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TASTE.

CHAPTER III: AFTERTASTE.

Lee Know x reader. (s,a)

TASTE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When Minho is hired as the head chef of Farfalle, a prestigious Italian restaurant, expectations are high for him to elevate its reputation and bring it to new heights. However, no one anticipates the drastic changes he implements in the kitchen—including his strict rule that that there'll be no women and no romance in his kitchen. (21,1k words)

Author's note: Your reservation at Farfalle is ready. Hope you enjoy it! Don't forget to leave a 5-star review ★

Aftertaste. /ˈɑːf.tə.teɪst/ (n) a taste, typically an unpleasant one, remaining in the mouth after eating or drinking something.

Do you know that you food can taste different when it has become cold? When the food is sweet or salty in particular, its taste would change depending if they're hot or cold. That, Minho learned the hard way, eight years ago in culinary school.

The kitchen was alive with the sounds of chopping, sizzling, and the occasional bursts of laughter from students, each consumed by their own culinary experiments. Minho stood at his station, his brow furrowed in concentration as he meticulously kneaded pasta dough. The faint scent of flour and olive oil hung in the air, mingling with the aromas of freshly baked bread and simmering sauces.

Across the counter, Sara leaned on her elbows, watching Minho with an amused smile. Her hair was tied back into a loose bun, a streak of flour smudged across her cheek.

“You’re so serious when you cook,” she teased, breaking the silence.

Minho glanced up, his lips twitching into a small smile. “And you’re so distracting,” he shot back, though there was no malice in his tone.

Sara grinned, straightening up and walking over to his side. “Come on, show me what you’re working on.”

Minho hesitated but eventually relented, stepping aside to reveal a small bowl of ginseng root. “I’m making a ginseng pasta,” he said, his voice brimming with excitement. “It’s going to be my entry for the summer competition.”

Sara raised an eyebrow, picking up a piece of the root. “Ginseng? That’s bold. How are you planning to deal with the bitterness?”

Minho smirked, the confidence in his expression unmistakable. “That’s the genius part. I’m using Barolo wine to balance it out. The earthy notes in the wine will complement the ginseng perfectly.”

Sara nodded thoughtfully, placing the root back into the bowl. “Well, good luck with it,” she said, her tone warm and genuine. “You’re going to need it against me.”

Minho chuckled, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that.”

Minho and Sara were not only young and bright, both of them were passionate about cooking, they were also very much in love with each other. Their rivalry was as much a part of their relationship as their love for cooking. They pushed each other, critiqued each other’s dishes, and celebrated each other’s successes. It was why they were the top two students in their class with Minho reigned on the first place and Sara stayed closely on the second.

On the day of the competition, the grand hall buzzed with anticipation, the scent of spices and freshly cooked food wafting through the air. Minho stood confidently by his station, his ginseng pasta plated and ready to be presented. He glanced at Sara, who gave him a small, encouraging smile from her own station.

When it was his turn, Minho carried his dish to the judges with steady hands. They took their first bites, their faces revealing nothing. But as they continued, a subtle crease formed in one judge’s brow, followed by a quiet murmur among them.

Minho’s confidence faltered. He hurried back to his station, his mind racing. What had gone wrong? He quickly checked his ingredients, his heart sinking when he tasted the wine. It was oxidized, the rich flavors replaced by an unpleasant sourness.

His hands clenched into fists as realization dawned on him. He had only shared his recipe with one person.

He looked across the room at Sara, who stood before the judges, presenting her dish with radiant confidence. When they announced her as the winner, her smile was triumphant, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment.

Minho’s stomach churned as he saw the satisfaction in her gaze. She had sabotaged him.

Sara approached him afterward, her tone light and breezy. “I’m sorry, Minho. But I need to go to Rome,” she said, her smile sweet but unmistakably victorious.

Minho said nothing, his jaw tight and his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of his station. You see, even once the food is served, sometimes you don't eat it right away so the food becomes cold while you are talking or taking pictures of it but the last thing you'd remember is how it tastes before you leave the table.

And that day, his love for Sara was replaced by something colder, sharper—a lingering aftertaste that rivaled the bitterness of his ruined ginseng.

-

Today, that lingering aftertaste not only tainted his tongue, it starts pooling in the pit of his stomach, making him sick from the inside.

Minho exhales sharply, his patience thinning to a dangerous edge. His knuckles ache from clenching his fists. He stares at Chris, his gaze demanding an answer he already suspects but needs to hear aloud.

“Don’t tell me that she's already here?” he asks, his voice a low, controlled growl.

Chris nods, and Minho’s stomach twists. “She's here.”

The words barely register before the sound of her footsteps announces her presence. Minho’s body tenses as Sara steps into the kitchen. She’s every bit as he remembers—confident, calculated, and exuding a saccharine charm that feels like a slap to the face.

“Nice to meet everyone,” Sara says, her voice sweet and cutting all at once. Her gaze lands on Minho, and the playful malice in her tone is unmistakable. “I hope no one plans to chase me out of the kitchen just because someone here has… issues tolerating women in the kitchen.”

Minho’s jaw tightens further but he stays silent, watching, waiting, his anger simmering dangerously close to the surface.

Sara turns back to him, feigning sweetness. “I’ll follow your instructions, Chef. Tell me where to stand and from which stove I should work.”

Her words feel like needles, each one designed to provoke. Minho’s grip on the table tightens, his knuckles whitening.

Sara tilts her head, mock innocence dripping from her tone. “Should I pick the station myself, then?”

Then she does the unthinkable. Her hands slide onto the chef’s table—his table—as if claiming it for herself.

The last thread of Minho’s restraint snaps. He spins around, his movements sharp and deliberate, his eyes locking onto hers with unfiltered fury. For a moment, the air between them crackles, thick with unspoken conflict.

Sara doesn’t flinch, meeting his gaze with calm defiance, and that only stokes his rage further.

Without a word, Minho storms past her, his shoulder colliding with hers hard enough to send her staggering. The door swings shut behind him, the sound echoing like a final note in a symphony of chaos.

Minho storms out of the kitchen and into his office, slamming the door with enough force to make the frame rattle. The echo reverberates through the small space as he rips his apron loose, the knot giving way under his angry hands. He hurls it onto the floor, the fabric crumpling into a heap. His chest rises and falls with sharp breaths, and he begins pacing, his shoes clicking against the polished floor in a rhythm that matches the racing of his thoughts.

She’s in my kitchen. That backstabber. That audacious, smug—

His fists clench, the tendons in his forearms straining as he tries to shake off the fury boiling inside him. But it’s futile. The image of Sara standing there, smug and triumphant, invades his mind again and again.

A knock on the door interrupts his spiraling thoughts. He ignores it, his back turned to the door as he continues pacing.

A second knock comes, firmer this time. Before Minho can bark out a refusal, the door creaks open, and Chris steps inside, calm and composed as always.

Minho stops, planting his hands firmly on his hips as he turns to face him. His glare is scorching, his voice sharp and biting. “What is it that you want? Are you trying to make me leave?”

Chris closes the door behind him, leaning against it with an ease that contrasts starkly with Minho’s barely-contained rage. His calm demeanor is infuriating.

“I’m trying to revive Farfalle,” Chris says, his tone measured. “That’s all this is about. Don’t make it more complicated than it needs to be. It’s just a new menu item.”

Chris raises an eyebrow, unfazed as he continues. “You chose her dish to be the new menu and you agreed the winner gets to cook here. You signed off on that.”

Minho’s jaw tightens, and he boldly steps forward, closing the distance between them. “Do you really think this is just a trivial matter to you, huh?”

Chris doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady. “It’s still your kitchen, Chef. You’re the head chef. Nothing has changed. Ninety-seven percent of the kitchen is yours, and no one’s taking your authority away.”

Minho lets out a sharp, humorless laugh, the sound cutting through the tension. He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing as a sinister smirk spreads across his lips. “My kitchen? In my kitchen, there would never be two chefs. Ever.”

Chris straightens, his calm demeanor cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of challenge. He steps closer, their faces now inches apart. “You’ve made countless changes to this kitchen. You’ve built it into something incredible. Are you really going to throw it all away because of this?”

Minho’s breath is steady, but the fire in his eyes burns hotter than ever. He leans in slightly, matching Chris’s intensity. “If you’re making the changes, then why don’t you just take it, Chris? Take the ninety-seven percent. Hell, take it all. Make it one hundred.”

For a long moment, they stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills. The air between them feels heavy, suffocating, as if the entire restaurant is holding its breath.

Neither of them blinks. Neither of them backs down.

-

The kitchen feels like it's on the verge of collapse. The clanging of pots and pans is louder than usual, overlapping with shouts of orders being repeated and corrected. Seojun, normally composed, is frantically trying to keep everyone in line, his voice hoarse from barking instructions. Felix has just served the wrong table, and the mistake sends a ripple of frustration through the staff. Taesoo, rushing to clean up a spill, nearly crashes into Seungwan, who looks like he might collapse at any moment.

The tension is suffocating, lingering in the air like the aftermath of a thunderstorm. And you know exactly why. Minho is gone. He left. Completely abandoning his post and the team.

You feel anger simmering beneath the surface, threatening to boil over as you throw down your knife and step away from your station. If no one else is going to fix this, you will.

Without a word to anyone, you slip into the freezer, the sudden chill biting at your skin. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you scroll through your contacts and hit Minho’s name. The ringing feels endless, each tone tightening the knot in your stomach.

Finally, he picks up, but instead of his voice, you’re met with the thumping bass of loud music. The sound is almost deafening, making it hard to tell if he’s even aware you’re on the other end.

“Hello?” you say, your voice sharp, laced with urgency. “Chef, can you hear me?”

A moment of static, then his voice comes through, lazy and sarcastic. “Wow, you sound so happy right now that I'm not there.”

You grit your teeth, biting back a sharp retort. “Where are you? The kitchen is falling apart, Chef. Are you coming back or not?”

His laugh grates on your nerves, light and dismissive. “Why don’t you come here instead?” he says, his voice almost drowned out by the music. “Don’t bring anyone, though. Just you. Come have some fun.”

Your grip tightens on the phone, your frustration bubbling over. “Are you kidding me right now?” you snap, but he doesn’t respond, his laugh echoing faintly before the line goes dead.

With a growl of frustration, you shove your phone back into your pocket and push your way out of the freezer, the warmth of the kitchen hitting you like a wave. But before you can even get back to your station, your phone buzzes again.

You hesitate for a moment, debating whether to ignore it, but curiosity wins out. Pulling it out, you glance at the screen.

It’s a text from Minho. An address.

You stare at it, your stomach twisting. A club, no doubt the one where he’s currently drowning his responsibilities in music and alcohol.

Your grip on the phone tightens as you slide it back into your pocket, your jaw clenched. The chaos around you feels even louder now, the weight of Minho’s absence pressing down on your shoulders.

You know you can’t leave, not with the kitchen on the verge of disaster. But the thought of him out there, laughing, carefree, while everyone else struggles to keep things afloat, makes your blood boil.

-

The thumping bass of the club vibrates through your body as you push your way through the sweaty crowd, your frustration mounting with each passing second. Neon lights flicker overhead, casting garish colors over the sea of dancing bodies. The smell of alcohol and perfume is overwhelming, but none of it distracts you from your mission: finding Minho.

After what feels like an eternity, you spot him on the second floor, lounging in one of the booths like he doesn’t have a care in the world. His head is tilted back, a bottle of beer dangling lazily from his fingers, and his foot taps idly to the beat of the music.

He left the kitchen in chaos for this?

Without thinking, you grab your purse and fling it at him. It hits him square in the chest, making him jerk forward in surprise. His eyes widen momentarily before recognition sets in, and a slow, infuriating smile spreads across his face.

“Well, look who decided to join me,” he drawls, leaning forward and reaching for a fresh bottle of beer. He holds it out to you. “Here. Have a drink.”

“Are you kidding me?” you snap, refusing the bottle and plopping down on the ottoman across from him. “What the hell? How could you do this—not just to me, but to everyone in the kitchen?”

He sighs dramatically, tipping his head back as though he’s the one being inconvenienced. “I’m off the clock,” he mutters, taking another sip of his beer.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re the head chef! There’s no such thing as ‘off the clock’ when the kitchen is falling apart!”

Minho groans, placing the bottle down and covering his ears with his hands like a petulant child. “I don’t want to hear any of it,” he says, his voice laced with mock annoyance.

You’re livid now. “Don’t you dare act like this isn’t a big deal! Tell me what the actual problem is, huh? Is it because Chef Sara’s a woman? Or a chef? Or is it because—”

Before you can finish, Minho shoots up from his seat and grabs your hand, dragging you down to the dance floor without a word. You protest, trying to yank your hand free, but his grip is firm.

“Let me go!” you shout over the pounding music.

He ignores you, spinning you around and pulling you close, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Relax,” he says, his breath warm against your ear. “Do you know how to relax?”

You glare at him, refusing to be distracted. “I want you to answer me.”

But Minho is relentless. He moves to the rhythm of the music, swaying with a casual confidence that only makes you more frustrated. “How could you constantly think about nothing but work?” he asks, his lips dangerously close to your temple. “Just dance with me.”

You’re about to demand an answer again when he suddenly cups your face with both hands and presses his lips to yours. The kiss is unexpected, firm yet tender, and for a moment, you freeze.

When he pulls back, his eyes lock onto yours, their usual sharpness softened by something you can’t quite place. “You’re the only girl in my kitchen,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “And that’s more than enough for me.”

Your heart skips a beat, his words throwing you off balance. But as quickly as the moment sweeps you up, you snap yourself out of it.

“Don’t think you can sweet-talk your way out of this,” you say, stepping back and crossing your arms. “You’re still at fault, and I’m not forgiving you just because you—”

“Just leave,” Minho interrupts, exasperated. His playful demeanor vanishes, replaced by irritation. “If you’re just going to keep nagging, then leave.”

His words hit harder than they should, but you refuse to let it show. Straightening your shoulders, you glare at him one last time before spinning on your heel and storming off, leaving him standing alone in the crowd.

The ache in your chest surprises you, but you shove it aside. Minho asked you to leave, and you’ll do exactly that.

-

The kitchen is eerily quiet, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound as you step through the back entrance. Despite your anger at Minho, you can’t bring yourself to ignore his instructions about prepping for tomorrow. Frustration bubbles up in your chest as you head straight to the kitchen, only to find Taesoo squatting on the floor, painstakingly peeling shrimp from a massive bucket. His head bobs slightly, a yawn escaping as he struggles to stay awake.

A pang of guilt settles in your stomach. You remember those long nights when you were just a kitchen assistant, exhausted but determined to prove yourself. Setting your purse and jacket on the chef’s table, you quietly approach Taesoo and tap his shoulder. He jolts awake, his eyes widening before softening when he recognizes you.

“Sorry for leaving earlier,” you say, your voice gentle. “Where’s Felix? Wasn’t he supposed to stay after dinner service too?”

Taesoo shrugs, looking just as clueless as you feel. “No idea. Either he forgot or decided not to show up.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Alright, go take a nap. I’ll finish this for you.”

His face lights up with gratitude, and he doesn’t need to be told twice. With a quick “thank you,” he scurries off, leaving you alone with the bucket of shrimp. You slide on a pair of gloves and get to work, the repetitive task giving your hands something to do while your mind drifts back to earlier at the club.

Minho’s smug grin. His infuriating refusal to take responsibility. And that kiss—your cheeks heat at the memory, quickly replaced by anger when you remember how he dismissed you.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls you from your thoughts. You glance up, surprised to see Chris entering the kitchen. He’s still in his suit, hands casually tucked into his pockets, looking a little out of place in the quiet, industrial space.

“Chris? What are you still here?” you ask, pulling off your gloves.

He smirks faintly but doesn’t answer your question directly. “It’s my first day as the manager,” he says. “Aren't you worried about me?”

You catch the slight sulk in his tone and can’t help but smile warmly. “You weren’t that bad for your first day,” you tease.

He chuckles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s something subdued about him tonight. Deciding to lift his spirits, you stand and gesture toward the door. “Come on. Let me buy you dinner.”

Chris raises an eyebrow, his trademark dimpled grin returning. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I realized I haven't eaten anything,” you say, pulling out your phone. “What do you feel like eating?”

He watches you scroll through the food delivery options, his gaze softening. “You’re a chef. Shouldn’t you be cooking instead of ordering takeout?”

You roll your eyes, a small laugh escaping. “I’ve been cooking all day, Chris. The last thing I want to do is cook more.”

He lets out a mock gasp, dramatically clutching his chest. “I don’t trust you with your food choices,” he says with narrowed eyes. Snatching the phone from your hand, he starts scrolling through the menu himself.

Every now and then, he lets out an excited gasp or hums in approval at a dish he likes, grinning as he scrolls. You find yourself smiling despite the fatigue weighing on your shoulders.

The dining hall is eerily quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioning the only sound as you and Chris sit at one of the tables, takeout containers spread out in front of you. The dim lighting gives the room a serene, almost intimate atmosphere, a stark contrast to the chaos earlier.

You take a sip of your canned beer, letting out a satisfied sigh. The exhaustion of the day seems to melt away, replaced by the quiet reward of good food and company. Chris leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as he absentmindedly taps his can against the table.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Chris suddenly grumbles, his voice breaking the silence. “There’s a chance he might not return to the kitchen, you know.”

You set your can down, frowning slightly. “No way. Chef wouldn’t just let go of his kitchen like that. He’s too... territorial.”

Even as you say it, you hate how easily you’ve defended him after everything he’s done tonight. Chris gives you a curious look, his eyebrow quirking. “You seem to know a lot about him.”

You wave a hand dismissively, trying to downplay it. “It’s nothing. We went to the same school, that’s all.”

Chris doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he leans forward slightly, his tone turning more thoughtful. “Did you know about him and Sara?”

The question catches you off guard. You pause, picking at the edge of your takeout container. “Yeah, I know they dated back in culinary school. But I don’t know much about it beyond that.”

Chris hums in response, swirling his beer in the can. His gaze is distant for a moment before you decide to flip the question back on him.

“You seem close to Sara too,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “What’s the story there?”

A faint smile tugs at Chris’s lips, and he shrugs. “We tried dating once. Didn’t work out.”

That piques your curiosity even more. “Why not? You’re both attractive, popular... I’d imagine you’d make a power couple.”

Chris looks at you then, his gaze steady and unreadable. “Doesn't matter. I like someone else,” he says casually, like it’s not a bombshell of a revelation.

You lean forward on the table, your curiosity now fully ignited. “Who?”

Chris chuckles but shakes his head. “Not telling.”

You narrow your eyes at him, determined to pry the truth out. “Oh, come on! Who is it? Someone I know? Is it someone in the restaurant?”

Before you can press him further, a loud snore cuts through the air, startling both of you. You glance around, trying to locate the source of the sound, and eventually spot Taesoo sprawled out in one of the booths, fast asleep.

The sight is so unexpected and absurd that you can’t help but laugh. Chris’s laughter soon joins yours, the sound echoing through the empty dining hall. For a brief moment, it feels like you’re both exactly where you need to be, uplifting each other after a long, hard day.

-

Minho leans against the hood of his car, parked across the street from the restaurant. The glow of the streetlights illuminates the familiar sign above the door, casting long shadows on the pavement. His eyes linger on the name of the restaurant, the place he’s poured everything into. The memories of your question from earlier in the club replay in his mind like a haunting echo.

What’s your actual problem with Sara?

The question nags at him, forcing him to confront the truths he’s been avoiding. He exhales slowly, gripping the edge of the car.

Was it because Sara is a woman? No. That had never truly been the issue.

Was it because she’s also a chef? Maybe, but not entirely.

Or was it because Sara is his ex-girlfriend? The thought stirs an uncomfortable weight in his chest, but it’s not the root cause either.

The truth settles in the pit of his stomach, sharp and undeniable. It wasn’t Sara herself—it was the possibility of losing to her again. His ego couldn’t handle it. Back then, she had left him behind, proving she could succeed without him. The thought of her doing it again, this time in his kitchen, had twisted his pride into knots.

But standing there, staring at the restaurant, Minho realizes the futility of clinging to the past. This isn’t culinary school anymore. It’s not about winning or losing. It’s about what’s best for the restaurant. Sara deserves the chance to prove herself, just like anyone else.

He pushes off the car and climbs back inside, the engine roaring to life as he heads home.

The next morning, Minho steps out of his apartment and while adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder, he walks toward your apartment. He rings the doorbell, he knows he's here to talk to Sara but he's also expecting to see you open the door.

When Sara answers instead, her bright smile is a stark contrast to his composed demeanor.

“Minho,” she greets warmly, but he skips the pleasantries.

“About your menu... you can make it in the kitchen,” he says bluntly, getting straight to the point.

Sara’s eyes widen in surprise, her smile growing as she processes his words. “Really? Does that mean I’ll start working in the kitchen tomorrow?”

Minho nods, his tone even and detached. “Let me be clear. I need your skill and your recipe, nothing more. Don’t misunderstand—this changes nothing.”

Sara’s smile softens as she nods in agreement. “Understood.”

There’s a brief silence before Minho clears his throat, his voice lowering. “Where’s your roommate?”

Sara tilts her head slightly, confused. “I don’t think she came home last night.”

Minho’s jaw tightens, but he nods once and turns to leave. As he walks toward the elevator, his mind races with questions. Where could you have been all night? And why does it bother him so much to think about it?

-

It’s barely morning, and the kitchen of Farfalle is already buzzing with activity. You’re elbow-deep in prep work, chopping, blanching, and arranging ingredients for the evening’s service. The reservations for today are over 100, and the pressure is palpable. Still, you keep your focus sharp, refusing to let exhaustion creep in.

As lunchtime approaches, you finally step out of the kitchen for a breather. In the dining hall, a press conference is underway. Sara stands confidently in front of a sea of reporters, eloquently describing the inspiration behind her new menu. Her charisma commands the room, and as you watch, you’re reminded of the days back in culinary school.

She’s always been talented, but her success didn’t come from talent alone. It’s her unwavering drive and passion that elevated her career. You admire that about her, even if you’ve never said it aloud. Watching her now, you feel a flicker of determination to push yourself even harder—to be as good as Sara, if not better.

Dinner service is chaos in the best way possible. Orders for the new menu fly in nonstop, and the kitchen hums like a well-oiled machine. For hours, it’s all hands on deck, assembling full-course meals for over a hundred guests. By the end of the night, your feet ache, your hands are sore, and exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. But despite it all, there’s a deep sense of satisfaction.

The reopening of Farfalle has been a success.

Minho strides into the kitchen just as the last of the orders go out, carrying two pristine plates in his hands. He places them carefully on the chef’s table, the gleam in his eyes unreadable.

“Gather around,” he says, his voice cutting through the lingering chatter.

Everyone stops what they’re doing, curiosity sparking as they crowd around the table. Minho gestures to the plates, introducing his new menu item. He insists that everyone taste it and provide brutally honest feedback.

“No sugarcoating,” he warns, his gaze scanning the group. “I want the truth.”

Silence hangs in the air. No one moves. The tension is almost comical as everyone exchanges hesitant glances, none brave enough to be the first to critique the head chef’s work.

“What? You don't feel comfortable being honest with me here? Is that it?” Minho exhales, clearly exasperated. “Fine, then go home and criticize to your heart's content. Taste it and you are to turn in your review anonymously by tomorrow morning, understand?”

Relieved laughter ripples through the team, and forks are finally lifted. One by one, your colleagues sample the dish, their faces lighting up with appreciation. You linger at the back, arms crossed, observing their reactions.

Minho’s eyes find yours, and for a brief moment, his gaze lingers. You glance away dismissively, the sting of yesterday’s events still fresh.

Minutes later, Sara walks in, carrying her own dish—a plate of triple-flavored pasta that looks as stunning as it smells. She sets it on the table next to Minho’s dish. “Please, have a taste of mine too.”

Sara smiles then her eyes lands at Minho, silently asking if she can taste his dish. Minho subtly nods. “Have a taste.”

She picks up a fork and take a piece of the foie gras, processing the taste as she's chewing it.

“It's very good,” Sara praises, her smile genuine. “It's not too rich but refreshing and yet it retains the nutty flavor of the liver.”

Minho gives a curt nod, though his shoulders relax slightly at the compliment. He steps back, addressing the room.

“You’ve all done a great job today. Clean up and head home.”

“Yes, chef!”

After a while, Sara also excusing herself to leave. “Thank you for your hard work today, everyone!”

The team begins to disperse, buzzing with pride from the night’s success. Sara also thanks everyone for their hard work before heading out.

As you start to remove your apron, Taesoo nudges you with a grin. “You haven’t tried the dishes yet. Go on!”

Reluctantly, you grab a fork and approach the table. First, you sample Minho’s creation. The flavors explode on your palate—balanced, bold, and unmistakably his style. Next, you try Sara’s pasta. It’s equally impressive, with layers of taste that linger long after the bite.

You can’t help but smile to yourself, begrudgingly acknowledging that despite everything, they’re both culinary geniuses.

The flavors still linger on your tongue as you exchange notes with Taesoo and a few others about the dishes. The general consensus is clear—both Minho and Sara’s creations are exceptional. The team buzzes with excitement, debating which dish edges out the other, but you stay quiet, appreciating both for their unique strengths.

As you laugh at Taesoo’s dramatic reenactment of his “first bite,” a gentle tap on your shoulder pulls you out of the moment. You turn around to see Felix standing there, looking sheepish yet hopeful, his signature soft smile lighting up his face.

“Hey,” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say sorry for bailing last night. I know I should’ve been here to help you and Taesoo.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything, crossing your arms as you wait for him to continue.

“To make it up to you,” Felix adds, “I’m buying you two drinks tonight. My treat.”

You glance over at Taesoo, who’s already grinning like he’s won the lottery. Putting your arm around his shoulders, you lean into him conspiratorially. “Drinks, huh? What do you think, Taesoo? Is that enough for all the work we did without him?”

Taesoo shakes his head, playing along. “Not even close.”

You look back at Felix, raising your eyebrows in mock expectation. “Sorry, Lix. Drinks won’t cut it. You’re buying us meals too.”

Felix groans, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “Meals and drinks? You guys are gonna bleed me dry.”

“Yup,” Taesoo chimes, grinning wickedly. “Better start saving up, Felix.”

“Alright, alright,” Felix relents, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Meals and drinks. But only if you promise not to order the most expensive thing on the menu.”

“No promises,” you tease, smirking as you turn back to the others.

Felix lets out a resigned chuckle, shaking his head as he mutters, “You two are impossible.”

Despite his faux annoyance, you catch a glint of amusement in his eyes. Moments like these—lighthearted and filled with camaraderie—make the long hours and exhausting shifts worth it.

-

The smell of sizzling meat fills the air as Taesoo flips slices of pork belly on the grill with precision. Felix leans back in his chair, watching the meat char while you mix soju and beer into an improvised cocktail for the three of you.

Taesoo serves the freshly grilled meat onto your plates, and you all lift your glasses. “To surviving another day in Farfalle,” Felix says with a grin, and you all clink your glasses together.

The first sip burns warmly in your throat, and the exhaustion of the day begins to fade. Taesoo’s dramatic gasp after his first sip makes you laugh, and soon you’re all eating and chatting between bites.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m still starving,” Taesoo announces, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“That’s no surprise,” you reply. “There’s a study that says professional cooks have the worst eating habits. We cook during mealtimes and then get too tired to cook for ourselves after work.”

Felix nods enthusiastically. “I thought it was just me. Sometimes even looking at a pan makes me feel sick.”

“Same with laundry,” you add, eliciting groans of agreement from both Taesoo and Felix.

Just as Taesoo starts another round of grilling, Felix’s phone buzzes on the table. He picks it up, speaking animatedly while looking out the window. His expression changes, and he waves at someone outside.

You follow his gaze, and your stomach drops when you see Minho walking through the door, phone pressed to his ear.

Of course Felix invited him, you think, sighing as you sip your drink. Minho approaches the table, his sharp gaze scanning the three of you.

He gestures for Taesoo to move, squeezing into the seat next to you. He nudges you lightly. “Mix a drink for me too,” he says casually.

You down the rest of your glass, setting it down firmly on the table. “I’m done for the night,” you announce, standing up. “Thanks for the food and drinks, Felix.” You grab your things and head for the exit, not sparing Minho another glance.

Just as you think you’ve escaped his grasp, you hear footsteps following closely behind. Turning around, you see Minho jogging to match your pace, his expression a mix of frustration and something unreadable.

“Where were you last night?” Minho’s voice cuts through the night air as he jogs to match your pace.

You glare at him. “Unlike someone, I don’t run away from my responsibilities.”

Minho flinches but presses on. “Why are you still upset about last night?”

You stop abruptly and whirl around to face him. “Why can’t I be upset when you’re playing with my feelings?”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “You better shut your mouth,” he snaps, but you press on, determined to get answers.

“You don’t allow women in your kitchen, but you keep me. And now there are two women in the kitchen. What’s your game? Why do you keep confusing me?”

Minho’s jaw tightens. “I swear if one more word comes out of your mouth...”

But you’re relentless. “What am I to you? A piece of meat on your cutting board? Is that it? You’re not afraid because you’re the one holding the knife?”

His eyes darken as he leans closer. “Even if you were a piece of meat, you’re not fresh. You’ve been in the freezer too long, you’re tough, hard to handle, and take too much work to prep. After all that effort, there’s not much left worth eating. You’re not an appealing ingredient, and I would never put you on my cutting board.”

Your chest tightens, but you refuse to back down. “So you want me off the cutting board?”

“Yes,” he says firmly.

“There’s only the trash can left for me then,” you say bitterly as you wistfully look at him.

Minho doesn’t answer, but he grabs your wrist, pulling you toward his car. “Let's go home.”

You yank your hand away, turning on your heel to walk the other way. “I’m going home myself.”

“Fine! Go home by yourself then!” He shouts as you walk away.

Despite of what he said, he doesn’t let you go that easily. He follows you with relentless determination, matching your pace until you reach the bus stop. He sits down beside you, the weight of the day pressing down on both of you in the cramped space.

For a moment, neither of you speak, the only sound the distant hum of traffic and the faint music playing from nearby. Finally, Minho exhales deeply, his voice barely above a whisper. “I have so many reasons why I shouldn’t like you. If you weren’t working in my kitchen, I wouldn’t even think about it.”

You remain quiet, completely ignoring him and pretend that he's not there at all as you wait for the bus to come.

Minho’s shoulders slump slightly, the fight in his eyes dimming just enough. “Think about it yourself,” he says quietly. “Why can’t I just do what I want?”

Before you can respond, the bus arrives with a screech of brakes. You stand up, your patience worn thin. “You think about it yourself,” you say firmly, not giving him the chance to argue.

As the bus doors open, you turn to board, feeling a mix of relief and lingering frustration. Without looking back, you step inside, the doors closing firmly behind you, leaving Minho standing alone at the bus stop—his silhouette framed by the fading light.

The ride home is quiet, your mind racing with thoughts and emotions. You can’t shake the confrontation, the weight of his words lingering like a shadow. But as the city lights blur past the window, you remind yourself that you deserve better, that you won’t let his turmoil dictate your own path.

-

The familiar scent of freshly baked bread fills the cozy bakery, a comforting reminder of your childhood. The sun filters through the large front window, casting a warm glow over the wooden countertops and the assortment of pastries neatly arranged in the display cases. You stand at one of the workstations, hands deep in a bowl of dough, kneading with more frustration than precision.

Your dad walks in, a pan of golden-brown bread in his hands. He sets it on the counter, the metal tray clinking softly, and gives you a critical look. "What are you doing to that dough?" he scolds, his voice a mix of irritation and exasperation. "You're stressing it out instead of softening it!"

Before you can respond, he snatches the bowl from you, examining your work with the practiced eye of a seasoned baker. His sigh is heavy with disapproval. "Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you leave for work?"

You wipe your hands on your apron, avoiding his gaze. "I don’t want to go to work today," you mumble, hoping the conversation will end there.

He raises an eyebrow, his expression sharp. "What did you do? Did you cause any problems?"

You frown, crossing your arms. "Why do you always think it’s my fault? I didn’t cause any problems!"

He sets the bowl down with a thud, his arms crossing in a mirror of your stance. "Then why don’t you want to go? What’s going on?"

You hesitate for a moment, then blurt out, "Do you not like having a woman in your kitchen, dad?"

Your dad’s expression shifts, a mixture of confusion and concern. "What kind of question is that? Is someone looking down on you at work because you’re a girl?"

You look away, your hands fidgeting with the edge of your apron. "Not exactly," you say vaguely, hoping he won’t press further.

But of course, he does. "Listen," he says firmly, his voice carrying the weight of years of experience. "You chose this job yourself. Did you think it would be easy to survive in a kitchen? It’s tough, and you knew that going in."

His tone softens slightly as he adds, "But as your dad, I don’t like the idea of anyone belittling you when you’re doing your job right so tell me who is it?"

You’re spared from answering by the buzz of your phone. Glancing at the screen, your stomach tightens as Minho’s name flashes across it. You shove the phone into your purse, ignoring the call, and quickly grab your things.

"I have to go," you say hastily, avoiding your dad’s probing gaze.

He frowns but doesn’t stop you. "Don’t let anyone push you around, okay?"

You nod, forcing a small smile. "Bye, Dad."

As you step out of the bakery and into the crisp morning air, your thoughts are already racing ahead, dreading the day that awaits you at Farfalle.

-

The dining hall is humming with quiet murmurs as everyone lines up for the morning briefing. You find a spot behind Felix, adjusting your apron as you focus on the busy day ahead. The sound of approaching footsteps silences the chatter, and you glance up to see Minho stride into the room, his presence commanding as always. His eyes land on yours almost instantly, a fleeting moment of intensity that feels like a challenge. You meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down, your expression calm but unyielding.

Minho’s lips press into a thin line, and he looks away just as Sara and Chris join him at the front.

Chris claps his hands once, his usual easygoing smile brightening the room. "Good morning, everyone! I’ve got an exciting announcement today. As many of you know, we have a new addition to the Farfalle family."

He gestures to Sara, who steps forward with a confident smile. "This is Chef Choi Sara. She’ll be joining us as the head of the pasta line and will oversee the execution of the new menu, including her signature triple-flavored pasta."

Sara’s posture is straight and authoritative, her voice calm yet firm as she adds, "I look forward to working with all of you. Let’s make sure this transition is smooth and that we maintain Farfalle’s reputation for excellence."

Her words carry weight, and you notice how everyone straightens up a little more. Even Seungwan, who often tries to mask his nerves with humor, looks unusually attentive.

After a moment of silence, Seungwan speaks up, voicing the question that’s likely on everyone’s mind. "So... does this mean there’ll be two head chefs in the kitchen now?"

Chris and Sara exchange a brief glance before answering simultaneously. "Yes."

Chris continues, "Chef Minho and Chef Sara will work together to ensure everything runs smoothly. This is a collaborative effort, and I trust both of them to lead the team."

Sara nods in agreement, her smile still professional but not overly warm. "We’re here to elevate Farfalle’s standards even further. Let’s focus on that."

Minho remains silent, his arms crossed as he leans slightly against the counter. There’s a tension in his jaw, his expression unreadable but clearly restrained. You can’t help but notice the slight twitch in his fingers, as if he’s holding himself back from saying something.

You shift your attention back to Sara as she continues outlining the day’s plans, though you can’t shake the nagging feeling that the tension in the room is only going to grow.

-

Minho stands at the base of the steps leading to his office when Sara steps in front of him, her gaze steady.

"Minho," she begins, her tone measured. "Don’t think of me as a woman. Don’t think of me as your ex. Just think of me as a chef."

Minho narrows his eyes slightly, watching her.

She continues, her voice unwavering. "I won’t play dirty this time. I won’t compromise my integrity, either."

There’s a pause before Minho nods slightly, his face unreadable. "Let’s try it, then," he says simply. He gives her one last look, then sidesteps her and heads up the stairs.

When he reaches his office, the kitchen staff is already gathered outside, shifting uneasily under his sharp gaze. "Get in," he orders, pushing the door open and gesturing for them to line up.

Inside, he picks up a stack of papers—the reviews they’d written about his dish. His lips curl into a sardonic smile as he flips through them.

"You all really wrote whatever you wanted, didn’t you?" he remarks, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Let’s see."

He pulls out the first sheet and scans it quickly. A dry chuckle escapes him. "This one doesn’t even critique the dish. It’s just a love letter." He reads aloud: ‘Chef Lee, you’re my idol. Chef Lee, you’re the best chef in the world.’

His eyes snap to Taesoo, who grins sheepishly.

"How did I know it was you?" Minho mutters, shaking his head.

Taesoo laughs, unabashed. "Because it’s true, Chef!"

Ignoring him, Minho pulls out the next paper. His brow furrows, then he looks up at Felix, holding the page between two fingers, showing the review says nothing but a drawing of three stars on it. "What’s this? Are you a food critic?"

Felix flashes a cheeky grin. "Your foie gras was perfect. Didn’t think you needed a critique."

Minho’s jaw tightens. "I said to critique the menu, not to flatter me. I asked for the good and the bad points on my dish. How can I improve if all you do is stroke my ego, huh?"

Felix shrugs, his grin unrelenting. "I genuinely had nothing bad to say."

Minho scowls, twisting both of their ears until they're wincing in pain. "Both of you. Out."

Taesoo and Felix exchange glances but quickly obey, leaving with amused expressions.

Minho reads a few more reviews, his scowl deepening with each. "Ah, here’s an actual critique," he says, raising an eyebrow. He glances between Seungwan and Hyunwoo. "‘Too expensive for fish liver.’ Let me guess—you two."

Hyunwoo groans. "You told us to write anonymously!"

"And yet, here we are," Minho deadpans, waving the paper. "Out. Both of you."

The room empties, leaving only Souschef Seojun and you behind. Minho leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"You two didn’t even bother with anonymity," he remarks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Seojun steps forward. "It would’ve felt cowardly not to own up to it."

Minho nods. "I appreciate that. Go on, then. Tell me your critique."

Seojun doesn’t hesitate. "The ingredient isn’t easy to source. It’s seasonal and from warm waters. How will we maintain a consistent supply? How can it be a regular menu item?"

Minho considers this for a moment, then responds with practiced ease. "Flash freezing, salt preservation, smoking—there are methods. But next time, discuss it with me directly instead of on paper."

Seojun nods, satisfied. "Understood."

"Good. You're dismissed, souschef," Minho dismisses him with a wave, and Seojun exits, leaving you alone with Minho.

Minho’s eyes lock onto yours, intense and probing. He crosses his arms, his posture exuding authority. "Your turn."

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Your dish tastes cowardly."

Minho arches an eyebrow. "Cowardly? Let me guess—because the chef is a coward, so the food reflects that?"

You nod, unfazed.

He leans forward slightly. "And what does a cowardly dish taste like?"

You don’t flinch. "It tastes good at first but leaves a bad aftertaste. It tastes good but the first bite is different from the last."

Minho’s expression darkens, but you press on. "It tastes good, but it gives you indigestion."

For a moment, there’s only silence as Minho processes your words. Then his voice drops, low and challenging. "Are you talking about the dish or about me?"

You meet his gaze without hesitation and the tension in the room is palpable, the air heavy with unspoken words. Minho looks like he wants to say something but hesitates.

Not wanting to give him the answer, you excuse yourself, turning on your heel and leaving his office without looking back. Let him figure it out himself.

One thing that Minho knows for sure is that you're still upset with him.

-

The kitchen is charged with pre-service energy as you meticulously arrange your station, ensuring every utensil and ingredient is in its place. You’re focused, your hands moving with practiced precision, when Sara enters the room.

Her presence draws subtle glances from the staff, but her stride remains confident and poised. When your eyes meet, she offers you a smile—a genuine, warm gesture that catches you slightly off guard. You return the smile, tentative but sincere.

Sara makes a slow circuit around the kitchen, her gaze sharp as she observes the setup. Eventually, she stops beside your station, leaning casually against the counter.

"I have to say," she begins, her tone light but genuine, "I’m surprised to see you’re still a line cook."

You blink, her words catching you off guard. There’s no condescension in her voice, only honest surprise.

Before you can respond, she reaches over and gently fixes the lapel of your chef’s coat, her movements precise and almost maternal. "It may feel far away now," she continues, her voice soft but firm, "but the journey to the chef’s table—it can take a moment or a lifetime. The difference is entirely up to you."

Her words settle over you like a soothing balm, and for the first time, you feel seen. A small smile tugs at your lips as she flashes you one of her own, radiating warmth.

"Let’s work hard together, mmh?" she says simply.

You nod, your chest tightening with gratitude. "Thank you, chef," you manage, your voice quiet but heartfelt. For the first time, it feels like someone in the kitchen might actually be on your side.

As Sara straightens up, her expression shifts slightly, her eyes sparkling with determination. "That being said," she adds with a teasing edge, "don’t be surprised if I push people hard today. I have to set the tone—it’s my first day, after all."

You chuckle, a genuine laugh bubbling up. "It’s about time they got a taste of a woman’s wrath."

Sara laughs at that, the sound bright and infectious, and for a moment, the tension of the kitchen feels lighter.

The moment doesn’t last long, though. The sharp call of the Chef signals that the lunch service is about to begin. You straighten your posture, slipping back into the focused mindset the kitchen demands, but Sara’s words linger in your mind, a quiet source of encouragement as the chaos of the day begins.

-

The kitchen hums with its usual chaotic energy, but today, there’s an added tension—something almost tangible in the air. It’s not the knives, the flames, or the hot oil; it’s the heat radiating from the silent war between Minho and Sara.

They stand at the front of the kitchen, their gazes locked, the unspoken weight of their history filling the space. No one dares to say anything until the familiar sound of the first order prints through the machine, breaking the silence.

"Table number five, four Triple-flavored pasta!" Minho shouts, his voice sharp and commanding.

Everyone springs into action. Sara moves to the stove next to yours, her movements precise as she begins preparing her new dish. You try to focus on your own station, but the tension is impossible to ignore.

Minho prowls the kitchen like a hawk, watching everyone’s work, shouting reminders, and ordering the pace to quicken. As the chaos grows, Sara moves to Felix’s station.

“You should add balsamic vinegar right before the sauce is done,” Sara says, her tone calm yet firm. “If you heat it, the sourness fades and leaves just the sweetness—it’ll balance the tomatoes perfectly.”

Felix hesitates, looking unsure, when Minho suddenly appears.

“No,” Minho says sharply, crossing his arms. “The sourness is what makes the dish fresher. If you kill that, you kill the tomatoes’ intrinsic flavor.”

Minho shifts his glare at Felix. “Don’t add it!”

Felix’s eyes dart between the two chefs before he sheepishly nods at Minho. “Yes, Chef.”

Sara sighs but says nothing, retreating to her own station. Everyone think that’s the end of it, but the disagreements continue.

Sara suggests adding egg yolks to Taesoo’s pasta dough. Minho counters with water and milk. Sara advises salting the pasta water more generously. Minho claims it will overpower the sauce.

The tension mounts with every disagreement, and you feel yourself sinking further into the inferno when their eyes land on you.

You’re midway through cooking vongole when Sara steps beside you.

“Use sliced garlic,” she says, gesturing to the minced garlic in your dish. “It’s subtler and more aromatic.”

Minho snorts. “Sliced takes too long to cook. Minced is faster and better for the clams.”

You glance between them, feeling the weight of their stares. Without a word, you compromise by adding half minced and half sliced garlic, hoping it’ll satisfy both.

As you add the clams and a splash of wine, Sara speaks again. “Lid it immediately. It’ll trap the aroma and infuse the clams.”

“Flambé it first,” Minho interrupts. “Burn off the alcohol before lidding it. Otherwise, the wine will overpower everything.”

The two begin arguing over the right way to cook vongole, their voices rising over the chaos of the kitchen. You focus on finishing the dish the way you’ve always done it, ignoring their conflicting advice as best as you can.

By the time you plate the vongole, your nerves are frayed. The heat between Sara and Minho feels suffocating and it's getting too dangerous that you feel like the kitchen is on the verge of exploding.

You step back from your station, taking a steadying breath, and glance at the two chefs still locked in their verbal sparring. It’s going to be a long day and it's just the lunch service.

-

Lunch service ends, and the tension in the kitchen dissipates like steam, leaving you drained. With your lunch tray in hand, you head to the coffee station, hoping for a moment of solitude. You pour yourself a glass of water and settle into a corner table, savoring the quiet.

Not long after, Felix joins you, plopping down across from you with his own tray. The two of you eat in silence for a while, the clinking of cutlery against plates the only sound.

Then, out of nowhere, Felix lets out a heavy sigh, setting his fork down dramatically.

"What is his problem?" Felix grumbles, shaking his head. “Why did Chef even let her work here? Like, what was he thinking?”

You glance at him, your expression calm despite the chaos brewing inside you. "What are you trying to say, Felix?"

Felix leans closer, his brows furrowing in deep thought. “I mean, with his temper, Chef should’ve quit ages ago. So why is he still here? What’s keeping him around?”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

Felix suddenly sits upright, his expression lighting up as though he’s cracked some grand mystery. “Oh no—what if he still has feelings for her? That’s why he’s letting Sara walk all over him!”

You nudge him hard, your eyes darting toward the coffee counter just as Taesoo appears, holding a pot of coffee. Felix quiets immediately, his face turning red as you both watch Taesoo approach.

Taesoo sets the cups of coffee down in front of you and Felix, then leans forward conspiratorially. “I agree with you guys. It’s hell having two chefs in charge.”

You manage a small, polite smile but don’t respond, feeling the weight of too many secrets hanging in the air. You can barely eat your lunch anymore so you decide to escape for real this time. You make your way up to the rooftop, hoping the open sky will offer some clarity.

The city stretches before you, bathed in golden afternoon light. You sit on a bench, taking in the view and letting the distant hum of traffic drown out your thoughts.

The door creaks open behind you, and you sigh, already regretting your choice of hiding place.

Minho steps out, his figure silhouetted against the sunlight. He strides over to the other bench and sits, his gaze immediately locking onto you.

“You know I’m the only chef you have,” he says, his tone steady but commanding. “Listen to me. Only me.”

You don’t respond, keeping your eyes on the horizon.

The silence stretches, and Minho shifts, his impatience palpable. “Are you seriously trying to frustrate me by not saying anything?”

First you're wrong for speaking, and now you’re wrong for staying quiet too? You mumble inside your head. You sigh deeply, pushing yourself to your feet and head for the door,

Minho blocks your path, his eyes boring into yours. “You!” he demands. “Talk to me now!”

You hesitate, but his unrelenting gaze forces the words out. “I envy you two,” you admit finally. “The way you two are so certain, so right—even when you’re disagreeing with each other. You don’t care about the rest of us caught in the crossfire.”

Minho scoffs, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “You envy that? Really?”

“At least you’re communicating,” you say quietly.

“That’s not communicating,” Minho counters, his voice tinged with frustration. “That’s arguing.”

You cross your arms, meeting his gaze steadily. “For you, it’s basically foreplay.”

The corner of Minho’s mouth twitches, and he chuckles softly. His laugh lingers in the air, but you don’t join in. Without another word, you turn and walk past him, leaving the rooftop behind. The weight of envy sinks deeper into your chest, heavy and unshakable.

-

You emerge from your bedroom, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, ready for another day in the kitchen. The scent of freshly brewed coffee greets you, and you glance toward the living room to see Sara seated on the couch, a steaming mug in her hands.

“Good morning,” she says with a warm smile, setting the mug down. “I was hoping we could leave for work together.”

You blink, caught off guard but nod in agreement. “Sure.”

Together, you exit the apartment and step into the elevator. As the doors begin to slide shut, a hand suddenly presses the button from the outside, causing them to reopen.

Minho steps in.

The atmosphere shifts immediately, the air growing tense. You glance between Minho and Sara, feeling the awkwardness settle like a heavy blanket.

You reach for the button to the lobby, but before you can press it, Sara gently takes your hand.

“Hey,” she says, looking at you with a soft smile, “why don’t you come to work with me in my car from now on? It’ll be easier.”

Before you can respond, Minho reaches out and grabs your other hand, his grip firm but not forceful.

“No,” he says, his tone resolute. “You’re taking my car today.”

Sara’s smile vanishes as she glares at Minho. “Why are you doing this? You’re making her uncomfortable.”

Minho doesn’t back down, meeting her gaze with equal intensity. “I’m making it comfortable. What’s the problem with going together?”

You let out a quiet sigh, feeling their gazes burning into you from both sides. Taking a step forward, you pull your hands free from their grip.

“I’ll take the bus,” you announce, keeping your tone neutral. “I have a few errands to run before work anyway.”

It’s a weak excuse, but it’s enough to break the standoff.

The elevator dings as it reaches the lobby, and the doors slide open. Without waiting for their responses, you step out and make a beeline for the exit, eager to escape the suffocating tension.

As you walk away, you can’t help but shake your head. How did I get caught in this mess?

You arrive earlier than planned at the restaurant, despite your best attempts to stall. Determined to avoid the kitchen, and more importantly, Minho, you head straight to Chris’s office.

Knocking softly on the door, you pop your head inside and greet him sweetly, “Good morning, Mr. Bang.”

Chris looks up from his desk, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You step inside and close the door behind you. “I was wondering if we could have coffee together before work starts?”

He tilts his head to the side and slightly pout. “But I don’t drink coffee.”

You think for a second and sheepishly grin. “Tea?”

Chris leans back in his chair, nodding with a grin. “Okay. Come in.”

You settle onto the sofa as he moves to the coffee maker, pouring you a cup. He places it on the table in front of you and sits down across from you, watching as you take a careful sip.

“Thanks,” you say, the rich aroma of coffee helping to steady your nerves. But you notice Chris is still watching you, his expression thoughtful.

Tilting your head and grin, you say, “You’ve got something on your mind. Go ahead, spill it.”

He chuckles lightly, setting his mug down. “Well, I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor.”

You raise an eyebrow but nod for him to continue.

Chris hesitates for a moment before saying, “I think Sara could use some help in the kitchen. You know, since you’re both women working in the same environment.”

Your smile falters slightly. It’s not an easy favor to grant, especially considering the tension in the kitchen. “I’m not taking sides, Chris,” you reply carefully.

“I’m not asking you to pick sides,” he says, leaning forward. “But she’s fighting an uphill battle in there, and it would mean a lot if you had her back.”

You glance away, unsure how to respond. Chris leans forward further, taking both your hands in his.

“And I’ll have your back too, yeah?” he says earnestly.

You scoff lightly, trying to ease the moment. “You only say that now.”

Chris grins and pouts theatrically. “You always say yes, Chef to a certain someone without question. Don’t forget, I’m the one who signs your paychecks.”

You smirk at that, narrowing your eyes. “Are you threatening me?”

He laughs, squeezing your hands. “Maybe I am.”

You roll your eyes but smile, taking another sip of your coffee.

Chris’s tone softens, and his gaze meets yours again. “Actually, I have another favor to ask.”

You give him a wary look and slightly roll your eyes to the side. “What now?”

His eyes don’t waver. “Show me a little attention too. It costs you nothing.”

You chuckle, shaking your head while lowly chuckling. “If it costs nothing, then why do you need it?”

Chris’s smile deepens. “Because it’s nice to have your attention.”

You don’t respond immediately, instead lifting your cup for another sip, quietly mulling over his words. The warmth of the coffee lingers, along with the weight of his request in your chest.

-

Minho finishes buttoning up his chef coat, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. He slams his locker door shut, the loud clang echoing in the empty room. Something about the way you've been acting these past few days unsettles him—ignoring him, not listening like you used to.

He mutters under his breath as he strides toward the kitchen, his shoes clicking against the tiled floor. Turning a corner, he catches sight of you stepping out of Chris’s office. The sight stirs something in him, a sharp annoyance he can’t quite suppress.

“Hey, you!” he calls out, his voice cutting through the air.

You flinch at the sudden sound, looking startled as you turn to face him.

Minho marches up to you, his brow furrowed. “What were you doing in there?” he demands. “You never come to my office unless I call you, but you walk into the manager’s office like it’s your own house. Is it your break room?”

Your eyes narrow, and you cross your arms. “Because every time I come to your office, all I get is scolded. Why would I want to go there?”

Minho glares at you, his frustration bubbling over. “You get scolded because you deserve it!”

You hold his gaze, unfazed by his anger. “Well, Chris never scolds me—even when I make mistakes.”

