yourself to meet Ian’s eyes. He was right. You had done all of those things. You hadn’t done it on purpose, but you had turned him down. You wanted to continue to turn him down now, but the disappointed look in your eyes made you consider how valuable his time was to you. “”M sorry, Ian. You—we can. You can touch me.”
Shaking his head, Ian slides his hand from you. You see the look in his eye, like the feeling of your skin is offending him. Turning on your side, you whine his name only to watch him lean his head back to escape your fingers. “I—what if…” Your voice trails off as you move on the bed to your knees, looking over Ian’s body. It felt weak… forced, as you run your fingers over his thigh towards the top of his jeans, feeling him start to harden under your hand. “I can just take care of you if that’s what you want, baby.”
Ian hides his smirk as he considers your proposition. He would be lying to himself if he hadn’t wanted this to be the way his morning went, but he wasn’t going to say that to you. Instead, he lifts his hips and nods down at his jeans to let you get started. He could feel your hands trembling slightly as you worked the zipper down and then the denim to his thighs. “Fuck, I can’t say no to you…”
The moan in his voice fills you with a bit of confidence. You were doing good again. You had messed up, but now Ian was happy again. Did you want to go down on him this morning? Absolutely not, but what you wanted even less was to be alone. You could picture him getting upset one more time and walking out the door. That wouldn’t happen if you did this.
Taking his hard cock into your hand, you shift on your knees to lean over his hips, tracing the tip of it with your warm tongue. The sound that reaches your ears causes your lips to pull up in a bit of a smile. It still wasn’t that you wanted to do this. It wasn’t that you were getting off on it. It was that you knew how to keep him with you. You knew how to keep the loneliness from eating you to death today.
Ian groans your name loudly when you take him into your mouth fully. He can almost feel your throat closing around the head of his cock when you swallow. You were good at this. If there was nothing else you knew how to do, at least you could suck cock. Lifting his hips towards your mouth, Ian runs his fingers through your hair before forcing your head down over him. He was already getting close. It had been a couple days since he had fucked you and this was just what the doctor ordered. “Just like that. Fuck—fuck!”
Cum fills your mouth after a few moments of working your mouth over Ian’s cock. You always hated the taste of cum, but one glance up to your boyfriend had you forcing yourself to swallow the salty release.
“Shit… I love watching you do that. You don’t miss a single fucking drop of it. So hungry for it, huh?”
You just nod, unable to find your words. You hoped that now maybe Ian would take care of you. He’d want you enough to touch you, but all he offers you is a quick kiss followed by a sigh.
“I know you like the taste of my cum, but I don’t, baby.” Turning his face from you, Ian yawns loudly as he lifts his hips, tugging his jeans and boxers back up. “I gotta get going anyway. I promised Wooyoung we’d hang out today before he goes to work.”
The pit in your stomach continues to grow. Darkness and cold fill it as you force yourself to smile and nod at him. “Oh… Oh, okay? I just—we aren’t gonna hang out today?”
Shrugging as if you should know his answer, Ian slides off your bed and uses the mirror at your vanity to fix his hair. He signs into his words, boredom leaking through like venom. “We hung out yesterday, doll. Don’t be selfish. You know I have to give my friends some time with me too. I can’t stay in here all the damn time.”
You sit up, pulling your knees towards your stomach as tears threaten to spill over the rims of your eyes. “Right. No, I know, Ian. I just…” Sniffing back your tears, you feel your bottom lip start to quiver as loneliness bites at your skin. “Just miss you is all and we only went out to the club, really. We didn’t really spend—”
“Babe, are you crying?” Groaning out another sigh, Ian turns back to you, moving to his knee at the side of your bed and running his fingers over your head. “Stop it. You know you want some time to yourself anyhow. Don’t make me feel like shit over this. I do everything for you.”
You want to remind him of how little he actually does, but the moment he meets your eyes, you crumble. Tears drip down your cheeks only to be wiped away by Ian’s thumbs as he waits for you to agree with him. Forcing one last smile, you try to keep the tears out of your voice, but it doesn’t work as your voice shakes. “I—yeah. No, I know… You take care of me.”
Nodding along with your words, Ian leans forward to tilt your head back so he can brush his lips over yours. “Always will. Get some rest, doll. I’ll text you later.”
Three fucking days since you had really spoken to Chan and he was going insane. Of course you still text him and there had been a call or two over the past thirty-six hours, but they hadn’t been anything of substance.
Something was wrong and he was going to figure out what it was. His first thoughts landed on Ian and all Chan could see was red. If that motherfucker had done something to you… Chan couldn’t even let the words pass through his mind without gritting his teeth so hard he thought they might shatter from the pressure.
Relaxing his jaw, Chan tightens his hands on the steering wheel instead as he waits for the traffic light to change. He hadn’t told you he was coming over. Perhaps that was a mistake, but how was he supposed to go for so long without seeing you or really hearing you? It was like taking the air out of his lungs and expecting him to thrive. It was impossible. He had spent almost every single day of over a decade with you within arms reach and this was the first time you had ever gone silent in a way that felt endless.
He let out a relieved sigh as he pulled into a parking space near your place—Ian wasn’t there. Or at least his car wasn’t and that was enough to keep Chan’s hopes up. As long as your so-called perfect boyfriend wasn’t in his way, he could get to the bottom of this. He could get you back.
Jogging up the steps, Chan tugs his keys from his jacket and instinctively finds your key. This was muscle memory for him. Not even knocking, Chan pushes your door open and kicks his boots from his feet next to the spot yours sat. He dropped his keys into the bowl with yours and furrowed his brows, letting out a breath when he heard the sounds of something playing on the TV in the living room. “Darlin’?”
You hadn’t expected company. There were only two people who had a key to your apartment and your stomach was twisting with a mixture of anxiety and relief at the sound of the door opening and closing. Ian had been distant with you for the past few days. You didn’t understand what you could have done wrong. You had given him what he wanted the last night he stayed with you and now he was giving you the cold shoulder, just stating he needed space.
Would you really want to see him right now? Could you handle it?
The sound of Chan’s voice instantly makes your chest tighten. You felt horrible about being so distant with him. You knew that he was concerned about you, but you had gotten so tired of being the needy friend. There wasn’t a day that went by that you didn’t have something to complain about, and while it seemed that Chan could and would be there for you no matter what… the guilt was eating you. Were you just using his friendship to make you feel better? How the fuck was that fair to him? Chan was the most amazing person you knew and he deserved the world, not his best friend being a constant burden.
Meeting his eyes as he moves into the living room, you try to smile at him but your resolve breaks. Tears fill the rims of your eyes and you instantly bury your face into your blanket that had been wrapped around you so tightly to keep you warm and hidden. Arms wrap around you and you feel Chan’s warm breath against the side of your head as he doesn’t say anything. He just sits in the moment with you. The anxiety seems to come off him in waves the longer you stay silent in your tears.
“I—” You start and then stop, managing to look up and meet your best friend’s eyes. His eyes were so warm and full of love when he looked at you that it was suffocating. He makes no attempt to rush you; instead, his thumbs push the tears from your cheeks as he gives you endless time. “I’m sorry.”
You didn’t have a single fucking thing to apologize for, but Chan understood what you meant. He could read you as well as his favorite book. He had been here a hundred times, his fingers in your hair as he soothed you. This was like flipping through that book and finding his favorite parts that he had dog-eared so that he’d never lose them. “Shh… Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on? Where you been?”
Leaning against Chan, you let yourself give in to your selfishness, enveloping yourself in his warmth and familiarity. “Nothing. It’s stupid. I—I don’t know why I’m like this.” That didn’t seem like the full truth, but Chan didn’t want to push you. He had you right back where he wanted you. The last thing he’d do right now is scare you away by forcing you to tell him the truth.
“Nothin’ wrong with you.” Chan’s words make you scoff, but a smile does pull at your lips, causing him to mimic it. “‘M serious. You’re perfect like you are. My favorite person.”
You swallow hard at that. He was your favorite person too and yet again you felt so completely selfish that it almost swallowed you whole. You didn’t deserve him like this. He could be out living his life—the idea of that makes you remember the girl that he had left the club with a few nights ago and you shift against him, a frown taking the place of your smile. “Yeah… Uh, did—how was…” You trail off, finding Chan focused so fully on you as you try to find your words. It felt wrong to pry into his life, but if he was talking about himself, then he wasn’t asking about you.
“Did you have fun with that girl?” You see the confusion and then realization cross over Chan’s lips before he sucks in a breath trying to find his words. Before he can speak, you force a smile and lift your shoulders, trying to seem interested and nonchalant about it all. “She was really pretty. Totally… like, you know, your type. Dark and sexy…”
That makes Chan scoff to keep from laughing. He wasn’t amused by the idea of that girl. What had her name even been? God, he was a piece of shit… Shaking that thought from his head, he meets your eyes once again as he brushes his thumb along the arm of your shirt on your bicep. “It was—she was fine. It—I’m not seein’ her again.”
Instead of seeing what he wanted flash across your eyes, he sees concern and confusion as you shift once again against him, turning to face him, your legs crossed on the couch under you. “What do you mean? You—it seemed like y’all were having a good night. Did—” You furrow your brows as you start to ask if they hooked up, realizing you don’t really want to know. You see the look in Chan’s eyes as he anticipates the question, seeming uncomfortable with what his answer would be and how it would affect you.
“Never mind. Um, so—” Leaning away from Chan, you swipe your phone from the coffee table, opening your Instagram and searching for something while his eyes seem to search over you. “Did I ever show you, uh—Molly? She’s the new girl at work and she was asking about—”
Chan sighs your name, reaching for your phone and turning off the screen before he puts it back on the coffee table, shutting down the conversation before it started. “You did and I’m not interested.” The way your face falls, your eyes instantly searching for anywhere else to look but him as you try to regain your balance. “You don’t have to set me up with someone, sweetheart.”
“But, that’s not true. You don’t try, Channie…” You could feel the frustration rising in you as you watched Chan roll his eyes in annoyance. You were doing it again, but you hated the idea of him being sad and alone more than you were concerned if he got mad at you. “You are always alone and you don’t give anyone a chance!”
“Because I don’t want a relationship, Y/N!” Chan hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but the moment he had, he saw the hurt settle in your pretty eyes. “Baby, listen to me. I don’t want some loveless relationship with a girl who might look good on my arm. I’m not alone. I’ve never been alone. I got you…” He hoped that you’d get what he meant. There had been very few times when he had ever let himself be this vulnerable around you and he could count on one hand the number of times he had ever called you "baby."
Your heart beats a little harder in your chest with Chan’s words. Why was he being like this? He had always been stubborn, but this was frustrating. You weren’t enough. How could you be enough? No, you’d never let him be alone if you had your way about it, but what about when you got married? Even the idea of it leaves you with a queasy feeling rising in your throat that you force away. It was what you wanted… Right? That was the end goal. You’d marry Ian… You’d be a good wife and get your white picket fence—god, why didn’t that feel perfect like it should? That was the blueprint handed down by your mother and her mother before, but it felt tainted.
“That—Chan, please be for real.”
Those words are enough to break the calmness that Chan had been holding on to so tightly. Lifting his hand from you to push against the center of his brows, he scoffs, losing his patience. “I’m just about the only one being real. You wanna be for real, Y/N?” Not waiting for your answer, he bites the bullet, feeling the pit in his stomach grow as the words fall off his tongue like poison. “Why the fuck would I want to be trapped like you? Why would I want to be miserable day in and fucking out like you are?”
The moment the words leave Chan’s mouth, you watch his eyes soften and how quickly apologies form on his lips, but the damage was already done. Tears drip down your cheeks and you push his hand from your leg, not wanting him touching you. Words don’t find your tongue; instead, you breathe his name into a sob before wrapping your arms around your legs, causing him to curse softly at your reaction.
“No—wait! Y/N, I didn’t mean—”
“Stop it!”
You didn’t want to hear him make excuses for what he had said. You weren’t even mad at him. You were mad because it hit home so hard. Hell, where had you been before he showed up to check on you? You had been wallowing in self-pity over your boyfriend ignoring you. You had been eating your way through an entire pack of chips as you teared up over reality TV relationships. What hurt the most was that Chan hadn’t held back in saying it.
“Bab—Y/N, please. I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin’ stupid and I’m—” Anxiety was trapped in Chan’s throat as you sobbed, batting his hands away from you with every attempt he made to pull you back to him. How could he be so stupid? What the fuck had he been thinking, saying something like that to you? It didn’t matter if it was the truth. The way he had said it was wrong. While he didn’t fully understand what you saw in Ian, it wasn’t his place to tug you down like this and make you feel like shit. “I’m just some asshole! What the fuck do I even know, right?”
A soft scoffing laugh escapes your lips between your sobs as Chan calls himself an asshole. He wasn’t far off, but that wasn’t fair of you. Blinking through your tears, you look up at him, seeing the crushed and concerned look on his face before confusion joins the mix when you laugh again. “You—you’re so stupid.”
God, he was. Chan knew that, but as you sniffed hard and wiped your cheeks with your blanket, he found himself smiling at you softly. “You know I am. I’m sorry. I don’t know what—”
“Let’s just let it go, okay? I really can’t handle sitting here like this anymore.” You wipe away a few fresh tears before leaning your head back, willing them to stop completely. “I look like a fucking moron.”
Buzz buzz
The sound was incessant as your phone kept ringing from its spot on the coffee table in front of you.
Buzz buzz
You weren’t sure what time you had fallen asleep on this couch, but what you knew right now was that the buzzing from your phone was annoying. You were warm and your back was pressed against someone’s chest as you finally forced your eyes open. Glancing over your shoulder, you stare at Chan as he sleeps soundly behind you, his arm around your waist protectively.
You remembered him coming over and your meltdown, but then the two of you had settled on the couch to watch some movie together. Apparently neither of you had made much of an effort to get off the couch and had fallen asleep here together.
This wasn’t the first time by any means. Hell, he had spent nights over in your bed, the two of you talking until early morning and your mom finding the two of you gently chastising you both before a smile would take over her lips. It was innocent. This didn’t feel as innocent. You were warm and safe right here. You didn’t want to check your phone that had stopped ringing only to ring again.
Buzz buzz
Carefully slipping from under Chan’s arm, you pull the blanket from the back of the couch down over him before picking up your phone and hissing under your breath at the name on the screen. Ian was calling you. Now you felt even more guilty for where you had fallen asleep and the fact that you had a missed call from him.
“Hello?” You whisper as you move out of the living room and into your bedroom, leaving the door cracked. Balancing the phone against your shoulder, you bite at your bottom lip as you tug some jeans and a shirt from your closet, realizing you were still in your stained lounge clothes from the day before.
Ian laughs under his breath. “Why are you whispering, babe? You busy?” You were never busy this early and certainly not on a day off. Maybe you were just waking up. The thought of that brought a bit of a smile to Ian’s face as he pictured you cute and sleepy, waking up against his chest.
Shaking your head, you tug your shirt over your head quickly, replacing it with another before securing your phone back against your ear. “No, no… Course not. I missed you…” That wasn’t a lie and was part of the problem. It had been a couple of days since he had really reached out like this and you were like a dog begging for scraps when it came to his attention. “Are you coming over?”
That question was sincere. You wanted to see your boyfriend, but it might also be nice to have some warning since Chan was asleep on your couch. Nothing had happened. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him staying at your place—especially on your couch—but you felt guilty anyway. You had slept right there on that couch with him.
With that question, Ian sighs, leaning his head back. It wasn’t like he woke up and decided to disappoint you, but that was easier to do than breathing lately. “Nah, not today, baby. I got some shit to do with the guys. You understand, right?”
Disappointment settles over your guilt, taking its place as you button your jeans and stare out in front of you as if you can see Ian there. “I—no. Not really. I haven’t seen you in like…days, Ian. I miss—”
“And I miss you! Fuck, Y/N. You know that. Why you gotta make me feel like a piece of shit when you’re just needy?”
The sound of Ian’s friends in the background makes you feel like you are sinking into the floor like a pit. They were laughing and you thought you heard one of them tell Ian he was a dick. He was talking to you like that with them right there? Tears rise in your eyes and you bite on your cheek to stop them from falling. When you don’t speak up, Ian sighs your name through the phone.
“I gotta go, baby. I will call you later.” Before he hangs up, you hear him groan as if he’s remembering something, and he adds. “Don’t forget about dinner with my parents this weekend, alright? Wear something pretty… Love you.” The phone beeps against your ear as he doesn’t wait for your response or an “I love you” in response.
Stretching on the couch, Chan flexes his fingers over the spot you had been, causing a frown to form on his face. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep here but he didn’t regret it for a second. He had loved having you in his arms like that. He wanted to keep you safe and happy but now you weren’t where he left you.
Chan pulls himself up, letting the blanket you had put over him fall to the cushions as he runs his hands over his face, listening to you talk quietly in another room. He couldn’t make it all out but he wasn’t an idiot. You had to be talking to Ian. The thought of it made Chan’s stomach twist with too many emotions—anxiety, disappointment, and jealousy. God, it wasn’t his place but he couldn’t help how jealous it made him that it wasn’t him you belonged to.
Sighing to himself, Chan gets to his feet, ready to figure out his next move, when the sound of your voice once again catches his attention. “I—no. Not really. I haven’t seen you in like…days, Ian. I miss—” You were sad; that was so clear that he didn’t even need to see you to know you were crying. You might be trying to keep it from Ian, but Chan knew you so well he could hear it in your voice.
It takes a few more minutes for you to come out of your room. Chan quickly moves his eyes over your fresh clothes before meeting your eyes, seeing your cheeks dry. You had obviously wiped your tears away; that didn’t mean he couldn’t still tell. “You alright, sweetheart?”
God, it was frustrating how Chan always seemed to know. Forcing a smile on your face, you put your phone in your back pocket and shrug like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong. “All good. You, uh—” Scratching the back of your neck, you gesture to the kitchen before looking back over at the couch you and Chan had slept on before walking in the direction you had pointed. “Breakfast? I’m sure you got all kinds of shit to do before work…”
Chan glances back over at the couch like you had, his brows furrowing before he follows you towards the kitchen, shaking his head. “No. I mean—yeah, breakfast, but no, I don’t got shit to do. You…” Tilting his head, Chan watches you open the fridge as you try to keep up your mask, not letting him know you are hurting. “Thought I’d just hang out with you before I went back to work. That sound good?”
You hated how quickly you nodded in response to that scrap of attention from your best friend. The idea of being alone was eating at you and like always, he came in like a knight in shining armor, ready to make it better. Now a real smile was pulling at your lips as you turned to meet him. “Yeah! I—you really…” Shaking your head to stop yourself from talking, you laugh as you bite at your bottom lip, turning back to your task, pulling out the ingredients for pancakes as you try to find the right words. “I’m just really happy to spend some time with you, Channie.”
Chan smirks a bit at your reaction before moving to rest against the counter near you. He loved making you smile like that. You looked genuinely excited about spending the day with him and he didn’t have anywhere else he’d rather be. “I love spending time with you. You know that.” A sigh leaves his lips as your cheeks start to heat up under his attention. You are happy when he gestures to the bowl in front of you in question. “What’s for breakfast? Flour?”
His eyes don’t leave you even as you laugh again, moving to pull on a little apron to cover your clothes. You were so beautiful and even something as simple as watching you put on that apron had his mind spiraling. You were already starting to relax and that only made it easier for him to do the same. Like this he could let himself enjoy your company and how fucking domestic this all was as you handed him the pancake flour and a measuring spoon.
“Pancakes, duh. I need, like, two…” You say the number like a question before checking the back of the box and nodding. “One and a half cups of that and I’ll add in the rest while you do that.”
Grinning, Chan sets the bag down on the counter before doing as he’s asked. Dumping the first half a cup into the bowl, he watches you carefully as you bite at your lips, cracking an egg and adding it in as well. He could picture doing this shit every day for the rest of his life with you. If he let himself imagine too much, he’d start picturing you with a kid running around your legs—his kid. Something that would never happen.
“That’s enough…. Channie!” You whine, knocking his hand, causing the rest of the flour to spill back on his jeans. The moment his eyes fall down to his now dusted jeans, you put an apologetic smile on your lips and whisper out an apology on a quiet laugh.
“You think this is funny, do ya, darlin’?” It was obvious you did even as you apologized again, turning to drop some batter into the hot skillet. Wiping the flour from his jeans, he cups some of it into his hand, blowing it away and towards you, hitting mostly your hair and cheek.
“Chan!” You squeal his name, kicking at his leg even as you keep your attention on the batter cooking in front of you. “I’ll kick your ass if you start this.”
Was that a promise? Grinning once again, he reaches into the batter bowl and scoops out a small amount, smearing it over your nose as you stare at him in disbelief. “Cute.” The word leaves Chan’s mouth, followed by a loud laugh, when you smear your finger through the batter and come for him in retaliation. He grabs your wrist gently, keeping you back as you playfully glare at him. “Your pancakes are gonna burn if you keep playing with me.”
He was right. You could already smell the batter cooking and it was starting to smell too done at this point, but this was war. With a small push forward, you rest your body against his and Chan’s eyes soften as he loosens his grip on your wrist, practically letting you reach forward and smear the batter onto his cheek. You couldn’t remember a time when he had given up so easily, but maybe you were just getting stronger. Smiling in victory, you turn back to your pancakes and flip them over, assessing the damage as Chan presses his lips together, staying by your side.
You didn’t seem to realize that he had let you win, but that was okay. It had taken everything in him not to wrap his arms around you when you had rested against him like you had. That daydream of a life together with you had felt all too real for a moment and now Chan was struggling to calm himself down. His heart was in his chest and his hands were shaking slightly as he grabbed a towel, wiping the batter from your nose and his cheek before cleaning most of the flour from your hair as you cooked.
“You sexting your girl or something?”
Seungcheol’s voice and his question pull Chan out of his daze and draw his eyes upward as he clears his throat. “What? No… I don’t—” Shaking his head, he shoves his phone back into his jacket pocket and turns his attention back to the door he was watching with the other man. Despite it being a Friday night, this bar wasn’t getting nearly the action required for two to be manning the door. “I was just talking to Y/N…”
Giving Chan a knowing look, Seungcheol’s lips pull up in a slight smirk before he steps to the side, letting in another small group of girls. They were all cute, probably close to Chan’s age and yet he didn’t give them a second glance as they eyed both of the bouncers before moving to the bar, sharing giggles over Seungcheol’s attention. “Like I said.”
Seungcheol always did this. He was almost as bad as you. One minute he would be teasing him about you and the next he was trying to secure every potentially eligible girl’s number for him. Chan had eyes. He knew that there were plenty of pretty girls in the bar, but none of them did it for him.
“Quit the shit. You know Y/N is just my best friend. She’s—I don’t know. Her location is still showing at work and she’s had a couple bad days.” The phone in his pocket vibrates and even though Chan knows that he should ignore it, he shouldn’t check it again while Seungcheol scrutinizes him… He can’t help it. Your name was on the screen and it made Chan’s lips pull up in a small smile as he texted you back.
“Again, like I said. Your girl. You look like you're two seconds from cumming in your jeans every time she texts you.”
Chan’s lips purse together as he rolls his eyes at the continued teasing. Something didn’t feel right about how you were texting him. Why the fuck were you still at work? He hated the idea of you having to order a ride home this late.
“Ope, maybe it’s not sexting. Looks like someone just pissed in your cornflakes.”
Sighing into his words, Chan glares up at Seungcheol, now leaning back against the door frame as he does. “Dude… I’m not sexing her! We don’t—she’s got somebody. Doesn’t matter…”
Y/N: How’s work? You at the same bar as last week?
Chan: Yeah same place. The fuck you still at work for?
Y/N: Waiting for Ian to pick me up. He was supposed to be here like an hour ago.
An hour? Cursing under his breath, Chan quickly responds to you as Seungcheol smirks at one of the girls who was lingering closer with a drink in her hand.
Chan: wtf?? Where the fuck is he?
A few minutes pass without your answer. Chan shifts from one foot to the other, looking at the time in the corner of his screen before cursing a bit louder when you do finally answer. Both Seungcheol and the girl look up in surprise before she wanders back towards her friend. “What? Why are you being weird? I had a name and was this close to getting her digits but you had to wig out.”
“Sorry, I didn’t—goddammit. I’m gonna kill his ass.” Looking up from his phone, Chan scowls heavily, shifting in place once again like it's difficult to stay still. He looks about one breath away from walking out the door and yet his feet are cemented in place, knowing he is on the clock. “The motherfucker forgot to pick up Y/N from work and now she’s sitting on East Higgins tellin’ me she’s gonna order a goddamn Uber.”
Now it made sense—the ready-to-kill-someone look that was plastered on Chan’s face. Glancing around the bar, Seungcheol shrugs before gesturing to the door. “Get the fuck out of her and go take her home. Ain’t shit happening in here tonight. It’s dead as fuck and you know it.”
Taking his own look around, Chan groans under his breath, feeling tugged in two different directions. He didn’t skip out on work and though he knew Seungcheol would cover for him, the idea of it ate at him. Then again, you were willing to risk a ride with some shady fuck who might be cruising near your work. Chan felt bile in his throat at the idea. Sure, you might be just fine. You might get the nicest driver in town and there was always the chance you’d end up with some asshole who’d make you uncomfortable.
Seconds tick by and Chan runs his hand over his face before nodding at Seungcheol, who was staring at him, waiting for him to get his ass in gear. “Yeah…. Yeah, alright. I’m goin’. I’ll make it up to you. Swear.”
Not waiting for much more than a nod, Chan tugs his keys out of his pocket and moves through the door and out towards his car as he texts with the other hand.
Chan: Fuck that. I’m on my way. Be there soon.
Guilt eats at you when you see that text from Chan. You hadn’t wanted him to leave work for you, and yet alongside the guilt, you were feeling some relief. It was cold. You had walked out the door of work expecting Ian to be waiting for you only to notice his car wasn’t there. He had promised to pick you up. He had been the one to urge you to get in a couple extra hours on your latest project at work, and now he was too busy to come get you.
Ten minutes pass and you look up in surprise when Chan’s car comes to a stop with a loud screech of his brakes. He had been at least twenty minutes away. You were full of anxiety, considering how many traffic laws he had broken to get to you as quickly as he had. Wiping your cheeks quickly to get rid of the leftover tears on them, you tug your bag onto your shoulder and make your way over to the car.
Chan furrows his brows as he waits for you to get comfortable in his passenger seat. You looked like you were freezing and he he didn’t wait even a second before turning up his heat and reaching to brush his fingers over your cheeks. Your skin was like ice and he could feel the line where tears had dried in the cold air. Of course you had been crying. God, how could you not when you had been relying on someone and they let you down once again? “Here, give me your hands.” Reaching for both of your hands as you lift them, Chan cups them in his own and exhales warm breath onto your trembling fingers. “Why didn’t you go back inside, sweetheart?”
Sighing into a laugh, you tilt your head watching Chan as you start to warm up bit by bit. “The door was locked. When I realized Ian wasn’t here, I tried to open the door again, but it was too late. I—he told me to get an Uber home and I could’a done that, Channie.”
Chan scoffs before his teeth clench to stop him from saying something he shouldn’t. “Alright, why did you work so fuckin’ late for? It’s Friday… Don’t you usually get drinks with people from work?”
You could see the concern on Chan’s face in the way his brows were knit together and how his jaw was so tight. Taking your hands back from him, you shrug and offer him a soft smile as he finally puts the car into drive, turning towards the direction for home. “Have that big project and I was toying with the idea of getting it done this weekend. I was gonna come in tomorrow but I have dinner with Ian’s parents so he—we—thought tonight might be better to just knock it out.”
Every fucking decision you made tonight had been for him. The fact of that was causing Chan’s hands to tighten around his steering wheel. He was trying to stay calm, but when you wave it off, he snaps. “He’s a fuckin’ asshole.” You sigh Chan’s name and before you can continue—to defend Ian—Chan practically growls into his words. “No, Y/N, he is. He left you in the fuckin’ cold because he’s too goddamn pathetic to keep his word. You’re too good for him. Why—you should drop his ass.”
Chan had said things like this before, but he had never been so mad about it. He let you make your own choices, even if he didn’t agree to them, but he had never outright told you that you should break up with Ian. “Don’t be silly. It’s not a huge deal. I’m fine…”
“No, baby, it’s not.” He hadn’t meant to call you baby, but he wasn’t thinking straight as he tapped his thumb on the wheel hard, waiting for the light to change. “He treats you like shit. Be serious for one second and think back on just the past couple of weeks. How many times has he done what he said he was gonna do?”
Swallowing hard, you consider Chan’s words and your mind does start to recount the canceled dates and all too many times you were left crying over something Ian had done or had forgotten to do.
“You work too damn hard to start pulling ten- to twelve-hour days. Oughta wear your ass out for even doing it.”
Now Chan was muttering under his breath, but you feel your cheeks heat up at his words anyway. He cared about you so much and without question. Sighing softly, you whine his name and shake your head when his attention is back on you. “I know, Chan. I—you’re right, but we’ve been together for so long and he’s—you know. He’s talking to his parents more about shit and we’re doing dinner tomorrow. I’d be an idiot to give up something so good.”
Scoffing, Chan runs his fingers through his hair before leaning his elbow against the door as he rests his thumb against the bottom of his lip, keeping his eyes on the road. “What’s so good about it? Seriously, tell me because, sweetheart, I don’t see it.”
You sigh again and lift your hands as if it’s obvious, but Chan’s brows just lift in question. “Oh my god, like everything. He’s good-looking, he’s got a good job… His family is—they’re a good family.”
“And he’s got a shitty-ass personality.”
Finally a smile pulls at your lips, causing you to look down. Just seeing it on your face has Chan smirking against his thumb until you speak again and he feels his stomach in his throat. “I think he’s gonna propose, Channie. I’d be throwing all that away. A good stable life… A chance to have kids and give them that life too.”
Chan fights the urge to say he hopes you’re wrong. He wants to scream at you and tell you not to be so stupid, but what kind of friend would that make him? He could tell you that he could provide that for you—but you didn’t want him like that. He was fucking delusional to even consider it, yet the bile was biting at his throat, causing the next words to come out like the acid he felt. “You really wanna play submissive housewife to someone like that? Someone who doesn’t give you the fuckin’ time of day to come pick you up from work now? This is just you two dating, Y/N…”
His words cut you deep, but you consider them even as they bite at what you have left of your confidence. “I—I don’t know Channie. It’s all I know…”
Shifting the car into park, Chan’s eyes move over your face as you keep turning to look at the building with another soft sigh. The moment you start to reach for your bag, he slides his hand into yours, lifting it towards his lips again, brushing them over your knuckles. He watches as your head tilts and your eyelashes flutter like you’re lost in thought before he fills the silence.
“You know how much I love you, right?” Chan smiles against your knuckles when you nod, telling him you love him too. “And I just want you to be happy. That’s all I care about.”
Your breath gets caught in your throat even as you lower your hand back down to your lap. You can feel Chan’s lips against your skin and it makes you feel like you are floating, while at the same time panic creeps up your spine because how do you land after that? You wouldn’t; you’d crash to the ground in a bloody heap. You couldn’t consider him like this. You couldn’t ruin this with him. Why was your heart beating like a drum?
“Go on, beautiful. Get some rest.”
The fish on the plate in front of you was staring at you. Even as you pushed your fork against the side of it, there seemed to be no way to make the fish close its eyes. You could hear the soft drone of voices around you, and yet it wasn’t until Ian closed his hand around yours that you seemed to come back to the present.
“Mother was speaking to you…” Ian had a smile on his face, but it wasn’t real. There was a strain in his lips that you could see so easily. Dropping your fork, you smile at him and then look to his mother. She was the very picture of a kept housewife. Her brown hair was in a neat chignon near the nape of her neck. Her makeup was light and yet hid every single imperfection. The smile on her face was just as strained as her son’s.
“I—I’m so sorry, Mrs. Carrington. What were you saying?”
She scoffs under her breath, glancing at her husband by her side, who hadn’t stopped inspecting you from the moment you had sat down. He was what you imagined power personified would be. He scared you a bit. He looked so much like Ian, and yet there was a deepness in his eyes that made you feel like people could get lost in them. “That’s alright, dear. I was asking about your job. I was wanting to know what advancement opportunities lie at your company. Are you fulfilled there, dear? Would you still work once you have children?”
Opening and closing your mouth, you swallow hard, feeling Ian’s thumb rub against your wrist bone as they all wait for you to answer. “I—” Why couldn’t you just spit out the words they wanted to hear? Why was this so uncomfortable and difficult? You had met each of Ian’s parents separately over the course of your relationship, but this was the first time you had all sat down together.
“She works so hard. I’m sure there would be something that could and should be available to her.” Ian speaks up, covering for you and you find yourself grateful until he tilts his head and sucks at his teeth. “But I think Y/N would be happy to stay at home with children. She’ll make a wonderful mother. Right, baby doll?”
Ian’s eyes, along with his parents’, stay fixed on you as your cheeks start to burn. You weren’t really ready for kids at this exact moment. Of course you had thought about them. You had told Chan the same just a day before, but now that the subject was in front of you and your life was being spelled out for you, it had your heart in your throat beating with every word. “I—I don’t know. There’s time to figure that out.”
That hadn’t been the response anyone at the table had been waiting for. For the first time in about twenty minutes, Ian’s father makes a sound, and it’s one of disapproval. “You’ll need to figure it out, Miss Y/L/N. There are expectations as a Carrington… That is what all this bullshit is about, is it not?” His eyes then fell to his son, who rested his elbow on the table, pursing his lips against his index finger.
“Well, I—Sir, I couldn’t assume—” You had started to speak only to feel Ian’s hand tighten around your wrist to stop you. Wincing a bit at the pressure of his hand, you look down at it and then over to Ian even as he keeps his eyes off of you and on his parents. “That hurts…” You manage to whisper the words, leaning towards Ian, and his eyes finally shift to yours. While his fingers ease slightly, he doesn’t let go, and the look in your eyes tells you almost everything you needed to know. He knew that it hurt, and he had meant it. Were you being so impossible that he had to physically shut you down?
“Y/N understands, Father. Don’t worry about—”
“I’ll worry about what I want to worry about, Ian. I’ve played along with this—” His finger shifts, pointing from him to you as he furrows his brows in discomfort. “For too long. You told me that she was perfect. I fail to see that.” Settling his eyes back on you, Ian’s father moves his eyes from the top of your head and down as if he can see through the table. “We asked for you both to dress for the occasion. Your girlfriend decided that this restaurant warranted a tight dress that leaves nothing to the imagination? She can’t speak without stammering like an uneducated child. I’m not seeing the perfection.”
Your stomach flipped with each of his hits to your appearance and actions. This should be the time that Ian stood up to him and named everything he liked about you. You could imagine him being furious with his father and how he was speaking to you; instead, he lowered his own hand, smoothing out his perfect shirt, and tightened his hand around your wrist again.
“I did ask better of her, Father.” Seeing your jaw drop in surprise, Ian turns to look at you, leaning in closer to speak quieter just for you. “Stop that. You know I did. I told you multiple times this week that this was coming up, and you said you understood.” His eyes shift down to your dress and the bit of cleavage that peeks from the neckline with a displeased groan. “I told you to look perfect. At least you can do is think before you speak. You know the pressure I’m under… I like you, but Jesus Christ, Y/N.”
“Like me? You don’t love me?” Your eyes cut into Ian as he sighs your name, glancing towards his parents as they speak in a similar way. His father’s neck was flushed from anger and you weren’t making this easy.
“Stop… I—you know I love you.”
Tugging your hand away, you go back to looking at the poor dead fish on your plate as Ian apologizes to his parents for you. This didn’t feel like love, but what were you supposed to do but take it? This was what you had signed up for, right? You had slowly started to learn who Ian was. He was one person with his parents and another with his friends, and with you he had never been this. Not really. He had been mean before, but today, this was cruel.
The dinner had gone on for longer than you had wanted. You had spent more time staying silent and nodding along with Ian or his mother as his father continued to tell you how the relationship would be going from here on out. He had slapped his hand to his son’s shoulder with a painful clap before shaking his hand and telling him you all could meet again in a month to discuss the next steps. Was that how an engagement should begin? Was this a business proposal that his father needed to sign off on before your boyfriend could or would get on his knee to ask for your hand?
Looking out the window, you sigh as Ian keeps his eyes on the road. You hadn’t spoken to him since the two of you had told his parents goodbye, but it didn’t seem like it was bothering him. It isn’t until the car is parked outside of your building that he turns his attention back to you and breathes out your name. It hurt hearing his voice so soft now when he had hurt you so badly today. Glancing towards him, you feel yourself start to melt a bit at the apologetic look on his face. Maybe you were being too harsh. He had said it himself; he was under a lot of pressure.
“Are you still mad at me?” Ian slides his hand over yours on your leg, lacing his fingers through yours as he watches your brows soften. “I said I was sorry, babe.”
He had said that, but at the time it hadn’t felt like he meant it. Now you weren’t as sure. It was confusing. There was an ache in your heart, but having his soft eyes on you like this now… did it make everything better? Shaking your head, you watch his lips pull up in a smile before he turns your hand in his, lifting it towards his mouth and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. The entire moment makes your stomach twist as you picture Chan doing the same thing the night before when Ian had left you sitting outside of your office.
“That’s good. I’ll call you later, okay?”
At those words, your mouth dries up and you stare at Ian like he’s joking. Tugging your hand away, your brows once again tense as you try to find your words, feeling like there is cotton sitting on your tongue. “Wha—what? What do you mean? You aren’t coming in?”
Ian sighs, leaning his head back against the leather headrest. “Baby, I have shit to do. We just had this fucking conversation.”
All you see is red. You grab your purse out of the floorboard and get out of his car quickly, slamming the door behind you. You can hear Ian cursing behind the closed door and he doesn’t stop as he gets out and moves around the car quickly, his eyes narrowing on you. “The fuck is your problem? You’re acting like a spoiled brat! If you fucked up my car— I swear to god, Y/N!”
You had hoped that maybe he was getting out of his stupid expensive car to come to get you. You let yourself believe for a split fucking second that he was angry you weren’t going to talk this out with him, but no. Of course he wasn’t doing that; instead, you watch as Ian runs his hand over the door of his car.
“You need to watch your damn temper, Y/N. This car is worth—”
“I don’t give a fuck what it’s worth, Ian!” Staring at him for a few seconds, you turn your attention to the car and kick at the door hard, feeling the heel of your shoe scratching at the paint. His hands grab your biceps, and he pulls you tightly into his arms, causing you to wince at the force he uses to keep you in place.
“Get your ass inside before you do something to really piss me off!” With a rough push towards the steps, Ian glares at you, and you glare back, tears dripping off your cheeks.
Across town Chan hadn’t been able to stop himself from thinking about you. He had checked his texts one more time; Chan sighs when he sees his message to you left unread. He knew that you were out with Ian, but he couldn’t help himself now as he pulled into a parking spot and looked towards your place. He didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t seeing that motherfucker pushing you away from him, causing you to stumble.
It only takes seconds for Chan to run towards the other man and for his body to crash into his, sending them both to the sidewalk below. His knuckles meet Ian’s jaw and Chan feels pain rush through his hand from the force. You were yelling now, but Chan only saw him. It didn’t matter that his knuckles were split from how hard he was punching Ian; it only mattered that it was finally happening.
“Get the fuck off of me!” Growling into his words, Ian lands a punch on Chan’s stomach, giving him a split second to roll over him, taking advantage of this fight. He hated this asshole and now he finally had a reason to kick his ass. Taking another swing, this time for Chan’s face, he hits skin, feeling the bone underneath. Ian hoped he had done some damage, but the man below him just glares at him even as blood starts to run down his jaw from his lip.
“Stop it! Please!” Your throat was raw from how loud you were having to be, just hoping either Ian or Chan would listen to you, but instead you watched as Chan put Ian back on the ground below him and landed a punch against his side, causing your boyfriend to groan in pain. “Oh my god! Chan, stop it!”
You knew it was stupid to try to break up the two men, but the moment that Ian ended up back over Chan, your heart was in your throat hearing the sound of his fists against your best friend’s face. Starting to reach for Ian, you meet his eyes briefly when his elbow swings back and against your jaw, causing you to see a flash of white as pain spreads through your face.
Sirens blare in your ears even as you stumble back, your hand on your cheek, hearing Ian and Chan cursing at one another. You couldn’t make out their words anymore. You only seem to focus when a woman speaks to you, her hand on your arm as you look past her to watch two police officers dragging your boyfriend and best friend apart.
“Miss?” You blink at the woman, seeing the concern in her eyes as her eyes fall to your already swelling jaw. “Which one of them hit you? Do you need an ambulance?”
Shaking your head, you glance down at the badge on her chest as fresh tears roll down your cheeks. “No…” Beyond the police officer in front of you, you watch as both men are cuffed behind their backs, Chan struggling briefly before he’s told to stop. His eyes were focused on Ian’s, whose eyes were full of the same hate.
“Would you like to press charges?”
Those words bring you fully back to the moment, and you step towards them only to be pulled back by the female police officer, who tries to keep you calm. “No! I—it’s not like that. Please don’t take them.”
“Miss, if either one of them cared enough to stay here, they wouldn’t have been fighting on the side of the street.”
It had been close to eight hours since you had watched Ian and Chan being driven away in police cars. Your face was aching even as you held an ice pack to it with your eyes fixed on your cell phone. You had texted both of them hoping for a response, and it was as if time was laughing at you as the screen of your phone stayed black.
Tears begin to well in your eyes, and finally relief mixed with panic floods through you as you grab your phone and look at the message from Ian.
Ian: I’m sorry.
Pressing down on his name, you put your phone to your ear and whine when he sends you straight to voicemail with another text, causing your phone to vibrate in your hand.
Ian: I need some time. My parents bailed me out. Theyre pissed.
Of course they would be. God, this was the fucking worst. They’d hate you even more now, but you find yourself not dwelling on that. At least Ian was out, and you two could talk about this. You needed to talk to him about what happened, but your mind shifted to Chan. He hadn’t texted you back yet and you didn’t know if he was even okay.
Y/N: I’m so sorry. Do you know if Chan is okay?
Ian: don’t fuckin care hope he rots in there
Ian’s text causes your mouth to drop open in disbelief. You knew that there would be animosity after what had happened, but not outright rage like that.
Y/N: Don’t say that…
A moment later your phone rings, showing Ian’s name on the caller ID. Anxiety ripples through you as you answer, putting the phone to your ear.
“Really, Y/N? You gonna go that damn low to back that motherfucker after what he did to me? He attacked me!”
Opening your mouth, you start to speak only to hear Ian curse as his mother speaks in the background, telling him to calm down. Tears that had been sitting on the rims of your eyes start to trail along your cheeks as he curses your best friend, calling him every name he can think of before turning his attention back to you. “When are you gonna get it through your thick ass skull who and what he is?”
Swallowing a sob, you shake your head and wipe your tears from your cheeks. “No, stop it. It’s not like that. You—You pushed me and he—”
“Oh my god, Y/N! I apologized! I was just pissed. You kicked my goddamn car! You were acting crazy!”
Once again you start to speak, the sob coming through in your voice as you start to defend yourself and Chan, only to hear Ian hit something through the phone and his mother gasp, immediately telling him to calm down again. “No, I’m not calming down. You know what, Y/N? I can’t do this bullshit anymore. I'm done!”
Your heart cracks at his words. You feel the pieces shattering in your chest as you try to catch your breath, whispering that this isn’t fair. You don’t get the chance to speak again as the phone beeps in your ear, leaving you just as alone as you were. Tears drip onto the screen of your phone and your shoulders shake as you feel a wave of pain wash over you, followed by a sense of relief. The relief confuses you; it has you sitting up straighter and wiping the tears from your face before you find yourself calming down enough to think.
The evening replays in your mind. The pain in your jaw has your brows furrowing as you let out a soft, calm breath, realizing you aren’t nearly as heartbroken as you should be.
Staring up at the police station, you swallow hard before taking the few steps up the stairs before pulling the door open to look around. You couldn’t say that you had been to the police station often, if ever before, but looking around it now had you relaxing more. You had expected bad guys cuffed to chairs and people yelling as police officers led them around, but instead you found one man leaned back in a chair with an annoyed look on his face as a woman sat behind a desk offering a smile to you.
“Uh, hi. I—could I speak to someone about bailing someone out?”
The woman nods before pressing down on her radio, asking for another officer to come out before she gestures in that direction. The man offers you a soft smile and then his hand as he introduces himself as Officer Jeon and waits for you to do the same. “How can I help you, Miss Y/N?”
Following him towards a set of chairs, you sigh before finally speaking. “I want to bail out my friend Lee Chan. I—I’ve never done this before. I brought some cash…” Lifting your purse into your lap, you start to dig out your wallet when the officer laughs under his breath.
“Let me get his release papers, and we’ll get this figured out.” After a few moments of you sitting awkwardly waiting for him to come back, he waves the papers at you, and you move to stand, going towards him. “His bond is set at $1000 cash. He was charged with public disorderly conduct. This is his court date, but he knows that too.”
You once again start to take out your wallet when Officer Jeon gestures to the woman you had spoken to when you had arrived. “She’ll take that from you, and I’ll go get Mr. Lee.”
Nodding, you slowly make your way towards the woman as she takes the papers from the other officer, beginning to process his release into your care.
Chan’s face was aching, and that didn’t match the feeling of his ribs. He wasn’t sure that he hadn’t broken something, but rage was doing a good job of masking it. Someone was bailing him out and Chan couldn’t think of anyone besides you. That was crazy, though. You wouldn’t want to see him after how he acted. He had just seen shades of red and black when Ian had laid his hands on you. Then he had almost blacked out when he heard that motherfucker’s elbow hit your face. You had looked terrified and shocked.
Walking behind Officer Jeon, Chan sighs under his breath, lifting his head to see you standing there with papers in your hand. You had come for him after all. There wasn’t anger in your gaze like he had assumed there would be; instead, you looked like you were going to cry at the sight of him.
“Hey, darlin’.”
Even Chan’s voice sounded as rough as he looked. Enough time had gone by that, just like your bruise, his was starting to bloom along his skin. There were so many, and you knew there were more you couldn’t even see. Moving towards him, you move into his arms, hearing him grunt in some discomfort as he nods along with the officer’s words, promising to go to his court date.
Leaving his arm around your shoulders, Chan moves through the station with you and out the door, taking in a deep breath of the evening air. His cell hadn’t necessarily stunk, but there was a chemical cleaner smell that made it even more unpleasant. He had laid down on the thin mattress over the metal bed and attempted to rest his eyes, but all he could see when he closed them was the fear in your eyes. This was better; this was freedom, and he’d do anything he could not to end up inside of one of those cells again.