The comparison stings more than Minho wants to admit. He lets out a sharp laugh, more disbelief than humor. “You listen to me,” he snaps, his voice rising.

Before he can say more, you turn on your heel and walk toward the locker room. Minho grits his teeth and follows, his irritation fueling each step.

As he steps into the locker room, he sees you leaning against your locker, arms still crossed. “What is it?” you ask, your tone clipped.

Minho takes a step closer, his gaze locked on yours. “What’s with you lately? Are you braver now because there’s another woman in the kitchen? Do you like it?”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “I’m not answering that. I’m just trying to survive.”

Your nonchalance only fuels his frustration. “Survive this then,” he mutters, stepping forward and flicking your forehead with his finger.

“Ow!” You wince, rubbing the spot as you pout. “This is exactly why I don’t go to your office.”

Minho feels a pang of something deeper than anger—guilt, maybe, or worry. But he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he takes a step back, his voice sharp. “Where is everyone?!”

He turns on his heel, pushing the door open with unnecessary force and letting it slam shut behind him.

Walking away, Minho feels the weight of something he hasn’t wanted to acknowledge. For the first time, he wonders if he’s losing his hold on you—if he’s slowly losing you.

-

Minho’s eyes scan the tickets lined up above the kitchen counter, ensuring everything is running smoothly during the hectic dinner service. His focus is interrupted when a service staff approaches and announces, “Chef, there’s a special order—one truffle tagliatelle.”

Souschef Seojun immediately protest, “That’s not on the menu.”

Chef Sara pauses her ravioli preparation, throwing in, “We’re too busy to make it. Tell the customer we can’t do it.”

The service staff nods and starts to leave, but Minho stops him with a raised hand. “Wait. Tell the customer, we'll do it.”

The room falls silent, every chef momentarily pausing their work to look at him. Minho smirks, sensing their apprehension. “Isn't it exciting to have this kind of order after making the same dishes over and over again like a bookwork?”

Sara steps forward, frowning. “Truffles are expensive. This isn’t just some experiment, and it’s not a dish anyone can make on a whim.”

Minho doesn’t respond directly, turning to the rest of the team instead. “Anyone want to give it a shot?”

Felix’s hand shoots up enthusiastically. “I’ll try, Chef!”

Minho smiles faintly but his eyes land on you. He picks up a dough roller, pointing it at you. “What about you? Want to try making it?”

Sara glares at him. “I'm telling you, we can't.”

Ignoring her, Minho points at you again, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Let's do it. You and I, together.”

Sara’s patience snaps. “I’m in charge of the pasta line. This is my responsibility.”

Minho dismisses her protests with a wave of his hand. “Go get the truffles from the freezer,” he orders you.

As you rush off, Minho grabs a pan and begins prepping. Sara, clearly unwilling to back down, steps next to him. “Fine,” she says curtly. “I’ll make it with you.”

You return with the truffles and the aphrodisiac smell wafting around the kitchen, holding them carefully. Sara immediately commands, “Peel the skin.”

“No,” Minho interjects. “Keep the skin. It adds depth.”

The crease between Sara’s eyebrows deepens as she meets with another disagreement. “The skin is too rough so it ruins the texture of the pasta. It's better to add truffle oil at the very end.”

“Keep the skin.” He doesn’t entertain further debate, instructing you instead. “Slice them.”

You nod, grabbing mandolin and delicately slicing the truffles as directed. Minho watches briefly before turning back to his pan. When you’re done, he gestures for you to add the truffle to his pan.

As you do so, Sara lets out an exasperated huff. “This is all wrong. Now, we have to do it all over again,” she says sharply, yanking a pan from the rack.

The motion is too forceful, sending the other pans on the rack crashing into others, causing a loud clatter. One pan falls onto the stove, sending hot oil splashing across the counter.

“Chef!” you call out, your voice filled with alarm.

Before he can react, you lunge forward and push him out of the way. Minho stumbles and falls to the floor. He quickly regains his balance, only to see you clutching your forearm, the skin red and raw from the oil.

Panic floods his system as he scrambles to his feet. “Are you okay?!” he asks, his voice tight with worry.

Sara rushes over with a cloth, also checking if you're okay but Minho snatches it from her, gently covering your burns. “You need to see a doctor,” he says firmly.

“I’m fine,” you reply softly, trying to pull your arm away.

“Fine?” he repeats, his frustration spilling over. “Who asked you to interfere like that and get hurt?”

You look down, avoiding his gaze. “At least let me finish the dinner service.”

Minho’s patience snaps. “Are you deaf, or do you think having two chefs means you can ignore half of what I say?”

“I didn’t mean—”

Before you can finish, Minho grabs your uninjured hand, tugging you out of the kitchen. He leads you to the locker room, his grip firm but not harsh.

Once there, he carefully examines the burns, his jaw clenching at the sight. “You’re going to the hospital. Now.”

You start to protest again, but his glare silences you. “Why did you jump in like that?” he demands, his voice softer now but no less intense.

You don’t answer, your gaze fixed on the floor as you clutch the cloth against your arm.

Minho exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Go. Before it gets worse.”

When you don’t immediately move, he softens slightly. “Please,” he adds quietly.

Your hesitation finally melts, and you nod, turning to leave. As the locker room door swings shut behind you, Minho exhales sharply, leaning against the cold metal of the lockers. His heart is still pounding, the image of your reddened arm burned into his mind. He clenches his fists, replaying the events in his head—Sara’s defiance, the clatter of pans, the searing splash of oil.

It wasn’t just bad luck; it was his stubbornness.

Minho presses a hand to his face, his breath uneven. Why had he insisted on making that dish? Was it just to prove a point to Sara? To remind everyone who was in charge? And now, because of his ego, you got hurt.

The thought gnaws at him. For all his years in the kitchen, he prided himself on maintaining control. But today, he let his pride and frustration blind him, and it almost cost someone he cared about.

The realization hits hard. He’s been so focused on asserting his authority, pushing people to their limits, that he hadn’t noticed the cracks forming around him. You were one of the few people who never hesitated to follow his lead, and now even you had started to push back.

And maybe you were right to.

With a heavy sigh, he presses a hand against the locker, his head bowing. He’s always believed that the kitchen was no place for weakness. But now he wonders if his idea of strength—of control—has been wrong all along.

-

You wince as you struggle to put on your jacket, the pain in your arm making even the simplest movements unbearable. You push open the back door of the restaurant with your shoulder, stepping into the cool night air, when you hear the hurried clatter of footsteps behind you.

Turning, you find Chris descending the steps in a rush, his face lined with concern.

“I heard you got hurt,” he says breathlessly, his eyes locking on your bandaged arm. “Are you okay?”

You offer a small, forced smile. “I’m fine, really.”

But his gaze drops to your forearm, and he winces, hissing through his teeth. “That doesn’t look fine.”

“I can handle it,” you insist, trying to wave him off, but Chris shakes his head firmly.

“Nope, not happening,” he says, snatching your purse from your hand and slinging it over his shoulder. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

You sigh in defeat, trailing after him to his car.

At the hospital, the doctor examines your burns with practiced care, cleaning the wound and carefully wrapping it in fresh bandages. He suggests an IV shot for hydration and recovery, but you shake your head.

“I need to get back to work,” you argue.

The doctor frowns. “I’ve yet to meet a chef who isn’t worn down by their work. You need rest.”

Chris places a gentle hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles. “Just listen to the doctor, mmh?”

Reluctantly, you nod, and before you know it, you’re being ushered into a small recovery room. Chris fusses over you like a mother hen, tucking you into bed.

“Stop treating me like a baby,” you tease, grinning despite yourself.

Chris laughs softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. His expression shifts to something more serious, his brows furrowed with worry.

“I’m fine,” you assure him again, your voice softer this time.

He nods, but his eyes don’t quite lose their concern. “Get some sleep,” he murmurs.

You glance at him, raising a brow. “I can’t sleep with you staring at me like that.”

Chris chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright. I’ll pick you up in the morning.” He hesitates for a moment, then leans down to give you a quick, warm hug. “Goodnight.”

You watch as he leaves, the door sliding shut behind him. Settling back into the bed, you close your eyes, hoping to find some rest.

The sound of the door sliding open wakes you, and you groggily lift your head. Your first thought it's Chris coming back to make sure you're resting and you're about to scold him when you notice that it isn't who you thought he is.

Instead of Chris, Minho steps inside, his chef’s coat replaced by a simple shirt, pulling an IV pole beside him. His sharp features are shadowed in the dim light, but his usual smirk is nowhere to be seen.

“Why are you here?” you blurt, startled yourself by sounding so worried. “Did you get hurt?”

Minho arches a brow as he settles himself on the bed next to yours. “Do I look hurt?”

You narrow your eyes. “Shouldn’t you still be working?”

He shrugs, settling onto the bed beside yours. “What, you think the kitchen can’t survive without you?”

You let out a scoff, lying on your side and turning your back to him. Silence stretches between you, but it doesn’t last.

“Why are you lying there with your back turned so disrespectfully?” Minho’s voice cuts through the quiet.

You fight the urge to snap at him, instead replying, “Why don’t you do the same then?”

Another stretch of silence, broken only by the soft hum of the IV machine. Minho speaks again, his tone uncharacteristically calm. “Burns need proper treatment. You’ll have to come here every day until it heals. It’s not good for a woman to have scars.”

You stiffen but refuse to respond.

“I’ve seen your scars,” he continues. “From knives, I’m guessing. Are you a cook or a gangster?”

You refuse to take that bait and keep your back to him.

“You should’ve let me get hurt,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Why did you interfere like that? You’re a woman—”

“Don’t start with the ‘woman this, woman that,’” you snap, finally turning to glare at him. “I’m tired of it.”

Minho smirks faintly, but it falters when you continue.

“I’m also tired of being caught in the crossfire between you and Sara. This is the last time I’m getting involved.”

His silence is deafening, and you don’t wait for a response.

You make it final by pulling the curtain between the beds to separate the two of you, also as a gesture that you want to stop interacting with him.

Turning away again, you close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easily. Your chest aches—not from the burns, but from the frustration bubbling inside you.

-

Minho lies awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling. Your words from last night replay in his mind like a broken record.

“I’m tired of getting caught between you and Sara. This is the last time I’m getting involved.”

The weight of them lingers, pressing on his chest. Do you mean it? Are you giving up on him entirely? The thought churns restlessly in his head.

You’re just a bed away, close enough that he can hear your steady breathing. But even with you so near, you feel unbearably far. Sleep evades him, no matter how many times he closes his eyes. When morning finally comes, he feels heavy, his body sluggish from the lack of rest.

Then he hears your voice from the other side of the curtain. It’s soft, measured, and at first, he assumes you’re talking to a nurse. But another voice follows, distinctly male, with that irritating Australian accent that grates on his nerves.

Chris.

Minho sits up abruptly, his fatigue evaporating as irritation spikes. Without hesitation, he yanks the curtain aside in one swift motion.

You freeze mid-conversation, your arm lifted as Chris helps you into your jacket. Both of you turn to look at him, startled by his sudden appearance. Chris recovers first, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Are you feeling unwell too, chef?” Chris asks.

Minho doesn’t bother answering. He scoffs instead, his sharp eyes fixed on Chris’s hand, still adjusting your jacket. Then Chris steps back, smiling at you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and—Minho’s jaw tightens—reaches out to fix a stray strand of your hair.

The audacity of it.

Minho crosses his arms and leans against the bedframe, his tone sharp. “Do you always stay by your employees’ sides when they’re sick, or is this just a special case?”

Chris looks at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Showing favoritism like this,” Minho says, gesturing toward you. “Is this how you treat all your employees?”

Chris pauses for a moment before answering. “Favoritism?” he repeats, as if testing the word. “Yeah, it’s favoritism.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, his irritation growing. “Why?”

“Because she’s a great employee,” Chris says matter-of-factly. “Why can’t I be good to someone who works so hard?”

Minho clicks his tongue in disbelief. It’s a good answer, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.

Chris steps closer, meeting Minho’s gaze with quiet intensity. “How about you, chef?” he asks, his tone sharper now, “how much longer does the kitchen have to feel like a battlefield?”

Minho tilts his head, feigning nonchalance. “And you think that’s because of me?”

Chris doesn’t hesitate. “Are you saying it’s Sara’s fault?”

Minho looks away, unwilling to give a direct answer.

Chris presses on. “It’s both of you. I don’t know what happened between you and Sara back in Italy, but you’ll need to find a way to work together for the sake of the restaurant.”

Minho bristles. He doesn’t need a lecture, least of all from Chris.

“And honestly, you and Sara have a lot in common. You look good together,” Chris adds, his tone light but deliberate,

“It’s because you’re so similar,” Chris continues. “You argue because you’re alike. But that also means you could be great partners. Rivals, sure, but partners too.”

The words hit a nerve. Minho’s fists clench at his sides. He can’t stand hearing it—being compared to Sara, of all people. He’s nothing like her.

You, sensing the tension rising, step forward and gently take Chris’s arm. “Let's go home,” you say softly, your voice cutting through the thick atmosphere.

Turning to Minho, you add, “I’ll call the nurse to help you with the needle.”

Minho doesn’t respond, his lips pressed into a tight line as he watches you leave the room with Chris. The door clicks shut behind you, leaving him alone.

His chest tightens, anger and desperation swirling inside him. He can’t do this anymore—watching everything he cares about slipping through his fingers. He’s done standing idly by.

Today, Minho decides, is the day he starts reclaiming what’s his. Starting with you.

-

Even with the burns on your arm, you're ready to face another day in the kitchen. You step out of your apartment and immediately freeze when you see Minho leaning casually against the wall opposite your door. His head tilts slightly in your direction as he notices you, his expression unreadable. You aren’t sure if he’s been waiting for you or if this is just a coincidence, but the moment he starts walking toward you, the answer becomes obvious.

He stops just a step away, close enough that you can see the faint shadows under his eyes—proof of a restless night. You adjust your bag strap on your shoulder, bracing yourself. With Minho, you’ve learned to expect the unexpected.

He tilts his head from side to side, his gaze sweeping over you as if you’re some intriguing statue in a museum. You stand still, waiting for him to speak first.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “I don’t like it,” he says.

You blink, confused. “Don’t like what?”

“When someone else treats my kitchen staff better than I do,” he answers, his voice firm. “Or gives them a harder time than I do.”

Your lips twitch involuntarily. “No one’s meaner to anyone in that kitchen than you are.”

At that, he steps closer, his movements deliberate, closing the small distance between you. His eyes lock onto yours, and his voice drops to a lower register. “That’s the thing. I’ll be the one who treats you better than anyone else does. And I’ll be the one who’s meaner to you too.”

You let out a laugh, the absurdity of his declaration catching you off guard. “Why would you want to do that?”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense,” you reply, the corners of your mouth still tugged into a smile. “How exactly do you plan to be nicer to me?”

He smirks, though there’s a sharpness behind it. “I said I’d be meaner too, but it seems like you only heard the ‘nicer’ part.”

You shrug lightly, choosing to focus on the less daunting half of his claim. “Well, you being mean isn’t exactly news. I’d rather hear how you plan to be nicer.”

Minho narrows his eyes at you, as if you’ve just challenged him. “Do you have selective hearing, or are you just ignoring the other part?”

You meet his gaze, your smile fading slightly as you study him. You know Minho well enough to understand he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. Still, imagining him being genuinely kind to you feels… out of character.

The thought crosses your mind before you can stop it. “Are you saying you’ll be nicer to me than Chris? I think that will not be easy for you.”

Minho’s expression hardens, his body stiffening at the mention of Chris. He leans in closer, his voice quiet but pointed. “And how would you know that?”

You hold his gaze, refusing to back down. “Because it doesn’t suit you.”

He leans in even further, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “You’ve never even seen my nice side. So how would you know?”

For a moment, you’re silent, the intensity of his proximity stealing your words. There’s something both challenging and intriguing in his stare, something that makes you wonder what he’s really thinking. Then, before you can respond, Minho grabs your bag off your shoulder.

“Hey—” you start to protest, but he cuts you off by taking your hand, his fingers lacing with yours effortlessly.

“Let’s go,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. Minho glances back at you, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “We're going to work together.”

-

The lunch service is in full swing, and the kitchen is alive with the clamor of pots, pans, and orders being barked out. You’re in the zone, filling pasta orders as fast as you can and setting them on the chef’s table for Minho to inspect. He wipes the edge of the plate with precision, his expression unreadable as he checks the presentation.

You can’t help but think about what he said earlier about being nicer to you, and the memory makes a small smile tug at your lips.

“You have three more to do,” he reminds you, his voice firm and cutting through the chaos. Then his sharp gaze flicks to you. “What are you waiting for?”

“Yes, Chef,” you reply with a bit more enthusiasm than usual, your smile lingering as you turn and head back to your station.

You’re halfway through preparing three vongole when you realize you’re out of clams. Grabbing a container, you make your way to the freezer to restock. The cold air greets you as you step inside, and you quickly locate a fresh container of short-necked clams.

You hear the freezer door creak open behind you. The sound of footsteps echoes in the cold, and when you glance back, you see Minho entering. His eyes find you immediately, and he gestures for you to follow him to the far corner of the freezer.

Curious, you clutch the container of clams to your chest and follow. He stops near the wall and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“Stand there,” he orders, pointing to the wall.

You blink but comply, leaning against the icy surface as he steps closer, his frame blocking your escape. His tone sharpens. “What was that smile for earlier?”

“Smile?” you ask, feigning innocence, though you already know what he’s referring to.

“Yes, that smile,” he snaps, but there’s a suppressed tug at the corner of his lips. “I’m warning you—if you keep smiling at me like that, I’ll clamp your lips shut.”

You giggle at his threat, clutching the clam container tighter. “I can’t help it,” you admit. “I’ve been waiting to see how you’d be nicer to me. Am I being obvious?”

Minho lets out a small, exasperated sigh, but the faintest smile finally breaks through. “Are you really that happy?”

You don’t answer, but the way your smile widens says it all.

He leans in closer, the sudden proximity making your breath hitch. His voice dips, quieter and more serious. “Close your eyes.”

Your eyes widen at his words, your mind racing as you try to guess his intention. “Chef, are you—”

“Close your eyes,” he repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Swallowing nervously, you obey, your lashes fluttering shut. The cold air nips at your skin, but the warmth of his breath ghosting over your cheek sends a shiver down your spine.

He wouldn’t dare kiss you here… would he? And then—clamp!

Your lips sting in sudden pain as something hard presses against them. You yelp and snap your eyes open to see Minho holding a clam shell against your lips.

“Chef!” you cry out, your voice muffled.

“I warned you,” he says coolly, though his tone holds a teasing edge. “You should’ve known better than to test me.”

You whine in protest, but Minho continues, his eyes narrowing. “Do you know what will happen if people find out about us? I’ve fired people for this before, and you know it. I can’t show my face if this gets out. I’d have to leave Farfalle—and maybe the earth—out of humiliation.”

Finally, he releases the clam, and you immediately touch your lips, wincing at the dull ache.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, his tone almost mocking.

You shake your head, trying to save face. “No, chef,” you lie.

Minho smirks, clearly satisfied with your answer. “Good. Now get back to work.”

He turns and leaves the freezer, his coat billowing slightly behind him. The moment he’s gone, you groan, rubbing your sore lips. “Fuck! It hurts so much. When is he ever going to be nicer to me?” you mumble under your breath.

But then, to your dismay, you find yourself giggling softly. You hate how weak you are when it comes to Minho, but you can’t help it. With a resigned shake of your head, you grab the clams and head back to your station, still smiling despite yourself.

When you get back to your station, Chef Sara comes between you and Felix, but she looks at you as she talks. “Pasta line, gather during prep time.”

You and Felix exchange a quick, confused glance at each other before replying to her. “Yes, chef!”

-

The prep time for dinner service is underway, the kitchen buzzing with activity as everyone rushes to prepare. Felix comes out of the back with a pot of stock, placing it carefully on the counter next to you. He adjusts his bandana before standing still, his expression neutral but his posture tense.

Chef Sara claps her hands to get everyone’s attention and announces, “Starting tonight, the kitchen will use chicken stock instead of vegetable stock. Additionally, we’ll need a lighter stock for pasta and risotto.”

She turns her attention to Felix, adding, “Since you’re in charge of stock, make sure it’s prepared by dinner service.”

You glance at Felix and notice his jaw tighten. His lips press together in a line, and you can sense his irritation building. Before he can respond, you decide to step in with a polite tone.

“Chef, the kitchen’s been using vegetable stock without any issues,” you say carefully. “Changing it so suddenly feels... off. Stock is the base for most dishes, and it could affect consistency.”

Sara’s eyes narrow slightly as she looks at you. “Vegetable stock tastes clean, but it’s not as savory as what our guests prefer. Chicken stock will bring a more rounded flavor.”

Felix folds his arms and speaks up, his tone firm. “Vegetable stock can be just as flavorful as meat-based stock. It’s all about how you make it.”

Sara’s expression doesn’t waver. “The flavors from vegetables are inherently different. Vegetables have a sweet and tangy profile, but chicken adds a savory, mellow depth.”

You can practically feel the heat radiating off Felix as his anger simmers beneath the surface. He opens his mouth to counter, but you quickly glance at the pot and realize something alarming.

“There’s not much stock left,” you point out, cutting into the argument. “If we don’t start a new batch now, we won’t have anything ready for dinner service.”

Sara’s jaw tightens as she feels resistance from Felix. She looks at him, then at the pot, and without warning, grabs it and dumps the remaining stock into the sink.

The sound of the liquid swirling down the drain is deafening in the stunned silence that follows. Felix’s eyes widen in disbelief, his lips parting as he processes what just happened.

Sara crosses her arms. “There. Now you have every reason to start a fresh batch. Ten liters of chicken stock. Do it now.”

Felix’s head snaps toward her, and for a moment, he looks like he might explode. Instead, he roughly yanks his bandana off, sending his bleached hair tumbling messily around his face. His fiery eyes meet Sara’s.

“Well,” he says sharply, “if there’s no stock left, I guess my job is done for the day.” He spins on his heel and storms out of the kitchen, leaving everyone frozen in place.

Your eyes flick between Sara, who’s watching Felix leave without a hint of regret, and the door he just exited through. You can’t survive the dinner rush alone, and Felix’s expertise is irreplaceable.

“I’ll try to bring him back, chef,” you say quickly to Sara before rushing out after him.

Felix is fast—too fast. You have to jog to keep up, weaving through the back corridor and out to the restaurant’s rear entrance. You finally spot him near his car, the door already open.

“Felix!” you call, your breath hitching as you catch up. He’s halfway into the driver’s seat when you reach him, knocking on the window.

“Come on, don’t do this. We need you in the kitchen,” you plead.

Felix rolls down the window, his expression unreadable. “Get in.”

“What?” you blink, taken aback.

He tilts his head, his voice calm but firm. “Get in. I’ll go back to the kitchen if you get in.”

You hesitate, knowing you’re walking into some kind of trap, but the thought of him not returning pushes you forward. “Fine,” you say reluctantly, opening the passenger door and sliding in.

The second you’re seated, Felix starts the engine and pulls out of the lot.

“Felix!” you exclaim, twisting in your seat to look at him. “What are you doing?”

His lips curve into a sly smile as he keeps his eyes on the road. “We’re bailing dinner service, obviously.”

Your jaw drops. “You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, I am,” he says, his tone light but unshakably determined. “If they don’t want to listen to me, why should I stick around?”

You slump back in your seat, realizing there’s no reasoning with him right now. As the restaurant fades into the distance, you can’t help but feel both dread and an inexplicable thrill at what you’ve just done.

-

You're clutching your phone so tightly that your knuckles ache, your stomach churning with anxiety. Felix sits beside you, his hands loose on the wheel as he aimlessly drives, looking more relaxed than someone who just abandoned their station mid-shift should be.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you mutter, stealing a glance at him. “Do you even have anywhere to go? Can we just... go back? Please?”

Felix shrugs nonchalantly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Going back means giving in to Sara. She dumped the stock on purpose, and if we let her win now, we’ll be following her orders forever. I’d rather make her quit.”

Your head falls back against the headrest as you groan in frustration. “But this isn’t the right way to protest, Felix! Let’s just go back before it’s too late. Do you know how furious Chef is going to be?”

Almost as if on cue, your phone buzzes violently in your hands. The name on the screen makes your heart lurch: Minho.

You jolt upright, clutching the phone like it might explode. A cold shiver runs down your spine as you stare at his name, your mind racing with all the ways he could end your career—and possibly your life.

“Answer it,” Felix says, glancing at you briefly.

“I don’t want to answer it,” you whisper, shaking your head.

“If you don’t, it’ll be worse,” he points out.

He’s right. You take a deep breath, swallow the lump in your throat, and swipe to answer.

“What the hell are you doing?” Minho’s voice snaps through the line, skipping any semblance of pleasantries. “If you and Felix aren’t back in the kitchen by dinnertime, neither of you will ever work with me again.”

Your throat goes dry. “Chef, I—It wasn’t my idea!” you blurt, trying to plead your case.

“I don’t care whose idea it was,” he cuts you off sharply. “You walked out. If you don’t fix this, I’ll take back what I said about being nicer to you.”

That hits you like a punch to the gut. You’d rather be fired than lose that tiny shred of hope he dangled before you.

“Wait! Chef, please—”

The line goes dead. You stare at your phone, horrified, before turning to Felix and grabbing his arm. “Turn the car around! Now!”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Relax. We’ll go back eventually.”

“Eventually?” you shout. “If we don’t go back, Minho is going to kill us both—probably literally!”

Felix sighs in protest but doesn’t argue, spinning the wheel to make a U-turn. Your phone buzzes again, and your heart skips a beat as you glance down.

It’s not Minho this time—it’s Yura. You answer, your voice shaky. “Hello?”

Yura’s voice is calm but tinged with curiosity. “Hey, we were called to Farfalle to cover. I heard some cooks are walking out. What’s going on?”

Your stomach drops. They’re replacing us. The thought sends a fresh wave of panic through you. “I’ll call you back,” you say hurriedly, hanging up before she can ask more questions.

You turn to Felix, your voice rising. “They called in other people to take our places. Do you get it now? We’re being replaced!”

Felix’s jaw tightens, and he mutters something under his breath as he speeds up. “Seriously? For leaving early one time?”

“One time?” you snap. “We abandoned the kitchen before dinner service! That’s not early—it’s a death sentence!”

Felix doesn’t respond, his grip on the wheel tightening as he pulls into the restaurant parking lot. The moment the car stops, you throw the door open and sprint toward the back entrance.

Your lungs burn as you push yourself to run faster, Felix close behind. You burst through the door, only to stop dead in your tracks when you reach the kitchen.

Yura and Minji are standing at your stations, their hands moving efficiently as they prep for dinner service.

Minho turns around at the commotion of your arrival. His eyes lock on you and Felix, fiery and intense, and you immediately drop your gaze to the floor.

“Get out,” he growls, his voice low but dripping with menace.

Felix takes a shaky step forward, his voice stuttering as he tries to explain. “Chef, we didn’t mean—”

“I said, get out!” Minho roars, cutting him off.

The kitchen falls silent, every pair of eyes watching the scene unfold. You don’t dare look up, your head hanging low as you feel the weight of Minho’s fury pressing down on you.

“Now,” he snaps, his voice cold and final.

With no other choice, you and Felix turn and leave, the sting of failure and humiliation following you out the door.

-

You sit slumped in the passenger seat of Felix’s car, nerves frazzled and stomach in knots. Felix, on the other hand, hasn’t stopped ranting since the two of you left the kitchen.

“It’s not fair, you know,” he says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in frustration. “Chef treats us like we’re expendable. And Sara? Don’t even get me started on her.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, unable to muster a response. You’ve used up every ounce of your energy trying to wrap your head around the situation. Instead of responding, you focus on the quiet night outside, watching the back entrance of Farfalle.

Hours crawl by, each one amplifying your dread. Finally, the door swings open, and Minho steps out, a dough roller in his hand.

You jolt in your seat, instinctively shrinking back. “Oh my god, is he serious?”

Felix freezes mid-rant and slumps lower in his seat, muttering, “He wouldn’t actually…”

Minho approaches the car with a calm but terrifyingly deliberate pace. He reaches your window and knocks, his expression unreadable.

“Out,” he orders.

You and Felix exchange panicked glances, neither of you moving.

“Now,” Minho snaps, the dough roller tapping against the car door for emphasis.

Heart pounding, you push the door open and slide out, feeling like a child caught red-handed. Minho points toward the doorway. “Wait over there.”

You nod mutely, scurrying to the steps and sitting down. From your vantage point, you can see Minho climb into the passenger’s seat of Felix’s car. Through the windshield, you watch as he speaks to Felix. You can’t hear what’s being said, but Felix’s head stays bowed the entire time, his usual cockiness completely deflated. The dough roller, thankfully, remains unused, but it’s clear the conversation is one-sided.

After a few tense minutes, Minho gets out of the car and walks toward you. He points the dough roller at you like it’s a weapon, his eyes narrowing. “Sit.”

You blink, confused. “I am sitting.”

“On the steps,” he clarifies.

Scrambling to obey, you shift to the stone steps leading to the dining hall. Minho sits down beside you, the dough roller resting across his knees.

“I’m sorry, Chef,” you start quickly, hoping to preempt any punishment by putting on a pitiful look.

Minho leans back slightly, his gaze fixed on you. “You made a big mess today.”

“I know,” you reply, frowning deeply. “What are you going to do to me?”

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you want me to do? I will do whatever you want.”

You pause, sensing a trap. “That’s scarier than you just telling me,” you admit.

Minho sighs, his voice low and measured. “Because of you and Felix, I got humiliated today. The sisters worked hard to help me, but honestly? I’m scared to face them now.”

Despite the tension, you can’t help but chuckle at the thought of Minho—the infamous Head Chef—being afraid of two line cooks. You stop immediately when his glare shifts to you.

“When I was reading the orders earlier, I kept waiting for one of them to throw a frying pan at me.” He shares with a low sigh.

“You can tell them that you're grateful for their help tonight,” you suggest, trying to suppress another laugh. “But if you’re scared of them, why did you choose them?”

Minho’s gaze softens slightly. “Because you and Felix walked out on your own. Those two? They didn’t get a choice. I pushed them out. It wasn’t easy for them to come back, but they did. That’s more than I deserved from them.”

You nod slowly, realizing the depth of his regret.

Minho taps the dough roller against his palm before pointing it at you again. “You’re helping Taesoo with the mussels for tomorrow’s special. Don’t even think about leaving until it’s done.”

“Yes, Chef,” you mumble, accepting your punishment.

He stands, brushing off his apron. As he turns to leave, you grab the corner of his apron and tug gently. “Chef?”

He looks down at you, one brow arched.

“Are you… still going to be nicer to me?” you ask hesitantly.

For the first time that night, Minho smirks. “We’ll see.”

With that, he walks off, leaving you to sit on the steps, equal parts relieved and terrified.

-

The kitchen is silent except for the faint trickle of water as you and Taesoo scrub the last bucket of mussels. The clock above ticks closer to three in the morning, each passing second making the ache in your back and arms more noticeable. Taesoo sits beside you, head bobbing slightly as sleep tugs at him.

You nudge his elbow. “Hey, no falling asleep on me now.”

He jolts awake, blinking rapidly. “I wasn’t sleeping,” he mutters, though his slurred words say otherwise.

You stifle a laugh. “Sure, you weren’t.”

Taesoo groans loudly. “I swear, if I see another mussel or shrimp special, I’m quitting. Can’t we just ban seafood altogether?”

You chuckle, rinsing another mussel. “Oh, you’ve got no idea what’s coming. Octopus, blue crabs, clams, lobsters… and that’s just the seafood. Then there’s beef, chicken, lamb…”

He looks at you, horrified. “There’s more? For a whole year?”

“And who knows how many more years after that? But hey, I survived it, so can you.” You encourage with a playful bump to his shoulder.

He groans again, rubbing his face. Feeling a pang of sympathy, you wave him off. “Go nap. I’ll finish the rest.”

Taesoo hesitates, looking torn. “Are you sure?”

“Go. Before you fall face-first into the bucket.”

With a grateful smile, he mumbles his thanks and wanders off to find a quiet corner to sleep.

The silence that follows is almost comforting, and you work steadily, scrubbing each mussel clean. By the time you finish and drag the buckets to the freezer, exhaustion weighs heavily on you. You tidy up the kitchen, then slump into the chef’s table, letting your body relax for the first time in hours.

The empty kitchen feels vast and eerily still. From where you sit, you can see Minho’s usual spot, his apron draped neatly over a hook, his cutting board spotless.

You sigh, leaning back against the table. Your eyes flutter shut as you take in the rare peace, only for the sound of the kitchen door creaking open to jolt you upright.

Before you can fully scramble to your feet, Minho’s voice cuts through the silence. “Stay there.”

Your heart skips a beat as he approaches, his footsteps slow and deliberate. His presence fills the space effortlessly, his expression unreadable but his gaze locked onto you.

“Chef—”

“Quiet,” he says softly, his tone carrying a weight that stops you in your tracks. He steps closer, caging you in with his arms on either side of you.

His scent reaches you first—faint traces of soap and the sharp, warm hint of alcohol. You glance up at him, your heart hammering as his eyes study your face with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

“You sent Felix to have drinks with Sara. You went drinking with the sisters. Why am I the one not having fun?” you grumble, more to fill the charged silence than anything.

He doesn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the bandages on your arms. His brows furrow, and his voice comes out low and sharp. “You skipped your doctor’s appointment.”

Caught, you glance away. “I didn’t have time.”

“You didn’t have time?” he repeats, his tone bordering on scolding. “Do you want it to scar? You should at least listen to the doctor, even if you won’t listen to me.”

You groan, covering your ears. “If you’re about to give another lecture about women in the kitchen, I’m not listening.”

He leans in closer, the warmth of his breath brushing against your cheek. “I’m not giving you a lecture.” His voice softens, dropping into something that sends a shiver down your spine. “But you’ll regret it if you don’t listen to what I’m about to say.”

Curiosity wins out. Slowly, you lower your hands.

He tilts his head, his gaze flicking over your face as if committing every detail to memory. “I’m only going to say this once.”

Your breath catches, and you nod, urging him to continue.

“Even though you’re not the most appealing ingredient,” he begins, his lips curving into a teasing smile, “and this might be the alcohol talking… you have one thing that’s very pretty.”

The words make your heart skip, but you manage to ask, “What is it?”

Instead of answering, Minho leans in, his lips brushing softly against the corner of your eye. The touch is fleeting but sends warmth rushing to your cheeks. He pulls back just enough to see your flustered expression, a small, mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“Since it’s uneven…” he murmurs, leaning in again to press a matching kiss to your other eye.

You’re left speechless, your heart pounding as he lingers close.

He smirks, leaning back slightly. “If you get off my cutting board, you’re dead.”

His words draw a soft laugh from you, though you’re too stunned to fully process them. “What… what does that even mean?”

“It means,” he says, his voice dropping, “I like you.”

Your heart skips again, the words hitting you like a bolt of lightning. “We’re in the kitchen,” you blurt out, your voice barely above a whisper. “Does that mean you like me... even in the kitchen?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation, his gaze unwavering.

“What if we get caught?” you ask, suddenly nervous.

“They won’t,” he says simply and lower his voice into a whisper. “We’ll keep it a secret.”

Feeling overwhelmed, you look away, only for him to gently cup your chin and guide your face back toward his. His lips capture yours in a kiss that’s soft and slow, yet leaves no doubt about his feelings.

When he pulls back, he lingers close, his lips brushing yours as he murmurs, “Let’s go home, mmh? So I can discover more parts of you to like.”

Still dazed, you nod, warmth spreading through your chest as he takes your hand. Together, you leave the kitchen, the weight of exhaustion replaced by a giddy, fluttering feeling you can’t quite shake.

-

Minho holds your hand firmly as the two of you step out into the stillness of the night. The cool air brushes against your flushed cheeks, but it does little to soothe the heat still lingering from his kiss. He walks you to his car, his strides confident, but his silence speaks volumes.

You glance at him nervously, the fluttering in your chest growing more intense. He opens the passenger door for you, his expression unreadable. The gesture is uncharacteristically gentle, and it leaves you feeling both comforted and on edge.

The drive to his apartment is quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine. You keep sneaking glances at him, wondering if he regrets what just happened. But when his hand casually reaches over to rest on your thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze, your doubts dissipate.

Once inside his apartment, Minho guides you in, his hand still holding yours. The space is dimly lit, cozy, and smells faintly of him—a mix of cedarwood and something uniquely Minho.

“Sit,” he instructs, his voice firm but not unkind.

You obey, perching on the edge of his couch, unsure of what to expect. He disappears into the kitchen for a moment and returns with a glass of wine, which he hands to you.

“You worked hard tonight,” he says softly, sitting down beside you. “Now drink.”

You blink, taken aback by his change in demeanor and take a small sip of the wine. “Is this... still part of my punishment?”

His lips twitch into a smirk, but there’s a tenderness in his eyes now. “No. Your punishment is over. Now it’s time for your reward.”

Before you can ask what he means, Minho leans in again, his hand cupping your cheek as he kisses you deeply. This kiss is different—more deliberate, more consuming. It pulls you in, leaving no room for hesitation or doubt.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and his voice drops to a whisper. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

Your breath hitches, your heart pounding. “Minho…”

He trails his fingers along your jaw, his gaze locked on yours. “You’re stubborn, reckless, and you never listen. But you’re also everything I can’t seem to get out of my head.”

You feel your cheeks burn, his words settling in your chest like a warm flame. “I didn’t think you…”

“Liked you?” he finishes, his smirk returning. “Maybe I didn’t want to admit it. But tonight… watching you push through, even when I know I was too harsh on you… I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. Instead, you lean into him, your hands finding their way to his chest as you kiss him again, this time with all the emotions you’ve been holding back.

The kiss deepens, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer until you’re practically in his lap. The exhaustion of the night melts away, replaced by the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips, and the steady beat of his heart against yours.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Stay,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of promise.

You hesitate, your mind racing with thoughts of what this might mean for both of you. But when he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, whispering, “Let me take care of you,” all your resistance crumbles.

Nodding, you let him lead you to his bedroom. And as the night unfolds, what started as a punishment turns into something far more tender, intimate, and unforgettable—a reward neither of you could have anticipated.

-

The clothes are littering the bedroom floor and the air is quiet, save for the subtle rustle of fabric as he shifts beside you on the bed. His intense gaze locks onto yours, and the way he looks at you makes your chest tighten, your breath catching in your throat.

“You have no idea, do you?” he murmurs, his voice a low, husky whisper that sends a shiver down your spine.

You blink up at him, the warmth of his presence overwhelming. “What?”

His lips quirk into the faintest smile as he leans over you, his hand sliding up your arm to cradle your face. “How absolutely beautiful you are,” he says, his eyes softening as he speaks.

Before you can respond, Minho dips his head down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a kiss that feels like a vow. “Here,” he whispers, his voice reverent. “This is where you frown too much, always worrying about things that don’t matter.”

His lips trail lower, brushing over the bridge of your nose before he presses a soft kiss to the tip. “And here… so perfect, so adorable, it drives me insane.”

Your cheeks burn, and you reach out to push at his shoulder, embarrassed by his sudden affection. But Minho catches your wrist, pinning it gently to the bed as he smirks down at you. “Don’t hide from me. Not tonight.”

He shifts lower, his lips finding your cheek, then your jawline, his kisses slow and deliberate. His other hand skims along your side, sending sparks dancing across your skin.

When his lips press against the curve of your neck, just below your ear, you can’t suppress the soft gasp that escapes you. Minho chuckles against your skin, his breath warm and teasing. “Here,” he murmurs, “where I can feel your pulse. Proof that you’re here, with me.”

His hand moves to your collarbone, his thumb brushing over the delicate line before his lips follow, pressing kisses there that are both tender and possessive. “And here,” he continues, his voice growing quieter, “because it reminds me how strong you are. Even when you think you’re not.”

You can’t look away, his devotion leaving you utterly captivated. Minho’s lips move lower, grazing the curve of your shoulder, then down your arm, where he peppers kisses along your wrist and the inside of your palm. “Your hands,” he murmurs, intertwining his fingers with yours for a moment before kissing the back of your hand. “These hands are capable of so much, but they’re also so soft, so perfect.”

Your heart swells, the intensity of his words and actions making you feel like you might burst. “Minho…” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly.

He leans back up, his face hovering inches from yours as his hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “I’m not finished,” he teases, his voice playful but his gaze serious.

His lips move down again, finding the sensitive skin just below your collarbone, then along the curve of your chest, his kisses slower, deeper, as though he’s memorizing every inch of you. “And here,” he says, his voice barely audible now, “because it’s where your heart beats strongest.”

When he finally meets your gaze again, there’s a warmth in his eyes that steals the breath from your lungs. “You don’t need to say anything,” he whispers, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “Just let me show you.”

And as his lips return to yours in a kiss that feels like both a promise and a confession, you can’t help but feel utterly cherished, as though every part of you is loved in a way you’ve never known before.

-

The warmth of Minho’s lips against your skin sends a cascade of shivers through your body as he tenderly shifts you onto your stomach. His touch is careful, as if you’re something precious he’s afraid to break, and his hands gently trace the curve of your shoulders, coaxing you to relax beneath him.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs, his voice husky and low, almost reverent.

You sink further into the bed, his words wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The softness of the pillow beneath your cheek contrasts with the heat radiating from him as he leans over you, placing a kiss at the nape of your neck. His lips linger there, the sensation drawing a soft sigh from you, your fingers curling into the sheets.

Minho moves slowly, purposefully, his lips trailing down your back. Each kiss feels like a confession, a piece of himself he’s baring to you. He pauses at your shoulder blades, his hands smoothing down your sides as his lips continue their gentle exploration.

When he reaches the small of your back, you feel a soft moan escape your lips, muffled against the pillow. He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through you. “Don’t hold back,” he says, his tone teasing but affectionate. “I want to hear every sound you make.”

You bite your lip, trying to stifle another sound, but it’s impossible as his lips travel further down, tracing the curve of your hips with painstaking care. Minho’s hands are warm as they knead your thighs, his lips following, pressing kisses to the back of your knees and down to your calves.

By the time he reaches your ankles, you’re trembling beneath him, the slow, deliberate pace unraveling you in ways you didn’t think possible. He shifts, leaning up to place a kiss on the sole of your foot before trailing back up, this time turning you onto your back with gentle hands.

Minho hovers above you, his gaze intense yet soft, as if he’s searching for something within you. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, the sincerity in his voice making your chest tighten.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that feels like a culmination of every unspoken word between you. It’s slow, tender, but there’s a hunger beneath it, a need to show you what he can’t put into words.

As his body moves against yours, the intimacy of the moment feels like a key unlocking a door you never thought you’d open. Minho’s movements are deliberate, unhurried, as if he wants to savor every second, every sensation. His hands explore your body with a reverence that makes you feel worshipped, loved in a way that’s almost overwhelming.

You find yourself whispering his name, the sound barely audible but enough to make him pause, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’m here,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The way he moves with you feels like a conversation, each touch, each kiss a response to the unspoken questions in your heart. By the time the night draws to a close, you feel as though you’ve glimpsed a side of Minho that he keeps hidden from the world, a vulnerability that he’s chosen to share only with you.

As you lay tangled together in the aftermath, his arms wrapped securely around you, you can’t help but feel that the cracks in his armor have finally begun to let you in, allowing you to see the man he truly is beneath the surface. And in that moment, as your head rests against his chest and his fingers lazily trace patterns on your back, you know this night has changed everything.

-

Minho leans against the sink, letting the cool water wash over his hands before glancing up at his reflection. The man staring back at him feels different—softer somehow, less burdened. For a moment, he studies the faint curve of his lips, the way they betray a smile he didn’t even realize he was wearing.

He exhales deeply, brushing a hand through his damp hair, and chuckles under his breath. What are you doing, Minho? he thinks, shaking his head at himself. This feeling—this warmth spreading through his chest like sunlight—feels almost foreign, like a distant memory of who he used to be. He didn’t think he’d ever find his way back to this version of himself, someone unguarded, someone willing to let another person in.

And yet, here he was, standing in the dim light of the bathroom, smiling like a fool because of you.

When he steps out of the bathroom and sees you lying on the bed, your body draped lazily across the sheets, waiting for him, the smile threatens to return. But Minho quickly schools his expression, an idea sparking in his mind. Let’s see how far I can push you.

Without a word, he climbs into bed, settling himself on his side with his back turned to you. He keeps his movements calm and casual, feigning exhaustion as he pulls the blanket over himself.

The quiet stretches between you, and he doesn’t have to look to know you’re frowning.

“Are you just going to sleep?” you ask, your voice laced with disappointment.

He suppresses the urge to smirk and mumbles, “We have work tomorrow.”

He can almost hear you preparing a playful jab or a protest, but instead, the room falls silent. Then, after a moment, he feels you shift on the bed. Your low sigh reaches his ears, followed by a soft, unexpected compliment.

“Gosh,” you murmur, “you even look good from the back of your head.”

Minho bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He doesn’t respond, feigning indifference as he feels your hand lightly brush against his shoulder.

“And your shoulders,” you add, your voice softer this time, “so broad… they look so strong.”

That’s it—he can’t hold back anymore. Without turning to face you, he says with a teasing lilt, “You don’t have to sweet talk me anymore. You already have me.”

Before you can respond, Minho grabs your hand and tugs you closer, pulling you flush against his back. Your giggles spill out, warm and light against his ear as he traps your hand against his chest. He tilts his head slightly, feeling the soft press of your breath against his neck as you settle against him.

“That's right,” you whisper, your voice tender now, your words wrapping around him like a promise. “You are mine.”

Minho closes his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t say anything aloud, but in the quiet of his heart, he whispers back, And you are mine.

-

Minho sits in his office, staring blankly at the untouched cup of coffee on his desk. The once-steaming liquid has gone cold, but he barely notices. His mind isn’t here; it’s still tethered to last night. The memories replay in his head like a film reel, fresh and vivid.

The taste of wine on your lips, the way your breath hitched when he kissed the corner of your mouth, the sound of his name falling from you in a breathless murmur—it all feels so real, like he could reach out and touch it again. A small smile tugs at his lips, one he doesn’t even realize he’s wearing.

He leans back in his chair, letting the warmth of the memories wash over him. Last night… It wasn’t just good. It was perfect.

The sharp knock at the door breaks his reverie, pulling him back to reality. For a moment, he doesn't react, too lost in the haze of his thoughts. It isn’t until the second knock that he swivels his chair toward the door and calls out, “Come in.”

To his mild surprise, Taesoo steps into the room, his posture rigid and hands shoved deep into the pockets of his apron.

“You should be in the kitchen,” Minho scolds, straightening up. “Dinner prep doesn’t wait for anyone, Taesoo.”

Taesoo hesitates, his head slightly bowed, avoiding Minho’s piercing gaze. “I... I have something to say, Chef.”

Minho’s brow furrows, irritation flickering to life. “It better be important,” he warns, pushing himself up from his chair. He rounds the desk and leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “Speak up. We don’t have all day.”

Taesoo shuffles awkwardly, his shoulders hunched as though trying to make himself smaller. “It’s... I mean... I didn’t expect you to turn back on your word.”

Minho’s eyes narrow, confusion replacing his earlier irritation. “What are you talking about?”

Taesoo looks up for a brief moment, his gaze meeting Minho’s before darting away again. He swallows hard, visibly gathering the courage to continue.

“I saw it,” Taesoo mutters, his voice trembling slightly.

Minho straightens, his arms uncrossing. “Saw what?” he asks, his tone sharp but still laced with confusion.

Taesoo shifts on his feet, the air between them growing heavier with every passing second. “I... I saw you... and her,” he stammers.

Minho’s heartbeat quickens, a slow thrum of unease spreading through his chest. “What exactly did you see?”

Taesoo lifts his head, his expression both anxious and accusatory. “I saw you kiss her in the kitchen last night.”

For a moment, the world around Minho seems to freeze. His pulse pounds in his ears, drowning out the muffled sounds of the restaurant beyond the office door. His usually calm and collected demeanor cracks, his face turning cold—not from anger, but from a deep-seated fear that his secret is about to unravel.

The silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating. Minho’s jaw tightens as he stares at Taesoo, his mind racing for a way to contain the situation. He doesn’t know whether to deny it, deflect it, or confront it head-on.

This can’t get out, he thinks, his chest tightening. If it does…

He exhales slowly, but the weight in his chest doesn’t lift. Minho feels cracks forming in the walls he’s spent so long building and for the first time, he isn’t sure he can stop them from breaking apart.

-

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[downbadreading]

the ways we love | lfl (m)

summary: periods of work mean periods without play between you and your longtime boyfriend. after he offers to be the muse for your latest artistic piece, you realize just how much you appreciate his never-ending support.

pairing: felix x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 7.9k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: established relationship; profanity; mentions of alcohol consumption and (past) drunken sex; public marriage proposal; brief mention of having children; graphic sexual content; dom!felix; dirty talk; use of pet names; fingering; some spit play; oral sex (m receiving); some spanking; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms; creampie; aftercare

author’s note: rewritten for stray kids and reuploaded from my old blog. i think this will be the last of the fics from my old blog that i'll be reuploading here for the foreseeable future. also, i forgot how much fun i had writing the smut in this one. hope you enjoy!

{ click here if you prefer to read on AO3 }

---

He had started off so well. He was relaxed, comfortable, cheerful. Happy to help. This was his idea, after all.

But now… now he’s fidgety. Anxious and bored. You sympathize with that, but if he doesn’t — “Doll, can you please stop moving?” — then you’re ready to give up this entire project already.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs in that sweet, deep voice of his. “You’re just being so quiet. I thought you’d at least talk to me and let me know how it’s coming.”

You spare him a quick, direct glance before refocusing on the canvas. “I’m not going to give you a play-by-play of every mark I make, Lix. I need to concentrate. I want this to be as perfect as you are.”

Felix huffs and averts his eyes, but you know you have appeased him from the way he falls silent and relaxes his shoulders again. The new pink hue spreading across his freckled nose, ears and cheeks would be a nice touch if only you were ready to add color to the piece. For now, you store the inspirational image away for later.

You manage to finish your outline and flesh out some details around his nose before his real-live self ruins his posture — and subsequently, the lighting on his face — by shifting in his seat yet again. With a sigh, you set your utensils aside, wipe your palms on your pants and say, “How about a break? Let me get you a drink.”

Whatever his answer was going to be — agreement, argument, or otherwise — does not have time to be voiced before you are breezing by him and into the kitchen. When you return, he accepts the glass of water and obeys your command to drink up. You watch as he tips an ice cube into his mouth and licks his heart-shaped lips afterward.

He mistakes your admiration for scrutiny. “What’s wrong?”

You smooth some stray hairs near his ear and poke the bulge of ice in his cheek. “Nothing at all. I just like looking at you.”

He crunches the ice and blushes deeper. “Thanks. Don’t you need to do that from the other side of the room, though? Any idea when you might be finished?”

You shrug and fuss with the collar of his shirt until it un-creases. “You know I can’t answer that. A few hours? Days? Weeks? Whenever I’m satisfied with it. Or whenever you say, ‘Fuck you, I’m done with this.’ I told you I can always just use a photo to finish this so you don’t have to model for me.”

Felix smiles softly. “No, I don’t want you to do that. I volunteered, didn’t I? I like modeling for you. It feels fancy to do it this way, like it might turn out better if we do it like this.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it’ll be so awful you’ll leave me over how monstrous I make you look.”

“Well, at least that would make an interesting story to tell my next girlfriend.”

You giggle. “That’s true. Why don’t I just do a caricature? That way, if it looks bad, I can pretend it was on purpose.”

“No. God no,” he says firmly. “You’re too good an artist to be making pieces look silly on purpose.”

You peck his forehead. “Well, if you want this to be ‘professional,’ you have to sit still for me, doll.”

“I will. I’ll behave.” He tilts his chin to seek out your lips, and you willingly give them up. You smile into the kiss when you see him fumble to set his glass aside on the coffee table beside him without breaking contact with you. Before he can free up his hands to do goodness-knows-what with them, you slink away, back to your easel.

“You just told me you’d behave. If you’re not backing out, then I’m still working, and that means no playing,” you remind him.