You turn in Chan’s arms and look up at him, the tears in your eyes spilling over as you run your fingers over the bruises on his face and then the cut on his lip. “I’m so sorry.” You have to catch your breath through the words, and even as Chan shakes his head, ready to apologize, you refuse it, burying your face against his shoulder, letting him hold you tight.
“I’m alright. Shh, sweetheart. Let me see you…” His voice is soft as you look up at him. Chan traces the swelling on your jaw, and his teeth clench in anger. That pissed him off more than any bruise or broken bone he might have. You should have never been touched in the first place, but this was worse.
“It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay, and Chan wanted you to understand that, but you were looking at your phone before he could speak. He could see that you had already ordered a ride and now you were just checking to see how long it would be before the Uber would show up.
Holding the door so you can get into the car, Chan furrows his brows as he sits beside you, letting you rest against his side. He finds himself wondering if you did this same thing for Ian. If you had taken him back to his car and let the prick apologize before he swept you back off your feet. The idea of it makes him feel sick, bile rising in his throat as his eyes move over the side of your face. “I—so, did—have you spoken to Ian?”
Chan watches as you take a deep breath at the mention of your boyfriend’s name. His eyes follow your face as you nod, but you don’t give him much more than that. God, this wasn’t good, was it? Rubbing his palms against his jeans, Chan looks out the window as the driver turns towards your building and parks. Starting to speak, Chan stops when you thank the man and look at him expectantly. “You—yeah, sorry.” Sliding from the seat, Chan watches you do the same before he closes the door and listens to the car drive away, leaving you both in silence.
His car was still parked where it had been, but Ian’s was gone. Swallowing hard, Chan tugs his keys from his pocket, ready to speak again when you take his keys out of his hand and lace your fingers with his instead. “I’m not going home? Don’t you want some time away from me?”
He watches as you shake your head and start to lead him up the stairs into your building without so much as a word at first. The silence was like feeling needles against his skin even as your hand rested in his. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean for any of this shit to happen and I—I just… He pushed you, and I freaked the fuck out. He’s a cocksucker with a complex, and I should just keep my mouth shut, but I hate the idea of him touchin’ you—you know, like that.”
Pushing open the door to your place, you sigh Chan’s name and laugh sadly under your breath. “Stop apologizing. It was my fault and—" You trail off before letting go of his hand, dropping the keys into the bowl and walking into the living room, knowing he is following you. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”
Chan’s brows furrow at your words, leaving him confused. What didn’t matter anymore? You don’t give him much time to dwell on it as you look back at him and sigh sadly. Moving to take his hand again, you lead him towards the bathroom, leaning to turn on the shower and turning to tug his shirt from his jeans as he watches you closely. Your fingers timidly trace the outline of the biggest bruise on his side as your lips turn down in a frown.
“This is all my fault.” You were echoing your words from a few minutes ago, but now there was so much pain laced in them that it was breaking Chan’s heart. “I’m so difficult.” You wipe your tears from your cheek angrily before pushing Chan’s shirt up his torso, making him help you get it off as you look over the cuts and bruises that were hidden from you. “We went to lunch with his parents, and they hated me. They hated what I was wearing and how I spoke. Ian was so ashamed of me…”
Gritting his teeth, Chan leans his head back to keep himself from reacting like he’d prefer to hear how your day had gone. You weren’t someone that anyone should ever be ashamed of. You were perfect, and if they couldn’t see that—if Ian couldn’t see that—none of them deserved you. “Fuck them. Fuck him. I’d kick his ass again if I got the chance. I’ll kill him—”
“No, you won’t.” Sniffing back your tears, you take Chan’s shirt from his hands and hold it close to you, starting to walk out of the bathroom. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter anymore. He broke up with me. I—" You laugh sadly under your breath again, and Chan leans against the bathroom counter, his brows furrowed at this new information. “I asked about you when he told me his parents bonded him out. He told me you could rot in there for all he cared.” Tears stream down your cheeks, but you can’t decide if you are sad, angry, or numb. “I don’t know what to do.”
Moving towards you, Chan slides his fingers over yours, pulling one hand to him as he tilts his head. “You don’t have to do anything. How are you feeling? That’s what I want to know. He didn’t deserve you, but I—”
You laugh again, leaning your head back to attempt to stop the tears still flowing from your eyes. I don’t know how to feel. Ian… He was supposed to be my forever. I had been banking on it, you know?”
Taking another step towards you, Chan groans your name under his breath as he shakes his head, reaching up to wipe tears from your cheeks. He hated that you were crying over this asshole. It broke his heart to see you so broken. “You deserved so much better. You deserve someone better than some pussy who is going to throw you around like he did.”
Those were pretty words, and that makes you smile. It was like being told a joke that you knew the true punchline to. “I’m never going to find better than that, Channie.”
That’s all it takes to break Chan and for him to push you against the door so he can rest his hand on the wood beside your head. His other hand rests against your face, his thumb brushing away more of those tears. He shakes his head resolutely and meets your eyes. “You are worth the fucking world. I just—I just wish I wasn’t such a fucking coward and could say exactly what I want to say to you. I wish just once I could show you what that means…”
You feel fear spreading through you at Chan’s words, but as much fear as there is rushing through your veins, there is hope chasing it out. You wanted to hear what he had to say. You didn’t want to push him away or make another excuse to get away from him before something happened you couldn’t take back. You didn’t want to take this back.
“Fuck… Y/N, I love you.” Chan whines into his words when you quickly repeat the words back to him, but he rests his forehead against yours and traces the line of your neck as he forces himself to be brave. “No… Not like that.” Seeing the look in your eyes change, Chan sighs, sliding his hand from the door to rest it on your waist. “I—of course I love you like that, baby. I mean, I’m in love with you. I’ve always been in love with you.”
Seconds tick by into minutes with you staring up at him with confusion in your eyes until finally understanding seems to wash over you. Reaching up to slide your hand along his chest, you hear Chan whisper your name, pain lining his voice with fear of rejection, before you finally reach his neck, tugging him down the few inches you need.
Your lips are soft and yet it feels like a fire is behind that kiss when your lips finally meet Chan’s. A groan slips between his lips and into yours as he takes the last step towards you, pinning you between him and the door. This had to be in his imagination. This was every dream he had ever had and it was going to take convincing for Chan to realize it was real.
Hands carefully trace the line of Chan’s side before you rest your palm against his abs, feeling him suck in his stomach at your touch. You knew this was crazy. There was so much that could go wrong with this, but you push those thoughts away and whine out a moan into Chan’s mouth as his fingers press into your skin over your shirt.
Somehow this feels so overdue. You feel the fire that had been stoked in your heart burst into flames when Chan groans your name, sliding his hands down your hips then over your ass to lift you. He steps between your legs, and you lock your ankles behind his back, rolling your hips down over his, feeling his cock hardening in his jeans for you.
“Fuck, baby…” You felt so good against him. He had imagined this thousands of times over the years, but nothing could prepare him for how you actually felt. Your lips were so soft, and your tongue was warm against his. Your body was perfect. He loved how you fit against him and how you clearly wanted him as much as he wanted you. He could feel heat between your thighs, and his cock was painfully straining in his pants now.
Sliding his fingers along your waist again, Chan breaks the kiss to look down at you for any signs of regret as he pushes your shirt up your stomach to rest under your breasts. Instead of finding any regret, he finds fire in your eyes. They were full of lust and, more importantly, love. God, this might only happen this once, and you might hate him after it, but Chan was so selfish he’d take one time.
You help Chan slide your shirt over your head, letting it fall to the floor with his as his hands trace your skin as if he’s trying to memorize it with his fingers. Your bra slips down your arms as he unclasps it and you shimmy against him, letting him drop it along with the other clothes. This wasn’t the first time he had seen your tits before, but there was a difference between walking in on your best friend while she changed and the way that Chan was looking at you now.
How could you be this fucking perfect? Your body was calling to him, and Chan was determined to answer. Brushing his lips against yours again to capture them in a deep kiss, he traces the swell of your breast with one hand before running his thumb over your nipple, causing it to harden. Electricity seems to roll through your body with that action, and you arch your back off the door, pushing your chest back towards him with a whine.
“So fucking pretty. God, let me look at you.”
Chan’s voice is low but there’s a deepness to it that has your thighs shaking. You had forced yourself not to think about him like this, but now that it was yours for the taking, every dirty thought you had secretly had about him washed over you. You swallow hard as he steps back from the door and turns to put you on the counter so he can step back and take you in. You feel shy under his eyes and yet nothing about that makes you want to hide.
Tugging his belt from his jeans, Chan moves his eyes over every inch of your skin without regret. You were his. At least in this moment you were and if it was the first and only time he was damn well going to remember every detail. He mapped out the moles and scars on your skin as he dropped his jeans to the floor with his boxers before running his hand up your legs and to your waist, undoing your jeans next.
A sigh escapes your lips as you lean back against the mirror, lifting your hips to make it easier for Chan to tug them down with your panties. You were trying to stay focused, but his hands felt so good on your skin, and when he stepped back between your legs, you could feel his cock hard against your bare skin.
He was big. Bigger than you had even noticed before. It wasn’t as if you had been looking at your best friend’s cock before, but you were a woman, and you weren’t blind. You had seen the bulge in his jeans more than once and let your eyes linger there for a second too long. Now you were looking and feeling without shame. Sliding your hand along your leg, you smirk when Chan’s hands tighten on your thighs, feeling your fingers sliding along his shaft.
“Careful, sweetheart… Don’t tease me too much.”
Was that a threat? What if you did exactly that? God, why did that excite you so much? You were soaked, practically dripping onto the counter under you, and Chan’s breathy voice had you tightening around nothing. “Why not?”
Laughing under his breath, Chan follows it up with a groan when you wrap your hand around his cock and press his tip against your palm, smearing pre-cum onto your skin. “Brat… I don’t wanna scare you. This is supposed to be perfect. I’ve always pictured it differently.”
That has you tilting your head as you shift forward to rest the head of his cock against your pussy, your other hand gliding along his length slowly. “You won’t scare me.” There was a smile in your voice, teasing him as you did the same with your hand and the softness of the lips between your legs. “How did you picture it? How many times did you picture it?”
Groaning quietly, Chan opens his eyes to meet yours, seeing the challenge in your eyes. “I’ve thought about this almost every fucking day since we were teenagers, but I’ve loved you for longer.” That admission has your hand slowing and your brows softening; Chan smirks at your reaction, moving to place his hand over yours, moving it over his cock at his pace. “I pictured romancing you. Laying you back on the bed and worshiping you until you screamed my name and came on my cock.” That has your eyes widening and your fingers tightening around him. Groaning into his words, Chan looks down at your hand under his and gasps between words. “You don’t know anything about me when it comes to this. I might scare the shit out of you, princess.”
Your breath catches in your throat when you see the look in Chan’s eye, and you find yourself actually feeling a bit nervous at his words. Yet the challenge stares you in the face, and you don’t back down. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Biting at his lip, Chan looks for signs you are lying before his hand moves for your thigh, coming back down with a harsh slap to your skin. He watches as you gasp into a moan before your head falls back against the mirror. Your eyes had rolled back into your head, and you were panting now. “Promise?”
You had never been with a man who would actually be rough with you before. You could remember complaining about your sex life to Chan more than once, and now you could remember the smirk on his lips as he told you that maybe you just hadn’t found the right guy yet. “Fuck, I promise. Please…”
What were you even begging for? Smirking to himself, Chan takes a few steps back from you and holds on to the ends of your fingers, urging you to slide off the counter to stand on your own. The moment your feet hit the floor, he turns you in front of him and pins you down, his chest against your back. “Spread your legs.” When you take a moment to act, Chan knocks his knees between your thighs, urging you to do as he said. “How many times have you thought about me fucking you? Be honest.”
The question has your cheeks burning with embarrassment. You had spent years pushing down your attraction to your best friend, and now he wanted the dirty truth. Fingers slip between your wet folds from behind, and you press your hands into the cold counter under you with a whining moan. “I—a few times.”
Scoffing at your answer, Chan uses his forearm to keep you pinned down as he leans back to look between your legs as he spreads your folds for him, seeing how wet you are. You were dripping on his fingers, and he still couldn’t prove that this wasn’t a highly realistic wet dream. It didn’t matter either way; he had to see this through. He’d die if he didn’t. “A few? Once, twice, maybe a dozen? We’ve known each other a long fuckin’ time, Y/N. I know when you’re lying to me. Don’t make me punish you.”
The promise of that was so sweet you bite your bottom lip and suck it into your mouth, feeling Chan’s fingers barely dip into your entrance. You gasp, your lip falling from your lips when he buries his middle finger in you completely, drawing an answer from your lips. “A couple times…”
It was a lie and he knew it. Chan grins, standing up a bit taller, letting his arm rest over your ass now as he curls his finger against your warm, soft walls. “You’re gorgeous when you lie.” With those words he pulls his finger from you, hearing you whine before his hand comes down hard over your ass. The scream falling from your lips scares him for a few seconds before you relax under him and look back over your shoulder with lust in your eyes. You wanted more. He could do that.
Chan tugs you back further, pushing your ass out even more, before his hand smacks the side of your ass so hard that his palm burns. “How fucked up are you, baby? Wanna share stories?” His eyebrows lift, and you whine, turning your head away from him. You were embarrassed, but Chan was feasting on the sight of you. “Oh, come on. You won’t tell me the truth about how much you’ve thought about me. Least you can do is tell me how kinky you’ve gotten.” Did he even really want to know? Probably not. The idea of some other man touching you has Chan’s blood boiling, but he has to hear it from you to know just how much better he has to be.
“I don’t know! Fuck, Channie!” Another slap to your ass has your thighs trembling, your knees threatening to buckle before Chan pulls you back against his chest as he leans to turn the shower off, making you realize this isn’t going to be over anytime soon. You whine at the feeling of his hard cock pressing against your ass as he leads you out of the bedroom and into your bedroom. You know you should know better, but a smirk pulls at your lips as you remember what he had said. “This the part where you romance me and make love to me?”
Grinning to himself, Chan tugs your arm behind your back a bit tighter at the teasing in your voice. “Somethin’ like that. I do want you on your back.” Turning you in his arms quickly, Chan dips his head to yours and captures your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless. He continues to walk you backwards until your knees meet the end of the bed and you fall backwards without anyone to catch you but the mattress.
Chan moves his eyes back over you and groans as he stops between your legs, seeing your folds glisten in the light. “Spread ‘em.” He watches intently as you spread your legs, your folds sticking together from how wet you really are. “Your pussy too. Be a good girl and use your fingers.”
You lick your lips, your breath threatening to get caught in your throat again as Chan tells you what to do. You know you could tell him no. You could just lie here and let him force you to do it, but your fingers trail over your stomach and between your legs, where you use your fingers to spread your soft folds for him.
“No one compares to you. I’ve looked at women. I’ve fucked them. You know that… Don’t give me that look.” A smirk pulls at Chan’s lips when you narrow your eyes at him recounting his own sex life. “You’re the one who urged me to date, baby. You don’t get to judge me now.” Seeing you still pout at him, though your eyes soften, has Chan chuckling in amusement. “But none of them were half as beautiful as you. None of their pussies had my mouth watering and my cock so fucking hard. That’s only you.”
There would be no other girls. He’d never look between another girl’s legs for as long as you were breathing. You had never been so possessive in your life, especially not over Chan, but now you were practically feral at the thought of him touching another girl. How had you set up all those dates and watched some girl’s hand sliding over his arm? The idea of it now made you want to scream and tear their hair out.
“You look like you’re going to burst into flames. Are you that fuckin’ mad? You thinking about how you took me to the bar and I left with another woman?”
“Shut the fuck up!”
Chan laughs in disbelief as you yell at him. His hand slaps yours away before his hand comes down hard over your pussy, making you scream out a moan. “You’re furious. So goddamn jealous now. You claiming me, darlin’?”
Tears were on your cheeks, but this time they weren’t from how sad you had been. This time they were tears of pleasure. They were tears of frustration as Chan played with you. “You’re mine.”
God, how long had Chan wanted to hear that? How many times had he wanted to say that same fucking thing to you? Sliding his fingers along your folds, Chan grins as he meets your vengeful eyes. “And you’re mine. No one else can ever make you feel like I do. I swear that to you. I’m gonna fuck you so hard… so good, that you won’t remember that motherfucker’s name.”
He was just as possessive, if not more. That was deadly clear now as Chan avoided even saying Ian’s name in fear you’d try to remember it. The moment you furrow your brows, Ian’s name clearly on your mind, Chan groans, but it sounds more like a growl before his hand comes down between your legs again hard. It hurt, but it hurt so good that each slap had your thighs quivering and your pussy clenching.
“Get his fuckin’ name off your mind. What did I just say?”
“I’m sorry! I won’t think about him. I’ll forget his name.”
With your apology, Chan nods, his fingers smoothing the burn he had left between your legs before he turns his palm up and slides two of his fingers into you without warning. He watches you arch off the bed and how your legs try to close, but he just pushes them back down to the bed with his free hand. “You’re close, aren’t you? You gonna cum on my fingers like a good girl?”
You wanted to be his good girl, and he wasn’t making that difficult. You were so close that it was painful. A few thrusts of his fingers over that spot inside of you had you lifting your hips off the bed and trying to push his hand away. He didn’t let you. He pushed down on your hips and pumped his fingers into you harder, faster, and unapologetically as he prolonged your orgasm, causing you to scream his name.
Chan doesn’t stop until he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks once again. Only then does he slide his fingers from you, pausing to tease your swollen clit, drawing another whimper for mercy from your pretty lips. You were exhausted. Your thighs were shaking uncontrollably, and his hand was coated in your cum. It still wasn’t enough. Chan wanted you ruined.
You shiver as Chan traces his hands along your sides, letting them come to a rest under your breasts. He was giving you time to come down from your orgasm, but you weren’t sure there was any way of coming down from this. You had never felt so limp after an orgasm as you did now. You could easily fall asleep as his hands lulled you to take deeper breaths, and yet you knew he wasn’t done. “You—You’re gonna kill me.”
Laughing under his breath, Chan’s lips brush over the soft skin of your stomach, groaning when you shift under him. “Never. I couldn’t live without you. I thought you knew that by now.” He watches a smile pull at your lips before he nips gently at your skin, working his kisses lower. You were whining his name, almost seeming to realize where he was going, but he laced his fingers with yours and tsked. “Denying me a taste? Can’t you handle it, baby?”
God, he was infuriating. You were made of jello, and Chan wasn’t letting you go. You’d be lying to yourself and him if you wanted him to. Opening your eyes, you watch him move lower, your bottom lip caught between your teeth only to slip out when you moan at the first swipe of his tongue between your legs.
You tasted better than Chan could imagine. Your pretty thighs were trembling with each lick, nip, and brush of his lips over your sensitive pussy, but he wasn’t anywhere close to being done with you. Pushing your legs back towards your stomach, Chan groans like a starved man as he buries his face against you. He sucks your clit between his lips and ruts his hips against the end of the bed, hearing you cry out for him.
“Taste so fuckin’ good.” Chan was muttering to himself, but he knew you could hear him. Your fingers were laced in his hair. You were pulling him closer between your legs and he wasn’t going to disappoint. His teeth tug at your soft lips, letting them go before he dips his mouth lower and forces his tongue into your dripping hole.
You were clenching down on his tongue and practically screaming Chan’s name as he groaned like an animal against your pussy. No one had ever come close to making you feel like it. You could remember faking orgasm after orgasm with different partners, but you knew in your soul you’d never have to do that with Chan.
Running his tongue back up to your clit, Chan grins against your skin before he sucks the bud back into his mouth and you let out a silent scream this time as your orgasm rips through you like a wave. Your thighs were closed around his head. Each breath in from his nose made his lungs scream for more, but he didn’t force your legs apart until you came to a stop with your back arched high.
Not wasting a bit of your cum, Chan licks his lips clean and stares up at you from between your legs. Your breasts were rising and falling hard. You looked just about as ruined as he wanted you, but his cock was going to explode if he didn’t get inside of you. He knew there was more to talk about, but his brain was going a million miles an hour as he slid between your legs and pressed his tip against your clenched pussy. He wasn’t going to force himself inside of you. He waited until you were relaxed enough to welcome him in before he buried his cock in you to the hilt.
A tired but pleased gasp escapes your lips when Chan fucks you slow, making you feel almost overwhelmed with how full you are. No one else mattered and it seemed like he knew it as he groaned against the shell of your ear, relishing in the feeling of you surrounding him.
“You’re mine, Y/N. Even if it’s just for tonight.” Chan’s voice has a layer of sadness that you want to banish away from him, but before you can find the words, he thrusts into you again, finding a steady pace and you forget how to even speak. His lips find yours, his tongue gliding along yours as his hand pulls your leg tighter to his side, letting him fuck you hard and deep.
Words get lost between the both of you. You both fall into the rhythm and the feeling of your skin against his. You start to think that there’s no way you can cum again, but once again Chan refuses to give up, his cock so deep and so perfect that after a few minutes you feel that coil tightening and threatening to snap. “P—Please…”
Furrowing his brows tightly as you beg him for release, Chan groans, burying his face against your neck, his lips finding the soft skin there as he nips and sucks at it. He’d give you the fucking world. He’d tear it down piece by piece and rebuild it for you if you only asked for it. Reaching between your body and his, Chan’s fingers find your clit, and he rubs the bundle of nerves in a tight circle, feeling your thighs start to shake once again. The moment your orgasm rips through you, he has to force himself not to follow. You were clenched around him so tightly it took effort to thrust into you. You were acting like you never wanted to let him go, and by god, he’d stay inside you for the rest of his fucking life if that were possible.
You feel Chan try to pull from you, his groans becoming breathy as his own climax tries to take him over that edge. A whine slips from your lips, and you wrap your leg around his back, urging him to stay inside you. Meeting his eyes, you see the question in his gaze, and you simply nod and whisper "please" once more. Chan’s brows furrow, and he lets out a sigh of your name before pressing his lips to yours, burying himself inside of you hard once more, letting his cum spill into you.
Moments slip by without a spoken word. You both fight to catch your breath, and Chan’s hands trace the contours of your body before he finally slips from you and lies at your side. This was the part you were afraid of. This was always the scary part; it didn’t matter who the man was in your bed, they would either stay or leave, and nine times out of ten in your experience, they left. But this was Chan. Chan, who had slept in your bed a hundred, possibly a thousand, times in the time since you had become friends. It was Chan who was looking at you like you hung the fucking stars in the sky as his fingers traced your swollen jaw with so much care you felt like glass under his touch.
“Do—” Swallowing your words, you turn on your side to face Chan as he lifts his brows in question, urging you to keep going. “Do you really love me?” You watch as his brows soften before he pulls you closer and kisses you softly. There is so much said in that kiss that it almost breaks your heart.
“More than anything. For the rest of my fuckin’ life. Even if you never look at me like this again. Even if I never get you like this again… I’ll always love you.”
Tears fill your eyes, and you whine his name, pushing him away so you can hide the tears. You bury your face against his chest, and Chan runs his hand along your back, soothing you and begging you not to push him away. How was this real? You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve Chan, but you loved him so much that it took your breath away. So finally you tell him that and you watch his lips fall open in a breathless sigh before he cups your chin and presses his lips to yours with meaning, hoping you’ll understand how important this moment is to him.
synopsis ➳ ❝an arranged marriage with the man the entire land is afraid of. the man with a crimson eye. they call him the grim reaper. cold, ruthless, unforgiving. yet you are drawn to him, curious to see the man hiding behind the cold, hard exterior. and the man behind is hauntingly beautiful but your forever with him is not promised.❞
pairing ➳ husband general!seungcheol/ x wife noblewoman!reader
genre ➳ historical romance (joseon era), angst, pining, smut.
wc ➳ 25.4k + 1040 (patreon)
warnings ➳ blood, mentions of war, scars, minor character death, attachment issues, arranged marriage, mentions of cheating, severe injury, miscommunication. cheol is an ass in the first half, reader is lowkey a simp, jealousy, big dicc cheol, bondage, virgin sex, rough, unprotected sex, fingering, teasing, edging, dirty talking, praise kink.
a/n: this is a work of fiction, so take this with a grain of salt. it will be historically inaccurate, so my apologies beforehand. (also, surprise?? posting it a day early hehe)
glossary:
Jangot – Veil-like cloak for women
Binyeo – Decorative hairpin
Yakgwa – Honey-ginger cookie
Jeonbok – Traditional sleeveless vest for men
Dasik – Pressed tea cookie
Jeogori – Upper garment or jacket
Chima – Skirt worn by women
Baduk – Strategy board game (Go)
Daenggi – Ribbon for braids
Hour of the Ox – 1:00–3:00 AM
Hour of the Tiger – 3:00–5:00 AM
Orabeoni – Respectful term for older brother
+82 some miracle
only listen to my general
“Daughter, this is General Choi Seungcheol, your betrothed. Greet him properly,” your father commands softly, his eyes trained on you.
Your breath stutters in your chest.
Whether from the loaded tension in the air, the silence of the room or your future husband’s penetrating eyes on you, you are unsure.
His eyes…
You saw them once, a long, long time ago, and you remember them in explicit detail because they are heterochromatic. His right iris is red, a shade of fiery crimson that is scary but also hypnotizing—a stark contrast to his left iris, which is pure black.
You wish it were only his eyes that were lethal. Unfortunately for you, it is his presence itself. It is the way he silently sits there, poised and alert, holding his sword in his right hand and softly drumming his left index finger on his knee, as if telling you to hurry up. It is the way his face remains unreadable, a porcelain white canvas containing a pair of eyes fiercer than a mountain lion's, a sharp nose that is slightly crooked on the left, and pink lips that are pressed in a thin line. The most daunting of it all, the scar on the right side of his face, just below his eye and on top of his cheekbone. It is no more than a couple of inches long, but the gash looks deep, even after it has healed and imagining the pain behind that curse rakes shivers down your spine.
Finally, you snap out of your reverie.
With a shaky exhale, you bow down and speak as humbly as possible. “Please accept my greetings, my lord. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
—
Choi Seungcheol is well known throughout the kingdom, highly feared and revered. In fact, many hold him in the same regard as the king, which is not unfair or surprising. He is the Minister of War and the General of the royal military, the right-hand man of the King and his most trusted subject. Since his boyhood, he demonstrated excellent swordsmanship, and paired with his keen intellect and faultless war strategies, he quickly rose through the ranks and became the King's favourite. His name spread far and wide after he brought victory to the nation in two consecutive wars. He attended the first one when he was only eighteen, and he became infamous for that.
That war with the nearby enemy nation was extremely brutal, as it took away the lives of many of the best men in the military. When Seungcheol returned to the capital with the enemy General’s head in his hands, he was a changed man who had altered the course of history. Bloodied, beaten and bruised, he sported the deep scar on his face, fresh and bleeding.
Rumours spread from there. Though he brought the nation victory, the townspeople gossiped about everything from his scar, his crimson eye, to his temper, claiming that he was a madman or possessed by an evil spirit.
You have heard a few things from your father, too. He has agreed that the war changed the man, rightfully so. As the state minister, your father saw firsthand how brutal and merciless the war was till the last moment. So much so that he stepped down from his position afterwards.
He lost his son in the war, after all. Your older brother, whom you vaguely remember because you were only eight at that time.
Nothing was the same after his passing. Your father lost his spark, your mother became quiet and indifferent, and the house fell into a deathly silence that felt haunted. The silence still lingers, fourteen years later.
It has been a long time, so long that sometimes you feel like those days never existed. Yet, you remember them vividly: the pain of your mother’s death four years after your brothers, the remaining light dissipating from your father's eyes and the house falling into a perpetuating state of darkness, a place where everyone remained silent, from the slaves to the master. A place that never truly was illuminated, even during the brightest days of summer. A place that you had to call home but wasn’t your home. It was a graveyard where you floated through, watching the world outside bathe and shine with colours when the second war was won, when the king became the father of a boy, when the economy flourished. Seasons passed and years went by, yet your house never celebrated a holiday or a special occasion.
You saw your father survive each day, haunted by his past and unaware of the present. Every day, he would see students from morning till noon, fulfilling his duties as a scholar before retiring to his room and staying there till the next morning.
The only time you saw some life in him was three years ago, when he called you one day in his chamber to announce that you would get married to Choi Seungcheol once he returned from his three-year trip to another country. Choi Seungcheol, the General of the Royal Military. The man with heterochromatic eyes, who came to your brother’s funeral years ago.
That’s how you have remembered him. The man with two different colored eyes, who stood in the rain with a grim expression on his face as they lowered your brother into the ground.
Over the years, you have heard notorious things about him. He has gained an infamous reputation among the townspeople. Many people believe that he is insane and that he murders people for fun. Word goes around that he is a womanizer, a man without a heart, a man who did not spare his own brother and executed him for treason.
You don’t know how much of this is true.
It all might be true; he just might be the devil living in a human body, but funnily enough, you do not care.
You will do anything to get out of this house. Living here for the past fourteen years has been like being buried alive. You are breathing, yet you don’t feel alive—you don’t remember the last time you felt that way, if ever.
And if a diabolical, insane man is your ticket out of this grave, you will take it. You will accept it with open arms and a smile on your face.
—
The marketplace is crowded.
You gently tread through the throng of people, holding your jangot over your head as you eye the stalls leisurely, nothing in particular catching your attention.
“My lady,” Jihye whispers, walking alongside you. “You have been circling the market for the past half an hour. What are you even looking for?”
A dejected sigh flows past your lips.
Last time you came to the market, a pretty flower binyeo caught your eye. You had not received your salary yet at that time, and so, you could not purchase the piece. You had aimed to buy that binyeo today, but now that you've received your pay, it's no longer available. You have been scouring the market ever since, looking for something similar, but there is none.
“You know what, let us buy some yakgwa and head home,” you say, looking for a snack shop. Jihye smiles, her eyes flickering excitedly at your mention of buying sweets.
A few feet ahead of you, you spot a sweet shop. Instead of focusing on the plethora of sweets laid out, your gaze travels to the right, stopping on two men standing by that shop, their backs facing you.
Something about the tall, broad man dressed in black makes you stop in your tracks. Particularly, his long ebony hair feels oddly familiar to you.
The man shifts a little, and you catch the slightest glimpse of his side profile through the busy street. Immediately, you squeak and hide behind a nearby stall.
It is General Choi, your husband-to-be.
“My lady, what is wrong?” Jihye hovers around you worriedly. Without looking away from the man, you dig into the sleeve of your hanbok, fishing out some coins and handing them to Jihye.
“Here. Go buy as much yakgwa as you want.” You murmur, pushing her towards the shop while you get more comfortable in your hiding spot.
You don’t even know why you are hiding. You did not do anything wrong, and you surely have no reason to spy on your future husband in the middle of a busy marketplace.
Still, you continue observing him converse with the other gentleman. His stance is poised and powerful as always, and dressed head to toe in his signature black military clothes, he looks like death itself. Haunting but hypnotizing; which would explain why you cannot look away.
And then, suddenly, he turns around, locking his eyes with you straight, as if he knew exactly where you were hiding.
With a gasp of mortification and terror, you immediately whip your head away and bump into a passerby. Bowing your head in an apology, you let the woman pass through before tentatively turning your head back to the street.
Choi Seungcheol stands right behind you.
“Ah!” You yelp, taken aback and stumble a few steps behind. He reaches out immediately and grabs your elbow in a flash, saving you from the fall.
Flushed and breathless, you gape at him like a fish out of water.
He has the usual grim and unamused look on his face, peering down at you almost like he is judging you. His hair is tied up in a half bun, and his bangs frame half of his face, covering his odd eye and the scar. It is a shame, you find yourself thinking as you observe the rest of his face, counting the moles on his pale skin.
It is when he lets you go that you realize he had been holding onto you all this time, and you stood there like a statue.
How unladylike!
First, he catches you spying on him, and now—
“My apologies, my Lord.” You immediately take several steps back, putting a safe distance between the two of you. Full of shame, you keep your head low as you murmur, “I was simply startled to see you.”
“It seems that you were spying on me.” His voice is smooth and rich, calm and authoritative. “No!” You gasp. “I was just…um…looking. I thought you…ah…looked somewhat familiar…”
He cocks a thick brow in amusement, the faintest smirk creeping up on his lips.
What are you even saying?
Cringing at your own words, you press your lips shut and scowl at the ground, cursing the heavens for your predicament.
“You are not at the palace today?” He asks. You welcome the change of topic with great relief.
"No, my Lord. I asked for a break from my duties this week as I am preparing for the wedding.”
With no mother or close female relatives, it is up to you to prepare your wedding.
Generally, you do not like skipping work. It has been two months since you secured a job at the palace after a lot of struggle. Your father was not very happy with the idea of you working, especially in the palace, but he ultimately gave in.
You work as a teacher to the children under the head court lady of the palace, teaching them how to read and write while they train to be future court ladies. Sometimes you also work as a bookkeeper for the royal library, but that is something you do voluntarily and out of your love for reading. The pay is not very much, but it gives you a sense of freedom and identity, something you struggled to find for the last twenty-two years.
“Head Court Lady Yeo speaks very highly of you.” General Choi states. You do not understand whether he meant it positively or negatively, given his flat tone. Confused, you chuckle awkwardly. “It is a pleasure to work under her guidance. She is very patient and—”
Suddenly, Seungcheol reaches out to you, grabbing you by the arm and harshly tugging you towards him. Completely oblivious as to what is happening, you bump into his chest as his arms snake around you, protectively holding your body next to his.
Less than half a second later, a man riding a horse whooshes by, yelling out apologies to all the people for his rowdy horse. Dear Lord, you were about to be trampled by a horse if not for him.
“Are you alright?”
His voice makes you look up at him, wide-eyed and panting. It takes a moment for you to realize that he is holding you against his chest, his warm hand resting on your shoulder in a protective grip while your hands rest on his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his jeonbok for support.
With your heart pounding loudly in your ears, it takes you yet another moment to remember how inappropriate this is, the way you are pressed against him. In a flash, you free yourself from his hold and shuffle back, murmuring a mortified apology. At the same time, you hate how much you miss his touch on you.
How odd.
“My lady, are you alright!” Jihye comes running down the street, a packet of confectionery in her hands.
“Y-yes, I am okay. Let us get going.” You announce, immediately turning away from General Choi, desperate to escape this mortifying situation.
“Hold on.” The deep baritone of his voice steals a breath from your lips. Your body instinctively listens to his command, and you carefully look behind to see him picking up your jangot, which you probably dropped earlier and were about to leave without.
Once more, you cringe at your clumsiness as you watch him brush off the dirt before extending the material towards you. With shaky hands, you reach for it. “Thank you, my Lord. I wish you a pleasant day.”
The next second, you rush out of the marketplace as if the grim reaper himself were chasing after you. Behind you, Jihye struggles to keep up, but you couldn't care less, hiding your face in embarrassment.
That night, under the blanket, you lie wide awake. The memory of General Choi’s hand on your body and his chest pressed against yours keeps repeating in your head in a loop. A foreign, warm sensation pools in your belly, and you find yourself shamefully fantasizing about your future husband, forsaking slumber.
—
You got married today.
According to the elders of the town, it is one of the most important days of your life, yet it felt like every other—quick and ordinary. Probably because the groom was barely there.
During noon, he came in to fulfil the basic rituals before marching out, leaving a note for you with Jihye. The work in the palace is too demanding, so he must go. He would see you tonight at his place. That was all he said.
Hours later, night has fallen and you are now in his home.
You sit alone in a chamber prepared especially for you. His servants made sure you were comfortable, helping you bathe and prepare for the first night with your husband before leaving you alone to sit with your thoughts and hear the hum of the crickets in the nearby forest.
You declined their offer to serve you dinner. It is only appropriate to wait for your husband and share the first meal together.
Adorned in fine silk and pretty ribbons, you sit and wait for your husband to come, watching the flame of the candle dancing and melting away the wax.
You are nervous. It is your first night with your husband. You, who has never even looked at a man for a second too long. You are now married to one of the most feared men in the kingdom. You have heard people talk about his ruthlessness in bed. Apparently, the girls in the brothel talk about it all the time, especially when he visits. Jihye said that whoever spends the night with him needs an entire day to recover.
“Lady Choi,” Head Servant Yang suddenly calls your name before opening the door. “Master has arrived. He is taking a bath currently.”
You snap out of the thoughts of bedding your husband and give her a shy smile. “Could you please set the table then?”
“Of course.” The elderly woman bows and walks out of the room, arranging for dinner to be set in your chamber.
Ten minutes after the dinner is served, General Choi walks into the room. Fresh out of the bath, he is dressed in his nightwear and his hair is tied up in a neat bun, giving you an uninterrupted view of his face. Once again, you find yourself hypnotised by his heterochromatic eyes.
“You did not have dinner?” He asks, sitting down in front of you. His movement is as graceful as always, silent yet stealthy. His posture is upright, the muscles of his shoulders taught as he sits and regards you with careful eyes.
“I was waiting for you, my Lord.” You reply meekly.
“You should not have,” he states, his tone almost condescending. “I am sure Head Servant Yang informed you that I return from work late most days.”
“Today is a special day, is it not?” You find yourself speaking boldly. Your words are firm like the gaze in your eyes, and for a long moment, the chamber is plunged into suffocating silence.
General Choi keeps looking down at you, his gaze as intimidating as ever, and you half expect him to draw his sword from its sheath and slice your head off. Instead, his lips curl upwards, and a noise of amusement leaves his throat.
“Lady Choi, you seem upset.” He states, his voice half challenging and half something you cannot pinpoint. Sarcasm? Threat?
Unsure how to reply to that, you bite your lip and stare at the food laid out in front of you. All your appetite is gone now.
“Let me tell you something, Lady Choi.” Your husband leans closer to you over the table. Something about the way he utters your title forces you to meet his gaze. Like always, the fierce look in his eyes steals away your breath.
The man is hauntingly beautiful.
“I am certain you have some expectations from this marriage, and I cannot hold that against you. However, let me inform you now, I will not be able to fulfil your expectations, whatever they may be. So, I suggest you completely let go of your expectations, for your own good.”
What? You are sure no woman in Joseon’s history ever had to hear these words on her wedding night.
“My Lord, I do not understand.”
He does not bother clarifying his words. Instead, the look in his eyes shifts, his gaze sharpening on you. Lazily, he pours himself a drink from the pitcher and chugs it down.
“I know what this marriage means to you.”
You hold your breath and watch him, alarmed. He smirks. “It means freedom. It is your way out of that house. So, let this marriage be just that. A way out for you and a duty obliged for me.”
Well, consummating the marriage is also a duty. So is spending time with your wife and sharing a meal with her on your wedding night. You want to yell the words out, but you press your lips shut and stare at him, still processing what is happening.
“As long as we maintain our boundaries, this will be a great union,” he announces almost like he is reassuring you. You feel anything but that.
You feel abandoned, yet again.
“You should eat now,” he says, standing up. “I will retire for the night.” Without sparing another glance at you, he leaves the room. For a long moment, you silently sit in your place, your fancy garment and jewellery suddenly becoming too heavy on your skin. Ignoring the sensation, you reach for the rice, nibbling on the grains with your chopsticks.
You do not understand why tears prick your eyes.
—
The next morning, an unknown man waits for you as you step out of your chamber and put on your shoes, ready to leave for the palace.
Your husband had left early in the morning, and while the news hurt you slightly, it also left you with relief. After last night, you have not had enough time to process your emotions to face him.
The strange man bows as he sees you approaching. “Greetings, Lady Choi. I am San. As per General Choi’s orders, I shall accompany you from now on for your safety.” Stupefied, you blink at the man. His build and posture indicate that he is a military person, but you do not understand why your husband would have someone guard you.
“My husband put you up to this?” You raise a brow. “Why?”
“I am afraid I cannot say. It was his order.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “So, from now on, you will what? Follow me everywhere?”
“Yes. Whenever you need to go out, I shall accompany you.”
“Is someone trying to kill me?” You ask, point blank, blinking at him.
San makes a noise of surprise before an awkward laugh spills from his lips. “O-of course not, my lady.” You keep eyeing the strange man with suspicion as you start heading for the front door. “Alright then, let us leave.”
—
You bump into your husband at the palace.
At noon, when the sun is high in the sky, you finish teaching the young girls. Then, you head to the library to cool off and see if the head librarian needs any help. With no new work for you, Librarian Kim serves you some tea and sweets, congratulating you on your marriage. On your way out, he gives you some dasik to take home and share with your husband.
The husband who seems to want to do nothing with you.
With gratitude, you take the sweets and head out of the library, done with your day's work at the palace. That is when you see him. Below the steps of the library building, he approaches, followed by two other men, all dressed in uniforms. Their movements are quick and determined, almost like they are on a military mission.
General Choi takes notice of you as he climbs the stairs. Flustered and oddly shy, your first instinct is to hide. With no place to do that, you stand your ground and bow, “My Lord—”
He walks past as if he did not see you.
You stand rooted to your spot, blinking at the ground.
What just happened?
He ignored you. He blatantly ignored you. His wife. There is no way he did not see you. He did. His eyes met yours, and he held your gaze before looking away.
Hurt and humiliated, you stand there for several long moments, the sun scorching your back. You are tempted to storm back into the library and demand why he did that, but you know better than that.
For one, there is always the danger of him chopping your head off. You heard he once cut off a man’s head just for looking at him too long.
The other issue is more personal. Walking in there would make you look desperate, especially in front of others. You are supposed to be a newlywed happy wife, not someone who chases after her husband when he ignores her in public. The thought makes you feel like pins prickling your heart.
Once more in your life, you are insignificant. You are the lesser one, the one who can be forgotten, overlooked.
With boulders forming in your heart, you head home.
—
Your husband returned home late today as well.
You had your dinner long ago, and Jihye prepared your bed for you. However, you did not get under the covers. In the dimly lit space of your bedchamber, you have been sitting with your head on your knees, curled up in a corner and watching the candle burn.
No matter how hard you try, you fail to get past the incident earlier today. You simply cannot comprehend why your husband would ignore you like that.
Your curiosity gets the better of you. With a resolved breath, you step out of your room and walk into his bedchamber. You knock at his door. “My Lord, may I come in?”
A beat of silence. “Yes.”
Opening the doors, you find Seungcheol tying the knot of his undershirt. The material is thin and white, giving you a pretty decent glimpse of his silhouette. Flustered, you immediately lower your gaze and shake your head at yourself.
You did not think this through. Of course, he would be in his sleepwear, like you.
Shit.
It takes you another second to realize you, too, are in your sleepwear. A thin white top over your underskirt. With the realization dawning on you, you cross your arms over your chest and look up at him, conflicted and embarrassed.
Like always, his face gives nothing away. In the calmest of tones, he questions, “Did you need something from me?”
“Uhm…well…” Once again, you get distracted by the visual of your husband. In the dimly lit room, he appears even more stunning, the light of the candle casting strange shadows on his figure, contouring his muscles underneath the thin fabric. With his long, black hair undone, some strands fall on his face, covering his eyes. Through the curtain of his hair, his odd eye shines exceptionally bright in the darkness, stealing your breath.
“I am sure the reason for your visit is not to stare at me, Lady Choi.” He states once more, and you finally snap out of your thoughts.
Closing the door behind you, you gather all your resolve and stand straight. “My apologies. I wanted to talk to you.”
“I am all ears.” He says, not looking at you. He busies himself by placing his sword next to his mat and sitting down comfortably.
“Why did you ignore me today at the palace?” You get straight to the point. The man turns to look at you slowly, his eyes sharpening ever so slightly. Despite him sitting, you feel as if he is towering over you, and you cannot help but hold your breath, waiting for whatever is to come. Something flashes in his eyes, and once again, you do not know what it is. Rage? Annoyance? Amusement?
You have no clue.
“It seems that you are disappointed, Lady Choi.” He finally replies, his tone containing that tinge of amusement he has with you. Like you are a circus monkey whose action provides him with fleeting, insignificant pleasure.
You wait for him to elaborate, but he does not, looking at you with a challenging stare. You hate how…diplomatic he is all the time. “Why did you do it?” You repeat, trying to appear as stern as possible, which is almost comical. In front of you is the man people call the grim reaper.
General Choi shifts his position, resting his arm on his knee before fixing his gaze back on you. His tone is quiet, serious. “Let me tell you something, Lady Choi. In public, we are not to acknowledge each other. Do you understand me?”
The ground has been snatched from beneath your feet. You fall into an endless pit, your heart crushing into tiny bits with each of his words. Why? Why would he say something like that?
“Why?” You don’t mask the hurt and desperation in your voice. He ignores you. “If that was all, you may leave now. I wish to get some rest.”
Tears brim in your eyes. Why does he treat you like this? What crime did you ever commit against him?
Your mouth hangs open, shocked and helpless at his attitude towards you. Defeated, you silently pad back to the door. Before you open it, however, you pause. Slowly, you turn back to him. “Why did you assign that man to follow me around?”
He does not look at you. “San is one of the few men I trust. He will keep you safe.”
He has this tendency to never answer your question directly. He dances around it, giving curt, memorized answers. It feels like you are talking to a wall, frustrating and pointless. The next words slip past your lips thoughtlessly and barely above a whisper. “Why do we not sleep in the same room?”
That finally gets his attention. He slowly turns his head to look at you, his pupils wide with shock. Like, he cannot believe that you just said that.
Right. Why did you say that out loud?
You look away in embarrassment, cringing at your words.
“So…” he starts to get up. You step back, alarmed.
Why is he getting up? He will slice your head off for sure this time.
With the grace of a lion about to devour his prey, he inches closer to you, his eyes flashing almost unnaturally. You keep walking backwards until your back meets the door and there is no place left to go.
He stops a mere inch away from you, so close that your clothes brush, so close that you can see his chest underneath his nightshirt, so close that you can inhale the scent of soap on his skin. Your breath catches in your throat, and your eyes fall shut on their own.
“My wife wishes to sleep with me. Is that it?” His voice is heaven against your ears, deep, husky and warm, leaving your brain fumbling. You open your eyes to see him staring straight at you, and immediately, heat shoots up all through your body from your toes.
“I…I didn’t…mean…” You stumble over your words, the sight of him so close to you, messing with your system.
He stares at you, his lips curling up in a smirk. “I am sure you have heard what they say about me.” He pauses. His hand reaches out towards your face, and you hold your breath in alarm and anticipation. With the faintest of touches, he drags his index finger against your jaw and down your neck. “I am sure you know how I am…in bed.” He whispers against your ear, and you can feel your heart physically drop as tingles shoot through your entire body.
At this point, you have forgotten how to breathe.
“You could not handle me, Lady Choi.” He says and then, absolutely shocking you, leans closer to your neck. Tucking a stray piece of hair beneath your ears, he takes a long inhale of you and then slowly steps away from you.