He knows, but there is still a hint of disappointment in his dark brown gaze.

These abstinence periods are relatively new to your long-standing relationship. You suppose most people would think a couple purposefully denying themselves sex would tear a wedge of stress and resentment between them, but that has not been the case with you and Felix. It’s a stimulus. A game. A challenging one, to be sure, but always immensely rewarding.

So that is what you have both agreed: there is no sex while you are working on a piece. Not until the job is finished.

“How long do you think this one will take?” Felix asks again.

You plop down in your seat with a light groan and gather your utensils again. “The answer is the same, Lix. I can’t say for sure. A few hours, days, weeks?”

Your pretty muse nods and takes another sip of water as he mentally prepares himself for the oncoming drought. He does his best to relax in his seat again, and you flash him a smile before getting back to work.

---

It takes twelve days to complete the portrait, and Felix is not even sitting across from you when the last stroke falls upon the canvas. He might be offended by this once he finds out, but you couldn’t stop yourself from finishing without him. Besides, you know he will ultimately be as happy as you are that it is finally finished.

Truthfully, you might have been able to do most of the portrait simply from memory; you know his face as well as your own by now.

A sigh flutters past your lips. You take a step back to better admire (and scrutinize) your work. As you scan it over, you can’t help but smile. Not just out of pride for the job you did, but because of the striking resemblance you have been striving to achieve.

It is always difficult to instill life and warmth into mere lines and dots and smudges, but the two-dimensional rendition truly seems as though it could begin breathing at any moment, and a fresh wave of fondness for your best friend and lover as the real-life person he is comes over you. That is how you know you are satisfied, and not just in terms of your finished project.

This is something to celebrate, so after deciding how you want to do so, you pick up your phone to text Felix about an important dilemma.

[You: hey i forgot what you’re wearing today]

There is enough time to change out of your old, splattered overalls and heat up a late lunch before your phone buzzes back.

[Felix: i know it’s been a while since we’ve sexted but i think you meant to phrase that as “what are you wearing” with a smirk emoji]

You almost choke on a bite of your food as you laugh out loud.

You: dfjfdjso i’m not trying to sext you. i just need to know if you’re dressed nicely enough for a restaurant with a decent wine list tonight. we have some celebrating to do

[Felix: how come?]

[You: it’s finished]

This time your phone does not buzz. It rings.

“You finished the portrait?” Felix’s voice is hushed and a little rushed. You can tell he is on the move, probably heading somewhere away from his co-workers and customers for a more private conversation.

“It’s signed and everything,” you say cheerfully.

“That’s fantastic!” he says, not the least bit offended. “This is definitely worth celebrating. We should go to the nicest place in town and dress to the nines.”

More laughter bursts from deep in your chest. “Wha— I mean, it’s still just a portrait, Lix. I didn’t win an award or solve a murder case or anything.”

“So? I” — you hear the sound of a door closing in the background — “sat in that chair for a hundred years and went celibate waiting for that portrait to be done. No offense. This deserves a grand celebration.”

Your eyeroll can probably be heard through the receiver. “It didn’t take that long, did it? It was less than two weeks. Remember that waterfall landscape I did?”

Felix grunts at the memory. “Yeah, how can I forget? Longest month-and-a-half of my entire life.”

“It was worth it in the end, though, wasn’t it?” you say, remembering how neither of you could walk properly for at least a couple days after you finished that particular piece, which is now proudly mounted on a wall in the master bedroom. “Come on, doll. When I pick you up, we’ll go out and have that decent wine with a decent meal so the public knows we’re celebrating something, and then we’ll come home and fuck each other blind, okay?”

There was a time years ago when he might have choked and sputtered over your words, but this lewd proposal is mild, and today he doesn’t flinch.

“If that’s what Madame Artiste wants, then that’s what she’ll get,” Felix says.

He offers you a choice between two restaurants he deems himself dressed appropriately for without having to come home and change, and once you choose, he asks, “Can you just bring my navy suit jacket with you so I can make this outfit work, please? I’ll see you later. I can’t wait.”

He ends the call with the sound of a kiss.

---

The chimes on the door draw the attention of three pairs of eyes, and the sight of you stepping into the salon brings a smile to Felix’s face. Well, the mask on the lower half of his face prevents you from actually seeing his smile, but the happiness is there in his deep brown eyes.

“Hi,” he says, scanning your date-night outfit with obvious appreciation. “Be right with you.”

“Take your time,” you say, smiling at the customer sitting across from him. She smiles back politely and returns her attention to Felix, who goes back to focusing on her fingernails. He meticulously sweeps an emery board across the rounded ruby shapes to finish smoothing them out.

The third person in the salon gets up from his cozy perch in one of the pedicure chairs at the end of the row and crosses the floor.

“You look so nice, Y/N. Is it date night?”

“Yep, we’re off to dinner,” you say, accepting the man’s hug. “What’s new, Ji?”

“Oh, not much.” Jisung shrugs and takes one of your hands. He inspects your fingernails, which have unsightly matte polka dots chipped in the gloss. “Want me to redo these before you go? It won’t take that long.”

You let out a fleeting giggle. “Honestly, I don’t know why I bother getting them done in the first place when I put so much wear and tear on them. This damage only took me a week.”

“Well that’s because—” Jisung shoots your boyfriend a quick look and clearly alters the second part of his statement, “—you did them at home. You need to have them professionally done.”

His way of criticizing Felix’s work while leaving the customer in the room none the wiser is clever, and you have half a mind to applaud him for poking fun at his friend without hurting their business.

The comment is not lost on Felix. He glares over at you and Jisung, but he cannot seem to think of a subtle rebuttal, so he stews in silence.

“Ah, maybe that’s my problem,” you say, grinning.

“Give me, like, fifteen minutes and you’ll be all set,” Jisung promises.

As he’s making his offer, Felix finishes with the woman. From the edge of your vision, you see him remove his mask and lead her to the register to finish the transaction.

“Are you working Saturday morning?” you ask Jisung. “I’ll stop in then and you can do my toes, too.”

Before he can either confirm or deny the appointment, Felix interrupts by coming up behind you and waving his tip in front of your face. “Here, look what my ‘unprofessional’ work got us,” he says. “Buy yourself something nice, baby.”

You chuckle at his little joke until you flick through the bills and realize just how much worth is in them. “Wow, Lix, she was so generous!”

“She was appreciative of the amazing job I did,” he corrects with a peck to your cheek, then he takes his suit jacket from your arms to slip it on. “Sorry, Ji, we have to go. Ready, Y/N?”

“Ready,” you say.

“Sounds good,” Jisung replies at the same time. “I’ll lock up here. Enjoy your date, guys. See you Saturday, Y/N.”

---

The wine is more than decent, the food hits all the right spots, and the company is absolutely perfect.

Felix laughs happily from across the table. Strands of pale blonde hair trickle past his ears the further he tips his head back, and the apples of his cheeks are hued pink from where the rosé has gone. His smile loses none of its dazzle when the waiter interrupts to check on the two of you. The sheer warmth he radiates is boundless in the most endearing way.

When the waiter leaves, you watch Felix lean back in his chair. His eyes land on yours, and while some of the amusement fades from his face, the fondness remains. You see it there, twinkling in the inky pools of his irises; you feel it in the comfort he exudes while he is with you.

For some reason, the contentment of the moment draws something to mind. “Do you remember when we first met?” you ask out of the blue.

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Of course I do. Remember how you tried to kiss me?”

“Oh my god, yes,” you groan. “Honestly, I still don’t remember a whole lot about that night, but I definitely remember you saying, ‘Oh, no thank you,’ right in my face.”

“Listen,” he laughs in defense, holding up a finger. “I was trying to be polite. I was trying to be a gentleman. You were a hot mess. That party had you twenty so’s-worth of shit-faced.”

“Twenty what?”

“You were so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, soooo…” he starts chanting his stupid joke.

You giggle and hang your head. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

“Hang on.” He holds that finger up higher. “So, so, SOOOO—”

“I said I get it already!”

“—so shit-faced. I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“You did embarrass me, though! By rejecting me.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says, dipping his head in apology, “but we both would’ve been way more embarrassed if we’d slept together that night. It would’ve been a disaster.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “What makes you think I would’ve slept with you so soon?”

“Uh. Did you or did you not sleep with my roommate that night instead?”

“Fair enough," you say, toasting your wine glass in his direction. “It’s only funny now because we’re the ones who ended up together.”

Felix smiles. “Thank goodness for that. Life is pretty incredible with you in it, sweetheart.”

His words sober you a bit, and you smile back almost shyly. “I could say the same about you, doll.”

He probably does not always love you as much and as effortlessly as he does right now. He certainly is not always his best, most charming self the way he is right now. Neither are you. But he is still worth loving when he is at his worst, and if you could have moments like these scattered all throughout the rest of your life, you feel it would be enough. His love and support and respect and admiration are more than enough.

So it comes as a soft entreaty rather than a question; out of the blue again, but also a long time coming: “Please marry me.”

This time Felix raises an eyebrow. He seems more intrigued than surprised by your impromptu proposal. Then he half-purses, half-pouts his lips in a cheeky sort of expression, like he thinks you’re bluffing but is willing to play along anyway.

That feeling of overconfidence you had that first drunken night when you leaned in to kiss him in a stranger’s kitchen comes back, as does the fear of the rejection you suffered immediately afterward. If he says ‘Oh, no thank you,’ again, you wonder if you’ll die of embarrassment right here in this restaurant, surrounded by different strangers with different alcohol on your breath.

But you know he won’t, not even as a joke, because he knows you now. He knows you well, and he sees the sincerity in your face.

“I don���t have a ring,” you go on, “but I’ll get down on one knee right here, right now. This dress won’t stop me.”

Wordlessly, Felix lifts his napkin from his lap to lay it across his plate, then leans sideways to pull something from his pocket. He casually holds it up for your inspection, and once you realize what it is, you move to kneel in front of him as promised without even questioning the coincidence. Now is not the time for questions. Now is the time to show how serious you are about this.

Felix stares down at you and pries open the tiny case to reveal the brilliance of the diamond’s sparkle. Your fingers are sure and steady when he slips the top-heavy band onto the appropriate one.

“I would be honored to marry you,” he says softly, poking back and forth at the engagement ring with the edge of his thumbnail.

By now there are dozens of eyes on the quiet scene the two of you are making, but his are the only pair you see. His smile is still there, softer and smaller now, but still brimming with the adoration he has gained over the years. It widens when you rise up just enough to press your lips to it. His hand finds the back of your head the same second yours cups his.

A round of coos and charmed applause from the crowd goes up around you, but it is all background noise to the sound of Felix’s precious, giddy laughter.

---

He is no longer laughing by the time you throw the front door shut and press him up against it. The needy kisses between here and the car have taken most of his oxygen.

“Shit,” he hisses, watching you work his belt buckle. “You get a ring on your finger and you turn feral, is that how it works?”

You growl playfully but say nothing.

“You better slow down, tiger, or we won’t last five minutes.”

“Don’t care.”

“Aren’t you gonna show me what we waited so long for this for first?”

“Later. I thought you were dying of celibacy?” you sass.

Felix clicks his tongue. The simple sound is quiet, but it shifts the air. You stop trying to get into his pants to give his dark eyes your undivided attention.

“We have all the time in the world now, don’t we?” he murmurs, as though the hard-on in his jeans is not growing as impatient as you.

You swallow. “I just want you so badly. It hurts.”

His gaze sharpens at your tone. “Does it?” He reaches up to graze a thumb along your bottom lip. “Where does it hurt, sweetheart? Here?”

The sound you let out is something between a hum and a whine. You feel so sex-starved, so desperate for any morsel of pleasure he can feed you. You try to take his thumb into your mouth, but he slips it away too fast, plucking your lip as he goes. He brushes across your breast next. The sensation is dulled by your clothing, but your nipple stands to attention nonetheless.

“What about here?” he whispers.

“Yes…” The fingers that had been so keen on removing his belt cling idly to the leather.

“Aw.” Felix pouts and bats his eyelashes at you, but his sympathy feels insincere. He’s amused by the state of you. He adores seeing you so riled up and pliant for him.

His thumb trails further, straight down your stomach, while the rest of his fingers are kept stiff and carefully away from your buzzing body.

Eventually, he reaches the crease between your thighs and presses through the layers of your dress and your panties where he estimates your clit to be. He is a little north at first but quickly readjusts his position. The soft moan you let out is a dead giveaway for when he has found it.

“And here?” He takes a step closer while he begins drawing tiny circles. “Tell me, angel, does it hurt here?”

“Yes. Yes...”

He kisses your cheek tenderly. Mercifully. His deep voice is pitched even deeper when he murmurs, “Shh. I know it does. It’s finally time for me to make it better, isn’t it.”

You cant your hips against his hand. “Felix, please...”

“Come here.”

He trades places to cage you up against the front door. You reach for him, but he draws back out of reach to shrug out of his jacket first. After he carefully pushes the sleeves of his sweater up, he uses both hands to hike your dress up along your waist. There is no rush to his movements. In fact, it’s almost graceful the way he does it, as though the actions he is about to perform could be considered decent.

When you try to remove your underwear from his way, he nudges your hands aside. “Ah-ah-ah,” he tuts. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Tell me the safe word first, Y/N.”

After all this time, he still has you say it out loud beforehand. Beneath your eager lust, you appreciate the basic act of care and commitment to playing the dominant role.

“Candle,” you answer.

He thanks you as though you’ve done him a favor and places a light kiss on the edge of your jaw. Then he hooks his thumb through the side of your panties to touch the hood of your bare clit directly. A jolt of electricity singes your nerves from his first flick. Your body noticeably quivers, and Felix smirks at his quick, effortless effect on you.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he drawls lowly.

You swallow again, drier this time. “Mm-hm.”

“Because we don’t play while you’re working anymore, do we?”

You shake your head. “Hm-mm.”

“And you’ve been working so hard, haven’t you, baby?”

You hum again, louder this time. Or maybe it’s a full-blown moan. Whatever the sound is, it becomes incessant over each passing second and each pass of his thumb. Every noise you make is met with a return sigh or hum from Felix. Every jerk of your hips is matched by a tilt of his head or other shift in his posture.

Getting fingered like this, fully dressed and up against the front door of your home, spikes a carnal, filthy pleasure into your blood. It sears through your muscles, hotter and hotter until it beads between your skin and your clothes. You want to take them off, but you dare not stop Felix for a second. You keen with lust and desperation.

“I know. I know,” he purrs, soft and sweet as a kitten. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so good...” He nuzzles the space between your jaw and your neck and inhales deeply.

You tilt your face away to give him better access, but he peels back and takes your chin in his other hand to steer you back toward him. A puff of hot breath hits your damp temple; it almost feels cool.

“Eyes on me. Good girl.” His gaze skims down your form. “You’re still shaking. All I’ve done is touch your clit and you’re that close already, huh?”

“Yes, so close,” you admit, completely unashamed. “Just keep going, please just keep going.”

Felix smiles and takes the sweat from your temple with a pair of kisses. “How can I say no when you beg me so nicely like the perfect angel you are? Hold onto me. C’mon.”

You instinctively go to clutch his biceps but think of a better idea and hook your arms around his neck instead. Felix allows you to pull him even closer and finally — finally — slips another finger into your panties. He pushes it into your opening with almost no resistance, and you gasp when his knuckles bottom out inside you. Just as quickly as the finger entered, a second one joins and curls. He keeps them buried for a moment, then drags them back out to smear the juices he collected around your swollen bud. The slipperier his work gets, the more he enjoys it.

“Your pussy is so perfect,” he breathes. “Spread your legs. I want to feel just how wet it gets for me.”

You obediently open your legs wider, and he delves back in immediately, fast enough that his palm audibly claps against your slick lips, hard enough to send your head tipping backward to thump against the door. When his thumb drops back to your clit and nudges under the hood this time, you know it won’t be long until you’re unraveled.

“Ohhh my god,” you groan. More sweat builds on your forehead, on your chest, under your arms, along the backs of your knees. You grow lightheaded from the static in your veins from being fucked open by Felix’s talented, diligent fingers.

“That’s it,” he pants. You’re not sure when he became so breathless. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let go. Come for me. Come for me. Come.”

Another dozen strokes and you do as you’re told with a pinched yelp. Felix kisses your throat as he works you up your high and eases you back down, undulating his wrist and babbling encouragements into your sticky skin.

“That’s it, squeeze my fingers, just like that. Squeeze ‘em tight. Tight. There you go. That’s my good girl. So gorgeous when you come. So fucking perfect. Hey.”

The hand not still knuckle-deep in your pussy cups your cheek and pulls you in. He swallows the whines and the airless, nonsensical words of thanks you huff between kisses.

Once your breathing has had time to settle, he gingerly slips his fingers from your sensitive, throbbing walls. He doesn’t even look at those fingers as he brings them to his tongue. In fact, he closes his eyes altogether as he laps the tips and moans indulgently, as though this is the first time he has ever tasted you.

When he is done cleaning the mess you made on him, he looks you in the eye and says, “Now that we’ve rubbed out that easy one, I’m open to suggestions on what to do next.”

“Let me return the favor?” You inflect it as a question.

Felix smirks. “It wasn’t a favor, sweetheart, it was a pleasure. But since you’re asking so nicely again… c’mere.”

He tugs you by the hands and begins walking backward, slipping out of his shoes as he goes, and you follow his lead. You assume he is bringing you to the bedroom, but he stops when his feet hit the carpet in the living room and glances over his shoulder. It must be the chair he was looking for because he then moves toward it with a sense of purpose, leaving you a few paces behind.

“Strip,” he orders. His voice is even and his expression is calm as he sits and crosses an ankle over his opposite knee.

You move to obey without hesitation, twisting your arm behind your back to yank down the zipper on your dress. Felix keeps his eyes fixed on your face as you peel the gown away from your shoulders. Gravity takes the fabric to your waist, and you shove it down the rest of the way to step out of it completely. Next, you snap one of your bra straps with an eyebrow cocked in question.

Felix nods. “Mhm. Keep going ‘til you’re in nothing but that ring.”

You had nearly forgotten about it. You lift your hand to look at it again, but a sudden noise startles you. It sounds like more of a crack than a snap from the way it ricochets off the walls of your home, though you know a snap is exactly what it was by the pose of Felix’s fingers in the air.

“Don’t get distracted now,” he says, deep voice rumbling. He drops his hand back to his lap. “You’re being so good. Finish taking off your clothes, then come here.”

With his instructions, you unhook your bra and let it drop to the floor. His eyes dip to your naked chest, but his expression is more clinical than enticed.

You shove your thumbs into the band of your panties and stall there until you get the attention you want. It takes Felix a few seconds to realize you’re not moving and look back to your face. When he meets your eyes, he mouths the word ‘off,’ leaving his teeth planted in his bottom lip for an extended moment. Even when he is silent, you feel the authority radiating from him. You shiver when the air hits your slick, heated center.

Felix uncrosses his legs, and you finally glean a proper peek at your effect on him. The erection in his pants looks past the point of painful, but his demeanor is still relaxed as he invites you to stand in front of him by casually tossing a throw pillow at his feet. Once your toes brush against it, he reaches for your hands and sweeps his lips across your knuckles, quick and affectionate. Then his hands are on your waist, and near your ribs, and around the curves of your ass, and across your thighs. He soothes them up and down your skin, imprinting patches of heat everywhere he roams.

“There’s my gorgeous girl.” He leans forward and plants an open-mouthed kiss on your lower stomach, then peers up through his eyelashes at you and directs, “On your knees for me, gorgeous.”

Another look at his covered crotch and you do as you’re bid. When your knees touch down on the pillow, Felix shifts to whip his belt out of its loops at last. By the time it clanks to the floor, you’re already helping him with the button and the zipper. He lets you tug his pants down to and away from his ankles. His socks go next, and he takes care of his sweater and undershirt himself. His underwear is last but gone in a flash and then there he sits, stripped bare with his toned abdominals twitching and his cock standing flushed and rigid just for you. He is so goddamn beautiful.

“Is this what you want?” He leans back and takes his rosy length in a loose fist. “Is this what you’ve been being so good and working so hard for?”

You swallow and pretend it’s his precum sliding down your throat. “Yes.”

“What’s that, baby?” He strokes upward.

“Yes.”

“What do you say?” He strokes downward. Back up again. Your eyes may as well be stringed puppets with the way they follow helplessly.

“I said yes,” you repeat again.

And he patiently repeats: “No, what do you say? Look at me.”

Once you meet his lust-glazed stare, you don’t have to wrack your brain for the answer he’s looking for.

“Please,” you say, “let me suck your cock. I want it so badly. You deserve to feel good after waiting so long.”

Felix tucks his chin down, puckers his lips, and releases a ball of spit onto the head of his cock. Another soon follows, racing alongside the first, joining the trail of wetness that already leaked from the slit.

You shuffle closer between his knees and take him in your hand. He lets go of himself, but not before brushing his fingertips along the back of your hand. The gesture is deliberate, not coincidental, and you smile up at him. He smiles back, more with his eyes than his mouth. His mouth is used to give commands such as, “Put it in your mouth, sweetheart,” before leaning back comfortably. Even with his pulsing erection at your mercy, he is a marvel of beauty and dominance.

You give him a few strokes to spread the wetness around and simply enjoy the slick glide, then bend to take in his wet tip. He tastes delicious. Good enough for you to moan on contact, good enough for you to want to fill your entire mouth with his warm heaviness. He is tangy from his natural body and sweet from the taste of wine lingering in his spit. You sink down further, letting your tongue follow the path of a prominent vein.

“Open wide. That’s it,” he says. His voice is steady but barely there. The relief of finally being touched where he wants it most runs a succinct shiver through his legs, but otherwise he remains controlled, even when you tighten your lips to hollow your cheeks. “There you go. So good for me. So good at sucking my dick.”

His praise leaves you hungry for more, so you slather your tongue down and around his balls to hear the way his sighs and quiet pants start to crack his composure. He shifts his hips to ensure you can reach every sensitive part of him, and his cock feels just a bit stiffer when you try to swallow it down your throat.

“Hah,” he gasps. “Oh, fuck, baby, that’s it.”

On the armrest of the chair, his fist clenches tight enough to pop a knuckle. He soon releases it, however, and moves his hand toward you. You half-expect him to hold you in place because you know how much he enjoys being in your throat, but instead, he eases you off of him and uses his loose grip on the top of your head to roll it back in a slow, gentle circle along your neck and around your shoulders. A strand of spit — there is no way to tell whether it is yours or his — still bridges your lips to his swollen cock. You reach out to break it with your tongue, curling it devilishly. Felix watches with dark, hooded eyes.

“Dirty girl.” He wipes away the dribble on your chin with his thumb. “Where do you want it?”

You don’t quite understand his question. “Hm?”

Once again, he takes your hands in his, this time to help you up off the floor and onto his lap where he can sling your arms around his neck. The only conceivable reason for him to cut a blowjob so short is that he is already too close to coming. You won’t call him out on it, but you’re thrilled to know it’s true.

“I asked you where you want it. Where do you want me to fuck you?” His vulgar inquiry is warm honey on your tongue. “You want me to take you up against the wall? Fuck you so good and so hard that you can’t fucking walk in the morning? Hm?” His hum vibrates your lips with the sweetest melody. “Do you want me to take you in our bed, under the sheets, nice and slow, until you can’t remember your own name?” His lips are a soft, decadent treat you sink your teeth into. “Or do you want me to take you in this chair, right here where I sat while you were across the room working for hours and hours instead of bouncing on my dick?” His perfume is a laced drug that could leave you high in bliss for hours.

“Yes,” you breathe into his mouth. You pull at his lips, molding and folding them with yours while you feel up every inch of his skin you can reach — his jaw, his back, his arms, his chest, his stomach.

Felix relinquishes a shred of his control with a groan as he ravishes your lips right back. His own hands crawl along your shoulder blades, your spine, your ass. Eventually, he clears his head well enough to say, “That’s not an answer, sweetheart. You need to tell me right now where you want to fuck, or I’m choosing for you.”

“Here. Chair. Now,” you rasp brokenly.

He hoists you up right away, perching your ass halfway onto one of his forearms and using his other hand to drag his swollen, spongy cockhead through your folds until he finds your entrance. The tip slips inside with a stretch but little resistance, as does the rest of him until your lap and his are pressed flush against one another’s.

You rock your hips slowly to welcome the intrusion and ensure he is as deep and you are as full as possible, and his breath hitches from the movement. He lowers his eyes in a straight path from your eyes to your nose to your chin. His lips part as though he is going to say something, but after a couple seconds, he leans forward to give you another searing kiss instead, bracing a hand against your spine to keep you from tipping backward from the sudden motion.

Whatever he was going to say about how good it feels to be sunk in your wet heat again is conveyed through his tongue on yours and the way he clutches your bare skin.

Just when you think perhaps all his words have dried up, Felix sucks his mouth off yours, lays a slap across your ass, and grunts in deep bass: “Bounce for me, baby.”

You would love nothing more than to do just that, so you build up a steady pace as quick as you can. He is just thick enough to rub your walls and make them burn in the best way imaginable. The smacks that come from your pelvis and thighs meeting his over and over are lewd and wet and so fucking good. So fucking good.

You shut your eyes and hang your head back. “Oh my fucking god…”

Felix keeps an arm hooked around your moving waist while he paws at you from the front. He splays his free hand across your throat, applying just enough pressure to get a feel for your erratic pulse, then slips down your collarbone, down your chest to squeeze one of your tits.

“That’s it, baby. This is what we’ve been missing, isn’t it?” He lifts your breast and leans forward to wrap his lips around the perked nipple. The sensation makes you involuntarily clench around him, and he whimpers from the tightness. “Fuck, I’ve missed this so much.”

His admission spurs you to speed up. You try to roll your hips at the bottom of every drop, but your movements are getting sloppier the higher your pleasure climbs. It doesn’t seem to matter to Felix, though. His ragged breathing is a telltale sign of how good it feels to have your soaked pussy dragging up and down his cock. He tries to find your staggered rhythm in order to buck upward in time with your drops and help drive himself into your sweetest spot, but although both of you are hyper-concentrated on reaching your peaks, the coordination is not quite there.

“Sweetheart, you’re falling apart on my dick,” he moans with the little breath he has. “Jesus, you’re squeezing me so goddamn tight. You’ve already come once and now you’re about to soak my whole fucking lap, aren’t you?”

“Lix, I-I’m s-s-so-” you trill mindlessly.

“So close, I know.” He gives the fleshiest part of your ass another solid slap, then digs his fingers in to help you rock back and forth against him. “Do it. Come again on my fucking cock, baby. We’ve earned it.”

You work to get all the friction the ridges of his raw cock can give you, but the edge you’re chasing is still on the horizon, just a bit too far out of reach. “Felix, I can’t…”

“I’ll get you there,” he swears. “Let’s just—”

In no time, you’re on your back on the floor and Felix is plunging his steely length back between your drenched folds. Your legs automatically anchor themselves around his hips to steady yourself against the jarring pace he sets. The aftermath of the rough carpet on your bare skin is a worry for a later. Right now, you whine at him to go faster, go harder, just don’t fucking stop, whatever he does.

Felix leans close and takes one of your knees to push it back toward your chest so he can fuck into you deeper. His breath is hot and shaky and somewhere in the vicinity of your earlobe as he whispers, “Fuck, you’ve gotta come now, angel. Please.”

He readjusts his weight and his grip on you, pushes deep just a few more times, and you’re finally coming again, crying out and clenching around him so tight it nearly hurts from how hard he is inside you. He fucks you through your entire high, never stopping the solid snap-snap-snap of his slim hips.

“God, fuck, I’m right fucking there,” he huffs and pants. Sweat drips from his brow onto your cheek. “Where do you want it? Where should I come?”

“In me, come in me,” you beg, reaching down to squeeze his tight ass and urge him even deeper into your soaked depths.

Felix whines something wordlessly lyrical in a high alto as his release fills you with a sticky warmth. He fucks his cum into you with rough, staggered thrusts, his pace slowing but never completely stopping. Your legs begin to ache as he continues gingerly pumping himself. You assume his spent cock must hurt from the rising sensitivity following his orgasm, but he is not quite finished.

“Holy shit,” he whimpers. “Your pussy’s so fucking tight, I think I could come again.”

Your walls clench around him because you know he is serious. “Do it, baby,” you pant hard. “Use my pussy to come again. I want it all.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Just a little more, I’m gonna— fuck!”

He finds a second shaky high and buries his fingers in your hips deep enough that the bruises may last until your wedding day. The force with which he pulses a final spurt of cum toward your cervix is something you’re certain to remember for a long time as well.

“Holy shit,” Felix sighs again, blissful and fucked out. The two of you moan together when he slips out of you, still half hard. “Come here, angel.”

He slumps to the side and gathers you in his arms to face him. You tuck your forehead between his jaw and his shoulder, and he traces his fingertips along your shoulder blades where the skin is a little irritated from its row with the carpet. You’re not worried about the sting, but your nerves wince under his touch anyway, and he apologizes immediately.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have—”

“You’re not an idiot,” you giggle tiredly. “We’ve had worse rug burn before. Much worse.”

“I know, which means I know better than to have sex on the carpet.” He kisses your forehead and sweeps a thumb across your cheek. “I shouldn’t have gotten so caught up, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you insist. “Being fucked into the carpet never felt so good.”

Felix laughs quietly, deeply. “It was definitely worth the wait. I haven’t come twice in a row like that in a while.” His sigh is exhausted but pleased; his hug is weak but loving.

After a moment of recovery, he helps you stand and urges you to use the bathroom and change into something comfortable, and you agree on the condition he does the same.

Before you dress, he peppers sweet kisses along your lightly scraped skin and helps you apply lotion over it. He also insists that you drink at least half a glass of water to rehydrate yourself before you both return to the living room so you can finally show him what the two of you have been celebrating in the first place. He massages the back of your neck soothingly as you walk side by side.

“Alright, now I’m actually really proud of this, but you still need to be honest with me, okay?” you preface. Without waiting for him to respond, you whip the sheet covering the easel away with a flourish.

The moment it is revealed, Felix eyes dart over the portrait in patternless directions. You want to see inside that pretty head of his to know every thought going through his mind while he examines your depiction of him, but you can’t, so you keep your eyes trained on his pensive face and wait quietly for him to share whatever feedback he chooses.

“Y/N,” he eventually begins. You can’t tell if the hush in his tone is because he is awed or appalled.

“Yes?”

Felix turns to look you in the eye. “How do you keep outdoing yourself?”

A note of laughter pops past your lips, and the nervousness in it surprises you. “Well, you know what they say about practice. Does that mean you like it?”

“Are you kid— I love it! I don’t even know where to begin! The detail, Y/N! It’s so—” He faces his two-dimensional self again and waves his hand through the air in front of the canvas in a gesture you have no idea how to interpret. Then he extends a single finger toward the bottom edge of the canvas. “Like right here. The shadowing is so good. And the way you did the lighting here...” He lifts his finger higher to point at his painted cheekbones. “You did my freckles so well, I wouldn’t even be surprised if you captured literally every single one of them. It’s, like, scary good. And I don’t know if this is technically a critique towards the realism, but I don’t think my hair has ever actually looked this good in real life.”

You laugh louder, more happily. “I do think I did a pretty good job, but your real life self is way better than this, doll. Trust me.” You tuck a lock of hair behind his ear, and he brings his face back around to look at you again.

“I don’t even know what else to say without sounding dumb about it,” he tells you. It is not often he sounds bashful around you anymore, but he does now. “I’ll have to keep processing it. But in my unprofessional opinion, to my untrained, non-artistic eye, I’d say this is certifiably amazing work, sweetheart.”

You touch his cheek. “As long as you don’t feel like leaving me over it, you don’t have to say anything else.”

Felix takes your other hand and kisses the center of your palm, then each of your fingertips separately, then the ring between your knuckles.

Tomorrow, you’ll ask him for the story of how he happened to have it in his pocket tonight. Saturday, when Jisung sees it on your finger, you’ll ask his advice on how you should do your nails for the wedding (though you’ll probably end up having them done by your groom anyway). Next week, you’ll ask Felix what time of year he has in mind for the ceremony, or if he even wants to make a big pageantry of it. The week after that, you’ll either start looking into wedding venues or making an appointment with City Hall.

And years from now, when your children ask you about the portrait you painted of their father, you’ll tell them you did it because he was always your biggest supporter, and you’ll be reminded just how in love the two of you were tonight.

---

if you enjoyed, please consider re-blogging and/or leaving me some feedback. take care! ♡

copyright © 2024 by daizymax. all rights reserved. back to masterlist

[downbadreading]

TASTE PREVIEW.

CHAPTER III: AFTERTASTE.

Lee Know x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: When Minho is hired as the head chef of Farfalle, a prestigious Italian restaurant, expectations are high for him to elevate its reputation and bring it to new heights. However, no one anticipates the drastic changes he implements in the kitchen—including his strict rule that that there'll be no women and no romance in his kitchen.

This is a preview for chapter III of Taste series. Full fic will be posted this Friday, January 17.

...

The smell of sizzling meat fills the air as Taesoo flips slices of pork belly on the grill with precision. Felix leans back in his chair, watching the meat char while you mix soju and beer into an improvised cocktail for the three of you.

Taesoo serves the freshly grilled meat onto your plates, and you all lift your glasses. “To surviving another day in Farfalle,” Felix says with a grin, and you all clink your glasses together.

The first sip burns warmly in your throat, and the exhaustion of the day begins to fade. Taesoo’s dramatic gasp after his first sip makes you laugh, and soon you’re all eating and chatting between bites.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m still starving,” Taesoo announces, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“That’s no surprise,” you reply. “There’s a study that says professional cooks have the worst eating habits. We cook during mealtimes and then get too tired to cook for ourselves after work.”

Felix nods enthusiastically. “I thought it was just me. Sometimes even looking at a pan makes me feel sick.”

“Same with laundry,” you add, eliciting groans of agreement from both Taesoo and Felix.

Just as Taesoo starts another round of grilling, Felix’s phone buzzes on the table. He picks it up, speaking animatedly while looking out the window. His expression changes, and he waves at someone outside.

You follow his gaze, and your stomach drops when you see Minho walking through the door, phone pressed to his ear.

Of course Felix invited him, you think, sighing as you sip your drink. Minho approaches the table, his sharp gaze scanning the three of you.

He gestures for Taesoo to move, squeezing into the seat next to you. He nudges you lightly. “Mix a drink for me too,” he says casually.

You down the rest of your glass, setting it down firmly on the table. “I’m done for the night,” you announce, standing up. “Thanks for the food and drinks, Felix.” You grab your things and head for the exit, not sparing Minho another glance.

Just as you think you’ve escaped his grasp, you hear footsteps following closely behind. Turning around, you see Minho jogging to match your pace, his expression a mix of frustration and something unreadable.

“Where were you last night?” Minho’s voice cuts through the night air as he jogs to match your pace.

You glare at him. “Unlike someone, I don’t run away from my responsibilities.”

Minho flinches but presses on. “Why are you still upset about last night?”

You stop abruptly and whirl around to face him. “Why can’t I be upset when you’re playing with my feelings?”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “You better shut your mouth,” he snaps, but you press on, determined to get answers.

“You don’t allow women in your kitchen, but you keep me. And now there are two women in the kitchen. What’s your game? Why do you keep confusing me?”

Minho’s jaw tightens. “I swear if one more word comes out of your mouth...”

But you’re relentless. “What am I to you? A piece of meat on your cutting board? Is that it? You’re not afraid because you’re the one holding the knife?”

His eyes darken as he leans closer. “Even if you were a piece of meat, you’re not fresh. You’ve been in the freezer too long, you’re tough, hard to handle, and take too much work to prep. After all that effort, there’s not much left worth eating. You’re not an appealing ingredient, and I would never put you on my cutting board.”

Your chest tightens, but you refuse to back down. “So you want me off the cutting board?”

“Yes,” he says firmly.

“There’s only the trash can left for me then,” you say bitterly as you wistfully look at him.

Minho doesn’t answer, but he grabs your wrist, pulling you toward his car. “Let's go home.”

You yank your hand away, turning on your heel to walk the other way. “I’m going home myself.”

“Fine! Go home by yourself then!” He shouts as you walk away.

Despite of what he said, he doesn’t let you go that easily. He follows you with relentless determination, matching your pace until you reach the bus stop. He sits down beside you, the weight of the day pressing down on both of you in the cramped space.

For a moment, neither of you speak, the only sound the distant hum of traffic and the faint music playing from nearby. Finally, Minho exhales deeply, his voice barely above a whisper. “I have so many reasons why I shouldn’t like you. If you weren’t working in my kitchen, I wouldn’t even think about it.”

You remain quiet, completely ignoring him and pretend that he's not there at all as you wait for the bus to come.

Minho’s shoulders slump slightly, the fight in his eyes dimming just enough. “Think about it yourself,” he says quietly. “Why can’t I just do what I want?”

Before you can respond, the bus arrives with a screech of brakes. You stand up, your patience worn thin. “You think about it yourself,” you say firmly, not giving him the chance to argue.

As the bus doors open, you turn to board, feeling a mix of relief and lingering frustration. Without looking back, you step inside, the doors closing firmly behind you, leaving Minho standing alone at the bus stop—his silhouette framed by the fading light.

The ride home is quiet, your mind racing with thoughts and emotions. You can’t shake the confrontation, the weight of his words lingering like a shadow. But as the city lights blur past the window, you remind yourself that you deserve better, that you won’t let his turmoil dictate your own path.

...

Check TASTE MASTERLIST for more!

[downbadreading]

───〃★ C’MERE, BRING THAT D⍣CK HERE .ᐟ

〃★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ You’ve been a good wife—you really have! But when your husband’s boss confronts you about him cheating with his secretary, you just can’t help but take up his offer to get back at him.

〃★ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ nanami x fem!reader, gojo x fem!reader, Sukuna x fem!reader, geto x fem!reader, cheating (not reader), smut (mdni), exhibitionism (sukuna, gojo), slight n⍣pple play, slight cl⍣t play, slight creamp⍣e (geto), full Nelson (gojo), office s⍣x.

〃★ 𝐚/𝐧 ⎯ I was gonna add toji but realized his broke assss not the boss of anyone🤧

────〃ଘ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 - NICE ‘N SLOW

The wooden legs of his desk scrapped against the floor with every deep thrust, important paperwork scattered all over from how much he had you squirming from his slow, calculated movements. Your nails dug into the wood, scratching and latching onto the edge as your back arched, a cry of pleasure bubbling from your throat.

Was this wrong somehow? No. Your cheating scum of a husband should receive the treatment he’s given you. And you almost wished he’d walk in on the sight of his boss balls deep in his wife. Well, ex-wife, anyway.

Nanami leaned in to your ear and you shivered, feeling his breath fan past your neck, smelling his cologne and—fuck, you could feel his muscles through this suit against your back. “Hope you’ve finally found your worth. He never deserved you.”

His words entered one ear and came out the other with how hazy he had you feeling, cock penetrating you over and over in a cycle that had you feeling delirious. Your head spun, and the world seemed to blur from existence—except for Nanami; his hands, his words, his voice.

“I’ll make you feel better—cum better than he ever has.”

────〃ଘ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 - I’LL DO IT INSTEAD

Now, Satoru had always had his eyes on you. From the very first moment you came into the office, bringing your husband his forgotten lunch, he knew he had to have you. The whole interaction left him feeling bitter anyway—he only waved you off after he grabbed his lunch and refused to kiss you in front of his colleagues.

What kind of man was he?

Satoru had no problem fucking you in front of him, though.

You watched your husband’s wide eyes, embarrassed but basking in your sweet revenge. A smirk graced Satoru’s lips, his own focused on your husband’s flickering gaze from how he split your cunt open so lewdly to your bouncing tits as if in a trance.

“‘S how’s it feel? Watching your pretty little wife get ruined?” He breathed, strong arms folding you further into the full Nelson position he had you locked in. “You turned on, hm? Seein’ her lil’ cunt get fucked?”

Your eyes closed and your tongue lolled out, head thrown back onto Satoru’s shoulder as your hand came down to pinch your pulsing clit in circles.

Satoru peppered kisses upon your jawline and stopped by your ear. “Why don’t you tell him how good ‘m making you feel?”

────〃ଘ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 - DO IT BETTER!

You’d always had your eye out for your husband’s particularly hot and intimidating boss, though you’d always stray your gaze away from him out of respect and loyalty. Respect and loyalty that your husband never seemed to reciprocate.

And when his boss finally confirmed that he was cheating on you—you’d finally given into your fantasy of fucking him.

But this isn’t how you imagined your fantasy would go.

Everyone’s eyes were glued to you, either out of fear of what Sukuna would do or out of pure infatuation from how wet your cunt was. You sat on Sukuna’s lap, legs spread open for anyone and everyone to see—even your spouse whose face was a mix of anger and confusion.

He didn’t have the right to be mad right now.

You were almost about to curse him out when Sukuna slid in with one swift thrust. Your breath caught in your throat, tears already welling in your eyes as he began to move without giving you even a second to adjust to his abnormal size.

He bounced you on his lap, heavy balls smacking against your ass so loudly it resonated throughout the meeting room. His big hands groped your chest though your blouse, practically ripping it off you.

“I’ll show you fuckers how to properly fuck a pretty lil’ thing like her.”

────〃ଘ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 - LIKE YOU DESERVE

Heat creeped up into your face. You hadn’t expected your day to amount to anything—considering your husband’s boss had told you about his affair just a day before—but there you were, sat on the same man’s lap as he fucked up into your cunt.

I’ll fuck you like you deserve. Those were his words—the words that got you here in the first place.

Suguru’s fingers toyed with the hood of your clit, pinching the nub of nerves in such a gentle yet pleasurable way that had shocks of electricity rocking through you. Your legs shook and quivered with how wide he had you spread them, muscles beginning to feel sore after some amount of time.

But Suguru hadn’t had his fill yet, he had to show you—make you feel what your husband couldn’t do to your body. So, with his cock still pumping in and out of you recklessly, two fingers entered your mouth while his unoccupied hand pinched and twisted your hardened nipples.

“Suck,” he ordered, and you did. It was almost embarrassing how fast you complied, wrapping your tongue around his thick digits as you suckled on them, excess saliva dribbling down your chin.

And it was all so lewd. The ring of cum coating his cock from both your multiple orgasms, your red and pulsing clit, your moans—and shit. If Suguru knew one thing it was one thing only; he would keep his promise and fuck you like you deserve.

[downbadreading]

TASTE.

CHAPTER 2: SWEETBITTER.

Lee Know x reader. (s,a)

TASTE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When Minho is hired as the head chef of Farfalle, a prestigious Italian restaurant, expectations are high for him to elevate its reputation and bring it to new heights. However, no one anticipates the drastic changes he implements in the kitchen—including his strict rule that that there'll be no women and no romance in his kitchen. (17,1k words)

Author's note: I hope you're hungry because I'm about to serve, well, Minho is, not me. Hope you enjoy this one too. Don't be shy to let me know what you think of this chapter ♡

Sweetbitter. /swēt-ˈbi-tər/ (adj) 1. being at once sweet and bitter 2. pleasant but including or marked by elements of suffering or regret

The memory creeps up on you like the scent of freshly baked bread—warm, comforting, and vivid.

It was three years ago, during the height of dinner service at a restaurant in Milan. You were buried in orders, swiftly plating bowls of tagliatelle and arranging perfectly browned gnocchi when the head chef approached, wiping his hands on his apron.

“A customer wants to personally thank you for the spinach lasagna,” he said, his tone equal parts surprise and pride.

You blinked. Normally, compliments like that were directed at the head chef, but this customer had been insistent about meeting the specific cook behind the dish. The words felt like a crown resting on your shoulders—the highest compliment any chef could receive.

Fixing your coat and smoothing back stray strands of hair, you stepped out of the bustling kitchen. The dining room was a sea of candlelight and muted conversation, and at first, all you could see was the back of the man who had requested your presence. His broad shoulders and casual posture told you little about him.

It wasn’t until you reached his table that he turned to face you.

“Are you the one who made this?” he asked, studying you with an unreadable expression.

“That would be me,” you replied, a polite smile on your lips.

For a moment, he said nothing, his dark eyes scanning your face as though trying to commit it to memory. Then he broke into a genuine smile, one that softened the sharp angles of his face.

“The spinach lasagna,” he began, “was incredible. Dare I say, it was better than sex.”

You froze, startled by the bluntness of his praise. Then, to your own surprise, you laughed—a warm, light sound that seemed to catch him off guard.

“Well,” you said, recovering, “that’s not something I hear every day.”

He chuckled softly, the dimples in his cheeks becoming more pronounced. “I’m Chris.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a sleek business card and handed it to you.

You glanced down at it, reading the elegant font: Christopher Bang.

“I own an Italian restaurant,” he said, his voice calm but persuasive. “I’d love for you to come work with me.”

The offer was so unexpected that you could only gape at him. “Why me?” you finally asked, looking back at him. “There are plenty of... talented chefs in the kitchen tonight.”

Chris leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together as a dimpled smile spread across his face. “I don’t want them. I want you.”

Something about his casual confidence disarmed you. Perhaps it was the warmth in his voice or the sincerity in his eyes, but in that moment, you felt the ground shift beneath your feet.

You didn’t realize it then, but that moment marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life. Within weeks, you were on a flight to a new country, leaving behind the familiar comfort of Milan to work at Farfalle.

And now, standing in this restaurant facing him three years later, that memory feels both distant and fresh, a reminder of the strange and unexpected paths life can take.

-

The dining hall falls silent as Chris steps in, his imposing presence freezing everyone in place. The sleek black suit, the pale complexion, and the calm authority in his gaze demand undivided attention. Whispers ripple through the room, curiosity and disbelief mingling in hushed tones.

“I'll make it short,” Chris begins, his tone steady and authoritative. “I'm closing down the restaurant.”

“What did you say?” Taesoo blurts out in sheer panic.

Chris puts on a small smile and calmly explains. “I will close it down for three days, tentatively. ”

The room erupts in shock. Souschef Hyunwoo steps forward, his voice raised in protest. “What? You can’t close the restaurant during the busiest season! Do you know how much we’ll lose in revenue?”

Chris doesn’t flinch, meeting Hyunwoo’s gaze with a faint, composed smile. “I understand your concern. But this is necessary for the future of Farfalle.”

Felix raises a tentative hand. “So... what are we supposed to do for three days?”

Chris’s smile widens, almost playful. “Rest. Relax. Have fun... and after three days, I want everyone to come back with a new menu idea—a dish that can revive Farfalle. Every single one of you will participate, without exception.”

The room falls silent as everyone processes his words.

Chris continues, his voice unwavering. “However, there’s one condition: the total cost of ingredients for your dish cannot exceed ten dollars. Be creative, be bold, and think about what will make Farfalle stand out. The future of this restaurant depends on those menus.”

He lets the weight of his words settle before finishing with an easy, almost disarming smile. “I’ll see you all in three days.”

Without another word, Chris steps back, leaving the room with the same enigmatic presence with which he entered.

The staff exchange uncertain glances, whispers rippling through the group. Minho crosses his arms, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he straightens. “You heard him,” he says firmly, his gaze sweeping over everyone. “Three days. I’ll see all of you then.”

-

The hallway outside the manager's office is eerily quiet, the distant sounds of bustling staff fading behind you. You pause in front of the polished wooden door, taking a moment to compose yourself before knocking.

“Come in,” Chris’s voice calls out, calm and collected.

Pushing the door open, you step inside. The office is surprisingly minimalistic, dominated by a large desk and a single window that lets in soft, natural light. Chris sits behind the desk, his tailored black suit as sharp as his presence. His dimples appear as he smiles, clearly having anticipated your visit.

“I figured you’d come,” he says, gesturing for you to sit.

You take a seat, wasting no time. “I’m just as surprised as everyone else to see you here. Shouldn’t you be busy running the rest of your family’s empire?”

Chris leans back in his chair, his smile never faltering. “I’ve been keeping an eye on Farfalle for a while now. The sales have been on a downward spiral, and I decided it was time to step in. Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to fix things properly.”

You nod slowly, absorbing his explanation. “So, this is personal for you?”

“In a way,” he admits, his tone light but resolute. “I couldn’t just stand by and let it crumble. Now, tell me,” he leans forward, his gaze teasing, “are you happy to see me?”

You let out a soft laugh, meeting his eyes. “It’s... nice to have another man in the restaurant.”

Chris chuckles, his dimples deepening. “Flattery suits you.”

He pauses, the teasing air around him softening. “Before you go, why don’t you cook me some pasta?”

You raise a brow, crossing your arms. “Nope.”

“Why not?” he asks, feigning offense.

“Because I’m going to do exactly what you suggested,” you reply with a sly grin. “Rest, relax, and have fun.”

Chris leans back in his chair, giving you an amused look. “Fair enough.” He gestures toward the door, silently excusing you.

You rise from your seat, heading toward the exit. Just as your hand touches the doorknob, Chris’s voice calls out again.

“Don’t have too much fun though,” he says, the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable.

You glance back, offering a playful smirk. “No promises.” With that, you step out, leaving the office and its enigmatic new occupant behind.

-

The salty tang of the fish market fills your senses as you weave through the bustling aisles, stalls overflowing with fresh catches of the day. The cacophony of haggling customers and shopkeepers blends into a background hum as you scrutinize each stall, searching for ingredients that won’t break Chris’s strict $10 budget.

Your frustration grows as every inquiry leads to disappointment. Everything you find is either overpriced or unsuitable for the idea forming in your mind. Just as you’re about to give up, something catches your eye.

Minho stands a few stalls ahead, his sharp profile unmistakable even in the chaos of the market. He’s deep in conversation with a shop owner, his posture relaxed but commanding.

Curiosity piqued, you linger just out of sight, trying to catch snippets of their conversation. But the noise of the market drowns out their words. You watch as the shopkeeper gestures toward a selection of fish, and Minho nods thoughtfully before moving on.

The moment he leaves, you step up to the stall. “Excuse me, what was he asking about?” you inquire, gesturing toward Minho’s retreating figure.

The shopkeeper smiles knowingly. “Filefish. He was asking if I had any larger ones for a better price. Told him he’d have better luck at the harbor.”

Filefish? You tuck the information away, thanking the shopkeeper before turning to leave.

But as you make your way toward the exit, you freeze mid-step. Minho is there, leaning casually against a pole, arms crossed as if he’s been waiting for you. His eyes meet yours, a flicker of amusement playing across his face.

"Following me now?" he asks, his tone teasing but edged with curiosity.

You bristle, quickly recovering from your surprise. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Minho smirks, clearly unconvinced. “So, what exactly are you doing here, then?”

You hesitate, debating whether to play coy or confront him about the filefish. Instead, you sidestep his question. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He shrugs, pushing off the pole and walking past you, his voice drifting back. “Just making sure the competition doesn’t get too comfortable.”

Before you can respond, he takes you by the hand and drags you out of the crowd.

-

The ride back is unexpectedly tense. Minho insisted on giving you a ride home, claiming it would save time, but the silence in the car is thick with unspoken words. You glance at him from the passenger seat, his profile lit by the soft glow of the dashboard.

“So,” you start, breaking the silence, “what are you planning to make for the new menu, chef?”

Minho doesn’t even look at you. “Not telling.”

You scoff, leaning back in your seat. “Why not? Afraid I’ll steal your idea?”

“Exactly,” he replies flatly, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

You roll your eyes but decide to take another approach. “Fine. I’ll tell you mine first. I’m thinking of making fishball pasta. Simple, creative, and within budget.”

Minho glances at you briefly, his expression unreadable. “Good for you.”

Encouraged by the lack of sarcasm in his tone, you press further. “Now your turn, chef.”

“Nope,” he says, his lips twitching with the hint of a smirk. “This is a competition. Why would I share secrets with a competitor?”

The car slows as he pulls up in front of your apartment building. He gestures toward the door. “We’re here. Get out.”

But you stay put, crossing your arms defiantly. “Not until you tell me what you’re making.”

Minho lets out an exasperated sigh, leaning his head back against the headrest. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stubborn,” you counter, flashing him a grin.

After a moment of tense silence, he relents, his tone reluctant. “Fine. I only need the filefish livers.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “The livers? Why just the livers?”

“Because I’m making foie gras out of them,” he explains, his voice tinged with pride. “I want to show the true value of foie gras with it,”

Your gasp is audible, and Minho glances at you, his expression softening at the wonder in your eyes. “That’s… genius,” you breathe.

Minho almost smiles seeing your genuine awe in response to his answer but he hides his amusement, focusing instead on the road ahead. “Are you satisfied now? Get out.”

But instead of complying, you grab his arm, tugging at it lightly. “Wait. Hear me out.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “What now?”

“You don’t need the meat, and I don’t need the livers. If we work together, we can split the cost and stay within budget.”

Minho clicks his tongue, mulling over your suggestion. “Why should I work with you?”

“Because it makes sense,” you argue, meeting his gaze. “You said it yourself—this is a competition. Working together gives us both an edge. Plus, I know where to get bigger and cheaper filefish.”

He narrows his eyes at you, clearly debating the idea. After a moment, he sighs, shaking his head. “If I agree to this, will you finally get out of my car?”

You nod eagerly, a triumphant smile spreading across your face.

Minho pushes the car door open for you, his expression still skeptical. “We’re leaving tonight,” you announce as you step out. “At midnight.”

Minho shakes his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you disappear into the building.

-

The afternoon feels like it’s slipping away too quickly. You plan to catch some rest before heading to the harbor around midnight, but just as you’re about to settle down, the doorbell rings. Frowning, you glance at the guest cam and see your property agent standing there. A flicker of hope rises—maybe he’s bringing good news about the apartment.

You open the door, your polite smile faltering slightly when you notice he isn’t alone. Beside him stands Sara, her expression calm but assessing as she looks past you into the apartment.

“Good afternoon,” the agent says cheerfully. “I thought I’d stop by to introduce someone interested in sharing the apartment.” He gestures to Sara, who steps forward with an elegant nod.

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh, I see. Well, come in.”

The two of them enter, and you close the door behind them, trying to process the situation. Sara doesn’t waste any time, walking through the living room and kitchen, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. Meanwhile, the agent glances at you with a knowing smile.

“She’s very interested,” he says in a low voice, as if this were the best news you’d heard all week.

Sara returns, stopping a few feet away from you and the agent. “I’ll take it,” she declares confidently.

You nod slowly, her decisiveness catching you off guard again. “Alright, then.”

She crosses her arms and adds with a small smirk, “It’s more convenient sharing with someone I already know.”

You force a smile at that, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “That makes sense.”

Sara tilts her head, her gaze steady on yours. “Would it be alright if I move in tomorrow?”

“Even better,” you reply with as much enthusiasm as you can muster.

As the agent beams at how smoothly this is going, you feel a sinking sensation settle in your stomach. Once Sara leaves, the reality of the situation becomes clear.

Sharing an apartment with Sara might be manageable on its own, but the thought of Minho finding out she’s now living on the same floor as him sends alarm bells ringing in your mind. You don’t even want to think about what could happen if they run into each other.

And worse, you’re now stuck in the middle of it all.

-

Minho taps his fingers against the steering wheel, the faint rhythm of his impatience echoing in the quiet of his car. It’s been over ten minutes since the agreed-upon midnight meeting, and there’s still no sign of you. With a frustrated sigh, he picks up his phone and dials your number.

The phone rings once, twice, then he sees you sprinting down the street toward his car. He immediately hangs up, watching as you approach, your hurried steps matching the apologetic look on your face.

You slide into the passenger seat, breathless. “I’m so sorry. I fell asleep and—”

Minho raises a hand, cutting you off. “Save it. Let’s just go.”

But as you buckle your seatbelt, Minho notices something off. Your expression isn’t just apologetic—it’s troubled, like you’re carrying the weight of something you don’t want to share. For a moment, he debates calling you out on it but decides against it.

“Where are we going?” he asks instead, breaking the silence.

Without a word, you pull up the address on your phone and input it into the GPS. Minho glances at the screen, then back at you, eyebrows raised. “Hey! Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“I won’t,” you promise, your voice firmer than he expects.

The car rolls to a stop at the harbor after two hours of drive, its headlights cutting through the misty pre-dawn darkness. Minho turns off the engine and glances over at you, only to find you fast asleep in the passenger seat. Your head leans slightly against the window, your lower lip jutting out in a slight pout, and your brows knit together as if something is bothering you even in your dreams.

Minho rolls his eyes but can’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips. “So much for not falling asleep,” he mutters under his breath.

He sighs, exasperated, but he doesn’t have it in him to wake you. Instead, he sits back, letting his gaze linger on your peaceful face. For someone who could be so frustrating, you looked oddly…endearing like this. A small, unbidden smile tugs at the corners of his lips, but it vanishes the moment your eyes flutter open.

Caught off guard, Minho immediately looks away, pretending he hadn’t just spent the past few moments watching you sleep.

“Are we here?” you ask, your voice thick with sleep.

Minho’s response is immediate, his tone sharp to mask his embarrassment. “What did I tell you about not falling asleep on me?”

You rub your eyes and stifle a yawn, offering him a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I’ll treat you to coffee, okay? My treat.”

He grumbles but doesn’t protest, and the two of you end up at a small open food stall by the harbor, huddling against the chilly sea breeze with steaming cups of coffee in your hands. The dawn light begins to creep over the horizon, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and orange.

Minho takes a sip of his coffee and grimaces. “Seriously? This is what you call a treat? It’s cheap, and it tastes like burnt beans.”

You laugh softly. “I’ll buy you a better one later, promise.”

Without thinking, you scoot closer to him, seeking warmth against the brisk air. Minho stiffens slightly and shrugs his shoulder, half-heartedly pushing you away.

“Why do you like me so much?” he asks, his tone laced with mock annoyance.

Instead of answering, you cling to his side, resting your head against his shoulder. “And why do you hate me so much, chef?” you counter, looking up at him with playful defiance.

Minho blinks, taken aback, before responding quickly. “When did I ever say I hated you?”

You grin and lean in close to pester him. “So that means... you like me?”

He scoffs, feigning nonchalance. “Just drink your coffee!”

Your grin widens, and you cling even tighter to his side, the warmth of your smile radiating in the chill air. Minho glances at you from the corner of his eye, watching the way your eyes shine and how content you look pressed against him. For a moment, he lets himself smile, but when he realizes it, he quickly hides it behind his coffee cup.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, watching as the sun rises over the horizon, its golden light reflecting on the gentle waves. Despite himself, Minho feels a warmth spreading in his chest, one that has nothing to do with the coffee or your proximity. It’s a moment he doesn’t quite understand yet, but it’s one he knows he won’t forget.

-

The harbor comes alive as ships return from the sea, their decks brimming with the morning’s catch. You stand by, watching Minho as he inspects the filefish, his sharp eyes scanning each one carefully. He negotiates with the fisherman, his tone calm yet firm, discussing the price for a box of the freshest catch.

For the first time in a long while, you see him not as the stern head chef you work with, but as the Minho you knew back in school. There’s a quiet confidence about him, a passion that flickers beneath the surface as he handles the fish with precision and care.

Once the transaction is complete and the box of filefish is secured, you suggest grabbing breakfast before heading back. Minho agrees—but only if you treat him.

You groan, shaking your head and putting on a pitiful look at him. “I just spent most of my money on those fish.”

Minho stops in his tracks and turns to you, giving you that look—the one he wears right before he’s about to scold you. You brace yourself, ready for his biting words, but instead, he asks, “How much money do you have left?”

You blink, surprised by the question, and quickly count the small bills in your pocket. After telling him the amount, he nods decisively. “Go buy some rice and sesame oil with it.”

Without questioning him, you hurry off and return shortly after, only to find Minho by the fisherman’s boat, expertly filleting a fish. His knife glides effortlessly through the flesh, each movement fluid and precise. For a moment, you’re mesmerized by the display of skill, and you can’t help but tease him.

“There’s nothing sexier than a man who knows how to use a knife,” you say with a grin.

Minho scoffs, his lips twitching in what could almost be a smile, he's above to shove the first slice of fish into his mouth but noticing the pitiful look on your face, he refrains and feeds it into your mouth. The taste is incredible—fresh, light, and briny, the fish melts the moment it touches your tongue.

“This is amazing,” you gush, savoring the flavor. You pick up another slice and hold it out to him. “Here, try it.”

He eyes the piece in your hand and glares at you. “I have hands. I can feed myself.”

Unbothered, you shrug and pop it into your mouth instead, grinning at the flavorful taste of fresh fish in your mouth. Meanwhile, Minho mixes the fish slices with the rice, adding a dollop of red chili paste and a drizzle of sesame oil. He stirs it all together with practiced ease before handing you a portion.

“Here. Your breakfast,” he says, his tone casual but expectant.

You take a bite, and your eyes widen. The dish is unbelievably good—simple yet bursting with flavor. “This is… exceptional. How is something so basic this good?”

Minho smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction but says nothing, turning his attention back to the fish.

As you finish the rice, you’re about to toss the fish bones and scraps into the trash, but Minho stops you. “What are you doing? Those aren’t trash.”

He grills the remaining pieces over a small fire, the aroma wafting through the crisp morning air. Together, the two of you sit by the water, sharing the grilled fish while the warm sun rises over the horizon. The view of the sea, paired with the comforting meal, makes everything feel oddly perfect.

Minho leans back, crossing his arms with a smug expression. “There. I just served you a full-course meal.”

You chuckle, nudging his arm. “Thank you, Chef. That was honestly amazing.”

Minho doesn’t respond, but there’s a softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. Deep down, as you sit together, you can’t help but feel a quiet contentment—like, for this moment, everything is exactly as it should be.

-

The car hums softly as Minho drives, the early morning sun casting a warm glow over the horizon. You lean back against the seat, feeling the calm after the morning at the harbor. Your phone suddenly buzzes, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. You hesitate but decide to answer it, just in case it’s important.

“Hello?” you say cautiously.

“Hey,” Chris’s familiar voice immediately puts you at ease. “Just checking in to see how things are going with the preparations for the new menu.”

You smirk, unable to resist teasing. “Oh, everything’s going great. I’m actually at the seaside, having fun.”

Chris laughs, though there’s a knowing edge to it. “You’re not fooling me. Let me guess—you’re out there to get fresh ingredients for the new menu?”

“You’re to blame for this. You’re the one who set the budget for the ingredients so low.” You admit with a chuckle.

Chris laughs again, the sound warm and light. “Fair enough. Did you go by yourself?”

You hesitate, your gaze shifting to Minho, who keeps his eyes on the road. After a brief pause, you answer, “No. Chef came with me.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end before Chris replies, his tone neutral but slightly amused. “Convenient. I was just about to call him to come to the restaurant anyway.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised. “Anything important?”

Chris brushes it off. “Nothing urgent. Just let him know. Drive safe, alright?”

“Will do,” you reply, and the line goes dead.

You lower your phone, glancing at Minho. “Chris wants to see you at the restaurant.”

Minho glances at you briefly before focusing back on the road. “Why?”

“No idea,” you admit, shrugging.

The car falls into a moment of silence before Minho breaks it. “You seem close with Chris.”

His tone is casual, but there’s an undercurrent of curiosity. You glance at him, surprised by the observation. “Well... We’ve known each other for a while.”

Minho’s expression doesn’t change, but his grip on the steering wheel tightens slightly. It’s clear he has more questions, but he doesn’t voice them.

When you arrive at your apartment building, Minho pulls up to the curb and puts the car in park. He turns to you, gesturing toward the box of fish in the backseat. “Take the fish with you. Don’t put it in the freezer. Keep it in the icebox.”

You nod, opening the door and reaching for the box. “Got it.”

Per Minho’s instruction, you carry the icebox into the building, your arms straining slightly under the weight. The elevator ride is uneventful, but your mind buzzes with thoughts of the morning at the harbor and Chris's phone call. When you step into your apartment, you’re startled to see boxes and bags scattered around the living room.

Sara looks up from where she’s unpacking a box by the couch, her expression turning sheepish. “Oh, you’re back! I’m so sorry about the mess. I know I said I’d move in tomorrow, but the movers came early, and I didn’t want to miss the chance…”

You wave her off, smiling. “It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.”

Sara visibly relaxes and glances at the icebox in your hands. “What’s that? Where have you been?”

“To the harbor,” you reply, setting the box down on the kitchen counter. “Had to get fresh ingredients for the new menu.”

Curiosity sparks in her eyes as she walks over. “Can I see?”

You flip open the lid of the icebox, revealing an array of freshly caught filefish. Sara gasps, leaning in to inspect the contents. “Wow, that’s a lot of fish! Are all of these yours?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Not just mine. Some of them are chef’s.”

At that, Sara’s gaze snaps to you, surprise flashing across her face. “You went to the harbor with Minho?”

“Yeah,” you say casually, closing the lid. “It was for the new menu, so we had to split the cost.”

Sara raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Interesting.”

You roll your eyes at her expression but decide to let it slide. Before you can say anything else, Sara places a hand on your shoulder. “You should get some rest. You must be exhausted after the trip.”

You sigh, realizing how heavy your limbs feel now that she’s mentioned it. “Yeah, I think I’ll do that.”

“Good,” Sara says with a smile. “I’ll finish unpacking quietly, don’t worry.”

You nod and head toward your room, leaving the icebox on the counter for later. As you close the door behind you, the events of the day replay in your mind, making it hard to decide what to focus on—Chris’s call, the morning at the harbor, or now that you've officially in between Sara and Minho, literally and figuratively.

-

Minho strides into the restaurant, his expression set in a familiar scowl. It’s quiet this early in the day, with no staff bustling like usual. He heads toward the coffee station and finds Chris already there, calmly preparing a cup of coffee.

“You’re here,” Chris greets, glancing at Minho as he places a cup under the espresso machine. “Sit down. I’ll make you a coffee, chef.”

Minho hesitates but eventually drops into the chair across from Chris, his arms crossed. He watches as Chris works efficiently, his movements smooth and unhurried. The quiet confidence in Chris’s demeanor rubs Minho the wrong way, frustrating him further.

Minho’s fingers tap against the table, breaking the silence. “I’ll be honest—I wouldn’t have taken this job if you were the one who offered it to me.”

Chris smirks faintly as he places a steaming cup of coffee in front of Minho. He them takes the opposite seat, his expression unchanging. “That’s funny because I wouldn’t have offered it to you.”

Minho blinks, slightly taken aback. “Huh?”

Chris leans back, resting his elbows on the chair's armrests. “You’re talented, no doubt. But I knew you’d be... difficult. Still, we’re here now, working together, so let’s just do our best.”

Chris offers his hand, a gesture of truce. Minho eyes it warily before finally grasping it for a firm shake. “Fine. But don’t think this means we’re friends.”

Chris chuckles lightly and pulls his hand back. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Chris shifts the conversation. “How was the harbor trip? Did you get the ingredients you needed?”

Minho nods, the memory of the fresh fish he brought back crossing his mind. “I did. The quality is excellent. I’m confident about the competition.”

Chris raises a brow, impressed. “Since you have good ingredients and confidence, you are exempt from the contest. Tomorrow, there's a charity dinner at W hotel. We've been invited to participate.”

Minho tilts his head and narrows his eyes at him. “Whether it is to compete or work or cook, you're telling that I have to follow your orders without complaints?”

Chris puts on a faint smile and takes a sip of his coffee before continuing. “I know it's a charity dinner but all the participating chefs are from 5-star hotels and the winner is decided by who sold the most plates. This is a competition on who has the most confidence that they made the best dish which also makes it a good opportunity to boost Farfalle’s reputation.”

Minho leans back, considering it. He knows the importance of publicity for the restaurant, but the idea of being pushed into the spotlight annoys him. Still, he nods. “For the sake of the restaurant, I’ll do it.”

Chris smiles approvingly. “Glad to hear it.”

Minho starts to rise, thinking the conversation is over, but Chris stops him. “One more thing.”

“What now?” Minho asks, irritation creeping into his voice.

“Chef Sara wants to compete with her version of the new menu,” Chris says casually, as though it’s no big deal.

Minho groans, leaning forward. “Why? The kitchen doesn’t need unnecessary competition.”

Chris shrugs. “You’re confident in your cooking, right? Then you shouldn’t be worried about it.”

Minho narrows his eyes. He finally sees Chris’s management style clearly—it’s about pushing boundaries, challenging people, and doing whatever he thinks will benefit the restaurant, no matter how it ruffles feathers.

“You’re something else,” Minho mutters as he stands. He gives him a long look before turning toward the door. “Do whatever you want. It’s your restaurant after all.”

Minho was having a great day until he met Chris but his day takes another downturn when he spots Sara walking towards her car. It takes a second for her to notice him back, her face lighting up with a smile that only irritates him further.

“Minho,” she greets cheerfully. “I’m looking forward to seeing your new dish tomorrow.”

Minho halts in his tracks, crossing his arms as he levels her with a sharp gaze. “Don’t get your hopes up. You’re no match for me.”

Sara’s smile doesn’t falter, her confidence unwavering. “We’ll see about that. I’ve been waiting a long time to cook with you again.”

He scoffs, narrowing his eyes at her. “You haven’t changed a bit. You still think cooking is all about competition.”

Sara tilts her head, an air of calm defiance surrounding her. “Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t. You’ll see soon enough.”

She turns to leave, but Minho isn’t finished. A realization strikes him, and he pivots on his heel, his voice cutting through the quiet. “It won’t be as easy as you think. You’ll have to beat her first.”

Sara stops, glancing over her shoulder with a raised brow. “Her? Who?”

“You know exactly who I mean,” Minho says, his voice laced with confidence. “If you think you can win against her, go ahead and try.”

Sara chuckles softly, shaking her head. “Are you saying that I'll be losing to a junior cook? Don’t make me laugh, Minho.”

Minho steps closer, a devilish smirk playing on his lips as he says, “Cooking is unpredictable. That’s what makes it fun, don't you think?”

Her expression stiffens for a moment, but she quickly regains her composure. “You’d better prepare for tomorrow. I won’t hold back.”

Minho’s smirk deepens as he leans in slightly. “I can’t wait to see your face when you lose to her.”

Without another word, he turns and strides toward the elevator, leaving Sara standing by her car, her calm exterior showing a faint crack.

As Minho steps into the elevator, a renewed determination fuels him. He’s not about to let Sara’s arrogance go unchallenged. If she underestimates you, she’ll regret it.

The elevator dings, signaling his arrival at his floor. He wastes no time heading straight to your apartment, his steps quick and purposeful. He presses the doorbell, and when you open the door, slightly confused by his sudden appearance, he doesn’t waste a second.

“Grab the ice box,” he orders firmly.

You blink at him, taken aback. “What? Why?”

“No time for questions,” he says, already turning on his heel. “Bring it and follow me.”

Reluctantly, you do as he says, hauling the ice box and trailing after him down the hallway. He leads you to his apartment, opening the door and gesturing for you to step inside.

“What’s going on?” you ask, still confused.

Minho’s eyes glint with determination as he shuts the door behind you. “We’re working on your recipe. You’re going to win tomorrow.”

-

Stepping into Minho’s apartment for the first time, you’re momentarily distracted by its minimalistic design and subtle charm. But before you can properly take it in, Minho pulls you toward the kitchen, his grip firm on your wrist.

“Put the ice box there,” he commands, gesturing toward the counter.

You do as he says, placing it down gently. Turning to face him, you wait for whatever instructions he’s about to give. Minho stands across from you, his expression unreadable as his sharp eyes study you in silence.

“What?” you ask nervously, breaking the stillness.

He finally speaks, his voice as cold as his gaze. “You need to have the determination to beat me.”

You blink, confused, and let out a nervous chuckle. “Beat you? That’s impossible.”

His face doesn’t change. The coldness remains, and your chuckle falters. “Wait... you’re serious?”

“Yes,” Minho replies flatly. “How can you even hope to compete if you don’t believe you can win?”

“But it’s you,” you mumble, still baffled. “How can I beat you?”

He interrupts, taking a step closer. The gap between you shrinks, and your breath catches as his piercing gaze locks onto yours. “How do you plan to be a chef without a competitive spirit?”

The intensity of his question and proximity make you look down, overwhelmed. Before you can respond, you feel his hands grip your shoulders, firm and commanding. His voice rises, filled with frustration and urgency.

“I can do it. Posso farcela!” he shouts, his eyes blazing with an almost contagious fire.

You blink at him, unsure of what he’s trying to do. “What does that even—”

“Say it,” Minho insists, shaking your shoulders slightly. “Everyone has their shining moment. Even you. But only if you believe it. Posso farcela!”

Without waiting for your consent, he leans in until his forehead presses firmly against yours. The sudden closeness sends a shiver through you, and your heart races. With Minho, you can’t really tell if you should be scared or excited by the proximity. His voice softens but remains commanding. “Say it.”

Hesitating, you whisper, “Posso farcela.”

“Louder!” he demands, his grip tightening.

“Posso farcela!” you shout at the top of your lungs.

Finally, Minho steps back, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He releases your shoulders and nods. You’re still catching your breath when he turns to the counter, pulling out ingredients and utensils. “You’re staying here tonight,” he announces matter-of-factly.

“Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re practicing all night. Don’t even think about going home.”

A chill runs down your spine—not just from his words, but from the realization that you’ll be cooking with him all night. Somehow, this is far from how you ever imagined spending the night at his apartment.

-

The warm lights of Minho’s kitchen illuminate the room as the two of you work side by side. You’re focused on molding the fish mixture into small, round balls, while Minho is pan-searing fish liver with precision. The sizzle of the pan fills the silence between you, and the savory aroma teases your senses.

Every now and then, you find yourself glancing at Minho. There’s something hypnotic about the way he moves—the effortless way he tilts the pan without spilling, the fluidity of his knife work, the sharp focus in his gaze as he perfects every detail. Even in casual clothing, Minho radiates charisma. His dark sweater hugs his frame, accentuating his broad shoulders, while his rolled-up sleeves reveal veined forearms that flex with every movement.

Your admiration is cut short as Minho suddenly turns toward you, his sharp eyes locking onto your work. Without a word, he strides over and pokes one of your molded fishballs with his finger. It crumbles immediately.

His glare pierces you. “It’s too crumbly,” he states coldly. “Do it again.”

You nod meekly, murmuring, “Yes, Chef,” and begin adjusting the mixture.

Moments later, he scolds you again. “Why are these so small? They’ll fall apart when you fry them. Do it again.”

You gulp and obey, reforming the fishballs to a larger size.

It doesn’t take long before you’re on the receiving end of another critique. “You’re frying them wrong,” Minho snaps, stepping in to demonstrate. He moves with efficiency, ensuring the fishballs are evenly browned and perfectly cooked. Watching him, you can’t help but feel inadequate but also in awe of his skill.

Finally, the first batch is done, and you nervously wait as Minho takes a bite. Your stomach sinks as he spits it out into the sink almost immediately.

“This is terrible,” he says bluntly, glaring at you. “Too much egg and breadcrumbs. I can’t even tell if it’s made from fish or chicken.” His tone sharpens.

“What was the point of driving all the way to the seaside if this is what you’re going to make? Do it again.”

You nod quickly, muttering another shaky “Yes, Chef,” and get back to work.

After a couple more failed attempts, you finally feel a sliver of hope. You’ve followed every piece of advice Minho has given, and this batch feels like your best yet. But the hope is short-lived as Minho spits it out once more, his glare now blazing.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he barks, holding up a small piece of fishbone he found in his bite. “You left a bone in it!”

You freeze, guilt and embarrassment washing over you.

“What are you standing there for?” he snaps, crossing his arms. “Get back to the kitchen and do it again.”

Minho leaves the kitchen, your eyes following him taking his coat and puts it on. He turns to you as he informs,

“I’m going out, and when I get back, I expect you to have this perfected.”

With that, Minho storms out, leaving the apartment in silence. You let out a long, shaky breath the moment the door closes. Setting down your utensils, you wander into the living room and collapse onto the sofa, burying your face in your hands. Exhaustion weighs on you like a heavy blanket, and frustration simmers beneath the surface.

The silence in Minho’s apartment is deafening, broken only by the soft hum of the refrigerator. Exhausted and at your wit's end, you pull your phone from your pocket and stare at the screen, debating whether to make the call. It’s ridiculously early, but if there’s anyone who can help you, it’s your dad. After all, he’s been running his bakery for as long as you can remember, and you know he’s probably already in the kitchen preparing the first batch of bread.

You dial his number, pacing anxiously as the phone rings.

“Hello?” your father answers, his voice slightly groggy but steady.

“Dad,” you say in a rush, “I regret going to culinary school. This was the worst decision I ever made.”

There’s a pause before your father sighs heavily. “I told you this would happen. Cooking isn’t just some romantic idea—you need grit and perseverance, and clearly, you don’t have enough of either.”

His words sting, but you expected nothing less.

“Why are you calling me so early, huh? Shouldn’t you be sleeping off your regrets?”

You groan, leaning against the counter. “I need help. I’m working on this recipe, and I can’t get the chewy texture I need for fishballs. I’ve tried everything, but nothing works!”

Your father grumbles something under his breath before asking, “Alright, what are you putting in the mixture?”

You quickly list off the ingredients, your voice rapid and desperate.

“Are you using potato starch?” he interrupts.

“Yes,” you reply, blinking.

“Check it,” he orders. “Make sure it’s 100 percent potato starch.”

His words give you pause, and you dash to the kitchen, grabbing the package of potato starch from the counter. You scan the label, your stomach sinking as you read: 92 percent potato starch.

“Dad,” you say, your voice small, “it’s only 92 percent.”

“Unbelievable!” your father exclaims. “How do you expect to get the texture you want if it’s not 100 percent? You’re sabotaging yourself! Go and get proper potato starch!”

“But—”

“No buts! You’re wasting your time otherwise. Fix it.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

“Thanks, Dad,” you mutter before hanging up. You stare at the package in your hand, a newfound determination building in your chest. You don’t know when Minho will be back, but you’re certain of one thing: you’re going to perfect this recipe before he walks through that door.

You take a deep breath, head back to the kitchen, and prepare to start over—this time with the right approach.

-

The sun is beginning to rise, casting a soft glow over the city as you step out of Minho’s apartment. The cool morning air brushes against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the kitchen where you’ve spent the entire night. You’ve left your dish on his dining table, hoping it meets his impossible standards, and now you’re longing for a moment of peace.

When you arrive at your own apartment, you’re met with the sight of chaos in the kitchen—ingredients scattered, utensils abandoned mid-use, and remnants of Sara’s late-night preparations everywhere.

Your eyes move to the couch, where Sara is curled up, her head resting on her arm. The sound of your footsteps stirs her awake, and she looks at you groggily.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” you say, feeling a bit guilty.

Sara stretches and shakes her head, offering a small smile. “It’s okay. I was about to get up anyway.”

Feeling a pang of sympathy, you ask, “Would you like some coffee? I could use a cup myself.”

Her smile widens, and she nods. “That would be nice.”

A few minutes later, the two of you sit together in the living room, cradling mugs of freshly brewed coffee. The morning is quiet, save for the faint hum of the city waking up outside.

You glance toward the kitchen, breaking the silence. “You must’ve been busy prepping for your TV program.”

Sara doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she takes a sip of her coffee and then looks at you with a faintly amused expression. “Were you at Minho’s place all night?”

Her question catches you off guard, and you pause mid-sip. You're aware that Sara knows more than she lets on. You sigh, nodding in acknowledgment.

“Have you tried his new dish?”

You shake your head. “Hardly.”

“He's like that. He won't let anyone taste it until it's perfect.” Sara softly smiles as she says it as if she's reminiscing something.

“Must've been fun though,” she adds with genuine envy in her eyes.

You scoff at that and cradle your cup of coffee in both hands. “Fun? I got scolded all night.”

Sara chuckles softly, her gaze distant. “Still, cooking with someone else is always less tiring. And it's more fun.”

Her words hang in the air, and you can’t help but wonder if there’s more meaning behind them. Does she miss cooking with Minho? Since she won the contest, there are two possibilities: It's either she gives the recipe to the restaurant or she's taking the responsibility of this dish herself in the kitchen. Honestly, you can’t imagine the latter. Having two chefs in one kitchen is one thing but two chefs who shared a complicated past? That's a recipe for disaster.

You shake the thought away, deciding it’s not your place to dig deeper into their shared history. Draining the last of your coffee, you stand and offer her a small smile. “I should get some rest before the contest. Good luck with your cooking today.”

She looks up at you, her smile soft. “You too.”

-

The familiar sounds of clattering pans and bubbling pots fill the air as you step into the bustling kitchen. For the first time in a while, you feel an odd sense of comfort here—like you’ve missed this chaos, missed the kitchen itself. Looking around, it’s clear that everyone else feels the same. The team looks rejuvenated from their break, their energy palpable as they chatter excitedly about the upcoming contest.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Felix bounding into the room, his face glowing with excitement. His freckles seem brighter than usual, standing out against his sun-kissed skin.

“Someone’s been having fun,” you tease, smiling as he joins you at your station. “Where’d you go?”

Felix grins, his boyish charm making it impossible not to smile back. “Oh, just somewhere fun,” he replies cryptically, his eyes twinkling.

You roll your eyes but let it slide. “Are you ready for the contest?”

“Absolutely,” he says with a confident nod, and you hold out your fist. He meets it with a firm bump, a gesture of mutual encouragement.

The room falls quiet as Chris enters, his demeanor as calm and collected as ever, his enigmatic smile adding an edge to his presence. “Alright, everyone,” he announces, his voice cutting through the silence. “You may begin cooking your new menu items. Good luck.”

You glance around the kitchen as everyone springs into action, but one thing—or rather, one person—is missing. Minho.

“Where’s Minho?” you ask Felix, lowering your voice so as not to draw attention.

Felix shrugs, his expression unbothered. “Probably using the other kitchen. It’s pretty packed in here.”

His explanation makes sense, but a small pang of unease lingers. You shake it off and refocus on your task. You’ve come too far and worked too hard to let anything distract you now.

As you begin preparing your dish, the words Minho drilled into you all night echo in your mind: “Posso farcela!”

You whisper the phrase to yourself, almost as a mantra, channeling it into every movement. Confidence surges through you as you remind yourself why you’re here—to create something incredible and to prove, most of all to yourself, that you can do this.

-

The dining hall buzzes with energy as chefs carry their meticulously prepared dishes to the tables for judging. You’re no different, your dish carefully balanced in your hands, though a nagging thought occupies your mind: Where is Minho?

You’re not the only one wondering. Whispered speculations ripple through the room, the tension thick in the air. The door opens, and your heart leaps with hope, expecting Minho to stride in after Chris. Instead, your breath catches in your throat.

It’s not Minho. It’s Chef Sara.

Her poised figure glides into the room, her sharp gaze scanning the crowd before briefly landing on you. You offer her a hurried, polite smile, masking your shock and the storm of questions swirling in your mind. Why is she here?

She doesn’t need this contest. She’s already at the pinnacle of her career—a celebrated chef with a regular TV program, several bestselling cookbooks, and fame most chefs only dream of. So why?

The answer flickers at the edges of your mind, but you refuse to acknowledge it. Chris claps his hands, pulling everyone’s attention to the front. His calm, commanding presence stills the murmurs in the room.

“I have something to inform you before we begin,” he begins, his voice steady, “unfortunately, Chef Lee will not be joining us today due to special circumstances.”

You blink, the news hitting harder than you expect. Your stomach sinks as you try to imagine what could have kept Minho away.

“But,” Chris continues smoothly, “Chef Sara will be stepping in to compete instead.”

A ripple of surprise sweeps through the room. You’re no exception, your mind reeling as you watch Sara move to her station with a confidence that makes her presence feel larger than life.

Chris doesn’t leave room for more speculation. “Let me explain how the contest will proceed.”

He goes on to detail the rules. The first round involves the service staff tasting and voting for the three best dishes to move on. In the second round, fifty selected guests of Farfalle will taste the top three dishes and vote for the winner.

“The winning dish,” Chris says, his enigmatic smile returning, “will become the new main menu of Farfalle. The winning chef will not only oversee this dish in the kitchen but will also earn incentives from its sales.”

That last part immediately ignites a spark in the room. Chefs exchange glances, excitement crackling at the mention of money. You can’t help but smile, impressed by Chris’s ability to up the stakes and turn the contest into something electrifying.

Chris scans the room, his gaze settling briefly on you before moving on. “Good luck,” he says simply.

And with that, the contest begins.

-

The second round feels surreal. Though you expected to make it this far, the reality of going up against Chef Sara and Sous Chef Seojun feels daunting. You’re torn between pride and the sinking pressure of the competition.

From the second floor of the dining hall, you lean against the railing, watching as the selected guests taste the dishes below. Your nerves flutter, every movement of the tasters amplified in your mind.

Lost in thought, you barely notice Sara standing beside you until she speaks.

“You must’ve been surprised to see me here,” she says softly, her tone almost apologetic.

You glance at her, offering a polite smile. “Just a little.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she explains, her gaze sincere.

You shake your head. “I’m not uncomfortable at all. Honestly… I’m no match for you anyway.”

Sara chuckles, but her expression turns serious. “You’d be surprised. I’m actually nervous because of you.”

Her words catch you off guard, and you laugh, assuming she’s trying to lift your spirits. “Sure, Chef. Nice try.”

“I’m serious,” she insists, her eyes unwavering.

Your smile falters slightly, a flicker of gratitude warming your chest. “I’m just glad I made it to the second round,” you admit, brushing off her words even as they linger in your mind.

Sara gives you an encouraging nod before stepping away. As you head back toward the kitchen, your phone buzzes. You fish it out of your pocket, your heart skipping a beat when you see Minho’s name.

“Posso farcela!”

A second message follows almost immediately.

“I’ll be there soon. Posso farcela!”

A smile tugs at your lips before you realize Chris is nearby, watching you with an amused expression. You quickly shove your phone back into your pocket, your cheeks warming under his gaze.

“What’s with that look?” Chris teases.

“Nothing!” you protest, flustered.

Chris smirks, his sharp pinstripe suit somehow making him look even more teasingly intimidating. The tailored fit accentuates his broad shoulders and lean frame, making it hard not to admire him. But nothing is as charming as his dimpled smile as he aims it towards you.

“Looking sharp,” you comment, trying to deflect.

He raises an eyebrow as he pulls a hand out of his slacks pocket. “Complimenting me won’t help you win.”

You chuckle and start walking toward the kitchen. “But it’s worth a shot.”

Chris steps closer, his tone light but curious. “Do you think you’ll win?”

“I have to be confident,” you reply with a shrug. “Besides, I’ve got nothing to lose.”

He nudges your shoulder playfully. “Well, if you do win, you owe me dinner.”

The warmth of his words makes your chest tighten in a good way. He actually has faith in you and he makes it sounds possible for you to win the contest.

“Deal,” you say, smiling.

He stops on his track and grabs your shoulder. Swiftly, he turns your body to the side, making you face him. He leans closer, his brown eyes softly gazing into your eyes. “Don't tell anyone but I'm rooting for you.” He whispers, not wanting everyone else to hear that he's biased.

You smile in genuine gratitude. “Thanks, Chris.”

As Chris walks away, you take a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of determination. With encouragement from both Minho and Chris, you can’t afford to let your nerves get the better of you now.

-

Anticipation filled the dining hall as everyone gathers one last time for the night. The air is electric with nervous excitement, and you feel the weight of the moment settling in your chest. You tell yourself not to get your hopes up, but the thought of impressing Minho lingers, making your heart race.

Chris steps into the room, his confident stride and easy smile drawing everyone's attention. "Thank you all for your hard work on this new menu," he begins, his tone warm and genuine.

Without much preamble, he announces, "The two popular dishes from tonight are… the fishball pasta and Chef Sara’s triple-flavored pasta."

Your breath catches, a small spark of hope igniting within you. As expected, you made it this far. Maybe Minho’s mantra really did work wonders. You glance at Sous Chef Seojun, who wears a strained expression. Noticing his disappointment, you gently pat his shoulder and offer him an encouraging smile.

The room quiets as the door opens, and Minho strides in, his presence commanding instant attention. He surveys the room briefly before focusing on Chris, who grins and announces, "Chef Lee will be our tiebreaker tonight. I believe he’s the most unbiased person for the job."

Minho raises an eyebrow but nods, accepting the role without complaint. He takes his seat at the head of the table, signaling you and Chef Sara to bring your dishes forward.

You carefully place your plate in front of him, trying to keep your hands steady. Chef Sara does the same, her usual poise shining through. Stepping back, you wait as Minho begins tasting the dishes.

You can’t stop yourself from nervously playing with the edge of your apron as Minho takes a deliberate bite of your pasta. His expression is unreadable, his focus entirely on the food. He moves on to Chef Sara’s pasta, taking his time with each bite.

Finally, Minho sets his fork down and rises from his seat, commanding the room’s attention. He looks at you first, his gaze steady and thoughtful.

He calls your name first, his tone softer than usual. "You’ve done a good job."

A smile creeps onto your face, unbidden but genuine. Coming from Minho, that acknowledgment feels like a win in itself.

"You managed to maintain the sweetness and softness of the fish very well," he continues, his voice measured. "I noticed you used the least amount of eggs and breadcrumbs in your batter, which is commendable. It shows skill."

You bask in his words for a brief moment before he shifts his focus to Chef Sara.

"Chef Sara," Minho begins, his tone shifting to one of professional admiration. "Your dish is intriguing—a ravioli with a mysterious filling and a combination of two sauces that could have been disastrous. But you balanced it beautifully. I’m genuinely impressed."

Chef Sara beams at his praise, thanking him warmly.

Minho pauses, his gaze sweeping the room. "Cooking," he says, "is more than just technique. It’s dynamic. It should seduce whoever is holding the fork and knife."

He turns back to you, his expression gentle but firm. "Your dish is good, but it lacks that seduction. It doesn’t quite pull the diner in the way it should."

Your smile falters ever so slightly, the sting of his words hitting harder than you expected.

Chris breaks the momentary silence by asking, "So, does that mean Chef Sara wins?"

Minho nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yes. The winner is Chef Sara."

The room erupts in applause as Chef Sara steps forward, her confidence radiating as she graciously accepts the title. You force a smile, clapping along with the others.

"Congratulations," you manage to say to her, your voice steady despite the pang of disappointment in your chest.

Sara thanks you with a warm smile, her sincerity softening the moment. As the night winds down, you remind yourself that second place is still an accomplishment. But deep down, you can’t shake the lingering ache of wanting more—not just for yourself, but to make Minho proud.

-

Minho sits in Chris’s office, his arms crossed as he waits with thinly veiled impatience. He checks the clock on the wall, nearly rolling his eyes as the door finally swings open. Chris enters first, his usual air of ease intact, followed closely by Chef Sara.

Sara takes the chair across from Minho without hesitation, her posture relaxed but alert. Chris leans casually against his desk, his eyes flicking between the two.

“Well,” Chris begins, clapping his hands together, “since Chef Lee chose the Triple-flavored Pasta, I thought it’d be a good idea for the two of you to discuss the details—preparation, launch timeline, all that fun stuff. Once you’ve reached a decision, let me know.”

Minho barely acknowledges Chris’s words, instead leveling him with a pointed look. “Can we have some privacy?”

Chris raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. “Sure,” he says simply, pushing off the desk and heading for the door. “Play nice.” He closes the door behind him, leaving the room weighted with tension.

Minho leans back slightly, his gaze cold and calculating as it settles on Sara. “Congratulations,” he says, the chill in his tone making it sound more like an obligation than genuine praise. “Now, let’s get straight to the point. I’ll need your recipe for the kitchen.”

Sara doesn’t flinch under his scrutiny. “No,” she says flatly.

Minho’s eyes narrow. “No?”

“That’s right,” she replies, her tone calm but firm. “I’m not giving my recipe to the kitchen.”

Minho leans forward slightly, the air around him growing sharper. “Are you suggesting you plan to come here and prepare the dish yourself?”

Sara meets his gaze without hesitation. “Why not?” she counters. “I can’t do that?”

A scoff escapes Minho’s lips, followed by a malicious smirk. “You’re delusional if you think I’ll let that happen.”

Sara crosses her arms, unfazed. “It’s my privilege as the contest winner. You knew that when you chose my dish—or did you misunderstand?”

The smirk on Minho’s face falters, replaced by a flicker of irritation. “You have other places you can go,” he says, his tone clipped. “Places you can pick and choose at your leisure. You don’t have to be here.”

Sara smiles, calm and deliberate. “But I like it here.”

Minho’s frustration bubbles over, his voice lowering dangerously. “Let me remind you of one thing: I didn’t choose your dish because you’re welcomed in my kitchen.”

Sara’s smile doesn’t waver. “And let me remind you,” she says, her voice steady and unwavering, “that if you want my recipe, you’ll have to accept me in your kitchen first.”

The room grows silent as their gazes lock, a battle of wills unfolding with neither showing any sign of backing down. The air between them is charged, the tension so thick it feels almost tangible.

It’s a stalemate, and for now, neither of them is willing to yield.

-

You move through the locker room like a machine, your mind distant as your hands go through the motions of changing. Shrugging into your jacket, you’re startled when Felix suddenly appears, leaning casually against the locker beside yours.

His eyes study you, his easygoing demeanor not quite masking his concern. He crosses his arms together then lets out a sigh. “How cheeky of Sara to just waltz in and steal first place like that.”

A small smile tugs at your lips of Felix’s effort to cheer you up, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I didn’t really stand a chance anyway.”

Felix smirks knowingly, leaning closer. “Don’t act like you like her. We both know we don’t like her, and neither does Minho.”

You snap your locker shut, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “If Minho hates her so much, why did he choose her as the winner?”

Felix falters, clearly caught off guard by the question. He opens his mouth as if to reply but stops, unable to come up with an answer.

You smile faintly, brushing past him. “Night, Felix.”

Leaving the locker room, you head toward the restaurant’s exit, your footsteps heavy with exhaustion. Just as you near the door, Chris’s familiar figure comes into view, his signature dimpled smile lighting up his face as he falls into step beside you.

“Where are you taking me for dinner?” he asks, his tone playful.

You blink at him, puzzled. “I didn’t win, remember?”

Chris’s grin widens as if he’s caught you in a trap. “Second place is still a win,” he counters smoothly. “And you promised me dinner, didn’t you?”

You let out a soft laugh, unable to argue against his infallible logic—or his charm. His gaze is warm, his smile unwavering as he looks at you, and for a moment, the disappointment from earlier feels like a distant memory.

“Fine,” you say, relenting with a smile of your own. “But I get to choose where we’re going.”

Chris nods eagerly, his dimples deepening. “Deal.”

Without warning, he gently takes your hand, leading you toward the parking area. His touch is light, but his presence is grounding, and you feel your mood lifting with every step.

Maybe a night out with Chris is exactly what you need to forget the tension of the contest—even if just for a little while.

-

It’s only been a minute but Chris is already struggling. His low groans and muttered complaints don’t go unnoticed as you glance over at him. His forehead glistens with a sheen of sweat, his ears glow red, and his flushed face and neck betray the battle he’s having with the bowl of spicy noodles—the same dish you’re enjoying without much trouble.

Putting down your chopsticks, you frown. “Chris, stop eating it. You’re suffering.”

Despite his clear discomfort, he shakes his head and stubbornly takes another bite. “It’s spicy, but it tastes good,” he says, though his voice is strained.

You sigh, getting up from your chair and heading to the fridge to grab a bottle of cold water. Returning to the table, you uncap it for him and pull the bowl away from his reach.

“Enough,” you insist, placing the water in front of him.

Finally conceding, Chris gulps down the water in relief, though it’s obvious it does little to soothe the fire in his mouth. Between sips, he glares at you. “Why on earth did you choose spicy noodles?”

You chuckle, finding his over-the-top reaction amusing. “You’ll live,” you tease, but his scolding continues.

“This isn’t funny!” he protests, still drinking water. “Do people eat this? Why would you eat this?”

Your laughter bubbles over, the tension of the day dissolving for the first time. Seeing your mirth, Chris glares again, but a small smile threatens to break through his stern expression.

As a way to make up for the "dinner disaster," you grab some milk and ice cream from a nearby store. The two of you sit on a bench outside, sharing the treats. Chris chugs from the carton of milk, sighing in relief as the burn finally starts to fade.

He side-eyes you, mock accusation clear in his tone. “Were you trying to kill me or something?”

Rolling your eyes, you open a pack of ice cream and offer it to him. “Stop being so dramatic.”

Chris takes it with a begrudging smile, the two of you settling into a companionable silence as you enjoy the sweet relief against the chilly late-winter air.

Your phone rings, breaking the moment. Glancing at the screen, you see Minho’s name flashing. Without a second thought, you hit “Reject” and shove the phone back into your pocket.

Chris raises a brow. “Not going to answer that?”

“Not now,” you reply, shrugging. “I’ll call back when I feel better.”

He sense that your mood hasn't changed much but he doesn’t push, instead offering a comforting smile. “You know, second place isn’t bad. You should be proud of yourself.”

It’s not about losing to Sara, though, but what her win represents. Still, you keep that to yourself, simply nodding. “You’re right. I feel good and happy about it.”

Chris grins, leaning in slightly. “You should. I saw everything tonight, and you were incredible. Even if you didn’t win, your cooking? Amazing. Remember what I said the first time I tasted your cooking?”

You laugh, recalling his words. “How could I forget? You said it was better than sex.”

Chris leans closer, his tone teasing. “Tasted it again today. Still better than sex.”

You burst out laughing. “Now I doubt that you ever had sex at all?”

He scoffs, feigning offense. “Excuse me? Not only am I rich, but I’m also attractive and popular.”

You roll your eyes and decide to tease him. “All that, and yet you can’t handle spicy food.”

Chris smirks, throwing an arm around your shoulder and roughly pulling you close. “You’re lucky I like you,” he says, squeezing you gently in mock revenge.

You giggle, squirming slightly in his hold, but his grip softens after a moment. His hand rubs soothingly up and down your arm, and the warmth of his touch is comforting. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you let out a content sigh as he pats your head softly, murmuring, “You did well. You really did.”

For a while, you sit like that, the peaceful night wrapping around the two of you. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot a stall selling fish-shaped breads down the street.

“Fish-shaped breads!” you exclaim, suddenly energized. Before Chris can respond, you’re already sprinting toward the stall, leaving him laughing in your wake.

The drive back is quiet, save for the soft hum of the radio and the occasional sound of Chris drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. You glance at him, noting the content smile on his face, and feel your own mood lift.

As the car comes to a stop in front of your place, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to him. “Thanks for tonight, Chris. I really needed this.”

Chris looks at you, his eyes soft under the dim glow of the streetlights. “Thank you for the most memorable dinner I’ve ever had.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Most memorable, huh? You mean the spicy noodles almost killed you.”

He grins, leaning back in his seat. “Exactly. Unforgettable.”

Reaching for the bag of fish-shaped breads you’ve been holding the entire ride, you hand it to him. “Here, I kept these warm for you. My apology for the spicy noodles fiasco.”

Chris accepts the bag, his smile widening as he peeks inside. “I’ll forgive you—this time.”

The two of you share a quiet laugh before leaning in for a quick hug. His arm wraps securely around your shoulders for a brief moment, the gesture warm and comforting.

Pulling away, you open the door and step out. Before closing it, you lean down to look at him one last time. “Goodnight, Chris.”

His dimpled smile returns as he waves. “Goodnight. Get some rest.”

You shut the door and watch as he drives away, the bag of fish-shaped breads still in his hand. Smiling to yourself, you turn and head inside, the warmth of the night’s memories still lingering.

Until your phone rings and you see that it's Minho calling you again.

-

Minho stares at his phone, the screen mocking him with yet another voicemail. He clenches his jaw, his patience thinning with each unanswered call. Unbelievable, he mutters in his head, tucking the phone back into his pocket. You always pick up but not tonight. Not after everything that happened today.

His frustration only grows as the elevator ascends to your apartment floor. He doesn’t know what he’d say when he sees you—maybe he’d scold you for ignoring him or demand an explanation. Something. Anything to ease the irritation gnawing at him.

When he reaches your door, he rings the bell, shifting impatiently on his feet. It opens after a beat, but instead of you, it's Sara standing there, her expression annoyingly serene.

Minho stiffens. Of course, it has to be her. He knows she lives on the building but didn’t know that she's sharing the apartment with you.

“Is she home?” he asks brusquely, cutting straight to the point.

Sara tilts her head, a smirk playing on her lips. “Not yet,” she replies, as if his irritation amuses her.

Minho turns to leave but stopped midway. He can’t resist. Not with her standing there, acting like she belongs here. Facing her again, he let the words spill out, each one sharper than the last.

“I chose your dish because it’s just like you—greedy. Three sauces in one dish, just like how you want everything. Love. Skill. Fame. You don’t know how to let go of anything, do you?”

To his disbelief, Sara smiles, her eyes sparkling as though he’s just given her a bouquet of compliments. “Thank you,” she says sweetly, her voice saccharine.

His jaw clenched, a scoff escaping his lips as he turns on his heel and walks away.

“Goodnight, Minho,” Sara shouts toward him before getting back into the apartment.

“Ridiculous,” he mutters to himself in disbelief.

As he nears his apartment, something—or rather, someone—catches his eye. There you are, standing a few feet away, watching him. His chest tightens, though he masks it with irritation.

“Where have you been?” he snaps, his voice harsher than intended.

You cross your arms, meeting his glare head-on. “I was out with Chris.”

Chris. The name alone sends a sharp sting of annoyance through him. “What’s going on between you and him?” he demands, stepping closer.

Your brow arches, and instead of answering, you deflect. “What’s going on between you and Sara?”

Minho scoffs, shaking his head. “There’s nothing going on.”

“Really?” you challenge. “Because it looks like you two are still very close.”

The audacity. Minho closes the distance between you and him, forcing you back away until you hit the door of his apartment. His voice drops, low and deliberate. “I’m closer to you now than with her.”

He watches as a smile threatens to tug at your lips, though you fight to suppress it. “How much closer?” you tease, your voice light but your eyes searching his.

Minho is conflicted. A part of him wants to just go ahead, do whatever he wants to do but another part of him, the most stubborn part of him, reminds him to stay put, sticks to the rules. However for a moment, he falters. The walls he’s so carefully built around himself trembles under your gaze. The rules he’s sworn to uphold, the distance he’s vowed to maintain—they all seemed insignificant now.

But he can’t. He shouldn’t.

“Get out of my way,” he says instead, his tone clipped as he steps back.

You pout, moving aside as he unlocks his door. He pushes it open, stepping inside. This is the right choice, he tells himself. The smart choice.

But then he glances back.

The sight of you standing there, the faint disappointment flickering in your eyes—it's enough to unravel him completely. Before he can stop himself, he reaches out, grabbing your hand and pulling you inside.

The door clicks shut, and without hesitation, he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is desperate, unrelenting, all the tension and frustration he’s bottled up pouring out in waves. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as every ounce of restraint dissolved.

Rules be damned. In this moment, you're all that mattered. Tonight, the stubborn part of him loses to his desire.

-

The moment Minho's lips find yours again, everything around you dissolves into nothingness. It's not just the way he kisses you—hungry, fervent, and impossibly deep—but the way his hands grip your waist with unrestrained need. Every movement, every touch, speaks volumes of just how much he’s been holding back.

When he finally pulls back, his chest heaving against yours, you barely have time to gasp for air before he sweeps you up effortlessly. Your arms wrap instinctively around his shoulders, your legs clinging to his hips as he carries you through the apartment. The kitchen counter greets your back, cold against the heat coursing through your body, as he sets you down and steps between your parted legs.

“This close,” He finally answers to your earlier question.

You hold his fiery gaze and breathlessly mutter, “Not close enough.”

The next kiss is even more desperate, more demanding. His hands work with an urgency that mirrors your own. You feel the tug of fabric as he pulls your jacket off and, with a sudden, heated impatience, rips open your shirt. The sound of buttons scattering echoes faintly in the room, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Minho's lips leave yours, dragging hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to send shivers through your entire body. He pauses at your collarbone, his fingers toying with the strap of your bra, his touch both teasing and commanding.

You take your chance, your hands tugging at the hem of his sweater. In one swift motion, you lift it over his head, and the sight of his bare skin—taut, toned, and so undeniably Minho—makes your breath hitch.

Your fingers trace down his chest, feeling every dip and ridge of his muscles as you pull him closer. This time, it’s your turn to explore. You press your lips to his throat, savoring the taste of his skin, warm and slightly salty, mixed with something so distinctly him that it makes your head spin.

His hands slide to your hips, gripping you firmly as his lips return to yours, his kiss relentless. When he pulls away this time, his eyes lock onto yours, dark and filled with something raw, something electric.