You feel like you are on fire, beads of sweat gathering on your temples. Your mouth remains agape, processing what just happened as you stand pressed against the door, frozen like prey in shock.
“Good night, Lady Choi.” He says in the most nonchalant way possible, going back to bed. You manage to summon all your strength and rush out of his room, shutting the wooden panels loudly behind you. Outside, you gasp for air, clutching your chest, your heart racing like you just ran for your life. You stand outside the door for a long time, taking in deep breaths and trying to get your heart to calm down as foreign sensations flood through your veins, leaving behind an ache you have never felt before.
You want your husband, you realize. You want him to do all those filthy, animalistic things that you heard of…with you.
—
You have accepted your new life. A married woman without a husband’s attention or acknowledgement.
In the last two weeks, a routine has fallen into place for you. You wake up, go to work, come home for lunch, spend the afternoon with Jihye lounging around before having dinner and going to bed. Throughout the day, setting eyes upon your husband is rare because he leaves with the sunrise and gets home after dinner. Most days, he has dinner in his chamber by himself, and on the rare occasions he is home early (twice), he shares it with you.
The freedom you thought an advantageous marriage would give you has not come. In fact, you feel more restricted than before. With San following you around like a hawk, you have lost interest in going outside to explore the neighbourhood. Jihye, too, has been weird lately. She vehemently opposes you going outside, especially to the market or other crowded areas and always runs your errands for you.
After a lot of thinking, you have come to a conclusion. Your husband has a mistress. Maybe, mistress is not the right word. If anything, you feel like the mistress in this relationship.
“I am sure he has someone he loves.” You hum, nodding to yourself.
It is a Thursday afternoon in early spring, the warmth of the sun shining on you as you return home from an unusually long shift at the palace. A few steps behind you is San, ever present like a shadow, following you down a steep road to home.
With him around, you have started to voice your thoughts, no matter how crazy. There is nothing to hide from him after all. He sees it all firsthand, how his boss never spends time with you.
You have another theory. San knows about the other woman. He has to, right? That is why General Choi employed him to guard you in the first place. He probably knows where your husband goes during his free time, and it is his job to make sure you never see him.
General Choi seems to have bought off Jihye somehow, too. You find that absolutely bizarre, considering her long loyalty towards you. You are deeply hurt by her betrayal, and so, you have decided to shun her until she comes to you and explains what is going on.
That leaves you with San only.
“I’m right, no?” You turn around to take a glance at him. As usual, he looks helpless and awkward, almost like he is about to leave everything behind and run for the hills. You continue. “He has to have known her for a long, long time. However, I do not understand why he didn’t marry her. Is she not a nobleborn?”
You stop for a moment.
“Ah! She is someone from the brothel, probably, right?”
San continues looking at you helplessly, an awkward smile plastered on his face. You continue walking, nodding to yourself. “No wonder he told me not to expect anything from him. He also said that he fulfilled his duty by marrying me. No one will pester him now because he has the perfect cover.” You nod your head, impressed. “I have to give it to him. This is a good plan.”
The path down the cliff comes to an end, and you stop, admiring the sun slowly going lower in the western sky. The birds fly in the sky in groups, returning home as the sky changes colour, a deep tint of orange taking over the blue.
Is she pretty? You wonder to yourself. She must be. There must be something about her that keeps a man like him hooked.
The thought pains you. More than it should.
You understand it. You really do, but what you don’t understand is why he married you. Why did he trap you into this marriage? The least he could have done was be honest with you instead of avoiding you like the plague.
The more you get to know this man, the more cowardly he seems. The thought brings an unironic smile to your face. The most feared man in the country, yet he refuses to communicate with his wife. He does not have the guts to speak the truth, which makes him nothing but a coward in your eyes.
“Let us stop by the market.” You announce, taking a different route. San rushes in front of you, alarmed. “Lady Choi, w-why?”
You stare at him, slightly annoyed. Why is he acting like this? Is General Choi supposed to be there now? With his lover? All the more reason why you must go.
You continue walking, ignoring San.
“My Lady, please. Tell me what you need and I shall get that for you after I escort you home.”
“San,” you abruptly stop and glare at him. “I shall tell you what I need right now. I need you to shut up and follow me quietly. Or, you can just leave and report to your boss that I am breaking protocol. Whatever fancies you.”
The man makes a pained sound, groaning almost like a wounded animal. However, you don’t wait for him, marching down the path with determination. Helplessly, he chases after you.
—
The marketplace is less crowded than you expected. You heard there have been attacks by gangs in this area, so people are more reluctant to leave their houses, especially as evening approaches.
With the roads not as crowded as usual, it takes you only a couple of minutes to spot him. He stands out, as always, his broad shoulders and tall build catching your eye from far away. You observe him for a moment from afar, squinting your eyes to see what he is doing exactly.
He stands in front of a trinket shop, carefully going through the pieces laid out in front of him.
Wow, is he shopping for something for his hidden lover?
Bemused, you watch him, eyes scanning for a woman near him, only to find no one.
“My Lady, we should really get going. This area is not safe, and—” Ignoring San’s plea, you head straight towards where your husband stands.
“My Lord, what brings you here?” You chirp, standing right behind him. The man immediately turns around, his pupils blown wide in shock. You do not miss the way he hides something behind him. It takes a moment for him to register that it is you, and once he does, that grim look settles on his face. “What are you doing here?’’
San rushes next to you, “My Lord, I am so sorry—”
General Choi cuts him off with a raised hand and gives him a look of dismissal, which sends the young man scurrying away. Ignoring his question, you say. “It seems like you were finished with work early today.” You pointedly look at the shop behind him.
“Yes. I finished early today.” He states, expressionless. “Are you returning from the palace now?”
“Yes, the work at the library took longer than usual. Some records were accidentally destroyed, so we had to salvage them.”
“I see.” He nods. You wait, wondering if he has anything more to say. He keeps gazing at you silently, his odd eye hidden behind his hair. You have noticed that he always hides it in public. Why? To avoid detection?
Finally, he speaks, his eyes narrow and his tone sharp. “You should not be here. I am sure you are aware of the looting and killing taking place in this area.”
You hate his tone. Frowning, you reply. “Thank you for your concern, My Lord. I was aware. I just wanted to explore—”
You are cut off.
The next sequence of events takes place exceptionally quickly. First, you see your husband’s gaze shift and focus on something behind you. The very next moment, he yanks you towards him, making a swift turn so that his body covers yours. You lose your footing from the harsh tug, gripping onto his arms with a yelp of surprise.
Something whizzes past you, sharp and quick, that makes you jerk and hold onto him tighter.
Gasps, yells and screams of people echo all around you. You blink, befuddled, staring at your husband, who holds you tightly against his body, looking behind him. Following his gaze, you find San chasing after a man who dashes away through the crowd at remarkably fast speed, shoving people and running over stalls on his way.
Your husband whips his head back to look at you, his eyes wide with alarm. “Are you okay? Look at me!” He shakes you, his grip on your arms fierce. Something wet touches your fingers. Slowly, your eyes trail to your right hand, which is grabbing General Choi’s bicep.
There is a tear on his sleeve, a couple of inches above your fingers and red liquid oozes out from the thin cut. You gasp, your breath escaping your lungs in a choked wheeze.
Finally, everything clicks.
Someone just shot an arrow at him. Who? An enemy? A gang member? An assassin?
“Oh…oh my god! My Lord!” You clutch onto his sleeve, panicking.
General Choi ignores your cry and forces you to look at him, tilting your chin upwards. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
Is he seriously worrying about you right now?
“I am fine.” You choke on a sob. “But my Lord, you are bleeding! What…what should I do?”
He rubs a gentle hand on your back, pulling you closer to him. “I am fine. It is nothing.” He assures, his eyes scanning the place carefully as if looking for someone. You panic. “My Lord, we need to go home. Come on. You are hurt!” You urge, tugging him with you, even though you cannot make him move an inch.
The man stands rooted to his spot, his eyes still scouring through the marketplace. Finally, he nods and pulls you into his arms, holding you protectively. “Let us go.”
—
After your relentless nagging, you finally get your husband to sit still so that you can treat his wound.
“I told you, it is nothing serious.” He admonishes when you step into his bedchamber with a rag, a bowl of water, and some medicine. Ignoring him, you hurry closer to him, inspecting the wound.
You have never treated someone before, but your mother was a very good nurse. She helped a lot of people during the war with her vast knowledge of medicinal herbs. You remember watching her work for hours, and even though you never directly learned from her, you are confident you can do this right.
The memory of his blood seeping out and wetting your hands sends shivers down your spine, and you have to take a deep breath to get yourself to calm down. Your heart has been racing ever since, the adrenaline yet to wear off.
“You should take off your shirt.” You whisper, wetting the rag in the bowl of water. Your husband complies, slowly removing the garment and shrugging it off his shoulders. Your breath catches in your throat once you lay your eyes on his body.
It is not his muscular build but the plethora of scars littering his body. Small and big, they taint his chest and all the way down to his lower abdomen, and you cannot help but stare, wincing at the marks that look particularly nasty.
What has this man been through?
General Choi snatches the rag from your hands and starts treating his cut. Embarrassed, you protest, but he cuts you off. “I can do it myself.” His response, like always, is curt, but you ignore it, too distracted by his scars. The one on his left abdomen looks particularly ghastly, and you know for sure it was a deep stab wound.
The amount of pain he must have been in…
The thought makes you shudder, and you bite your lip, holding your tears back.
“This is why I assigned someone to protect you.” His voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “I am sure he told you to return, but you insisted on going to the market.”
“Who was that man?” You cut him off, unable to prevent yourself from voicing your worries any longer. Why did they want to hurt him?
His lips thin, and something flashes over his eyes, leaving you guessing. He pauses for a moment, looking at you impassively, almost like he knows a secret that you don’t. “They were probably from some gang. They have been causing havoc recently, as you know.”
You know it is a lie. It is blatant that he is hiding something from you, and you cannot help but sigh out loud, sagging onto the floor. You do not even have it in you to fight with him right now. You are just glad he is okay. The bleeding has stopped now, and as you watch him apply the herb on his cut, a small sigh of relief flows past your lips.
Finally, it feels like you can breathe.
Silently, you help him tie a clean rag around his bicep before wiping the residual herb from his fingers. “You should take a bath.” He keeps staring at your face as if he is trying to understand something.
“Are you sure you are okay?” he asks, his tone soft. His gaze, for the first time, appears to be almost tender, and for a moment, the concept of language evaporates from your mind.
You want to say a lot of things. You want to yell at him, scream at him to explain himself and cry in his arms. You are unable to do any of that. “I am fine,” you whisper, your voice small and shaky.
He keeps looking at you for a few more seconds before nodding and getting up. Just as he is about to exit the room, you call for him. “My Lord?”
“Hm?” He turns around to look at you.
You pause, hesitating. “I know you bought something today. At the market…” you trail off, unsure why you are saying this. His body tenses, and he looks at you warily…like he has been caught. For a second, you pray that he comes clean, but he remains silent, waiting for you to continue.
You swallow a lump in your throat and look away. Your voice is wobbly when you speak. “You should wrap it. Put it in a nice box. Women love gifts that are nicely wrapped. The woman…whoever you bought it for…you should wrap it.”
You do not dare to meet his gaze, so you sit on the floor, staring at the bowl of water that is now tinted red from his blood. He does not reply but walks out the door, his footsteps padding softly over the wooden floors.
—
That night, you lay in bed awake, replaying the event at the market over and over again in your head. And as you keep revisiting that moment, a shuddering realization dawns on you.
What if…what if…
The arrow wasn't meant for General Choi but for you?
The more you think about it, the more probable it seems. The arrow would have originally hit you if not for him moving you out of the way. The thought makes you bolt up from your bed, your heart racing as beads of sweat gather on your temples. Tossing the blanket away, you step out of your sleeping mat and start pacing around your room.
Today's events are a mystery to you. You have no enemies, and neither does your father. Hell, he has been out of politics ever since your brother died. You simply have no reason to have someone shoot an arrow at you in the middle of a marketplace.
If it were not for your husband, you would have died for sure.
Shit. Who would do that?
Your mind starts spiraling to the point that your temples begin to throb. You press the spot with your fingers, trying to make the ache go away.
It doesn't.
Instead, paranoia starts settling in. Suddenly, the thought of being alone in your room frightens you so much that you feel a chill in your bones. Unable to tolerate the deafening silence and the darkness any longer, you step out of your chamber, taking tentative steps towards your husband's room. The hallway is dark except for one small lamp flickering at the end of the long corridor, an eerie quietness hanging heavy in the air as the whole house sleeps.
You come to stop in front of your husband's room, your hands hesitating to pull open the wooden panels.
What are you doing here? Sneaking into your husband’s chamber in the middle of the night?
With the resolved exhale, you pull open the door. In the darkness, it takes a moment for you to spot your husband sleeping on his side, his long raven hair splayed messily over the mat.
You remain rooted in your spot outside the door, hesitating yet once again before gingerly making your way inside and quietly closing the panel behind you. The room would be pitch dark if not for the faint light of the lamp flickering outside, filtering in through the panel. You take a moment to let your eyes adjust to the visibility before placing yourself next to him. With his sword resting between the two of you, you silently lie down, gazing at the silhouette of his face in the darkness.
Your heart aches. He got hurt because of you.
Why do you feel such a strong attraction towards this cold, stubborn man? Why does it hurt you so much to see him hurt? Most importantly, is this how he feels about his lover? Does her pain make him hurt like this as well? Is that why he refuses to be with you, unable to resist his heart's longing?
So many questions and no answer to soothe your wretched soul.
You keep gazing at him, a strange sensation filling your heart. He is physically so close to you, right within your reach, yet it feels like he is a million miles away, tucked away in a place for which you have no key. At the same time, lying next to him like this, you feel oddly comfortable. With him next to you, the silence and the darkness of the night are bearable, no longer stealing your sleep.
With a heavy ache in your chest and tears in your eyes, you fall asleep, happy to be in the same space as your husband.
—
When you open your eyes next morning, the sun is high up in the sky and the light flooding into the room immediately tells you that you have slept way longer than you should have.
Shit. You missed work today.
All concerns of work, however, fly out the window when you register where you are. You fell asleep on the floor next to General Choi yesterday. Then why are you sleeping on his mat, his blanket tucked around you, and his pillow under your head?
With a gasp, you sit up and look around you, double checking to make sure you are in the right place.
How did you get here? Did he tuck you in after waking up? How did you not wake up?
Your face flushes with heat, imagining him carrying you and putting you in his bed. No wonder you feel so well rested after a long time. You must have slept like a log throughout everything.
Did you snore? Did you drool? Did you say something weird in your sleep?
“Oh dear lord, help me!” You whine, putting your face in your hands, cringing at all the possible ways you might have embarrassed yourself. Once you are over the initial wave of embarrassment, you spot a trinket on top of the small wooden table by the mat.
Curious, you shuffle closer. It is a bineyo with a beautiful butterfly in pink and blue, exactly the one you had been looking for. With a gasp, you lean closer, mesmerized by the way it sparkles underneath the sunlight. Next to it sits a letter, face up.
Dear wife,
I am sorry I did not wrap it. I was interrupted by someone before I could choose a box. I do not know how the misunderstanding came to be, but this was meant to be yours from the beginning, not any other woman’s. I hope you like it.
From, Your husband
Your hands cover your mouth in shock and absolute glee before clutching the letter and the hairpin to your chest. Tears brim your eyes, your heart melting like a caramel under the sun, warm and sweet.
It seems like you misunderstood his actions. Still, some things remain unclear.
“Jihye!” You yell. She rushes in a few moments later. “My lady, you are awake! Master said not to disturb you. He said he will let Head Court Lady Yeo know that you will not go to work today.”
Ignoring her words, you quickly motion for her to come closer to you and sit down. “You,” you narrow your eyes at her. “You have been hiding something from me.” She blinks, her gaze slowly lowering to the floor.
“What did General Choi tell you? He definitely told you something. That is why you have not been letting me out of the house by myself.”
She looks at you helplessly for a long moment before sighing. “Okay, I will tell you, my lady. But you have to promise me you will not tell Master. I gave him my word.” She winces.
What could it be? Eager, you scoot closer to her. “I will not. Now out with it.”
“On the first night of your marriage, he called me and asked about you. What you like to eat, what your favourite season is…things like that.”
Wow. Your heart races with each of her words.
“Then, he asked me what you were doing in the market that day. You know that noon a week before your wedding? When we bumped into him? I said that you were looking for a hairpin. He asked in detail about the hairpin, and I told him that you were looking for one with a butterfly. Then, he ordered me to keep you from going outside, especially to crowded areas, as much as possible. He said it is not safe for you. And he made me promise not to tell you.”
A lot of the blanks start filling up. He listened to her and got this hairpin for you. No wonder!
You keep finding yourself revisiting that moment in the market. The way he protected you. The worry in his eyes, the way his fingers gripped onto you, the way his voice was filled with worry when he asked you if you were ok. The realization that you may have misunderstood him greatly starts settling in your bones.
Maybe there was no one else from the beginning. Maybe it was only you all along. Maybe everything he did was to protect you. But protect you from what? Did he know that someone was after you? Who? Why did he not tell you anything?
No matter, you shall set the record straight when he gets home today. You have caught a glimpse into your husband’s heart, and it turns out he is not as cruel as they say. Now, there is nothing strong enough to stop you. He has had his way until now, and now, it is your time.
“Did he say when he will return?” You ask Jihye, your heart racing.
“No, my lady.”
“No matter.” You smile. “I will wait for him.”
—
The heavens seem to be on your side because your husband returns home right before sunset. As he takes a bath, you prepare in your room, getting dressed for the evening.
Jihye braids your hair for you before helping you put on your hanbok, a soft yellow jeogori with a pastel pink chima.
Just as you are almost finished with your makeup, Head Servant Yang knocks at the door, letting you know that your husband has finished his bath. With a smile, you stand up and walk over to the mirror, smoothing your skirt.
“Jihye, how do I look?”
“Absolutely beautiful, my lady!” She squeals. “Master will not be able to resist you tonight!”
You throw a scandalized look at her before reaching for the hairpin your husband gave you. Gingerly placing it on your hair, you complete the look and twirl in front of the mirror. “Alright, let us go!”
You knock twice at your husband’s chamber.
“Come in.”
Exhaling a shaky breath, you open the door and find sitting on the floor, wearing a navy blue hanbok. A book sits open on his lap, which is discarded once he lays eyes upon you.
Silence.
You hold your breath, watching his eyes scan you top to bottom, before going up again and finally stopping at your hairpin. He looks awestruck and speechless—a look you have never seen on him, and you struggle to stifle a smile.
“May I come in?” You ask coquettishly.
“Ah—yes, of course.” He blinks and sits up straight. With a smile, you walk into the room and sit in front of him, closer than you have ever been before. "How is your arm?” You ask, jutting your chin towards it. “Do you need me to apply some herbs?”
“No, it is fine. I changed the gauze after my bath.”
“Are you in any pain?”
“Thank you for your concern, Lady Choi, but I am well.” He sets the book aside. “What brings you to my chamber?”
You ignore his curt replies. “Thank you for the gift, my lord.” You smile, saccharine sweet. Titling your head, you show him the trinket nestled in your hair. “How do I look?”
“Hm?” He gapes at you, eyes wide, clearly taken aback by the question. “Uh…it suits you. You look lovely.”
You smile like a lovestruck fool. “Thank you, my Lord.”
Silence. He keeps looking at you like it is a staring competition. Realizing he will not be the first one to break the silence, you continue with a sigh, “I have some questions, my Lord. I hope you will answer them honestly.”
His gaze shifts, something unreadable briefly flashing by his eyes. His hands on to rest on his knees, his back straightening as he takes a moment before subtly nodding his head.
“Is there someone trying to kill me?” Your gaze does not waver. General Choi’s lips press into a thin line, his thick brows forming a frown, a look of pure displeasure settling on his face.
You do not back down. “Yesterday, the arrow was meant for me, was it not? You knew someone was after me. That is why you assigned San to be with me. That is why you told Jihye not to let me go outside.”
Another beat of silence. “Yes.” He murmurs, his haunting gaze piercing yours.
You swallow. “Who is it? I do not understand…I do not have any enemies— “
“They are my enemies.” He cuts you off. “The arrow yesterday…yes, it was meant for you, but it was also meant for me. It was their warning to me.”
“What warning? Why are they after you?” You cry.
His gaze narrows. “That is private information. Only the King’s most trusted men are aware of it.” You look down, worriedly chewing on your lower lip. After a beat, you ask, “Is that why you ignored me in the palace that day?”
“Yes. I thought the less I interacted with you, the better.” He pauses, his gaze focusing on the lamp burning at his side. “I am sorry for putting you in danger, but rest assured, they will be dealt with.”
You are not really worried about losing your life. If anything, his being in danger scares you more. Odd, is it not?
“Why did you let me misunderstand, my Lord?” You ask softly.
“That was not my intention.”
“But it happened anyway.” You cannot hold back the bite in your voice. “From the first day of this marriage, I believed that you have someone else.”
He remains silent, looking almost guilty. It scares and infuriates you. “Tell me! Do you?”
“No,” his voice never loses its quiet composure. “I do not.”
“Then why did you lie?”
For the first time, you see his gaze soften. For once, it looks like he is not scowling but rather, he appears ashamed and helpless. The hidden frustration inside you reaches its tipping point. “You could have told me! You could have said that I was in danger instead of pushing me away like I disgust you and letting me think that you were seeing someone else!”
You hear him exhale a breath. “How do you expect me to tell my young, newlywed wife that her life is in danger because of me, her husband?”
The guilt is raw and vivid in his voice, echoing throughout the room like a haunted cry. This new side of your husband knocks all the air out of your lungs, leaving you feeling helpless as you stare at him, tears pricking your eyes.
“My Lord—”
“I know I am not the best match for you. You got married to be free, but instead, this marriage became a trap for you. How could I tell you that? I believed it would be better to let you think all crazy things about me rather than taking away your freedom by scaring you. I apologize for my shortsightedness.”
A lone tear rolls down your cheek. He is not the best match for you? What is he saying?
Unable to hold back any longer, you close the little distance between the two of you and leap into his arms, hugging him tightly. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you rest your face on his shoulder, your fingers tightly holding onto the fabric of his hanbok. “Please do not apologize, my Lord. I understand you.”
Against you, your husband’s entire body remains tense, his hands awkwardly raised into the air like he is too scared to touch you. You ignore his hesitation and hold onto him tightly, your heart breaking and healing simultaneously. The warmth and comfort of his body soothe all the anguish in your heart, making you never want to let him go.
Finally, his hands touch your back, his large palms holding the small of your back, softly patting you.
Loosening your arms around him, you take a peek at his face and find the most sincere look in his eyes, warm and kind, the complete opposite of how you have seen him until now. You truly believed he was beyond all emotions, cold and mechanical, but right now, as he holds you in his arms and gazes at you with so much reverence and softness, you can only think of him as this quiet, considerate man who is misunderstood greatly.
Something in you shifts. No longer afraid, you shift in his arms, positioning yourself better on his lap before kissing him.
You press your lips against his without thinking, pulling him closer by the lapels of his hanbok and holding your lips right there, against his, soft and warm. With your heart hammering in your chest, you stay there, testing the waters. Your husband remains frozen at first, almost like he is waiting for you to back out. Once sure that you will not, he reaches for you, gently cupping your cheek with his right hand to tilt your face. The kiss deepens just a tad bit, his lips pressing against you just hard enough. His touch on you is meticulous and guarded, like you are a wild animal he does not want to frighten. You know he is being gentle for your sake, so you take the lead, snaking an arm around his neck and kissing him the way he led you.
Slow, sweet and passionate.
It is everything you imagined and more, all your dreams coming true and giving you a taste of ecstasy. By the time your lips part from his, there is a ringing in your ears along with your heart galloping like a race horse and a strange, tingling sensation between your legs. You feel drunk on your husband’s kiss, your eyes involuntarily trailing to his lips that are now shining with saliva.
You want this man so much, body and soul.
Your husband’s fingers remain against your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheek, slow and tentative like you are the most precious porcelain. Mirroring his hand, your fingers cup his cheek, your thumb gently tracing the scar beneath his odd eye. The skin is harsh and bumpy under your touch, making your heart heavy. You want to kiss it, tell him that he is beautiful despite it, tell him that you feel his pain, but something shifts.
His gaze grows unfocused, something foreign flashing by in his eyes, like he has been woken back to reality. With a sudden noise, he clears his throat and retracts his hand from your face. The action pulls you out of your haze as well, making you suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you kissed him.
Holy shit. You kissed your husband. And he kissed you back. And it was amazing.
Clearing his throat once more, your husband looks away, carefully trying to put some distance between you and him. Flustered, you take the hint and stand up rather unceremoniously. As you take a step back, however, misfortune befalls.
The ghost of clumsiness yet again takes over your body, and you trip over your skirt. With a loud, unladylike yelp, you fall backwards, terrified but also anticipating the brutal hit to the floor.
It does not come. You do not fall on the ground because your husband saves you, reaching for your arm and tugging you back towards him just in time. Something else happens in the process. The ribbon of your jeogori comes off.
You realize that several moments later, too preoccupied with trying to calm your beating heart and processing what just happened. As you stay pressed against his body, your arms tightly holding onto his shoulders for balance, General Choi’s eyes skim over your face before fixing beneath your neck and on your exposed shoulder.
This time, something dark and carnal takes over his gaze, his eyes sharp and narrow, staring intently at your bare skin. Your heart beats so loudly you fear he can hear it, and for a moment, you are sure you will pass out from the intensity of his gaze and the swirl of emotions—desire and shame, surging within you.
Like before, he is the one who backs away, quietly clearing his throat and looking away. Embarrassed, you quickly fix your jeogori and clutch it tightly to your chest while also scrambling off his body.
“I—” you stammer, mortified to look at his face. “I will see you for d-dinner then, my Lord.” Picking up your skirt to avoid further accidents, you rush for the door, eager to be out of his sight.
His voice forces you to stop right at the door. “Why did you come to my room last night?”
You halt, processing his question. Then, with quick fingers, you tie your jeogori and carefully turn around. Your husband looks at you inquisitively. “Were…were you awake, my Lord?” You ask. He did not even stir when you came into the room.
In reply, he nods. You look around, trying to find the words. “I…was scared to be alone. I kept thinking of what happened at the market, and I do not know…” You trail off, embarrassed and worried about his reaction. He, however, keeps looking at you intently before shaking his head up and down in understanding.
“How did you know I came in? You did not even move a muscle. I thought you were asleep.”
“I smelled you.” He states, his face expressionless. You take a step back, alarmed. “Do I stink?”
He shakes his head. “No. I meant that I smelled roses. You smell like roses.”
Oh. “I see,” you mumble shyly, your fingers twiddling with the fabric of your skirt. He regards you quietly for a beat before murmuring. “You can sleep with me tonight as well, if you desire it.”
“Really?” You squeal, not hiding the excitement brimming in your voice.
“Yes.”
“Thank you, my Lord!” You smile so big it hurts.
—
After dinner, Headservant Yang sets the mattress for the two of you with a suggestive, happy smile on her face that makes you grin goofily.
Once finished with your nightly routine and dressed for bed, you pad into your husband's chamber and find him already lying down, his eyes closed and his hands resting over his chest. One could think he was asleep, but you know better now. With wonder, you observe that the place of his sword has shifted and moved to his left, right next to his mat, now that yours occupies the space it took before.
“My Lord,” you ask softly, “shall I blow out the candle?”
“Yes.” He replies, not moving or opening his eyes. Carefully, you pad over to the study table and blow out the candle before finding your place on the mat. With the noise of the crickets humming outside, you lie on your mat, pulling the blanket up to your chin and staring at the ceiling. Your blood thrums in your veins, your brain too wired to fall asleep. The excitement of lying next to your husband keeps you awake.
Once your eyes adjust to the darkness, you take tentative peeks at him and find him in the same position as he originally was. Is he sleeping? You wish you could tell.
“My Lord?” You speak, quiet as a mouse.
Silence.
“Hm?” He hums.
“Why do you sleep with your sword next to you?”
“Force of habit, I suppose…from the war.”
You hum in acknowledgement, looking at him eagerly amid the darkness. After a short pause, you call for him again. “My Lord?”
“Yes.”
“Can I sleep with you from now on?”
Silence. Seconds pass by, but no answer comes, and you start to think that he has fallen asleep. Just then, he finally replies, his voice quiet and deep in the solitude of the night. “If you wish to.” You smile, happy and wide, even though he cannot see you. “Thank you, my Lord.”
Another short pause later, he murmurs. “Goodnight.” You take it as a sign that he does not wish to talk anymore, and with a nod, you shift and lie on your side, your right arm resting underneath your head. “Goodnight, my Lord.” You whisper with a smile.
—
You wake up just before sunrise.
The spot next to you is empty, and with no sign of your husband, you step out of his bedchamber in search of him. It is a rest day, so you wonder where he is so early in the morning.
You find the man in the backyard, already dressed, quietly observing the flowers in the garden. “My Lord?” You call for him.
“Oh, good morning.” He acknowledges you with a small nod. “Why are you up so early?”
“I woke up and you were not there. Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” He assures. “You should sleep some more.” You pause, carefully observing him. In the soft morning light, the man looks different, more relaxed and homely, dressed in his hanbok and his long raven hair draped elegantly against his back.
How can you leave his majestic man just for a few more hours of sleep?
“My Lord?”
“Hm?”
“Let us go for a walk.”
—
After quickly getting dressed, you and your husband go for a stroll, the early morning sun softly gleaming in the sky.
Your husband heads towards the nearby forest, which leads to a cliff offering a nice view of the town and the hilly background. He walks quietly with his hands behind him, his movements deliberately slow to accommodate your pace. With a soft smile that never leaves your lips, you walk alongside him, your heart thrumming happily.
Can this be called a date?
Without any words exchanged between the two of you, you navigate the path through the forest, your eyes skirting towards him every now and then. The silence between you is not awkward because you can see from his face that he is thinking deeply about something. So, you let him think and use the solitude to take peeks at his handsome face, memorizing the details of his visage.
By the time you reach the cliff, you are out of breath.
“Wow,” you wheeze out, panting for air as you rest with your palms on your knees.
“Are you alright?” General Choi asks, peering down to see your face. “Yes,” you nod, trying to control your breathing. “It has been a while since I came up here. The view is magnificent.”
“It is.” He hums, looking over the cliff. “That last time I came here, I was a child.” You share, standing up and gazing at the view. It is truly still beautiful.
“Why so long ago?”
“What?” You blink, looking at your husband, who is regarding you with a curious tilt of his head.
“Uh…” you think. “My father…he was not fond of me going out much. Especially anywhere far, after my brother died. He liked to keep me within his sight.”
He keeps looking at you attentively, and you wonder what he is thinking. Is he judging you?
Needing to fill the silence, you ramble. “On top of that, I have always been clumsy. I’m sure you have figured that out by now. Once, when I was a child, I somehow broke my arm playing in the yard. My brother ran all the way to the physician’s office with me on his back. With him gone, my father thought it would be better for me to be within the house. For my safety and his mental peace.”
“It was suffocating, no? That is why you married me. For freedom.” Your husband observes. You nod, albeit shakily, thinking of your days back at your parents' home. The cold treatment of your father and the way you were never enough. Not enough to take away the pain of them losing their son.
In the silence, you take a moment to gather your thoughts before facing the man next to you and voicing a question you have always wanted to ask. “Why did you choose to marry me?”
He takes a moment to answer.
“Because no one else wanted to. A lot of ministers tried to get me engaged to their daughters, but the girls refused when they saw me. Some even rejected just after hearing my name. They feared me.”
You find it ridiculous. “Why?” Your tone drips with bewilderment. “My reputation,” he shrugs. “My face does not help much, I suppose.”
“What do you mean?” You frown, leaning closer to him. He regards you in silence, as if the answer to that question is the most obvious thing in the world. “I am ugly.”
“What?” You gape at him, utterly befuddled. Does this man truly think that? His sharp eyes narrow on you, his brows knotting in confusion. “I do not know if you are making fun of me.”
“Why would I make fun of you?” You cry. This entire thing is ludicrous. “I simply find it absolutely enraging that you think so!”
He remains mute, watching you like you are an equation he needs to solve.
You take a tentative step closer to him, mumbling, “It is true that your reputation is scary. I also feared you for that in the beginning. I do not know if you are aware, but people say all types of crazy things about you.” You pause, inching even closer to him. With a few small inches between the two of you, you look up and meet his eyes, hoping to convey your sincerity. “But as I got to know you…I have realized there is nothing to fear. You are undoubtedly a cold man, my Lord, but you are also warm. Your heart is always in the right place. That alone is enough to make you the most beautiful man in the land.”
His face relaxes, and you can see how his gaze softens, the turbulent storms ever present in his eyes dissipating for a moment.
In the back of your mind, one thought runs rampant. You want to kiss him. In the soft morning light, he looks as breathtaking as ever, his lips soft and kissable. Remembering the touch of his lips against yours last night, you muster the courage and lean up on your tippy toes, pressing a quick, chaste kiss on his lips. The man immediately leans back, a look of surprise on his face. Ignoring his reaction, you smile and step back, facing the view again. Your husband clears his throat before silently joining you in gazing at the view.
A while later, you voice out another thought. “My Lord, when you said not to expect anything from you, what did you mean?”
He takes a moment to answer. “I don’t know. Just do not expect anything from me. I cannot give you anything.”
Frowning, you face him. “But you have already given me so much.”
“I do not believe that.”
You sigh. The cranky man is returning. Hitching your skirt, you walk closer to him, determined. “What did you mean, my Lord? I cannot expect what?” He huffs out a frustrated breath. “Whatever a wife expects from her husband, I suppose.”
Your frown deepens. “What? Love? Attention? Devotion?”
“I will be devoted to you, but I cannot give you love.” His words are like a punch to the gut. “Why not?” You plead.
He hesitates. “I…just cannot.”
“You cannot or will not?”
His eyes, sharp and fiery, pierce right through you, and you see the truth in his eyes. You see the answer he refuses to utter. “Let us get back.” He announces, turning on his heel and dismissing you, starts marching down the path. You scoff, watching with an open mouth as he almost runs down the track to escape answering your question.
This stubborn, frustrating man.
—
After breakfast, General Choi goes out to visit an old friend. With a sour mood, you shuffle through the house, watching as everyone remains busy with their work. You try to practice some needlework but fail to get far with that. As always, your hand at embroidery is embarrassingly bad. For two hours, you try to create a flower on a handkerchief, but when it turns out looking questionable, you drop the task.
You find San sitting outside on the porch, chatting animatedly with Headservant Yang. “My Lady, are you bored?” Headservant Yang asks upon seeing you walk over. With your shoulders slumped, you nod, pouting.
“General Choi will not be back for some time. Should we play a game then? San offers.
Your eyes shine. “Sure!”
—
Your game of baduk with San lasts even after sunset.
You keep playing match after match, your own competitive streak matching his. He does not go easy on you just because you are married to his General, and that makes it all the more fun.
Your husband returns right before lunch and after observing the two of you for a mere minute, he leaves, locking himself in his study for the rest of the day. His disinterest irks you, and you decide to ignore him as well, honing all your attention towards the game. During different times, Headservant Yang and Jihye stop by between their work, watching you two play with rapt fascination.
The game only ends with you winning, long after the sky has gone dark. Cheers and yells erupt in the small crowd of servants gathered to watch the game. You grin cockily, finally standing up and stretching your legs. San accepts his defeat and takes his leave, not before you make him promise to join you another day for another match.
“Would you like to have your bath first or dinner, my Lady?” Headservant Yang asks. You ponder, still reeling from the high of winning. “Did my husband have dinner?”
“Yes, my Lady.” You sigh. “Well then, I will have my dinner now and then take my bath.”
—
After your bath, you sit in your room with the mirror in front of you while Jihye combs your hair. “Today was a fun day, no, my Lady?” She asks.
“Yes,” you hum. “It is a shame General Choi did not join us.”
“Indeed.”
“Where has he been all day?”
“In his room, my Lady. He was studying.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Your husband truly does not know how to have fun. Instead of spending a rest day with his wife, he would rather read and strategize and sulk by himself.
As if he could hear your thoughts, the man appears with a knock at your door and steps in a second later. Jihye excuses herself, leaving the two of you alone, the room suddenly buzzing with tension.
Your husband regards you with that same unreadable face, but something in you tells you that he is grumpier than usual. Still, you try to be civil. “Hello, my Lord.”
“Lady Choi. It was hard to catch sight of you all day.”
Yes. He is annoyed about something. The subtle bite in his voice is unmissable. You finish combing the ends of your hair before setting the comb down. “My apologies about that. I was too immersed in the game of baduk.”
“Yes, I noticed.” He peers down at you, his eyes ethereally flashing in the soft lights of your chamber. “You seemed to quite enjoy your time with San.”
“He is an excellent player. He also mentioned that you used to play with him.” You supply, trying to understand what might be the cause of his annoyance.
“I don’t know about excellent.” He murmurs, looking away from you. “I taught him, true, but he is no match for me.”
You narrow your eyes. What is he implying? “I am sure he is not, my Lord.” You force a smile.
“Yet, you chose to spend the entire day with him.” This time, he snaps, clear and offended. Your jaw hangs low, surprised at his pettiness. You stand up frowning. “You were away, my Lord.”
“Not the entire day. I returned long ago, but you were too busy playing with him till dinner time.” He grumbles, not meeting your eyes but staring at the lamp. Stunned, you gape at him, trying to understand where he is coming from.
Your heart flutters. Is it possible that he is jealous?
“My Lord,” you step closer to take a look at his face. “Are you…jealous?”
“Ha!” He scoffs, stepping away. “Why would I be jealous of that little punk?” he half yells, waving his hand dismissively like he is swatting away a bug.
Your spirits dampen, and annoyance starts to take over. You give him a saccharine sweet smile that is evidently fake. “Well then, there is nothing to worry about. Shall we head to bed?”
He refuses to let the topic go. “You finally remembered me, no? Now that it is time to sleep?”
The thread holding you together snaps. With gritted teeth, you stare at him, trying your level best to keep your tone neutral. “Well, when your husband dismisses you at every chance he gets and tries to run from you at the mere mention of intimacy, a girl would naturally be upset and spend time elsewhere. I hope you pardon her for spending some time away from him.” You bow dramatically in apology, making sure that he understands it is sarcasm.
“Wha—” He regards you, eyes wide and mouth agape, like he cannot believe the words coming from your lips. “You—” He seems to be at a loss for words.
You step past him, but he raises a finger at you. “So you prefer San over me? Is that what you are saying?”
You roll your eyes at his words. However, today there is an urge within you to push him to his limit. So, you whip your head back and glare at him.
“Who knows?” You singsong. Your husband’s eyes only enlarge, the look of pure shock taking over his face, his mouth hanging open wider than before. “Maybe I do. Maybe I do prefer him over you. He spends time with me, after all. Despite today being a rest day, you stayed in your room all day when you could have joined us. So what if I prefer his company?” You add the last line for good measure, trying to appear as threatening as possible.
“Take that back,” he says, his tone quiet. The look on his face starts to shift towards something serious.
You egg him on. “I won’t! In fact, from now on, I will spend more time with him. Who knows, he might give me all the love and attention you refuse.”
The man finally snaps. In the flash of an eye, he is right in front of you, his hand behind your neck pulling you so close to him that you feel his breath. All earlier pettiness and playfulness are gone. He looks like a raging beast, barely hanging on by a thread.
“Take that back. Tell me you do not mean it or I swear to God, I will chop his head off.” He grits, his voice shaking with anger and his grip on your skin tightening. His eyes are like two molten pools of lava, angry and bright, and he has never looked hotter.
Without wasting a second, you smash your lips with his, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer and closer towards you.
The force of your kiss is so strong that it knocks him back a few steps. However, he is quick to recover, meeting your lips with even more passion, a side of him completely new to you. Raw and unchained, he goes all in, devouring your lips like it is his salvation.
You don’t hold back either.
You let go of your body weight entirely, pushing him on the ground below you while never letting go of his lips. Your hands—his and yours—move frantically to claw at each other through the layers of fabric. With a huff, your husband finally removes his lips from yours, a long string of saliva connecting your lips to his. “If we continue…I cannot hold back.” He pants, his eyes wild and shining.
His words make you giddy with anticipation, molten hot pools of lava swirling in your belly.
“That is what I want,” you whisper, feeling the cold air against your swollen lips. “I do not want you to hold back.” Slowly, you snake your arms around his neck and you move closer to his face. With a mere inch between your lips, you murmur, “I want you to devour me, my Lord.”
Your husband makes a sound, a low, primal grunt that comes from the deepest part of his chest. He exhales sharply, determination swirling in his eyes as he finally lets go of all the restraint he had been practicing till now.
In a flash, he flips your positions, holding you against the ground, his large body looming over yours. Your breath catches in your throat with the view on top of you, and he has not even taken off his clothes yet. Desire thrums in your veins, making you curl your toes in anticipation.
“I will ruin you tonight.” That is a promise. His voice is laced with something dark, like he will thoroughly enjoy ruining you. Little does he know, you will enjoy it too.
“Please, my Lord.” You beg, all too eager to become his.
His eyes flash at your words, and immediately, his hands get to work. They move with ease, graceful yet quick, as he strips you off your garments. All too soon, you are left only in your underskirt, your bare chest exposed for his eyes to feast on. You have the urge to cover them, and as if your husband can read your mind, he grabs your hands and links your fingers with his, pinning them on top of your head.
“Do not hide from me,” he commands, his lips hovering over yours. You nod, jittery with need and anticipation.
Once sure your hands will not move, he slowly traces his fingers from your jawbone to your neck and then your shoulder, before reaching for your braid. You shift and let him hold your hair, his fingers gently caressing over the long braided strands. His fingers trace over your daenggi before tugging on it sharply. Undone, the strip of cloth comes off as your hair starts to loosen from the braid.
“So beautiful.” He hums, holding a few strands of hair between his fingers. He places a soft kiss on them before reaching for your hands. With your daenggi, he ties your wrists together, making sure the knot will hold before placing your hands back where they were, arms stretched straight on top of your head.
“Be a good girl.” He whispers, his voice sultry, his gaze half lidded yet dangerous. Your heart hammers loudly in your chest as the reality of what is happening actually starts to settle in your bones.
You are half-naked, tied up and vulnerable underneath your husband. The man they call the Grim Reaper, the most merciless man in the land. Yet, you are not afraid.
You watch as he shifts, making himself comfortable between your spread legs. He lifts your underskirt, exposing your core, and despite the urge to close your legs, you cannot.
“So beautiful. It will be a treat to ruin you.” He hums, his eyes focused between your legs, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Without any warning, he slaps you between your legs, right on your sensitive flesh, the sharp whack echoing through the quietness of the night.
“Ah!” You cry, mortified and surprised. It stings but also unlocks a new sensation of pleasure within you. Your face heats up as you realize how much you enjoyed it, a deep and deprived sense of pleasure.
He slaps you again. “Do you like it? I can see you are getting wet.” He says, his flashing eyes set on your face.
You make a pathetic noise of agreement. “Answer me!” He commands, slapping you once more. A long, needy moan is ripped from your throat. You pant. “Y-yes, my Lord.”
Pleased, he smirks before leaning down to press kisses on your inner thighs. He moves slowly and deliberately, playing with you, nibbling on your skin with his teeth before giving it a soothing lick and making sure it is marked. When he sits back up, his eyes trace all over your face as if he is trying to remember every small detail about you. You do the same, peering at him through your lashes with bated breath, wishing you could pull him closer for another kiss.
You could spend your entire life kissing this man.
With the ease and grace of a panther that has trapped its prey, your husband moves, enveloping you with his body, his hair falling over you like a black curtain. Lying on top of you, one of his hands holds on to the nape of your neck while the other explores your body, teasingly moving down your waist and between your legs. His warm fingers trace your core, feeling the wetness gathered between your legs. Without losing eye contact, he plays with you, dipping his fingers inside, making you shiver and whimper and continues to smirk knowingly.
He pushes his index and middle finger inside you, just up to his knuckles and the intrusion have you shuddering, your core throbbing like it has its own heartbeat. A breathy moan tears from your lips, and he uses the opportunity to lean in and bite your lip softly.
Dear god. You whimper. “Please.”
“What?” He mouths against your lips. “T-touch me,” you reply, chasing his lips to reconnect with yours.
You hear him scoff cockily. “I am touching you, wife.” His title for you makes you only more desperate. You whine, starting to writhe, “More.”
You feel him smile against your mouth, his fingers slipping all the way in. His lips trace your jaw, his nose pressed against your skin before trailing down your neck, while his fingers start moving in and out. Involuntarily, your hips writhe, chasing his fingers while he peppers your neck with kisses and bites before fixing on a particular spot beneath your ear that makes you whimper. Then, he uses his thumb to give you a flick, his dark eyes trained on your face as your pleasure amplifies.
“Oh my god,” you shut your eyes closed, reveling in the feeling of his fingers inside you. He starts to pick up pace, moving the fingers in tandem, circling them inside you and giving your clit an occasional flick. You wrap your legs around his lower waist, crossing them over and pulling him even closer, a desperate attempt at trying to ease the growing ache. Inside you, his fingers move rapidly, making your body tense as you start climbing your high, the coil in your belly pulling tight.
“My L-lord…” You pant, looking at him with pleading eyes, even though you are unsure what you are trying to say. “Say my name,” he commands, dark eyes trained on you.
You feel even hotter, the coil in your belly pulled impossibly tight. “S-Seungcheol.”
“That is right. Scream my name.” He orders, eyes hazy with a film of lust and possessiveness. As if teasing you, his thumb brushes over your clit ever so slightly, drawing out a shuddering whine from your lips that makes him chuckle quietly. The sound feels like magic to your ears, a drug to your system that heightens your pleasure. His teeth dig into the soft flesh of your neck, undoubtedly leaving a mark.
“P-please Seungcheol,” you heave, eyes closed shut, fingernails digging into your palms. Humming against your neck, he uses his fingers to rub an even deeper spot inside you as his thumb rubs your clit mercilessly.
“Please!” You hiss, throwing your head back, your toes curling as you wail. “I… I cannot…”
“You are going to cum for me. Now,” his voice is a quiet order.
He curls his fingers inside you one last time and flicks your clit hard with his thumb, sending you over the edge. Your release is a tidal wave of mind-breaking pleasure as your body goes tense, your hips arching off the bed, your mouth hanging open as a reaction to the overwhelming pleasure; your first orgasm.
You experience a type of bliss you had no idea existed, and for a moment, your mind goes blank, your body lying taut and tense underneath his. The onslaught of pleasure leaves your vision blurry with unshed tears and your mind numb to everything as you slowly descend from the throes of heavenly bliss and register that your husband is sitting upright between your legs.
With his relentless gaze locked with yours, he slowly licks his fingers clean, his long pink tongue darting out to caress his digits as he hums, “This is the sweetest pussy I have ever had.”
The sight is more than erotic, and for a moment, you are scared you will die from a heart attack. You want this man. You need him all at once, in every way possible. There is an ache coming from the depths of your soul that only he can satisfy.
“Please…untie me. I want to touch you.” You beg, hoping he takes mercy. It has been torture keeping your hands off of him. Hearing your plea, he takes mercy and undoes the ribbon tying your wrists. Free, you immediately sit up and wrap yourself around him, pulling him close for a kiss. Vigorously, wantonly, you kiss him and taste yourself on his tongue, moaning and gripping onto his back, your fingers itching to touch his skin underneath his nightshirt.
“Please take this off,” you breathe against his mouth. Your husband smiles, undoubtedly enjoying teasing you. “Why?”
“Because…I want to see you.” You whisper sweetly, looking at him through your lashes. The man obliges, letting his hands off you for a moment to take off his shirt.
The sight of his naked body renews the heat between your legs, a new wave of desire overcoming your system. You let yourself gawk at the expanse of the muscles on his chest and the bulky thickness of his arms, all littered with scars, strong and dependable. As he stares at your face for a reaction, you reach for him absentmindedly, dragging your index finger over a scar on his right bicep. It is long, old, and jagged, rough and bumpy to the touch. Without thinking, you lean towards his arm and softly press a kiss on the wound before slowly dragging your lips to his chest, where another scar has bloomed. “It must have hurt,” you whisper to yourself, pressing another kiss on the scar before meeting his eyes. “I want to see all of your scars, dear husband. And I want to kiss all of them. I want to kiss away your pain.”
Something flashes by his eyes, brief but vulnerable. He immediately snakes a strong around around your waist to pull you tight against him and seal his lips over yours in a possessive kiss.
With his lips tangled with yours, he carries you to the sleeping mat, setting you down gently. You sigh in satisfaction as your back meets the soft, warm quilt.
Your husband quickly gets to work, taking off your underskirt in a sharp yank and ripping it in the process. Surprised and embarrassed, you squeak, trying to hide yourself from his gaze. With the lamp burning right on the desk next to the mat, he has a pretty clear view of your body.
“Your pants…” You whisper, tugging them as well, and Seungcheol chuckles. “So desperate, aren't we?”
“Please,” you beg, throwing him your best pleading eyes as your hands roam around his back, feeling the ridge and bump of his muscles.
The man quickly takes off his pants, giving you the briefest glimpse of his cock. You barely get to see him as he leans down towards you again, his eyes locked with yours. He drags his palms up, cupping your breasts and squeezing them. A breathy sigh of pleasure falls from your lips as you automatically lean closer to his face, your lips chasing his. Seungcheol captures them in a soft, teasing kiss, his lips gently biting yours as you feel his cock brush against your thigh.
You shiver, goosebumps breaking out on your skin.
You are a ball of nerves right now, the idea of getting intimate with a man for the first time plaguing your mind with worry. Yet, at the same time, you are overcome with desire, need running through your veins.
This is scary yet perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Your husband attacks your neck, kissing and biting the skin while simultaneously playing with your breasts. You mewl, letting your head fall to one side to give him better access to your neck. He hums, the sound so deep and throaty you feel it in your core. His lips do not break contact with your skin, kissing and sucking your sensitive flesh until your whole body shakes like leaves in a tree.
“Please…” You beg, digging your nails into his shoulder, your body unconsciously starting to grind against him, desperate to ease the throbbing ache between your legs. Seungcheol, finally satisfied with the red spot blooming on your neck, lets you go, peering down at you with his hypnotizing eyes.
“I teased you a lot, did I not, wife?” He hums, caressing your heated face with his knuckles. Drunk with desire, you nod, your half-lidded gaze transfixed. “Please, take me, my Lord.”
He tsks disapprovingly. As if to prove a point, he wraps his hand around your throat but does not apply any pressure. “My name.”
“Seungcheol.” You reply immediately.
“Good girl.” Seungcheol smirks, his eyes flashing with something dark as he leans back on his heels, taking a slow, good look at your body. Then, spreading your legs wider, he spits on his fingers and using it as a lubricant over his cock before lining up with your entrance.
“This will hurt at first.” He warns. You nod, one hand covering your face as you choose to look at the ceiling out of embarrassment.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Look at me.” He demands, the tip of his cock brushing against your pussy lips, making you shiver and follow his command. “Keep your eyes on me. Watch me devour this tight cunt.”
You feel like someone set your face on fire. Face flushed with his crude words, you barely get to make a sound when Seungcheol thrusts himself inside you. Your head lolls forward with the impact as your hands immediately clutch his arm around your waist for support.
“Ah!” You cry out, eyes squeezed shut as you feel a sharp sting between your legs. “Fuck,” Seungcheol hisses, his voice throaty as he remains half buried inside you. Pausing for a moment, he lets you adjust before pulling back and then thrusting back in. This time, he goes all the way in, and you swear you feel him in your stomach. With a loud, pathetic cry, you cling onto his body, your brain unable to keep up with all the different sensations.
He builds a pace, pushing in and out of you in strong movements.
Your brain feels like mush as you fail to utter anything, your mouth simply hanging open to let out breathy pants as you close your eyes and feel every ridge of his cock move in and out of you, the initial pain of intrusion fizzling away. It is a blissful experience, a high you never want to come out of.
“Push out your hips a little,” he orders quietly, dark eyes set on you so intensely, you feel like he can see your soul.
Immediately, you comply, extending your waist towards him while keeping your upper back pressed to the mat. His hands hold your hip bone n a strong grip as he places a pillow under your ass and slides himself back inside you with a leisurely pace, the new angle making his length curve inside you.
You start seeing stars.
“Oh my god,” you hiss, eyes squeezed shut. The back of your thighs rests over Seungcheol’s, your legs dangling around his waist, and your hands clenched around the sleeping mat as he starts to pick up pace. With each thrust, the force increases, the tip of his cock hitting your most sensitive spot, low groans falling from his lips to match your breathy moans.
“I… I cannot…please” your whisper mindlessly, the words scattered and almost unintelligible due to your broken moans. “You want to come?” His voice is almost taunting as he leans closer to look at your face. “Well, that’s unfortunate. You do not come until I give you permission, wife.” Your husband warns, making you whine.
The need to find your release only intensifies. You are so close you can almost taste the blissful release.
“P-Please,” You beg, wrapping your arms around his neck and digging your fingernails into his shoulder blades. “Say it louder. Scream my name. Who is fucking this tight pussy?’’ he grunts in your ears, his warm breath tickling your skin.
“Seungcheol!” The desperate yell is quick to leave your lips.
“Who will make you come?”
“You! Seungcheol!”
“That is right, wife. It is I, your husband.” He gives you a particularly harsh thrust. “Not San. Not any other man but me.”
“Y-yes. Please…” you sob. Gripping your chin, he forces you to look at him. “Who do you belong to?” His voice is as quiet as a winter night.
“You, my husband.” You manage to utter clearly amid his brutal thrusts. “Good girl,” he praises, nibbling on your jaw. One of his hands reaches below to touch your clit as he wastes no time rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves with the pads of his finger, all the while continuing to thrust inside you earnestly.
“Seungcheol!” You scream, your entire body jolting.
Your reaction makes him smirk as he chases his own high, seconds away from erupting inside you. He places your clit between his thumb and index finger, giving you a particularly harsh rub followed by a pinch.
You are catapulted over the edge. Your vision goes white, your entire sweat-coated body twitching from the intensity of the pleasure. It only amplifies as you feel Seungcheol spill inside you, his warm release filling you up and dripping lazily out of you.
You feel like you are floating from the bliss.
—
Your husband’s hand strokes your back in repeated soothing motions while you bask in the afterglow of your passionate lovemaking. With him lying behind you on the mat, your bodies pressed together, you move from reality to dreamland every now and then, the smile never leaving your face as you savour his touch and warmth.
“Are you asleep?” he softly asks, bringing his face closer to inspect you.
You make a noise and shake your head, too lazy to move. Your husband gently turns you so that you lie face to face.
“Are you in any pain?” You ask again, carefully looking at your face, his fingers brushing away the rowdy strands of hair from your face. You open your eyes and look at him with a gaze full of love. “I am perfect, husband. Thank you.”
He smiles when you address him by that name, a warm, gummy smile that shows his unbridled joy. The possessive madman from earlier has completely disappeared, replaced by a man eager to dote on his wife.
This is your first time seeing this side of your husband.
He pulls you against his chest, holding you tight in his arms. “No, thank you, wife. Thank you for being mine.” You smile, nuzzling his bare chest. This is the safest and most comfortable you have ever felt, and you do not want to let go. Ever.
After a moment of pause, he whispers. “I know I lack a lot. I can be clueless sometimes. So from now on, I hope you share with me whatever is on your mind. All your wishes, hopes and dreams, your desires— everything. I promise I will make them come true.”
You are too tired to form a reply, your body growing heavier each second but still, you smile. You peacefully drift off.
—
Seungcheol did not go to work today.
The news delights you when you hear it from Jihye as she helps you get dressed. Her eyes linger on your body, especially on your neck, where little marks have formed— evidence of your lovemaking.
She looks half worried and half scandalized, and you wink at her playfully before stepping out of your chamber. Your husband sits on the porch, fully dressed, basking in the sun with a book in his hand.
“Good morning, my Lord.” You whisper, feeling pathetically shy when you catch sight of him. He looks up, his eyes shining when they land on you. “Good morning, wife. How are you feeling?” Shyly, you walk over to him and sit down without leaving any space between the two of you. Fiddling with your skirt, you look away when you answer, “I am alright, my Lord.”
With a gentle grasp on your chin, he turns your face and forces you to look at him. “The truth.” He says quietly.
Truthfully, you are quite sore, and an ache has taken hold all over your body. However, you cannot complain. The ache is laced with pleasure, especially between your legs, reminding you of last night.
Your heart gallops in your chest as you look into his eyes. “I am a little sore,” you reply timidly. “But it is a good kind of sore, I promise.”
His eyes travel to your neck, eyeing the red marks visible on your skin. “I was too rough with you,” he murmurs, his tone laced with regret, his eyes focused on your neck. Quickly, you snap him out of it. “Not at all, my Lord.” You sling your arms with his, pulling him closer so that you can rest your face on his shoulder. “You were just perfect. I enjoyed it. A lot.” You whisper, face flushing.
Your husband keeps gazing at you like he does not believe you. Whipping your head around, you take a quick scan around the yard before pressing a sweet kiss on his lips and giggling like a child. A soft smile blooms on his lips, even though he tries to stifle it.
“You should smile more, my Lord. You look so handsome.”
“Why are you calling me that? You called me by my name last night.” His lips form a soft pout as he complains. You pause, “Well…last night was…”
“You shall call me Seungcheol from now on.” He announces. “I would like it even more if you gave me a nickname.”
Wide eyed, you look at him.
“Do you understand me, wife?”
“Yes, husband.”
Happy with that for now, he does not pester you anymore. You rest your head on his shoulders, your hands intertwined, and watch the morning sky in silence.
“You asked me to share all my wishes with you last night.” You speak after a while, eyes focused somewhere distant. “Can I share one with you right now?”
“Of course,” he shifts so that his body faces you.
Tilting your head up, you admire a white, fluffy cloud. “Ever since my brother died, I have only had one wish for my life. I wanted to live by the sea in a small house. In that house, there would be my husband and I, and we would spend the rest of our days there, away from all the noise and bleakness of this town.”
“That sounds lovely.” He murmurs. You nod before looking at him. “Do you think it would ever be possible for us?”
He remains silent.
“Given the nature of your job, I understand. However, I need you to promise me one thing. You must take care of yourself. You must not get hurt, do you hear me? You have someone to come home to now. You must think about me and you must return home to me, do you understand?” Your hands grip his in an earnest hold.
His free hand comes to rest on top of yours, and he gives you a reassuring squeeze, warm and soft. “Rest easy, wife. I shall come back to you. Always.”
A lone drop of tear strolls down your cheek, and he wipes it away with his thumb before pressing the softest, feather-like kiss on your forehead. After a moment's pause, you speak. “Now it is your turn to share something with me.”
He regards you with confusion.
“Anything. A wish, a secret…” You stare at him with eagerness. He sighs softly, his eyes trained on his lap as he thinks about something.
“Well…when I told you not to expect anything from me,” he begins, looking almost shy, his gaze soft and apologetic. “I was afraid. I wanted to keep you at an arm's length from the beginning because I was scared of losing you. I have lost everyone close to me, and the thought of going through something like that again terrifies me. Since I joined the military, I have kept myself detached from everyone because the less I cared, the better.”
Your heart aches for the man. With gentle fingers, you brush away the unruly strands of hair from his face and trace the scar next to his eye. “You will not lose me, husband. I am right here.” You promise.
He wraps his arms around you as if to test your words. You wrap yourself around him, basking in his embrace, your bodies melting into one. “Do not leave me.” He whispers, his voice raw and vulnerable.
“Never.”
—
Seungcheol left for the palace early today. After two days of relaxation, a letter came for him last night from the palace, demanding his presence first thing in the morning.
At night, Seuncheol held you tight in his arms, soothing away your worries. He finally shared what has been going on in the palace and why there are assassins after him.
Turns out they are working for the Minister of Trade, who is strictly against the new reformations currently being done by the king, like an attempt to abolish the slavery system. Seungcheol has been the King’s number one ally and a powerful piece in the game, which is why they are after him. Removing him from the equation is as good as stripping the King of his powers. Minister Kim has done exceptionally well in covering up his tracks, which is why there is no solid proof against him, complicating this entire issue. He has been playing a cat-and-mouse game with the royal army for a while now.
Your husband left even before you woke up, leaving a note for you promising he would be home for dinner.
The day slowly passes by with you going to the palace and coming home once your shift is over, always under the watchful eye of San. The mood in the palace has been tense today, different rumours about Minister Kim floating in the air and a sinking feeling forms in your gut. No matter how hard you try, you cannot shake off the feeling that something ominous is about to take place.
Your suspicion starts taking shape when dusk falls and Seungcheol does not return. It turns into terror and restlessness as night falls, and still, there is no sign of him. The supper grows cold, and you fall asleep upright, waiting for him, your husband, who never comes.
When you open your eyes again, you find Jihye sitting next to you, a worried look on her face. “What is it?” You immediately sit up straight. “My lady, it is past midnight. Master has not returned yet. Should we send someone to the palace to ask for him?” She asks.
Your fingers fist around your skirt, anxiety coursing through your veins like poison. “We should.” You whisper.
Just as you are following Jihye out of the room, you hear commotion; the voice of a servant and Headservant Yang. Running to the porch, you see Seungcheol entering the house, dressed in his military uniform, his sword in his hand.
He marches straight towards you and drags you into your bedchamber without any words. “My Lord, where have you been!” You cry, gripping his arm. “I have been waiting for you—”
“Listen to me carefully,” he cuts you off, his hands resting on your shoulders as he leans down to be at your eye level. His usual unbothered demeanour is gone, replaced by worry that you see in his eyes as vividly as daylight.
Something must be wrong. Your heart starts racing.
“The Minister of Trade is planning to attack us here tonight. They will be here anytime, so I need to get you out of here.”
“Wha— How did you even find that out? Are you sure?”
“The royal army captured a member of his team yesterday. We tortured the information out of him. Look at me,” he urges you, his fingers gripping your shoulder even tighter. “Minister Kim knows we are onto him. He has gone into hiding. He will stop at nothing to get to me, to you, do you understand? He plans to go down and drag me with him.” You see the fear in his eyes. The unshakable, indestructible man suddenly appears different, and this change terrifies you.
“I am scared.” You whisper.
“You have nothing to be scared of.” He pulls you in his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. “I am going to send you to a safe place. I need you to do as I say, okay?”
You nod shakily, your fingers holding onto his sleeve in a death grip.
“Pack your essentials. We will leave within thirty minutes. Ask Jihye to help you.” He says, pressing a kiss on your forehead before marching outside.
With your heart hammering in your chest, you get to work, moving your shaky limbs to pack a bag with the help of Jihye. Soon, you are ready, and Seungcheol wastes no time wrapping everything up. He places Headservant Yang and the other servant in another neighbor's house to make sure they are safe before setting out with you.
In the darkness of the night, you get onto his horse with his help, followed by him sitting behind you, his arms around you to hold onto the reins. Jihye and another male servant get on another horse, and finally, a royal soldier follows from behind.
A little to the south of the town, there is a long, dense forest which leads to a small, quaint village. There is an ancient shrine there, inhabited by monks, and that is where Seungcheol intends to get you by dawn.
The silence grows heavier and thicker as you tread into the forest; the only sound echoing around is the soft galloping of the horses. You shiver, more from dread than from the cold night air and Seungcheol notices it. “Hold the reins.” He orders quietly so that his hands are free. He takes off the muffler wrapped around his neck and gently puts it around yours.
“I asked you to pack the essentials, wife.” His tone is playful. “I think a muffler in this weather counts as an essential.” He teases, and you understand it is his attempt to soothe you. “I am sorry, my lord. You should keep it. You will catch a cold.” You murmur.
“Hush now,” he shushes you, taking back the reins. “You should lean on me and close your eyes. It will take a while for us to reach there.”
“No, it is okay.” You reply, eyes focused ahead on the dark, narrow road cutting through the forest.
It is such a gloomy night. You cannot spot a single star in the sky, shrouded by clouds.
Time ticks by. The night grows darker.
Your journey continues through the hour of the ox and into the hour of the tiger. Exhaustion takes over you, and unable to resist it any longer, you close your eyes and lean your head back, resting it against your husband’s shoulder. It is not an ideal condition to get some shut-eye, but somehow you doze off.
When your eyes reopen, you hear the loud sound of a horse neighing and its heavy galloping. Seungcheol holds you tighter, and with a sharp tug of the reins and a nudge of his heels, his horse leaps into a full sprint. You look around worriedly, scanning through the dense bushes surrounding you.
“Master! Did they find us already?” Servant Min cries from behind as his horse too picks up pace.
The sounds grow louder, and just as your body tenses up, fearing the worst, you see San pop up from inside the forest, his horse taking a lunge and joining you on the road. “General, you have to keep going!” He yells. “They are right behind us.”
Seungcheol’s horse sprints parallel to his.
“How did they catch up so quickly?”
“Minister Kim had his men spread out. They were hiding in a camp a few miles behind. I took care of them, but the messenger escaped. I’m sure the minister is on his way. You need to move fast. There might be more of his men hiding in the forest.”
Upon hearing his words, you notice the specks of red on his hanbok. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you look behind to see your husband’s face. His jaw is clenched tight. “We need to come up with a plan. If they find us, we cannot hold them off. I need to get my wife to safety.” He yells back.
It is as if a cactus is lodged in your throat. “W-what do you mean?” You cry, your face aghast.
He does not reply to you.
“It will be daybreak soon, General! We should hide somewhere.” San suggests.
Just then, you notice a sudden, strange ball of light in the sky, a little towards your right. It takes a moment for you to register that it is a signal, an arrow of fire shot from behind you.
“There are assassins ahead of us. They now know we are headed that way.” Seungcheol hisses.
“I will take care of it.” San nods, wielding his sword and screaming at the horse, “Go!” The horse runs faster, impossibly so, almost flying forward.
“I need you to stay calm and follow my orders.” Your husband says to you. “Do you hear me?” You nod shakily, “Yes.”
In five minutes, you catch up to San, who has taken care of most of the assassins that sat ahead at the curve. As you sprint near, Seungcheol hands the reins to you and readies his bow and arrow, taking perfect shots at the rest of the assassins. Then, he smoothly gets off the horse, followed by the other soldier who has been accompanying you, their swords wielded as they fight one-on-one.
A little ahead of the curb, you stop the horse and so does Jihye and servant Min, watching the fight anxiously. The three men take multiple assassins at a time, making sure they do not get to you.
You chew on your lower lip, your hands fidgeting as you watch the fight unfold. You wish Seungcheol gave you an archery set. You know the basics because you practised regularly as a child with your brother. Even though after his death, you stopped it for a while, you did not completely let go, taking occasional lessons from the older nobleman in your neighbourhood who used to be a skillful archer once upon a time.
By the time the last member of the group has been killed, shades of blue have coated the sky. Seungcheol and his team run back to the horses, their clothes specked with blood. “Come on, we need to leave,” he says, mounting the horse.
There is a sudden sound; a sharp whoosh like a strong gust of wind just flew by, followed by a soft thud.
It is an arrow.
It whizzes towards you, missing the mark and hitting the tree trunk a couple of inches to your left. Your heart stops. A few hundred meters from the way you came, a large group of armed men show up. It is Minister Kim’s convoy.
They have caught up to you.
At the center, leading them is the minister himself, dressed in iron like he is about to go to war. His eyes, black and empty, scour the dead bodies of his assassins lying on the ground in front of him before looking at your husband.
His thin lips curl up into an evil smile. “General! No point in running now! It’s time to see how good of a fighter you are!” He yells.
You feel Seungcheol's body growing tenser with each passing second, his hand gripping your thigh in a bruising hold. You, too, are paralyzed with fear, unsure of what to do. Then, absolutely shocking you, Seungcheol does the thing you least expected him to do. He starts getting off the horse slowly, his eyes trained on Minister Kim.
“San, take my wife and go.” He speaks quietly to the younger man who hadn’t gotten on his horse yet. “My Lord, what are you—” You do not get to finish your sentence because the younger man has instantly climbed behind you and snatched the reins from your hands.
“Get them!” You hear a shout as you are swept away with lightning speed. San’s grip around your body is iron solid, holding the reins with his eyes focused ahead on climbing the steep, hilly road at the end of the forest.
“No, please! You need to be with him!” You cry, fighting against him as you look behind to see Seungcheol fighting the Minister’s men, accompanied by the other soldier.
He can never outfight all those people.
“Have faith in him. He knows what he is doing.” San assures, kicking his heels so the horse runs faster. You hear sounds right behind you, and you turn to see an assassin on a horse, aiming his arrow at you. San takes notice of it and swerves right immediately to avoid it.
As calculated, it misses, but a second later, your horse neighs out loud, standing on its hind legs before dropping down on the ground, taking the two of you with it. The arrow was meant for the horse. It struck his leg, injuring him, leaving the animal on the ground, softly crying in pain.
San wastes no time getting up and wielding his sword to fight off the man and the others following behind him. Jihye and servant Min, who were right behind you, yell out, calling for you to get on their horse. Jihye extends her hand towards you, but you ignore her, bunching up your skirt and making a run towards the curb.
“My Lady, what are you doing?” San yells, fighting off the assassins. “Jihye, stop her!”
“My Lady, come back!”
Ignoring their cries, you pick up the bow and set of arrows dropped by the assassin and continue sprinting down the steep road.
Then, finding a safe distance and a place behind an oak tree, you spot your husband, his movements sharp and precise as he takes down one man after the other. You watch as the minister slowly walks towards him, his sword dragging on the ground, leaving behind a threatening trail. Due to him wearing the armored plates, you know it is pointless to shoot at him, so you load your bow and aim at the assassins and start shooting.
The first one grazes past the man you aim at. Not discouraged, you continue, and the second one hits the target.
Your husband looks in your direction immediately when the assassin drops dead, his eyes going from confusion to worry the moment he spots you. He does not have the time to do anything about it, as he has to fight the never-ending men.
And you are slightly grateful for that. Right now, he does not have the chance to come to you and force you away, giving you the chance to help him from afar. You continue loading arrows and shooting, missing some but hitting most, well aware of the fact that the Minister has spotted you.
From behind, you hear Jihye coming towards you, her exhausted pleas echoing down the path. “Jihye, I need more arrows!” You yell as you come down to your last two. “There should be some on the road back there!”
By now, most of the assassins have been taken care of, and the remainder are being fought by the soldier accompanying your husband. Minister Kim has approached Seunghceol as they engage in a heated sword fight, the minister swinging his sword like a madman, his growls echoing in the air. Your eyes scan around the place, thinking of finding a way to help Seungcheol, when San finally catches up to you, followed by Jihye, who did not get the arrows you asked for.
“My Lady, enough!” he yells. “You cannot be here! The road has been cleared—”
“We need to help him!” you yell back. “I cannot leave him here for—” You do not get to finish your sentence.
An arrow hits Seungcheol, piercing through the skin right below his right shoulder, on the top of his chest.
“No!” You scream, watching him stumble back for a moment. Your eyes fly through the scene, spotting an archer hidden inside the forest a little ahead towards your right. As you load your bow to take a shot at him, San finally comes to his senses, flying down the road to help Seungcheol.
You take the shot.
The arrow hits the hidden archer right in the chest, making him tumble backwards, disappearing out of sight. Then, you dash down the road, not scared of anything anymore, Jihye following you as your shadow.
San stands no match to Minister Kim, easily overpowered and tossed aside by his brute strength. He has the eyes of a madman, hell bent on getting to Seungcheol, discarding everything in his way like little bugs.
“I told you, you scarred lunatic!” He screams, charging at your husband. “I will slice your head off your neck and then do the same to your wife!”
He swings his sword around, charging for Seungcheol with all his might. Seungcheol blocks him with his sword, but the force of the attack forces him to fall to his knees. Minister Kim takes the opportunity to knock him off his feet with a kick. Seungcheol falls on the ground on his back, and in the split second, the minister raises his sword towards the sky before bringing it down sideways on his chest.
“Seungcheol!” You yell at the top of your lungs. “General!” San yells, coming from behind and tackling Minister Kim to the ground before he can fully swing his sword across. His helmet falls off from the force of San's attack. With your heart thundering in your ears, you point the remaining arrow at him.
It is like your body is not yours anymore. With zero hesitation, you take the shot while he is still pinned to the ground, struggling to get free, and the arrow hits the bullseye, right in the center of his forehead.
His body slumps to the ground.
Pushing him away, San holds your husband’s lifeless body, his eyes slowly falling shut as he yells his name. Jihye and servant Min run past you, calling their master.
The bow drops from your hand.
You stand there, watching the ground go red underneath your husband’s body, your fingers gripping his muffler around your neck.
—
Seungcheol receives his initial treatment in the shrine you were originally supposed to visit.
Once the news of the attack reached the capital, upon the king’s orders, the royal physician Yoon came to treat Seungcheol. He and his assistants crowded the room, tending to your husband’s injury with medicine and wrapping the area with gauze as he lay motionless on the mat.
You stood just outside the room, gazing at your sleeping husband, who looked nothing like his usual self—pale and frail, his body littered with little cuts.
Why won’t he wake up? You miss his eyes. You miss his slow, unravelling gaze on you, his crimson, fiery eye that can almost cut through stone with a simple gaze. Where is that man?
Physician Yoon said he is in a deep sleep. They call it a vegetative state. The injury was quite lethal; the wound just a few centimetres away from damaging his heart. He said that the worst is over, and his pulse is stable now.
But he won’t wake up. He remains unresponsive, and it is unclear how long it will take for him to regain consciousness.
“I see,” was all you said, standing motionless in your spot, gazing at your comatose husband.
A couple of days later, the King sent a royal convoy to move Seungcheol back to his house from the shrine. You had no complaints, wanting your husband to rest comfortably in his own house rather than a shrine. After a long journey, you reached home in the afternoon, greeted by Headservant Yang, who looked as devastated as you. After making sure your husband was okay, physician Yoon left, leaving you anticipating yet another sleepless night.
It is nighttime now, and you sit still next to your sleeping husband. Headservant Yang peeks into the room, begging you to have some food. You ignore her, sitting quietly and observing your husband. The small lamp in the bedchamber casts warm shadows on his face, his sharp features appearing softer and weaker.
He looks oddly at peace. You do not cry. You force a smile.
Leaning closer to him, you glide a gentle hand down his face and whisper, “You can rest. You have had a tough life, my dear. You can rest as long as you need, but you have to come back to me.”
You will pray to every god out there. You will visit every shrine, give unlimited offerings, and pray that your husband returns to you. You will do everything in your power to see him open his eyes. It is truly a shame you do not have much power in your hands.
Sometime later, your exhausted body falls into deep slumber, riddled with nightmares. Your husband lies in a pool of blood, and he does not wake up.
—
The next morning, your father comes to see you. You do not move from your spot next to your husband to greet him as San leads him into the room before excusing himself.
He sits next to you, watching his son-in-law with small, worried eyes, muttering words of regret and concern. You hardly hear them, too busy patting Seungcheol’s face and arms with a damp cloth. Physician Yoon left a while ago after checking up on him and said that there is no progress. The king’s personal messenger came with him as well as the Head Eunuch, praying for Seungcheol and assuring to provide help in any way they can.
You couldn't care less about them. You sent them off, handing the letter you wrote for the king in the messenger’s hand before asking San to see them out.
“My daughter, you should eat something. You have to take care of yourself so that you can take care of him.” Your father urges.
You finish wiping your husband’s body in silence before setting the rag down and clasping his hand in yours. They are calloused but warm, and you silently send a prayer of gratitude to the heavens. He is alive. He is still here.
Tracing over his bruised knuckles with your fingertips, you whisper, “You know, Father, I have been lonely for a long time. After orabeoni died, I thought that was it. It could not get worse, but then Mother died. And I…I hated that I was alive. Because in that house, I was dead. I was dead while still being alive.”
You exhale a shaky breath, pulling Seungcheol’s hand closer to inspect it. You need to apply ointment on his knuckles.
“There was no colour, no joy, no celebration in that house. You were there but also not there. You never saw me. I was not enough, not after losing someone as precious as orabeoni. I felt so guilty. It should have been me, not him—that is all I could think of. I thought my entire life would be miserable like that, which is why I was so eager to marry this man.”
Another heavy sigh whooshes out of your lungs.
“Father, this man…people fear him. They say all sorts of weird things about him. But he is the kindest, warmest man I know. He kept his heart locked and hidden from the world, but he is so precious. He is gentle and kind, and he loves me. He loves me so dearly, Father, and I love him. How could I go on without him?”
And finally, the tears fall. Big droplets of water roll down your cheek as you fall on the ground, clutching onto your husband’s hand and sobbing into the floor, loud and broken.
Your father’s hand comes to rest on your shoulder rather unsurely, softly patting you as you keep crying, the tears that never came till now gushing out like a river with a broken dam. Your broken heart continues to shatter into even smaller pieces, and you cannot help but wonder what if he never wakes up again. Maybe you are doomed to be lonely.
The thought makes you cry some more. After a while, once you have managed to calm down, you sit up and wipe your tears.
“I…I did not know you felt that way.” Your father whispers, his voice ridden with guilt. “I…I never meant to hurt you. I am sorry—”
“I don’t want your apology right now, Father. I want you to pray for him.” You cut him off.
“I will. Of course I will.” He says, his eyes shining with unshed tears and guilt. “And when he is back on his feet, I will come visit you and I will accept your apology then.” You murmur, your gaze trained on your husband.
“Of course. Have faith, my dear. He will be awake soon.” Your father assures, his voice unstable. You hum absentmindedly.
If Seungcheol does not wake up, you do not know what you will do.
—
The wind is particularly chilly this morning.
It has been a fortnight since Seungcheol fell into his comatose state, and he is just as before. Every day, Physician Yoon comes to check on him and then leaves while handing you some herbs to apply to his wound.
You have accepted this as your life now. Waking up every morning with a prayer that all the previous days were a long, gruesome nightmare, but then feeling grateful to see him still breathing, warm and alive.
After completing your daily prayer and offerings at the temple, you walk home in slow steps, the fatigue slowly creeping into your bones. The past week has been hard on you, and it looks like your body to starting to give up. You have not been eating properly, spending all your waking hours beside Seungcheol, tending to his comatose body or crying at the altar of the temple.
You cannot give up. Seungcheol is yet to awake.
Just as you come in front of your house, you find a small stray cat sitting comfortably in the sun. With a small, exhausted smile, you walk closer and crouch down, running your fingers through its shaggy fur. It looks dirty and disheveled, and you wonder where it is from.
You should probably bring it inside and give it some milk to eat. Judging by how comfortably it sits and basks in the sun, you are doubtful you will be able to get it inside your house.
“Would you like something to eat?” You whisper, gently scratching between its ears. The cat meows rather boredly, closing its eyes and resting its head on the ground after a quick swish of its tail.
Right then, a servant bursts out of the front door, looking like he saw a ghost. He looks back and forth down the road before finally spotting you on the ground. The wide-eyed, frazzled look on his face makes your blood run ice cold, and you immediately stand up.
“What is it?”
“My lady…Master is awake.”
You are free falling. You fall and fall, all the limbs of your body finally giving up after a week of war. For a long moment, you stand there, stuck in a daze. You don’t dare to breathe, afraid you would wake up and realize it was a dream.
“I will go get Physician Yoon. Please go inside, my lady.” The servant says before rushing down the street. You struggle to move. The stray cat at your feet has got up due to the commotion and is now strolling into the house.
With your heart racing in your chest, you slowly follow it, your legs shaky due to the nerves.
Seungcheol is awake. He is finally awake.
You hear lots of voices, especially Headservant Yang’s, as she scolds and cries loudly. With a lump lodged in your throat, you keep on walking until you spot the door to his bedchamber. You catch a glimpse of your husband sitting up, and for some reason unknown to you, you immediately hide behind a nearby wall.
You are too scared to see him. Too overwhelmed, too afraid.
You thought of this. You dreamed of the day he would wake and look at you, and now that it is here, you do not know what to do. It feels unreal.
You are angry at him. You are also grateful. Angry for getting hurt. Grateful for waking up.
A sob bursts out of your throat, and you start wailing, unable to hold back the tears any longer. With your palms clasped over your mouth, you cry so hard that it becomes hard to breathe. The sobs wrack your body, knocking the air out of your lungs and leaving behind only pain.
The pain of almost losing him. The pain of seeing him lie there almost lifeless, day after day.
A hand on your shoulder startles you, and you find Jihye standing next to you. Her eyes are misty as she wraps an arm around your heaving body and rubs your arms soothingly. “It is alright, my lady. Please do not cry. He is looking for you.”
Her words make you cry some more before you manage to wipe your tears and snot. It is pretty futile because they do not stop completely. With shaky legs, you move from your hiding spot and continue towards his chamber, your heart pounding loudly in your ears.
Seungcheol spots you immediately, his posture straightening as he sees you arriving. But you do not meet his eye.
You cannot bring yourself to. If you look at him, you will start crying once more, right in the middle of the yard, in front of all the servants.
Headservant Yang and others start moving away as they see you approaching, giving you privacy. You cross the porch, your eyes still trained on the wooden floor of his bedchamber, your hands slightly shaking.
Finally, you step inside and shut the door behind you. Then, your eyes slowly travel to his.
He is definitely paler and thinner than before, but you see life in his eyes. You see the spark and the shine that have always been present in them, and right at that moment, you are sure he will be alright.
Thank god.
He looks up at you, his eyes brimming with longing and guilt. His usual plump red lip shaded in a pale pink colour. His face littered with little cuts that are still healing, yet he has never looked more handsome.
And you have never been happier to see him.
You want to scream. You want to yell at him and tell him how much you love him, but you cannot speak. Tears and sobs threaten to overflow once more, so you stand there like a statue and keep staring at your husband, repeating in your head that he is alive and well.
Until your knees finally give out.
You kneel in front of him and wrap your arms around his neck, careful to avoid his left chest and leaning your weight more on the right. Breathing him in, you hold him as tightly as possible, wishing you could merge yourself into him, wishing you could lock him away and protect him for the rest of his life.
Your tears wet his bare shoulders, your fingers tightly gripping onto the muscles on his back, clutching him on for dear life. It feels as if you let him go— if your grip loosens ever so slightly, you will lose him forever.
It takes a long moment for you to realize how your body is shaking due to your sobs and tearful hiccups, only when your husband's warm hands wrap around you, patting your back like you are a small, wounded animal.
“It is okay, my dear. Everything is okay,” he soothes in the softest voice, and when you hear him, another violent sob slips past your throat while you cling to him and cry in the crook of his neck.
You want to stop, but the tears are endless, a mixture of pain and relief. Gingerly, Seungcheol pulls you away from him to take a look at your face, which is puffy and tear-stained. With his thumbs, he wipes your tears away, murmuring, “Hush, now. It pains me to see you cry like this.”
You want to reply, but the lump in your throat is still heavy, and you know if you try to utter something, only sobs will come out, so you remain silent, raking your eyes over his body before settling on the wound on his chest.
“I am alright, I promise.” He assures you once he sees your gaze. “I feel well-rested, in fact.”
You are glad to hear that.
Wiping the remaining tears and snot rather unceremoniously with your sleeve, you get up on your feet to leave the room, but he tugs on your wrist, pulling you back down and into his arms this time.
“Where are you going?”
“To get you some herbal tea.” You reply, your voice meek and scratchy. Your husband locks his arms around you. “Headservant Yang will do that. I need you to stay here. I have missed you.”
Your lower lip trembles, but you will yourself not to cry again. Instead, you whisper, “I have missed you as well. I have missed you so much, you have no idea, Seungcheol.”
He shifts, peering at your face with a surprised look. “You called me by my name.”
“I have been calling your name for the past week.” You murmur, staring at your lap.
He maneuvers your body with gentle, effortless hands so that he can see you fully. “You know, you look like the one who has been comatose for a week. What is this I am seeing? When was the last time you had a proper meal?” He frowns, his eyes trained on you like a hawk as he squints at your face.
You look away, murmuring, “I have been busy nursing a sick man.”
He scoffs. “Not busy enough to eat. You look like a ghost, my wife. I am genuinely worried about you.”
You do not meet his gaze. With an exasperated sigh, he gently tilts your face up by the chin. “Look at me.” He softly commands you. You do as you are told, finding his eyes set on you, those beautiful, mesmerizing eyes that you missed so deeply.
Your husband’s face inches closer to press a soft kiss on your forehead. It is not quick; he holds his lips pressed right in the middle of your forehead, slightly above your brow, like he is trying to leave an imprint. You close your eyes and lean closer, savouring the feel of his lips against your skin.
Oh, how you longed for this.
“I love you.”
You must have heard wrong. You stop breathing, your body going tense for a moment. Seungcheol leans back, one of his hands wrapped around your neck, his thumb stroking your cheek while the other cups the back of your head, angling your face just slightly upwards and in line with his gaze.
“I love you.” He repeats—his words slow, heavy, deliberate.
You feel faint. It is hard for you to find words, and while you continue gaping at him with parted lips and shining eyes, he continues, “I was scared I would not be able to say this to you. As I lay on the ground and saw you standing there, this was all I could think of. I was angry at myself for never telling you how much I love you.”
“Oh Seungcheol…” your lips tremble. You wrap your arms around his neck, making yourself at home by placing your head under his chin, feeling his hard muscles against your body.
“I love you, dear wife. I love you more than life itself. More than I could ever express.” You hug him tighter. “I love you, too. I love you so much, Seungcheol. You are my whole world.”
“I know.” He murmurs. “I knew the moment you came back towards me. Which you should not have done, by the way. You put yourself in danger.” He loosens his hold on you to catch a glimpse of your face, his gaze admonishing. “I am still mad at you for doing that, but you look miserable enough, so I will let you off.”
You only smile.
“Also, when were you going to tell me what an amazing archer you are? How come I did not know that?”
You look away sheepishly, biting your lip. “You never asked.”
He laughs, the sound sweet and throaty. His arms wrap around you in a tight, protective hold once again, and you close your eyes, savouring the rhythm of his heartbeat next to your ear. As you bask in his warmth, you announce, “You are not going back to the military. I am not letting you go.”
Detangling himself from you, your husband regards you with an amused look, like he cannot believe you. “Oh, really?”
“I am serious.” You huff with a frown. “You are not going back. You have fought enough battles for a lifetime. Now it is time for you to rest.”
“Hm. And what if His Majesty disapproves?” His tone is playful.
“I do not care. I already wrote him a letter, saying that once you woke up, you would not resume your duties.”
Amazed, your husband watches you, his eyes twinkling with pride. “I cannot believe you did that.” You ignore him. “Promise me. Promise me you will not go back to the military.”
He remains silent, watching you calmly, and you start getting anxious, expecting the worst. Just as you start thinking of different ways to force him to stay, he says, “I will not, I promise. I was not going to go any way. That was the first decision I made when I opened my eyes. I got another chance at life with you. I plan on using it very well.”
Your heart soars. You grin, a full-on smile sweeping over your face after a long time. Pressing a soft, chaste kiss on his lips, you whisper, “Can we go live by the sea now?” His eyes shine with love. “Yes, we can.”
You couldn't be happier. Your heart couldn't be fuller. It is pure delight when you think of a future with this man, away from all the noise and the troubles that have been plaguing your life until now.
He can be safe now. He can rest.
Unconsciously, your thumb traces the scar next to his eye, feeling the bumpy skin underneath your finger. The scar now looks like a tree branch that extends into even smaller branches containing little flowers.
You lean forward and press a kiss on it.
“I am just glad you will not get hurt anymore. You have already been through so much.” You whisper, your sad gaze trailing over all the marks on his skin, old and new, before settling on his left chest. You gingerly place your hand over the gauze, remembering how long and deep the gash was.
It will scar for sure. Probably the biggest scar on his body, and it will be because he was protecting you. A shaky breath parts from your lips as you are momentarily transported back in time; him lying motionless on the ground that was turning red. As if your husband can read your thoughts, he gently tilts your chin up and forces you to meet his eyes.
“My dear, I am alright. Look at me.”
“This will scar. You will be in much pain as it heals. Because of me.”
“Don't say that.” He holds you against his chest, his fingers wrapping tightly around your limbs. “You are the only one who loves my scars. Because of you, I now love them too. I would not have changed a single thing if I had the chance. You know why? Because every one of the scars in my body led me to you. And this one?” He places a hand over yours, which is resting on his chest.
“This one tied me to you forever. I earned you. I earned your forever through this. So I think this is the most beautiful.”
A lone tear strolls down your cheek. “Oh, Seungcheol,” you choke over a sob, tilting your face up to capture his lips in a kiss.
His arms engulf you completely, his lips taking over yours, his tongue moving inside your mouth like he has been starving for this.
It is breathless, passionate, and gentle at the same time, conveying all the feelings and emotions the two of you could never put into words.
It is beautiful, like the scars on his body, leaving behind a trace of love.
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A/N 2: First of all, I want to thank you for reading till the end. Next, I just want to say that this fic has been one of my dream projects. Is it the best? Maybe not but did I have the most fun writing it? Hell yes! It was originally supposed to be a bit longer but I cut some parts out, mainly because I was worried this app wouldn't let me post the entire thing easily. Sure enough, it said that there were too many blocks on my post, so I had to stitch together a lot of passages even though they were separate at first. So, I'm sorry if the flow gets weird in some places. Finally, I just want to take a moment to thank you all for your support. I am really excited to hear from you guys about this fic, so please do send an ask!
That's it from me for now. For my next fic, I will be returning with something short and lighthearted. Stay happy and healthy, y'all! <33
synopsis ➳ you see him at a dodgers game and for you it is game over. except, it looks like he isn't interested in you. however, the chemistry between you says otherwise.
pairing ➳ dilf!s.coups x fem!reader
genre ➳ strangers to lovers, age gap romance, smut.
word count ➳ 8.2k + 1.1k (bonus)
warnings ➳ mdni, age gap!!! (9yrs), slightly toxic dynamics, cheol is an absolute gentleman in the first half and a monster (in bed) in the second, reader is horny af, sexual tension/frustration, possessiveness, messy makeouts, unprotected sex, male oral and ofc big dick cheol, gagging, crying, pussy slapping, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, nasty sex in general bruh.
a/n: those pics of cheol at the LA Dodgers game did something to me. and to be fair, cheol isn't actually a dilf here (you'll find out). also, if age gap is not your cup of tea, DO NOT INTERACT!
I think I need someone older
Just a little bit colder
Take the weight off his shoulders
The crowd is quite suffocating.
You have to find your way through a throng of people, mostly men dressed in jerseys and holding beers, to get to the VIP seating area. Jeanie, your friend, leads the way, and you follow her tail, careful not to bump into anyone and spill your drink.
This is really not your scene.
You don't like noisy places. You don't like crowds. You don't like sports.
So what are you doing here?
Two weeks ago, you broke up with your boyfriend. It was nothing dramatic. In fact, you saw it coming. Your relationship mellowed out a long time ago, not that it was very heated in the first place, and frankly, the breakup was a relief.
It was like you finally got rid of a dead weight.
But for some reason, Jeanie, one of your closest friends, had this impression that you were depressed and having a pity party by yourself in your apartment, which you were not; you were doing a deep clean to prepare for the upcoming fall. Hence, she has dragged you out here, to a LA Dodgers game, to change the scenery and add some joy in your life.
You and your friend have truly different definitions of joy. She has been an extrovert since the time you met her in college. You, on the other hand, preferred to be by yourself.
Jeanie nudges your shoulder with hers as you two take your seats. “Lighten up, girl. Have some fun! We got these VIP seats for free!”
Right. Jeanie is friends with an influencer who gave her these tickets because she couldn’t come because of some last minute trip to a fancy Caribbean island.
You take a sip of your chilled drink and murmur. “I’m trying. You know this is not my scene.”
“A change of scenery is always good.” She announces before taking a look around in the VIP seating area. “Plus, this place is full of hot, rich guys.”
“Rich? Sure. I don’t see any hot guys, though.” You comment drily. “I am going to stay for half an hour and then leave. You know I have to make a pitch on Monday. I need to work on my presentation.”
“Can you not think about work for two seconds?” Jeanie rolls her eyes.
“Alright, fine. I’ll pretend to be very interested in the game for your sake.” You huff playfully, and your friend smiles, wrapping an arm around you. She and her fiancé watch these games regularly, and you know for a fact that if he were not out of town right now, she would not have dragged you here, and you could be finishing up with work early and end the day soaking in a bubble bath.
Yeah, that would be nice.
A man walking by catches your attention randomly. He is dressed in a grey hoodie and grey sweatpants with a cap on his head, his pace leisurely as he strolls down the stairs to take a seat in the front row. Nothing about his clothes is flashy or exceptional, but still, he stands out and your eyes follow him. As he walks past you, you get a glimpse of his face: fair skin with dark, thick eyebrows, unfairly beautiful eyes and a plump set of lips. Silently, you observe him sit down next to a man and a moment later, take a toddler out of the man’s lap to put the child on his.
Is he a father? Damn, spotting an attractive dilf was not on your bucket list.