He takes hold of your hair, his fingers tangling at the side of your head, and tugs just hard enough to tilt your neck to the side. The sensation makes you gasp, but the sound quickly turns into a quiet moan as his lips find your neck again. He nips at the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing and his tongue soothing in turns.

“Tell me,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “How much closer do you want me to be?”

Your gaze locks onto his, unflinching despite the fire coursing through you. “A lot closer,” you say, your voice steady, daring.

The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk. Without another word, he hooks his arms under you, lifting you from the counter like you weigh nothing. Your legs tighten around him, your heart pounding as he carries you toward the bedroom.

Every step heightens your anticipation, your excitement surging as you wonder just how much closer the two of you can possibly get.

-

The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The air feels charged, every sound amplified—the rustle of the sheets, the faint hitch in your breath, the steady rhythm of Minho’s own.

You lie beside him, your naked body sinking into the mattress as his gaze locks onto yours, dark and unwavering. There’s an intensity in his eyes that makes your heart race, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Don’t look away,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. His hand trails up your arm, his touch featherlight, yet it leaves a trail of heat in its wake. “I want to see you.”

What he means by that is seeing every reaction you make as he explores your body. You swallow hard, nodding slightly, though the weight of his stare makes it hard to hold. His fingers trace the curve of your shoulder, sliding down to your collarbone and then lower, brushing against your skin with deliberate slowness.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he says again, his tone softer this time, almost coaxing. His hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you closer, his thumb pressing gently into your hip.

Your breathing quickens, your chest rising and falling as his hand continues its path, exploring with a mixture of reverence and possession. His touch is both soothing and electrifying, every movement sending shivers through you.

“That’s it. Stay with me,” he whispers, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile.

His fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your face slightly, ensuring your eyes remain locked on his. The intimacy of it is almost overwhelming, the closeness between you leaving no room for anything else—no thoughts, no distractions, just him.

As his hand continues its slow, deliberate exploration, he leans in, his breath warm against your skin. “I want you to feel everything,” he murmurs, his voice a promise, a command.

And you do. Every touch, every whispered word, every look—it’s all-consuming, a connection that feels deeper than anything you’ve ever known.

Minho’s hand slides down the curve of your waist, his fingers pressing just enough to remind you of his presence, of his control. He leans closer, his lips brushing against your temple, lingering there for a moment before trailing down to your cheek. His kisses are unhurried, deliberate, as if savoring every second.

“Still with me?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a velvet caress.

You nod, your gaze still locked with his, though your breathing comes in shallow, uneven waves.

“Good,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile. His lips find the corner of yours, hovering there teasingly before capturing them in a kiss that starts gentle but deepens with each passing second.

His hand moves again, tracing the outline of your thigh, then sliding up to your heating core. He pauses there, his thumb making lazy circles on your bundle of nerves that send warmth coursing through you.

Breaking the kiss, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze again. “Don’t close your eyes,” he says softly, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I want to see you.”

You nod again, unable to find words, your heart pounding too loudly in your chest.

Minho dips his head, his lips finding the hollow of your throat. He presses a series of kisses there, each one slower and more purposeful than the last. His free hand moves upward, trailing across your ribcage, his touch igniting a fire beneath your skin.

When his lips return to yours, the kiss is hungrier, filled with a need that matches your own. His hand slides back to your lower back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

“Is this close enough?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice husky and sincere. His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as he leans in again, his kisses growing more fervent, more insistent.

You don't know if he's asking if you're close to your high or this is the closeness you demand from him. Your brain is struggling to function and time seems to blur, the world outside fading away until he takes you to your high and you soar onto cloud nine.

Minho’s lips hover near your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “Perfect,” he whispers, his voice low and intimate. His words are a soft admission, meant only for you, carrying a depth of emotion that makes your heart ache in the best way.

Minho grounds you to the bed, peppering your shoulder and neck with kisses to help you coming down from your high. After a while, he slowly turns you to lay on your side and you hear the ripping sound from behind you. You turn your head to see Minho tears open a condom with his teeth.

You hold the arm curving around you as he works on putting a layer of protection on before coming back to plant kisses on your flushed skin again.

He grabs your chin, turning your head toward him so he can capture your lips in a kiss. His other hand grabs your leg by the back of your thigh and slowly, he lifts it just enough to make space for him to enter you from behind.

A crease formed between his eyebrows as he begins pushing his length, his teeth faintly biting his lower lip and his hand keeping your knee up. His fingers start to dug into the flesh as he launches the rest of his length until it's fully sheathed inside you.

Your gasp spill into his mouth and Minho crashes his lips onto yours again. In the dimly lit room, he holds you close as he moves in steady, slow motions. You hear nothing but the rustle of the sheets beneath you and your shared breathing, endlessly echoing in the room.

“Is this close enough for you now?” he suddenly asks with his ear pressed to your ear.

You mewl in complaint and shake your head.

Minho smirks at that, a corner of his mouth raises higher than the other. It gives you the impression that he has anticipated that answer and more than capable to cater to that demand.

He grips you by the waist and pulls you even closer, he slings his arm around you, keeping your body still as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, fulfilling your wish. It's just the two of you, bodies tangled on the bed, hands intertwined on the sheets, and you want this night to last forever, you don't even care if you have to live in darkness as Minho knows how to brings out the stars.

-

The room is quiet now, the air filled with the soft rhythm of your breathing and Minho's. The sheets are tangled around your legs, the faint scent of him clinging to the fabric. Minho lies beside you, his chest rising and falling steadily as his arm drapes protectively over your waist.

You shift slightly, your cheek resting against his shoulder. His skin is warm against yours, grounding you in the stillness of the night. Minho stirs at the movement, his hand tightening briefly on your hip before relaxing again.

“You okay?” he murmurs sleepily, his voice rough around the edges but laced with concern.

“Okay,” you whisper back, smiling softly as you tilt your head to look at him.

His eyes flutter open, dark and drowsy but still full of that intensity he never seems to lose. He shifts closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead before settling back into the pillows. “Good,” he mutters, his hand lazily tracing patterns on your back.

For a while, neither of you speak, content to bask in the quiet intimacy of the moment. The weight of his arm, the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart—all of it lulls you into a state of peace you hadn’t realized you needed.

Minho’s fingers trail up to your hair, gently brushing it away from your face. “Don’t even try to leave,” he softly threatens, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I wasn’t planning to,” you reply, your lips curving into a smile.

His lips find yours in a slow, lingering kiss, one that feels like a promise. When he pulls back, his gaze searches yours, as if memorizing every detail.

“Good,” he says again, his voice softer now, almost inaudible.

As the minutes stretch into hours, sleep finally begins to claim you. Minho pulls you closer, his arm wrapping securely around you. His breath is warm against your temple, his presence a protective cocoon that makes you feel utterly safe.

And with that, the world fades away, leaving only the quiet comfort of being beside him, the rhythm of his heartbeat a soothing lullaby as you drift off together.

-

The morning light streams through the tall windows of Farfalle as you walk down the hallway, the crisp click of your shoes echoing faintly. With a light knock on the door, you wait for Chris’s faint, “Come in,” before pushing it open slightly and poking your head in.

“Good morning!” you chirp, a bright smile on your face.

Chris glances up from his desk, clearly surprised by your sunny demeanor. His own lips curve into a smile as he leans back in his chair, arms crossing. “Well, someone’s in a good mood today.”

You shrug coyly, stepping into his office and making your way to his desk. “Maybe,” you say, your tone teasing. From your pocket, you pull out a small bottle and place it in front of him with a sly smile.

Chris’s brows furrow, and when he realizes it’s a digestive drink, he fixes you with a playful glare. “Really?” he says, exasperation coloring his tone.

“Just in case your stomach acts up today,” you quip, barely able to suppress your grin.

His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek and then shakes his head, but there’s amusement in his eyes. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Never,” you say with mock seriousness, before leaning forward slightly. “I also came to give you a warning.”

His brow arches, curiosity flickering across his face. “A warning?”

“Don’t act too friendly towards me,” you say, your tone playful but laced with faux seriousness. “And definitely don’t behave in a way that could be misunderstood by everyone—especially Chef Lee.”

Chris chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “And why’s that?”

“Because if you, even for a second, make me think I’m your favorite, I’ll start expecting special treatments,” you warn with a grin.

His smile widens, and he leans forward on his desk. “What if I told you that you already are my favorite? Tell me what kind of special treatments you want from me?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “At least try to pretend like I’m not your favorite.”

Chris chuckles again, the sound low and warm. “Fine,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll try my best.”

With a triumphant grin, you reach into your pocket again and pull out a lollipop, placing it on his desk. “Since we've reached an agreement,” you say with a laugh.

Chris stares at the candy for a moment before sighing, his smile softening as he hurriedly puts the lollipop in a pocket of his navy suit. “This is exactly why you’re my favorite.”

You laugh as you turn to leave, waving over your shoulder. “Have a great day, Manager Bang!” You say in a veiled formality and a suppressed smile.

His quiet chuckle follows you out the door, leaving a small, satisfied warmth in your chest as you return to the bustling kitchen which immediately puts you on edge.

Your eyes widen as you see them hauling boxes of ingredients into the kitchen, the clattering of crates and the shuffle of hurried feet filling the air. A knot of dread forms in your stomach—you should have been helping with this.

You sprint to the back entrance, weaving through the bustling staff. Sure enough, Minho is there, standing at the edge of a delivery truck, clipboard in hand as he meticulously checks off the contents of each box. His voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding, as he instructs everyone to carry the ingredients inside. He’s inspecting two styrofoam boxes when you cautiously approach.

“Why do we need fish roe?” he mutters, narrowing his eyes at the label.

“It’s for Chef Sara’s dish,” you answer quickly, hoping to be helpful.

Minho’s head snaps up, and his sharp eyes lock on yours. His gaze narrows further, the intensity of his stare making you freeze. “And where,” he starts, his tone low and dangerously calm, “have you been?”

You avoid the question entirely, choosing instead to give him your sweetest smile and hope that you can get away with it.

Minho’s lips curl into a sly, almost mocking smile, and he tilts his head slightly. “Come here,” he says, motioning with two fingers.

Warily, you step closer, and before you can react, his hand darts toward your forehead. You instinctively close your eyes, bracing yourself.

“Keep your eyes open,” he scolds, flicking your forehead hard enough to make you wince.

“Ouch! Chef!” you protest, rubbing the sore spot with a pout.

He merely smirks, unbothered. “If you have time to smile like an idiot, you have time to work.”

You grab a box of ingredients hurriedly, eager to escape his glare. “I’ll take this inside,” you mutter, hoisting it up.

“You should be,” he replies smoothly, not missing a beat. “You’re part of the kitchen staff, remember?”

“Yes, Chef,” you answer, louder this time. As you’re about to carry the box away, he stops you with a hand on the edge of it.

“Not that,” he says, taking the box from you with ease. “Take the sack of short-necked clams.” He nods toward the truck bed. “You’re in charge of vongole, aren’t you? These clams are your precious babies.”

You hesitate, staring at the heavy sack with dismay. Gathering your courage, you grab it and attempt to lift it. The weight nearly pulls you off balance, but you hold on, determined.

Minho watches your struggle, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “What? Are you going to act like a girl now?”

You glare at him but straighten up, adjusting your grip on the sack. “No, Chef,” you snap, gritting your teeth as you finally manage to lift it.

“Then hurry up,” he barks, his voice loud enough to make you flinch.

“Yes, Chef!” you shout back, stumbling slightly as you head toward the kitchen with the sack.

You can feel his eyes on your back, no doubt ready to pounce if you falter. Despite everything, a strange thrill courses through you. Minho’s treatment of you in the kitchen is as cold and exacting as ever, but the contrast to how he was last night only makes it more intriguing. It’s a game of hot and cold, and you find yourself enjoying the uncertainty of what might come next.

-

Minho steps into the quiet kitchen, the clatter of utensils and murmurs of the staff enjoying their lunch fading into the background. It’s the only time during the day when the kitchen isn’t buzzing with chaos, and he plans to take full advantage of it. He heads straight for the workstation, intent on prepping the ingredients for his new dish.

He’s mentally cataloging everything he needs when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Without glancing at the screen, he answers, half expecting it to be some important work calls.

“Hello?” he says curtly.

“Minho,” comes a familiar, overly sweet voice that instantly grates on his nerves.

He stiffens. Sara.

She skips any pleasantries, her tone light but deliberate. “It’s been so long since we’ve worked in the same kitchen, hasn’t it?”

Minho’s jaw tightens as he grips the phone. “What do you want?” he asks coldly, already regretting picking up.

Sara doesn’t answer directly, instead continuing with an air of feigned nervousness. “I have to admit, it’s a bit... intimidating. Being in the same space as you again.”

He exhales sharply, more annoyed than surprised. “You’ve always wanted what I have,” he bites out, cutting through her coy act.

A low chuckle comes through the line, infuriatingly casual. “Oh, Minho,” she says smoothly, “I’m not here to take it from you. I want us to share it.”

Minho scoffs, the sound harsh and dismissive. “Share?” he repeats, the word tasting bitter in his mouth.

“With both of us there, we could make something extraordinary,” she says, her tone as slippery as ever.

He doesn’t bother responding, his silence heavy with disdain.

Sara lets the pause linger before finally breaking it. “Well,” she says lightly, “I’ll see you later, Minho.”

The line goes dead before he can hang up on her. Minho stares at the phone in his hand for a moment, his expression hard and unreadable. He slips it back into his pocket, his jaw tightening further. Share the kitchen? With her? The thought alone makes his stomach churn.

He shakes his head, refocusing on his ingredients. If Sara thinks she can rattle him, she’s wasting her time. The kitchen is his, and nothing—least of all her—will change that.

As he focuses on his dish, Minho hears the sound of footsteps echoes through the quiet kitchen. Without glancing up, Minho knows it’s you. He can sense your presence even before you step into his line of sight, though he doesn’t acknowledge you.

You don’t speak at first, clearly aware that when Minho is cooking, interruptions are unwelcome. The kitchen hums with the low sizzle of the foie gras in the pan, the aroma rich and intoxicating. He’s in his zone, focused on perfecting the delicate balance of flavors for his dish.

After a moment, though, your voice breaks the silence. “Can I have a taste of the foie gras, chef?”

Minho doesn’t even look up. “No.” His response is flat and immediate.

Undeterred, you take a step closer. “What if I help prepare the liver? I’m good with—”

“No,” he cuts you off again, his tone firm.

“Fine,” you say with a sigh, clearly thinking of another angle. “What if I assist with plating? I’ll make it look perfect—”

“No.”

This time, your voice takes on a pleading tone. “Can I at least taste the failed ones? You know, the ones you don’t use—”

Minho’s hand pauses briefly, his gaze flicking to you. “I’d hate that even more.”

You huff, realizing you’re getting nowhere. But rather than give up entirely, you try a different approach. Your eyes land on the remaining fish nearby, and you ask casually, “Can I at least have the rest of the fish, then?”

As your hand reaches out, Minho’s reaction is swift. He slaps your wrist lightly, his movements sharp and precise.

“That’s mine,” he warns, his voice low and serious. “Don’t touch it!”

You withdraw your hand quickly, your pout almost comical under the weight of his intense stare. For a brief second, Minho’s lips twitch, but he suppresses the urge to smirk.

Instead, he gestures toward the door. “If you have that much energy to bother me, go call everyone to get ready for dinner service.”

“Yes, chef,” you obey as you always do, but not without one last attempt at teasing him. As you turn to leave, your fingers hover playfully over the fish again, daring to provoke him.

Minho narrows his eyes and clicks his tongue, annoyed. “Don’t even think about it,” he growls.

With a mischievous grin, you laugh softly and disappear through the door. Minho shakes his head, a faint smirk finally breaking through. You’re infuriating, but somehow, it only fuels his focus.

-

The kitchen hums with a tension that feels almost electric as everyone stands at their stations, awaiting Minho's lead. He steps forward, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

"Is everyone ready for dinner service?"

A unified reply echoes back, "Yes, Chef!"

Minho surveys the room, his gaze sharp and commanding. “There’s a lot to prepare for tomorrow’s reservation—100 guests. It’s going to be a long night.” He points toward Taesoo, Felix, and then you, his eyes briefly locking with yours. “You three stay after closing time. Understood?”

“Yes, Chef,” the three of you reply in unison and Felix sneakily offers his fist at you and you give it a gentle bump with your fist.

Just as the service staff enters, informing that dinner guests have arrived, Chris strides into the kitchen, his presence drawing everyone's attention. His casual demeanor is replaced by something heavier, his expression unreadable as he clears his throat to address the team.

“I hope you’re all prepared for tomorrow’s press conference,” Chris begins, glancing around. “We’ll be introducing the new additions to the menu—Chef Lee’s foie gras and Chef Sara’s triple-flavored pasta.”

Minho freezes mid-step, his jaw tightening as the words land. The room feels like it shifts; everyone is equally stunned, their collective silence palpable.

Chris doesn’t stop. He then turns toward Minho and says, “Sara says she’ll be making the pasta herself.”

The phone call suddenly clicks into place. Minho’s expression doesn’t change, but you can see the sharp edge in his gaze. You’re not the only one who notices—Felix is the first to speak.

“What?” Felix blurts, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Does that mean she’ll be cooking here, in this kitchen?”

Chris nods, calm yet firm. “Yes. As it'll be on the restaurant’s menu.”

Felix protests, his tone rising. “That’s nonsense! How can there be two chefs in one kitchen? You can’t. It's like having two conductors for the orchestra. Do you think that'd work? Do you even think about us?”

Seungwan chimes in, frowning. “They’d have completely different ways of making the same dish. What do we do then?”

Sous Chef Seojun, always composed, adds with a dry tone, “Even if she won first place for the new menu, she’s an outsider who participated without prior notice. I think the right thing for her to do would be to give us the recipe and we compensate her for it.”

Chris’s patience visibly thins. His jaw clenches, and for the first time, you see a flicker of true tension in his usually relaxed posture. The sight of him like this—stern, commanding, his gaze hard—shouldn’t distract you, but it does. He looks… devastatingly hot.

“Enough,” Chris says, his voice low but firm. “The restaurant was closed for three days for a reason. We agreed on changes in the restaurant,” he adds, looking directly at Minho, “And all you need to worry about is your foie gras, Chef.”

Minho exhales sharply, a sound that betrays his simmering anger. You can see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clench at his sides. You know it's not the right time for it but Minho also looks... devastatingly hot.

He narrows his eyes at Chris, sensing there’s more to come. “Don’t tell me that she's already here,” Minho says, his voice tight.

Chris confirms with a nod. “She’s here.”

As if summoned by his words,, Sara steps into the kitchen, her heels clicking against the floor as she strides in with a confidence that feels almost rehearsed. Her sweet smile only adds fuel to the tension in the room.

“Nice to meet everyone,” Sara says, her tone light, playful. Her eyes flicker to Minho. “I hope no one plans to chase me out of the kitchen just because someone here has… issues tolerating women in the kitchen.”

The comment is a thinly veiled jab, and she glances pointedly at Felix, acknowledging him as Minho’s loyal protégé. Sara continues, turning to Minho with a feigned sweetness. “I’ll follow your instructions, Chef. Tell me where to stand and from which stove I should work.”

Minho’s knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the table, his rage barely contained. He says nothing, his silence louder than words.

Sara tilts her head, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Should I pick the station myself, then?”

Her hands slide onto the chef’s table, a deliberate, territorial move. The implication is clear—she’s claiming his space.

It’s the last straw.

Minho spins on his heel, his movements sharp and deliberate. His eyes burn with fury as they lock onto hers, and for a moment, the air between them feels suffocating.

Sara doesn’t flinch, meeting his gaze with calm defiance.

Without a word, Minho storms past her, his shoulder brushing hers hard enough to make her stagger. The force of his exit is like a storm ripping through the room, leaving everyone in stunned silence.

Sara straightens herself, brushing off the impact with a smirk. But the damage is done—the kitchen is left in a tension so thick it feels impossible to breathe.

And just like that, Minho is gone.

-

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[downbadreading]

The Echo of Three

Kinkvember Day 22: Cuckolding (Cuckqueen)

Kiss of Life Haneul and Belle x Male reader

13k words

AN: A bit later than usual, sorry about that 😅. It’s been a rough day, but I still wanted to make sure I got this out to you all. Thanks for your patience and understanding!

Haneul had always had a knack for knowing you better than you knew yourself. She noticed every little thing, from how you liked your coffee—three sugars, a splash of cream—to the way you hummed certain songs under your breath, not even realizing you were doing it. She’d pick up on the subtle shifts in your mood, the tells you didn’t even know you had. But one thing she had picked up on early in your relationship was your admiration for Belle.

Belle. The world-famous soloist with the hauntingly beautiful voice and the kind of stage presence that seemed to demand the world’s attention. Her performances felt intimate despite their grandeur, as though every note was meant for you, even when heard through a screen. You’d always been open about your love for her music, gushing over new albums, replaying live performances late into the night, and casually mentioning how much you’d love to see her in concert someday. It wasn’t just the music; it was her. Something about Belle’s presence—her confidence, her poise, the way she commanded a room with effortless grace—captivated you in a way Haneul couldn’t miss.

At first, Haneul had rolled her eyes. It was cute, she supposed—the way your face lit up when any of Belle’s songs came on, how you’d hum along with an almost reverent smile. But that cuteness came with a faint sting. She couldn’t help feeling a little twinge of jealousy every time Belle’s name slipped into conversation. Belle was glamorous, untouchable, someone who could capture the attention of millions with a single note. How could she not feel overshadowed by that?

But as time went on, those feelings softened. Haneul began to see your admiration for what it was: a harmless celebrity crush, a fantasy so far removed from reality that it didn’t threaten the deep, personal connection you shared. And in truth, the way you talked about Belle was endearing—your unfiltered enthusiasm for her talent, the way your excitement bubbled over whenever she released something new. It made Haneul love you even more, seeing this side of you that was so earnest and unapologetically passionate.

Even when you jokingly added Belle to your “hall pass” list, Haneul had laughed, calling you ridiculous. “Good luck with that,” she’d teased, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all. But the idea lingered in her mind, a tiny spark of curiosity that never quite faded. It wasn’t jealousy anymore—it was something else. A mix of playful indulgence and genuine understanding. She wasn’t blind, after all. Even she could see the allure of someone like Belle.

So, when your birthday came around, Haneul knew exactly what to do. She wanted to give you something unforgettable, something that captured not only how much she loved you but how well she knew you.

-----

The faint flicker of candles cast a warm glow across the dimly lit room, the flames dancing in tandem with the soft scent of vanilla cake that filled the air. It mingled with the faint, familiar trace of Haneul’s floral perfume—something light, with a hint of jasmine—that always made you feel at home. Haneul stood across the table, her dark hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders, her voice lilting gently as she sang “Happy Birthday.” Her tone was playful, teasing on some notes, but there was a warmth to it that made your chest ache in the best way. She wasn’t a professional singer, but to you, her voice was still amazing—especially when it was paired with the way her lips curved into a smile between verses. It made every note feel like it was meant just for you.

“Make a wish,” she said softly, her dark eyes sparkling as the candlelight danced across her face.

You closed your eyes, letting the moment settle over you. The warmth of the candles radiated faintly against your skin, the flickering light behind your eyelids matching the comforting steadiness of Haneul’s presence. The soft hum of her voice still lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a blanket. You took a deep breath, the scent of the cake mingling with the faint jasmine of her perfume, and made your wish: to spend forever with her, your loving girlfriend.

When you opened your eyes, the sight of her was enough to make your heart swell. Haneul, the woman who had brought so much light into your life, who knew you better than anyone else, stood there smiling at you, her expression warm and full of love. The soft flicker of the candles seemed to frame her in golden light, her dark eyes gleaming with the kind of joy that made everything around her feel secondary.

When you exhaled, the candles flickered and went out, the flames vanishing with a quiet whoosh. A thin wisp of smoke curled lazily upward, the faint scent of burned wax mixing with the sweetness of the cake. For a moment, the room held its breath, as though even the air itself was savoring the moment. Then Haneul clapped her hands together, the sound sharp and cheerful as she broke the stillness with a bright, playful grin.

“Okay, so…” she said, dragging out the words with a teasing lilt. “Are you going to tell me what you wished for, or do I have to guess?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” you replied, leaning across the table to steal a quick kiss. Her lips were soft and warm, carrying the faint, sugary sweetness of the frosting. “It won’t come true if I do.”

“Fine, keep your secrets,” she said with a dramatic sigh, though the playful twinkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement. She picked up the cake knife, her movements deliberate and precise as she slid the blade into the frosting. The soft scrape of metal against ceramic filled the room, a small sound amplified by the quiet intimacy of the moment. She nudged a slice onto your plate, sliding it toward you with a smirk. “Here. Try not to inhale it all at once.”

The cake was perfect—soft, moist, with just the right amount of sweetness. Each bite seemed to melt on your tongue, leaving a lingering vanilla warmth. You couldn’t help but glance at her as she served herself a slice, the faint hum of her voice as she worked making your chest ache with quiet gratitude. The flicker of the candles reflected in her dark eyes, adding an almost magical quality to the moment. Everything about her—the curve of her lips, the casual confidence of her movements, the way her presence filled the room—made you feel impossibly lucky.

Haneul had always known exactly how to make you feel loved. But tonight felt different. There was something almost electric in the air, a subtle charge that made the moment feel bigger than it seemed. It wasn’t just the cake or her attention to detail—it was something unspoken, something you couldn’t quite put into words. It felt like anticipation.

As the last crumbs of cake disappeared from your plate, Haneul leaned back in her chair, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder in soft waves. The glow of the candles illuminated her profile, catching the mischievous glint in her eyes as she tilted her head, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Alright,” she said, her tone teasing. “Time for phase two.”

“Phase two?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“Presents, obviously,” she replied, standing and walking over to the small table near the couch. She moved with an unhurried grace, her hips swaying slightly as she bent down to pick up a small stack of neatly wrapped gifts. Each package was unique—some wrapped in bright, playful patterns, others in muted, elegant tones—all perfectly folded with crisp corners and tied with coordinating ribbons. She carried them over with a sense of ceremony, setting them down in front of you with a flourish.

“Wait, all of these are for me?” you asked, eyeing the stack with mock suspicion. “What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Well, you did turn another year older,” she teased, sliding the first box toward you with a playful smirk. “And I guess you’ve been tolerable enough this year.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you picked up the first package. It was small and rectangular, wrapped in bright green paper that shimmered faintly under the soft light. You tore it open carefully, your fingers brushing against the smooth paper as you revealed a leather-bound journal with gilded edges. The leather was soft to the touch, its scent of fresh material mingling with the lingering sweetness of the cake. As you opened it, the faint smell of clean, unused paper reached you, a quiet promise of possibility. On the first page, written in her familiar handwriting, was a note: For all the dreams we haven’t dreamed yet.

You looked up at her, the weight of the gesture settling over you like a warm blanket. “This is beautiful, Haneul. Thank you.”

She shrugged, though the faint flush on her cheeks betrayed her pride. “I just thought… you’re always talking about ideas, so now you’ll have somewhere to put them.”

The next gift was smaller, wrapped in silver paper that gleamed in the candlelight. Inside, you found a sleek pair of wireless earbuds. The polished surface caught the light as you held them up, and you couldn’t help but grin. “I figured these might come in handy,” she said, leaning her chin on her hand with a mischievous look. “You know, for drowning me out when I nag you.”

You laughed, holding them up to inspect them. “Or for listening to music on those walks you’re always making me take.”

“Exactly,” she replied, her tone light but affectionate.

The final small package was the most understated of the three, wrapped in soft cream-colored paper tied with a delicate ribbon. Inside, nestled in a velvet box, was a simple chain bracelet. It gleamed subtly under the flickering light, its design understated but elegant—exactly your style. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your wrist as she leaned forward to fasten it. Her touch was warm, her focus intent as she secured the clasp with care.

“For luck,” she murmured, her voice softer now. She sat back, her eyes studying your face as you admired it. “It’s simple, but I thought it’d suit you.”

“It’s perfect,” you said, your voice quiet as you looked up at her. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Haneul. I don’t even know what to say.”

Her smile widened, a mix of pride and playfulness lighting her face as she leaned back in her chair. “Don’t worry,” she said breezily, waving a hand. “I’m not done yet.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Not done?”

She laughed, the sound light and teasing, as she stood and walked back toward the couch. This time, she returned with a sleek white envelope in her hand. The paper was pristine, the edges sharp, as though it had been carefully guarded. The faint rustle of the envelope in her hands seemed amplified in the quiet room, building the anticipation swirling in your chest. She set it down in front of you with a flourish, her grin widening in a way that made your heart race.

“This,” she said, tapping the envelope with her finger, “is the real present.”

Your heart skipped as you reached for it, your fingers trembling slightly. The paper felt smooth and crisp under your fingertips, the slight weight of the contents inside making your pulse quicken. You broke the seal, the faint sound of tearing paper almost echoing in the stillness, and pulled out the contents. Two glossy concert tickets gleamed in your hands, the bold, stylized name Belle printed across them in her signature font. The logo glittered faintly in the light, catching your eye like it had been designed just for this moment. Beneath the tickets was a smaller slip of paper, gilded with gold. The words BACKSTAGE ACCESS were embossed in elegant, raised lettering.

For a moment, the words didn’t register. You stared at the tickets, your mind slowly piecing together what they meant. It was like trying to solve a puzzle while your heart pounded in your chest, the pieces clicking into place one by one. “No way,” you whispered, your breath catching in your throat. “Is this…? Did you…?”

Haneul grinned, her dark eyes dancing as she leaned her chin on her hand. “You’re going to see her live. Front row seats. And after the concert, you get to meet her.”

You blinked, the reality of her words crashing over you like a wave. The world around you seemed to tilt, and for a second, all you could do was stare at the tickets in your hands, the weight of them feeling almost surreal. “Haneul, I—this is—” Your voice faltered as your emotions welled up, a knot forming in your throat. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“Well,” she teased, standing and walking over to your side, her tone as casual as if she’d just handed you socks. “You could start by not crying.”

“I’m not crying,” you muttered, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. Your vision blurred slightly, and you quickly set the tickets down before pulling her into a tight hug. Her body was warm and solid against yours, grounding you as you buried your face in her hair. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Seriously. This is the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”

She laughed softly, her arms wrapping around you with a reassuring squeeze. “You’re welcome,” she murmured, her voice soft against your ear. “I figured it was about time you got to see your celebrity crush in person.”

You groaned, pulling back just enough to look at her, though the smile on your face betrayed your exasperation. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” she replied, her grin widening, mischief twinkling in her eyes. “Besides, I want to see if she lives up to the hype.”

The two of you laughed together, the weight of the moment giving way to an electric sense of anticipation. The tickets sat on the table, gleaming in the candlelight, a tangible reminder of what awaited you tomorrow. Finally, you’d see Belle live—an experience you’d dreamed about for years. And thanks to Haneul, it was going to be even more unforgettable than you could have imagined.

-----

The concert is electric, the kind of performance that leaves the air humming with energy long after the final note fades. Belle’s stage presence is commanding, magnetic, as though the entire venue bends to her will. Her voice carries through the space like a force of nature—raw, powerful, yet impossibly intimate. Each note seems to wrap around you, as though meant for you alone. The stage lights flare and dim with every shift in tempo, casting her in a glow that feels almost ethereal. You’re completely enraptured, caught in the pull of her undeniable charisma.

But what surprises you most isn’t your own reaction—it’s Haneul’s. She’s usually composed, steady, the picture of quiet confidence. Yet tonight, there’s something different in her demeanor. She watches Belle with an intensity you rarely see, her dark eyes following the singer’s every movement. There’s a tinge of admiration in her expression, subtle but unmistakable, and it catches you off guard. You notice the way her lips part slightly during a particularly sultry note, the faint rise and fall of her chest as she leans forward in her seat, as though caught in the same spell that has ensnared you.

By the time the concert ends and you head backstage, a shared excitement buzzes between you. It’s an unspoken thing, lingering in the quickened pace of your steps, the faint blush on your cheeks when Haneul glances at you with a knowing smile. The backstage area feels quieter than you expected, the air still charged with the energy of the performance. The faint roar of the departing crowd filters through the walls, a distant echo of the electricity that filled the arena moments ago. Overhead lights cast long shadows across the room, and the faint scent of sweat and faintly floral perfume lingers in the air like a reminder of Belle’s presence.

And then there she is.

Belle is as radiant up close as she was on stage, her charisma somehow even more potent in the intimate glow of the backstage lounge. Her dark hair is pulled into a loose, slightly tousled style, a few strands falling artfully across her face. The soft sheen of sweat on her skin catches the light, making her look both human and larger than life, her beauty almost surreal. She’s dressed casually now, in a loose-fitting top that clings in just the right places and snug jeans that highlight her long legs, but she wears them with the kind of effortless grace that makes them feel like a designer ensemble.

Her laughter fills the room like music, light and genuine, a perfect counterpoint to the quiet hum of post-performance energy still lingering in the air. She moves with an easy elegance, her gestures fluid as she pours drinks and chats with her team. But as you step into her orbit, her attention shifts.

Her gaze lands squarely on you, and suddenly, it feels like the room has shrunk. Her eyes are sharp, focused, as though she’s appraising you in a way that makes your chest tighten. She tilts her head slightly, her smile widening into something teasing yet calculated. "So," she begins, her voice carrying that same sultry edge you’d heard on stage, "you’re the big fan, huh?"

The words hit you like a spotlight, and your heart stutters in your chest. Her attention is magnetic, pinning you in place as your mind scrambles for a coherent response. "Uh…" You struggle to form words, your throat inexplicably dry. "Y-yeah," you manage after a beat, your face flushing under her scrutiny. "You were… incredible."

Belle’s laughter spills from her lips, soft and teasing, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she steps just a little closer. "Incredible?" she repeats, her tone lilting as though savoring the word. "I’ll take that." She lets the pause linger, her gaze dipping briefly before meeting yours again, sharper this time, like she’s testing your limits. "Though you look like you weren’t expecting me to be that good."

Her hand brushes your arm lightly, a fleeting touch that somehow feels deliberate, calculated to send a jolt of nervous energy through you. Her fingers are warm against your skin, leaving a faint trace of heat that lingers even after she pulls back. "Relax," she says, her voice playful but carrying an undertone that’s far more suggestive. "I don’t bite." She lets her smile linger for a beat before adding with a low laugh, "Not unless I’m invited."

The air between you shifts, growing thicker, charged. Her proximity makes it hard to focus on anything else, her perfume—soft with a faint musky undertone—wrapping around you like a net. Your hands twitch slightly at your sides, your mind racing with a mix of awe and nervousness. You glance toward Haneul, desperate for some kind of grounding, but what you find isn’t exactly what you were hoping for.

Haneul is sitting nearby, watching the exchange with a quiet smile that gives away nothing. There’s a glimmer of amusement in her expression, but beneath that, something else—something curious, almost approving. When she notices your panicked glance, her grin deepens, and she tilts her head slightly, as if silently telling you to keep going.

You’re about to stammer out another awkward attempt at conversation when Haneul decides to step in. "He’s more than a fan," she teases, her voice light but purposeful as she rises from her seat. She walks up beside you, slipping an arm around your waist in a way that feels both comforting and mischievous. "You should’ve seen him watching you tonight," she continues, her tone dripping with playful exaggeration. "I thought he was going to pass out at one point."

"Haneul!" you hiss, your cheeks burning with fresh embarrassment as you glance at her, your wide eyes begging her to stop.

Belle chuckles, clearly entertained by the dynamic. "Oh, really?" she asks, her smile widening as her gaze flicks back to you. "Well, I guess I made an impression."

"He couldn’t stop talking about you for weeks after I got these tickets," Haneul adds, clearly enjoying herself now. She looks up at you with a grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "He even practiced what he’d say if he ever got the chance to meet you. Something about wanting to thank you for inspiring him?"

Your hands fly up in protest. "I did not!" you protest, your voice cracking slightly, but your flushed cheeks betray you. You glance at Belle, who’s watching the exchange with open amusement, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"Don’t worry," Haneul says, patting your chest as though to reassure you. "I think it’s cute." She looks back at Belle, her grin softening slightly. "He’s been looking forward to this for a long time."

Belle’s expression shifts slightly, her teasing smirk taking on a hint of warmth as she studies you. "You’ve got a good one," she says to Haneul, nodding toward you. There’s a flicker of something sly in her expression as she adds, "If he weren’t taken, I’d probably have jumped on him by now."

Her words land with a weight that seems to linger in the air, bold and unapologetic, resonating like the echo of a drumbeat. Your blush deepens, creeping to the tips of your ears as your pulse quickens under the intensity of her gaze. You try to respond—to say something clever, to deflect—but the words tangle in your throat, refusing to form. The tension in the room presses against you, thick and tangible, like a storm waiting to break.

Haneul’s calm voice cuts through the charged air, steady and deliberate.

"Is that so?" she says, her tone light but deliberate. Her head tilts slightly, her gaze steady as she looks at Belle. There’s a confidence in her voice that you don’t expect, a calmness that feels deliberate. "What’s stopping you?"

Belle’s eyebrows shoot up, her usual confidence flickering as surprise flashes across her face. "Wait, are you serious?" she asks, her voice a mix of laughter and disbelief. Her eyes dart between you and Haneul, searching for any sign of a joke.

Haneul pauses, the weight of her words settling over her as Belle’s question lingers in the air. Her calm exterior belies the storm of thoughts rushing through her mind. The idea—watching you with Belle, this untouchable, magnetic performer she’d admired from afar—felt like it should spark jealousy, like it should tighten in her chest in that all-too-familiar way. And there was a flicker of it, faint and fleeting, but what surprised her more was everything else.

Excitement. Thrill. A low, unexpected hum of arousal that made her breath catch for just a second. It struck her as strange, almost absurd, but she couldn’t deny the way her pulse quickened at the thought. She could picture it so vividly—your hands on Belle, the way you’d look at her with that same hungry intensity that sometimes set her own body aflame. It made her stomach twist in a way that was as exhilarating as it was unsettling.

Her gaze flicks to you, catching the uncertainty in your expression, the way your shoulders are just slightly tense as though you’re waiting for her to pull back. But she doesn’t. Instead, she shrugs, her lips curling into a small, almost teasing smile. Her voice is steady when she speaks, but there’s a softness beneath it, a quiet acceptance of the strange mix of emotions surging through her. "I mean, I’ve seen how you’ve been looking at him." Her gaze softens slightly, her eyes flickering to you as though grounding herself. "And honestly…" She pauses, her voice lowering just enough to draw Belle’s full attention. "The idea isn’t as crazy as you might think."

Her words send a rush of heat through you—confusion, excitement, and something else that twists low in your stomach. You glance between Haneul and Belle, unsure of what to say, unsure if you should say anything at all. The silence that follows feels alive, buzzing with possibility.

Belle leans back slightly, her lips parting as she processes Haneul’s words. She looks between you and Haneul, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across her face. "Well," she murmurs, stepping closer to you, "if the lady insists… who am I to say no?"

Haneul lets out a soft laugh, her cheeks faintly flushed. Despite her calm exterior, you can see it now—the rush of excitement sparking behind her eyes, the slight rise and fall of her chest as though she’s steadying herself. She glances at you again, her gaze warm but charged, and you realize this isn’t just about Belle. It’s about you. About the thrill of watching something unfold that neither of you had planned but both of you are suddenly open to.

Her hands brush against yours, her touch light yet deliberate, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. She leans in closer, her lips hovering near yours. "Are you okay with this?" she whispers, her voice low and inviting, her breath warm against your skin.

Your throat feels tight, and for a moment, you can’t find your voice. You glance at Haneul, who is sitting on the couch, her gaze steady and filled with warmth. She nods encouragingly, her cheeks flushed, her lips slightly parted. Her reassurance steadies you, and you turn back to Belle, nodding softly.

With your consent, Belle closes the distance between you. Her lips meet yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, her movements confident and commanding. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before, and it leaves you breathless. Her hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer as she deepens the kiss, her tongue teasing yours in a way that makes your knees feel weak.

As the moment stretches, Belle pulls back slightly, her breath mingling with yours. "Why don’t we make this a little more private?" she murmurs, her tone sultry yet casual, as though it’s the most natural suggestion in the world.

Haneul rises from the couch, her movements slow but deliberate, her gaze locked onto yours. There’s a shared understanding between the three of you now, an unspoken agreement as Belle gestures toward a door in the back corner of the room. Her hand slides into yours as she leads you both toward it, her touch firm and steady, her confidence pulling you forward.

The room you enter is dimly lit, with a plush couch in the center and soft, ambient lighting casting warm shadows across the walls. The door clicks shut behind you, sealing the three of you in a space that feels intimate, almost sacred. Belle turns to face you both, her smirk softening into something more inviting as she steps closer, her movements fluid and deliberate.

"Now," she says, her voice dropping lower, her gaze flicking between you and Haneul, "where were we?"

The weight of the room’s privacy settles over you, amplifying every glance, every touch, every unspoken word. Haneul steps closer, her hand finding yours as her other rests lightly on your arm. She glances at Belle, her cheeks still flushed, her expression open and eager. The anticipation in the room is electric, the boundaries between the three of you dissolving as the night takes its next step.

You can’t help but glance at Haneul again, seeking her reassurance even as Belle consumes your focus. Haneul’s eyes meet yours, her expression calm but undeniably aroused. She nods again, her lips curling into a small smile, as if to remind you that she’s there, fully supportive, fully in control.

Belle pulls back slightly, her lips brushing against your jaw as she murmurs, "Relax. You’re doing fine." Her hands begin to explore, slipping beneath your shirt, her touch warm and deliberate. One by one, pieces of clothing fall away—yours and hers—until you’re left stunned, standing before her.

Your breath catches as your gaze roams over Belle’s bare skin. She’s everything you’ve admired for so long: radiant, confident, and breathtakingly real. For years, she’s been a distant fantasy, a figure on a screen or in your headphones, and now she’s here, naked before you. You’re too stunned to move, your eyes wide, your body frozen in awe.

Belle notices your reaction and smiles, her confidence unwavering as her eyes sweep over you. Her gaze flickers downward briefly, pausing, and a subtle shift in her expression betrays her thoughts—her smile widening slightly, her brows lifting just enough to suggest admiration. When her gaze returns to your face, there’s a flicker of something playful and knowing in her eyes, the kind of look that makes your chest tighten.

She glances toward Haneul, who is still seated on the couch, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and arousal. Belle tilts her head slightly, giving Haneul a knowing glance—a silent, almost conspiratorial expression that says without words: You’re a lucky girl.

Belle takes your hand and guides you to the couch, her touch firm yet unhurried, every movement exuding confidence. She nudges you to sit, her eyes locked on yours with a smirk that sends a thrill through you. Her graceful form lowers between your legs, her movements deliberate as she kneels. "Let’s see how much you can handle," she murmurs, her voice low and teasing, every word dripping with intent.

Your breath catches sharply as her hand wraps around your length, her touch warm and deliberate. Her fingers glide over you with practiced precision, each motion sending ripples of sensation up your spine. The faint trace of her perfume—subtle and musky—lingers in the air, mingling with the heat of the moment. A soft gasp escapes your lips, unbidden, as her grip tightens just slightly, perfectly calibrated to draw the first hint of tension from deep within you. Belle doesn’t rush; her eyes flick upward, locking with yours, and for a moment, it’s as if the world narrows to just the two of you. Her gaze is intent, assessing, drinking in every shift in your expression. The faintest smile tugs at the corners of her lips, a quiet show of confidence, before she leans forward, parting them to envelop you in her warm, wet mouth.

The sensation is immediate and overwhelming, a rush of heat and pressure that leaves you breathless. Her tongue moves with deliberate skill, teasing and exploring as it swirls along your length. The contrast between the firm seal of her lips and the soft, wet heat of her tongue is electrifying, sending shivers coursing through your body. Your fingers instinctively grip the edge of the couch as you try to steady yourself against the onslaught of sensation. Each flick of her tongue against the sensitive underside of your tip feels impossibly precise, perfectly tuned to unravel you. Her movements are controlled, calculated, and maddeningly slow, as though she’s savoring every moment—and daring you to do the same.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Haneul shifting on the couch. At first, her gaze is fixed on Belle, her dark eyes following the rhythm of her movements with a mix of fascination and intrigue. Her chest rises and falls steadily, though her breath catches ever so slightly when Belle’s head dips lower, taking you deeper. The faint flush on her cheeks deepens as she watches, her lips parting subtly as if to echo your own shaky breaths. But soon, her attention drifts upward—to you.

Haneul’s eyes widen slightly as they meet your face, and her breath hitches as she takes in the rawness of your expression. Your head tilted back, your jaw slack, every part of you consumed by the sensations Belle is drawing from you. There’s a hunger in your gaze, an unguarded intensity she’s rarely seen, and it sends a wave of heat coursing through her. Her thighs press tightly together, her own arousal building as she drinks in every detail: the faint sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, the tension in your arms as you grip the couch for stability, the way your lips part with soft, uneven breaths. It’s as if she’s seeing a side of you she never has before, and the sight ignites something deep and primal within her.

Belle’s pace shifts, the languid rhythm giving way to something more insistent. Her lips slide along your length with increasing fervor, her tongue teasing you mercilessly. The slick sounds of her movements fill the room, mingling with the soft gasps escaping your lips. Her hand joins the effort, stroking you in perfect sync with her mouth, her touch firm yet tantalizingly smooth. Each stroke feels like a deliberate test, designed to push you closer to the edge. Your breathing grows ragged, shallow inhales interspersed with low groans that you can’t suppress.

You glance down at Belle, and the sight alone nearly undoes you. Her dark eyes are locked onto yours, gleaming with satisfaction and something deeper—possessive, teasing, utterly confident. Even as she takes you deeper, her cheeks hollowing with effort, her lips curl into a subtle smirk, the look of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. Her tongue flicks against the most sensitive spots with maddening precision, each motion sending jolts of electricity racing through your core.

Behind her, Haneul’s gaze is transfixed. Her breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling with visible urgency as she watches you unravel. One hand rests against her thigh, trembling slightly, while the other lingers near her folds, her fingers twitching as though tempted to join the intensity surrounding her. Her lips part slightly, soft sounds escaping her as her arousal mirrors your own, her body responding to the raw display of pleasure before her.

Belle’s rhythm intensifies, her mouth and hand working together in perfect tandem. The wet heat of her lips contrasts with the firm, deliberate strokes of her hand, the combination almost unbearable. Your fingers dig into the couch, your body tense and coiled like a spring as the fire in your stomach builds. A deep groan escapes you, raw and unrestrained, echoing in the room as Belle’s relentless pace pushes you closer to the brink.

Haneul’s eyes remain locked on you, her own breathing quickening as she watches the moment unfold. The sight of you trembling, completely lost in the force of your climax, sends a jolt of heat straight through her. She feels her thighs press together involuntarily, a rush of slick arousal pooling between her legs as her own body responds to the rawness of the scene. Her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, her fingers curling against her thighs as she watches, captivated and overwhelmed by how unrestrained you’ve become.

Belle pulls back slightly just as you reach your peak, her hand stroking you with firm, deliberate movements. Your release comes in hot, thick waves, spilling across her lips and cheeks with startling intensity. Belle tilts her head slightly, her mouth parting as she lets the remnants land on her tongue, the streaks of your climax glistening against her skin. She doesn’t flinch or hesitate, her expression one of pure satisfaction. A smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth as she slowly drags her tongue along her lips, savoring every drop.

Haneul lets out a soft, almost imperceptible gasp, her body reacting before her mind can fully catch up. Her thighs shift, a faint ache blooming between them as she feels a flush spread across her chest. The sight of you—completely undone, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath—is impossibly arousing. And Belle, kneeling there with your release dripping down her face, wearing it with an unapologetic confidence that makes her look even more untouchable—it’s almost too much.

Belle meets your gaze, her smirk deepening as she licks one final drop from her lower lip. "Not bad," she murmurs, her voice low and rich with satisfaction. Her fingers trail down your thigh briefly, a playful reminder of the control she wielded just moments ago.

Haneul’s breath hitches as her eyes dart between you and Belle, her own arousal impossible to ignore now. The heat, the tension, the sheer audacity of the moment—it all swirls together, leaving her both awestruck and deeply, undeniably turned on.

Belle leans back slightly, her gaze flickering toward Haneul, her lips curling into a wicked grin. "I think he enjoyed that," she says, her voice smooth, teasing, and dripping with satisfaction. Her eyes flick briefly to you, then back to Haneul, as though gauging her reaction. Haneul doesn’t respond immediately, her breath shallow, caught up in the rush of her own thoughts. Her heart races as the moment lingers, a strange thrill mingling with the heat coursing through her body.

Belle rises with fluid grace, moving to the couch. Every step is deliberate, each motion exuding a confidence that seems to fill the room. She sits on the side, reclining back against the armrest, her legs spreading slowly, confidently, as she positions herself. Her bare skin glows faintly under the dim light, every curve and line of her body sculpted as though by an artist’s hand. Her poise is magnetic, her gaze unwavering as she locks eyes with you.

You stand there for a moment, frozen. Your breath catches as the surreal nature of the scene washes over you in waves. Belle, the woman you’d admired for so long, was waiting for you, her body open and inviting, her smirk daring you to act.

Noticing your hesitation, Belle’s smirk softens slightly, something warmer flashing in her expression. "Come here," she murmurs, her voice low and velvety, carrying an unspoken command that sends a shiver down your spine. The authority in her tone leaves no room for doubt, yet there’s a tenderness beneath it, an acknowledgment of your hesitation.

You move toward her, your legs feeling heavy as your heart pounds in your chest. Kneeling between her legs, you look up, meeting her gaze as her dark eyes bore into yours. She’s utterly in control, even as she spreads herself before you, her confidence radiating in every deliberate movement. For a moment, you almost blank out, staring at her with wide eyes, overwhelmed by the reality of it all. Belle, this untouchable goddess of a performer, was here, her legs open, waiting for you. The thought leaves you dizzy, your breaths shallow as you try to ground yourself.

You lean in slowly, your breath brushing against her skin as the faint, intoxicating scent of her arousal fills your senses. It sharpens the edge of your nerves, each detail of her more vivid than the last: the glisten of her skin, the subtle quiver of her thighs, the soft rise and fall of her chest. You hover there, so close and yet frozen, as though one wrong move might shatter the spell. The surreal nature of the moment presses down on you, leaving you suspended in sensory overload.

Belle notices immediately. Without hesitation, her hand shoots out, her fingers tangling in your hair with a firm, possessive grip. She pulls your head forward with deliberate force, pressing your lips firmly against her folds. The suddenness of the gesture snaps you out of your trance, the taste and warmth of her flooding your senses as she holds you there.

Her hand lingers, her fingers tightening slightly as if to make sure you’re fully engaged before releasing you. The soft vibration of her moan travels through her body, pulling something primal from deep within you. Instinct takes over, and your lips begin to move against her, brushing tentatively at first. Your movements are slow and deliberate, each stroke of your tongue light and exploratory, as though savoring the taste of something rare and exquisite.

Belle’s moan deepens, her voice low and unrestrained, a sound so intimate and raw it sends a jolt through you. Your member twitches at the sound, your arousal building with each note she releases. Encouraged, you grow bolder, each movement of your tongue more confident, more deliberate. You start slow, savoring every inch of her, your strokes measured and intentional as if this were a feast meant to be lingered over. The warmth of her, the way she reacts to each flick and swirl of your tongue, is utterly intoxicating.

Belle’s hands grip the armrest behind her as her head tilts back. Her breathing grows heavier, her chest rising and falling in time with your movements. The soft, melodic sounds she makes pull you deeper into the moment, every moan spurring you to explore more, to find new ways to make her lose herself.

Her thighs tremble faintly under your touch, and you steady her, your hands moving to her hips to keep her in place. Her soft gasps grow louder, her voice dipping into raw, unguarded cries of pleasure. You press closer, your confidence mounting as you lose yourself in the rhythm of her body, every sound she makes driving you further.

Belle’s back arches slightly, her breathing quickening as your tongue swirls around her sensitive nub before dipping lower to tease her entrance. The way she reacts—her hips shifting toward you, the way her fingers grip tighter against the couch—sends a fresh wave of desire surging through you. You keep going, pulling every ounce of pleasure from her as her soft cries fill the room, each one a melody more beautiful than the last.