The game starts momentarily, disrupting your thoughts as music and cheers erupt throughout the stadium. You try your best to enjoy the game before resigning yourself to sipping your beer and scrolling through your phone while occasionally taking peeks at the front row.
You don’t get to see much except the man’s back as he keeps playing with the very enthusiastic child, clapping and squealing while the man beside them takes pictures of them.
Time ticks by. Your beer finishes. You help Jeanie take some pictures before posing for some selfies with her. And then, something happens that gets you the attention of the hot man in the front row.
The child you saw earlier with him was climbing the stairs, his little wobbly feet tackling one step at a time as he held a cup of orange juice comically large for his little hands. Just as he was wobbling past your seat, he lost his balance, and some of the juice spilt out of the cup and onto the bottom of your jeans.
The two men who were a few steps behind come running as the dilf immediately picks up the kid with an admonishing look. The taller man next to him looks in your direction, muttering an apology. The father, you assume, orders, “Mingyu, go grab some napkins for the lady.”
“No, it’s—” You stand up to protest, but the man—Mingyu—dashes away to get some tissues for you. “It’s okay. It was an accident.” You offer softly as the man admonishes the child, who looks at you with large doe eyes.
“Ethan, say sorry to her.” He tells the kid who squirms to get out of his father's hold and onto the ground. “I am sorry, miss.” The kid says sweetly, bowing his head almost so far ahead that he loses his footing.
“Oh, no. It is alright, Ethan.” You softly pat his head. “You are a big, strong boy, carrying the cup by yourself!” Ethan smiles at your words, his little teeth peeking.
Mingyu returns with the napkins and hands them to you before picking Ethan up and taking him away, climbing up the stairs. You dab the spot on your jeans with the napkin, hyperaware of the dilf’s eyes on you. Oddly, you are too shy to look him in the eye, as if he can see all your thoughts about him in them.
“Allow me to pay for the dry cleaning.” He offers.
“Oh, no!” You refuse, embarrassed. “The stain is not that strong. It will wash away.”
“I insist. Please give me your number so that I can send the money.” He is adamant, and with no other option, you fish out your business card from your purse and hand it to him.
He takes a look at it before putting it in his pocket. An awkward moment of silence passes by as you finish wiping the stain and stand back up. “Your son is very cute.” You attempt to make a conversation.
“Oh,” he shakes his head with a chuckle. “That’s my nephew.”
Your ears perk up at his words.
“My sister-in-law had a dentist appointment, and so we brought him with us. He really loves my friend, Mingyu. Sometimes I think he loves him more than me.” He explains casually, a fond look on his face.
“I see.” You take a moment to scan him, half unconsciously. He is right there in front of you, and it is almost impossible not to drink him up. Despite wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, there is something about him that screams luxury. Maybe it is the way he walks and talks, at ease yet authoritative, like he owns the place, or maybe, you realize, it's the Rolex sitting on his wrist, thick and heavy.
You are so busy staring at him that it takes a long moment for you to realize he is staring at you staring at him. He is the first one to break the silence, saving you from further embarrassment. “Let me take a guess. This really isn’t your scene.” He waves his hand around.
A soft burst of laughter comes out of your mouth. “Is it that obvious?”
“It kind of is.” He smirks, his deep brown eyes twinkling with something unreadable, and your stomach starts doing backflips. You have to take a step back and grab onto the backrest of the seat to make sure you don’t fall.
“My ideal weekend is sleeping in and ordering takeout.” You shrug.
“That has its own appeal, I must agree.”
“Yeah…” you trail off, unable to hold eye contact with him any longer. Your heart is racing inhumanely fast in your chest, and you are half worried that you are getting a heart attack. For God’s sake, that’s a fucking stranger and for sure, someone’s boyfriend or husband, though you don’t see a ring. You cannot be drooling over him like that.
You need to get laid.
“Well, it was lovely talking to you. We are gonna head out now.” He stands straighter, fixing his cap, his blonde hair peeking from the sides. “I am once again, really sorry about that,” he motions to your jeans. “I’ll send you the money.”
“You really don’t have to.” You object, watching him climb up the stairs.
“Don’t worry about that.” He shakes his head before turning to look at you. “Have a nice day.”
“You too.” Chewing on your lower lip, you watch the absolute hunk of a man walk away. With a heavy sigh, when you turn back around, you find Jeanie looking at you with the evilest of smiles, like a cat that ate the canary.
“Ugh, please,” you huff, hiding your face, making an attempt to leave. “Let me go, I need to pee!”
“Mhmm,” she hums, wrapping her arms around you and dragging to down next to her. “What was all that, huh? You were practically eye fucking him. And giving him your number, my god, girl!”
“Ugh, shut up! He asked for it.”
“Mhmm, I’m sure he will be asking for a lot more things soon when he gives you a booty call.”
You roll your eyes, shoving Jeanie’s face away from yours. Inside, the idea of him calling you does make your stomach flutter more than it should.
You should get a check-up done. And get laid.
—
You do not get a call from him. Instead, the next morning, after you wake up, you find the money sent to your number along with a message that says,
Sorry for the trouble once again. — Choi Seungcheol
Choi Seungcheol. The name rolls off your tongue nicely as you keep gazing at your mobile screen, dumbfounded at the amount he sent you. No dry cleaning costs that much, and you debate a while with yourself, wondering whether you should call him, send him a text, or send some of the money back.
Hoping that he may text you for a follow-up, you get on your day, preparing to get ready for work. The day, however, comes to an end with no response from him. Not a text or a call checking if you have received the money. Finally, at night when you are in bed, you decide to text him.
Hi. It’s ___ from the game yesterday.
Five minutes later, your phone starts ringing. It is Seungcheol.
“Hello?” You half whisper, your voice suddenly catching in your throat.
“Hi.” His voice is deeper on the phone. “Sorry, I am too tired to text, so I just called you. I hope that is okay?”
“No, it’s completely fine.” You hurry. “It’s my fault for calling you this late. I’m sorry for disturbing.”
“Don’t worry about that. I just had a long day at work. But anyway, how can I help you?”
“Umh,” you take a moment to oragnize your thoughts. “I wanted to say thank you for sending the money. I really appreciate it, but the amount is much more than necessary.”
“It’s okay. You could use that to buy a pair if the stain does not come off.”
“And still I would be left with enough to grab dinner.” You joke.
“You love takeouts, right? So why not?” He hums from the other side. He remembers. You smile, chewing on your lower lip. And then, an idea pops into your head.
“I have a better idea. Let me treat you to dinner.” You state, and then squeeze your eyes shut as you hold your breath waiting for his reply.
“Why?” he sounds confused.
“Just as a token of gratitude.” You reply, still holding your breath. The line stays silent for a few seconds, and just as you start thinking you will get rejected, he answers. “Sure. When is a good time for you?”
You have to hold back a squeal. “This Friday?”
“Works for me.”
“Great!” You quip, trying not to sound too excited. “See you then!”
“Have a good night, ___.”
—
The week could not have been slower. By the time Friday rolls around, you are bone tired from all the work that came along with the new merger of your company. Still, you manage to leave work a little early and have a shower before getting ready. Seungcheol let you choose the restaurant, and you decided to go to a sleek Italian restaurant tucked away on the upscale side of town.
By the time you get into your Uber, Seungcheol texts you, stating that he is already there. Thankfully, there is not a lot of traffic, so you do not keep him waiting for long.
You find him seated at a couple’s table by the large floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping on a glass of wine as he talks to someone over the phone. He is quick to spot you, however, and as soon as he sees you, he hangs up the phone, stands up, and pulls your chair out for you.
“Hi,” You murmur, voice breathy as you come to a stand in front of him. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” You let your eyes wander all over him, and boy, does he look good—black formal shirt with black pants and a nice watch. He looks effortlessly hot, especially the way a bit of his skin peeks through the top unbuttoned space of his shirt and the way his arms flex, the veins shining in the warm light because of his rolled-up sleeves, and the way the fabric of the shirt remains tight against his solid, hard chest.
You feel like a Victorian man laying his eyes upon a woman’s ankles.
“No worries at all,” he ushers you to sit down. “I took the liberty of ordering us some appetizers and a bottle of wine. I hope you do not mind.”
“Not at all,” you reply bashfully as you sit down, and he goes back to his chair. “I am actually quite hungry. I haven’t had anything since breakfast.”
“Why?”
“Oh, work has been crazy.” You sigh.
“Hm,” he nods softly. “I heard your company is going through a merger currently.”
Swallowing a gulp of water, you look at him, impressed. “Looks like you stay updated.”
He chuckles, with a subtle shake of his head, his hand reaching out for your goblet to pour you some wine.
“I googled you, by the way.” You announce with a cheeky smile. The man raises a thick eyebrow, and involuntarily, you press your thighs together underneath the table. Setting the bottle of wine down, he leans back in his chair and softly rubs his index fingers across his chin. “Oh really?”
“I was really curious.” You explain, reaching for the wine. “Turns out you are a record label owner.”
“Yeah, it is nothing special.” He waves a hand dismissively. You roll your eyes and lean closer to him, your elbows resting on the table. “Are you serious? Literally Woozi—the Woozi is your artist. That’s insane!”
“You are a fan, I assume?”
“I am. I really like his songs.” You nod.
You are interrupted for a moment as the appetizers come alongside another server, who takes the orders for your main course. Once they are gone, Seungcheol serves you each of the dishes while saying. “I will see if I can get you an autograph.”
Quietly, you watch him load up your plate and set it down in front of you before serving himself. His thoughtful gesture gives butterflies in your stomach, and you murmur a shy “thank you”, hoping he understood that it was not because he said he would get you Woozi’s autograph.
“But enough talking about an old man like me.” He says, taking a bite of his food. “I would much rather hear about you.”
His words leave you flustered, especially as he keeps his gaze on you, his eyes unwavering. You supply information about your family, friends, and work between mouthfuls, surprised at how attentively he listens and asks thoughtful but not intrusive questions. The main course comes, and your conversations keep flowing smoothly, from your life to your hobbies to his and then to his nephew Ethan. The chemistry between the two of you is undeniable, at least that is what you think, but you have no way of knowing what is going on in his mind. He never crosses any lines or makes any attempt to touch or flirt with you, and by the time dessert is over, in the back of your mind, you are questioning yourself.
What does he think of you? A friend? A clingy young girl who was desperate to have dinner with him?
You are so lost in your head that when the bill is set down on the table, Seungcheol is the one to grab it, exceptionally fast at that, and you watch him with an open mouth.
“Hey!” You attempt to snatch the bill out of his hands but fail miserably as he simply puts his black card inside and hands it back to the waiter. “I was supposed to pay!”
“I know,” his voice is soft as a feather. “But I had a lovely evening today, and trust me when I say that it is my absolute pleasure to cover the bill.”
His tone, paired with the most sincere look in his eyes, leaves you at a loss for words, and you don’t know what to say, too busy trying to calm your racing heart. You manage to utter a soft “thank you,” and he returns it with a warm smile and a sincere “welcome.”
God damn it, this man is so perfect. The date is coming to an end, and you have no idea where you stand and what you should do to figure that out. With your head clouded in worries, you follow him out.
—
The drive goes by in relative silence, and you are at your place too quickly to your liking. Seungcheol gets out of the car to walk you to the front of your apartment complex while his driver parks the car.
“Well then, I hope you had a great time tonight.” He offers a smile as you stand in front of the entrance to your building. “I did.” You nod, hoping your voice conveys your sincerity. “It would have been greater if you let me pay, but—”
“Don’t mention it.” He cuts you off with a cheeky smile.
“Thanks again. For the dinner and for dropping me home.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” His smile is warm. “I’ll leave after you go inside.” He states and extends his hand as a polite way of urging you in. “Right, um, goodnight.” You rush, hastily turning around as your mind races with endless thoughts.
Will you see him again? He did not mention any other meeting, so that seems highly unlikely. You have his number, but can you call him? Should you call him? Would he call you?
Four steps in, you stop and turn back around. “Seungcheol?”
“Hm?”
“Would you like to date me?” You blurt out, marvelling at the steadiness of your voice as you lay all your cards out on the table.
The man in front of you blinks, once, twice, thrice and then keeps staring at you with the flattest yet most expressive face of surprise. The silence is suffocating, but you refuse to speak, worried you would embarrass yourself. After a long moment, he replies. “I don’t think it is a good idea.”
Wow.
You should say, “understandable, have a nice day,” and take your leave, but you cannot resist asking, “Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He pauses. “I am much older than you.”
Wait, that is why?
“Seriously?” You have to resist rolling your eyes.
He seems surprised at your attitude. “I am almost ten years older than you, if my assumption is correct. That is a pretty big issue. Trust me, you would not want to date someone like me.”
You frown. “I don’t like how you are telling me what I should and should not want.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “That is not what I meant. Our worlds are too different. I’m not telling you how you should feel, I am just warning you.”
Your fingernails dig into your palms, which are clenched into fists. You stare at him, hard and unblinking, trying to gather your thoughts. He looks apologetic, his sharp eyes soft and guilty, and it only angers you.
“I understand,” you nod, your voice quiet. “Thank you for today. I hope you get home safely. Goodbye, Seungcheol.”
With that, you march into your apartment building.
—
“I am telling you, he was the perfect man until he started warning me about how it would not work.” You huff, your phone pressed to your ear as you arrange all the papers laid out on your desk.
“I mean, I saw that guy, right?” Jeanie continues. “Physically, he is like an eleven out of ten. And from the way you describe his mannerisms, he is like a complete gentleman.”
“Right?” You cry, shoving all the papers in a drawer of your cubicle.
Normally, you don’t waste time worrying about your personal affairs at the workplace. This, however, is an exception. Jeanie was gone for a trip with her fiancé during the weekend, and you had to prepare for the upcoming company gala as well, so you spent the last two days glued to your laptop, drowning your pain in work and coffee.
“But you know, I kinda like how he turned you down. I mean, at least he is not a weirdo who jumps at the offer of getting into a young girl's pants, right? If Google is correct and he is 35 years old, that means he is a good nine years older than you. I am just surprised that he understood the problems of this dynamic.”
“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, slumping down on your chair. “Can you stop taking his side? He is so annoying. I wish I could just delete that guy from my mind.”
“Right, like that Kate Winslet movie.”
“Exactly,” you pause, noticing your boss coming towards your cubicle. “I’ll call you later.”
“Someone is worked up early in the morning,” Linda saunters over and leans against your cubicle. “And I know it is not work that has you stressed. So what is it?”
“I just um…” Got dumped by a hot dilf who is rich as fuck and hot as fuck and actually has a conscience. “It’s nothing.” You force a smile. "Just some personal stuff.”
“Mhm.” She hums. “If it’s a man, don’t worry too much. The right one will find his way to you.”
“Yeah,” you give her an awkward smile. Linda grins before turning on her heel, “Alright then. Conference room, five minutes. Bring those reports from the last quarter.”
—
It is the night of the gala.
This is by far Linda’s most ambitious project, throwing a party on this huge scale. The preparations leading up to this were absolutely crazy, and you have never seen everyone work so hard in your three years at this company, meticulously going through everything from the decorations to the guest list, which included every big name from CEOs to actors.
As the guests pour in, you walk behind Linda as her shadow, carrying an iPad in your hand as you tackle one guest after another, welcoming them and then moving on to the next. Halfway through, you feel your feet getting numb, and you wish you were at home dressed in your pajamas, eating takeout instead of being here, dressed in a satin gown and high heels, after working like a dog all week.
However, you soon realize things are going to get much worse for you. As Linda chats with a few investors, you spot Seungcheol, Choi Seungcheol, standing a few feet away, talking to a few other men with a smile on his face. You shift on your feet, trying to get a good look and make sure it is indeed him.
Yes, it is. Dressed in a navy blue three-piece suit, he looks like a million bucks and a flashing sign of your embarrassing history. As soon as Linda is done talking to her guests, you pull her away and whisper-yell, “Why is Choi Seungcheol here?”
“What do you mean? He was on the guest list.”
“I know but why is he here?”
Linda blinks, registering your words. She whips her head around, whispering, “Holy shit, he is here. He has never attended these parties…ever!”
“Exactly!” You hiss.
“This really is our lucky year,” Linda murmurs before heading towards him in determined strides. “No!” You yelp softly, shifting left and right, thinking of a way to escape, knowing very well that there is none. With your head down, you trail after her, standing behind her to avoid making eye contact. After a brief chat, your boss introduces you to Seungcheol, forcing you to look at him.
His eyes lock with yours, and you freeze, panicking. Should you pretend not to know him? He saves you from the trouble and, shockingly, says, “Yes, I know her.”
Your boss is surprised. “Really? How?”
Oh fuck. “Um…” your voice catches in your throat, but he takes the lead. “We met at a Dodgers game a couple of weeks ago. My nephew spilled juice over her, so it was a whole thing.” He chuckles, playing it off, and you nod, smiling along.
Your boss laughs, saying something to him, but you zone out, too caught up with what just happened. He could have pretended not to know you. What was even the point of sharing all that? Now you cannot even ignore him without looking suspicious because you are supposed to know each other.
Can you not catch a break?
Linda is suddenly called away by a couple of people, and she leaves you with Seungcheol, saying, “Keep him company, will you?” With a squeeze on your shoulder, she is gone. You don't dare to turn around and look at him, thinking about ways to smoothly run away, but he stops those thoughts immediately by grabbing your wrist and spinning you around to face him.
Holy shit. He is too close to you. So close that you smell his cologne, feel his breath on your skin. Your breath stutters. “What are you doing?”
“I have been wanting to talk to you all evening.” He says, his voice soft, his gaze devoted to your face. Your body aflame, you manage to free his grip on your waist. “Okay, what can I help you with?”
“Let’s talk somewhere private.”
“I cannot. I am working.”
“10 minutes.”
“I am busy, Seungcheol. My boss is the host of this party.”
“5 minutes.”
You bite your lower lip, your train of thought scattering as your eyes fall on his lips. “After dinner.” You manage to whisper, eyes still glued to his lips. You know he is looking at you, but you find it much harder to meet his eyes than being caught ogling him.
“You look very beautiful.” He murmurs close to your ear. You swallow, your fingers clenching the device. Why is he behaving like this? One moment, he is cold, and the next, he is all up against you, whispering things in your ear. His behaviour utterly confuses you, and you cannot help but think he is playing with you.
“Enjoy the party, Mr. Choi,” you state, turning away immediately, your heart galloping like a racehorse in your chest.
—
You have dinner at the same table. He sits right next to you, facing Linda and a few other important guests. It is stifling, being so close to him, and so dinner goes by in a blur for you. All the food tastes the same, and you have a hard time digesting everything, too wired at the reminder that you will see him alone later.
That moment comes in a flash, as the dessert plates are cleared away and the guest starts leaving the tables. You stand up, hoping to get a moment by yourself at the ladies' room, but Seungcheol springs up immediately.
“Is it okay if I steal ___ now?” He asks Linda without any hesitation the moment dinner is over. His hand is casually against the small of your back, ready to whisk you away as you stand by his side, tense. Linda looks at him and then you, and you see a knowing smile bloom on her lips. She probably thinks you are sleeping with him.
Ugh. You want to dig a hole and stay inside forever.
“Of course. I had her work a lot the entire night. She is all yours now, Seungcheol.” She assures, and you don’t miss the loadedness in her voice. As Seungcheol ushers you away, Linda winks at you, and you stare at her until she is out of sight, utterly gobsmacked. In silence, Seungcheol leads you towards the elevators.
“Where are we going?” You peer at him in perplexity as the doors close and he presses the button to the basement.
“Home.” He replies decidedly, leaving you stunned. Half dazed in shock, you follow him into his BMW, quietly taking a seat in the passenger seat. He is quick to strap himself in and start the engine, pulling out of the parking with a deep rumble of the engine.
“I’m sure the irony is not lost on you.” You comment, your eyes trained on the window, still marvelling at the ludicrous events of the evening. The universe is out to test you tonight.
“Huh?” He glances at you.
“Mr. Choi, the last time we met, we had dinner, and after that, I asked if I could date you. Do you remember what your reply was?” You turn your head and direct your gaze at him, your eyes narrowed and sharp, matching the bite in your voice. The man next to you remains silent, clenching his jaw.
You continue. “You said I was too young for you. And now, a week later, you—the man who rarely attends any parties—show up to my company’s gala and, without explanation, kidnap me.”
“I did not kidnap you.” He clarifies.
“Ugh,” you close your eyes shut, rubbing your temples. “What is it that you want, Mr. Choi?” You finally breathe out a long sigh.
“First of all,” he glances at you, his gaze stern, “stop calling me that. You never called me that.”
“Well, the only relationship we have now is professional.” You quip, crossing your arms and looking out the window.
“Whatever,” he huffs, his tone impatient. “Don’t call me that.”
Silence.
The SUV carries on through the sparse streets, the night sky drifting by overhead.
“And, I regret what I said that night.” He adds after a pause.
You shift, turning your head back to look at him. His face stays unreadable, eyes focused ahead on the street. You swallow a sudden lump in your throat, staring at him for a few moments, watching the city lights reflect on his handsome face. “I don’t believe that,” you mutter, your voice much softer than before, focusing your eyes out of the window.
“I understand. I hope I can change your mind.” He says, his voice tender, but you choose not to reply. The scenery shifts as you slip into the richer side of the town, sleek towers rising overhead, tall and glittering, the wide roads stretched out in hushed emptiness. A couple of minutes later, he pulls into the underground parking of a sleek skyscraper, the security gates parting smoothly at his pass, and parks the BMW in his assigned spot.
Quickly, he gets out of the car and jogs over to hold your door open for you as you gather your purse and fix the strap of your heels. Then, you silently follow him to the elevator, which takes you all the way to the penthouse, the doors opening to reveal a grand foyer. The place is dusted in brown, cream, grey and black, tasteful and meticulously chosen pieces that sit in perfect harmony. You are drawn to the beautiful grand piano placed by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and as Seungcheol fixes him a drink, you walk over to the instrument, tracing your fingertips on the shiny surface.
“Would you like something to drink?” He calls.
“Just water,” you reply, slowly padding over to the windows, admiring the breathtaking view of the city skyline.
A moment later, he returns, placing your mug of water on the coffee table with a soft thud, his whiskey in his left hand as he walks towards the end of the foyer and to some other part of the huge apartment. He returns a couple of minutes later, carrying something with him.
“Here you go.” He holds out his hand to you. It is a physical album of Woozi’s latest release, his autograph scrawled over the cover, directed to you. Seungcheol sits down next to you on the couch and takes a sip of his drink, “Got it signed for you a couple of days ago.”
You hold the album in your hands, trying not to appear too gleeful. “That is really kind of you, but I don’t think I can accept this.”
“You always have a hard time accepting gifts from me.” He states matter-of-factly, his eyes laser-focused on you. You sigh. “Because we never had a relationship where it could be easy or normal,” you reply, setting the album down and taking a sip.
“Right,” he murmurs and then empties the glass of whiskey before setting it on the coffee table. “Would you like a tour?”
You look at him for a moment. “Why am I here, Seungcheol?”
He exhales a loud breath, running his hands through his spiky blond hair and staring at the ground. “I…I’m sorry. I was being avoidant. I wanted to apologize for my behaviour that night and…I wanted to talk to you.”
You sit back on the couch, shifting your body to better face him. “Go ahead then.”
“God,” he groans, sitting up and looking at you. “I don’t know how to do this without sounding weird…but I regret letting you go that night.”
You snort sarcastically. “What made you change your mind? Suddenly you found me attractive?”
His gaze shifts, his eyes suddenly becoming darker. “You have misunderstood me. I thought you were attractive the moment I laid eyes on you.”
His words set your heart on fire, but you keep your guard up. “Well, you never expressed that. That night, during dinner, I really thought you would make a move because I kept dropping hints, but you were so…polite and professional and distant.”
“I was holding myself back.” He whispers, his eyes set on you at an intensity that gives you goosebumps.
“From what?”
“From this. I thought I could forget you. Ignore my feelings for you, but I cannot, and I hate myself for it.”
You frown, “Is being attracted to me that bad?”
He smirks, shaking his head as he unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. “If you could read my mind, you would hate me too.” He pauses, setting his eyes on you once more. Involuntarily, your toes curl and your stomach dips and suddenly, the air is too thick to breathe in. “The things I want to do to you…I know for a fact you have never dated someone like me, and that is a good thing. You know why?”
“Why?” Your voice is feather light. He leans closer to you, “Because I am very, very possessive. Especially about the things I like. But you know what the real danger was? The way you looked at me that day in the stadium and the way you are looking at me now.”
“Which is?” You croak.
“Like you want me to rip your clothes off and fuck you right here. It drives me insane...the way you keep eye-fucking me.”
Yeah, you might have had an orgasm just from his words. Also, it looks like you were not so subtle after all.
You look away, your face flushed with heat, sweat beading on your temples. Seungcheol’s arm reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek to force your eyes back on him. “I know for a fact that you want me and god, do I want you. I want to do a lot of things to you, and when I remember how older I am compared—”
“I like older guys.” You speak without thinking. He pauses, the look in his eyes shifting into something more feral. You add, “Believe it or not, you are my ideal type. A DILF.”
He blinks, “DILF?”
A chuckle slips past your lips. Right, he would not know that. “Daddy-I-would-like-to-fuck.”
He throws his head back and laughs, easing the tension in the air. “See? This is why I said no to you. Our worlds are too different. I am too old for you.”
Feeling much more at ease with yourself, you scoot closer to him, pressing your body against his and putting a hand on his. “I think you would be perfect for me. Besides, we won’t know if we don’t try. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t.”
His eyes are dark and sincere when he whispers, “I don’t think I could ever let you go.”
Your stomach does backflips, and you have to hold back a grin. “Good. That makes the two of us.” Craning your head upwards, you slowly let your eyes fall closed, murmuring, “Will you kiss me now?”
His lips are on yours immediately. He shoves his tongue inside you, tasting your mouth like a starved man while his hands envelop your body, feeling every inch of your skin. The warmth from his body and the movement of his lips against yours blankets you in an addictive sense of comfort and desire—like you always belonged here. Your body submits, relaxing against his as you let yourself feel every bit of the sensations. When he pulls away, the space between the two of you charges with tension, the heat increasing with the way his eyes bore into yours.
“I wanted to do that since this evening.” He breathes, his voice gruff.
“Just this evening?” You tease, catching your breath. Your lips are swollen, his bruising kiss lingering on your lips as you unconsciously lick them, trapped in the dark pools of his eyes. With a huff, he stands up and suddenly picks you up in his arms, carrying you away towards the bedroom. “You will get the tour later,” he announces, as you cling onto him, mortified at how easily he is carrying you in his arms.
He takes you to his bedroom, setting you down on the bed with a soft thump and quickly works on undoing his shirt. The view is a feast for your eyes as you unashamedly drink him in, letting your eyes slowly trail over his abs, his unbelievably broad chest and even broader shoulders.
Girl dinner or whatever they call it.
Left only in his boxers, he climbs on the bed, his hands reaching for you, his fingers tracing your back before pulling down the zipper of your dress. While his fingers do their job, his lips find yours, kissing and sucking, his tongue intertwined with yours, swallowing your moans. Your fingers grip his bicep, feeling the muscles flex underneath your skin, and you have to press your thighs together, trying to ignore the discomfort of your panties sticking to your skin.
Seungcheol helps you take off the dress, leaving you in your bra and panties only as goosebumps break onto your skin. Once again, you reconnect your lips to his, your hands pulling down his boxers while he undoes your bra. Shamelessly, you cup his length in your hands, your fingers tracing over the soft skin before giving it a few slow, deliberate strokes. The man groans against your lips and the sound goes straight between your legs, giving you an idea.
“I want to suck you off.” You announce, pulling back from his lips, your hazy eyes matching his.
“What?” He blinks. You get to work, gently pushing him off the bed until he is on his feet, kicking away his boxers, and then you are on your knees in front of him. He is thick, girthy and hard and as intimidating as it looks, you cannot wait to have it inside you, both in your mouth and your pussy.
“Fuck,” you hear him curse under his breath, his hands snaking around your head to remove the hairs from your face and hold them back. With a determined exhale, your tongue darts out, giving his tip a kittenish lick before sucking the tip of his cock.
Seungcheol throws back his head in a loud groan. Fueled by his reaction, you keep on going, taking deeper in your mouth, your tongue swirling around his member. His grip on your hair tightens as you continue sucking, covering more of his length, adding an inch bit by bit to get used to the feeling of him in your mouth. Soon, he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth in shallow movements, your hands coming to rest on his hips to balance yourself.
“Fuck, you look so hot like this,” he pants, his eyes trained on your face, your swollen, spit-coated lips wrapped around his length as you look up at him with doe eyes. “You are going to drive me insane, fuck.” He grunts, increasing his pace, his thick length going deeper and making you gag, the filthy sound of him hitting the back of your throat, his length slick with saliva and pre cum echoing through the otherwise quiet room. The heat between your legs is almost too much to bear, the thought of him buried inside you driving you wild, making you press your thighs together to ease the ache.
“You need to stop, baby.” Seungcheol pants, his grip on you fastening. “I need to fuck you right now. The only place I will be cumming is your tight pussy.
Oh god. You take your mouth off his length, inhaling large gulps of air as he places you back on the bed. Pushing you down, he peels off your panties, and you don’t miss the way his eyes flash seeing the wet spot in the fabric. Empowered by his reaction, you give him a seductive smile and open your legs wide, giving him an unrestricted view. “Well then, hurry up, old man.”
His jaw tightens, matching his grip on your thighs. “I swear to god, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
“Promises, promises.” You tease, biting your lip. “I did not know you were such a brat. Looks like I have to teach you a lesson.” He murmurs and then lands a slap right on your clit.
“Fuck!” You fall back on the bed, the slap ringing through your entire nervous system, your body twitching. “You like that, little brat?” He lands another, much harder slap on your clit, and you swear you see stars. Tears bead in your eyes, your toes curling, and your body arching off the bed as you moan louder and louder. He gives you a few more slaps, each one stronger than the last, blurring your mind with an addictive combination of pain and pleasure so intense, it is unlike anything you have ever felt before. By the time he stops, you are out of breath and motionless on the ground, a drop of tear rolling down your eye as you stare at the ceiling and pant.
Smirking at your state, he climbs on top of you and grabs your wrists, pins them above your head. Lazily, he whispers in your ear, “If you want me to fuck you, you’re gonna be a good girl. Is that clear?” You answer him with a slow nod, but he isn’t satisfied as he lands a sudden slap on your breast this time, making you squeal. “Yes. I’m sorry!” You heave for breaths, pussy throbbing from his rough treatment.
“Good girl,” he praises, placing a soft kiss on your cheek before lining his cock up to your entrance, intense eyes watching you as he whispers, “Take a deep breath, baby.” You nod as you feel him entering you, his girth taking up every inch of space inside you. Your jaw hangs loose as he keeps going deeper, making you feel like you're on the brink of exploding. A tinge of pain and a lot more pleasure surge through you, but what steals most of your focus is how incredibly full you feel.
“Fuck, you are going to be the death of me,” he hisses, gritting his teeth as he keeps pushing inside steadily, and you wonder just how big his cock is when it finally stops. Pausing for a moment, he pulls back slowly until his tip rests inside you, and then he thrusts so hard that you scream out loud as he hits that spot inside you. “Fucking hell, you are so tight.” He pants, his warm breath hitting the side of your face. His grip on your wrists loosens, and you use that to free your hands and bring them around his body, pulling him closer and closer to you.
“Shit,” you shudder, head full of bliss as your mouth hangs open in pleasure. The ethereal sight of him on top of you, sweaty, full of desire and determination, has you clenching around him. You wrap your arms tightly around his back, your fingernails digging into his skin as he increases his pace. “Harder,” you beg almost mindlessly.
“Yeah? You want more, baby?”
You hold onto him tighter. “Yes, please.” You whine, clinging to him. He grunts, doubling his pace if that’s even possible. You feel like you are gonna break into two, in the best possible way, as he keeps hitting your sweet spot that has you moaning so loud it overpowers the squeaking of the bed.
“Say my name. Who’s making you feel this good?” He hisses in your ear, thrusting erratically, his grip bruise-like on your body. “You, Seungcheol! Please, I’m gonna cum!” You cry, your body twitching and tensing, the coil in your belly about to snap.
“Yeah? Cum then. Choke my cock. Milk it dry.” He bites your earlobe as one of his hands reaches down to circle your clit in tight motions, making you shudder violently. The coil in your belly snaps, and with a raw scream of his name, you come, pussy spasming around his length as wetness gushes out of you. On top of you, Seungcheol continues his ruthless pace, his thrusts slicker because of your wetness and even harder than before, to the point you worry the bed will break. He’s merciless, continuing his torture on your clit even after you come, and the oversensitivity settles. “Seungcheol, please…” You plead, absolutely drained. “One more. You can do one more, baby. Come with me,” he pants, whispering, “Let me fill this tight hole up.”
“Oh god,” You clench around him, delirious. The thought of him filling you up sends your body into overdrive as he pinches your clit, making you come once more with a scream of his name. The orgasm ripples through you like an earthquake, shaking your whole body and making your toes curl as your fingernails dig into his back. He orgasms with you, warm spurts of his seed filling you up continuously, so much that some of it leaks out. He slumps down on the bed, lying next to you, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you close. You float between reality and dreamland for a while, catching your breath and lying completely still, your brain chemistry permanently altered.
A while later, Seungcheol helps you clean up before dragging you back to bed, his arms wrapped around you tightly as he spoons you from behind.
“You okay?”
“I think I died and went to heaven,” You whisper, eyes closed. The man softly chuckles behind you, and you almost find it annoying how attractive that simple action is. “Remember how you were saying you could never let me go?” You mumble. “It is I who will not be letting you go. I will lock you up and keep you all to myself.” You know he is smiling as he wraps his arms tighter around you and nuzzles your neck. “Good. That’s where I would rather be.”
Turning around, you cup his cheeks and pull him in for a kiss, his arms enveloping you, his fingers tracing your upper back and your waist as his tongue finds its way inside your mouth. Looks like round two is about to start.
For a bonus, extra special scene, click here or head over to my Patreon! This work is cross-posted on AO3. Please support me over there as I recently opened my account!
a/n 2: atp, just call me a cheol fic blog because he's all I'm writing about. no worries, the next fic i am working on is a DK fic which will probably come out in october end or november. anyway, this was a purely self indulgent fic lol so thank you for reading this filth. i can never write pwp because somehow, the lore ends up being too long. still, thank you for making it till the end and i would love it if you left a comment and reblogged! thank you for your time and until next time, stay safe!
on a separate note, please keep yourself updated with the current state of the world, esp the ongoing genoc!de and wars. free 🇵🇸🇸🇩🇨🇩
– synopsis: two years of dating, over a hundred bowls of gamjatang and a million and one kisses later - you lose jihoon to the idea of comparison.
— genre: exes to ??? au ; angst, fluff. mentions of suggestive things but nothing on screen.
– pairing: ex-boyfriend!lee jihoon x fem!reader.
— word count: 7.8k
– rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
— warnings: swearing, food/eating and alcohol. mentions of breakups, they cry a little. jihoon feeling like he's not adequate enough. i don't know i'm sad and i just wanted to wallow in it for a second before i returned to my regular scheduled programming. also i love soup so...gamjatang!
– what to listen to: stay here - gaho ; how can i love the heartbreak, you're the one i love - akmu ; somebody - justin bieber ; how do i breathe - mario ; silver springs - fleetwood mac.
— author's note: i told you i missed jihoon. for @shinysobi.
EVERYTHING ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIP WAS EASY.
The dates, the shared meals, the phone calls. He'd worry when you had the night shift, you'd worry when he wouldn't sleep staying up to talk to you. He'd walk down from his apartment to pick you up at shift change, grumbling about there being no reason that a girl like you should be working until four in the morning to afford her apartment.
You met three years ago, through his good friend Soonyoung. Soonyoung had been dating your coworker, Jian, for three years at that point — and Jian begged and pleaded to be your double-date couple buddies. She tugged at your sleeve, she bought you your favorite tube of lipstick, and Soonyoung even gave you pocket money just to meet them for a double date.
Meanwhile, you're absolutely bewitched by Lee Jihoon; entranced, enchanted, charmed. Sharp eyes that catch everything, soft hands that wrap around the edges of tables and counters so you don't get hurt. Careful words chosen for efficiency, lips gentle against yours and the ability to pick up on what you liked and didn't — simply from the twitch of your body at his touches.
He liked you, loved you. You liked him, loved him.
You love him. You think he might love you, still. Maybe.
You hope.
You were together, went on dates. You went on trips. You had conversations.
Typical, casual boyfriend-girlfriend conversations — if you'd eaten, if you slept well, if you wanted him to come over. Over a quick kiss in greeting, when he handed you a bottle of water, when you complained about the bed being too cold.
Flirty, enamored boyfriend-girlfriend conversations — if he could get a kiss, if you could take your top off, if he could go down on you. These were more hushed begs from his lips, whispered pleas from your mouth as your hands carded through his hair.
Serious, committed boyfriend-girlfriend conversations — when you'd get married, buy a house, if you'd keep working…if you'd maybe have a kid. Fewer than the others, farther between but always ending in a sudden silence before either of you switched the subject.
Until he was no longer your boyfriend, you were no longer his girlfriend and the casual endearment seemingly slipped away from night to morning. You weren't sure what happened, and he wouldn't tell you — simply ending your relationship over a bowl of gamjatang at your usual date-night restaurant. A restaurant you chose for the privacy he valued more than anything, and a restaurant you haven't been to since.
It's been a year. Winter, spring, summer…now, autumn.
And it took exactly one week after the breakup for you to fully realize Jihoon was not someone who could let go easily, even if he was the one to pull the plug on it. He was so engraved in your life, in his routine, and you wondered if that part of him held every part of you that he shared — dancing in his living room together, sleeping in your bed with your limbs entangled, and eating gamjatang at that restaurant.
You wonder if he's been back since.
You wonder if the aunties that had grown to love you both so dearly ask him about you.
The biggest proof that Jihoon could not let you go was that, like clockwork, he stood in front of the shop with a cigarette in his hand and a cup of coffee from the 7-Eleven across the street from his apartment every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Four in the morning, dressed in head-to-toe black and his stupid watch that made you feel insane — just to carry your bag and walk you home. Sometimes share a cigarette, and on the even more rare occasion — hold your hand on the walk up. His fingers curl around yours, holding it inside his pocket as you wonder if he'll kiss you next.
And you wonder why you would allow it.
Probably because it's Jihoon.
You never talk during these walks, either. You don't bring up his job, he doesn't bring up that your unbuttoned work shirt shows a fading hickey on your collarbone from the last time the two of you slept together. He doesn't ask questions, and you pretend that your chest doesn't ache when he slips into your apartment to make you breakfast before leaving without so much as a goodbye.
It's weird. It's weird and you can't say you hate it, but you can't say you love it, either. It felt like a strained relationship, a bodyguard of sorts, that took care of you without expecting anything in return aside from a paycheck. Except you didn't pay Jihoon, and he didn't call or text — he simply knew your schedule by heart.
"Shift change, babe."
You hear Jian crack her gum as she walks into the shop, stopping at the sunglasses display to swipe on her signature red lipstick. She rubs her lips together as you chuckle inwardly, signing your name on the envelope that holds your register count and sliding it into the safe below the counter. She smiles brightly as she hops over the counter, bumping her hip to yours in greeting.
"How're you this morning? You took your break, right?" She asks nicely, crossing her arms as she leans on the counter. She twirls a lighter in her hand, one that looks oddly like one you'd gotten Jihoon in Japan — and you shrug one shoulder as you greet a tired man practically crawling through the door. She unwraps a piece of bubblegum halfway, holding it out to you. You take it between your teeth, tucking it into your cheek as she dumps the wrapper into the trash can next to you.
"Yeah. I'm…tired, I guess. I just wanna go home." You admit, counting cash to slip into the register for her. She cracks her gum again, patting your hip as she gestures towards the door. You're punching your employee number into the system, clocking out as she speaks.
"Loverboy's here. Here, he left this when he came over to see Soonyoung earlier, and I figured I'd let you guys have something to talk about." She holds it out, and you see your initials engraved onto the silver lighter, right next to the tiger's head etched into the metal. You tongue your cheek as the tired man drags his way up to the counter, holding his items to his chest tightly. "I've got it. You go home. I'll see you later, babe."
"Bye, Jian." You murmur, grabbing your bag out from under the counter and slipping around it. You roll your shoulders back, draping your coat over your arm as you make your way out. The door jingle makes Jihoon look up, and he pushes off the side of the shop to fall into lockstep with you. He doesn't have a cigarette this time — instead, holding a lollipop that stains his lips, between his teeth. He reaches for your bag silently, slipping it off your shoulder as you stare at the ground, opting to tug your coat on so you don't catch a cold.
You hold the lighter out to him as you both make your way up the hill, the only sound the crunch of your shoes on fallen leaves. He stops as you shove your hand in his chest, his fingers brushing your palm as he takes it. It's silent for another moment, before you glance over your shoulder at him.
"Jian found it. Don't lose it again, I'm not getting you another." You mutter, shoving your hands in your pockets as you clench your teeth around your gum. He doesn't reply, and you keep walking when you realize he's stopped a few feet behind you. You check your watch, rolling your eyes as you walk backwards to meet his eyes.
"If you're not going to walk—"
"I missed your voice."
The admission is so soft, you almost don't catch it. You blink, his hand still held to his chest where you shoved the lighter, clenched so tight his fingertips have turned white. You glance at his face, raising a brow as you scoff.
"Are you?" He asks, his other hand tightening around the strap of your bag. You feel an odd rage crawl up your throat at the insinuation that it's not home without him, even if you know it's the truth. Your jaw clenches, his eyes traveling your face as he takes half a step closer. "Is it home?"
"You don't get to do this to me, Jihoon."
"I'd argue that I can do whatever I want. I have free will."
"You dumped me."
"Which makes it my job to fix things, and beg for another chance. Not yours." He says pointedly, looking at you with that stupid look that tells you he knows he's right. "I should fix this."
"There is nothing to fix, Jihoon. We broke up. It happens." You feel like you're yelling, but you can hardly hear yourself as he leans forward, almost like he can't hear you. You still, looking at him like he's out of his mind when he shrugs.
"It bothers me."
"It doesn't matter if it bothers you. We're broken up. It's over."
"Is that why you're holding your breath like you're expecting something crazy to happen?"
"I don't do that," You mutter, but feeling annoyance bubble in your belly as you let out the breath you'd had stuck in your throat. He nods, stuffing his hand in his pocket as he twists the lollipop with his tongue, moving forward. "You can't act like you care now, Jihoon. It's not fair to me, especially when you didn't even give me a reason."
"I've always cared. And I don't remember you asking for a reason."
"I wanted to trust your judgment. Maybe you knew something I didn't; but the decent thing to do is give a reason when you are breaking up with someone. Even it's not you, it's me would've been a reason, albeit a shitty one."
He shrugs again, a tick in his jaw as he blinks at you, "maybe I was did, and maybe I was wrong. Why would I half ass a breakup by adding some lame excuse like it's not you, it's me?"
He scoffs, turning the lollipop in his mouth again, "let's get you home, you'll catch a cold and you won't let me take care of you if you do."
Your hands clench in your pockets as he starts walking again, and you hate how easily you follow after him, opting to walk just a foot behind him. He glances over his shoulder, opting to stop every few steps before you get annoyed and move in front of him.
You hate the way your heart beats a little faster when his hip bumps yours at a stop sign.
The way to your apartment is straight for fifteen minutes, take a left for five and a right for another ten. Typically, you're home by 4:32 AM at the latest — with the time it takes to get into the elevator and get to the second floor, plus unlocking your front door.
If you were headed to Jihoon's apartment, you were there by 4:19 AM. Twelve minutes straight, a right for three and then four minutes trying to surpass his stupid lobby guy that always insists you're not on the approved visitors list when you literally are.
Well, you were.
You're kicking gravel, eyes glued to the ground when you see the doormat of Jihoon's complex under your feet. He punches the code into the door, the beep familiar as you hesitate to duck into the lobby. He holds the door open, checking his watch almost obnoxiously to help you make a choice.
You duck into the warm building with a huff.
"Hello, Mr. Lee…Miss Y/N."
Your head snaps up, the same grating voice that makes your ears hurt. The receptionist blinks back at you, your scowl evident as you look at Jihoon, who is coolly making his way towards the elevator. He presses the button, looking over his shoulder as if asking are you coming?
You glance at the watch on your wrist, reading 4:16 AM. Your eyes remain fixed on the ground as you tongue your cheek, huffing inwardly as you move to stand behind Jihoon as the elevator opens. You both duck inside, and you press your lips into a thin line as you hit his floor button. You shove your hand back into your pocket, but you don't miss the way he nods slightly, in that way that he does when he's surprisingly impressed.
No words are shared between the two of you, and you angrily chew your gum — feeling his thumb suddenly pad between your eyebrows. You swat his hand away, only for him to grab your wrist and interlace your fingers. Your fingertips are warm against his cool skin, and you instinctively pull it into your pocket; ignoring the flame of heat that coats your cheeks.
The elevator opens, and you both slink out, walking down the hall with the cadence of your boots bouncing off the empty walls. He punches in his key code, the familiar beeping making your stomach hurt as you remember that it's your birthday. The door opens, and he steps inside, pulling you with him before letting go of your hand to close the door behind you.
You hate the way tears prick at your eyes at the familiar detergent smell that fills his home. Detergent, and something a little musky. His cologne, probably, and you feel around the wall for the light switch. You find it, flicking it on to see the foyer is still meticulously organized, and you slip onto the bench to untie your boots.
He kneels in front of you, untying the laces before you can say anything. He pulls the boots off, carefully slotting them on his shelf before standing up and hanging your bag on the wall hook. He shrugs his jacket off, holding his hand back for your coat. You slip it off silently, handing it to him and making your way out of the foyer. Your hands are shoved into the pockets of your work pants as you walk into the living room — everything is the same, except the blankets that are usually folded on the side table are strewn on the couch. There's a bottle of water on the coffee table, and his television is quietly playing Shark Tale.
He doesn't speak as he slips past you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants as he walks to the kitchen. You rock on your heels, leaning against the back of his couch with your eyes fixated on the television. You force yourself not to get too comfortable, glancing over your shoulder once as you hear the click of his stove being turned on.
He slides back in front of you, yielding a paper towel in his hand. You glance at it, and he raises a brow as he moves it closer to your lips, "spit your gum out."
You do just that, keeping your eyes glued to the ground as he takes it and tosses it into his kitchen trash can. You tongue your cheek, rolling your shoulders back as you hearing clinking around behind you. You shift your weight from foot to foot, before hearing him suck his teeth.
"You can sit down, you know."
You respond almost robotically, gripping the armrest of his couch before awkwardly perching on it. He huffs, holding a bowl in his hand as he walks over. He pushes your shoulder gently, and you scowl as your butt slides off the armrest, your back hitting the cushion. You frown up at him, moving to sit up when he settles the bowl on the coffee table, sliding a spoon in your hand before turning back to his kitchen.
"Want coffee?"
"Want to know what the hell we're doing, Lee Jihoon."
"I'm feeding you. Do you want coffee or you wanna be a brat?"
"Why not both?" You mutter, shoveling the rice into your mouth. It's warm, covered in broth and sliced egg. You look up when you see a glass of water being slid onto the table, before he glances down at you. He holds a mug in his hand, stirring the spoon in it lightly.
"No coffee for me?"
"No answer for me?"
He shrugs as he mocks you, and you click your tongue, rolling your eyes.
"Can I have—"
"Absolutely."
You feel your cheeks hot as he slides a mug of coffee on the table — perfect amount of cream as the steam hits your face.
"You're an ass."
"And you're a spoiled brat, but I still love you."
You huff, rolling your eyes as you reach for the mug, your heart fluttering in your chest like a dumbass. You take a quick sip as he moves around the room, folding the blanket and fluffing his cushions as the movie plays the penthouse musical number. He sweeps the living room, and you fold your legs under you as he runs the broom around the coffee table. Your spoon clatters the empty bowl and he takes it from the table as you lean back on the couch with the glass of water in your hand.
"You want more?" He asks from the kitchen, and you raise your hand to give him a thumbs down as your eyes grow slightly heavy. You slide the glass back onto the table, leaning your head against the back of the couch when he leans into your space. You blink up at him, "hey."
"Hey. Sleepy?"
"A little."
"You wanna come lie down?"
You scoff, folding your arms on your chest as he tucks a stray curl behind your ear. He thumbs at the earring looped through your lobe — a small pair of gold hoops he'd gotten you for Christmas during your first year together. He pulls at the black hair tie in your mess of curls, letting it slide up his wrist as he runs his fingers across the back of your head where the ponytail sat tightly. He tilts you back a bit more, smoothing his fingertips up and down the side of your throat, before cupping your jaw gently. His thumb pulls at your lower lip, "I miss you."
"Why did you break up with me?" You mumble, and he sighs. A blush creeps up his cheeks as he nibbles on his lip, "because I'm a coward."
You furrow your brow, your knees sinking into the cushion as you turn to look at him. Your hands hold the back of the couch, your nose almost brushing his from how close you are to his face. His breath hitches in his throat, eyes full of guilt…and an adoration that makes your heart beat all that faster in your chest, despite the wave of rage crawling up your throat.
"What the hell does that mean?!"
"It means I bought a ring and I let my insecurity get the best of me before I could do anything with it."
Your eyes widen, your courage faltering. "You…what?"
He runs his hand over his face, "I bought a ring. Two months after we started dating, and I freaked out because I wanted to be everything to you and…"
He trails off, carding his fingers through his hair and letting a groan of frustration out, "and I thought you'd be better off with someone else. Someone who doesn't have to hide in obscure restaurants because he values privacy more than love, someone who can hardly make time for you because I'm always working. Someone that doesn't have to keep arguing with the fucking concierge about you being on the approved visitors list because you'd fucking live with me instead of still paying up the ass for that fucking apartment that we hate. Why do you still live there? Why don't you live here!?"
"Because you're a coward." You whisper, leaning forward. "That's why. Because when I said yes, you said no. When I said up, you said down. Everything was always the opposite, you always wanted—"
"I want you." He interrupts, "I want you so bad, it makes me fucking sick. I'm constantly worried about you, I'm constantly asking Jian about how you're doing when you're not at work. I had Soonyoung make sure you made it home the other day because your icon on FindMy stopped moving at eleven at night and I was stuck at work. I can't stop being in love with you. I can't do this, where I can't sleep three times a week because you're working overnight when you shouldn't have to fucking work at all; when you should be here. Asleep in our bed, with your name on the fucking lease and we're together."
He takes a deep breath, his eyes brimming with tears as he looks away, "but I can't stop you from being independent. This is also about what you want, and what you need to feel fulfilled. It's not that I said no when you said yes, or down when you said up. I just wanted you to feel…free. Like you can do what you want and I'll still be here because you can, but God, it's so hard to act like I don't want you glued to my hip all the time. It's infuriating to want you so much, because I was hindering you, I am hindering you. You wanna live in that apartment? Fine. You wanna work, fine. Work. Just…not until four in the morning, when you're supposed to be asleep. If not for the sake of your own health, then because I love you. And because I know you love me."
He doesn't wipe the tears that fall from his face, staring at the floor like the absolute coward he is.
"Two years, Jihoon." You whisper softly, your voice thick as he meets your eyes. His own soften more, if humanly possible — as you take in a choked breath. "Two years of watching you work yourself to the bone, of begging you to go to sleep on nights I worked until four. Two years of gamjatang every Friday night before I went to work because you valued privacy and I valued you. We went to Japan. We kissed, we held hands, we slept together, Jihoon. I met your mother. I met your mother, and you introduced me as her daughter-in-law."
Your hands tighten around the back of the couch, your throat tight as you try to clear it.
"How can you throw that away with the excuse of being a coward?"
"On top of it all, I'm also an idiot. That's how. And I'm so, so sorry."
He sniffles, looking up at the dim ceiling light as he clears his throat. He doesn't speak, and you find yourself clambering over the back of his couch and wrapping your arms around him tightly. He doesn't stiffen, immediately melting into your chest with a sag of relief in his shoulders.
"You're stupid." You mutter, dragging your fingernails across his upper back, "you're an absolute fool."
"Please, don't leave me without you." He murmurs, voice thick as he yanks the back of your shirt up, untucking your thermal as his fingers grow desperate for the warmth of skin on skin. "Please forgive me, please."
"You're an idiot. You make me fall in love with you for two years, you parade me around, you take me on trips, just to dump me because you're a fucking wimp. You're absolutely awful and there is no reason that I should forgive you, because I deserve more." You grumble, and he buries his face into your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. Your eyes prick with tears, feeling his arms squeeze you tighter.
"And I wish you would've said something earlier." You sigh, your lips brushing his cheek as you sniffle, "I wish you would've told me because I would've told you that you're wrong. And you knew you were wrong, too. That's why you feel stupid now."
"I do. God, I feel so fucking stupid."
"Good."
There is a moment of silence, his hands sliding up and down your sides as he holds you impossibly closer. You rest your head on his shoulder, sighing before he pulls back. He peers at you through wet lashes, making you shake your head as you hold five fingers up. You put your thumb down, "one, if I leave my apartment, you are paying that fat fee they're gonna charge me for breaking my lease."
His eyes widen slightly as you put your forefinger down, "two, you desperately need a new mattress. The one you have is too soft and it does nothing for my back."
"Three: you are gonna talk to Jian about my schedule. You want me around? You make that effort." You put your middle finger down, before putting your ring finger down as well, "four, we are not together. You're gonna court me, all over again, and I want to go to Mingyu's diner. Tonight, at six."
He doesn't interrupt you, glancing at your pinky finger still up.
"And five, I need a toothbrush. Get me one." You pat his chest, giving him a curt smile as you move to pull away; only for his arms to tighten around you. You look at him, brows raised as he juts his lip out, "no way you're pouting right now. Is this Lee Jihoon?"
You knock on his head gently, and the pout only grows deeper as you let out a laugh of disbelief.
"Stop laughing at me."
"You're so cute."
"I love you."
"I know, Jihoon." You nod, cradling his cheeks in your hands, "I know you love me. But that doesn't mean I'll forgive you right now."
"I'm not asking you to." He says softly, "I just want you to know. To hear it from me."
"Show me, Jihoon." You press a chaste kiss to his lips, ignoring the absolute eruption of fluttering in your lower belly at the feeling of his soft lips on yours. You give him another, his hands on your sides squeezing tightly as he tries to deepen it — but you use all the willpower you have to pull away. "Toothbrush. Need it."
"I'll be back." He nods, but can't seem to let go of you. He keeps himself rooted to the ground, and you hold his face gently, "you've gotta get a move on. I'm tired."
"Don't leave. Please. Be here when I get back."
"Where would I go?"
"Home?"
"I wasn't aware you wanted me to go with you?" Your voice is cheeky, and you press a kiss to his jaw before squeezing his shoulder. "Hurry back."
Jihoon is forces himself out of his spot as you slip out of his grasp, and you stretch your arms over your head as you make your way to his bathroom — the apartment hadn't changed a bit. Your eyes are glued to all the photos on the wall, your chest warming as you see the one of you; your first anniversary, and you had gone out in a pretty black dress that Jihoon chose, to a restaurant neither of you ended up liking.
And the photo was taken at your gamjatang place right after. Your dress strap had fallen from your shoulder, and you were holding a soju bomb with a wink. It was in a heart-shaped frame, the receipt from that date night tucked into the edge of the frame with the stamp of your red lipstick on it.
You stood closer, looking around the wall of framed photos. So many of you — so many small memories tucked into frames. Receipts, movie tickets, two concert ticket stubs from when you both got to see AKMU. There was dozens of little papers with your red lipstick kissed onto it, and in the middle of all the photos was you and him — a photo taken from behind that you don't remember ever seeing. He's kissing your cheek in front of Gwangjang Market, your hands clutched inside his pocket as your brown coat compliments his navy blue one that he only wore on dates with you.
Even if it was just to get gamjatang.
There is a gum wrapper stuck to the frame, folded into a small heart. You glance over your shoulder, not seeing Jihoon as your fingers ghost over it. You pluck it off, peeling it open to see yesterday's date scrawled across the top in familiar handwriting, scrunched to fit the small canvas.
september 14: day 369 since you made the biggest mistake of your life.
how can you love the heartbreak, when she's the one you love? i know you still do. i know you listen to that song and think of her. stop being a coward and get her back. double date gamjatang awaits you!
- your friendly neighborhood matchmaker, jian (and hoshi!)
You blink, the smell of the gum still fresh though mixed with the ink. You look at the photo, the white strip at the bottom also having something written on it. This time, in Jihoon's penmanship.
The One I Love — February 17.
Your eyes burn with tears as you fold the gum wrapper back perfectly, sticking it back in the corner as you wrap your arms around yourself. There is a photo of you on your second anniversary, in another black dress chosen by Jihoon — the sleeves long, covering your arms aside from the sparkle of a gold bracelet Jihoon had gotten you earlier that day. You were smiling brightly in the photo, Jihoon's hand seen holding yours at the bottom of the frame, where another receipt sat.
Your handwriting, your lipstick stamped over it once more.
always yours, my angel! ♡ i love you, lee jihoon.
Hot tears roll down your face, and you fan at your face as you trill your lips.
"Stupid man." You grouse, wiping at your face haphazardly as you make your way to his bedroom. You sniffle, your hand shoving his door open to reveal his neatly made bed. Fumbling around for the light switch, warm lighting fills the room as you move around. Opening drawers, procuring shirts and sweatpants he doesn't wear because he once told you they're too heavy.
Whatever that means.
You change your clothes, folding your work uniform into a neat little pile and putting it atop his dresser — opting not to hide your black bra under your shirt. Wandering into his bathroom, you see the picture of you and Jihoon brushing your teeth the first time you ever slept over still nailed to the wall by the light switch — a wink from both of you as you held the camera high. You feel a small smile tug at the corner of your lip, turning his sink on to wash your face when you hear the beeping of his front door.
You hear him walking around slowly, the rustle of a bag in his hand getting closer as he lets out a breath of relief when he crosses the threshold of his bedroom. You snort inwardly, swiping some of his face moisturizer on your cheeks as you lean back out of the bathroom to see him moving your clothing into an empty drawer in his dresser, and he's wearing pajamas. He glances at you, and you raise a brow before shaking your head and moving back into the bathroom.
"You don't like that toothpaste." He mumbles as he slides in behind you, your hands smoothing the rest of the cream into your neck as you look down at it. It's cinnamon-mint, and you scrunch your nose, "you're right. Ugh, why do you like that stuff?"
"It feels fresh longer! I explained this to you so many times." He huffs, and you purse your lips as he pouts, pulling a new box of toothpaste out of the bag. He picks at the box, tearing into it before holding the tube out to you. You take it gingerly, opening it as he fishes the toothbrush out. Pink.
You brush your teeth in silence, neither of you saying anything as you disregard his cinnamon-mint toothpaste on the sink. You glance at him, holding the toothbrush between your teeth before holding your hand out.
"Give me your phone."
He pats his pockets, reaching into the left one before handing it over. You swipe onto the camera, holding it high as you pull him closer. You wink at the camera, watching him do the same as you press the shutter. You shove his phone back into his pocket, crossing your arm over your chest as you continue brushing your teeth.
"Send it to Jian later." You mutter when you rinse your mouth out, rooting around his medicine cabinet for floss. He hands it to you from the drawer, giving you a deadpan look as you make a point to place it in the medicine cabinet. You continue about, giving him room to wash his face as you obnoxiously gargle mouthwash while walking around his room.
"They're kind of annoying, aren't they?" You ask as you flick the lights off, watching him dab on lip balm as he snorts.
"Who, Jian and Soonyoung?"
"Yes, Jian and Hosh. Who else?"
He shrugs, swiping his finger in the pot of lip balm once more and holding it out to you. You oblige, letting him swipe it on as you think.
"I think they just care."
"I mean, obviously. But why? Why do they need double dates?"
"Couple friends are just important as regular ones, honey."
"Sure, but why do they know everything about us?" You put your hands on your hips, tapping your socked foot as Jihoon nods, pulling his duvet back. You quickly round the bed, pulling your corner out and hugging the display pillows to your chest, "Jian calls you Loverboy when you go pick me up."
"Soonyoung says your name out of nowhere to psych me out. Asshole." He grumbles. You bite back your smile, placing his pillows at the bench on the end of his bed. You stretch your arms over your head, rolling your shoulders back before sliding into bed. Jihoon dims the lights down but doesn't turn them all the way off, the clock on his nightstand reading six-forty-nine in the morning.
"You're gonna be late to work." You sit up, and he shakes his head, sliding under the covers.
"I took vacation time."
"Why?"
He turns on his side, looking up at you with tired eyes. You slide back down, resting your face on the back of your hand as you face him.
"I wanted time to settle myself if you said no." He admits, "I wasn't prepared for this today. I thought I'd have more time. If I hadn't left my lighter at Soonyoung's, you wouldn't be here right now."
"Then I don't think you missed me as much as you want me to believe." You scoot closer, the minty smell of toothpaste wafting up as you rest your forehead on his. He scrunches his nose as you press a kiss to it, "was it hard? Without me?"
He nods as much as your proximity will allow, a tear rolling down his face and onto his pillow as he looks away. You sigh, throwing your leg over his hip and pulling him into you. His arm immediately wraps around you, his face burying into your neck as you dip your fingertips into the collar of his shirt. He shivers, inching impossibly closer to you.
"You'll tell me more later, right?" You whisper into his hair, feeling him nod as his lips brush your throat. He presses a kiss to the skin, nuzzling the area with his nose before you click your tongue.
"Goodnight, Jihoon."
"I love you."
You trace circles into the nape of his neck, smoothing your fingertips across the necklace he never takes off. His breathing slows, his fingers gripping the back of your shirt loosening slightly as he falls asleep with your perfume filling his nose. You feel tears brim your eyes, and you let out a shaky breath as you card your fingers through his hair.
"I love you, too."
ONE YEAR LATER — SEPTEMBER 10.
You nibble on your lip as you stare at the door. It's a Friday night, and Jihoon is standing next to you with your sweater draped over his arm and chewing his cheek. The aunties were the fear here, knowing you'd get scolded for disappearing after they've had a bunch of pictures of you both posted up on their guest wall like you were celebrities. Mrs. Kang was the owner, and you are worried.
You hadn't been here in two years. Two full years, and much to your surprise — Jihoon had also stopped coming. He'd stopped eating gamjatang period, saying it reminded him of you and the break-up only soured it for him. You both agreed you'd go back when you felt ready, and you'd go together…
So now, six months into your rekindled relationship, you stand in front of it. Your hand is in his, and you're wearing a pretty white dress, holding your purse strap tightly; watching him reach for the door. He pulls it open, and you take a deep breath as you walk in, not letting go of his hand as the aunties barely glanced up from the counter. You glimpse at him as he closes the door behind him, your hand tight around his as Mrs. Lee, an older woman with dyed burgundy hair that had scolded Jihoon for spilling soup on you once, tells you to take a seat anywhere in the empty restaurant and she'll be right with you — without looking up from the register.
Jihoon pulls you into the corner booth you used to sit in, the left side of the booth still comforting as you slid in first, his thigh brushing yours as he sat next to you. Neither of you bother to speak, his hand in yours pinching the hem of your dress skirt and pulling it down slightly to cover the bite mark on your inner thigh. You feel your cheeks hot as you rest your chin on his shoulder, making him look at you as you silently beg for a kiss.
He presses a chaste one to your lips as clambering is heard, one of the aunties carrying two steaming bowls of gamjatang to your table when her eyes meet yours.
Mrs. Kang.
She blinks, sliding the bowls onto the table as you shift slightly. She crosses her arms on her chest, looking at you like she's disappointed. Jihoon's hand squeezes yours, almost like he's bracing for something when she throws her hands up.
"It's about time you find your way back to one another. This was getting ridiculous." She huffs, your cheeks burning hot as she yells over her shoulder for rice wine. "Do you know how annoying your friends are? They eat here every Thursday, whine about the two of you breaking up for an hour and they drink like fish. I had to take your pictures off the wall because they kept crying against it."
"I'm sorry." You both murmur, Jihoon earning a soft smack on his shoulder.
"And you! How can you break this poor girl's heart, Jihoon? Two years! You came to my restaurant every Friday for two years, and that's not counting the other times you were here together! Two anniversaries I saw you celebrate together, four birthdays!" She shoves his shoulder lightly, huffing with tears pricking at her eyes. Your own widen as she lets out an annoyed breath.
"Don't do it again! I won't have it!" She scolds, before her hand picks up one of the bowls. She rolls her eyes, "you still hate perilla leaf?"
You shift again, nodding silently as she scoffs, "picky girl. I missed you."
She bites back her smile, whisking the bowl away as Jihoon pouts.
"How come she misses you and not me?"
"You wanna ask her?"
"Absolutely not. She scares the socks off me."
Jihoon waits patiently for Mrs. Kang to return with your bowl, leaning his head against yours as you rest your cheek on his shoulder. You watch the steam rise off his bowl, your stomach growling just as Mrs. Kang makes her way back — the door nearly being torn off the hinges and making you all jump. You look over Jihoon to see Soonyoung and Jian standing in the threshold, sweaty and out of breath with Jian's phone on full brightness; her screen displaying your location on FindMy.
"You're here!" Jian cries, shoving past Soonyoung and throwing her arms over you and Jihoon. Mrs. Kang scowls as Soonyoung joins the dog pile, giving you an annoyed look as she holds up your soup and a kettle of rice wine. You hurriedly pat Jian's back, and she pulls away with a quickness that rivals the beating of your heart as Jihoon covers the bite mark on your thigh with his hand.
"Sorry," you breathe out, and Mrs. Kang just shakes her head as she slides your bowl onto the table. Soonyoung and Jian greet her quietly, making her suck her teeth, "two more?"
"Please," Jian nods, and she purses her lips as she turns on her heel. She stops, glancing over her shoulder at Soonyoung, "no perilla leaf?"
He nods quickly, practically shoving Jian into the booth as she disappears back into the kitchen. You all watch her walk away, before Jian kicks Jihoon under the table.
"You bitch! Why didn't you tell us you were coming? I said gamjatang double date." She complains, and Jihoon just scowls as you rub his shin.
"We hadn't been back yet." You reply, rolling your eyes. "Mrs. Kang hates you guys."
"No she doesn't." Soonyoung argues, and Mrs. Kang appears next to his head with two bowls.
"Yes, I do. Stop crying in here. I had to take down my favorite pictures because of you." She huffs, setting the bowls down and procuring a camera from her apron pocket. "Y/N and Jihoon, take two?"
You grin, inching closer to Jihoon as he fixes the pendant on your necklace. A gold locket — holding a picture of you and him.
"Ready? 3, 2, 1, money!" She holds it up to her face, and you both smile brightly as you smush your cheeks together. The flash goes off, and you feeling Jihoon's lips press a quick kiss to your cheek. You see Jian and Soonyoung pout across the table from you as you blink away the effects of the flash, and Mrs. Kang tongues her cheek as she moves to your side of the booth, resting her arm around the back and leaning down.
"What do you think? Jian and Hoshi, take one?" She smiles, and you nod your head as they wrap their arms around each other excitedly, pressing their cheeks together with animated smiles. She rolls her eyes, taking their picture before patting your head, "welcome back, sweet girl."
"Thank you." You smile softly, your cheeks sore as she rubs her knuckles on the back of Jihoon's head, making him pout as she huffs, "be good to her. She loves you."
"I will! I am!" He sulks, sinking into the booth as she chuckles, "you want extra broth? I'll bring you some, sit tight."
You watch her walk away again, laughing as Jihoon rubs the back of his head, "see? She missed you, too."
"Whatever." He huffs, reaching for spoons as Soonyoung and Jian lean across the table. He raises a brow at them, "what!?"
Soonyoung grins, "so…double dates again?"
"We can get ice cream after this! Double trouble!" Jian claps her hands cheerfully, and you give Jihoon an amused look. He tongues his cheek.
"They are annoying." He mutters, sliding a spoon into your soup and draping his sweater over your lap so you won't stain your dress. You snicker, "ice cream sounds good. We're in."
"Perfect! Because I also have sixteen other places we need to hit before the end of the year. Oh, and how do you feel about Japan for New Years? I really wanna go back to Mr. Iguchi's, he's been texting Hoshi nonstop!"
You and Jihoon let your friends ramble on and on, eating quietly as Mrs. Kang refills your rice wine pot twice before cutting it off when Soonyoung and Jian start getting sappy. He sends you up to pay with his card, helping Jian pull a heavily tipsy Soonyoung to his feet as Mrs. Kang gives you a receipt.
"Can I get a pen, please?" You ask softly, and she hands you one as you carefully reapply your lipstick. She watches you with her arms crossed, a lopsided smirk on her face as you scribble your note on the top of the receipt paper before kissing it gently.
"You be good, okay? I'll see you on Friday." She says, eyes pointed as you give the pen back.
"Yes ma'am. I will see you on Friday. Thank you!" You stuff his card in your purse, carefully folding the receipt as Jihoon lugs Soonyoung out the door with shouted thanks to the aunties. She waves you off, and you quickly catch up to them as Soonyoung forces himself upright at Jian's mention of ice cream. The door shuts behind you, and you press a kiss to Jihoon's cheek as his arm wraps around your waist. His cheeks are warm from the alcohol, but you watch the way his eyes soften before pressing his lips to yours.
"Do you like the ring?" He whispers, and you glance down at your left hand. It sparkles up at you, like it knows something. You fix it so the stone is centered on your finger, and you hold it up the light, "it's pretty on me, isn't it?"
"Stunning."
"You're buttering me up, I know it. We're already engaged, knock it off."
"Why would I need to do that? You're mine anyway. Something about 'til death do us part, I heard." He rolls his eyes, pressing another kiss to your cheek as you make it outside, the air cool against your hot skin. You rest your head on his shoulder, his fingers squeezing your waist lightly before pressing another kiss to your head.
"I love you, honey."
"I love you, my angel."
You make a note to stop and by a picture frame, and to pick up your copy of the photo from Mrs. Kang next Friday.
After all, you've got a new little scrap of paper.
let's take the long way home, my angel. ♡ i love you so much, lee jihoon. always yours, take two!
SUMMARY: A stupid dare by your friends turns into something much stranger than you ever could have anticipated.
WC: 4,839
AU: Supernatural, Demons
GENRE: Thriller, Smut, PWP
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
WARNINGS: General creepiness, light depictions of anxiety/fear, references to memory loss and false memories, reader is a little out of it/everything feels off, queue random man in her house (it's Joshua surprise), explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex (oops), light power dynamics, a little bit of praising, oral (f. receiving), cum eating, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, light overstim, general mess/bodily fluids, a little bit of nibbling not really, implied obsession or something at the end idk how to explain but he really likes her!!! lmfao ... I think that's it.
A/N: This is for the trick or treat request here by my beloved @joshujin. I hope this is the demon man of your dreams. I went a little insane writing this. I think I should take a nap now or touch grass. One of the two. Happy Haliween hehe.
A/N 2: No beta we die like men.
MASTERLIST | ASK | HALIWEEN
“THIS IS INCREDIBLY STUPID.”
The this in question is in reference to the creaky ladder leading up to the attic space in an abandoned house. The beam of light from your flashlight doesn’t tremble, despite the fact you feel an ounce of trepidation drip through you as you turn to look at Soonyoung and Mingyu, both of them peering up into the inky attic entrance.
“Scared?” Mingyu asks, not looking at you. His voice is cocky, but you see the fear in his face. He doesn’t want to go up into the attic space, so he’s dared you to do it instead. “You know the punishment if you back out.”
You frown. The punishment for the unfilled dare isn’t terrible - you’d be required to go to the Halloween party at the lake in a week’s time and go running into the lake naked. You’re pretty sure that Soonyoung would do it even without being prompted for not doing a dare, but you’re not so confident.
Glancing up the ladder again, you sigh. The old abandoned house in Elm Grove has been a bit of lore in your town since even your parents were in high school. You’re not in high school, though. You’re a recent graduate with a full ass degree, playing truth or dare with two of your dumb ass friends that has led you here to the famed attic.
“You just have to see if the candle is there,” Soonyoung offers, looking at you with a smirk. “No one thinks you’re brave enough to actually light it.”
“Whatever.”
Sighing, you stick the flashlight under your chin. It’s a bit of an awkward hold, but you don’t want to risk falling from the old ass ladder. Soonyoung and Mingyu squeal in excitement as you place your hands on the old wood. It’s cool to the touch and a tingle slides down your spine.
You ignore it, gritting your teeth as you begin to climb the ladder. It creaks dangerously under your weight and you hesitate for a moment, making sure it won’t give way. When it doesn’t, you continue the climb up. It’s only eight steps, but each one feels precariously, the musty, cool air of the attic space kissing your brow as you near it.
You’d never tell either of your friends below, but you don’t want to do this. It isn’t that you’re afraid, so much as something feels wrong. Neither of your friends seems to catch on though, so it’s you who sticks your head through the entry way, immediately reaching a hand under your chin to grab your flashlight.
The beam of light lights up the room. There are no windows, but there is plenty of space. It looks like it could have been a bedroom once, spacious enough to stand and have furniture, but closed off enough for a cozy space.
It is anything but cozy now. You feel your stomach twist as you look around for any immediate sign of spiders or feral raccoons next to your head before you let out a shaky breath and scan the room. Cobwebs fill the room and there’s some old trash - left over from other brave people who have hauled themselves into this crawl space.
A single candle sits in the middle of the room. You raise your brows, surprised. There had been a rumor that there was a single black candle in the room, and that when lit at night, the flame would light up black. You’re not sure you believe that much, but you can’t deny the attic feels old and creepy.
“There is a candle,” you confirm. Mingyu and Soonyoung squeal again. “Looks like a normal candle. I mean it’s black but-”
“You have to light it to know if it has a black flame!”
You sigh, looking down at Mingyu. “I thought I didn’t have to light the candle.”
He smirks. “If you’re afraid-”
“Whatever,” you cut him off, putting the flashlight on the floor of the attic. It kicks up dust and dirt and you scrunch your nose, knowing you’re going to need a serious shower after this. “If it’ll shut you up, I’ll light the damn candle. If I fall through the floor, please call an ambulance.”
“Definitely.”
The attic floor creaks precariously under you as you haul yourself up. You pause to see if the floor is rotted to the point of collapsing, but when it doesn’t crack or cave in, you take a step forward. Nothing happens and you sigh, looking around the attic as you dust yourself off.
It’s cool and dry in the room. There is dust everywhere, motes floating and twisting in the beam of your flashlight when you pick it up. The air is musty and smells old, and you kick a can of crushed beer with your toe as you slowly approach the candle.
The candle is plain enough. It’s black with no wax dripping down the side, the black wick perfectly intact and unburned. You’re unsure if that means no one has lit the candle, or if it means someone bought a new one and stuck it up here. It could be both.
Looking around, there are no signs of anything demonic or strange, but there’s a soft pressure in the air, like maybe you’re not alone. Goosebumps spread down your arms and you feel your neck tingle, but you ignore it, tired and ready to get this over with to show Mingyu and Soonyoung that of the three of you, you definitely have the biggest balls.
Metaphorically speaking, anyway.
Bending down, you groan as your knees pop. You dig in your pocket for a lighter - it’s a pink Hello Kitty lighter that Soonyoung stole from a convenience store drunk in college one - and brandish it. Licking your lips, you flick the lighter, the small flame trembling as you bring it up to the wick.
For a moment, it doesn’t catch, like the candle itself is resisting. You’re about to give up when the orange flame catches, blooming into fire. It burns orange for a single second before the flame bleaches. Your mouth parts in surprise. It’s not black - not exactly. But it’s like the color has been stripped from the fire, an eerie grey light flickering.
The light from your flashlight seems to dim in the light of the candle and a sudden chill sweeps down your back. You stand, immediately wanting to leave, but you realize how silent it is. There is no sound from Mingyu and Soonyoung, no creaking of the floorboards beneath your feet.
You turn around in circles, freezing as the room seems to exhale. The air turns thick, damp and heavy as it presses against your skin. You swear the walls expand, like they’re further away now, the ceiling growing impossible high. You blink a few times, dizzy.
A low hum vibrates in your chest and the candle flickers, and a pang of fear sparks through you.
What do you desire most?
You flinch. The voice isn’t heard so much as it's felt. Your pulse stutters. You can’t place the source of the voice - just that it's rich and velvet, sliding around you like smoke with no real direction or source. It's smooth, every syllable tugging at you to answer.
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You feel the fear battling with the desire to answer, words caught in your throat. The hum in your chest deepens, reverberating through you to the floorboards until it feels like the attic is filled with it.
Say it. Whisper it. I already know, but I desire to hear it.
Your throat is dry. You stagger back, bumping your flashlight. It spins across the floor, beam jerky wildly across the warped attic walls, illuminating shadows and shapes that weren’t there before. You squeeze your eyes shut, a screaming working its way up your throat as the hum gets worse, pressing in on you until you open your eyes and -
You gasp awake in your bed.
The sheets cling to your damp skin, twisted from a night of thrashing. The room is dark, but the digital clock on your nightstand glares 3:33 a.m. You press a hand to your sweaty forehead, trying to breathe through the jagged panic in your chest.
Snatching your phone from the nightstand, you immediately begin typing, the brightness of your screen making you squint as you navigate to your group text.
[3:33 AM] You: What in the fuk happened?
[3:35 AM] Gyu: ??? u brown out lol???
[3:39 AM] Soons: Sry I am literally two minutes away from getting laid g2g
[3:39 AM] Soons: HAAAAY WE WANT SOME PUSSSSAAY
[3:40 AM] You: The attic!!! I’m so confused.
[3:40 AM] Gyu: ??? nothing happened. u lit the candle and it was lame and we went drinking
You don’t remember that in the slightest.
The bedroom feels too still. You glance around, watching as the shadows stretch a fraction too long across the walls. The air is too thick with the faint tang of wax and smoke, and your sheets smell faintly of something you can’t place. Maybe like burnt cloves. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, heart hammering as you turn on your bedroom lamp, your nerves alight with strange static.
You get out of your bed and begin to pace, bare feet cold against the floorboards. Every object in your room seems wrong, somehow. Your desk is too far right, your curtains are a little longer than you remember. The moonlight filtering through the window tilts at an odd angle that doesn’t match the window.
Thank you for telling me.
You go ramrod-straight as the whisper curls along the back of your neck, soft and slow. It vibrates through you and you feel fear twist in your gut, so sharp you think you might get sick. You glance around your room, the glow of your lamp dulling and warping the shadows of your room. You see nothing, but the hairs on your arms rise.
Darting back to your bed, you dive in and try to call Mingyu. He sends you to voicemail with a in the middle of smth that is all you need to know that both of your friends are busy getting laid after a night you don’t remember having while you’re having what you can only assume is a mental break.
The whisper doesn’t come back, but it lingers. Every shadow seems to twitch just beyond your vision, every familiar object humming with the same wrongness you felt in the attic.
Leaving the lamp on, you lay down and pull the blankets around you tighter. The soft weight of it does little to quiet the echo of the voice, and your eyelights fight the rising tide of exhaustion. You watch the glowing red of your clock tick past 4:00 a.m., each minute crawling by.
You try to reason with yourself, knowing that you obviously just had a weird dream after going out and getting drunk with your friends. But it feels like you’re lying to yourself, the lingering scent of cloves heavy on your sheets, the vibration of that voice still buzzing on your skin.
Slowly, the panic ebbs just enough for your eyelids to sag. Your breaths become uneven and shallow as you shift beneath the blanket, curling into yourself. Finally, your body betrays your mind and drags you into a dreamless, clove-scented sleep.
-
The next morning starts in fragments.
You wake late, eyelids heavy. The memory of the attic is still pressed to your memory, leaving you with a chill despite the sunlight streaming through your blinds. You look at the beams of light and frown. The colors of your room are muted, the edges of your furniture sharper than they should be.
Rubbing your eyes, you get up and everything looks normal again. Signing, you realize that however much you partied the night before really did get to you. Shoving down the memory of the attic and the weird dreams, you force yourself to go about the rest of your morning, ignoring the looming shadows and the cellophane feeling to your world.
Shadows follow you throughout the day. You swear they are, though you don’t say it outloud for fear of sounding insane. Every time you glance to catch one, they twitch back to their normal shape. You can’t look at them directly, but you swear they’re there.
In an attempt to ground yourself, you go about your day. Mingyu and Soonyoung seem to think your lack of memory is hilarious, insisting you did get pretty drunk. There’s no evidence of your drinking, save your spotty memory, but you give up trying to argue with them.
By evening, the world still feels wrong. It’s a little too quiet, and the street outside your apartment is still. The mutual clatter and hum is replaced with a thick hush that has you scurrying into your unit and locking the door firmly behind you. You’re sure that you’re just tired, but you don’t like it either way.
Shaking it off, you kick off our shoes and pad toward your bedroom, craving the familiar slump of your mattress and a mindless scroll through your phone. The living room lamp flickers as you pass, casting shadows that dance along the walls after you. You ignore them, pushing open your bedroom door with your shoulder.
The room is dim, the late evening sun slanting through the half-drawn blinds in lazy golden bars. And there, perched on the edge of your unmade bed, is a man.
You scream.
The man frowns at you, looking you up and down as he leans back on your bed, posture relaxed. His legs are crossed at the ankles, finger tapping impatiently on top of your sheets as you turn to run from the room. Your door slams shut and when you try the handle, it doesn’t open, your panic mounting.
“That’s a bit dramatic,” he purrs.
His voice makes you freeze. It’s that same velvet voice, the familiar hum in your chest kicking up once more. You risk a glance over your shoulder to look at the man again. He’s dressed simply in a crisp black button-up shirt tucked into black trousers, the sleeves rolled to his elbows to reveal forearms corded with muscle.
His dark hair is tousled, falling just so over his forehead, and when his eyes meet yours, your breath catches. They’re deep brown, but edged with a black-red that pins to you the spot. He’s beautiful in a way that feels unfair, and when he tilts his head to the side, your breath catches.
There’s an effortless grace to this stranger, a quiet confidence that drifts toward you. You breathe in and smell cloves, heart racing as you recognize the scent from the attic. You don’t know how you know, or how it's possible, but you know this man - being, whatever he is - has something to do with the attic.
And that damned candle.
“Who,” you asked, strained. “The fuck are you?”
He smirks. “Don’t you know? You summoned me.”
The world tilts. Suddenly you remember the attic in perfect clarity - the candle’s grey flame, the hum vibrating through your bones, the pressure in your chest. Shadows flickering up the walls, the creak of the attic floor as you stepped into it. Him. Standing in the shadows, dressed like he is now, asking you what your deepest desire was.
“You do remember,” he grins, watching you with those sharp eyes. “Tell me again. I want to hear your desire again.”
Those mahogany eyes had been the same last night, fixed on you and only you, filled with a hunger that stoked a fire in you. You hadn’t run. His voice had coaxed you forward until you whispered the answer to his question.
I want to feel real, true desire.
You remember saying the words now. The words had spilled out of you like blood, admitting you wanted something raw and consuming, the kind of want that reshapes the world, that burns away everything else.
Swallowing, you shake your head. “That was a dream.”
He chuckles a low, throaty sound. He rises then, fluid and unhurried. He’s taller than you thought he was, broad-shouldered but lean. He doesn’t crowd you, but he steps forward, hands loose at his sides. The air between you feels charged with something familiar and electric, your nerves twitching.
“It was real,” he murmurs. “You lit the candle. You summoned me. You answered my question. I’m here to deliver.”
Part of you screams to run, to grab your phone and dial for help, but your feet stay rooted. The static from last night has returned, warmer now and coiling low in your belly.
“Who are you?” You whisper.
“You can call me Joshua.”
“And what are you, Joshua?”
His mouth twitches and his eyes glitter. “Angel to some. Demon to most. I suppose it depends on who you ask.”
Joshua steps closer. His clove scent envelops you, dizzying. He’s so close you can feel the heat radiating off of him, overwhelming but pleasant. His admission hangs between you, heavy and impossible. You don’t have a rebuttal, though. You remember lighting the candle. Seeing him emerge from the shadows.
You remember the hunger you suddenly felt at seeing him, at being asked what your deepest desire was.
Joshua's gaze holds yours, steady and unblinking, those mahogany eyes searching your face. The room seems to pulse with the weight of his presence, the air thickening. He doesn't move closer, but he doesn't need to - you take a single step toward him, almost in a faze.
“Do you want me to fulfill your desire?” He asks, voice low. That hum returns to your chest, making you shiver. “I told you I would.”
Your throat tightens, words caught between fear and want. The rational part of you screams in fear at the stranger in your room, but the intensity of his stare pulls at your strings. The desire that you’d confessed in the attic burns through the fear until it's all that's left. The only thing you want.
“Yes,” you whisper, nodding.
It’s a fragile admission, but it’s enough. Joshua’s eyes darken, the warmth shifting into a smoldering heat that sends a shiver racing down your spin. He closes the distance in one fluid step, his hand rising to cup your jaw. It’s a feather light touch, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in slow, deliberate strokes.
“Good,” he breathes. “That’s good, baby. Let me show you what true desire feels like.”
Joshua leans forward and captures your mouth with his. It’s a soft kiss at first, his lips warm and plush as they mold to yours. But there’s control in the way he kisses you, his free hand sliding to the small of your back to pull you flush against him.
You melt into it, your hands tentatively rising to clutch at his shirt. He smiles into the kiss, his tongue teasing the seam of your lips, coaxing them open. He tastes like dark cherry and a hint of spice, making your head spin. When you gasp softly, he deepens the kiss, claiming your mouth with a gentleness that belies the hunger beneath.
He breaks away just enough to murmur against your lips, “Undress for me. Slowly.”
It’s not a request. You shiver and nod your head, fingers trembling as you comply. Your fingers fumble with the hem of your shirt, peeling it up and over your head under his watchful gaze. He doesn’t touch, just watches with hooded eyes, his approval evident in the way his breath hitches when you toss your shirt.
“Beautiful,” he praises, the words sending a rush of heat through you.
Licking your lips, you follow with your pants, sliding them down your legs until you’re standing in just your underwear, skin prickling under the intensity of his stare. Joshua’s hands finally move then, warm palms skimming up your arms to your shoulders, guiding you toward your bed with gentle pressure.
“Lie down,” he instructs and you follow.
The mattress sinks underneath you and he follows, hovering over you as he leans in for another kiss. This one is slower and more deliberate, his tongue tracing patterns that make your toes curl. His fingers trail down your side until they hook into the waistband of your underwear.
“These too,” he whispers.
Nodding, you lift your hips to help him slide them off. The cool air of your room hits your heated core and you start to close your legs but he tuts sharply. You freeze as he lowers himself, his breath ghosting your skin as he settles between your thighs and parts them with firm hands.
“Look at me,” he tells you, gentle but commanding. Your thoughts spin as you prop yourself on your elbows to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark and hungry, making the room tilt. “Eyes on me, baby.”
You don’t take your eyes off him. Your breath catches when he starts by pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs. He takes his time, lips brushing feather-light along your sensitive skin, nipping gently with his teeth just enough to send your hips twitching. You shift restlessly in his firm hold, squirming as he licks at your thigh, grinning.
When Joshua’s tongue finally traces a slow, deliberate line along your folds, you arch off the bed with a whimper. He’s unhurried, savoring you as the flat of his tongue brushes through your pussy properly. He hums, licking up you slowly as he collects your arousal before pulling away for a moment.
“So sweet,” he murmurs, the words muffled.
He delves deeper with his tongue, circling your entrance with teasing flicks before dipping inside to taste you fully. The sensation is electric, the warm and wet pressure of his tongue making you go insane. He pulls back just enough to blow a cool stream of air over your heated flesh, making you clench around nothing, before his lips seal over your clit.
“Oh,” you shudder, a ripple vibrating through you.
The suction of his mouth is perfect, gentle at first. It draws a moan from you before his mouth gets firmer, his tongue flicking in rapid, precise strokes that have your fingers twisting in the sheets. He alternates patterns, swirling lazy circles around the sensitive bud, then flattening his tongue to grind against your clit.
One hand leaves your thigh to join his mouth, a single finger tracing your entrance before sliding in slowly, curling upward to find that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You let out a warbled sound, pussy clenching around him as he hums, pleased.
“Shit,” you gasp.
Joshua grins, rewarding you with a second finger, stretching you open with deliberate pumps, his mouth never relenting. The wet sounds of him mouthing at you fill the room, his fingers moving in and out with slick ease, his tongue lapping greedily. You start to shake, breath coming in rapid gasps as you watch him, your mouth hanging open.
The pressure builds unbearably, a tidal wave cresting as he adds a third finger, stretching your cunt open in a way that has you reeling. His fingers hit every nerve and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind, shaking violently as he sucks at you.
“Come for me,” he murmurs against you, the vibration of his voice damming. “Go ahead.”
You do immediately, your body convulsing as he laps you through it, drawing out every twitch and aftershock as you fall backward, twisting into the bed. He doesn’t stop, sucking at you until you’re oversensitive and your knees are squeezing against his shoulders, useless babble coming out of your mouth.
Slowly, he pulls his mouth from you. You blink at him through half-lidded eyes, watching as he licks your cum from his fingers before he stands, dark eyes on you. He sheds his clothes with efficient grace, revealing a smooth, toned chest and firm stomach that flexes when he moves.
Peeling off his pants and boxers, you nearly groan. His cock is hard, thick and veined with a glistening tip as he palms himself, squeezing a little while he shuffles toward you. He stops stroking himself to peel your legs open, biting his bottom lip when he sees the wet mess he left between your legs.
“Ready, baby?” He asks, glancing up at you. You nod and he grins, grabbing the base of his cock, stroking leisurely. “You’re so eager. I think you’re my favorite.”
He lines himself up, rubbing the head along your slick folds in teasing strokes, coating himself in your wetness before pushing in slowly. You feel your breath leave you as he sinks in inch by inch, letting you feel every ridge and stretch. The fullness is exquisite, a burn that fades into bliss as he bottoms out, hips flush against yours.
At first, he lets you adjust. His hands roam your body, palms cupping your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples through the lace of your bra until they pebble under your touch. He captures your mouth in a messy, hungry kiss, scattering your thoughts as you arch up into him. He hums into the kiss, his hand drifts to grip your bra at the center.
Then, he moves, a slow withdrawal that drags against your walls, followed by a deep thrust that punches the air from your lungs. He sets a deliberate rhythm, fisting your bra as he uses the leverage to fuck you down onto his cock, grinning as he watches you go boneless beneath him.
“Feel that?” He whispers, leaning down to nip at your jaw. “That’s real desire.”
Sweat slicks your skin, the room filled with shared gasps. It feels so good, each one of your nerves sparking. He shifts, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder to go deeper. The new angle lets him bury himself to the hilt each time he fucks into you, his cock brushing deeper.
“You’re doing such a job, baby,” he whispers, pressing his mouth to yours. “Taking me so fucking well.”
Joshua’s free hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit to rub in tight circles, syncing his thrusts until you’re climbing again, feeling like your orgasm is reaching a fever pitch. But he pulls out just as you're teetering on the edge, flipping you onto your hands and knees with gentle but firm hands.
“Like this,” he says softly and you comply, arching your back as he slides back in. “Fuck, yeah.”
The position lets him control the depth, his hands gripping your hips as he pumps into you, slow at first, then faster. He starts to snap his hips against you, each thrust making you shiver. You hang your head down, fingers finger into the sheets, barely able to do anything but cry out.
His chest presses to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady, his breath hot against your ear. You push back to meet him, the friction building, skin slapping skin in a rhythm that's almost hypnotic. He reaches around to tease your clit again, fingers slick and insistent, and the coil snaps. You come with a cry, walls fluttering around him, pulling him deeper.
Joshua follows soon after, thrusting erratically as he spills inside you with a low groan, his body tensing before he’s spent. He doesn’t stop there, though. He peels off of you before rolling you to your side, laying next to you and spooning you.
His still-hard cock nudges at your entrance and you whimper. “One more,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your sweaty shoulder.
Joshua lifts your leg to slide back in, the sound slick and messy. He rocks into you gently now, lips on your neck, sucking gently at your neck, leaving your neck tender. His hand dips between your thighs to stroke you in time with his lazy thrusts.
Every inch of him drags inside of you, his fingers making you dizzy. You turn your head toward him and he kisses you,messy and wanting. You feel another orgasm curl in your belly, softer but just as intense. When it breaks, it washes over you in soft waves, making you tremble and pant into his mouth as he holds you through it before chasing his own release for a few lazy strokes.
Finally spent, Joshua pulls out, gathering you into his arms and rolling you under him. You blink up at him, starry and dizzy and consumed with him. His fingers trace your sides softly and his mouth peppers your face with soft kisses, his teeth scraping.
“Thanks for summoning me,” he whispers against your mouth, tongue darting out to taste you. “I think I've decided to stay and keep you.”