With each moan, your confidence builds, the initial hesitation melting away. Soon, your movements grow less restrained, driven by an almost primal need to pull more from her, to hear her voice climb higher. You press your tongue more firmly against her, each stroke hungrier, more desperate. The desire to make her lose herself completely consumes you, fueling every motion. You focus intently on the way her body responds—the slight tremble in her thighs, the way her hips instinctively shift toward you, chasing every sensation.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Haneul shifting on the couch. Her breathing has deepened, the subtle hitch in each exhale betraying her growing arousal. When you glance briefly in her direction, your heart skips. Her thighs are pressed tightly together, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her skin flushed with heat. Her dark eyes are locked on you, a mix of fascination and hunger, drawn to the intensity with which you’re worshiping Belle. The sight of you so consumed, so eager, is clearly affecting her.

The realization sends a thrill through you, but you return your focus to Belle, determined to elicit even more from her. Each movement of your tongue becomes calculated yet frantic, teasing the edges of her folds before delving inside. You savor the way her body reacts, the faint shudder that ripples through her as you alternate between swirling around her entrance and flicking lightly against her clit. Every motion pulls another sound from her lips, a fresh wave of breathy, unrestrained moans that fill the room like music.

Your hands grip her thighs to steady yourself, your fingers digging into the soft flesh as you hold her open. When her legs begin to tremble, instinctively trying to close against the overwhelming sensations, you tighten your hold, refusing to let her escape the intensity. Belle’s moans grow louder, her voice breaking into gasps as her back arches, her hands gripping the couch tightly. The usual control she carries so effortlessly is unraveling before you, every sound she makes spurring you on.

From behind you comes a soft gasp, breaking through the haze of your focus. You pause, turning your head slightly, and your breath catches. Haneul is completely naked now, her clothes discarded and forgotten in the growing pile on the floor. Her hands move over her body, one slipping between her thighs, her fingers working rhythmically as she watches. Her gaze is locked on you and Belle, but there’s something deeper in her eyes—a connection that pulls you back toward her every time. Her breath is uneven, her lips parted, her expression a mix of arousal and admiration.

The sight of her—the way she’s looking at you, her body glistening in the low light—ignites something even hotter inside you. As much as you want Belle, as consuming as this moment is, Haneul’s presence grounds you, intensifies your desire. You turn back to Belle, your determination redoubled. If this was your moment to impress, to give them both something unforgettable, you weren’t going to hold back.

Your attention zeroes in on Belle’s clit now, your tongue moving with rapid precision against the sensitive nub. Each flick and press earns you a sharper gasp, a louder moan. Her hips buck against you, her movements desperate as her body chases the pleasure you’re giving her. Your hands hold her legs firmly in place, spreading her wider, ensuring she can’t escape the onslaught of sensation. Belle’s cries grow louder, her usual poise dissolving into pure, unrestrained pleasure.

"Don’t stop," she gasps, her voice high and trembling, her chest heaving with every word. Her fingers dig into the couch, her thighs quivering beneath your grasp as she teeters on the edge. You don’t relent. Your tongue is relentless, teasing and pressing and flicking with a rhythm that drives her higher and higher. Her legs strain against your arms, her muscles taut, but you hold her open, refusing to let her pull away from the intensity.

Belle’s climax builds rapidly, her moans turning into sharp cries as her body begins to quake. You can feel it—the way her thighs tighten, her hips jerk involuntarily, her entire body preparing for release. When it hits, it’s like an explosion. Her voice breaks into a loud, unabashed cry as her back arches, her fingers clutching the couch for dear life.

A sudden rush of liquid warmth drenches your face and chest, Belle’s release coming in an overwhelming wave. It’s powerful, unexpected, and utterly intoxicating. The sharp, heady scent of her arousal fills the air, thick and unmistakable, as her body jerks uncontrollably beneath your grip. You pause for a heartbeat, stunned by the rawness of the moment, the sheer force of her climax leaving her trembling violently. Her soft whimpers fill the air, each one high-pitched and shaky as the last waves of pleasure crash through her. Her thighs quiver, her knees giving out completely, and the tension in her frame melts into exhausted surrender as she slumps forward, still twitching from the aftershocks.

Behind you, Haneul lets out a choked cry, her voice breaking with the intensity of her own release. You turn your head just in time to see her arch back, her body taut as if caught in the grip of something uncontrollable. Her hand moves frantically between her legs, her fingers glistening with her arousal as her hips buck against her touch. Her thighs clamp together momentarily, her movements erratic as her climax overtakes her with full force.

Her moans are raw and unrestrained, filling the room as her body trembles violently. Her free hand grips the edge of the couch. She fights to keep herself grounded, but her body betrays her—every muscle quakes as wave after wave of pleasure floods her senses. A sudden gush of her release escapes, slicking her thighs and pooling beneath her, the scent mingling with Belle’s and creating an intoxicating blend of musk that saturates the air.

Her head tilts back, her mouth open in a silent scream before another loud, broken moan escapes her lips. Her entire body shudders as the peak finally crests, leaving her slumped against the couch, her chest heaving and her skin glistening with sweat. Her cries mix with Belle’s lingering whimpers, creating a shared symphony of pleasure that echoes off the walls, binding the three of you in the raw, primal intensity of the moment.

The air feels heavy now, thick with the scent of release and the echoes of your shared sounds. The moment stretches endlessly, each of you caught in the lingering aftershocks, bound together by the raw intimacy of it all. Belle reclines against the couch, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath, her body still trembling faintly from the intensity of her climax.

Her gaze flickers to Haneul, who is slumped back on the couch, her flushed skin glistening in the dim light. Haneul’s breaths come in shallow gasps, her body visibly relaxed yet humming with the residual heat of her release. Their eyes meet briefly, a shared look passing between them—something unspoken, an acknowledgment of the rawness and beauty of the moment they’ve just shared. Belle’s lips curl into a faint smile, her confidence glowing in the aftermath, and Haneul mirrors it with a soft, breathless laugh.

As Belle’s gaze shifts, it lands on you, still kneeling between her legs. Her eyes drop slightly, taking in your form, and then lower still. She notices your member, back at full strength, glistening faintly with a mix of exertion and her previous attentions. A mischievous spark lights in her eyes as an idea begins to form. She straightens slightly, her body language shifting back into one of command, her movements deliberate and poised. Her gaze flickers between you and Haneul, her lips curling into a smirk.

"Alright," she murmurs, her voice low and commanding. Her eyes lock onto Haneul with an air of playful authority. "Haneul, lie down for me—right here."

She gestures to the space where she had just been, the fabric still warm and damp from her release. Haneul hesitates for only a moment, her eyes darting to yours, seeking silent reassurance. When you nod, she mirrors the gesture, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks as she moves to the couch. There’s a nervous grace in the way she positions herself, her movements tentative but unresisting. She leans back against the armrest, her legs spreading slowly, exposing folds already glistening with arousal. Her breathing quickens, and her gaze alternates between you and Belle, anticipation written across her face.

Belle shifts to the opposite end of the couch, bending over the armrest so she’s facing Haneul. The position stretches her body out provocatively, her curves taut and inviting, her flushed, sweat-slicked skin catching the light in a way that makes her look almost otherworldly. Despite her disheveled state, her smirk remains confident, teasing, as if she were still performing. She lifts her head slightly, her eyes locking onto you as she gestures with a lazy wave of her fingers. "Behind me," she says, her tone firm but laced with playful authority. "Let’s make sure your girlfriend has the best seat in the house."

Your breath hitches as you step forward, positioning yourself behind Belle. From this angle, the sight before you is almost too much to take in—Haneul reclining in front of you, her flushed face framed by her tousled hair, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. Her legs remain spread, her folds pulsing faintly as her fingers move over herself in slow, deliberate circles. Then there’s Belle, bent over in front of you, her body radiating heat, her hips tilting slightly to give you better access. The combination—the contrast of Belle’s commanding confidence and Haneul’s vulnerable allure—sends a rush of heat surging through you.

You guide yourself to Belle’s entrance, your tip brushing against her warm, slick folds. The sensation is immediate, electrifying, and for a moment, you falter, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the moment. Belle lets out a low hum of approval, her body shifting back toward you in encouragement, the motion subtle but unmistakable. She glances back at you with a smirk, her gaze equal parts amused and urging, her confidence pulling you forward.

Taking a steadying breath, you press forward, easing yourself inside her with slow, deliberate movements. The first push is exquisite, her tight warmth enveloping you inch by inch. Belle’s breath catches, her soft gasp breaking into a low moan as you stretch her. Her fingers clutch at the armrest, her knuckles whitening briefly as she adjusts to your size. The sound sends shivers down your spine, the rawness of it matching the tension coiling in your body. She exhales shakily, her voice low and laced with satisfaction. "There we go," she murmurs, her tone teasing but edged with need.

Your eyes flick instinctively toward Haneul, seeking reassurance in this surreal moment. She’s watching intently, her lips parted as her chest rises and falls in rhythm with her quickening breaths. Her hand moves boldly now, her fingers gliding against her folds as her arousal heightens. The wet sounds of her pleasure mingle with Belle’s breathy moans, creating a symphony of desire that fuels your movements.

You start with a slow, measured rhythm, your thrusts deliberate as you focus on the way Belle responds. Her body moves with yours, her hips rolling back to meet each motion, a soft hum escaping her lips with every push. The grip of her walls around you is overwhelming, each stroke building the tension higher. Your hands grip her hips firmly, grounding yourself as the moment threatens to sweep you away.

But it’s Haneul’s gaze that keeps drawing you back. Her heavy-lidded eyes flicker between your face and where your body connects with Belle, her expression a mix of awe and unfiltered arousal. Her fingers quicken between her thighs, her soft, breathy sounds spurring you on. The sight of her like this—completely enthralled, her body trembling as she watches—is almost enough to undo you.

Belle shifts beneath you, her movements growing more insistent. Her body rocks with your rhythm, her back arching slightly as she pushes against you, trying to match your thrusts. The soft, slick sounds of your connection fill the room, each movement drawing a quiet gasp or low moan from her lips. But it’s not enough. Her hips press back harder, meeting yours in a way that makes your breath hitch, her determination to draw more from you undeniable.

She turns her head slightly, her dark eyes locking onto yours over her shoulder. There’s a heat in her gaze, a challenge sparking behind it that sends shivers through you. "Faster," she murmurs, her voice breathy but commanding, every word dripping with need. Then, with a smirk tugging at her lips, she adds, "Harder." The words land with weight, her tone tinged with expectation, daring you to give her everything she’s asking for. The tension coils tighter in your chest, and you feel the pulse of heat shoot straight through you.

You adjust your rhythm, your hips driving forward with more force. Each thrust sends a jolt through Belle’s body, her gasps turning into louder, more desperate cries as her hands clutch the armrest for support as she braces herself, her back arching deeper with every movement. But Belle isn’t content to let you take full control. Her hips grind backward into you, the motion deliberate and hungry as she matches your pace. The sheer effortlessness of her movements, the way she works her body to meet yours, leaves you breathless.

Her moans grow louder, more frantic, as the intensity builds. Her legs tremble beneath her, her knees shifting against the floor as she struggles to maintain her balance. Her hips buck against you, her movements urging you to go deeper, harder, her body demanding more. The force of each thrust pushes her against the edge of the couch, her body pressed firmly into the armrest. The soft fabric does little to muffle the sound of her cries as they rise higher, turning into sharp, high-pitched whimpers with every deep stroke.

But something still holds you back—a faint hesitation lingering in the back of your mind, the weight of the moment pressing on you. Your gaze flickers toward Haneul, seeking her grounding presence, and the sight of her makes your breath catch.

Her eyes glisten with arousal, her gaze flickering between your face and the way your body moves with Belle. Her chest heaves with every breath, her own arousal climbing as her fingers work with increasing urgency. Her thighs tremble, her movements growing bolder as she watches you, completely lost in the rhythm you’ve created. When she notices the slight falter in your thrusts, her lips curl into a soft, knowing smile.

"Give her everything, baby," Haneul whispers, her voice trembling but full of certainty. Her words carry no jealousy, only a quiet thrill, the sincerity in her tone sending a fresh rush of desire through you. "Don’t hold back."

Her words break whatever was holding you back. You grip Belle’s arms firmly, your fingers wrapping around her toned biceps as you pull her back toward you. The strength of your hold sends a jolt through her, her breath hitching in surprise. The first thrust with this newfound confidence hits a spot deep inside her, and the sharpness of her reaction is immediate—a loud, high-pitched squeal that escapes her lips, raw and unrestrained. Her body rocks forward, her legs losing their grip on the floor as the force of your motion propels her into the couch’s edge.

Belle braces herself instinctively, her body jerking forward with each powerful thrust. But with her arms pinned securely behind her, gripped firmly in your hands, there’s nothing for her to hold onto, nothing to ground her against the relentless rhythm. Her head tilts forward, dark strands of hair clinging to her damp neck and shoulders, the strain in her posture only amplifying the vulnerability of her position. Each thrust sends her rocking into the edge of the couch, the plush fabric sandwiching her hips, forcing her to take every inch of you with no escape.

The angle leaves her completely at your mercy, her body arching slightly as each deep, unrelenting stroke sends shockwaves through her. Her voice rises in pitch, raw and breathless, every sound spilling from her lips a mix of desperation and pleasure. The force you drive into her keeps her pinned against the couch, her body unable to resist the steady, punishing rhythm.

Her cries grow louder, more broken, the lack of control heightening her response. "Oh—God, Yes!" she gasps, her voice cracking as her legs quiver beneath her. Her body seems to melt into the moment, yielding entirely to the intensity of your movements, her form trembling as each thrust pushes her further into the edge of bliss. The tension in her thighs gives way, and she surrenders fully, the curve of her back accentuating the way she takes you, completely open, completely consumed.

Haneul watches the two of you, her eyes wide with arousal as her breathing grows shallow. Her gaze roams over your body, the sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, highlighting the way your muscles flex with every deep thrust into Belle. Her thighs press together briefly, her hand pausing before resuming its circular motions as she takes in the sight. The sheer hunger in your movements, the raw force of your rhythm, sends a fresh wave of heat surging through her. She can’t believe how arousing it is to see you like this—so primal, so utterly consumed.

Her fingers move faster as she gives in to the sight before her. Every sound—the wet slap of your bodies connecting, Belle’s unrestrained cries, the ragged rhythm of your breath—pushes her closer to the edge. Her thoughts spiral into a chaotic mix of disbelief and desire. She never imagined she’d feel this way, watching you with someone else, but the reality is undeniable.

Belle’s cries shift, her voice breaking into choked moans as the intensity of your thrusts makes it impossible for her to keep her composure. "Fuck, you feel so good." she gasps, her voice trembling. Her back arches further, her body instinctively seeking more even as the couch forces her hips upward, heightening every sensation. Her legs tremble uncontrollably now, the floor offering no anchor as her knees slide slightly with each powerful thrust.

The pleasure coursing through Belle is relentless, each motion driving her closer to the brink. "Don’t stop," she cries, her voice a ragged mix of plea and demand, her words breaking as her breaths come faster. You can feel her trembling under you, her body tightening with each deep thrust. Her arms strain against your grip, but there’s no escape. She can only take what you’re giving her, her fingers curling helplessly in the air as her legs quiver beneath her, barely holding her up.

Haneul’s eyes flick between Belle’s flushed, sweat-slicked body and yours, her gaze darting to the way your muscles flex and shift with every motion. Her own arousal mounts uncontrollably, the tension in her body coiling tighter and tighter. Her breathing grows shallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly as soft whimpers escape her lips. Her fingers work furiously between her legs, her thighs trembling as the pleasure surges higher, threatening to overtake her. Her flushed skin glows in the low light, her lips parted as though trying to find air in the heated haze of the moment.

Belle notices Haneul’s struggle, the way her fingers falter slightly, her movements becoming erratic as the edge looms dangerously close. Between her moans, Belle lets out a shaky laugh, her voice breaking under the strain. "Not yet," she gasps, her words sharp and commanding despite the tremble in her tone. "Hold it."

Haneul’s eyes widen, her body freezing momentarily as the words sink in. Her hand stills, and her legs clamp together instinctively as she fights the rising tide threatening to crash over her. Her body trembles violently, her teeth sinking into her lower lip in a desperate attempt to hold on. Her hands clutch at the couch as she pushes back against the overwhelming wave of pleasure, refusing to let it consume her. Every nerve in her body feels like it’s on fire, her muscles straining as she teeters precariously on the edge.

You feel it too—Belle’s body clenching around you, her cries turning into breathless, frantic whimpers as her climax builds to an unbearable peak. Her head tilts forward, dark strands of hair clinging to her damp skin as her body trembles uncontrollably. Her voice cracks as she repeats the command, her tone desperate and insistent. "Hold it. Not yet."

The tension in the room is unbearable, a shared anticipation that binds the three of you together. Every sound, every movement feeds into the moment, the energy coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. Belle’s voice finally cuts through the haze, gasping out in a tone laced with both authority and desperation. "Now, Haneul. Let go."

The release is immediate, and the room erupts in a symphony of pleasure. Haneul cries out loudly, her voice raw and uninhibited as her body arches off the couch, the intensity of her climax washing over her in crashing waves. Her hands clutch the fabric beneath her, nails digging into them as her thighs tremble violently, unable to contain the force of her release. Her head tilts back, her lips parted in a series of broken gasps and cries as the pleasure consumes her completely.

Belle’s body tightens impossibly around you as her own climax hits. Her cries rise in pitch, her voice breaking into a series of unrestrained moans as her legs give out completely, leaving her suspended only by the couch’s edge and your firm grip on her arms. Each deep thrust pushes her further into bliss, her body trembling violently as she surrenders entirely to the overwhelming sensations. Her head tilts back, her mouth open in a silent scream before another loud, desperate cry bursts from her lips, the force of her release echoing through the room.

The intensity of the moment sends you over the edge, the sight of both women undone by pleasure pushing you past your limit. With one final, deep thrust, you empty yourself inside Belle, the warmth and tightness surrounding you heightening every sensation. A guttural moan escapes your lips as your body trembles with the force of your release, every muscle taut before the wave of pleasure washes through you, leaving you breathless and shaking. Belle’s body clenches around you, milking every last bit of your release as she shudders beneath your grip.

The room fills with a harmony of moans, each voice blending together in a perfect, raw symphony of shared ecstasy. The sounds—Haneul’s cries of pleasure, Belle’s desperate moans, and your own guttural groans—echo off the walls, amplifying the intensity of the moment. The mingling scents of sweat, arousal, and release create a heady, intoxicating musk that clings to the air, making the atmosphere feel thick and electric.

You stay there for a moment, catching your breath as the room grows quieter, the echoes of your shared moans still lingering in the thick, musk-filled air. The three of you are trembling, spent, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction. When you finally pull out, Belle’s body jerks slightly at the motion. She tries to straighten herself, but her legs give out beneath her, leaving her slumped against the armrest. She lets out a soft laugh, her usual confidence momentarily replaced with breathless exhaustion.

"Here," you murmur, stepping forward and gently guiding her to sit on the couch. She shifts carefully, her movements languid as you help her settle into a position facing Haneul. Belle leans back, her legs spreading lazily, her body still radiating heat. Her eyes flicker to Haneul, and her smirk returns, teasing and wicked. "Come here, sweetheart," she purrs, her voice low and inviting. She gestures downward, her fingers tracing idly along her inner thigh. "Clean up your mess."

Haneul hesitates for only a moment, her eyes darting to yours as though silently seeking permission. When you give her a subtle nod, her lips part, and she moves forward on shaky knees, positioning herself between Belle’s legs. Her hands glide along Belle’s thighs, her touch delicate but deliberate, her fingers brushing over the slick remnants of your release. Belle shivers at the contact, her breath catching as Haneul leans in closer.

Haneul’s lips press against Belle’s folds, tentative at first, her tongue sweeping softly along her. Belle gasps, her body twitching slightly as the sensation sends fresh tremors through her. Haneul becomes bolder, her tongue moving with slow, deliberate strokes, cleaning every trace of you from Belle’s warm, sensitive skin. Her fingers follow, slipping carefully inside to scoop out the remaining seed. Haneul brings her fingers to her lips, licking them clean with a precision that makes Belle let out a shaky moan.

"God," Belle murmurs, her voice unsteady as her body shudders under Haneul’s attention. "You’re thorough, aren’t you?"

Haneul doesn’t respond, her focus entirely on the task at hand. Her tongue and lips continue their work, moving with a mix of care and hunger that draws soft, breathy sounds from Belle. Each stroke of her tongue sends aftershocks through Belle’s body, her thighs trembling uncontrollably as her head tilts back, her damp hair clinging to her skin. By the time Haneul finishes, Belle is slumped against the back of the couch, her chest rising and falling heavily, a long, satisfied sigh escaping her lips.

When Haneul sits back, her lips glistening and her cheeks flushed, she meets your gaze. You’ve been watching from nearby, leaning against the armrest, your heart pounding as you take in the scene. The intensity of the moment is reflected in her expression—a mix of awe, satisfaction, and a lingering arousal that hasn’t entirely subsided.

Without a word, Haneul rises onto her knees and turns toward Belle. Her hands rest gently on Belle’s thighs as she leans in, her lips brushing Belle’s in a soft, exploratory kiss. The contact deepens quickly, their mouths moving together, sharing the mingled taste of you. Their kiss grows more fervent, their bodies pressing together briefly before Haneul pulls back, her chest rising and falling as she turns toward you.

You sit back on the couch, the cushions soft beneath you as you watch her approach. Haneul climbs onto your lap, her knees straddling you as she presses close, her arms wrapping loosely around your neck. Her lips find yours immediately, and the kiss is warm, insistent, filled with a mix of tenderness and lingering heat. You can taste Belle on her mouth—the traces of her release and your own mingling on her tongue—and it sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you, even in the haze of exhaustion.

Haneul melts into you, her body fitting perfectly against yours as she snuggles into your chest. Her head rests on your shoulder, her breathing evening out as she presses soft kisses to your neck. Your arms wrap around her instinctively, holding her close as the weight of the night settles over the three of you.

Belle shifts beside you, her movements unhurried, her body still radiating the warmth of exertion. She reclines lazily next to you, her smirk softening into something gentler. With a quiet sigh, she leans in, resting her head on your opposite shoulder. The scent of her hair—sweet with a faint musky undertone—fills your senses as her body relaxes against yours. Her fingers idly trace along your arm, her touch light and content.

The three of you sit in comfortable silence, the heat of the moment giving way to a warm, shared intimacy. Haneul’s soft kisses continue, her lips grazing your skin as her body molds against yours, her warmth seeping into you. Belle’s breathing steadies, her head nestled on your opposite shoulder, her hair tickling your neck as her eyes flutter closed. The satisfied curve of her lips lingers even as her body begins to relax fully. Your arms tighten around Haneul, one hand brushing lightly against Belle’s arm, grounding all of you in the quiet connection of the moment.

The aftermath unfolds in a haze of gentle movements and shared smiles, the intensity giving way to an almost surreal calm. Eventually, Belle stirs, her head lifting from your shoulder as she stretches with a languid grace. Her legs are still unsteady, and she steadies herself briefly on the edge of the couch before smirking. "You two are something else," she murmurs, her voice carrying a teasing warmth as she reaches for a nearby robe. She drapes it over herself loosely, tying it at her waist before turning back to face you and Haneul.

Belle steps closer, her dark eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity. Without a word, she leans in, her lips brushing softly against yours in a lingering kiss. The gesture is simple, but the tenderness behind it leaves you breathless, your chest tightening as she pulls away. Then, she turns to Haneul, cupping her face gently in her hands. Their kiss is just as soft, just as deliberate, and when Belle pulls back, there’s a glimmer of affection in her smile.

"You’re lucky," she says, her voice low and sincere, her gaze flicking between the two of you. "Both of you."

She reaches for a small bag on the nearby table, her movements unhurried. From it, she pulls out a pair of sleek, laminated passes, their glossy surfaces catching the dim light. "Here," she says, holding them out. "These will get you backstage at any of my shows. Consider it my personal VIP invitation." Her smirk softens slightly, a hint of mischief in her expression. "I hope I see you again."

With a small wave and a final glance over her shoulder, Belle steps out of the room, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume. The door clicks softly shut, and the quiet, dimly lit space feels heavier, more intimate, as you and Haneul are left alone together.

As you both step out of the venue, the cool night air wraps around you, a stark contrast to the heat and intensity of the evening. The adrenaline from the night begins to fade, leaving behind a pleasant exhaustion that settles deep into your bones. Haneul leans heavily against you, her arm slipping around your waist as her steps falter slightly. She lets out a soft laugh, her cheeks still flushed and glowing.

"My legs feel like jelly," she mumbles, glancing up at you with a sheepish smile. "I don’t think I can make it to the car without collapsing."

You chuckle, steadying her as she stumbles again. "Want me to carry you?"

She pouts, her tone playful but tinged with genuine need. "Would you? Please? I’ll be the best girlfriend ever."

You crouch down, laughing softly. "You already are. Come on, hop on."

With a giggle, she climbs onto your back, her arms wrapping securely around your shoulders. Her warmth presses against you, and her face nestles against the side of your neck, her breath tickling your skin. "You’re the best," she murmurs, her voice soft and affectionate.

The walk across the large parking lot is quiet at first, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the stillness. Haneul sighs contentedly, her cheek resting against your shoulder as you carry her, the weight of her feeling comforting and grounding.

After a moment, you break the silence. "So… what did you think?" Your voice is hesitant, unsure, as the memories of the night replay vividly in your mind. "Was it… okay?"

Haneul shifts slightly, tightening her arms around you as her lips brush against your ear. "Okay?" she repeats, incredulous. "That was… I don’t even have words for how hot that was."

Her words send a wave of warmth through you, a mix of embarrassment and relief flooding your senses. "Really?" you ask, glancing back at her. "I mean, I thought you’d like it, but I wasn’t sure "I didn’t think it would be so hot," she says suddenly, her tone earnest and spilling over with excitement. Her words come quickly, like she’s unable to contain them. "But watching you—" She pauses for a moment, a small, almost shy laugh escaping her lips before her voice picks up again, stronger. "Watching you let go like that, after I told you to? God, it was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen."

Her arms tighten around your shoulders, and you can feel her breath hitch slightly as she continues. "You were holding back at first—I could see it in every move. But then you looked at me, and I could almost feel it—the exact moment you stopped hesitating. And when you did, it was like you became someone else. All that strength, that power—you just used it. And I knew I’d done that. I gave you that permission, and you didn’t just take it—you owned it."

Her voice lowers slightly, but the excitement lingers in every word. "And Belle," she breathes, a soft laugh escaping her. "To see her like that. She’s so strong, so confident—this larger-than-life presence—and yet, you had her completely undone. She wasn’t the performer anymore; she was just… vulnerable, giving in completely. Watching that happen, knowing you were the one doing it, it was…" She trails off, shaking her head slightly against your neck before whispering, "I don’t think I’ll ever forget it."

She shifts slightly on your back, and her voice grows softer, tinged with awe. "Seeing you like that, knowing you could let go so completely—it was amazing. I didn’t know I’d feel this way, but I loved every second of it. It was… more than I ever expected."

You glance back at her, your brow furrowed slightly. "You’re sure? I mean, you’re not just saying this to make me feel better?"

Haneul chuckles softly, her breath warm against your neck as she presses a kiss to your cheek. "I’m sure," she murmurs. "Really. Every second of it was amazing. I didn’t know I’d feel this way, but I loved it. And… seeing you happy, seeing you like that… It made me happy too."

Her words settle over you like a warm blanket, filling you with a quiet, undeniable joy. You press a kiss to her arm, your heart impossibly full as you continue walking. The night feels surreal, the world around you fading into the background as the two of you bask in the afterglow of what you’ve shared.

By the time you reach the car, Haneul’s head has grown heavy against your shoulder, her soft breaths tickling your neck as she begins to drift off. You carefully lower her into the passenger seat, her sleepy smile barely visible in the dim light. The drive home is quiet, the silence filled with a new kind of intimacy. The memories of the night replay like a vivid dream, each detail etched into your mind.

When you finally reach your place, Haneul is half-asleep, her head resting against the window with a small, contented smile. You carry her inside, her arms draping loosely around your neck as she stirs slightly. As you gently set her down on the bed, she shifts slightly, her lashes fluttering as she blinks up at you.

You brush a stray strand of hair from her face and lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice quiet but filled with sincerity.

Her eyes flutter open briefly, and she smiles, her voice barely audible as she murmurs, "For what?"

"For everything," you reply, your thumb tracing her cheek lightly. "For tonight. For… all of it. I’ll never forget it."

Her lips curve into a sleepy smile, and she closes her eyes again, nuzzling into the pillow. "You don’t have to thank me," she whispers, her words fading as she drifts off. "You deserved it."

As you climb into bed beside her, the weight of the night finally settles over you. The events replay vividly in your mind, and you can’t help but smile as you watch her sleep. It’s a memory the two of you will treasure forever.

[downbadreading]

warm on a cold night

》 pairing: aged up professor! c.jh x fem student reader

》 plot: Choi Jongho, a middle-aged professor struggling with a midlife crisis and an unfulfilling marriage, seeks a brief escape through an affair with a bright young student he meets at a bar during a faculty Christmas party. What begins as a distraction soon forces him to confront deeper guilt and dissatisfaction, leading him to question his choices and the life he's built.

》 content: aged up and married jongho (40s), college student reader, mentions of OC, emma (jongho’s wife), cheating, alcohol, FAT COCK JONGHO AGENDA, manhandling, spanking, creampie, blowjob, face-fucking, stand and carry position, smut with some angst

》 wc: 4.7k

》 a/n: all credits for this idea goes to @yun-fangz

🎧 warm on a cold night- honne

Jongho leaned against the wall, his whiskey swirling lazily in hand as he watched his colleagues laugh and chat over the hum of soft holiday jazz. The semester had finally ended, and a handful of faculty members had chosen to unwind at a cozy bar just a few blocks from campus.

The place was charmingly festive, adorned with twinkling fairy lights, cranberry-decorated wreaths, bright red ribbons, and polished wood paneling that radiated warmth. Inside, the air was thick with the cheer of the season, a stark contrast to the biting cold winds just beyond the frosted windows. Yet, no matter how long he lingered near the fireplace, or how many shots burned in his chest, the chill from outside seemed to cling to him, refusing to melt away in the glow of the celebration.

Jongho lingered in the corner, isolating himself from the rest of the group. He watched the other professors mingle, their laughter bubbling over clinking glasses. The sight stirred a mix of envy and disdain. Their holiday cheer felt hollow, a performance, and yet he resented how effortlessly they seemed to pull it off.

He’d considered skipping the party altogether but couldn’t bear the thought of going home tonight. Not yet.

He shouldn’t be drinking—not this much, anyway—but he kept ordering pint after pint, convincing himself that each one would drown his thoughts a little more. And for a while, it worked. Until it didn’t. Now, his thoughts swirled darker, heavier, impossible to ignore.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” or so the song went. Jongho begged to differ. The Christmas trees, the holiday sales, the relentless jingles—it all made him tense. He was sick of it. Sick of forcing smiles through strained dinners. Sick of walking on eggshells at home. Sick of pretending that everything was fine, that he was still happily married, that he still wanted this. And the thought of hosting Emma’s family for Christmas dinner this year made his stomach churn. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up the facade.

What gnawed at him most was that he couldn’t point to any one thing to explain his unhappiness. There’d been no affair, no fights, no children to argue over. Just a slow, relentless erosion of something he couldn’t name. He had simply checked out, growing numb.

Emma, once a beacon of warmth and brilliance, now felt dimmed to him, like a candle flickering from a draft. He thought back to their early years—the long dinners spent debating poetry, the late nights whispering sweet nothings in the dark, tangling into each other over white satin sheets, her longing for him even when he was only a few feet away. Now, their evenings were quiet, their conversations perfunctory. They ate in near silence, their words dried up like an old well. Nights in bed were worse: two bodies lying back-to-back, the weight of unspoken things pressing down on the space between them, the burning desire for each other now snuffed out like a dying flame.

It wasn’t her fault, not really. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was suffocating.

Unlike the rest of the faculty, Jongho wasn’t looking forward to the long winter break. While his colleagues spoke eagerly of trips, family gatherings, and restful days at home, he found himself filled with a quiet, gnawing dread. Work had become his refuge—long hours at the office, stacks of papers to grade, and the pretense of ‘office hours’ no one ever attended. It was all a convenient shield. The thought of being home with Emma, with no deadlines or lectures to hide behind, felt almost unbearable.

He’d toyed with the idea of seeing a lawyer. The thought of ending it all—cleanly, definitively—had crossed his mind more times than he cared to admit. But every time, the guilt stopped him. How could he serve her divorce papers without a clear reason? No betrayal, no dramatic blowout, just the suffocating weight of his own unhappiness. It felt cruel, cowardly.

So, instead, he stayed. He let his depression settle in, heavy and inescapable, like an unwelcome guest. His wedding ring sat on his finger like a shackle, not a symbol of love but an anchor pulling him further into the depths of his discontent. Some days, he wondered what it would feel like to let it drag him all the way down to the bottom of the sea.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, staring down at the empty glass in his hand. The amber traces of his last drink clung stubbornly to the bottom, mocking him. With a groan, he pushed himself off the wall and stumbled back to the bar, his movements heavy and unsteady. He leaned over the polished counter, shaking his glass slightly to catch the bartender's attention. Without a word, the bartender nodded and began pouring another whiskey neat, the amber liquid glinting under the soft, golden lights.

As Jongho waited, his gaze drifted. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her—a familiar girl, laughing softly among two friends at a table on the far side of the bar. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her giggles carried just enough to reach him, rising above the hum of the crowd and the muted jazz playing overhead. For a moment, he squinted, trying to place her. Then it clicked.

Y/N. His student.

He remembered your paper on Keats’ Ode on Melancholy. It was rare for him to recall specific assignments, let alone be impressed by them. Most of his students treated his class like an obligation, churning out rushed, half-hearted essays that betrayed their indifference to literature. But your work had stood out—not just for its clarity and depth, but for the way it annoyed him.

You’d written with optimism, arguing that Keats saw melancholy as a companion to joy, as something that heightened the beauty of life rather than drowning it. Jongho had scoffed at your words as he read them, unable to reconcile your argument with his own misery. To him, melancholy wasn’t some poetic counterpoint to happiness—it was a relentless weight, suffocating and inescapable. Still, he couldn’t deny the paper’s quality or the sincerity behind it. 

The bartender slid his whiskey across the counter, snapping Jongho out of his thoughts. He picked it up, taking a long, deliberate sip before glancing back at you. Your friends had gotten up and were weaving through the crowd toward the exit, leaving you alone at the table. You didn’t seem to notice right away, your attention fixed on your phone, but when you looked up, a flicker of disappointment crossed your face.

Jongho hesitated. He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. But the whiskey burned warm in his chest, loosening his inhibitions and drowning out the voice of reason. Before he could think better of it, he picked up his glass and made his way toward you.

“Y/N?” he said, his voice low and slightly unsteady.

You looked up, startled, your eyes widening in recognition. “Professor Choi?”

He gave you a faint smile, gesturing toward the empty chair next to you. “Mind if I join you?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the door your friends had disappeared through. Then, with a small shrug and a curious smile, you gestured for him to sit.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your tone light but your eyes searching his face.

“Same thing as everyone else, I suppose,” he replied, settling into the chair. “Avoiding reality.”

Your lips curved into a half-smile. “That’s not how you struck me in class.”

He raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “How did I strike you, then?”

You hesitated again, as if weighing your words, before saying, “Like someone who sees too much reality to avoid it.”

The comment caught him off guard, and for the first time that night, Jongho felt seen. Vulnerable, but in a way he didn’t mind. He took another sip of his whiskey, the silence between you stretching just long enough to feel charged.

“So,” he said, setting his glass down. “Do you always come to bars like this, or is tonight special?”

You laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “My friends dragged me here. They’ve abandoned me for some frat party, so… I guess that’s my answer.”

Jongho nodded, leaning back slightly. “Their loss.”

Your cheeks flushed faintly at the comment, and for the first time, he noticed how young you seemed outside the context of his lectures. Yet, your presence held a gravity that felt far beyond your years.

And as the conversation unfolded, Jongho couldn’t quite shake the thought: he shouldn’t be here, saying these things, feeling this pull. But he stayed anyway. “Can I ask you something?” 

You paused, your fingers brushing the rim of your shot glass. You shared the same thought he had: maybe you shouldn’t be here, talking to him, sharing drinks, lingering longer than politeness demanded. But there was something about him tonight—a quiet vulnerability that mirrored your own. You could see it in his slightly hunched posture, in the way his eyes didn’t quite meet yours until they did, holding just a second too long.

And maybe, you admitted to herself, you felt a pull too. You were lonely. It was clear he was, too, and that unspoken connection put you at ease in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Sure,” you said softly.

Jongho leaned in, his voice dropping, as though he were about to share a secret. “Why Keats? Why not something easy, like Poe? Do you know how many essays I’ve graded on The Tell-Tale Heart or The Raven? Yours was the only outlier.”

You tilted her head, a small, thoughtful smile playing on your lips. You rubbed your fingers absentmindedly against the glass, the tequila inside still untouched. “I don’t know,” you said with a shrug, though your tone suggested otherwise. “I guess it’s just… comforting, you know?”

“Comforting?” He blinked, genuinely puzzled. “You think melancholy is comforting?”

You nodded, meeting his eyes directly. “Yeah. It’s like... it’s always there. Inevitable. You can’t escape it, but once you stop trying to, it feels less heavy. More like... a part of you. It’s something to be embraced, something to be experienced. It’s human. I think Keats got that.”

For a moment, Jongho didn’t respond. Your words hung in the air, resonating with something buried deep within him. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, his thoughts turning over themselves. “Most people run from it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “They see it as a weakness. Something to be fixed.”

“Maybe it is,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to your drink. “But it’s also honest. Keats thought melancholy was the start of a new transition in life. Drowning it out by distracting yourself with alcohol or drugs would just ruin it.”

Jongho looked down at his drink. Your words struck a chord he hadn’t felt in years. This was the kind of conversation he used to have with Emma, back when they stayed up late talking about literature and life before the silence crept in. He felt the faintest spark—a flicker of something he couldn’t name. Connection, maybe.

“You think there’s harm in a little distraction?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes anything but. His gaze lingered on your face, studying every detail as though seeing you for the first time.

Maybe it was the whiskey or the fact that there was no desk separating you this time, but he realized how different you looked up close. Your eyes were wide, filled with a youthful energy that seemed so foreign to him. They practically radiated life, a stark contrast to the weight he carried in his own. The soft glow of the red Christmas lights hanging above reflected off your skin, casting a warm, rosy hue across your cheeks. He hadn’t noticed before—maybe he hadn’t let himself—but you were pretty.

You tilted your head slightly, your lips curling up in a shy smile as you considered his words. “I guess it depends on the distraction,” you said, your voice light, but there was a hint of curiosity there.

He took a slow sip of the dark liquid, his gaze never leaving yours. “Some distractions are good,” he said, his tone low and measured. “When you’re feeling stuck. Or....”

“Lonely?” you suggested, your voice soft and careful.

His expression shifted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t his usual polite, practiced smile; it was something quieter, more real. Like you’d hit on something he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to really look at him. The crinkles around his eyes and the subtle greys in his hair hinted at his age, but there was a boyish charm in the way his lips curved into that sly, gummy smile. It made you wonder what he looked like a decade ago, though you suspected he’d been just as magnetic.

Professor Choi was handsome—you’d known that since the first lecture. Most of the students had agreed on it, passing whispered comments and exchanging sly glances whenever he turned to write on the board. You’d harbored your own quiet crush on him, but it had been harmless, distant, academic.

This, however, was different.

Here, in this dimly lit bar, with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sliver of his collarbone, his salt-and-pepper hair slightly tousled, and the way his eyes lingered on you—longer than they should—you felt something shift. A warmth spread through you, pooling in your stomach, forcing you to press your thighs together under the table. 

You traced the rim of your glass with your finger, the smooth rhythm giving you a moment to collect your thoughts. His gaze followed the movement of your hand, his whiskey glass forgotten for the moment.

“And what kind of distraction are you looking for, Professor?” you asked finally, your voice low, testing.

His eyes flicked back to yours, and for a second, he seemed to hesitate. His smile faded into something more serious, almost contemplative. “The kind that makes you feel something…something different,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.

There was a rawness in his words that made your breath hitch. You liked it. He wasn’t like most of the boys you talked to. Of course, he wasn’t just any boy; he was almost twenty years your senior, and with that came maturity and experience. It was different—refreshing, in a way.

You hadn’t realized how close you were to him until now. Your knees brushed under the table, a subtle contact that sent an electric spark up your spine, though neither of you acknowledged it. The scent of his cologne—a mix of mint and sandalwood—filled your nostrils, making it harder to focus. His presence was all around you now, and you couldn’t pull away.

Your gaze drifted down to his hand, still holding his drink, and there, gleaming under the bar’s soft lights, was a shiny gold band on his finger. The sight of it made something inside you tighten, and your shoulders sagged with sudden disillusionment.

“And what if you’re not sure if it’s just a harmless distraction or a momentary lapse in judgment?” you asked.

He caught your glance at his ring, and the weight of it hit him, harder than he expected. Part of him recoiled, disgusted with himself for letting things get this far. Shame settled over him like a cloak. But another part, the part that had been suffocating for so long, felt a strange relief. He was tired—tired of thinking, tired of fighting. For once, he just wanted to feel something. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, lost in thought, before looking back at you.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

—

Jongho hissed as he watched you part your lips over his throbbing tip. You were kneeling in front of him, your knees cushioned by the fluffy pink rug that lay before your bed. You two had stumbled into your apartment not too long ago, kissing and tugging at each other’s clothes, until the desire within you grew too strong to resist, and you began palming his crotch crazily until you felt him harden in your hand. 

You guided him into your mouth, your skilled tongue swirling around his girth with delight. His cock was so hard and heavy on your tongue that you couldn’t help but bring your fingers down to your clothed heat, rubbing yourself desperately as you imagined how good he’d feel when he’s buried deep inside you. You held onto his cock with your other hand, giving it a few lazy pumps as you sucked and slurped him.

“Feels so good baby,” he panted, his gaze fixated on you. Jongho refused to blink, stuck in a trance in which he couldn’t escape. You looked so sweet with your mouth stuffed full of him, your reddened, puffy lips and teary wet eyes enticing him even further. He felt himself melting into you, his core tightening in anticipation, but he held himself off, just enough to keep enjoying your warmth. 

Jongho grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling it up into a makeshift ponytail so he could have better control. “All the way princess,”  he coached, pushing you down his length until your nose was pressed against his pelvic bone. “Just like that, good girl,” he hummed, proud to see you take all of him so easily. You gagged around him, tears blurring your vision as he guided your head up and down, his sweet, honey-like moans making your core throb. 

Your eyes fluttered up to meet him, watching intently as he tilted his head back, his brows knitting together and his mouth falling open. Each breath he took grew shakier, more unsteady, and you knew he was close. Despite his efforts, Jongho couldn’t hold it in anymore, and he reached his peak somewhat prematurely. He pushed your head down firmly, his hips stilling as he flooded into you. The taste of his salty, thick cum overpowered you, and you moaned in satisfaction over the crown of his cock, forcing him to grasp onto your hair even tighter.

“Swallow,” he rasped, fucking the last bit of cum he had left into your pretty mouth, “all of it sweetheart, don’t waste a drop.” 

You gulped his creamy white just as he demanded, the bitterness on your tongue and his desperate whines making your head spin. You came off him with a plop, licking your lips to prove you listened to his directions well. 

“Good girl,” he smiled down at you, wiping away a tear from your warm, red cheeks. His thumb lingered over your skin as he watched you lick him clean, your soft kisses on his tender head making his gut tighten in overstimulation.  

You then wrapped your fingers around him tightly, his pretty cock standing tall in your small grasp. You lined his veiny length with wet, messy kisses, grinning to yourself each time he jolted and gasped in response to your touch. When you finally pulled back to look up at him, you were met with the sight of his flushed face, his chest rising and falling heavily. A light sheen of sweat clung to his brow, and he looked utterly spent— as if he might collapse into a long slumber at any moment. 

"What's the matter, Professor?" you teased, your voice low and taunting, "Can't keep up like you used to, huh?"

Jongho chucked at your little jab. He leaned down, cupping your face tightly with his hand. “Oh, don’t worry darling, I’m just getting started.” 

—

“F-fuck!” You wailed for the nth time as you fucked yourself over his hard cock, grasping onto your headboard to keep you steady. Your thighs burned with exhaustion, each movement growing heavier and more difficult. Your pace slowed significantly, despite your determination to keep going. Each time you lost your rhythm, Jongho would send a harsh smack on your ass, warning you to keep going. 

He sat against the headboard, nipping and sucking at your tender nipples as you rode him, his big hands grasping at your rear to keep you in place. He loved how you felt in his hands, your skin so soft and malleable, a complete contrast to your wet and tight cunt. 

Smack. 

The sting ignited a fiery pleasure on your skin, but the overwhelming exhaustion had you teetering on the edge of collapse.“Please, Professor,” You begged with tears streaming down your cheeks, “just wanna cum…wanna cum on your fat cock.” 

Jongho finally gave your swollen breasts a much-needed break, plopping off your flesh and sinking back against the headboard. He looked up at you in pure fascination, completely mesmerized by your messy hair and fucked-out expression. “Then cum baby…” He cooed, “What, do you need my permission?” 

Your pace faltered once again, the little bit of strength you had left in your legs finally giving out. You yelped as he brought down yet another hard smack to your already red, sensitive skin. “Please...need help.” 

Jongho understood now. He repositioned his hands onto your hips, grasping them tightly as he took over and jerked his hips up. He pounded into you so rapidly, the sounds of your frenzied moans and smacking flesh filling up the room. 

“Almost there…” He huffed, his eyes locked onto your core, “cum baby, cum all over my dick, need to feel it.” 

Following his words, your walls tightened around him, and before you knew it, your knees buckled in and a wave of relief took over you. You fell over into his chest, crying out as he pumped himself into you slowly now, your slick gushing all over him. 

“That’s it,” He purred into your ear, your chests heaving against each other, “that’s a good girl. Made such a mess, didn’t you?” 

The way he talked to you made you dizzy, and if it was possible to cum from just being called his good girl, you most definitely would. His movements paused, giving you a chance to catch your breath. Your lips lightly traveled over his shoulder, to his neck, until you finally met his plush lips. You felt his big hands caressing your bare back as he kissed you hungrily, his lips tasting of hard whiskey and sweat. He was still inside of you, and the excitement from your moany, wet lips made him stiffen up again. 

Suddenly, he flipped you over on your back, your head falling onto your stack of pillows. You let out a soft groan as his lips pulled away from yours, longing for the kiss to linger just a moment longer. You ran your fingers through his soft, dark strands as he traced his lips over the swells of your breast, making his way down to your wet heat. You gasped loudly as he pecked your skin, his practiced tongue parting your folds until finally reached your aching clit. 

“Taste so sweet,” he moaned into you, the vibration from his deep voice making goosebumps prickle all over your skin. You were so sensitive now, each swirl of his tongue making you melt further into the mattress. 

You lost yourself in his warm mouth, arching your back and writhing in pleasure over your messed up sheets. But then, the warmth slipped away, replaced by a sudden, isolating chill. 

Jongho stood at the edge of the bed now, pulling you closer to him before abruptly lifting you up. You gasped at the sudden move, your arms and legs wrapping around him almost instantly. 

“What are you doing?” You asked, still feeling hazy and confused from the interruption until you felt him tap his cockhead on your dripping cunt. 

You had never been in this position before. It felt all too new, too risky, and you worried if he’d be able to support you all the way. “Professor, I don’t know…” you hesitated, a look of anxiety washing over your soft features. 

Jongho’s lips curled up in that same boyish grin of his. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Afraid you can’t keep up with me?” 

Your nerves disappeared and gave way to determination. "No," you scoffed, a playful glint in your eye. "I’m just worried about your back. Wouldn’t want you to pull something.” 

Jongho smirked. He liked how quick you were with your jabs. “How considerate.” 

He pointed his cockhead towards your cunt, leveling you down just enough so he could slip inside of you. You screamed out as he pulled you up and down his length, working you open like the pocket pussy he keeps locked away in his office. His unrelenting tempo forced you to hold onto his broad shoulders for dear life. 

Jongho was strong. He held you up with ease, supporting you with a tight and secure grasp under your thighs. The sounds of your broken sobs and wet skin smacking against his made your cheeks flame red, which Jongho noticed immediately. He loved seeing you so bashful. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep screaming like that, sweetie,” He said against your ear. Your pussy was so open, and each pump over his cock felt raw and hard. There was a mix of pain and pleasure; the sweet feeling of his cock massaging your walls, and the pain of him jutting into you so deep with precision. You swore you were starting to see stars.

He slowed down, and you expected to feel his cum rush inside you, but when you looked up at him, his expression softened with worry evident in his eyes. 

“Oh, you're crying baby,” He soothed as he gently placed you back on the bed. You hadn’t realized the stream of tears running down your cheeks, your mind too preoccupied with being split open over his thick cock. He quickly leaned over you, his lips brushing against your salty tears, his hands gliding soothingly along your sides. “Want me to stop?” 

Your fingers tangled in his hair once more, threading through the soft strands as he trailed kisses across your face. A soft giggle escaped you, charmed by his sudden tenderness and care. 

“I want you to cum inside me,” You whispered, your voice tinged with a burning need. 

Without haste, he slipped into you once again, this time slow and steady, his face just millimeters away from yours. He thrust into you in languid strokes, leaving soft touches all over your skin like you were a fragile vase he didn’t want to tip over. 

“You feel so good,” He praised, sucking in the soft bit of flesh at your neck, “you’re doing so well for me.” 

His pace quickened again, he was just seconds away from reaching his climax. His breath felt hot against your skin, his dark brown eyes glinting with a fiery desire. “Kiss me,” he whispered, his voice thick with need, “kiss me when I cum inside you.” 

It wasn’t an odd request, but the way he said it—so desperate, so filled with need—you felt you had no other choice but to oblige. You pulled him in closer, your lips finding his once more. You both moved with equal fervor, your hands cradling onto his strong jaw as his cock twitched inside of you. Jongho groaned, his hips going still as he spilled into you, his warm seed filling you up. You laid like that for a while, your lips continuing to move in sync as his pearly white cum leaked out of you. 

—

Later that night, you rested against his chest, your breathing steady as he ran his fingers through your hair. You were deep asleep now, but Jongho remained wide awake, his gaze fixed on the wedding band he'd placed on your nightstand. A wave of guilt slowly crept in, sinking its teeth into him. He wondered what Emma might be doing at this very moment. Losing his phone at the bar meant she most likely bombarded him with calls and texts, desperate for answers—wondering where he was, if he was okay, when he was coming home. He relished his time with you, the feeling of experiencing something new, something that made him feel alive. But your words haunted him. "What if you're not sure if it's just a harmless distraction or a momentary lapse in judgment?"

He thought it over, turning it in his mind like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. This wasn’t just about one night. It wasn’t about the alcohol, or the thrill of doing something he thought would give him a sense of control. He’d replaced drink with sex, thinking it would numb the ache, solve his midlife crisis, fill the emptiness. But it didn’t. It just made everything more complicated.

He felt even less of a man now. The feeling of power that once came with teaching, with being wanted, had faded. In the wake of it all, he felt small, insignificant. What was the point of it all? What was he really searching for? The guilt had been creeping in, but now it was fully consuming him.

This wasn’t just about breaking away from his marriage; it was about breaking down the man he thought he was. And as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, it became painfully clear: this wasn’t a solution. It was a reminder of everything he had lost and could never reclaim.