When he kisses you again, you think he might burn you out. But when he presses himself to you once more, you realize you don’t care.
synopsis ➳ you see him at a dodgers game and for you it is game over. except, it looks like he isn't interested in you. however, the chemistry between you says otherwise.
pairing ➳ dilf!s.coups x fem!reader
genre ➳ strangers to lovers, age gap romance, smut.
word count ➳ 8.2k + 1.1k (bonus)
warnings ➳ mdni, age gap!!! (9yrs), slightly toxic dynamics, cheol is an absolute gentleman in the first half and a monster (in bed) in the second, reader is horny af, sexual tension/frustration, possessiveness, messy makeouts, unprotected sex, male oral and ofc big dick cheol, gagging, crying, pussy slapping, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, nasty sex in general bruh.
a/n: those pics of cheol at the LA Dodgers game did something to me. and to be fair, cheol isn't actually a dilf here (you'll find out). also, if age gap is not your cup of tea, DO NOT INTERACT!
I think I need someone older
Just a little bit colder
Take the weight off his shoulders
The crowd is quite suffocating.
You have to find your way through a throng of people, mostly men dressed in jerseys and holding beers, to get to the VIP seating area. Jeanie, your friend, leads the way, and you follow her tail, careful not to bump into anyone and spill your drink.
This is really not your scene.
You don't like noisy places. You don't like crowds. You don't like sports.
So what are you doing here?
Two weeks ago, you broke up with your boyfriend. It was nothing dramatic. In fact, you saw it coming. Your relationship mellowed out a long time ago, not that it was very heated in the first place, and frankly, the breakup was a relief.
It was like you finally got rid of a dead weight.
But for some reason, Jeanie, one of your closest friends, had this impression that you were depressed and having a pity party by yourself in your apartment, which you were not; you were doing a deep clean to prepare for the upcoming fall. Hence, she has dragged you out here, to a LA Dodgers game, to change the scenery and add some joy in your life.
You and your friend have truly different definitions of joy. She has been an extrovert since the time you met her in college. You, on the other hand, preferred to be by yourself.
Jeanie nudges your shoulder with hers as you two take your seats. “Lighten up, girl. Have some fun! We got these VIP seats for free!”
Right. Jeanie is friends with an influencer who gave her these tickets because she couldn’t come because of some last minute trip to a fancy Caribbean island.
You take a sip of your chilled drink and murmur. “I’m trying. You know this is not my scene.”
“A change of scenery is always good.” She announces before taking a look around in the VIP seating area. “Plus, this place is full of hot, rich guys.”
“Rich? Sure. I don’t see any hot guys, though.” You comment drily. “I am going to stay for half an hour and then leave. You know I have to make a pitch on Monday. I need to work on my presentation.”
“Can you not think about work for two seconds?” Jeanie rolls her eyes.
“Alright, fine. I’ll pretend to be very interested in the game for your sake.” You huff playfully, and your friend smiles, wrapping an arm around you. She and her fiancé watch these games regularly, and you know for a fact that if he were not out of town right now, she would not have dragged you here, and you could be finishing up with work early and end the day soaking in a bubble bath.
Yeah, that would be nice.
A man walking by catches your attention randomly. He is dressed in a grey hoodie and grey sweatpants with a cap on his head, his pace leisurely as he strolls down the stairs to take a seat in the front row. Nothing about his clothes is flashy or exceptional, but still, he stands out and your eyes follow him. As he walks past you, you get a glimpse of his face: fair skin with dark, thick eyebrows, unfairly beautiful eyes and a plump set of lips. Silently, you observe him sit down next to a man and a moment later, take a toddler out of the man’s lap to put the child on his.
Is he a father? Damn, spotting an attractive dilf was not on your bucket list.
The game starts momentarily, disrupting your thoughts as music and cheers erupt throughout the stadium. You try your best to enjoy the game before resigning yourself to sipping your beer and scrolling through your phone while occasionally taking peeks at the front row.
You don’t get to see much except the man’s back as he keeps playing with the very enthusiastic child, clapping and squealing while the man beside them takes pictures of them.
Time ticks by. Your beer finishes. You help Jeanie take some pictures before posing for some selfies with her. And then, something happens that gets you the attention of the hot man in the front row.
The child you saw earlier with him was climbing the stairs, his little wobbly feet tackling one step at a time as he held a cup of orange juice comically large for his little hands. Just as he was wobbling past your seat, he lost his balance, and some of the juice spilt out of the cup and onto the bottom of your jeans.
The two men who were a few steps behind come running as the dilf immediately picks up the kid with an admonishing look. The taller man next to him looks in your direction, muttering an apology. The father, you assume, orders, “Mingyu, go grab some napkins for the lady.”
“No, it’s—” You stand up to protest, but the man—Mingyu—dashes away to get some tissues for you. “It’s okay. It was an accident.” You offer softly as the man admonishes the child, who looks at you with large doe eyes.
“Ethan, say sorry to her.” He tells the kid who squirms to get out of his father's hold and onto the ground. “I am sorry, miss.” The kid says sweetly, bowing his head almost so far ahead that he loses his footing.
“Oh, no. It is alright, Ethan.” You softly pat his head. “You are a big, strong boy, carrying the cup by yourself!” Ethan smiles at your words, his little teeth peeking.
Mingyu returns with the napkins and hands them to you before picking Ethan up and taking him away, climbing up the stairs. You dab the spot on your jeans with the napkin, hyperaware of the dilf’s eyes on you. Oddly, you are too shy to look him in the eye, as if he can see all your thoughts about him in them.
“Allow me to pay for the dry cleaning.” He offers.
“Oh, no!” You refuse, embarrassed. “The stain is not that strong. It will wash away.”
“I insist. Please give me your number so that I can send the money.” He is adamant, and with no other option, you fish out your business card from your purse and hand it to him.
He takes a look at it before putting it in his pocket. An awkward moment of silence passes by as you finish wiping the stain and stand back up. “Your son is very cute.” You attempt to make a conversation.
“Oh,” he shakes his head with a chuckle. “That’s my nephew.”
Your ears perk up at his words.
“My sister-in-law had a dentist appointment, and so we brought him with us. He really loves my friend, Mingyu. Sometimes I think he loves him more than me.” He explains casually, a fond look on his face.
“I see.” You take a moment to scan him, half unconsciously. He is right there in front of you, and it is almost impossible not to drink him up. Despite wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, there is something about him that screams luxury. Maybe it is the way he walks and talks, at ease yet authoritative, like he owns the place, or maybe, you realize, it's the Rolex sitting on his wrist, thick and heavy.
You are so busy staring at him that it takes a long moment for you to realize he is staring at you staring at him. He is the first one to break the silence, saving you from further embarrassment. “Let me take a guess. This really isn’t your scene.” He waves his hand around.
A soft burst of laughter comes out of your mouth. “Is it that obvious?”
“It kind of is.” He smirks, his deep brown eyes twinkling with something unreadable, and your stomach starts doing backflips. You have to take a step back and grab onto the backrest of the seat to make sure you don’t fall.
“My ideal weekend is sleeping in and ordering takeout.” You shrug.
“That has its own appeal, I must agree.”
“Yeah…” you trail off, unable to hold eye contact with him any longer. Your heart is racing inhumanely fast in your chest, and you are half worried that you are getting a heart attack. For God’s sake, that’s a fucking stranger and for sure, someone’s boyfriend or husband, though you don’t see a ring. You cannot be drooling over him like that.
You need to get laid.
“Well, it was lovely talking to you. We are gonna head out now.” He stands straighter, fixing his cap, his blonde hair peeking from the sides. “I am once again, really sorry about that,” he motions to your jeans. “I’ll send you the money.”
“You really don’t have to.” You object, watching him climb up the stairs.
“Don’t worry about that.” He shakes his head before turning to look at you. “Have a nice day.”
“You too.” Chewing on your lower lip, you watch the absolute hunk of a man walk away. With a heavy sigh, when you turn back around, you find Jeanie looking at you with the evilest of smiles, like a cat that ate the canary.
“Ugh, please,” you huff, hiding your face, making an attempt to leave. “Let me go, I need to pee!”
“Mhmm,” she hums, wrapping her arms around you and dragging to down next to her. “What was all that, huh? You were practically eye fucking him. And giving him your number, my god, girl!”
“Ugh, shut up! He asked for it.”
“Mhmm, I’m sure he will be asking for a lot more things soon when he gives you a booty call.”
You roll your eyes, shoving Jeanie’s face away from yours. Inside, the idea of him calling you does make your stomach flutter more than it should.
You should get a check-up done. And get laid.
—
You do not get a call from him. Instead, the next morning, after you wake up, you find the money sent to your number along with a message that says,
Sorry for the trouble once again. — Choi Seungcheol
Choi Seungcheol. The name rolls off your tongue nicely as you keep gazing at your mobile screen, dumbfounded at the amount he sent you. No dry cleaning costs that much, and you debate a while with yourself, wondering whether you should call him, send him a text, or send some of the money back.
Hoping that he may text you for a follow-up, you get on your day, preparing to get ready for work. The day, however, comes to an end with no response from him. Not a text or a call checking if you have received the money. Finally, at night when you are in bed, you decide to text him.
Hi. It’s ___ from the game yesterday.
Five minutes later, your phone starts ringing. It is Seungcheol.
“Hello?” You half whisper, your voice suddenly catching in your throat.
“Hi.” His voice is deeper on the phone. “Sorry, I am too tired to text, so I just called you. I hope that is okay?”
“No, it’s completely fine.” You hurry. “It’s my fault for calling you this late. I’m sorry for disturbing.”
“Don’t worry about that. I just had a long day at work. But anyway, how can I help you?”
“Umh,” you take a moment to oragnize your thoughts. “I wanted to say thank you for sending the money. I really appreciate it, but the amount is much more than necessary.”
“It’s okay. You could use that to buy a pair if the stain does not come off.”
“And still I would be left with enough to grab dinner.” You joke.
“You love takeouts, right? So why not?” He hums from the other side. He remembers. You smile, chewing on your lower lip. And then, an idea pops into your head.
“I have a better idea. Let me treat you to dinner.” You state, and then squeeze your eyes shut as you hold your breath waiting for his reply.
“Why?” he sounds confused.
“Just as a token of gratitude.” You reply, still holding your breath. The line stays silent for a few seconds, and just as you start thinking you will get rejected, he answers. “Sure. When is a good time for you?”
You have to hold back a squeal. “This Friday?”
“Works for me.”
“Great!” You quip, trying not to sound too excited. “See you then!”
“Have a good night, ___.”
—
The week could not have been slower. By the time Friday rolls around, you are bone tired from all the work that came along with the new merger of your company. Still, you manage to leave work a little early and have a shower before getting ready. Seungcheol let you choose the restaurant, and you decided to go to a sleek Italian restaurant tucked away on the upscale side of town.
By the time you get into your Uber, Seungcheol texts you, stating that he is already there. Thankfully, there is not a lot of traffic, so you do not keep him waiting for long.
You find him seated at a couple’s table by the large floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping on a glass of wine as he talks to someone over the phone. He is quick to spot you, however, and as soon as he sees you, he hangs up the phone, stands up, and pulls your chair out for you.
“Hi,” You murmur, voice breathy as you come to a stand in front of him. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” You let your eyes wander all over him, and boy, does he look good—black formal shirt with black pants and a nice watch. He looks effortlessly hot, especially the way a bit of his skin peeks through the top unbuttoned space of his shirt and the way his arms flex, the veins shining in the warm light because of his rolled-up sleeves, and the way the fabric of the shirt remains tight against his solid, hard chest.
You feel like a Victorian man laying his eyes upon a woman’s ankles.
“No worries at all,” he ushers you to sit down. “I took the liberty of ordering us some appetizers and a bottle of wine. I hope you do not mind.”
“Not at all,” you reply bashfully as you sit down, and he goes back to his chair. “I am actually quite hungry. I haven’t had anything since breakfast.”
“Why?”
“Oh, work has been crazy.” You sigh.
“Hm,” he nods softly. “I heard your company is going through a merger currently.”
Swallowing a gulp of water, you look at him, impressed. “Looks like you stay updated.”
He chuckles, with a subtle shake of his head, his hand reaching out for your goblet to pour you some wine.
“I googled you, by the way.” You announce with a cheeky smile. The man raises a thick eyebrow, and involuntarily, you press your thighs together underneath the table. Setting the bottle of wine down, he leans back in his chair and softly rubs his index fingers across his chin. “Oh really?”
“I was really curious.” You explain, reaching for the wine. “Turns out you are a record label owner.”
“Yeah, it is nothing special.” He waves a hand dismissively. You roll your eyes and lean closer to him, your elbows resting on the table. “Are you serious? Literally Woozi—the Woozi is your artist. That’s insane!”
“You are a fan, I assume?”
“I am. I really like his songs.” You nod.
You are interrupted for a moment as the appetizers come alongside another server, who takes the orders for your main course. Once they are gone, Seungcheol serves you each of the dishes while saying. “I will see if I can get you an autograph.”
Quietly, you watch him load up your plate and set it down in front of you before serving himself. His thoughtful gesture gives butterflies in your stomach, and you murmur a shy “thank you”, hoping he understood that it was not because he said he would get you Woozi’s autograph.
“But enough talking about an old man like me.” He says, taking a bite of his food. “I would much rather hear about you.”
His words leave you flustered, especially as he keeps his gaze on you, his eyes unwavering. You supply information about your family, friends, and work between mouthfuls, surprised at how attentively he listens and asks thoughtful but not intrusive questions. The main course comes, and your conversations keep flowing smoothly, from your life to your hobbies to his and then to his nephew Ethan. The chemistry between the two of you is undeniable, at least that is what you think, but you have no way of knowing what is going on in his mind. He never crosses any lines or makes any attempt to touch or flirt with you, and by the time dessert is over, in the back of your mind, you are questioning yourself.
What does he think of you? A friend? A clingy young girl who was desperate to have dinner with him?
You are so lost in your head that when the bill is set down on the table, Seungcheol is the one to grab it, exceptionally fast at that, and you watch him with an open mouth.
“Hey!” You attempt to snatch the bill out of his hands but fail miserably as he simply puts his black card inside and hands it back to the waiter. “I was supposed to pay!”
“I know,” his voice is soft as a feather. “But I had a lovely evening today, and trust me when I say that it is my absolute pleasure to cover the bill.”
His tone, paired with the most sincere look in his eyes, leaves you at a loss for words, and you don’t know what to say, too busy trying to calm your racing heart. You manage to utter a soft “thank you,” and he returns it with a warm smile and a sincere “welcome.”
God damn it, this man is so perfect. The date is coming to an end, and you have no idea where you stand and what you should do to figure that out. With your head clouded in worries, you follow him out.
—
The drive goes by in relative silence, and you are at your place too quickly to your liking. Seungcheol gets out of the car to walk you to the front of your apartment complex while his driver parks the car.
“Well then, I hope you had a great time tonight.” He offers a smile as you stand in front of the entrance to your building. “I did.” You nod, hoping your voice conveys your sincerity. “It would have been greater if you let me pay, but—”
“Don’t mention it.” He cuts you off with a cheeky smile.
“Thanks again. For the dinner and for dropping me home.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” His smile is warm. “I’ll leave after you go inside.” He states and extends his hand as a polite way of urging you in. “Right, um, goodnight.” You rush, hastily turning around as your mind races with endless thoughts.
Will you see him again? He did not mention any other meeting, so that seems highly unlikely. You have his number, but can you call him? Should you call him? Would he call you?
Four steps in, you stop and turn back around. “Seungcheol?”
“Hm?”
“Would you like to date me?” You blurt out, marvelling at the steadiness of your voice as you lay all your cards out on the table.
The man in front of you blinks, once, twice, thrice and then keeps staring at you with the flattest yet most expressive face of surprise. The silence is suffocating, but you refuse to speak, worried you would embarrass yourself. After a long moment, he replies. “I don’t think it is a good idea.”
Wow.
You should say, “understandable, have a nice day,” and take your leave, but you cannot resist asking, “Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He pauses. “I am much older than you.”
Wait, that is why?
“Seriously?” You have to resist rolling your eyes.
He seems surprised at your attitude. “I am almost ten years older than you, if my assumption is correct. That is a pretty big issue. Trust me, you would not want to date someone like me.”
You frown. “I don’t like how you are telling me what I should and should not want.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “That is not what I meant. Our worlds are too different. I’m not telling you how you should feel, I am just warning you.”
Your fingernails dig into your palms, which are clenched into fists. You stare at him, hard and unblinking, trying to gather your thoughts. He looks apologetic, his sharp eyes soft and guilty, and it only angers you.
“I understand,” you nod, your voice quiet. “Thank you for today. I hope you get home safely. Goodbye, Seungcheol.”
With that, you march into your apartment building.
—
“I am telling you, he was the perfect man until he started warning me about how it would not work.” You huff, your phone pressed to your ear as you arrange all the papers laid out on your desk.
“I mean, I saw that guy, right?” Jeanie continues. “Physically, he is like an eleven out of ten. And from the way you describe his mannerisms, he is like a complete gentleman.”
“Right?” You cry, shoving all the papers in a drawer of your cubicle.
Normally, you don’t waste time worrying about your personal affairs at the workplace. This, however, is an exception. Jeanie was gone for a trip with her fiancé during the weekend, and you had to prepare for the upcoming company gala as well, so you spent the last two days glued to your laptop, drowning your pain in work and coffee.
“But you know, I kinda like how he turned you down. I mean, at least he is not a weirdo who jumps at the offer of getting into a young girl's pants, right? If Google is correct and he is 35 years old, that means he is a good nine years older than you. I am just surprised that he understood the problems of this dynamic.”
“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, slumping down on your chair. “Can you stop taking his side? He is so annoying. I wish I could just delete that guy from my mind.”
“Right, like that Kate Winslet movie.”
“Exactly,” you pause, noticing your boss coming towards your cubicle. “I’ll call you later.”
“Someone is worked up early in the morning,” Linda saunters over and leans against your cubicle. “And I know it is not work that has you stressed. So what is it?”
“I just um…” Got dumped by a hot dilf who is rich as fuck and hot as fuck and actually has a conscience. “It’s nothing.” You force a smile. "Just some personal stuff.”
“Mhm.” She hums. “If it’s a man, don’t worry too much. The right one will find his way to you.”
“Yeah,” you give her an awkward smile. Linda grins before turning on her heel, “Alright then. Conference room, five minutes. Bring those reports from the last quarter.”
—
It is the night of the gala.
This is by far Linda’s most ambitious project, throwing a party on this huge scale. The preparations leading up to this were absolutely crazy, and you have never seen everyone work so hard in your three years at this company, meticulously going through everything from the decorations to the guest list, which included every big name from CEOs to actors.
As the guests pour in, you walk behind Linda as her shadow, carrying an iPad in your hand as you tackle one guest after another, welcoming them and then moving on to the next. Halfway through, you feel your feet getting numb, and you wish you were at home dressed in your pajamas, eating takeout instead of being here, dressed in a satin gown and high heels, after working like a dog all week.
However, you soon realize things are going to get much worse for you. As Linda chats with a few investors, you spot Seungcheol, Choi Seungcheol, standing a few feet away, talking to a few other men with a smile on his face. You shift on your feet, trying to get a good look and make sure it is indeed him.
Yes, it is. Dressed in a navy blue three-piece suit, he looks like a million bucks and a flashing sign of your embarrassing history. As soon as Linda is done talking to her guests, you pull her away and whisper-yell, “Why is Choi Seungcheol here?”
“What do you mean? He was on the guest list.”
“I know but why is he here?”
Linda blinks, registering your words. She whips her head around, whispering, “Holy shit, he is here. He has never attended these parties…ever!”
“Exactly!” You hiss.
“This really is our lucky year,” Linda murmurs before heading towards him in determined strides. “No!” You yelp softly, shifting left and right, thinking of a way to escape, knowing very well that there is none. With your head down, you trail after her, standing behind her to avoid making eye contact. After a brief chat, your boss introduces you to Seungcheol, forcing you to look at him.
His eyes lock with yours, and you freeze, panicking. Should you pretend not to know him? He saves you from the trouble and, shockingly, says, “Yes, I know her.”
Your boss is surprised. “Really? How?”
Oh fuck. “Um…” your voice catches in your throat, but he takes the lead. “We met at a Dodgers game a couple of weeks ago. My nephew spilled juice over her, so it was a whole thing.” He chuckles, playing it off, and you nod, smiling along.
Your boss laughs, saying something to him, but you zone out, too caught up with what just happened. He could have pretended not to know you. What was even the point of sharing all that? Now you cannot even ignore him without looking suspicious because you are supposed to know each other.
Can you not catch a break?
Linda is suddenly called away by a couple of people, and she leaves you with Seungcheol, saying, “Keep him company, will you?” With a squeeze on your shoulder, she is gone. You don't dare to turn around and look at him, thinking about ways to smoothly run away, but he stops those thoughts immediately by grabbing your wrist and spinning you around to face him.
Holy shit. He is too close to you. So close that you smell his cologne, feel his breath on your skin. Your breath stutters. “What are you doing?”
“I have been wanting to talk to you all evening.” He says, his voice soft, his gaze devoted to your face. Your body aflame, you manage to free his grip on your waist. “Okay, what can I help you with?”
“Let’s talk somewhere private.”
“I cannot. I am working.”
“10 minutes.”
“I am busy, Seungcheol. My boss is the host of this party.”
“5 minutes.”
You bite your lower lip, your train of thought scattering as your eyes fall on his lips. “After dinner.” You manage to whisper, eyes still glued to his lips. You know he is looking at you, but you find it much harder to meet his eyes than being caught ogling him.
“You look very beautiful.” He murmurs close to your ear. You swallow, your fingers clenching the device. Why is he behaving like this? One moment, he is cold, and the next, he is all up against you, whispering things in your ear. His behaviour utterly confuses you, and you cannot help but think he is playing with you.
“Enjoy the party, Mr. Choi,” you state, turning away immediately, your heart galloping like a racehorse in your chest.
—
You have dinner at the same table. He sits right next to you, facing Linda and a few other important guests. It is stifling, being so close to him, and so dinner goes by in a blur for you. All the food tastes the same, and you have a hard time digesting everything, too wired at the reminder that you will see him alone later.
That moment comes in a flash, as the dessert plates are cleared away and the guest starts leaving the tables. You stand up, hoping to get a moment by yourself at the ladies' room, but Seungcheol springs up immediately.
“Is it okay if I steal ___ now?” He asks Linda without any hesitation the moment dinner is over. His hand is casually against the small of your back, ready to whisk you away as you stand by his side, tense. Linda looks at him and then you, and you see a knowing smile bloom on her lips. She probably thinks you are sleeping with him.
Ugh. You want to dig a hole and stay inside forever.
“Of course. I had her work a lot the entire night. She is all yours now, Seungcheol.” She assures, and you don’t miss the loadedness in her voice. As Seungcheol ushers you away, Linda winks at you, and you stare at her until she is out of sight, utterly gobsmacked. In silence, Seungcheol leads you towards the elevators.
“Where are we going?” You peer at him in perplexity as the doors close and he presses the button to the basement.
“Home.” He replies decidedly, leaving you stunned. Half dazed in shock, you follow him into his BMW, quietly taking a seat in the passenger seat. He is quick to strap himself in and start the engine, pulling out of the parking with a deep rumble of the engine.
“I’m sure the irony is not lost on you.” You comment, your eyes trained on the window, still marvelling at the ludicrous events of the evening. The universe is out to test you tonight.
“Huh?” He glances at you.
“Mr. Choi, the last time we met, we had dinner, and after that, I asked if I could date you. Do you remember what your reply was?” You turn your head and direct your gaze at him, your eyes narrowed and sharp, matching the bite in your voice. The man next to you remains silent, clenching his jaw.
You continue. “You said I was too young for you. And now, a week later, you—the man who rarely attends any parties—show up to my company’s gala and, without explanation, kidnap me.”
“I did not kidnap you.” He clarifies.
“Ugh,” you close your eyes shut, rubbing your temples. “What is it that you want, Mr. Choi?” You finally breathe out a long sigh.
“First of all,” he glances at you, his gaze stern, “stop calling me that. You never called me that.”
“Well, the only relationship we have now is professional.” You quip, crossing your arms and looking out the window.
“Whatever,” he huffs, his tone impatient. “Don’t call me that.”
Silence.
The SUV carries on through the sparse streets, the night sky drifting by overhead.
“And, I regret what I said that night.” He adds after a pause.
You shift, turning your head back to look at him. His face stays unreadable, eyes focused ahead on the street. You swallow a sudden lump in your throat, staring at him for a few moments, watching the city lights reflect on his handsome face. “I don’t believe that,” you mutter, your voice much softer than before, focusing your eyes out of the window.
“I understand. I hope I can change your mind.” He says, his voice tender, but you choose not to reply. The scenery shifts as you slip into the richer side of the town, sleek towers rising overhead, tall and glittering, the wide roads stretched out in hushed emptiness. A couple of minutes later, he pulls into the underground parking of a sleek skyscraper, the security gates parting smoothly at his pass, and parks the BMW in his assigned spot.
Quickly, he gets out of the car and jogs over to hold your door open for you as you gather your purse and fix the strap of your heels. Then, you silently follow him to the elevator, which takes you all the way to the penthouse, the doors opening to reveal a grand foyer. The place is dusted in brown, cream, grey and black, tasteful and meticulously chosen pieces that sit in perfect harmony. You are drawn to the beautiful grand piano placed by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and as Seungcheol fixes him a drink, you walk over to the instrument, tracing your fingertips on the shiny surface.
“Would you like something to drink?” He calls.
“Just water,” you reply, slowly padding over to the windows, admiring the breathtaking view of the city skyline.
A moment later, he returns, placing your mug of water on the coffee table with a soft thud, his whiskey in his left hand as he walks towards the end of the foyer and to some other part of the huge apartment. He returns a couple of minutes later, carrying something with him.
“Here you go.” He holds out his hand to you. It is a physical album of Woozi’s latest release, his autograph scrawled over the cover, directed to you. Seungcheol sits down next to you on the couch and takes a sip of his drink, “Got it signed for you a couple of days ago.”
You hold the album in your hands, trying not to appear too gleeful. “That is really kind of you, but I don’t think I can accept this.”
“You always have a hard time accepting gifts from me.” He states matter-of-factly, his eyes laser-focused on you. You sigh. “Because we never had a relationship where it could be easy or normal,” you reply, setting the album down and taking a sip.
“Right,” he murmurs and then empties the glass of whiskey before setting it on the coffee table. “Would you like a tour?”
You look at him for a moment. “Why am I here, Seungcheol?”
He exhales a loud breath, running his hands through his spiky blond hair and staring at the ground. “I…I’m sorry. I was being avoidant. I wanted to apologize for my behaviour that night and…I wanted to talk to you.”
You sit back on the couch, shifting your body to better face him. “Go ahead then.”
“God,” he groans, sitting up and looking at you. “I don’t know how to do this without sounding weird…but I regret letting you go that night.”
You snort sarcastically. “What made you change your mind? Suddenly you found me attractive?”
His gaze shifts, his eyes suddenly becoming darker. “You have misunderstood me. I thought you were attractive the moment I laid eyes on you.”
His words set your heart on fire, but you keep your guard up. “Well, you never expressed that. That night, during dinner, I really thought you would make a move because I kept dropping hints, but you were so…polite and professional and distant.”
“I was holding myself back.” He whispers, his eyes set on you at an intensity that gives you goosebumps.
“From what?”
“From this. I thought I could forget you. Ignore my feelings for you, but I cannot, and I hate myself for it.”
You frown, “Is being attracted to me that bad?”
He smirks, shaking his head as he unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. “If you could read my mind, you would hate me too.” He pauses, setting his eyes on you once more. Involuntarily, your toes curl and your stomach dips and suddenly, the air is too thick to breathe in. “The things I want to do to you…I know for a fact you have never dated someone like me, and that is a good thing. You know why?”
“Why?” Your voice is feather light. He leans closer to you, “Because I am very, very possessive. Especially about the things I like. But you know what the real danger was? The way you looked at me that day in the stadium and the way you are looking at me now.”
“Which is?” You croak.
“Like you want me to rip your clothes off and fuck you right here. It drives me insane...the way you keep eye-fucking me.”
Yeah, you might have had an orgasm just from his words. Also, it looks like you were not so subtle after all.
You look away, your face flushed with heat, sweat beading on your temples. Seungcheol’s arm reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek to force your eyes back on him. “I know for a fact that you want me and god, do I want you. I want to do a lot of things to you, and when I remember how older I am compared—”
“I like older guys.” You speak without thinking. He pauses, the look in his eyes shifting into something more feral. You add, “Believe it or not, you are my ideal type. A DILF.”
He blinks, “DILF?”
A chuckle slips past your lips. Right, he would not know that. “Daddy-I-would-like-to-fuck.”
He throws his head back and laughs, easing the tension in the air. “See? This is why I said no to you. Our worlds are too different. I am too old for you.”
Feeling much more at ease with yourself, you scoot closer to him, pressing your body against his and putting a hand on his. “I think you would be perfect for me. Besides, we won’t know if we don’t try. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t.”
His eyes are dark and sincere when he whispers, “I don’t think I could ever let you go.”
Your stomach does backflips, and you have to hold back a grin. “Good. That makes the two of us.” Craning your head upwards, you slowly let your eyes fall closed, murmuring, “Will you kiss me now?”
His lips are on yours immediately. He shoves his tongue inside you, tasting your mouth like a starved man while his hands envelop your body, feeling every inch of your skin. The warmth from his body and the movement of his lips against yours blankets you in an addictive sense of comfort and desire—like you always belonged here. Your body submits, relaxing against his as you let yourself feel every bit of the sensations. When he pulls away, the space between the two of you charges with tension, the heat increasing with the way his eyes bore into yours.
“I wanted to do that since this evening.” He breathes, his voice gruff.
“Just this evening?” You tease, catching your breath. Your lips are swollen, his bruising kiss lingering on your lips as you unconsciously lick them, trapped in the dark pools of his eyes. With a huff, he stands up and suddenly picks you up in his arms, carrying you away towards the bedroom. “You will get the tour later,” he announces, as you cling onto him, mortified at how easily he is carrying you in his arms.
He takes you to his bedroom, setting you down on the bed with a soft thump and quickly works on undoing his shirt. The view is a feast for your eyes as you unashamedly drink him in, letting your eyes slowly trail over his abs, his unbelievably broad chest and even broader shoulders.
Girl dinner or whatever they call it.
Left only in his boxers, he climbs on the bed, his hands reaching for you, his fingers tracing your back before pulling down the zipper of your dress. While his fingers do their job, his lips find yours, kissing and sucking, his tongue intertwined with yours, swallowing your moans. Your fingers grip his bicep, feeling the muscles flex underneath your skin, and you have to press your thighs together, trying to ignore the discomfort of your panties sticking to your skin.
Seungcheol helps you take off the dress, leaving you in your bra and panties only as goosebumps break onto your skin. Once again, you reconnect your lips to his, your hands pulling down his boxers while he undoes your bra. Shamelessly, you cup his length in your hands, your fingers tracing over the soft skin before giving it a few slow, deliberate strokes. The man groans against your lips and the sound goes straight between your legs, giving you an idea.
“I want to suck you off.” You announce, pulling back from his lips, your hazy eyes matching his.
“What?” He blinks. You get to work, gently pushing him off the bed until he is on his feet, kicking away his boxers, and then you are on your knees in front of him. He is thick, girthy and hard and as intimidating as it looks, you cannot wait to have it inside you, both in your mouth and your pussy.
“Fuck,” you hear him curse under his breath, his hands snaking around your head to remove the hairs from your face and hold them back. With a determined exhale, your tongue darts out, giving his tip a kittenish lick before sucking the tip of his cock.
Seungcheol throws back his head in a loud groan. Fueled by his reaction, you keep on going, taking deeper in your mouth, your tongue swirling around his member. His grip on your hair tightens as you continue sucking, covering more of his length, adding an inch bit by bit to get used to the feeling of him in your mouth. Soon, he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth in shallow movements, your hands coming to rest on his hips to balance yourself.
“Fuck, you look so hot like this,” he pants, his eyes trained on your face, your swollen, spit-coated lips wrapped around his length as you look up at him with doe eyes. “You are going to drive me insane, fuck.” He grunts, increasing his pace, his thick length going deeper and making you gag, the filthy sound of him hitting the back of your throat, his length slick with saliva and pre cum echoing through the otherwise quiet room. The heat between your legs is almost too much to bear, the thought of him buried inside you driving you wild, making you press your thighs together to ease the ache.
“You need to stop, baby.” Seungcheol pants, his grip on you fastening. “I need to fuck you right now. The only place I will be cumming is your tight pussy.
Oh god. You take your mouth off his length, inhaling large gulps of air as he places you back on the bed. Pushing you down, he peels off your panties, and you don’t miss the way his eyes flash seeing the wet spot in the fabric. Empowered by his reaction, you give him a seductive smile and open your legs wide, giving him an unrestricted view. “Well then, hurry up, old man.”
His jaw tightens, matching his grip on your thighs. “I swear to god, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
“Promises, promises.” You tease, biting your lip. “I did not know you were such a brat. Looks like I have to teach you a lesson.” He murmurs and then lands a slap right on your clit.
“Fuck!” You fall back on the bed, the slap ringing through your entire nervous system, your body twitching. “You like that, little brat?” He lands another, much harder slap on your clit, and you swear you see stars. Tears bead in your eyes, your toes curling, and your body arching off the bed as you moan louder and louder. He gives you a few more slaps, each one stronger than the last, blurring your mind with an addictive combination of pain and pleasure so intense, it is unlike anything you have ever felt before. By the time he stops, you are out of breath and motionless on the ground, a drop of tear rolling down your eye as you stare at the ceiling and pant.
Smirking at your state, he climbs on top of you and grabs your wrists, pins them above your head. Lazily, he whispers in your ear, “If you want me to fuck you, you’re gonna be a good girl. Is that clear?” You answer him with a slow nod, but he isn’t satisfied as he lands a sudden slap on your breast this time, making you squeal. “Yes. I’m sorry!” You heave for breaths, pussy throbbing from his rough treatment.
“Good girl,” he praises, placing a soft kiss on your cheek before lining his cock up to your entrance, intense eyes watching you as he whispers, “Take a deep breath, baby.” You nod as you feel him entering you, his girth taking up every inch of space inside you. Your jaw hangs loose as he keeps going deeper, making you feel like you're on the brink of exploding. A tinge of pain and a lot more pleasure surge through you, but what steals most of your focus is how incredibly full you feel.
“Fuck, you are going to be the death of me,” he hisses, gritting his teeth as he keeps pushing inside steadily, and you wonder just how big his cock is when it finally stops. Pausing for a moment, he pulls back slowly until his tip rests inside you, and then he thrusts so hard that you scream out loud as he hits that spot inside you. “Fucking hell, you are so tight.” He pants, his warm breath hitting the side of your face. His grip on your wrists loosens, and you use that to free your hands and bring them around his body, pulling him closer and closer to you.
“Shit,” you shudder, head full of bliss as your mouth hangs open in pleasure. The ethereal sight of him on top of you, sweaty, full of desire and determination, has you clenching around him. You wrap your arms tightly around his back, your fingernails digging into his skin as he increases his pace. “Harder,” you beg almost mindlessly.
“Yeah? You want more, baby?”
You hold onto him tighter. “Yes, please.” You whine, clinging to him. He grunts, doubling his pace if that’s even possible. You feel like you are gonna break into two, in the best possible way, as he keeps hitting your sweet spot that has you moaning so loud it overpowers the squeaking of the bed.
“Say my name. Who’s making you feel this good?” He hisses in your ear, thrusting erratically, his grip bruise-like on your body. “You, Seungcheol! Please, I’m gonna cum!” You cry, your body twitching and tensing, the coil in your belly about to snap.
“Yeah? Cum then. Choke my cock. Milk it dry.” He bites your earlobe as one of his hands reaches down to circle your clit in tight motions, making you shudder violently. The coil in your belly snaps, and with a raw scream of his name, you come, pussy spasming around his length as wetness gushes out of you. On top of you, Seungcheol continues his ruthless pace, his thrusts slicker because of your wetness and even harder than before, to the point you worry the bed will break. He’s merciless, continuing his torture on your clit even after you come, and the oversensitivity settles. “Seungcheol, please…” You plead, absolutely drained. “One more. You can do one more, baby. Come with me,” he pants, whispering, “Let me fill this tight hole up.”
“Oh god,” You clench around him, delirious. The thought of him filling you up sends your body into overdrive as he pinches your clit, making you come once more with a scream of his name. The orgasm ripples through you like an earthquake, shaking your whole body and making your toes curl as your fingernails dig into his back. He orgasms with you, warm spurts of his seed filling you up continuously, so much that some of it leaks out. He slumps down on the bed, lying next to you, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you close. You float between reality and dreamland for a while, catching your breath and lying completely still, your brain chemistry permanently altered.
A while later, Seungcheol helps you clean up before dragging you back to bed, his arms wrapped around you tightly as he spoons you from behind.
“You okay?”
“I think I died and went to heaven,” You whisper, eyes closed. The man softly chuckles behind you, and you almost find it annoying how attractive that simple action is. “Remember how you were saying you could never let me go?” You mumble. “It is I who will not be letting you go. I will lock you up and keep you all to myself.” You know he is smiling as he wraps his arms tighter around you and nuzzles your neck. “Good. That’s where I would rather be.”
Turning around, you cup his cheeks and pull him in for a kiss, his arms enveloping you, his fingers tracing your upper back and your waist as his tongue finds its way inside your mouth. Looks like round two is about to start.
For a bonus, extra special scene, click here or head over to my Patreon! This work is cross-posted on AO3. Please support me over there as I recently opened my account!
a/n 2: atp, just call me a cheol fic blog because he's all I'm writing about. no worries, the next fic i am working on is a DK fic which will probably come out in october end or november. anyway, this was a purely self indulgent fic lol so thank you for reading this filth. i can never write pwp because somehow, the lore ends up being too long. still, thank you for making it till the end and i would love it if you left a comment and reblogged! thank you for your time and until next time, stay safe!
on a separate note, please keep yourself updated with the current state of the world, esp the ongoing genoc!de and wars. free 🇵🇸🇸🇩🇨🇩
Pairing: demon!Kwon Soonyoung x f! grad student reader
Genre: smut, a smidge of angst, urban fantasy/dark academia
warnings: fingering, finger sucking, hoshi drinks her blood? but not really, oral (f and m receiving), spitting, dirty talk, chan makes an appearance and then gets dogged by hoshi, brief mentions of threesome, unprotected sex, cream pie, cum eating, multiple smut scenes, wet dreams, death (not main characters), occult shit
Length: ~11k
Note: as every fic this started as plotless smut and then turned into whatever the hell it is now. thank u @sailorsoons and @gyuswhore for being my betas, and @100vern for the banner. i haven't written anything and months so i'm a bit rusty. inspired by ninth house/hell bent by leigh bardugo
summary: You didn't mean to summon him but your demon is dedicated to serving you anyway he can.
m.list
This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.
You didn’t mean to.
The incantation you studied for nearly six months was perfect. In no way, shape, or form should the ritual have gone awry even if stray magic emerged. At worst, nothing should have happened. You’d should’ve ended up with an empty summoning circle, wasted materials that would need to be vacuumed up. At best, you’d have a servitor ready to assist with the more mundane parts of your thesis research.
As with every ritual, you drew the proper wards in salt and bone ash, some graveyard dirt on hand just in case. You had the knife, ready to sacrifice a few drops of blood for such a useful creation.
You recited the incantation, pricked your finger and then…
Nothing.
The sulfurous stench occult didn’t flood the room, the wards didn’t even manage a flickering glow. The candle flames didn’t even wince.
Utter failure.
You were too tired to do much more than release a choked scream in frustration before blowing out the candles and running upstairs.
Tomorrow you’d study the ancient manuscript for what you missed and try again. You just needed some sleep first.
You barely managed a few hours when you wake up with the distinct feeling something was wrong.
Everyone else left for winter break, leaving you alone with a mountain of books and articles to skim for the thesis you’ve been writing for years. It’s why you need a servitor to begin with; there was too much work to be done and simply not enough time.
No one should be in the house, but you got the distinct feeling someone, or something, was.
Only the noise of the house rang through your ears, the creak of the floor boards, the wind battering against the windows. The occasional owl calling from the tree outside the window of the living room on the ground floor. You swiped a knife from the kitchen and one of the spare jars of graveyard dirt before heading downstairs.
What a terrifying image you portrayed: a raggedy university sweater and pajama pants, dark circle bruised beneath your eyes, and a dirty kitchen knife.
None of it mattered.
The sharp scent of magic clouded the air at the bottom of the steps leading to the basement, thick as a curtain. But it wasn’t the rotten scent you were accustomed to. It was heavier with the sickly sweetness of flowers, like a poisonous bloom attempting to lure you in.
And what would want to lure prey into a trap more than a predator?
Standing in the circle was a man, but he was too perfect to be just a man. Gold flowed through his veins, illuminating him from the inside out. His eyes glowed like honey as he stared at you, watching. Waiting.
You were so distracted by his eyes you barely realized he was naked. He didn’t seem to care either, or register the fact he’s hard and you could see the way his length bobbed between his thighs.
Embarrassment didn’t have a chance to take root because he said your name just as sweet as the flower smelled.
You launched the jar of dirt at him in shock, the bottle shattering into a thousand pieces at his feet. The man made no move to avoid the explosion, didn’t disappear like the undead usually did when confronted with the reminder that they were no longer of the living. He didn’t even blink.
“What are you?” you shouted, brandishing the knife as if that could do anything. He was in the circle, that was safe enough for now.
“Yours.”
“That’s not,” you start, breathless. “What are you?”
“I’m…” He struggled with the words to explain his purpose.
You tried to keep your eyes level with his but miles of bare, tan skin, with taunt muscles corded underneath proved too tempting. A few silver scars littered his body, indecipherable in the light and the passage of time. He was much older than you could even begin to imagine; this form only the briefest glimpse of his actual power.
“I’m a servant.”
“You’re the servitor I summoned?”
The manuscript you studied didn’t specify what a servitor looked like, only that it would serve its summoner with whatever tasks it was assigned.
He nodded widely. “I’m meant to serve whoever I’m bound to.”
“And now you’re bound to me.”
“Yes,” he swallowed. For the first time, he seemed to realize he’s naked but continued to be unbothered by it. His palm shakily grazed over himself before curling around his thighs.
Other passages from your reading came to mind as you forced your gaze away.
Bind your servitor to their duties as soon as possible, they don’t do well without direction.
They are eager to please and are capable of any task their summoner presents them with.
“We need…” you swallowed, trying to hide the squeak in your voice. “We need to make a deal.”
He nodded.
“You have to follow all of my commands.”
“Of course.”
“If you don’t,” you stuttered, grasping at straws for a threat. “I–I’ll banish you to a demiplane.”
His head tilted to the side, eyes pouring down your figure. Perhaps the stains of your sweater weren’t intimidating to him, but you held the power. He was still stuck in the circle, and you could send him away with a few words. Either he listened or turned back into nothing. Or worse; stuck in a demiplane with no purpose for the rest of time.
“Whatever you tell me to do, I’ll do,” he rasped.
“Good. Give me your name.”
“Hoshi.”
You almost settled for that but something told you that wasn’t right. Occult creatures weren’t predisposed to honesty no matter how simple minded.
“Your true name,” you commanded.
He watched you for a long moment, eyes fading from gold to brown. Human eyes. Something familiar flickered in them when he said, “Soonyoung.”
As you repeated it, he shivered, a strangled inhale to match. You didn’t mean to, but a quick glance down showed he was still hard and leaking. Obscenely so. To the point it mixed with the circle drawn on the floor.
“Swear to do everything I say, and to never disobey me,” you said, eyes fixed on his, now golden once again.
“I swear to follow your every command, exactly as you say them.”
“And…”
“And to never disobey you or betray you. I bind myself to you, and anything you wish of me,” he vowed. Soonyoung attempted to take a step forward but stopped once he realized the circle was unbreakable.
Something wasn’t right. Soonyoung seemed like he wanted to tell you more, but you needed to ask the right questions. You knew what the question was, and that made you dread it all the more.
“You’re not a servitor at all, are you?”
Soonyoung rolled his shoulders, his muscles shifting and flexing with the motion. He seemed to grow taller, take up more space with the action as if only a fraction of his true form existed in front of you and the rest hid out of sight. “No.”
“Then what are you?”
“I think you know what I am.”
Since childhood you managed to summon all types of beings: spirits, a few hellhounds, a shade that left your mother locked in her room for weeks, refusing to see you. They appeared whether you called on them or not, flocking to you like a beacon. Summoning had never been your forte and now was no exception. But Soonyoung wasn’t like anything you accidentally called before.
A demon.
A demon who gave you his name and bound himself in service. To you.
Horrified, you rushed back up the way you came, the worn edges of the stairs bruising your knees as you tripped. If Soonyoung was truly a demon, then the wards would only keep him trapped for so long and the last place you need to be was next to him when he escaped. Profound relief greeted you once you were safely tucked back upstairs knowing that he hadn’t followed.
And perhaps a trickle of disappointment.
The dreams started a few nights after Soonyoung got stuck.
Stuck was the only way to describe him. Sandwiched between this world and the next, trapped in that tiny circle in the ritual room like a chained animal. He couldn’t leave the circle anymore than you could send him back where he belonged. You didn’t plan to conjure a demon with the incantation, which means you didn’t have a plan to banish him either. What had been done needed to be undone the exact same way, without error. Which meant late nights reading the same books you studied for weeks leading up to summoning the servitor, looking for any clue as to what went wrong; if it was the words, or materials, or anything else seemingly inconsequential. But no amount of reading gave you a clue because you followed the ritual to the exact letter.
He proved no help in the beginning, simply staring at you after each question about what he was and how he got here. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up each time you ventured to the ritual room for a new book, no matter how you tried to ignore his presence. He studied you with hunger
Then the dreams started.
They always began the same: you waking in bed, the aching in your core demanding attention. And then you’d be in the ritual room, or still in bed, occasionally in the archival library. You looked for something, someone. He was always there too. Soonyoung would pin you to the bookcase, down into the sheets, or against the floor boards so hard it hurt.
It was his teeth biting along your hips.
His lips sucking bruises into your thighs.
His tongue working over you in heavy strips; from your ankle, between your legs, across your breasts, caressing the sensitive flesh of your neck.
His voice crying your name, desperate pleas for something. To touch him too. To reveal in the bliss he so freely gifted.
Soonyoung knew how to touch you, skillfully working you into a pitiful mess every night. He knew exactly how your body worked, what you needed, all the tender spots to abuse until you begged him to stop.Every dream ended the same: you alone, overly aware who waits in the basement, unable to shake the feeling he knew and his pleas in your dream was for you to join him and make them reality.
Two weeks passed and you stood no closer to banishing Soonyoung than you were curing cancer. Perhaps closer to the latter.
You’ve all but ceased visits to the ritual room since he decided to finally speak. Soonyoung stared at you every time you entered the chamber. Even after weeks he did nothing to hide his arousal. The sweatpants you dug out only hide the plain view of his cock, not the fact he’s hard or the fact he wanted you to look.
They do nothing to muffle how he watched your every move, the heat of his gaze burning down to your core. Like he’s studying you, figuring out any sign of weakness, what made you tick.
“If you’re stuck here, you might as well work,” you said, approaching him. Magic had a unique smell. Stale smoke and rot. This close you realized Soonyoung didn’t smell like the magic you were used to. He smelled like old paper and night air, the richness curled around you and tempted you to take another step closer to him.
Your demon watched as you shuffled forward, eyes glued to your hands. “How?”
“Read this. I don’t have time to figure out how to banish you and continue my research.”
You handed him the leather bound tome through the circle without losing your hand, ready to release it the second it passed into his domain, but Soonyoung was faster. He snatched the book, pulling you in up to your elbow. Your wrist snared between his fingers, his tongue on your palm.
“My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie, How blest am I in this discovering thee, To enter in these bonds, is to be free; Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.”
He licked between your fingers, sucked one into the hot swell of his mouth. The prickle of his teeth vibrated to your core.
“You taste amazing,” he moaned, eyes slipping shut. He followed the arch of your thumb, tonguing at the bare skin of your wrist between his fingers. “Better than those dreams.”
That snapped you out of whatever lust-fueled trance he put you under. Snatching back your hand, Soonyoung blinked as if he too was put under a lull, but you couldn’t focus on that. You needed to be away. As far away as possible in the massive house. And even that wasn’t far enough.
You had a demon problem.
Winter break was almost over, which means students floating back to campus. And students back on campus meant Soonyoung couldn’t stay a secret much longer.
No one else could know. Summoning creatures was out of bounds even for a house that specialized in using the dead and demonic for their bidding. When the dean discovered a demon on campus the punishment would be tenfold that of if you did manage to summon a mindless servant.
After nights researching in other libraries on campus, buried under books so old they verged on crumbling, you had answers but you’re no closer to a solution.
A servant of Asmodeus. Lustful, sinful.
Soonyoung’s purpose was to serve whoever calls on him, but the fine print is that he is the embodiment of desire. Not exactly an incubus but not exactly anything else you could find either. There are basic ways to expel him: exorcisms, burning incense, birch branches. Though, all your research leaves more questions because the creatures described in text take the form of dead lovers and Soonyoung is like no one you’ve ever seen before.
The stress of research made the dreams worse.
Soonyoung on top of you, behind you, beneath you. The positions changed depending on where you found him, but he was always inside you. His fingers, his tongue. Untangling all your nerves until they exploded and then doing it again and again and again.
The one time you begged, salty tears streaking down your cheeks, he gave you his cock. Inch by inch until your ass sat flush with his hips, Soonyoung’s arms bracketing you on either side, his chest sticky against your back.
“Imagine how much better I can do,” he moaned into your hair, hips ripping the air from your lungs, “if you let me.”
Another week and no matter how much you avoided Soonyoung, his presence lingered like the chill of winter barking at the windows.
The dreams changed again. Still full of naked skin and debauched sounds, but sometimes you woke in his arms, limbs heavy and satiated as if you really did let him into your bed. He was still behind you, on top of you, beneath you but he curled around you like a soft blanket instead of a needful lover as he pulled you apart until you couldn’t breathe.
Soonyoung would whisper more poems in your ear, lips etching the words into your skin, gently rocking into you with sweet whimpers. No longer were you bound to just the house, your subconscious took you farther and farther; into fields and caves, castles and mansions; in the soft glow of sunrise and into the eye of hurricanes; and your bodies met again and again and again.
After, he’d pull you his chest, tracing the skin between your shoulder blades as you dozed off.
“She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright. Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow’d to that tender light. Which hell to gaudy day denies.”
“I don’t remember that being the line,” you hummed.
Soonyoung pressed his mouth to your hair, inhaling deeply before speaking. “Blasphemy won’t earn you favors down the line.”
“I think I’ve crossed the line too many times already…” you said, moving to straddle him. “What’s one more?”
After another round — Soonyoung fucking up into you while you held on for dear life, eager to take pleasure from someone so willing to give — he laid you back down and buried his face in your stomach.
“How could something as divine as you be a sin?”
You realized the dreams were as much his as they were yours.
A week is all you had to banish Soonyoung back to wherever he belonged.
In seven days, the other members of the house returned and shortly after that, they’d descend to the ritual room and find him. He needed to go home. The sooner the better.
After an entire day studying the necromancy texts kept in the archives, you moved to one of the other society houses, hoping their library proved more useful. None of them liked sharing their magic but it’s easy enough to lie your way in under the promise of noting anything useful. They’d rather have a bookworm pick through the fluff and regurgitate the most interesting pieces than look for answers themself.
Chan was no different but he liked to pretend demonomicons and dusty grimoires fascinated him if it meant you’d let him sit with you. Two dates and nothing more didn’t seem to deter him from trying for a third, if anything he seemed eager to prove he deserved another chance.
It was well beyond midnight when he offered to walk you home, frigid wind curling through the streets. Chan was the one struggling to keep up as you all but sprinted home.
“I could come inside,” Chan suggested with a hopeful look on his face.
“No,” you shouted. “I mean…I have to clean up before everyone comes back. It’s a complete mess.”
He nodded, pretending not to be embarrassed from your easy refusal. “Alright. Well, have a good night.”
Maybe he’s what you needed. A quick romp, something to clear your head. Someone to fulfill all the fantasies Soonyoung planted and let bloom for the past month.
“Actually,” you said. “Maybe you could come in. Just for a little bit.”
Chan’s inability to satisfy you had nothing to do with him. Even as he rolled into you, attentive to every embellished moan you rewarded him with, you had to remind yourself that it felt good. His fingers between you would make you cum, his lips on your neck would make your blood boil. The way he groaned around your name sounded divine.
But every time your eyes slipped shut, someone else was saying it. Someone else touched you, tasted you, fucked you. You felt Soonyoung’s hands on you, confident where Chan was clumsy, knowledgeable where Chan was a novice.
If Chan knew something was wrong, he didn’t let it show, leaving just as the sun rose with a bit more pep in his step.
You managed a few hours of sleep, dreams melting with reality. Chan in your bed, except it was Soonyoung’s throaty moans filling the air as you rode him. Then you sprawled between his legs, back to chest, while Chan took the space between your thighs. Soonyoung gripped his hair, pushing his face firmer against your pussy, guiding him exactly how you need to be touched. But when Chan failed to do a satisfactory job, Soonyoung shoved him out of the way and showed Chan how you like to be played with until you woke up with a cry.
An hour long cold shower left you with numb fingers but had no effect on what plagued your mind.
Two days buried in books and diaries to avoid sleep and finally you had a lead.
There’s something to be said for carnal desires, and those created in service to them. The only way to banish those beings mirrors one’s own methods for purification in times of rabid depravity. — Jeonghan Yoon, class of 1923
Soonyoung must be what Jeonghan referenced in his diary; what he was and how to get rid of him once and for all. The ritual room had an entire bookcase dedicated to exorcisms, both new and old texts mingling on the shelves. You already exhausted most of them but the earlier pages of the diary quoted a line in a demonomicon you pushed to the side; it’d only been twenty pages, all shuffled around in the worn binding.
Jukoth’s Daemonum.
The pages were online, the LED screen of your laptop presenting the neat script. They held no rituals or instructions. Merely classifications of demons, from kings of hell to lowly vampires. You knew the copy downstairs would be far more useful. Frustratingly, Jeonghan’s handwriting littered many of the house books, Jukoth’s Daemonum would no doubt be graffitied in the same fashion.
Soonyoung said he’d do whatever you asked. Perhaps he knew the ritual to send him back where he came from. If he didn’t, maybe he knew where to look for one.
Tip toeing down to the basement, your demon waited inside the circle of salt and wax just as you left him. The aura of gold had yet to fade. Soonyoung looked almost more punishingly beautiful here than in your dreams. The full force of his presence warned every part of you to go back upstairs, put up the safety of new wards added in the last few days, lock the door, and hide until you found a way to get rid of him.
But wasn’t that why you were here? In this very house, at this very university? Decades of illicit occult activities the university would never officially acknowledge, silenced by millions of alumni dollars to keep the houses open. Your research was valuable enough for a well funded PhD as long as there were results. Results you couldn’t obtain if your demon stuck around much longer.
Thumbing through Jeonghan’s diary, you looked for the page you read last night. Several other books were listed along with the demoniomicon; all stored in the basement. Eyes low, you entered the room and scurried to the bookshelf opposite the door, Soonyoung's gaze pierce into your back the entire way.
Each leather spine slipped under your finger, a clean streak left in the dust as you searched for what you needed. Whoever last organized the shelves, some new initiate decades ago most likely, didn’t have a knack for alphabetization. French, Latin and Greek translations were sandwiched in tightly, obscuring the titles.
The basement was silent, sans the creaks of the warped wood beneath your feet. You could almost pretend to be alone.
Almost.
“You smell like him.”
Jeonghan’s diary tumbled out of your hand onto the floor as you choked on a scream. “What?”
“Chan.” He spat the word, something animal and primal and full of disdain behind it. Soonyoung’s rage washed over you like a blast of heat. Of course he’d know Chan’s name, he knew everything.
“Oh,” you squeaked, cheeks heating. There was no reason to feel ashamed but you curdled like a scolded child. “Just a friend. He was helping me with research.”
“Did you tell him about me?” Possessiveness twined through his voice.
“Tell him what? That I have a demon in my basement I can’t get rid of? Of course not,” you scoff.
You flipped through Jeonghan’s journal, nearly tearing the pages in an effort to ignore your demon’s eyes raking over your skin.
“Did you tell him how wet you get when you have my tongue between your thighs?” he asked smugly. “Or how you like being taken from behind?”
“Shut up,” you whispered.
“I listened to the entire thing and never heard those little sighs you make right before you come. Did you fake it for him?”
“Stop.” You didn’t dare risk looking at him. You didn’t dare risk turning around and fleeing upstairs either. If you moved a muscle, you’d be lost.
“He didn’t help you at all, did he? You wanted me inste—”
“I said shut up!”
Your hand came down onto the bookshelf, knocking an ancient vase covered in dust to the floor where it splintered into a thousand pieces.
“Shit!”
Only in a pair of wool socks, you stood trapped, surrounded by jagged shards in the dim candle light. Soonyoung’s very own captive. Diving to the floor, you clumsily picked up pieces to clear a thin path. The splinters split the skin of your bare knees and fingers, ribbons of blood trickling down your skin.
The smell of night and incense washed over you as you worked in a trance. You needed out. Out of this room, out of this house, out of this town.
But the warm presence kneeling over you wiped those thoughts away.
“Let me see,” Soonyoung murmured, warm hands wrapping around your wrist.
“It hurts,” you whimpered, dropping all the pieces you so carefully collected. He felt warm, real. Solid. That rich smell of night washed back over you, urging you to dive into his bare chest and drown in it.
And you realized—
Soonyoung was out of his circle.
“You—”
“I’ll go back, if that’s what you want,” he whispered. Despite his promise, he nuzzled into your neck, inhaling deeply.
“You could leave the whole time?”
“You need something stronger than salt to keep something like me contained.”
“Like what?”
“Words,” he says, with no hint of amusement. “You do your work somewhere else. Why?”
“Because…”
“Because why? I can help you,” he whispered, pulling your hand to his mouth, waiting for you to pull away. When you didn’t, his tongue flicked out, lapping away your blood before sucking it into his mouth.
“I…” You faltered under his ministrations. Soonyoung’s tongue curled around your knuckle, his teeth teasing just enough to light a fire in your belly.
Realizing you couldn’t answer like this, he released your finger but moved on to licked across your palm before inhaling deeply.
“Because you’re still afraid of me,” Soonyoung sighed, disappointed. He rose to his full height, pulling you along. The movement gave you enough clarity to speak.
“You stare at me.”
He stared at you now. Past your rumpled pajamas and stretched out sweater, beyond the surface fear and annoyance he wouldn’t just go away. Soonyoung looked at you like he saw the very core of your entire soul.
“How could I not?”
You went silent.
“You know why I stare at you?” he pleaded, chest brushing against yours. He still held your hands, your blood making his grip slick and warm. “Because I don’t want to miss those moments when you look back.”
Soonyoung buried his face in your throat, lips tracing over your pulse. Tasting, teasing. “Every night, you cry in your sleep. For me. You beg me to touch you like I do in our dreams and I stay down here despite wanting nothing more than to bury my head between your legs like you need me to.” Instead of his tongue, his nose followed the curve of your shoulder, greedily inhaling your scent like it might evaporate. “I listened to him fuck you and it made me want to destroy the entire house. The entire town.”
With each word, you stepped back, Soonyoung quick to follow, his thigh slottied between your knees. With your eyes shut, it felt like all your shared dreams. You could pretend it was just another night of Soonyoung plaguing your subconscious as your back met the wooden bookcase, arching away from the dig of the shelves. All those useless manuscripts that failed to warn you, kept the secret of what Soonyoung was tightly bound up, were better used like this. For him to show you exactly what he was.
“You called me here. I’m yours. I’m always yours. Every time I’m yours.”
You squirmed in his hold, hips rutting against the muscle of this thigh. A step ahead, he flexed and pressed harder, enough to hurt in the best way. He was already hard. You knew what he looked like — what he felt like — beneath the pair of sweatpants you currently loathed, the draw string tied tight enough to prevent you from pulling them down in the haze of lust.
“The first day you summoned me, you asked me what I was made for.”
Your head tilted back against the bookcase, Soonyoung’s teeth razing into your neck. You wanted him to bite you and he knew it, digging his teeth in just enough to hear you moan before drawing back and moving to a new patch of revealed skin as he tugged down the collar of your sweater. Every rut against his thigh pulled you closer to the sun, you were Icarus and he was melting you into nothing. Maybe this was the only use those books would serve; a backdrop to using Soonyoung’s body like he wanted you to.
“I was made to do this,” he sighed, drawing in a long breath of your scent. “To please you, to serve you. To love you.”
“I—” you choked, hips curling into the muscle of his thigh. He was so close. Close enough to taste and feel and it was far better than any of the dreams. Better than anything before.
“I was made to fill this perfect,” his fingers squeezed your ass for emphasis, “fucking pussy until you can’t take anymore. Until you can’t think of anything else. Not your research, nothing. Just us.”
You were tempted to let him take you. On the floor, against the bookshelf, on the stairs because the bed was too far away. Fucking around the entire house, everything beyond where your bodies join burning into nothing. Every squeeze of his fingers, the raze of his teeth, pure gluttonous temptation to give in.
Wedging a hand between your bodies, twin sighs of relief mingled together. Your knees ached to buckle so you could taste him, the glass still scattered around the floor. The burn of his teeth on your throat answered your desperate plea to do just that.
Nimble fingers shoved your shorts and panties to the floor. If it was anyone else you’d be embarrassed at the sticky cling, but Soonyoung was made for this. He was made for you and only you.
Your mouth caught his roughly, eager to suck at the swell of his bottom lip for a distraction from the unbearable want.
You wanted his hand around your throat, forcing you to watch the mess between your thighs soak between fabric down to his skin. You wanted his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling hard enough your back bowed. But you couldn’t keep your eyes open at the soft pets to your clit.
You needed to touch him too. Scratching at his sides wasn’t enough to curb the potent need to feel all of him unfiltered through sleep. He just needed to give you enough space to do so.
A mangled wait just barely passed between your lips.
Woken from a trance, Soonyoung jumped away. His hair is a mess, chest heaving.
It was enough to send the consequences of whatever this was toppling down on you like a house of cards.
When you didn’t speak, he returned to his circle and faced the wall, back stretching over each ragged breath. He didn’t turn around as you pulled your bottoms back up, now cold and uncomfortable but you saw the way his hands flexed; the tremor he tried to hide. You shuffled away from the wall, only to realize too late that the vase would be a problem.
Or it would have been but the glass once littering on the floor sat back together on the shelf, the vase perfectly mended as if it never fell.
The isolation and darkness of winter break was catching up to you. It had to be. The lack of sleeping or eating as well. Your muddled senses had led you down this path without care for the consequences. and without Soonyoung seducing you, they became much sharper.
The entire night Soonyoung stayed downstairs, most likely fighting the same thoughts you were. He didn’t follow you upstairs. It’d only take a word, but you stayed quiet, tucked between the sheets, door locked as if that could stop him when fine tuned wards couldn’t.
The only proof of what happened was the teeth marks at the base of your throat and the mortification that even hiding in your room with new salt wards and ruins to keep him away, your fingers itched to take advantage of the wetness in your panties and finish what he started.
But for the first time since Soonyoung arrived, your dreams were filled with nothing.
Two days until campus came back to life and you remained hidden in your room. The first floor of the house was a makeshift no man’s land; an illusion of space between you and the demon waiting in the basement. Somehow you knew he hadn’t moved since you fled the other night, he hadn’t so much as made a sound.
His absence in your dreams was almost worse than his presence. You’re still looking for him; searching the house, bumbling through a maze, calling for him on the shores of the beaches you two tangled at before. But he never answered. Like some demented game of hide and seek, he evaded you even though you knew he’s somewhere watching. Waiting for something.
Every morning, you woke up more aggravated than before. Sweaty and confused, frustrated because you were just on the verge of finally catching him before your alarm went off.
Jeonghan’s notes in the demonomicon, and Soonyoung's explanation that night in the ritual room tangle together until you finally have an answer.
Command him to return to hell, and he will.
Overly simple. Embarrassingly obvious you didn’t consider it. A command would get rid of him entirely. Forever.
But even with the knowledge, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.
You wanted him to stay.
Which meant he had to go.
You woke up a sweaty, pitiful mess. Soonyoung remained hidden in your dreams but the seed of want continued to bloom, choking out any other desires you might have. You couldn’t breathe without remembering his scent, couldn’t look in the mirror without imagining how his body would look draped over yours as you both watched your reflections move together.
You wanted him.
You needed him.
It was a slow start. You didn’t remove all your clothes, just pushed your shirt up and your panties to the side. Somehow that would be admitting defeat but not the careful way you retraced Soonyoung’s path. Pinching where he pinched, squeeze at your breasts like with the same force he did. Your hips ground down, desperate for something after so many weeks of torture.
You fucked yourself in jerky strokes, dedicated to pretending it’s as satisfying as when he did it. Three fingers don’t substitute for even one of his.
You didn’t care anymore. If this damned you to hell for all eternity then at least you’d have Soonyoung there to make it worth it.
“Soonyoung,” you whimpered, beckoning him from the basement where you knew he listened.
When you opened your eyes, your demon waited at the foot of the bed.
“Tell me what you need,” he demanded, crawling over you. Soonyoung followed a frustrated tear as it streaked across your cheek only to kiss it away. “Tell me what you need. Please.”
“You.”
There was no fear here, only the relief of his lips on yours. You sighed in relief as your hands found his skin and cataloged every curve and dip. He tried to take off your shirt but you wouldn’t release him, forcing him to rip it into ribbons of fabric instead.
“Dreamed of this,” he moaned, nipping at your chin before descending to your breasts.
Your hips kicked at the sting of his teeth. “I know.”
“You don’t,” he said as he kissed over to your neglected breast, pinching at your nipple. “You can’t.”
“Show me,” you commanded.
Visions flashed in your head: Soonyoung curled on the rug in front of a fire, chin on your stomach as you cried at some silly joke; floating in a deep lake with you tangled around his back, counting the freckles sprinkled over his shoulders from the sun. Fingers intertwined under a full moon.
Distracted by his dreams, you didn’t realize he settled between your legs, the thin pajamas tattered on the floor. His fingers pressed your legs apart. Completely bare. All for him as Soonyoung traced the crease of your thigh with his teeth.
“I’m yours,” he murmured again and again.
“Mine,” you answered.
Soonyoung lapped between your legs like a starved animal, whimpering at the taste of you. His fingers twisted, welcomed by the soaked warmth of your walls. Nothing would ever replace the intoxicating bliss of how perfectly he was made for your body.
“Oh god,” you moaned before wincing from a punishing bite to your thigh, hard enough to draw blood. But Soonyoung sucked away the mess and returned to your clit.
You’re covered in sweat, hot to the touch from his touch and freezing from the chill in the air.
“That’s right,” he moans. “Touch yourself like I do.”
Head falling back, you tweaked your nipples still wet with his spit. His unused hand snaked possessively up your chest, pinning you to the mattress while splaying you on his fingers. You rocked into the dull throb of it.
“Soonyoung, fuck,” you hissed, hand tangling with his. He sucked your clit hard enough to break you.
The rush of your orgasm blasted through every pore. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room to keep you afloat, inky splotches staining your vision. Sweat whimpers turn to pitchy whines as he whispered dulcet praises between each punishing suck to your sensitive clit.
You shoved him to his back, surprised by your own strength until realizing Soonyoung was merely eager to do exactly what you wanted him to do just as you were for him.
His cock shined in the light filtering in through the window, wet with arousal and so hard you’re tempted to skip this and plant yourself on his lap and never leave. You would. Eventually.
You took him into your mouth, sighing at the weight against your tongue, eyes slipping shut. This was a rare occurrence in all the shared dreams. All of them were your demon serving you like he promised, focused on your pleasure at his hand. Now, you wanted to reward him.
Soonyoung might be from hell but his groans sounded like pure heaven. You swallowed down what you could, unafraid of the consequences if it meant hearing him sigh your name again.
When you looked up, Soonyoung was already watching, eyes glued to his cock disappearing between your lips. He stroked your hair gently. You appreciated the sentiment but you didn’t need him to be sweet. You needed him as desperate as you felt.
Soonyoung continued to stare and you stared right back. A demon rendered speechless. He’d done so well, snuffed the clawing ache in your veins temporarily. You wanted to reward him. Show him how much you cared even if he was something otherworldly.
He wanted the moments you looked back and you would give him that in spades.
His cock sat pretty in your hand, glossed in spit and his own need, throbbing with each tight stroke. Every pass allowed you to take him deeper until you choked.
“Angel, fuck, look at you,” he panted.
Yes, you thought. Look at me. Never stop looking at me.
You drew out the next stroke, moaning at the taste of him. It’s all so much better than you imagined it would be but the euphoria didn’t last long enough. Soonyoung pawed at your face, fingers wet against your cheeks, your own arousal smeared against your jaw as he dragged you into a kiss. He knocked your hands away when you attempted to keep stroking him. His mouth tasted like you.
The room filled with desperate pants. Soonyoung pinned you to the bed, wrists caged in one hand, the other titling your chin for more languid kisses. You lit up inside, his glow consuming you as well.
Hours or days passed like that: pathetically rutting against each other, whimpering for more each time the friction was too much. Your ankles linked over his hips, encouraging him to finally make those dreams real but Soonyoung had a millennium of patience on his side.
“You deserve this.” He nipped along your neck, sucked the delicate skin beneath your ear until your pulse sped up.
“Soonyoung,” you whimpered, tears blooming. You thrashed in his hold, nails scratching at his hands frantically, humping down against in hopes he’d give you something. But your strength was no match for a demon’s.
“Say it,” he commanded. “Tell me you deserve this.”
“I—” you break. You can’t. Not with the way he choked the next breath out of you with a press of his cock.
He pinned you in place, golden eyes level with your own. “Say it.”
“I deserve this!”
“That’s right. So fucking smart,” he grunted, finally giving you what you both needed. “You’re perfect. Gonna fuck you until you believe me.”
He drew back slowly, the pull out verging on pain at the idea of being empty for even a moment. But Soonyoung was in full control and rolled back into your tight heat eagerly. You want everything he can give you so bad it hurts.
“Oh my god,” you croaked.
You’re torn between sinking deeper into the mattress and taking, letting Soonyoung ring you out to dry with each thrust. Or forcing him on his back and taking every last drop of pleasure he offered.
“S-soonyoung.”
He ignored the command but freed your hands. You only got a moment to scramble for balance as he pulled you up into his lap, sitting on his heels as he fucked you deep. A hand punishingly tight on your ass. Entirely at his mercy.
You fall into a daze like that, nothing more than a limp ragdoll as Soonyoung wrings another orgasm from your body.
“That’s it,” he cooed against your trembling lips. “Mine. All mine.”
Speech evaded you. All you knew was the feeling of him inside you, the heat he kissed you with. Completely limp, you whimpered.
Yours.
He came like that, trembling and hot in your core, forcing your body harder onto his cock as you promised your soul to him. There’d be bruises on your ass and hips, teeth marks branded into your neck but you didn’t care. You never wanted this to end as he caged you into the bed, both of you limp and sated.
On your back, Soonyoung’s fingers prodded between your thighs, sinking into the mess of your cunt. You couldn’t survive another orgasm so soon but the idea of him stopping silences your concerns. After a few curls, he reveals the dewy pads of his fingers. You’ve already committed yourself to a life of sin. That’s what you tell yourself when you snag his wrist and suck his cum from his fingers, never looking away from him as you swallow. Soonyoung took the taste back with his tongue in your mouth and then with his tongue inside you, collecting his spend before spitting it into your mouth and watching you greedily.
You swallowed and whimpered, “more.”
Soonyoung obliged, lapping at your entrance, leaving wet kisses to your clit that made you twitch. You wanted to pull him off and taste the combined mess. You wanted to soak in the press of his fingers. You wanted him to fuck you until the house collapsed around you two.
He did all those things. Rolled you onto your front and spread your ass, touched you like no one else ever had. He held you against the bookcase in the corner of the room, kissing away the overstimulated tears. Soonyoung balanced you in his lap, whispering praises despite the jerky way you rode him, muscles fatigued.
You lost all sense of self through it.
Soonyoung’s arms wrapped possessively over your naked body, the moon already dipping low outside the window was what you woke up to.
“You never told me what you are,” you said.
“I’m yours, and you're mine.”
“Like soulmates?”
“I don’t think that’s a strong enough word.” Soonyoung pulled you further into his chest, his lips dragging over the pulse of your wrist. “I find you in every lifetime.”
“Have you?” you asked, half asleep. “Found me before?”
It was a joke. A demon and a human? Something without a soul bonded to something as fragile as a mortal? It couldn’t work.
“Always,” he said, rolling you onto your back. Every inch of him burned against you, weighed you down into the mattress as if you’d run away. As if the idea would cross your mind to leave him ever again.
“And?”
“It never stops feeling like the first time even if it always ends the same.”
You wanted to ask him how this ended but the words melted on your tongue as he sheathed himself inside you again, opened your heart to him like a flower in bloom. All you could do was splay beneath him, taking everything he offered, sucking his vows of devotion straight from his lips until you both seized with a cry.
Curled around your back, he memorized your body with his hands, molding you to fit perfectly in the curve of him. In the warmth of his body, you drifted off.
This dream didn’t feel like a dream at all.
It was a memory. It had to be Soonyoung’s, because you only recognized the cottage from the other dreams you shared; but those in those dreams it was merely a stage for his torture. You recognized this place. This was home.
You knew outside the winter had killed off the beautiful flowers he tended to, that up in the attic a cat slept curled up near the bricks of the fireplace rather than chase off any mice. The bed in the corner was barely big enough for the two people who lived here to share. A husband and a wife. The unique little girl from the village who talked to ghosts and everyone vexed in public but begged for help in private. And the boy who burned so bright everyone turned towards him like flowers searching for the last sun before winter.
It was dark outside, the chill of winter creeping in as you tended to the bubbling caldron, stirring just right for the potion to have the effect the mayor’s wife wanted. A simple love potion to stop his affairs meant enough gold pieces so that Soonyoung could afford a new horse.
Humming the incantation, you turned towards the door when your husband arrived. Instead of the dramatic dip and kiss he greeted you with even on the coldest days, Soonyoung opened his bag and began shoving things inside.
“You need to leave.”
It was your demon but not. He lacked the sharp edge of the supernatural you knew him to have. Soonyoung was human and he was your husband. Or he should have been. The Soonyoung you summoned and this Soonyoung blended together. He moved with unnatural speed he didn’t possess before. His shoulders were broader, more intimidating.
You grabbed his arms to stop him from packing but he was too strong.
“What did you do?”
Soonyoung continued shoving valuables in a sack. “They’re on their way here.”
“What did you do?” you cried.
“I’m protecting you.”
Something was wrong with him. You didn’t know what but this wasn’t the Soonyoung that left the cottage this morning for the mills. He was different. He wasn’t yours.
“No,” you shook your head, “this isn’t right! Tell me what yo—”
“We’ll be together,” he smiled, tears streaking down his face to join yours. “I’ll always find you, I promise. Now go!”
“No,” you argued.
“You have to go, they’ll kill you if they find you here.”
“They’ll kill us both! I won’t leave you to die alone.”
But that wasn’t true. If you gave yourself up, they’d let Soonyoung live. His marriage to you was their betrayal. One of their own siding with the woman who kept death around her like an old friend. Soonyoung’s life could be bartered with your own.
Outside, the darkness morphed into torch light, the hum of an angry crowd swelling as they surrounded the house. There was nowhere to run.
“You have been accused of witchcraft!” called the mayor. “Come out at once or we will burn this house to the ground.”
Soonyoung pulled you into his chest, hands framing your face. A gold ring had begun taking over the warm brown you’d grown to love. “I will love you until we are nothing but dust.”
Before you could respond, Soonyoung kissed you like he did the night of your wedding and then marched towards the front door, skin glowing a faint gold. You tried to follow but he was too fast, out the door before you could even take a step.
Then the screaming started.
Clawing at the door, you found it locked. The back one was as well. You couldn’t do anything but try to watch from the soot stained windows as the screaming crescendoed like a boiling kettle.
When it finally stopped, you scrambled for the door once again and opened it to a graveyard.
Blood stained the ground, thick puddles collecting like it rained for days. Lifeless bodies decorated the ground. Some ripped in half, others with their extremities bent at unnatural angles. Skulls indented and bones protruding out.
You didn’t care.
You searched the dead for hours, until the sun hid behind the clouds and cast everything in blues and greys. The mess of bodies clung to your skin and beneath your nails. You had to breathe through your mouth because the metallic scent became too much.
No matter how long you searched, Soonyoung’s body was nowhere to be found.
The memory changed. Soonyoung crouched in a dirty cell, a woman with your face sneering at him. A different life where he arrived at your doorstep and you took him in like a wounded animal without any fear. Lifetimes of your bonded souls flashed by, some where you loved him and others where he was nothing more than a pest. The only constant was you never recognized him but despite that, Soonyoung kept loving every new version of you he met even if they refused to love him in return.
You watched your lives play out over and over before finally settling back in your bed, tucked beneath your lover's body as he stroked your hair, your stomach, your thighs. He committed this version of you to memory while you lived the ones forgotten.
“Why?”
He focused on the dip of your waist, fingers curling perfectly like you were made for him to do so. Soonyoung pulled you closer before whispering, “Because an eternity in hell is worth seeing you again, even if it’s only for a short time.”
“Isn’t it torture? When I don’t recognize you?”
This time he didn’t answer. Your heart ached, having felt what he felt in those memories. Soonyoung didn’t care if you couldn’t love him in return, he only cared to hear your voice. He would love you until time ceased to exist. He needed to know you were happy on Earth, that his pain in hell wasn’t in vain even if it didn’t serve him.
“Please stay,” you croaked.
Soonyoung nuzzled your throat, delaying the obvious truth.
He was never meant to stay.
“You’re the most you here,” he whispered. “Always summoning things you weren’t supposed to.”
Nudging him away, you looked at him. Really looked at him. The scary demon you once believed haunted your existence stared back. A few hours ago you would’ve wilted under the intensity but now you embraced it. Him. The closer you looked, the more human he became. You didn’t want to hide from him anymore, the man who sold his soul for you.
“I’m sorry I didn’t remember,” you said. You needed him to know that even if you didn’t recognize him in this life, you believed him. You wanted to remember him.
“Hear my vow before I go.” He said something else; something in Greek you couldn’t decipher as he pushed your legs apart and rolled into you. Your new memories of your first life together flashed in your head: a secret wedding, making love beneath a full moon, a harvest festival where every other woman in the village watched as you and your husband spun around the room like teenagers drunk for the first time.
You tried to ask him what it meant, but Soonyoung silenced you with a kiss.
When you finally woke up, the sun was high in the sky and the sheets were cold.
Your skin was pristine where the stain of bruises and hickies and bite marks should be.
You knew the house was empty. Nearly a month of Soonyoung’s presence lurking in your mind, weighing down your shoulders. You knew he was gone.
But it didn’t stop you from looking.
The other bedrooms were empty, beds made and ready to welcome home their rightful owners. In the kitchen, the accumulated mess from break disappeared; no dishes, or towels, or stains on the cabinet. Dusty books were all that greeted you in the archives.
You saved the worst for last.
You tried to take the steps slowly, delaying the inevitable knowledge that waits beyond the basement landing. But no matter how much you try to pry the seconds apart and make them last, you’re in the empty ritual room staring at nothing.
The circle was gone. The candles and ruins vanished as well.
Like he never existed at all.
“Soonyoung,” you said, voice cracking.
Nothing.
“Come back.”
Still nothing.
Your demon was gone.
All alone, you sank to your knees, curled on the floor until sleep took you away. Hopefully where he waited for you.
Students were set to return to campus that evening and you weren’t ready for different reasons than a few days ago.
No matter how many times you called for him or followed it with a command to return – whether cursed, spit, or plead – Soonyoung was gone.
You walked the house aimlessly searching, knowing he wasn’t waiting behind a closed door or just up the steps. The dreams you shared didn’t hold him hostage either. There’s no proof he even existed beyond the fading bruises and soreness in your muscles.
The book you brought him with was open in front of you, a circle of salt drawn haphazardly in the corner of your room. If you could summon Soonyoung once you could summon him again. You just needed to concentrate on messing up in the exact same way.
But right as you opened your mouth to being, someone knocked on the door.
Throwing the door wide, you barked. “What?”
“Sorry!” The man jumped back, nearly tumbling down the steps before he caught on the last stair. “I’m Soonyoung, the new grad student. Dr. Credew said we might be able to help each other. He said he emailed you about me.”
You must be hallucinating. This Soonyoung didn’t have the same golden aura as the Soonyoung you knew but he looked the same. Same sharp jaw, fox like eyes.
But it couldn’t be.
“I…” you trailed.
“This is 1520 Orange street, right? Or am I completely lost?” He joked.
“No, this is it. I must have missed the email. The past few weeks have been…Weird.”
The street bustled with the few early student arrivals but was mostly abandoned.
“Your thesis is on ritualized sex, yeah?”
You nodded and he said, “Cool. Mine is on Asmodeus and blood rites.”
As the initial shock wore off, the winter chill creeped beneath your robe and you remember that you’re not wearing much beneath.
“Have we met before?” he asked.
“I—” you choked. “No, I don’t think we have.”
“Sorry, I’m just getting weird deja vu. Really weird,” he said.
“Tell me about it,” you mumbled.
He walked through the house like he’s visited before even though you both know he hasn’t made himself at home in the living room before you excused yourself upstairs to change.
“She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright. Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow’d to that tender light. Which heaven to gaudy day denies.”
You rooted to the spot on the stairs, limbs locked. “What did you say?”
“Are you a fan?”
“Of what?”
He flashes you the cover of a book. A collection of Byron’s poems you don’t remember leaving on the table but must have. The only person in the house all winter break was you.
“Personally, I think Maid of Athens is his best work.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard that one.”
“Maid of Athens, ere we part. Give, oh, give me back my heart! Or, since that has left my breast, Keep it now, and take the rest! Hear my vow before I go, Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ,” he recites again, flipping through the pages but not reading them. “She Walks in Beauty is another great one but you seem to know it already.”
Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπ.
My life, I love you.
“Would you like some tea?” you asked, mind half gone.
“Tea sounds great. I can do it while you get dressed.”
He ignored your protest, racing into the kitchen and filling the kettle before you were able to stop him.
In your room, you rushed to get dressed only to find the pair of sweatpants your demon wore folded and tucked away in the back of your dresser. You pulled them on, along with a thick sweater and socks before collapsing onto the bed.
Soonyoung had come back. He returned in a form that might be able to love you in the light of day, in front of others, even if this Soonyoung didn’t know it yet. Maybe this was what he meant. This was the way things always ended in every life, he got to have you before sending you off to be with his mortal self.
The whistle of the kettle beckoned you back downstairs to find out.
“Thank you,” you said as he handed you a mug full of tea.
Soonyoung shrugs, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight over his chest. “I like being useful.”
Weeks later, after a successful ritual to raise the dead for Soonyoung’s thesis, when you’re both thoroughly debauched —sweaty and pink between the sheets of your bed, the windows fogged and clothes strewn haphazardly about — you find his tattoo.
Soonyoung dozed on his stomach, one arm wrapped around your middle to pull you closer every time he woke back up. Your fingers traced along the dark ink of a double ouroboros, two snakes intertwined, swallowing their own tails, nestled between his shoulder blades. Every loop around the circuit brought you to the same start.
“It means—”
“Fates. Intertwined,” you cut him off.
Silence hung heavy in the air. Comforting, not suffocating. You’ve got new bruises and teeth marks painted over your skin, ones you knew would last. Soonyoung is covered in ones of his own but you feel the need to add more, just to make sure they’re real.
Sooyoung leaned back from your shoulder, pulled your hand to his mouth, lips grazing your knuckles as he spoke. “Do you believe in soulmates?”
“I think some people are destined to find each other in every life.”
“Me too.”
In the afternoon winter sun, the warm brown of his eyes flashed gold.
SYNOPSIS. in which your husband is always there to remind you what it means to be loved.
PAIRING. husband!joshua hong x fem!reader
GENRE. fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort, suggestive
WARNINGS. shua is peak husband material!!!!, kissing, terms of endearment, teasing from shua, shameless mention of sex (from shua), reader feeling self-conscious, implied sexual content, some nudity (not explicitly described)
WORD COUNT. 1.8k
requested from anon: hi.. i really like your work and perhaps you open for a request can i have a moment of husband joshua soft + suggestive + fluff hours to reader at their home <3 thankyou soOO much
notes: my reqs r closed but... it's been a while since someone has popped into my inbox so,, i hope u enjoy this anon <3
The door shuts behind with a soft click.
Joshua throws his keys on the counter with a sigh, shrugging off his coat and draping it over the hook by the door. He loosens his tie with one hand, undoes the top buttons of his dress shirt, and lets his shoulders roll back. The exhaustion from the day now has started to settle beneath his bones. He’s had to endure an entire day’s worth of back-to-back meetings, along with stubborn traffic on the way home.
But as his nose catches that familiar whiff of microwaved leftovers from the kitchen𑁋one of his favourites: this curry stew he made the night before, likely reheated with care𑁋he can’t help the smile spreading across his face.
He’s home. But more importantly, you’re home, too. And that’s all that matters.
As he abandons his shoes by the doorway, he heads deeper into your shared apartment. It’s a place the two of you have lived in together for the past three years of marriage. And every single time he crosses into that threshold, his heart never fails to flutter when he spots the scattered signs of you throughout. The refrigerator is painted with photos of your countless trips to other countries. There’s a specific corner of the living room reserved just for you and your recent addiction in becoming a certified plant mom, with his guitar propped right next to it.
When you both first got the place, he remembers you insisting that every room needs to have at least a splash of one unique colour. So, the blanket draped over the couch is this soft pistachio colour, the accent pillows themselves this dusty rose pink. The plates and bowls in the kitchen are a mixture of white and sage green𑁋a set you picked out during a random lazy Sunday morning visit to the home goods store, and Joshua couldn’t resist the light in your eyes as he had watched you sort them into the cupboards.
He pads softly down the small hallway and towards your shared bedroom. He catches the sounds of some lo-fi music humming in the background from behind the door, the type of music you would always play during the night to wind down.
The door is slightly ajar when he approaches. Joshua nudges the door open slightly, golden light streaking out onto the hallway when he opens it almost fully. When he spots you standing in front of the mirror, his breath catches in his throat, and he can’t help but let his stare linger on you for a moment.
You’re clad in a silky wine red robe he had gifted you two years ago on your anniversary𑁋the same robe that always seems to short-circuit his brain a little.
Because as much as he loves it on you𑁋as selfish as it may seem𑁋he loves it when it’s off you as well. Preferably somewhere on the floor.
But for right now, it’s on you, and damn does it always render him completely dumbfounded. Your hair is still a little damp from a shower, the small lamp on the bedside table twinkling a small sparkle to your moisturised cheekbone. Yet aside from all that, what catches his eye the most is the uncertain expression on your face as you’re gazing at your reflection in the mirror.
Your brows are crinkled together in contemplation as you’re toying with the sash around your waist. Loosening in, tightening it, all with that defeated look to your features that finally makes Joshua step into the room fully.
“Sweetheart?”
You jump at the voice, and you finally turn your head to see your husband coming up to you. His sleeves are halfway rolled up his arms, his shirt half-undone, revealing just the slightest glimpse of his collarbones and a hint of chest. You feel his eyes drink you in slowly the closer he approaches, and you hear your breath hitch when he settles himself right behind you.
“Hey, honey,” You mutter quietly. “Didn’t hear you come in.”
A pair of large arms wrap around you from behind, your back pressing up against the ungodly warmth of his chest. Your eyes trail back to the mirror, watching as Joshua rests his head on top of your shoulder, one of his hands travelling down your waist until it stops right at where the sash is tied near your abdomen. He doesn’t tug it open. Not yet.
“It’s okay.” He sucks in a deep inhale, allowing himself to bask into your presence for a few quiet moments. “Mmmh, you smell like my lotion.”
You chuckle lightly. “I ran out of mine.”
“Good,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse and rough from earlier today. He presses a sweet kiss to your nape, smirking against your skin when he feels you tense from the contact. “Love it when my wife uses my things. Whatever’s mine is yours, anyway.”
Your cheeks burn from his words, even after all this time together. Joshua pulls back slightly to meet your eyes in the mirror, and it’s the pure softness and adoration stagnated in them that makes your stomach jump. Maybe there’s want there too𑁋yes, there’s definitely want𑁋but it isn’t demanding, or rushed. He never rushes when it comes to you.
“Penny for your thoughts, love?” he asks, rubbing small, soothing circles into the silk at your hips.
Your gaze lowers down to the floor in guilt. “I… I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
“Nothing you ever say is stupid.” A kiss lands on your bare shoulder, where the robe has slid down a bit.
You let out a sigh, shaking your head a little. “I just… I looked at myself in the mirror and didn’t really… didn’t really like what I saw, I guess.” You feel his grip tighten around you as you say that. “And I know we’ve, you know, done things…”
Joshua grins devillishly. “Like, sex?”
Your face immediately flames. “Shua, you𑁋!”
“What?” He presses another kiss right below your ear, a particular spot that always makes you squirmy. “We’re married, my love. I’m unapologetically shameless to say I’ve seen all of you in every way possible.”
You groan into your hands, but you feel Joshua take one of your hands into his, placing a few apologetic kisses to your knuckles. You feel yourself melt at his affection.
“Okay, yes, I know that we’ve… made love many times.” Heat creeps up your neck at your own words. “But recently, I don’t… I don’t feel like the same woman you married years ago.”
Joshua grows quiet for a moment, but it isn’t in a way that makes you feel like you’ve said something wrong. No, it’s more like the kind of silence that settles beneath your bones. The kind of silence that only happens with him and no one else.
“Can I tell you something?” he asks lightly, breath warmth against your ear.
You give a small nod in response. A soft, grateful smile crosses his face.
“My love, there hasn’t been a moment since the day I met you where I thought you weren’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he continues thoughtfully. “And look where we are now, hm? We’ve grown together, we’ve changed together. The woman I married was incredible, of course. But the woman she became now? God, she’s stronger, softer, intelligent, and I thank the universe every day that she’s the one I get to come home to. I thank the world that I took my chances to ask out the beautiful barista at the cafe.”
A fond chuckle leaves you at the memory. You remember the cute college boy who had shyly asked you for your number at the counter on a day where it had been particularly bad. God, you remember it all. When you meet his eyes in the mirror again, you feel the uncertainty that’s been sitting on your chest gradually become lighter.
“And I’ll love every single version of you,” Joshua tells you firmly, kissing your shoulder once again. “Whether it’s five years, ten years, or fifty years from now. I’ll remind each version of you of this, too, and I will never get tired of it.”
A shiver runs down your spine, a weak laugh tumbling out of your throat. “Jeez, why are you so good at this?”
Joshua merely hums in response, bringing you more flush against him. “Perks of studying you for years.” You watch his hand in the mirror wander back to the sash on your robe, tugging on it slightly, but not to fully untie it. Not yet. “I know what makes you laugh, what makes you cry, what makes you fall apart… and what makes you come back together.”
Your breath stutters at that. You close your eyes for a minute, allowing yourself to simply feel him. Feel his hands, feel the way his love fills your heart, and every single crevice of doubt in your body.
You hardly register the way he spins you around to face him now. Because the second your open your eyes, you’re met with him𑁋in his full, glorious self𑁋and it steals all the air from your lungs. The smile on his face isn’t smug; it’s absolutely, irrevocably, radiant.
Joshua presses a kiss to your forehead. “Hi, beautiful.”
You blink up at him dazedly, a shy grin of your own caressing across your face when you momentarily glance down at his lips. “Hi.”
Then he dips his head down to kiss you this time. It starts off soft at first, like a gentle reminder that I’m here, always, before deepening ever so slightly. Your fingers curl into his shirt, wandering up to fumble with the remaining buttons, each one undone revealing more of the familiar planes of his chest.
He keeps kissing you like this until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed behind, and the low hum he releases into your mouth when you sigh against him makes your knees weak. After some time, he pulls away, and his hand travels back down to the sash of your robe.
“Okay?” he asks quietly.
You swallow the lump in your throat. “Okay.”
Joshua takes his time untying the knot of your robe. When it’s fully loosened, he watches the way it opens like water, revealing more of the skin underneath. But he doesn’t pounce, doesn’t grope, doesn’t even let his eyes flicker down until you give him another reassuring nod. Even then, there’s only complete awe when the robe falls to the floor and he drinks you in like it’s the very first time.
“Beautiful, every single time…” he whispers, sucking in a deep breath. “...every single damn time, love.”
As his lips meet yours once again, you find your back meeting the sheets below, his mouth never leaving yours once as he climbs up on the bed right above you.
“I love you,” he mutters against your neck, one of his legs slotting in between yours. “Now, before, always.”