The warmth of your body against his and your hair's softness felt like a fleeting comfort. It made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t in years, but it didn’t fix the hole inside him. And no matter how much he wanted to ignore it, the truth remained: he was still trapped in a life he didn’t know how to leave behind.

a/n: feedback is appreciated

[downbadreading]

model cowboy

🌙 starring. Jeong Jaehyun x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You maintain eye contact until the moment your lips meet, and then, you do your best to just relax, to forget about the cameras pointed at you. You allow yourself to melt into the kiss, following Jaehyun's motions, following the gentle notes that soon become more heated. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and on instinct, you open your mouth for him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to pull him closer.  You try to convince yourself that you’re leaning into this for the sake of the scene, that you’re just being good actors together, but there’s something underneath it all. There’s a desperation. You can almost taste it below the spearmint on his tongue. 

tw/cw. unprotected sex, dry humping, breast worship, slow and adequate foreplay/pussy stretching/prepping, pussy eating, fingering, praise, slight switchy power dynamic but Jae is generally the dom/top, slight overstim, face riding, slight hair pulling, precum (jae is horny), dirty talk, sappy sex, alcohol, etc… I pet names: (hers) superstar.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 13.2k

🍭 aus.actor!Jaehyun, singer!y/n, fake dating au, enemies to lovers au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. it was actually so fun to have small clips of TMZ style gossip reporting- loved that I was able to try different things with this fic :)

Prologue

In this week's news, our favorite kids' show alumni are back on the scene together. Beloved model and actor Jung Jaehyun teams up with childhood costar (y/n) (l/n) for her new single Model Cowboy. This song will mark the kick-off of her third album, and the music video is set to start production sometime early next month, with the song coming out on iTunes and other streaming platforms sometime in the new year.

There’s a lot of buzz on social media about this pairing, as the two stars were ‘shipped’ incessantly in their teen years, with one user commenting, “It’s like Britney and Justin Timberlake all over again! Ah!!!!!”

While Jaehyun has had a string of relationships over the years, our favorite girl power singer y/n has only recently ended a long-term relationship with football player Lee Jeno. When asked how this separation would affect her new album, y/n had this to say: “I want to draw on the pain of a breakup because that feeling is so universal, but at the same time, I want the album to be fun. It’s about ending one cycle, and sure, giving yourself the space and grace to mourn that loss, but also looking forward at the future and other opportunities that come your way when you go through something like that.”

When asked about the new single Model Cowboy, y/n noted, “It’s about going back to your roots and finding that cowboy, blue-collar man. I think the trades are kind of in vogue right now, for all of the best reasons. We want salt of the earth, we want a man who will provide and take care of us- not everything is luxury and partying. There’s such peace in stability, and I want to honor the simplicity of good relationships, which we all deserve to experience.”

Despite all of this, when our reporters enquired about Jaehyun as the star of the music video, who, to us and many fans on social media, doesn’t scream ‘salt of the earth, cowboy, or stability’ our singer simply responded with “No comment.”

Yikes.

However, there may be hope for this fan-favorite couple yet. When Jaehyun was asked about his role in the music video at a recent film premiere for his new action movie ‘Home Grown’ he had this to say: “I did a few music videos in my early twenties, but never with anyone I really knew or admired. I’ve been focused on movies and fashion recently, but I’m excited to do a shorter-form art piece. y/n and her team are very creative, and I can’t wait to see the finished result.” 

I can safely say that we can’t wait either.

Back when y/n was just eighteen, putting out her first album, there was one song that everyone thought she wrote about Jaehyun. We couldn’t help but bring this up to the actor. When questioned if he’d inspired y/n’s first hit single, ‘Forget About Him’, Jaehyun said, “That’s not for me to say, you’ll have to ask her.” This response revived years of conspiracy on social media, and we’re all still itching for the truth.

Production for Model Cowboy is set for the end of the month, and permits have been granted for shooting in California’s Joshua Tree National Park. We’ll all be on the edge of our seats waiting for promo pictures and behind-the-scenes photos. 

Stay tuned for all things celebrity drama and news on our website, or follow us on Instagram and Snapchat for daily updates. 

One:

You’re in your trailer with your assistant, Mark, waiting for your call time, and you can’t help the irritation that’s filling you. It’s the first day of shooting for Model Cowboy, and every other time you’ve filmed a music video, you’ve been excited about the creative journey of turning a song into a visual expression- but not today, and there’s one huge reason for your angst.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” you groan. “Jaehyun wasn’t my first choice for this, and he’ll never be my first choice for this- it takes away from the meaning of the song to have him starring with me!”

Mark frowns. “I mean, he’s not exactly a model cowboy-”

“More like a model pretending to be a cowboy,” you scoff. 

Your assistant sighs. “Management just wants you two to do this, fake date for a while, promote your music and his upcoming projects, draw intrigue-”

“I know it’s what management wants, I was forced to sign the contract,” you snap. Then you release a breath, getting control of yourself. This isn’t Mark’s fault, in fact, he argued your side in the meeting about this two months ago. “I just… I’m not a huge fan of Jaehyun.”

“You always said he was the most overly confident, smug, pretty boy that came out of your kids’ show,” Mark nods. He’s very good at summing up your difficulties, as he’s your most trusted confidant. You’d never dream of being vocal about your personal opinions of Jaehyun to anyone else, your PR training has taught you not to be fully honest, to prioritize your reputation as a ‘good girl’- but Mark, he gets you. 

“At the end of the day,” you sigh, “sure, Jae might be a better actor, but I’m the better singer.”

“I know you won’t want to hear this-”

“Then don’t say it.”

Mark sends you a pointed look. “He did do that cover of ‘I Like Me Better When I’m With You,’ and everyone loved it.”

“Well, Jaehyun doesn’t have three albums and a Grammy. He did a cover. It’s not like that’s difficult.” 

Before Mark can say anything else, there’s a knock on your trailer. You jump up, ready to start the day of shooting, but when you open your door, it’s not a PA standing there to take you to location, it’s Jaehyun.

He’s dressed in a cowboy-style outfit, however, it’s more runway than practical, and he’s also wearing the same smug smile he always used to have on when you were working together as kids and young adults.

“Long time no see,” Jaehyun muses. 

You roll your eyes. “Don’t pretend you’re happy to see me.”

You know your dislike for Jaehyun is shared with his own disdain for you, and you’d noted that to your managers. How are either of you going to pretend to be in love when this general dissatisfaction with each other is evident every time you’re in the same room?

“Thought I’d come to discuss the whole fake dating script with you, you know, kind of like running lines.”

“There aren’t any lines for our fake dating scenario yet, it’s improv,” you remind him.

“Then, how about boundaries?”

You release a groan. “Fuck it, let’s go find my PA, get in a car to go to location, and we can talk during the drive.”

Two:

There’s a tension in the SUV. With you on his left, your assistant behind you, and Jaehyun’s own manager, Johnny, behind him, everything anyone says will be noted. In fact, Jaehyun’s been listening to Johnny argue on the phone about a brand deal for the past ten minutes.

You’d said you’d discuss the whole fake dating thing, but instead, your eyes are glued to your iPad as you look over the music video notes. 

Jaehyun has always found you to be a very focused woman, he might go so far as to say you have a stick up your ass. Your rigidity is a stark contrast to his own ‘go with the flow’ type of way of doing things, and it’s one of the reasons you’d never gotten along well on sets.

When he’d come to your trailer to discuss PR lines, it had been because he was trying to meet you where you’re at. He thought you’d want to plan. In fact, he’d found it almost laughable when you’d told him it would be improv because out of the two of you, he’s the one that’s always excelled in that area. 

You have this face you put on for others, but Jaehyun’s always seen through it. You lack confidence in yourself, and that’s why you overcompensate by being anal about details, about practicing so you never fail when the time comes. 

Jaehyun leans closer to you, getting a look at the music video notes. The aesthetic board is very desert, horses, sand, sparkles, disco balls, and mirrors- for someone who said Model Cowboy was about finding someone who wasn’t all luxury, there are definitely luxury items in the music video notes. 

“So… tell me again what the song’s about?” Jaehyun asks.

You sigh. “Mark sent you a sound clip, didn’t he? Did you even bother to listen to the song?”

“Yeah,” Jaehyun shrugs, “but I wanted to hear the details from you.”

You take an exasperated deep breath, putting your iPad down on your lap. “It’s about falling in love with someone who’s very salt of the Earth-”

“What do you mean by that?”

Your lips part in shock and annoyance. “It means a man who’s salt of the Earth.” 

“Yeah, you said that, but like…” Jaehyun lets out a small laugh at how bad you’re fumbling this, “what does that mean, to you.” 

Mark shifts in the seat behind you, leaning forward to join the conversation. “It means someone who is honest, and reasonable. Someone who doesn’t think they’re special or better than others.”

You flash Jaehyun a pointed look. “So basically, not you.” 

Jaehyun chuckles. “Baby, neither of us are salt of the earth if that’s your definition.” 

He can see how annoyed you are, can pick up the micro movements, the way your fingers are tapping on the edge of the iPad. It’s a rhythmic thing, something you do to calm yourself, and he’d noticed that pattern in you when you were much younger. 

“This whole fake dating thing was not my idea,” you snap finally.

“Yeah, wasn’t mine either. We both have PR managers.”

You roll your eyes, letting out another exasperated sound of annoyance. 

Jaehyun kind of likes poking at you like this. He’d been worried that you’d be super anal about this whole project, and while you’re definitely fighting for control, he likes to jab you where your guard is down. It feels like a win to him, and deep in Jaehyun’s core, he knows it’s not a nice thing to do, but he simply can’t help himself.

You have a history, years of interactions and bickering- he hasn’t seen you in a long time, but getting on your nerves is as easy as it’s always been, and that schoolboy enjoyment from picking on you is as potent as it ever was. 

Three:

You’re a couple of hours into your day, and you’re doing some shots with horses now. You’d chosen Hwasa as your director, she’s a visionary in the type of aesthetic you want, and you’ve worked with her numerous times before. She’s very girl power, which is what you love, and you also enjoy the fact that she sees this as a collaboration.

You’ve worked with male directors in the past who think your music video is about showing their vision, and in your early days as a teen, you hadn’t been able to find your voice. Now, as an adult, you have the final say on everything, and Hwasa is the best partner you could think of for a project like this.

The two of you are by the cameras, making sure the shot will be good. The horses are just hanging out with their trainers, and Jaehyun’s a few meters away under the sun tent, waiting for direction.

“So… I’m thinking…” you look at Jaehyun, then at the saddles on the horses, “What if we try a shot with bareback.”

Hwasa casts you a sideways glance. “I mean… visually, I think that would be nicer, it would encapsulate freedom, but at the same time… is Jaehyun skilled enough to mount while bareback?”

“He’s an actor isn’t he?” You turn to look at Jaehyun. God, you can’t wait for him to fall off the horse and eat shit. “Jae!”

He’s sitting in a chair, his head tipped back, cowboy hat obscuring his face. The sound of your voice makes him sit up, his fingers pushing the rim of the hat up so he can look at you.

“Come over here!” Hwasa calls.

He nods, standing then swaggering over to you. He’s having way too much fun in his little cowboy outfit for your liking. “What’s up?”

“How do you feel about trying this scene on bareback?” Hwasa asks.

Jaehyun looks at the two of you, then over at the horse. “We can give it a go.”

You try to hide your smile, God, this is going to be so satisfying.

Hwasa goes to consult with the safety guys and trainers, who take off the saddle, then talk Jaehyun through how to mount a horse without the aid of stirrups. He nods nonchalantly, as smug as ever.

The scene gets ready, with you and Hwasa behind the camera. “Action!” she calls.

Jaehyun approaches the horse. He stops next to it, stroking it’s hair. You watch him get a gentle grip, and then, in one fluid motion, he hoists himself up, swinging his leg over the horse’s back before steadying himself into a seated position. He guides the horse by its hair to make a neat circle, looking like the most skilled cowboy ever, then he turns and flashes you that smug smile of his as Hwasa yells “cut!”

“That was amazing,” Hwasa tells you. “God, Jaehyun was such a good choice for this.”

“Really? How so?” you ask.

“Just, I know he’s not a stereotypical salt of the earth man. He’s not all American, he’s not a cowboy with a five o'clock shadow- this… dichotomy of visuals versus lyrical interpretation, how any man can be the right man if given the chance, despite all these stereotypes-” 

You can feel your expression fall. Sometimes you hate how artsy Hwasa is, with her bachelor's in English and her way with words and interpretations. You can’t argue with her analysis, because if that’s what she gets out of the visual of Jaehyun flawlessly mounting a horse bareback, then that’s her view of it. 

“Do you want to try to mount bareback too?” Hwasa asks, drawing herself out of her musings to focus on the scenes she wants in the time allotted. 

You release a sigh. “I guess we can give it a try.”

“If it’s too dangerous-”

“If Jae can do it, I can too,” you insist, not wanting to be one-upped by him. 

You’re in a long flowy silver dress with a slit up the thigh, and you remove your white overcoat. Jenni, your makeup artist double-checks you, and you’re handed your flashy disco-ball-styled cowboy hat. 

The safety team and trainers give you a talk about how to mount the horse, and after listening carefully, you feel ready to take on the task. 

Your horse is black, and your outfit is meant to be a contrast. It’s a beautiful horse, and when Hwasa calls ‘Action!’ you approach it carefully. You can feel your heart racing in your chest, and you stop next to the large animal, stroking it for a moment while you gain the courage to try to mount it.

As you make the leap, hoisting yourself up- Jaehyun calls out, “Don’t slip!”

And of course, that’s exactly what happens. Your leg can’t get a grip over the horse, you trip up a little with the silky material of your dress, and just like that, you’re back on the ground with two feet, sending a death glare over your shoulder at Jaehyun.

“It was a nice effort!” Hwasa encourages you. 

“Not many people get it on their first try,” a trainer agrees.

You watch Jaehyun smile smugly, and an annoyance unlike any you’ve ever experienced fills you as he meticulously watches you try to complete the scene. 

Four: 

It’s near the end of your first day of filming. Hwasa had decided on a one day permit for the horses in the desert, opting to get all the scenes involving the large, beautiful animals done in one big go, and now, she’s explaining the final shots she needs to you and Jaehyun.

“So, we’re skipping through the linear timeline a little right now,” your director explains. “This is one of the final shots of the music video, so we’re going to imagine that at this point, the two of you are completely in love.” You and Jaehyun exchange a look. “You’re riding on horseback in the desert. We want bliss, joy, a comfortable kind of peace that comes when you can truly be yourself with another person, a freedom.”

She gazes pointedly at you and Jaehyun.

“I think we can manage,” you scene partner says, but there’s an edge of hesitation in his voice.

“We’re thinking ‘Ride’ by Lana Del Rey, but instead of motorcycles, you’re on horses. Think about how effortless she looked, how devil-may-care,” Hwasa, ever the Lana Del Rey enthusiast, explains. “You know her song ‘Young and Beautiful?’ There’s a line, ‘Hot summer nights, mid July, when you and I were forever wild.’ Do you guys have that?” 

You love that Hwasa enjoys poetic music, it’s one of the reasons you’d been so drawn to her when you wanted to shift out of your role as a child star turned pop icon. Hwasa had been adamant about the Lana Del Rey stylings that she wanted to influence ‘Model Cowboy,’ the American Dream, wild and poetic love. 

However, with all that said, you’d never imagined Lana Del Rey would be tainted by the imaginings of Jaehyun as your lover, and it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

You’ve already gone over blocking, and Hwasa’s explained the drones and cameras set up to take the shots, so now, all that’s left to do, is get through the day.

Jaehyun can tell you’re lost in thought, he can see the dissatisfied look on your face, but before he can call you on it, Johnny pulls him to the side.

“Good luck with this one,” Johnny muses, patting him on the shoulder. “And don’t fall off your horse, you’ve got to be in Milan in a couple of days for the big Prada show.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jaehyun brushes his manager off. “I’ve got this.”

“That’s my little go-getter actor,” Johnny grins, having scored a goldmine when he landed Jaehyun as his client, despite being a very young and new manager in the industry. “Be the Model Cowboy you always wanted to be.”

Jaehyun takes a deep breath before joining you. “You ready?” he asks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh. 

“Okay guys, we’re in love!” Hwasa bellows. “We’ve got this! And… action!”

Your expression immediately changes, suddenly, you’re grinning, in fact, you’re glowing. It takes a second for Jaehyun to follow your lead, but then, the two of you are playfighting and tickling, laughing like young lovers who are tasting what it feels like to have found their soulmate for the very first time. 

Jaehyun knows the blocking, he knows when to wrap his arms around you after a few feet of chasing, when to lift you up and spin you as you laugh and gently kick. He knows when to set you down, going in for a kiss only for you to break free and dart to your horse, effortlessly swinging yourself up onto the black stallion and taking off.

Jaehyun is right behind you, mounting his own white horse and following.

He does his best to keep an easy going, loving expression, and at first, it’s a little difficult. But, as more seconds of the two of you riding through the desert go by, Jaehyun remembers the way he felt about you when you first met.

You’d been just kids then. Two young teens still growing into your bodies, into your personalities. He remembers how beautiful you’d been, even then, how your smile had lit up the room, as it does now when you turn your head to look over your shoulder at him, making sure the distance between you is still correct.

Of course it’s correct, if you want to be anal, Jaehyun can be anal too, and he’s not going to give you any reason to nitpick after the day he’s had. 

No, Jaehyun’s an actor. He’s a professional.

In fact, he’s a Model Cowboy as he chases you through the desert on horseback. 

God, the way you’re looking back at him- you’ve really grown into your looks, and Jaehyun’s not making things up when he says you’re glowing. The golden hour sun is hitting you just right, and suddenly, Jaehyun’s heart is racing. He feels alive, he feels- as if this whole thing is real. He forgets the cameras for just a few moments, getting lost in the experience of being young, wild, and free, with you. 

Something shifts inside of him, although, Jaehyun’s so enthralled with you that he can’t quite pin what’s just taken place.

The scene is over all too quickly, the two of you making your blocking mark at the bottom of one of the rocky cliff faces that litter Joshua Tree National Park. You slow your horse, coming to a stop, your expression falling.

Jaehyun feels his own smile drop as he stops next to you. He swallows thickly, not knowing quite what to say, so, he decides to note, “Wow, your acting has really improved!”

He means it as a compliment, but your expression turns even more sour, and he knows he’s messed up.

“Well that’s a back handed compliment if I’ve ever heard one,” you scowl.

“I-” Jaehyun’s words get caught in his throat, and he has to swallow a lump just to continue, “I meant it in a good way, I was trying to be nice.” 

“If that was you trying to be nice, it makes sense why you can’t keep a girlfriend for more than a month or so,” you snap.

Jaehyun’s chest hurts, and he stares at you in shock. It’s all the more painful, because in some ways, what you’ve just said is true. He’s used to only dating models, people in the industry who aren’t as successful as he is. He’s only ever entered relationships where there’s a power imbalance, and he supposes in a situation like that, any negative feedback could be biting- yet, it’s different with you.

You’re the one with the power here, and it’s clear you won’t take any criticisms from him. You stand up for yourself, in a way no woman ever has around Jaehyun.

As he watches you lead your horse away, signaling the end of the interaction, Jaehyun realizes maybe he kind of likes that you’re very powerful in your own right. Maybe he likes a woman who can defend herself and doesn’t just take what the world throws at her.

Maybe… just maybe, after all this time, he likes you. 

Five: 

The locations crew had found a really cool oldstyle cowboy motel for everyone to stay at. It had been relatively inexpensive compared to other filming location lodgings in the past, and renting the whole place, including the mess hall, for four days had been the obvious choice.

You’re sitting with Mark and Hwasa, all three of you have trays of food from the buffet, but none of you are focused on eating. Hwasa has her iPad out, and she’s going through the shots of the day with Mark. You remind yourself when you peak at the screen that there’s still a lot of editing to do, but so far, it’s looking quite good. 

Your stylist, Jenni, is also with you, and she’s capturing the majority of your attention as she shows you pictures of the costumes set for tomorrow. Your long silver dress is being swapped out for a pink palette upscale cowgirl aesthetic, with Jaehyun in creams and blues to match the lighter blush colours. 

You notice Jaehyun walk into the large dining area. He and his manager, Johnny, head straight for the food, and they tilt their heads together, thick as thieves out of ear shot.

When they’re done filling their trays, they begin to head to a table, and that’s when Hwasa calls them over. “Rough shots,” she explains. “Jae, you sit next to y/n and I’ll show you both some of the details.”

You flash Jenni a look, hating that she has to move over for the model to sit.

Jaehyun is awkward as he does so, apologizing to Jenni, which is his only saving grace.

When he settles, your shoulders are touching, and he leans closer to get a look at the iPad that Hwasa is holding. Hwasa doesn’t show all the shots, just her favourites, and you have to admit, the visuals are stunning even before any editing for light and colour.

Then, Hwasa shows you all the footage from the last scene you’d shot, the one with you and Jaehyun playfighting then leaping on horses.

“This is so good,” Hwasa tells you. “You both look so natural on horses, the drone shots are perfect, and the golden hour? Stunning.” 

While all of that is true, you’re more focused on how in love you and Jaehyun look. It’s weird to be seeing you and Jaehyun like this. It’s almost out of body, or doppleganger realm, because how the heck did you manage to look so happy and in love with Jeong Jaehyun of all people?

You feel the actor shift next to you, and you get the sense that he’s uncomfortable with it as well… however, out of the two of you, he has way more experience on screen. You guess you shouldn’t be shocked that he looks very much in love, he gets paid big money to sell those emotions.

“Anyways,” Hwasa sighs, “y/n, tomorrow morning, we shoot sunrise and into the afternoon, then Jaehyun, the latter half of the day is us at the ranch for some more ‘classic’ cowboy scenes.”

“Sounds good,” Jaehyun mumbles. With one last nod of appreciation, he stands up, and it’s as if he can’t get to another table fast enough. 

Six: 

They’ve been shooting Jaehyun’s cowboy scenes for a couple of hours when he notices your arrival on set. You’re not in the pink costume he’d heard about you wearing this morning, and you’re not all dolled up either.

You’re in a light jacket and jean shorts, a more relaxed look, and yet, you’re still stunning.

You’re next to Hwasa, looking at camera angles and shots, and while you seem to be making a few notes to the director, Jaehyun appreciates that you aren’t trying to micromanage him yourself. 

Shooting continues for another hour, and Hwasa calls a short break so she can figure out what else needs to be done today while they have the ranch.

At first, Jaehyun just goes and grabs a water. Johnny is hyping him up, but the actor is hardly paying attention, his gaze focused on you instead. 

Jaehyun can’t help himself, he walks over to you. You look up from Hwasa like a deer in headlights, and something about it is very endearing. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, can I uh… talk to you for a sec?” Jaehyun asks.

“You know what? Yeah, that’s a good idea,” you nod, “come with me.”

You grab his arm, dragging him away. Jaehyun’s a little confused as to where you’re taking him, and when he finds himself in the privacy of a secluded location behind his trailer, he’s even more confounded. 

“Uh….” he starts, wetting his lips.

“What did you need?”

“I was just… guess I was wondering what you were doing here? Didn’t your shoot finish a couple of hours ago? Figured you’d be getting some rest at the motel.”

“It’s my music video,” you remind him. “Also… management thought it would be good to let tabloids get some shots of us shooting today, that’s why I pulled you over here, we allowed them the field of view to your trailer.”

“So that’s why you took me to such a secluded spot,” Jaehyun grins. 

“It’s the only reason I touched your arm,” you retort.

“Careful, don’t look so angry,” Jaehyun warns you, his hands reaching out to grab your hips and pull you closer. “Wouldn’t want to mess up your tabloid shots.”

You roll your eyes. “Tabloid won’t be on the property till after your last take in an hour or so. Don’t jump the gun, cowboy. After your next scene, you can be as much of a little model slut as you’d like.”

“You think I’m a slut?” Jaehyun asks, shocked that you’re talking to him in this way.

“Am I wrong?”

Jaehyun stands there for a moment, and then, he releases his grip on your hips. “Guess not.”

“So, after you’re done the next scene, we come here, and see if we can pretend to like each other,” you instruct. 

“We just have to be as convincing as we were yesterday,” Jaehyun muses.

You open your mouth to respond, but then you shut it, and Jaehyun’s left wondering what you would have said for the next hour.

He wonders how far you’ll let him take things, and part of him wishes you’d answered his question about boundaries yesterday. This feels like uncharted waters, and his heart is racing when he finally meets you behind his trailer again. 

“Okay,” you sigh. “Do your worst.”

Jaehyun feels himself begin to salivate, and he swallows thickly. There’s no way he’ll do his worst. His worst, would be throwing you against the trailer and having his way with you right here and now- asserting his dominance and seeing if you push back in any way- he suspects you like him more than you let on, after all, Jaehyun’s never met a girl he couldn’t tame.

Life’s hard when you have a stunning face and a hot body to match. 

Jaehyun reaches for your hips, pulling you closer. His skin is tingling with excitement. “I’m going to say something funny, and you should laugh,” he whispers.

You grin broadly, but the expression doesn’t meet your eyes. “Depends on if what you say is funny or not,” you counter. 

Jaehyun’s mind suddenly goes blank. His pick-up lines, his jokes- they all fly out the proverbial window. He doesn’t know what to say, so instead, he begins to lean in-

You turn your head at the last second and Jaehyun’s lips graze past your cheek. He’s a little taken aback at first, but he leans into it, reminding himself that you’d told him to improv. “Is this okay?” he whispers in your ear, still wanting to double-check with you although every fiber of his being is telling him to just do what he wants.

“It’s okay,” you respond, wrapping your arms loosely around the back of his neck. “You’re the actor.”

For some reason, it feels like a compliment that you’re making the distinction between the two of you. You’re right, he’s the actor, and you’re the Grammy award-winning singer.

His lips continue softly on your cheek, and then he adjusts, pressing kisses down to your throat. You shift in his embrace, tilting your head to the side to give him more access.

“Jae-” you warn.

“Just a few more, for the tabloids,” he whispers, nuzzling into your neck moreso than kissing now.

You release a sigh, and with your chests pressed together, Jaehyun can feel your heart racing.

He wonders if you can feel his going a mile a minute too. 

Seven: 

You eat in your room with Mark, too shaken up by your interaction with Jaehyun earlier to dare enter the mess hall yourself. 

“So, I was just sent the tabloid pictures for final approval,” Mark sighs, joining you on the bed so you can see his phone. “They’ll be up in the morning.”

“Just choose your favourites,” you murmur.

“Uh…” Mark blinks at you. “I really think you should look at them with me.”

You take a deep breath. “Fine.” 

Shifting your gaze to Mark’s phone, he scrolls through the shots, and you hate how natural they look. You and Jaehyun just look good together, and it sets your teeth on edge.

“The cheek kissing is cute,” Mark says thoughtfully. “The way you’re holding each other looks real.” 

It looks too real, in fact.

“I’m just happy we have opposing shoot schedules tomorrow,” you admit with another deep breath. You can see Mark side-eying you, and you hold up a hand before he can respond. “Don’t say a word.” 

“It’s just…” Mark struggles at times to surpass your commands. He’s your assistant first and foremost, but your company also expects him to have somewhat of a managerial role over you, and you know it’s a fight for him to find balance at times. “Everyone has shipped the two of you since you were younger. People say it’s like Britney and Justin in the Mickey Mouse Club House show- then you were teenagers, and you went different directions-” 

“Well, Britney and Justin didn’t end up together, did they?” It’s a rhetorical question, and from the way Mark sighs, he knows it.

“You’re missing the point,” he struggles.

You turn your gaze to him. “Am I?”

Mark releases a breath, dropping the issue. You feel bad shutting him down like this, but at the same time, you don’t want to open the can of ‘Jaehyun’ worms, if you will. No, you’d much rather ignore it for right now.

You’re filming a music video for your new album, and you have much bigger fish to fry. 

Eight: 

If Jaehyun wasn’t needed for business calls with Johnny today, he might be on set watching you, and Jaehyun can’t get it out of his head as he chills in his motel room and listens to his manager working.

It’s three hours into calls and details before Johnny is able to take a break, and he sets down his phone with a pointed look on his face. “You’re being weird.”

“Am I?” Jaehyun lets out a small laugh, but there’s little humor in it.

“Talk to me,” Johnny says lightly, giving an air of friendship despite the fact that he’s still in his role as manager. “Talk to me about this whole PR, fake dating thing.” 

Jaehyun shrugs. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Those fake tabloid pictures of you and y/n from yesterday on set dropped an hour ago, they’re trending on Twitter,” Johnny points out.

“It’s called ‘X’ now, actually.” 

Johnny narrows his eyes. “I’m never going to call it ‘X.’ It’s fucking Twitter.” 

Jaehyun can’t help but laugh, for real this time. He loves Johnny, loves him for all of his little millennial quirks.

“Honestly?” Jaehyun sighs, feeling his energy sift again. “Y/N’s super uptight, but… she can act like she’s not, and that’s a different side of her that I wasn’t really expecting.” 

Johnny is quiet for a few moments. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it.”

“That song from her first album, ‘Forget About Him,’ was that written about you? Is there a past here?”

“Nah, it wasn’t about me,” Jaehyun assures his manager. “As far as I know, she’s never been interested in me like that. We had this other costar, Haechan-”

“Lee Donghyuck?”

“Yeah, him. They uh, I think there was something there between them, for a little while at least.”

Jaehyun can feel Johnny’s assessing gaze, and he averts his own eyes. 

“It almost seems like you’re jealous, Jae.”

“Yeah, well, Haechan never went on to become a brand ambassador for Prada or star in movies, he was just some little child star.” Jaehyun can taste the bitterness in his words, but he can’t help himself. 

“You know who’s not just a child star?” Johnny asks. “Y/N. You two are, without argument, the most successful people to come out of the show you were in when you were younger.”

“We’re both very driven,” Jaehyun admits. “I do admire that about her, she has a Grammy for fucks sake.”  

“What I’m getting from this,” Johnny concludes, “is that you’re completely fine with this whole fake dating arrangement.”

“Well, as my manager, you should know I’m a good actor,” Jaehyun counters.

Johnny laughs. “Sure you are. Tomorrow is the last day of shooting, you’ve got that big kissing scene, I guess we’ll all see how good of an actor you are then.” 

Nine: 

There’s something comical about the fact that both you and Jaehyun are chewing gum in preparation for your kissing scene. Together, you’re with Hwasa as she goes over the vision for the shot. 

“So, we’re thinking Jae’s going to grab your neck,” Hwasa starts, “gently, of course. More of a cupping the nape of your neck than a grab, actually. It’s going to be slow, a slow exploration of moving closer. Lots of close-ups of the two of you gazing into each other’s eyes. It’s about breaking the distance, about two worlds colliding and connecting in a way that feels natural, unrushed, and just, electric.” 

Jaehyun nods, looking at you. “We can do this.” You wish you were as sure as he sounds right now.

Jaehyun takes out a tissue, and the two of you spit out your gum, disposing the trash before moving into position.

The shot is on the edge of a cliff, with the desert and sunset stretching out like a vast, yellowy-orange ocean behind you. 

It’s as you approach your marked spot that you remember something. “Jae,” you ask softly, “are you still afraid of heights?” 

You watch him take a deep breath, and he nods, standing a few feet from the drop-off. You notice he’s looking everywhere but down, and something inside of you softens for him.

Here you are, worried about the kiss, and here this man is, worried about falling off the edge of a cliff and dying. 

“We’ve got some space between us and the edge,” you tell him, stepping closer. “Here, grab my hips, we’re both steady, we’re not going to fall.”

Jaehyun’s lips part, and you can see the confusion on his face.

You suppose you’ve never been nurturing to him, but you can’t help yourself with this. You don’t mean to be a bitch, in fact, you’d argue adamantly that you’re not a malicious person. Jaehyun just pisses you off a lot, and his behavior generally merits a reaction- but right now, he deserves a bit of peace of mind, and you can see him relax a little as his hands grab your waist.

“Feels more steady?” you double-check.

“Yeah.” He swallows thickly, nodding. 

“We’ve got this,” you assure him.

“Are we ready!?” Hwasa calls.

You flash a thumbs up, turning your attention back to Jaehyun.

“And… action!”

The two of you simply stare at each other for a moment. Hwasa had said she wanted this to be slow. You’re shocked at how exposed you feel looking up into Jaehyun’s eyes. He really is a very handsome man, and he looks so extremely vulnerable right now.

His gaze shifts to your lips, and you allow him to take the lead. One of his hands moves up your body, cupping the back of your neck gently. You can smell the spearmint on his breath, as he moves closer.

You maintain eye contact until the moment your lips meet, and then, you do your best to just relax, to forget about the cameras pointed at you. You allow yourself to melt into the kiss, following Jaehyun’s motions, following the gentle notes that soon become more heated.

His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and on instinct, you open your mouth for him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to pull him closer. 

You try to convince yourself that you’re leaning into this for the sake of the scene, that you’re just being good actors together, but there’s something underneath it all. There’s a desperation. You can almost taste it below the spearmint on his tongue. 

It feels good to be kissing Jaehyun, and the realization makes you break the kiss, opening your eyes and blinking in an effort to get yourself out of the daze that’s come over you. 

“That was amazing!” Hwasa’s voice is like a slap. “I’ve got some shots, but I’ll need you guys to do it one more time.”

Jesus. 

“You good?” Jaehyun asks.

You nod, swallowing thickly. “Let’s just go again.”

You’re kissing him again all too soon, and this time, it’s like fireworks. Your heart is racing in your chest, your skin electrified as you cling to Jaehyun, diving deeper into the feeling of him.

This time, he’s the one to break the kiss, and he looks away immediately. You notice him breathing heavily, but before you can say anything, Hwasa’s approaching again.

“Okay, that was amazing, and I hate to be that person, but I’ve decided I want drone shots too, so… third time is the charm?” She looks between you and Jaehyun and both of you are quick to nod, although, neither of you has yet found your voice.

“You good?” you ask him as Hwasa goes back to her spot, her main drone lifting into the sky with an electric thrum.

“Yeah, just one more,” Jaehyun says, voice wavering.

The two of you get back into position, and you study Jaehyun carefully. You’re looking at him, truly looking at him, and he’s looking at you with the same fierceness. You can tell something has shifted between the two of you, but at this time, you’re unsure how deep it really is.

He kisses you again on Hwasa’s direction, and you wonder how normal it is to feel this way during a kissing scene with a fellow acting partner.

You’ve never had to do this before, but you know Jaehyun has. He’s been in two or three rom-coms, there must be a way to stay professional after kissing a costar, right? 

But God, he still feels so good.

You’d thought - or maybe hoped - that the first kiss would be a one-off. That the second wouldn’t be as great, and by now, maybe the butterflies would have escaped the cage in your tummy, but no, the feeling surging through you is as powerful and electric as it had been with the first meeting of your lips. 

He leaves you breathless.

Standing on the edge of the cliff with Jaehyun, you realize you’re in deep shit. 

Ten: 

Jaehyun notices you in the mess hall. You’re looking over food, plating up your dinner, and he decides now is as good a time as any to talk to you. 

He doesn’t mean to be a quiet, sneaky sort of guy, but he can’t help the lightness of his walk. When he goes to stand next to you, saying “Hi,” you practically jump, your food stray scrambling a little as you compose yourself.

“Jesus,” you cuss. “You scared me!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… uh, the shoot is over, I head to Milan tomorrow-”

“Yup, I know your schedule,” you nod, sighing. “It’s in our contract that I come to your show and be front row to watch you, remember?”

“Right, yeah.” Jaehyun swallows thickly. “So… reporters are going to be asking a lot of questions about us.”

“Uh huh, that was the point of the paparazzi pics.” You continue filling your tray with food, so unbothered and cool in your movements that it makes Jaehyun’s heart beat faster. Are you unaffected by your kiss from earlier? Because Jaehyun can’t get the feeling of your lips out of his mind. 

“I just uh, wanted to say, you can trust me to give the right answers and stuff. I’m PR trained.”

God, Jaehyun wants to strangle himself. He feels so nervous, and the look you give him tells him that you think he’s being a dork. He’s definitely being a dork-

“Okay?” you laugh. “I’m PR trained too, we both took classes when we were kids, remember?” 

“Right,” he’s such an idiot, “yeah. Anyways, I guess… I guess I’ll see you in Milan in a couple of days.” 

“Sounds good.”

With one final nod, Jaehyun leaves you be, and he beats himself up about the awkwardness of the conversation for the rest of the night. 

Eleven:

In this week's news, our favourite kids’ show alumni were spotted getting close on set. y/n’s new music video, Model Cowboy, is set to be one of the videos of the summer, starring Prada ambassador Jung Jaehyun. The two have a long history, and while there have been rumors about their romantic connection in the past, nothing has ever been confirmed… until now.

TMZ dropped a photo of the two embracing outside Jaehyun’s trailer, and the internet officially broke. #modelcowboy has been going absolutely wild on X. One user wrote: “all my dreams are finally coming true! Thank you mama e papa!” While another took to X to say this: “At first, I didn’t love Jaehyun as the whole ‘model cowboy’ trope. He just doesn’t fit it for me. But I don’t know, something about the pictures of him and y/n just feels right- guess you don’t need a history as a rancher to be a cowboy, he’s definitely lassoed my heart.“

So far, the general consensus around our new ‘It Couple’ is that it’s been a long time coming. While there’s no official confirmation about their relationship, one of our reporters caught Jaehyun after a show in Milan last night. When asked about their time shooting the music video together, the actor/Prada ambassador had this to say about y/n: “She was amazing. The whole experience [filming Model Cowboy] went without a hitch. She’s super talented, one of the most driven women I know, and I can’t wait to see how this music video pans out for her.”

When asked about the pictures of the two of them that have been trending, Jaehyun said: “I mean, she’s beautiful, she’s an icon- who wouldn’t want a chance with her?” When the reporter clarified by asking if they’re dating, Jaehyun noted, “You’ll have to ask y/n, I’d never be ‘that’ guy who would speak for a powerful woman like her.” 

All we can say is damn, that’s a green flag if we’ve ever seen one. 

Stay tuned for all things celebrity drama and news on our website, or follow us on Instagram and Snapchat for daily updates. 

Twelve: 

There’s nothing like the closing night of a show. Jaehyun feels elated, he feels on the top of his game, like nothing could bring him down. 

“You were amazing,” another model tells him, fluffing her hair up with her hand as the two of them decompress backstage. 

“You were amazing, Vivienne,” he retorts, never feeling more giddy and boyish than he does now. 

“I’m good, but I’m not model of the year good,” she grins. 

“You’re still new,” Jaehyun assures her, although, pride is swelling through him.

He sees her skin flush, her eye lashes fluttering at him-

“Jae?” your voice draws him out of his assessment of Vivienne, and he turns in shock to find you standing there.

You look stunning, your stylist team has really outdone themselves with your looks for the past couple of days- but there’s a sour set to your lips that immediately tells him something is wrong.

“Y/N?” he asks.

“Am I… interrupting something?” your gaze shifts to Vivienne, and Jaehyun immediately understands what’s going on.

“Excuse us,” he says to Vivienne, grabbing your hand to tug you a few feet away. His voice lowers when he asks, “Are you jealous right now?”

“No,” you retort immediately. “What reason would I have to be jealous?”

You’re making a big show about the notion of jealousy being ridiculous, but Jaehyun knows he’s hit the nail on the head. 

“No reason at all,” Jaehyun assures you, and he truly means it. He knows this whole dating this is a PR move, but he hasn’t been able to get you out of his head all week. Every time he’s walked past you sitting front row at the shows- well, he’s been feeling butterflies in a way that he’s hardly been able to admit to himself. “Hey, listen-”

“No, you listen,” you cut him off. “Your show is over, we both fly different places tomorrow morning, management will set our schedules to keep up this whole fake dating thing, I just wanted to say goodbye before I go back to my hotel.” 

“Oh, right.” Jaehyun can feel his heart sink in his chest. “Uh… where are you staying?”

“I’m at the Four Seasons.”

“Do you maybe want to get drinks later or something?” he asks.

“I’m sure you have after parties to go to with your… model friends.” Your gaze shifts to Vivienne again, and that same sour twist to your lips appears.

Jaehyun wants to reassure you, but- the words just aren’t coming. Besides, what would he even say? We’re fake dating but I’ve been rethinking our entire dynamic since we kissed and now I’m not so sure I want it to be fake, because I’m actually really into you, and all of our bickering in the past has been because I’m jealous of your driven nature and I’ve seen you as competition but now I see that we can do more together than apart?

It feels like a lot of word vomit, and Jaehyun’s not about to projectile all of that at you right now. He doesn’t want to look stupid again, doesn’t want to feel like an idiot. He’s scared of rejection, in a way he’s never been scared of it before. 

Instead, dejected, he just nods. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Okay, so you go have fun, I’m going back to my hotel, and like I said, I’ll see you when I see you.”

Jaehyun watches you leave, and suddenly, the high from the fashion show has depleted. No one has ever had this kind of hold on his emotions before, and Jaehyun knows he’s going to have to do something about it, he just doesn’t know what. 

Thirteen: 

“Jeeze, Mark, I told you, I’m going to bed-” Your words cut off as you open your hotel door and find Jaehyun, not Mark, standing there.

“Uh… Hi?” Jaehyun smile sheepishly, and you look him up and down.

He’s in a form fitting suit, but it looks somewhat ragged. His shirt is unbuttoned haphazardly, his hair a little fussed, and his cheeks are flushed pink. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Well, I went to the afterparty, like you told me to, but… I don’t know, I just felt bad about how we left things.”

You’re shocked at how candid he’s being, and you don’t see a hint of dishonestly in his body language. “Have… have you been drinking?” you question next.

“Just a little,” he admits. “Can I…” Jaehyun looks around the hallway outside. “Can I come in?”

“I should really be going to sleep soon-”

“Yeah, I heard, Mark’s been on your ass,” Jaehyun nods, swallowing, “but uh…” he leans forward, voice lowering, “What’s that pipsqueak going to do about you staying up just a little later? I mean, you can sleep on your flight tomorrow, can’t you?” 

Yeah, Jaehyun is drunk. “Did you just call Mark a pipsqueak?” you ask in shock.

“So what if I did?” He grins lazily. 

“Jae-”

“y/n.”

You sigh. “Come in, sit down, and let me grab you some water.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His smile is much too large for your liking as he enters your hotel room, going to the couch like a good boy. 

You can feel his eyes on you as you get him a bottle of water from the fridge, moving to join him. “Here.”

“Thanks.” He unscrews the cap as you sit down, taking a large gulp.

“So… what’s this about?”

He’s still drinking the water, like a child after a marathon, just drinking and drinking with small stops to gasp for air- you can’t help but laugh a little, watching with amusement.

Jaehyun finishes the entire bottle. “So-” He takes a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“Making you jealous earlier.”

“What?” You’re in shock. “I was not jealous.” 

“You were, and it’s okay.” He places his hand on your knee and you look down at it then up at him questioningly. “I was jealous of you and Haechan back in the day, but the difference is, I wasn’t hitting on Vivienne, I was just trying to be nice to her, you know, as male model of the year and everything.”

“Jae-”

“I wasn’t hitting on her,” he says again, expression turning firm. “You’re my girlfriend and I’d never, ever do that to you.”

“I’m not your girlfriend.”

“Contractually, you are,” Jaehyun insists. “I can be a good boyfriend to you, if you let me try.”

He’s leaning in now, and you grab a pillow, haphazardly shoving it between the two of you so he can kiss that instead.

“Jae!” You hop off of the couch, heart racing.

“Shit, sorry, you’re just- God, have I ever told you that you glow?” Jaehyun looks up at you with an expression you’ve never seen on him, it’s almost like admiration.

“What are you even saying?”

“You glow. You light up the room. You just- you sparkle, even without disco balls and diamonds.”

You wrap your silky night robe tighter around your body, feeling self conscious. “I don’t glow.”

“You do,” he insists. “Even when we were younger. I think- I think part of me always worried your glow would diminish mine, if that makes sense- but, but after seeing some of the footage from the music video, I see that, now that we’re older, when we do stuff together, when we’re not competing, we can glow together.”

So he’s like… very drunk.

But… haven’t you always heard that drunk words are sober thoughts?

You look down at him, and it feels like you’re seeing him in a new light. 

“Jae?” you question.

“Yes?”

“What’s going on?”

“When we kissed that day on set, I felt something.”

“Are you… not used to feeling things?” you ask.

“Not feeling things like that,” Jaehyun corrects. “I mean, butterflies, sparks, you know, corny rom com shit.”

Your stomach flips, heart beginning to beat faster in your chest- so he’d felt the connection too.

“Look, okay, this is going to be embarrassing if you reject me, but, fuck it, I want to get this all off my chest.” Jaehyun takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his silky hair to steady himself. “I like you. I think, a part of me has always liked you, but, I also used to see you as competition. Now that we’re older, now that we’re both successful, I don’t see you that way anymore- and before you think that’s another backhanded compliment, I just mean, you’ve won Grammys. You’re- a fucking star. And I think… maybe I’ve grown to the point where I can accept other people’s successes without seeing it as a diminishment on my own.”

You’re surprised he can speak this well and use big words while clearly feeling the effects of alcohol, and even more than that, you’re surprised by the context of what he’s saying. 

Jeong Jaehyun thinks you’re a star. He recognizes your hard work and your success. He’s not just some smug asshole looking down at you, he’s actually seeing you, and maybe… maybe you’re beginning to see him. 

“I appreciate the compliment of what you’re saying,” you tell him, picking your own words carefully. 

“There’s that PR training,” Jaehyun winks. “You’re cute. Glowy, little, cute, superstar. Maybe that’s what I should call you, my little superstar, the media would eat it up.”

“That’s your PR training,” you laugh. 

“We can’t help it,” he smiles up at you.

“Can I say something without you getting upset?”

“I’ll do my best,” Jaehyun promises solemnly.

“I want to start by saying this isn’t a rejection,” you clarify, “I just wish you would have told me all of this while sober, instead of showing up at my apartment near midnight before we both fly out of town in the morning.”

“I can see that,” Jaehyun nods. “I guess, you kind of scare me.”

“I scare you?” you laugh. 

“Uh huh.” He swallows thickly. “Like heights.”

He’s so adorably dorky for a famous actor and Prada brand ambassador.

“But- on that cliff that day, when we kissed, and you reassured me, and you let me hold your hips- I don’t know, it was nice. I- thanks, thanks for doing that.”

“I can be quite nurturing if I think someone deserves it,” you tell him. “Which, speaking of, you’re still drunk, and you downed that whole bottle of water, I think I should get you another, and maybe we can move somewhere more comfortable.”

“Like.. the bedroom?” There’s a glint in his eye, and it makes you scoff.

“Get your mind out of the gutter Jae, you can stay on this couch for all I care.”

“I’ll be good,” he promises, crossing his heart haphazardly.

“Come on.” You hold your hand out for him and Jaehyun takes it, allowing you to help him to his feet. You go get another bottle of water and the two of you move to the bedroom. The mattress is substantially more comfortable than the couch, and Jaehyun releases an audible moan as he clammers down onto it.

You get situated, moing under the covers so you feel less exposed.

“I like it when you’re nice like this,” Jaehyun sighs.

“I’d be nicer if you didn’t always tease me.”

“You like it when I tease.”

“I actually hated it when you told me not to slip as I was getting onto the horse during the shoot, and it completely made me mess up and slip,” you point out, still irritated by that ordeal.

“Okay, to be fair, yes, I’m sorry, but also, your dress was silky as fuck, you were going to slip even if I didn’t say anything, and that’s not your fault, it’s Jenni’s for not giving you better clothes to actually ride a horse with.”

He has a point there.

“So…” Jaehyun switches topic, his demeanor getting more anxious, “back on the couch, you said you weren’t rejecting me… can you… can you explain what that meant.”

“It meant I’m not rejecting you.”

“And salt of the earth means salt of the earth,” Jaehyun retorts, rolling his eyes. “Can you give me a Mark style explanation on what you meant.”

“I meant…” you think about it for a second. “I like you too, I think you might be more into me than I’m into you at the moment-”

“Oh yeah?” he counters, crossing his arms over his chest and getting pouty.

“Yeah,” you laugh.

“Fine, okay, maybe,” Jaehyun concedes. “But?”

“But… I’m willing to explore something with you.”

“Yeah?” His expression brightens. “Really?”

“We’d just have to sort out details, you know- we’re on contract for three or so months, so, if we gave it a real go, and things ended before our contract, how would that even work? There are limitations to having a relationship with someone you work with.”

Jaehyun looks down at the water bottle in his hands, clearly thinking it through. “We can… take it slow? I mean, we’d have to, since we both have different schedules and will be in different countries tomorrow.”

“Slow could work,” you agree. 

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, and you almost think he’s going to lean in for a kiss again, and then he asks, “What did happen with you and Haechan? Your first single was about him, right?”

You release a laugh, if this is really a can of worms he wants to open, then you suppose you can let him open it.

You begin to explain to him your history with Haechan, and Jaehyun listens intently. Somehow, he gets the ball rolling on your recent relationship with Lee Jeno, and before you know it, two hours have passed with the two of you just discussing past relationships.

Jaehyun tells you about his own ex’s, about his lack of accountability and emotional maturity. He gives voice to all the trouble spots you’ve identified about him in the past, and clarity on his hopes for being better in the future.

He also noticeably sobers up, which makes you feel a lot better about having this sort of intimate conversation with him.

Soon, you’re both just laying in bed facing each other, talking about everything and anything. “Do you remember that time the catering company on set changed?” Jaehyun asks.

“Oh my god, yeah, when the higher ups wanted more vegan and vegetarian options, and it was just like, raw fruit and veggies with store bought hummus?”

“Jaemin wasn’t used to eating anything that wasn’t carbs or meat and in the middle of a take he had to run to the bathroom?” Jaehyun adds.

“Shat his pants and everything, pissed wardrobe off in a way I’ve never seen,” you giggle. “What ever happened to him?”

“I don’t keep up with many of our old castmates,” Jaehyun admits. “But I think he’s some radio show host or something now, has a segment about embarrassing first dates and stuff.”

“He always loved messy gossip,” you sigh, happy to be reminiscing in this way.

There are only a handful of people who can understand what it was like to be on a kids show in your early teens, only a few others in the world you could possibly have this conversation with.

Despite your differences, you and Jaehyun come from the same place, and it makes it easy to talk to him.

Jaehyun’s staring at you, and he pushes a strand of hair out of your face. “Should I let you sleep?” he asks. “It’s two AM.”

You’re hardly tired at this point, and now that Jae’s sober… and in your bed… your own mind has found its way into the gutter, and you’re not quite sure what to do about that.

“Can I be honest with you?” you ask.

“Always.”

“I haven’t gotten laid in a long time,” you sigh. “And… we’re flying to different places tomorrow, so maybe it’s not the best idea I’ve ever had-”

“It is,” Jaehyun interrupts you. “The best idea you’ve ever had.” You shoot him a look and Jaehyun laughs, back tracking. “I mean, your lyrics and albums are great ideas too- but I just mean… If you’re horny, then you’re horny, and I’m, well, here.” 

“I just don’t want you to feel taken advantage of.”

“Even if you’d tried to fuck me when I first walked in here, all drunk and being stupid, it still wouldn’t have been taking advantage of me.”

“I think fucking someone while they’re drunk is one of the most obvious scenarios of taking advantage of someone,” you counter.

“Okay, true, but- you know what I’m saying.” Jaehyun flashes you a knowing look. “If you want me to fuck you, I’ll fuck you.”

“That’s so romantic,” you roll your eyes. 

Jaehyun laughs, and then he sits up, looking down at you. “If you want romance, we can go shower together or something. I could… romantically wash your body, and tell you how perfect you are-”

“It’s two am, fuck that. Just kiss me.”

Jaehyun grins, then he leans over you, staring into your eyes. He’s moving slower than you thought he would, and part of you wishes he’d just ravage you like some primal animal- but no, he’s acting like he did in your music video. You can practically see adoration in his eyes, and his hand comes up to cup your cheek in a way that’s almost loving. 

“I meant it when I said that you glow,” Jaehyun says softly.

“I know you did,” you breathe, grabbing the back of his neck to draw his lips to yours.

It’s odd how familiar the two of you already are. The kiss isn’t awkward at all, but then again, your first kiss hadn’t been either.

Neither of you are trying to dominate it, you’re moving slowly, reading each other’s body language and cues. 

When his tongue gently licks your lip, you open your mouth for him, drawing him closer as the kiss deepens. 

Jaehyun shifts in your embrace, and then he’s moving to be between your legs, which spread for him. He’s on top of you now, elbows digging into the pillows while you make out like teenagers in love for the first time.

He just feels so good. 

For a long time, you’ve felt like an anxious person. You have a lot of weight on your shoulders, but when you’re kissing Jaehyun, that pressure feels lifted. Your mind goes blank as the two of you make out, your body at the forefront instead of your thoughts. 

Jaehyun slowly begins to grind down against you, and the gentle pressure on your clit has you groaning against his lips.

You feel him smirk, and then he begins to kiss down your throat, taking his time to suck gently on your skin.

One of his hands slides up your thigh, teasing the waistband of your sleeping shorts before moving back down again. He’s so warm, and you hips push up for more stimulus.

“Jae-” you whimper, threading your fingers in his hair.

“Slow, or fast?” he asks, pulling away from your throat to look down at you.

“A bit of both.”

He cocks his head to the side.

“Fast to get my clothes off, slow to explore, then make me cum,” you clarify.

Jaehyun laughs. “Whatever you want, superstar.”

Your skin tingles at the nickname, and your pussy throbs as Jaehyun begins to remove his clothes. Each button feels like an eternity to get undone, but when he slips the fabric off, you find yourself practically drooling.

He has such a perfect body, not too lean, not too muscled, just perfect. 

Then, Jaehyun begins to take off your robe and you sit up to help him. Soon, your shirt is being tugged over your head, and your nipples immediately pebble at the cool air of your hotel room.

You lay back down, staring up at him while Jaehyun takes in your body.

“Glowing,” he whispers, cupping your breast and rubbing his thumb across your nipple. 

You whimper at the sensation, and his eyes move up to your face. He’s grinning at you. “Sensitive?” he asks, gently pinching the bud.

You groan, shifting against the bed. “Yeah.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Jaehyun promises, leaning down to kiss you again.

He begins to descend to your throat again, but this time, he goes even farther down, making it to your chest. The first flick of his tongue against your nipple has you whining, and you thread your fingers through his hair again, closing your eyes to enjoy the sensation.

He continues to suck on your breasts, paying attention to both nipples. You can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter by the second, and you’re torn between loving the feeling of this and wanting something more.

It’s as if he reads you, because he pulls away from your chest, hooking his fingers in your shorts. You both adjust to allow him to get you fully naked, and then he lays down between your legs. He presses kisses along the sensitive flesh of your thighs, looking up at you.

There’d been a time in your life when you hadn’t loved eye contact during pussy eating, but there’s something so erotic about the way Jaehyun’s watching you as he brings his mouth to your core.

He kisses your clit gently, and you watch as his eyes close, his tongue swiping up your folds to taste the wet that has accumulated there.

He groans, delving deeper with his tongue, his large hands grabbing your thighs as an anchor as he begins to devour you. 

Has anyone ever eaten you out like this? Jeno wasn’t much of a giver unfortunately, and it feels like forever since you’ve had someone doing to you what Jaehyun is currently doing.

Your entire body feels alive, with each flick and suck- You’re clutching at the blankets now, moaning desperately as he works you up faster than any man before him ever has.

You guess you hadn’t put a time limit on making you cum. You’d told him fast to undress, which he did, slow to explore, which he also did- and now, it seems he’s intent on making you cum on his tongue, which is something you have no issues with.

“Jae-” you whimper, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair.

He looks up at you and you begin to move your hips, riding his face. He stays still, letting you use him, and you can tell from the groan he releases that he kind of likes you taking control in this way.

“I’m close,” you tell him. “Please make me cum.”

Jaehyun’s fingers dig into your thighs, and then he’s back at it. He takes lead again, sucking your clit into his mouth while you cry out and grab the sheets with your free hand.

Your eyes close, your back arching a little as he works you closer and closer to the edge.

It’s a steady build of pleasure, and then, you’re tipping over. You release a strangled gasp as ecstasy courses through you like electric shocks from the tip of your head down to your toes and fingers.

You can feel your pussy contracting with pleasure, a steady rhythm that prolongs the sensation. Jaehyun continues to suck on your clit, helping you through everything until you’re a gasping mess.

He relents, and you can hear him sit up. Your eyes are still closed, one hand now haphazardly thrown across your eyes as you try to catch your breath.

The sound of Jaehyun’s pants hitting the floor draws your attention, and you look up to find Jaehyun standing there in all his glory.

“Still want to do this?” he asks.

“Get over here,” you command, opening your arms for him.

Jaehyun flashes you a grin, then he rejoins you on the bed.

Your lips are meeting a moment later. It’s not a gentle slow exploration anymore, but a hungry, lust fuelled haze. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it turns you even more. You wrap your legs around his hips, tugging him closer.

His cock rubs between your pussy lips and you whimper, reaching between yourselves to line him up- Jaehyun takes your hand, moving it aside. Then, two fingers enter your soaked core and you groan against his lips.

“Gotta prep you,” Jaehyun muses. “You said you haven’t been fucked in a while.” 

“Don’t tease though,” you warn gently, looking up at him.

“Never.” He kisses you again, drowning out the anxious thoughts as he finger fucks you, spreading his fingers and working you open in preparation for his cock.

Jaehyun begins to curl his digits, hitting the sensitive spot inside of you that has you groaning. You break the kiss to burrow your face against his throat, panting as he draws more and more pleasure out of your already exhausted body.

You feel something drip on your upper thigh, and you look down to see the precum leaking out of Jaehyun’s tip. “Sorry,” he groans, “I’m just, super turned on right now.”

“Then fuck me,” you insist, biting at his earlobe. “I’m prepped now.”

“You sure?”

“We’re both dripping, Jae, just fuck me.”

“You got it, superstar.” Jaehyun grins as he kisses you. He finger fucks you a little more and then he pulls his digits out of your wet core. You watch him sit up, licking his fingers clean, then he grabs the base of his cock.

He presses the tip into you, looking up to watch your reaction. When you release a moan, Jaehyun grins. He steadies over you again, his biceps bulging as his lips meet your own. He pushes deeper inside of you, taking it slow until his hips are flush against yours.

You both groan at the feeling.

“See?” you gasp. “Told you I could take you.”

“Taking me so well,” Jaehyun agrees, his breath hot against your throat as he begins to pepper your skin with kisses.

Jaehyun’s hips start to move, and he fucks you gently at first, allowing your inner walls to get used to the size of him. His kisses distract you as he opens you up, his pace increasing.

You release a loud moan when the tip of his cock hits a deep spot inside of you, and you can feel Jaehyun grin against your throat. “Right there?” he asks, doing the motion again. “Is that the place?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, nodding. “Right there.”

Jaehyun brings his lips to your own, and he kisses you deeply as he continues to abuse that special spot. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, keeping him close as he fucks you. God, you’re so lost in him, in the best possible way.

You never miss out on beauty sleep, but Jaehyun is more than worth it.

“Superstar?”

“Yeah?” you ask, half delirious.

“Would it be bad if I asked you to ride me?” 

“Huh?”

“I just- I could still fuck up into you, but I don’t know, I kind of want to see you on top.”

“Really?” you look up at him in shock. “You strike me as a man who likes to have control.”

“Says the woman who likes to have control,” he counters with a grin. “Or… do you just want to be my pillow princess?”

You consider it for a moment. “You know what, yeah, let me get on top, I want to watch you when you cum.”

Jaehyun physically shivers from your words, and you watch his pupils dilate with interest. “Fuck,” he groans. “Yeah, get on top.”

It’s a quick adjustment, with Jaehyun dragging you onto his lap. You sit down on his cock and both of you groan at the feeling. He’s completely inside of you like this, and you press your hands to his chest, steadying yourself for a moment.

Then, you begin to bounce.

Jaehyun throws his head back against the pillows, moaning deeply.

Fuck, he’s so hot like this.

There’s something so erotic about being on top, on knowing that you’re going to be riding him when he cums.

Your whole relationship has been about competing for power, and now, in the midst of one of the most vulnerable exchanges of power, Jaehyun had stopped from his position on top to give you the opportunity to be in control.

You like that. You like it a lot. 

It shows he hadn’t been lying when he’d talked about the two of you glowing together, and it gives you a newfound kind of hope for whatever relationship is budding between the two of you.

You ride him harder at the thought, and his hands find your hips, helping you bounce.

“Fuck, fuck-” Jaehyun groans, his fingers digging into your skin. “Feels so good.”

In all honesty, the first position had felt better for you, when he was doing all the work, but you’d never admit that to him, especially not while deep in the throes of passion like this. He’d already made you cum, and now, you want to return the favour.

You ignore the burning in your thighs, fucking Jaehyun in a way you’ve never fucked a man before. You can feel the power of it bubbling inside of you, and you focus on his expression, on the pleasure that’s written all over him.

“Jae,” you groan, “want you to cum for me.”

“Don’t-” he swallows thickly. “Don’t you want me to hold out a little longer?”

“It’s our first time, we have flights tomorrow,” you retort. “Just let go, I wanna feel it.”

“You and your scheduling,” Jaehyun laughs, but it quickly turns into a groan, his eyes closing again. “Fuck, okay, but you have to let me make it up to you sometime.”

“Next time we see each other we can spend hours fucking,” you tell him.

“Promise?”

“I promise, now be good and cum for me, yeah?”

Jaehyun shivers again, and there’s a slight look of confusion on his face. You get the sense that he’s not used to being talked down to like this- but it’s clear it turns him on in a new, foreign sort of way.

“Okay, yeah.” Jaehyun anchors himself against the bed, and then he begins fucking up into you, his muscles rippling under his perfect skin. “Shit, fuck-”

You watch the pleasure build in him, until he reaches his peak. The tension clearly snaps, and he lets out a deep groan that goes straight to your core.

You continue to ride him, intent on helping him through it-

Jaehyun grabs you and pulls you down to his chest, holding you still as he shoots his load deep in your pussy. He’s groaning in your ear, hips twitching-

God, you love the way you’re pinned like this, the way he’s cumming so hard he needed you to just stop. 

You allow him to finish, and his grip slowly lets up on you. He’s no longer using his strength to keep you still, he’s just holding you, the two of you panting desperately.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” you mumble.

“That day, behind my trailer, the first time I held you,” Jaehyun clears his throat, “could you feel my heart racing the way it is now?”

“I was more focused on my own heart,” you admit.

“Yeah?”

“It was going pretty fast.”

Jaehyun releases a laugh, holding you tighter. “Guess we were both in for it, huh?”

“Guess so.” 

Jaehyun holds you a little while longer, and then he sighs. “I should let you get your beauty sleep.”

“Yeah, but you can stay over if you want.”

“Really?”

“Could you imagine how much people would react if the paparazzi got a picture of you leaving my hotel tomorrow morning?”

Another chuckle escapes him. “You and your PR training.”

“You love it,” you insist.

Jaehyun releases a sigh, burying his face closer to your throat. “I do love it.” 

You’re from the same world, the same industry, and no one has ever understood you or your job the way Jaehyun does.

Wrapped in his arms, the two of you set to fly to different countries in just a couple of hours, something about him just feels so right.

You’ve spent your whole life trying to be someone else for other people, for your management team, for your fans- but with Jaehyun, maybe you can just be exactly who you are, professional obligations and all.

He’d said it himself, he’d seen your glow from the moment you met, even as awkward kids on a tv show trying to make names for yourself. He’d seen your sparkle before you’d even seen it in yourself, and now, maybe he’s right. Maybe you can learn to glow together.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I kind of loved working on this au, I know it's not classical 'he's an actual cowboy' but I really loved working with Jae as this character

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. You’ve been in love before, but it was always different. You were always with men who saw you as a prize. They put you on a pedestal, and it was often one sided with genuine empathy. You were a support in their lives, as opposed to a form of mutual understanding.But Jaehyun understands you, so you can confidently say he’s the sweetest love you’ve had.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, worship kink, substantial foreplay/prep, fingering, squirting, multiple reader orgasms, overstim, dirty talk, praise, man handling, anal (thumb in the butt), etc…   I petnames. (hers) superstar. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.4k I teaser wc. 180

🌙 starring. Jaehyun x afab!Reader

bonus

“Wow,” you breathe, staring out at the crowd as you clutch the Grammy in your hand. “I can honestly say, I never expected this award. To win Best Music Video, I just- I’m in shock. I want to thank my parents, my label, my team of wonderful people, production, styling, Hwasa, who directed the video, and Mark, my manager. I want to thank my fans especially, I wouldn’t be anywhere without you. And, I also want to thank my amazing scene partner, Jaehyun. I know a lot of people were confused about Jae being the Model Cowboy, but he showed up to set, and something just clicked. We made magic with this one, and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Thanks again, wow, thanks.” 

You’re practically shaking as you make your way off the stage to go rejoin your group of people in the audience. Hwasa and Mark both give you a hug, and Johnny pats you on the back. When you reach Jaehyun, he wraps his arms around you, holding you tight as he presses kisses along your face.

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[downbadreading]

wildfire (cs) | five.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 7k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, mature language/sexually implied content, alcohol consumption and intoxication, drunk texts, mingi's plan is 100% nawttt working lol, mcdonalds for the drunchies!!, san opens up a bit about the whole iseul x yunho thing, making out, some lil neck kisses, sprinkle of dry humping, the talk happens 😀

"Last one!" Felix yells in the dining area of his shared apartment. You, Jiung, Felix, their roommates, Eunchae, Jurin and a bunch of other people decided to pre-game at the apartment before heading over to the bar for the 'welcome to the new quarter' happy hour event. You all take one last shot before heading out as a group, their building on campus being the closest to the downtown scene.

On the way over, there's groups on groups of students and other guests flowing through the streets— the loud roars and chatter echoing throughout the area. It's nice to see everyone excited for the event, keeping everyone in good spirits and in good morale for the quarter.

You cling onto Jiung as you find the alcohol quickly running through your system. Your cheeks feel hot; body all tingly, the world spinning a little more than usual. When you finally arrive to the bar, you flash your student badges and ID to the security before walking in. The music is blaring through the bar, the bass causing the walls to vibrate. The bar has enough space to accommodate all the heads walking in— a huge area to hang out, drink and vibe near the dj and bar on the main floor that opens up to the back patio. There's also a loft area for people to hang out at, a few arcade games lining the walls along with high tables and seats. 

The group walks in, greeting a bunch of other friends and familiar faces as everyone settles at tables near the back patio; the air feeling nice amongst the stuffiness in the bar. Felix and Jiung start ordering a bunch of shareable appetizers, while you slip away to head to the bar and skim through the limited cocktail menu for tonight's happy hour event. You bounce along to the music while debating between two options, finally making your decision just as more people pour in and the crowd cheers at the song that comes blasting through the speakers. You turn to give the bartender your order, slipping him one of the free drink vouchers you were given at the door. Suddenly, Eunchae comes to your side, drunkly squealing and squeezing your arm.

"Girl, the party has officially started." You furrow your brows as she steps aside and nods towards the door. In walks in San, Chris, Jongho, Mingi, Yeosang and Namjoon. You could feel your heart beating against your chest, and you're not sure why. You could be a 'lil excited he's here even though you would never do anything so bold, so daring, in front of everyone else.

But, he's here. He'll see you, and you'll see him.

"I definitely wasn't expecting them to come."

"Why not?! You know how Namjoon is. He loves his social events." She smirks. "Time to show off the goods!" She squeezes your ass just as she places a quick order with the same bartender.

"Eunchae!" You squeal, grabbing your drink from the bartender after getting yourself together. "They'll do their own thing and we'll do our own thing. No goods need to be shown." You playfully tap the tip of her nose, making her giggle.

"I mean, I dunno. Eyes could always wander, ya know?" 

"Let's not get our hopes up, shall we? I'm sure they don't wanna be around obnoxious loud ass drunk students right now. All thanks to Professor Kim for being a social butterfly!"

"Thanks to him indeed, or else this happy hour probably would've been a shitshow without them." She smirks and bites her bottom lip, grabbing her drink. She then grabs your hand to bring you back towards your friends while you sip on your drink. Jurin is already sipping on something, while eating away at some of the nachos placed in the center of the table.

"Got you guys some shots." Felix says, slipping them onto the surface of the table. 

"Lix! We just—"

"Ah, ah, ah! I paid a hefty tip for these so drink up, my favorite ladies." He clinks his shot glass against yours, Jurin's and Eunchae's before you take the shot to the neck, wincing as soon as the liquid burns and travels down your throat. You all chase with your cocktails [def not the best idea], hurriedly trying to wash away the tequila aftertaste.

"Gross." Eunchae shakes her head, grabbing more nachos to snack on.

"Good gawd, have you ever seen a better group of professors?" Jurin says as you and the girlies scan the high tables pressed closer towards the wall on the main floor. Mingi, Yeosang, Jongho, San, Chris and Namjoon are now huddled around watching the crowd with glasses of beer sitting on the table, all in casual clothing.

A group of handsome intellectuals. We're here for it.

"Professor Bahng me so—" Eunchae says in your ear.

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!"

"The new professor wants her some Choi San." Jurin smirks as she drinks her cocktail, eyes still glued on their group. You shift your attention back to them, watching as Professor Cho talks to Professor Choi. She's a cutie, you can't even lie— she's got on a simple white tee, black flare jeans and boots on and it works well with her figure. She sticks herself right next to him, smiling and laughing as they continue to talk, joke around, whatever it is. Professor Song's got a shit-eating smirk on while he's sipping his beer, so it's pretty obvious he's trying to set them up. You don't know if it's the alcohol or if you're actually feeling disappointed for god knows why, but it sucks. It makes you pout a little when the reality settles, knowing Professor Choi should definitely be entertaining someone like Professor Cho;

Not you, a grad student.

So maybe all those subtle moments were just merely subtle moments. Maybe Professor Choi was just that charming, that enticing, that everybody experiences the same subtle moments as you. It was never meant to be a thing.

"That's Y/N's man, though."

"Excuse me, since when?" You look at Eunchae.

"Since he went all prince charming on you and saved you in the basement."

"Please, he had no other choice." You frown.

"He could've grabbed Sunwoo or a facilities person to come and fix that door knob at the same time, but he didn't." She puckers her lips. "I'm gonna say he's got the hots for you."

"Do you hear her?" You laugh and look at Jurin before your eyes are back to [subtly] scanning the high tables. San is deep in conversation with his people, but it's almost like a radar goes off for him because his eyes instantly meet yours. He doesn't necessarily break away, even as he sips his beer and listens to Namjoon entertain the table.

His eyes are on you.

He'll see you, and you'll see him.

The DJ starts playing a mix that causes the crowd to roar and get more hyped, your friends pulling you onto the dance floor. You carefully let them drag you along— your glass in one hand while you start to sing and bounce along to the song. Of course, your friends drag you right in San's view, and he's not complaining one bit. He continues to keep it subtle, though. Still engaging in conversation as much as possible, but he's not even gonna lie, his attention is elsewhere. He can barely even focus on Zara next to him.

"I didn't think you'd actually come tonight." She says, coming back to his side after grabbing a soda to sip on.

"Why not?" He pries his eyes off of you to shift to her. "Namjoon's a real stickler when it comes to these things. Wants us to be present at most student events to show face." She giggles and nods.

"I see that. Well, you do enjoy it, don't you?"

"I do. It's fun to see everyone enjoy themselves. Reminds me of the good times. Back in the days." She laughs.

"Okay, old man." She teases and he playfully rolls his eyes, now returning his attention back to you. You're dancing and singing along happily, even doing those cute little dance challenges with your friends and San has to prevent himself from smiling too big or keeping his obvious attention on you for too long. At this moment, Yunho and Iseul walk in, passing the high table with curt nods and short greetings, the two barely paying any attention to San and vice versa. San continues to sip his beer, pursing his lips as he hears Yunho and Iseul happily greeting the other professors next to them. It's probably the beer [most likely], but he finds himself getting a little more irritated than usual seeing them around. And Mingi might've realized first, except his plan to distract him isn't necessarily gonna work—

"Why don't you spend some alone time with her or something? You know, doesn't have to be much." Mingi adds nonchalantly as he sips on his beer and watches the crowd, coming around to his other side.

"I'm good." San looks at him before shaking his head. His eyes land back on you over the edge of his glass and he finds that you're looking, too. You're being a tease, especially with the way that mini dress hugs you perfectly. The way you move your body. The way you try so hard but equally not as hard to make sure he's paying attention.

He knows the game. He knows the way it goes.

And San finds his hunger for you growing by the minute. Ain't no way you're looking that good in front of him without having a clue what it does to him. You know damn well— very, very well.

He wishes he could do something about it, and you love every second of it. You subtly bite your lip before turning to face Eunchae, Felix, Jiung and Jurin, continuing to dance along to the Iamsu! track that's currently on rotation. The boys are snapping videos and photos, being the hype men they should for you and the girlies. San finds himself silently chuckling from time to time, hearing your screams and giggles just feet away.

"You couldn't be any more obvious." Jongho giggles as he comes to his free side, Mingi, Zara and Yeosang heading over to the back patio to play cornhole.

"It's just nice to see them having fun."

"Mhm." Jongho hums, sliding his glass onto the table. "Anyway, wanna go head to head on one of the arcade games?" Jongho points to the loft. San nods, setting his empty glass aside before following Jongho up the steps to play a few of the arcade games. On their way over, they engage in a few friendly conversations before going head-to-head in air hockey, basketball and skee ball. Eventually, you, Jurin and Eunchae also find your way upstairs having spent some time getting air in the back patio, loudly enjoying the arcade games just a few feet away from Jongho, San and now, Yeosang. Amidst all the fun you and your girls are having, you don't realize you almost crash [yet again] into your professor as you step back and cheer just when he's about to pass.

"Woah there." Professor Choi has his hand hovering near the small of your back.

"Woah— sorry. Hi." You look behind in a drunk haze, greeting your attractive professor as you try to create some space. "Hi Professor Choi."

"Hey. You good?" He smiles at you as you nod, cheeks hot from the alcohol, palms definitely clammy.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Yeah? Be safe for me." 

"Mmkay. Only for you." You tilt your head to the side and San cocks a brow in amusement. He subtly bites his lip before nodding.

"That's all I want." He plays along, watching as you obviously become affected by the unexpected response. You maintain eye contact with him, giving him that innocent, angelic smile you always give him. "Have a good rest of your night, Y/N." He says near your ear before giving you a small smile and heading back down the steps.

"Jesus fucking christ." Jurin teases before giggling and tugging your hand, pulling you back towards the games. As the night continues on, you, Jurin and Eunchae continue to play the rest of the arcade games before heading back down to play the giant Jenga and cornhole in between dancing with the boys. Hours easily slip on by, and by the time it hits close to 11pm, you're being asked to take the drunk-tivities to another bar.

"We're about to bar hop. Coming along?" One of your classmates ask. 

"Um no, I'm drunk enough and want my bed. Thank you!" Eunchae responds. You, Eunchae and Jurin continue to signal 'no' to the others in many variations, slowly splitting and walking off back towards campus. You realize you didn't get a chance to say bye to Felix, Jiung and the rest of the boys before you three slipped away, so you grab your phone and try to text him to at least let him know you're alive and well.

"Shit, I just realized we never tried to catch Jiung or Felix."

"I'm sure they're fine! They know we'll get home safely together."

"Let me text them really quickly."

you: thosee last shots were lethal and I'm still dRINK !! hope u guys bcarefl

you: becarfil

you: becareful!!!! fuck!!!

You continue to walk alongside of Eunchae and Jurin as you walk back to your apartments from the bar, clenching your phone in your hand while you wait for a text back from Jiung.

Ding.

"Jiung texted back!" You look at your phone and you swear, at this moment, all the alcohol might've drained from your system. To your horror, Jiung isn't the one texting you back.

prof. choi: doing okay there, y/n?

"FUCK!"

"What!" Eunchae yelps, surprised by your sudden reaction.

"Oh my fucking god! I accidentally texted Professor Choi, not Jiung!" 

"Oh shit." She laughs loudly. "Girl, it's fine! That man knows how it is, he probably doesn't even care!"

"No, Eunchae! This is so bad! He's gonna kick me out of rotation—"

"He won't! He was at the bar, I'm sure he understands. Just apologize." Jurin laughs. "You're fine, babe! Professor Choi looks so laid back. He's probably the last person you even have to worry about."

"Ugh, my god." You whine. "How embarrassing." You hesitantly [but quickly] text back to apologize.

you: omg i'm so sorry, professor choi! that was ment for jsunf

you: meant for jiung*

you: ah, sorry!!

San laughs at the text come through, incredibly endeared by the way you're trying really hard to apologize though drunk. He honestly doesn't care; he knows how this goes, he's been here before. He's glad you can have fun in between working and studying hard. 

prof. choi: no need to apologize, i know how it is! been there before. can you please let me know when you get home safely at least?

you: okay, i will.

You bite onto your bottom lip just as the three of you finally reach the King Residence Halls, still intoxicated but reaching the phase of sleepy drunk at this point.

"Okay ladies, I'm off to my humble abode. Get up there safely!" Jurin salutes as all of you walk into the main entrance, turning to her right to head down to her unit located here on the first floor. You and Eunchae wave before the both of you are retreating to your own studios for the night; feet hurting, body slowly breaking down, thirsty as hell for some water while you ride the elevator up to your places.

When you get back into the room, you quickly shower and get ready for bed. It's just about to hit close to midnight, and you know the bar hopping has barely reached its peak. You remember to finally text Jiung to be careful and to be safe, all while remembering to text Professor Choi back to let him know you made it home safely.

you: sorry, i got home safely a bit ago!

You set your phone aside as you plop onto your bed, somehow nervous for texting him a little later than usual. You do remember him and the rest of the professors were still lingering around when you, Eunchae and Jurin decided to head back. Maybe he was still there? Maybe he left and is already snuggled in his covers—

Ding.

prof. choi: good to know. 

you: you're still awake?

You're not even sure why you were prompted to keep the conversation going, but something within you felt comfortable enough to do so.

prof. choi: i'm barely leaving the bar with the rest of the guys.

you: oh, i see. be safe!

prof. choi: will be. make sure you and your roommates get lots of water.

you: roommates? i live alone. lol but i definitely just chugged a bunch of water. 

He doesn't respond after that text, and you wonder if he's driving or if he's just cutting the conversation there. You let out a small sigh, setting your phone aside to keep your hopes down and start settling in bed. Just as you pull the sheets back and prepare to hop in, your phone starts going off; vibrating on your nightstand and causing a loud rumble.

You were not expecting him to call you.

You take a moment before sliding right to answer his call, licking your lips and swallowing the lump that has formed in your throat.

"Hi." You shyly say.

"I'm sorry to call randomly. Just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"You don't have to apologize, it wasn't random. But, I'm okay. Thank you, Professor Choi."

"San." He chuckles a bit.

"Hm?"

"You can call me San."

"Thank you, San." There's a slight pause that makes you feel like San is trying to say something, ask something in particular, especially since he called you instead of texting you back. But, part of you also feels like you could be looking too into the night and reading too much into every little detail. 

Maybe it was more convenient for him, right?

He was eyeing you at the bar, though. Heavy. And San knows it. He wanted you to know it.

"Are you tired?" You ask softly as you sit up and sit criss-crossed on your bed.

"I was, but I think I'm a little more awake now. How are you feeling, still drunk?"

"Mm, not as drunk as I was after I found out I sent the text to you and not Jiung." He laughs. "Water is definitely helping, too. Are you okay to drive?"

"Yeah, I am. Only had that beer." Another small pause. "I'm gonna grab some food."

"Oh, but you aren't going to the other bars?"

"Jesus, no." San laughs. "They are, but not me. It took me a lot to come out tonight and it's only cause Namjoon wanted us to show face." You chuckle. 

"I get it." You fiddle with the fabric of your sheets. "Do you.. want some company while you get food?" You boldly ask, heavily relying on the fact that San must have called you for a reason besides to check in. If worst comes to worst, he can just say no.

You'd understand. It's all harmless anyway.

"Sure." He says. "You're not too tired?"

"No."

"Where are you?" He asks softly.

"King Residence Halls. There's a side door on the left that I can meet you at."

"Be there in about 5 minutes?"

"Sounds good. I'll be down by then." And with that, the call ends and you sit on your bed for a good minute, trying to make sense of what just happened on the call. All of this was harmless, right? All the looks and the tension you had been feeling were harmless.

Right?

You hoped everyone was still busy being drunk or at the bar, knowing it'd def cause a stir seeing you get into Professor Choi's car. All of this on the surface level seemed so wrong and so out of place, yet here you were— throwing on some sweats and a hoodie to go on a ride with him. You grab your keys and your phone before heading down towards the side door. To your luck, the residence hall is the quietest it's been in awhile, and there aren't any people lingering around. By the time you walk through the door, there's an all black Toyota GR86 sitting idle. San lowers his passenger window just enough for you to see his eyes, a small smile on his face as you approach his car.

"Hi." He says as you plop in and awkwardly fiddle for the seatbelt.

"Hi Prof— San." You catch yourself [especially in these circumstances] as you settle into the seat and look at him. He lets out a small chuckle before driving off one-handed, his other arm resting on the middle console. "Where are you gonna get food?" Your eyes scan the way he's sat in the driver's seat; manspreading as he drives flawlessly with one hand. You can't help but find him incredibly attractive, and you shouldn't be fucking feeling this way.

It's the alcohol.

"Uh. That's a good question." His eyes dart to the time on his car's navigation screen. "McDonalds, probably."

"Great choice after drinking."

"Want anything?"

"I think I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Maybe." He chuckles.

"Let me know. I got you." You look at him as you play around with your hoodie strings. "Thanks for coming along on the ride. How'd you know I wanted company?"

"I dunno, really. Just a feeling."

"You looked like you had a lot of fun earlier."

"I did. It was fun. I just wasn't down to walk to more bars."

"Your friends still over there?"

"The boys. Eunchae and Jurin are probably sound asleep in their apartments." San nods. 

"It's good you guys came out. I always try to get people in the lab to come out to events and take a break from school and work."

"It is. It's easy to get yourself way too wrapped up in everything."

"Mhm. And that's why I try to push for a good balance. Don't want you guys to get burned out."

"Did you go out a lot while you were in school? During your postdoc?"

"Um, yeah. Kinda? I wouldn't do anything too crazy, though. I was also with Iseul for a lot of it."

"Oh." You look down at your lap. "Right, sorry."

"Don't be." He laughs. "I don't mind talking about it every now and then. It's not necessarily a secret."

"Mm, still. I didn't mean to pry."

"You didn't." He smiles, dimples on full show when he looks at you then turns back to the road. "But glad you enjoyed yourself. Saw you and your friends doing the little dances." You cover your face in embarrassment and it makes San laugh. "Why? It was cute."

"We were just drunk."

"And having fun!" He reassures you just as he turns onto the street and into the McDonald's lot. "It was nice to see."

"So, you were watching?" You look at him with a tiny smirk, hoping, praying to fucking God you weren't reading into everything incorrectly.

"How couldn't I?" He runs his finger down his bottom lip as he brakes and waits behind the car ahead. He shifts his eyes towards you, subtly eyeing you up and down from where he's sitting. You shake your head and look out the window without verbally responding, biting onto your bottom lip to prevent yourself from saying anything wrong. From smiling too big.

This shit can't be real.

"What's wrong?"

"Hm." You hum, tugging your hoodie up a bit. "You're just making me shy."

"Nothing to be shy about. I just liked watching you have fun. Should I not?"

"No, no one said you shouldn't." San chuckles, his turn to bite onto his bottom lip knowing full well where the rest of this can go. He's just not sure who will make the first move— you or him. Either way, he isn't complaining and he'll take what he gets. Call him selfish, but he thinks he deserves this after everything he's been through. He deserves to be happy, too.

"Sure you don't want anything?" He asks softly as he approaches the drive-thru speaker.

"Ice cream cone?" He nods.

"I got you." You sit quietly in the passenger's seat while he relays the order, pulling through to the last window as instructed. He pays and carefully hands you the ice cream cone before grabbing his small bag of food. You slowly eat away at your ice cream cone, preventing it from dripping all over the place while San drives off to a view nearby. It doesn't take long. In fact, you're just about to dive deep with your cone when San pulls off to a side lot and backs his car right near the edge of the small overlook he's at. There's better views, but this was the closest and it's a decent view— decent enough to help clear your mind, bring you back to reality and remind you of life's little blessings.

"Wanna hang out in the back for a bit? Let you eat that ice cream one in peace?" You chuckle and nod, watching as San hops out to open your door. You slowly walk towards his trunk, letting him clean it up a bit before plopping down to take a seat. You sit next to him, leaving a bit of room in between you two to make sure you don't make him uncomfortable.

"Do you come here a lot?"

"I used to, yeah. Helped me sit in peace for a bit when everything else around me felt too loud and chaotic." He says as he begins to eat away at his snack.

"It's pretty." 

"It is, isn't it?"

"You don't come here anymore?"

"Only if I'm really stressed. Like lately, I guess." You smile a bit.

"You know, I would have never known you were stressing. I know you've got a busy schedule and a lot on your plate, but you never let it show."

"Years of practice." He smirks. "Trust me, it took a long time to get it under control. Probably one of the things Iseul couldn't stand about me." You eat away at the last bits of your ice cream before you look at the end of the cone in your hand.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"How did you get past all of that?"

"Coming here." He laughs. "Nah, but Jongho, too. He's been there with me through everything. I honestly don't know if I'd be here, the way I am, without him."

"That's good that he's been there for you. I can tell you two are really close."

"Yeah. It took me a long time, too." San laughs. "Which goes to say, I had a lot to work on. When that whole thing happened, I was always angry and questioning everything, down to my friends cause of Yunho. I felt so.. low about myself despite everything else I had."

"Understandably so. It was only valid to feel that way after everything you've been through." You pop the end of the cone into your mouth and chew away, causing your cheek to puff out at the size of it. San smiles when he turns to look at you, also popping in the last bits of his sandwich before taking a huge swig of his water bottle to wash it down. "So. You and Yunho were friends?" You pretend to act like you don't know because you don't want San to think it's weird that you know some of the details before you even talked about it. It's his story to tell, anyway.

"He was uh, my bestfriend. Actually."

"Oh. I'm sorry, San."

"It's okay." He chuckles. "Promise. But uh, yeah. Maybe not gonna go down this lane tonight."

"That's okay. You don't need to." You look at him with those sweet, angelic eyes and he almost can't help himself. Well, he finds that he actually can't when his eyes fix on the ice cream at the corner of your lip.

"Wait." He says, taking his thumb to the corner of your lip, wiping off the small ice cream residue.

"Oops." You shyly giggle. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He's doing the look again. He's doing that damn thing where he looks at you with his head slightly tilted to the side, a very tiny, subtle smirk at the corner of his lips. He's so fucking charming, so, so fucking attractive. He's so irresistible, especially when his eyes move from yours, down to your lips and back up to your eyes.

Maybe he's not the only one who can't help themselves.

Because the moment the silence feels a little different between you two, the moment the look feels a little more different, you find your lips crashing onto his in a quick, heated kiss. Everything about this moment is clouding your judgment, and you don't find yourself wanting to pull away. He takes the kiss, and he doesn't waste a moment of it. He feels his urge growing by the second, and feels the need to push this on and on;

And on.

He's wanted you, and he can't even tell you how relieved he is knowing you want him, too.

You straddle his lap and the kiss continues to intensify, becoming more heated and sloppier by the minute. He gives your waist a hard squeeze, a signal begging for you to slowly work your hips against him. Your tongue fights for dominance against his, San letting out a shaky sigh in between when you bite his bottom lip and suck on it.

"Fuck." He groans against your lips before devouring you some more, his hands slowly roaming up your sides. San sees how much your dress has ridden up, doing little to no justice hiding your beautiful thighs; barely covering your pretty parts. His left hand comes right below your breast, giving it a gentle squeeze to test the waters. You let out a small, breathy moan when he starts to leave a trail of kisses against your jaw, your neck. He starts to lick and nip at your favorite sweet spot, causing you to bite your lip and tilt your head back at the growing pleasure building at your core. You move your hips a little quicker, enjoying all of this and being in San's hold a little too much.

Until, the universe decides this is the right time to bring you back down to reality. A loud roar from a car zooming past on the hillside startles you, making you re-evaluate the compromising composition you're in with your professor.

"Oh shit, oh my god—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get carried away like that." You abruptly pull back and hop off of his lap when the reality of what the fuck you're doing hits you.

"What, no? Y/N, it's fine. I—" He tries to reach for your hand but you back away. You're not sure what this means, or what the hell you've done— but you sure as hell just wanna get out of here and be in your own peace while you figure this out.

"God, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean it, San." You look at him and he can't help but knit his brows together in confusion. He wanted this, and he was so fucking happy to see things moving forward between you two; all he sees is fear, confusion and even a lace of guilt in your eyes, and he can't help but feel the same way, too. "Just got carried away, it should've never happened." You add.

"I— yeah." San lets it go, even though he's defeated. This is not what he wanted out of tonight. He didn't expect anything to happen whatsoever, but if it did, this is not how he wanted it to turn out. 

This is not how he wanted tonight to end.

You don't really know when the embarrassment will die down, but it clearly hasn't on your end, and you've been avoiding San like the plague. It's not as hard as you thought it'd be, especially when San hadn't been around much due to his packed schedule and classes. The rare times you did see him, he was always with someone— bringing them down to his office for a meeting. You'd glance over and he'd quickly meet your eyes, but you'd break first and shuffle away to the behavior room. 

Why on earth did you think it was okay to kiss him?

Him, a fucking professor. Let alone the professor you're currently rotating for.

How fucking reckless, Y/N.

Oh so reckless and careless.

—FLASHBACK

San doesn't get back into the car as fast as you do.

He actually lingers outside a little longer, cursing to himself. Hoping this didn't fuck up anything that could have possibility built between you two. Hoping this didn't fuck up anything that could have continued to grow, blossom.

When he finally gets back into the car, it's silent. But, it's an awkward silence. You aren't sure what to say to break the silence, and you aren't even sure what the proper thing to say is. You just know that you can't wait to be home, covering your entire body under the sheets— no longer having to face the world for the night.

"Cold?"

"I'm okay." He leaves it at that. The music is softly playing in the car, thankfully filling some of the void, the awkwardness. You scroll through your phone for the remainder of the ride, texting the boys back as you peep the pictures they sent from bar hopping, telling them to get home safely.

Hopefully, you don't run into them. That'll be a whole other beast to tackle right now, and you almost feel queasy thinking about it.

"You can just pull up there and I can walk." You tell him as he pulls into the familiar grounds of campus, the graduate residence halls passing you by. 

"But, it's late. It's not safe—"

"San, it's fine. I've done this walk a million times because of the boys." 

"There are no boys to walk you back, though."

"It's fine. I promise." He lets out a sigh. You unbuckle your seatbelt before giving him one last, shy look over your shoulder. "Thanks for the ice cream and for letting me tag along."

"Course." He says, letting out yet another disappointed breath as he watches you hurriedly climb out and rush down the street towards your building. He doesn't pull away, slightly drives up to make sure you do make it to your building and are safe inside. He lets out another 'fuck' before driving off to his house, afraid and slightly upset at how things turned out. Not out of selfishness, no. But, San finds himself caring about you more than expected.

He didn't want to let you go, and he's hoping he doesn't have to.

—END

You think you're saved, for the most part, until you receive a text from San on a random Wednesday afternoon. You've just gotten back from having a late lunch with your friends, making your way down to the basement to finish up your work for the rest of the afternoon.

san: can you come to my office?

You don't respond right away, and it's almost like San knew you were staring at your phone, waiting for the right time to text him back.

san: please? it's important.

you: i'm heading down to the basement, i'll be there in about 5 minutes. is that okay?

san: more than okay.

You let out a sigh just as you tuck your phone away, taking your steps a little slower than usual to buy yourself some time. When you finally get to the basement, you set your things down on your desk and slip your laptop out. You make your way to his office with your laptop and notebook pressed to your chest, giving his door a few soft knocks before you hear his 'come in' from the other side.

"Hey." He says, meeting you right by the door. You hear him silently lock the door shut behind him before plopping onto his couch with a loud sigh. 

"Hi."

"Can you come here?"

"San, we're in your office—" He chuckles and pulls you down onto the couch next to him.

"I know. Door is locked. Don't worry." You let out a sigh with a small pout and he finds it adorable. "Y/N, I promise it's fine." You ease a little feeling his arm pressed against yours, body heat providing some kind of comfort.

"So, what did you wanna talk about?"

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

"Who said I was?" He cocks his head to the side before giving you a little smirk. 

"You don't think I can pick up on how different you've been acting?"

"Well, San. I don't know?" You shrug. "That whole thing that happened shouldn't have happened and I'm still trying to figure out how to move past it because—"

"Who says it shouldn't have happened?" It's your turn to give him a look. You pause and try to read his body language, but nothing about him is defensive. Hostile. Regretful.

None of the above.

"San." You call him, almost defeatedly. "You and I both know we shouldn't have done that. I'm rotating in your lab."

"I know, the surface of it is terrible. It's wrong by the university's code and policies. But, I'm asking you."

"Asking me what exactly?"

"Do you think it shouldn't have happened?" Well, no, you think. If you were being completely and utterly honest, you would say no. You would say you wanted it because you thought he felt the same. You would say you wanted him so badly; fuck the rules in the book! But, you don't say anything, and it's enough for San to know exactly what you wanted without you having to say it out loud. "Y/N." He says softly before lifting your chin with his free hand. You don't even realize you've been playing with his other hand, fingers softly intertwining with his as you ponder on the question. "Have dinner with me. Let me take you out on a date." 

"San." You slightly frown. Not because of him, but because of the entire situation as a whole. It's still all so much and so, so confusing. You've never had to navigate through treacherous waters like this.

"What's wrong, hm? You can tell me anything, remember?"

"I'm just scared."

"About what?"

"This, whatever this is. I don't even know what to call it, we shouldn't even be doing this. If anyone finds out, it could ruin you. It could ruin everything you've worked so hard for." He shakes his head. 

"This is not gonna ruin anything. I—" He pauses, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I want you, Y/N. I wanna explore this with you. It's been confusing and it's been difficult to navigate my feelings because I didn't know if you felt the same, but the other night—" He lets out a small breath. "You really do make me feel some type of way that no one else does. I haven't been able to get my mind off of it." His eyes roam your features. "Off of you." You sit next to him silently, trying to debate between right and wrong, between yes and no, between needs and wants; still, your answer comes to San. Even if it is terrifying. "Let me take you to dinner. Or not, it's up to you. But, I wanna at least show you I mean it."

"Can I think about this?" You keep your eyes on him, still a bit anxious and scared about all of this blowing up in your faces. It was so risky, so dangerous, so.. thrilling. Because Choi San is asking you to dinner. He wants your attention, and he wants to take you out. How in the hell did you get here weeks after the quarter just started? 

"Of course you can." 

"If I go, I should probably drive this once, though. I just don't want anyone catching on." And this was probably helping you relieve the pressure of going on this date with him; you wouldn't have to be tied down from the car ride, to dinner— to your trek back home. It's not that you didn't want to either, but it seemed safer this way. It seemed less stressful this way. You could give yourself some breathing room in between the dinner itself.

Because these were treacherous waters.

"Are you sure? We can always meet somewhere else."

"San. There's eyes everywhere on campus and nearby, you know that."

"But, I did plan to pick you up and drive you, do all the work for you so you don't have to lift a finger." He pouts a bit and you giggle.

"And I love that. Thank you. I'm just trying to figure out how to keep a good balance for us right now. I'll think about it, okay?" He sighs and nods in slight defeat because as much as he wants to spoil you right away, you do have to be careful about your movements, actions. There are eyes everywhere on campus and people do question everything. Speaking from his own experience, word gets around quick.

He hates this. He knows he's putting you in a tough position, but god, he loves the way you make him feel. He feels giddy, like a lovesick teenage boy who is chasing after his long-time crush. He feels things when he sees you, feels his knees get a little weaker when he hears your laugh or sees you smile. He feels butterflies when you brush past him and give him that cute little subtle smirk. He feels the need to hold you close, to kiss you. Hold your hand and keep you safe. Wants to get to know every thing about you: your pet peeves, your hobbies, your family, what makes you happy. Do many, many other things to show you how attracted he is to you. How you make him feel.

He hasn't felt this in a long, long time— hasn't felt genuine happiness like this in a long, long time. 

He deserves to be happy, too. Especially after thinking for so long that he wasn't cut to be happy, wasn't meant to feel genuine connections and real relationships after his marriage fell through the way it did.

But, you're here and he refuses to let you get away.

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thespiffynerd @vixensss @santineez @nopension

[downbadreading]

this sea of despair | c.s

summary: you've always dreamed of exploring the vast lands and seas beyond the small and quiet town you grew up in... you just didn't think it'd come at the cost of your own dignity and integrity, getting thrown into a whole new world against your will where none of it matters and the only way to survive is to betray who you are in the face of choi san

pairing: choi san x f!reader

genre: pirates!au, angst, smut

WARNINGS: dubcon, sexual assaults, slut-shaming, san is a huge red flag, not a romance story sksjasjdsjs, half-assed smut, im failing to name all of them but pls go in cautiously & pls lmk if i should add something else

word count: 20.8k

you spot him immediately when you reach the top of the hill, the boy recognizable a mile away from the shirt he's wearing; the top once a white color but now a ragged and slightly dirty beige from all the years of owning it.

he looks over his shoulder when he hears the distant footsteps, a smile already on his lips before he's even sure it's you.

"hey," he greets, the soft gaze never leaving as you plop down on the grass next to him.

"hi," you return, adjusting yourself into a comfortable enough position before looking out into the horizon, seeing the sunset about to take over the sky while the waves crashes against rocks and each other.

this is your favorite place in the entirety of dune; sitting atop at such an angle with a sight makes you feel as if you have the whole world in the palm of your hand.

like if you look out far enough, you can see all the islands, other towns, and settlements in the south sea. and if you look even further, you just might be able to picture what those belonging to the north are like.

just the mere thoughts of it makes you excited--the illusion that you can achieve any and everything when you look down on a world that seems so much smaller than you.

but the place isn't just a spot for the eye candy but also safety. when you and minsoo wanna drown out the chitters and judgments of everyone else and escape into hushed whispers and sacred words you cannot say to anyone but each other.

you've known him for as long as you remember, and he always has a way to make you feel safe and comfortable; listened to and heard.

it always has felt like you found each other in a rather unfortunate world... at least that's how you see him. a speck of light in uncertain darkness.

"how's your father doing?" he asks, eyes and voice turning a soft empathetic.

the reminder brings out a low sigh, but it's an unfortunate reality you're living through.

"not well."

he was just fine a couple weeks ago, getting up and going about his routine when he fell ill out of nowhere, it came so quick and sudden, you couldn't process it at first that your own father was now stuck in bed all day while you ran across the town daily to find some kind of remedy... to no luck.

there's medicines that helps lessen the symptoms but things doesn't seem to be getting any better by the day.

"sorry to hear," he says, disheartened that he can't help you. it's hard to find any skilled doctors or expertise in such a field in a small place like dune. "keep trying. i''ll help, too, and let you know if i come across something."

"i appreciate it," you tell him, a genuine smile on your lips that he returns.

sometimes, you still wonder if not following the feelings budding underneath whenever you're with minsoo is a mistake.

if one day you're gonna grow to regret choosing your heart over safety and security, every time you're with him, the yearning and longing is felt on the surface you both won't scratch.

with how minsoo is, his nature always so selfless and self-sacrificing, he wouldn't let you. you know he still won't.

it was the day the topic finally showed its head after the both of you tippy-toed around it for so long... when it was clear as day even to those around that you held good feelings for each other.

more than gratitude and being friends.

"but i think it's best we don't," minsoo says, his delivery bittersweet as you shoot to him with fluttering and confused lashes.

you clear your throat quietly and ask, "why not?"

because usually if the feelings of love and admiration are mutual, there isn't any reasons not to try. that's how it works, doesn't it?

"because i'll only hold you back."

you go blank at his words, attempting to mentally break down what he means exactly.

"didn't you say you wanna go out of dune? explore other nearby islands and towns, maybe even step foot into the north sea one day? i don't want you to have to choose between me or your dreams in the future."

you only stare at him, your throat feeling tight and head still a little confused, he has to add, "i don't plan on leaving dune. sure, it isn't the best place there is to be, but i like it here. it's where i was born and where i hope to die."

when you finally grasp what he's trying to tell you, a small sigh of defeat leaves your chest, but he takes your hands in his immediately and looks at you so assuringly like everything's gonna be okay.

"i'm not saying we shouldn't ever, but i hope to one day have the map you've always dreamed of creating in the grasp of my hand, and maybe you can tell me all about your adventures. but for now, i want you to freely dream of those things without having to consider anything else, okay?"

you don't know how he's still able to smile in such a situation, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear and always with words that mends the doubts in you.

sometimes it feels like he has too much faith in you, and sometimes it's as if you're just chasing a false dream, but if it's to really happen one day, you'll do it for him, too.

--

you separate from minsoo on the path back to town, having to run to the only pharmacy in the town to pick up more medicines for your father.

the white building is quite small situating near the outskirts leading to the fields, and you've ever only seen one worker here who you've grown to be familiar with pretty recently.

she's a little older than you and very soft-spoken, her drive to always help the best she can is something you greatly appreciate.

walking into the empty pharmacy, she greets you immediately upon arrival and you wave as a response, watching as she bends under to pull out the bag she's already prepared beforehand.

"thank you," you tell her, pulling the few coins out of your pockets and handing it to her.

"your father doing any better?" she asks.

you shake your head, looking and sounding just as disheartened as when minsoo asked.

"unfortunately, no."

"sorry to hear," she says, also pitying you just as much as minsoo did. "if only dune were able to get exports from those in the north sea. but we have to do with what we're given. i hope you'll be able to find something better for your father soon."

you nod, a thin smile on your lips from the kind encouragement.

"yeah, i'm working on something," you answer, swiftly turning to the window and seeing the blackness that covers it entirely. "i'll take my leave now before it gets too late. once again, thank you."

you turn your back to head out when her slightly hesitant voice stops you.

"y/n."

"yes?" you stare wide-eyed over your shoulder.

"be careful, okay? i heard halateez are getting closer."

it takes you a few seconds to register what she's talking about, replying in a rather calm and casual tone, "yeah. you, too."

--

you didn't think much of what she said back at the pharmacy due to the sudden unexpectedness of it, but the closer you get to the town square, catching sight of the black and red bounty poster you've seen plastered for miles for the past months now, your body can't help but to get a chill that makes you wanna shiver in uneasiness.

halateez. they're one of the most notorious pirates crew roaming the seas of wonderland--well known for their disguises and hidden identities, now currently the biggest fear for everyone in dune because words are that they were just in the east sea a while ago, meaning as soon as they're done, they'll be heading down here.

no one knows what to expect but the fear definitely seems more real each passing day, waiting in apprehension for a mysterious ship to appear on the dock and just hope for the best.

and it might be because you're so deep in your thoughts, or that you can barely see in such darkness that the second you turn the corner to head down the road home, you hit face first into someone's hard chest causing the bag in your hand to drop and the few pill bottles to roll onto the ground.

you gasp and apologize under your breath, but there's no time to even see who it is because you're more concerned about salvaging your father's medications as you bend down immediately to pick it all up.

"again, i'm sor--" but you stop just short of finishing when you finally look up and the dark figure hovering over your body conjures up a knot in your throat, clearing it lowly and standing on your feet as you try to make out his features in the poor lighting.

he hasn't said anything despite the situation, though you're able to make out his brows as they curve at you in judgement.

your eyes lower to his chest, the black ink drawn on it intriguing you because it might be the first time you've ever seen anyone in dune with a proper tattoo.

you try not to stare too long, giving this man just one last look, finally adjusting to the lighting and seeing that he's actually quite good looking.

some intimidating features and a gaze that makes you wanna cower for sure, but he's handsome.

when he doesn't say anything, only continuously stare at you for what seems like the longest time, you apologize once more before bowing and excusing yourself, thinking of how odd such a man is on your way back home.

you wake up to what is the loudest commotion ever in your 20 years of living, looking up to where your father is resting and glad it didn't also jolt him from his sleep.

something already feels very wrong, the pit of your stomach is telling you it and the sudden knock at the door as well.

when you open it to minsoo's concerned eyes and voice saying your name so early in the morning, you know it's only gonna get worse.

but before you can even ask why he and what seems like the entire town are up so early and looking absolutely scared for their lives, the deep and roaring voice of another from a distance away makes you snap to the source, your heart beating so fast in your chest at the sight.

as if the men from the posters you were just looking at yesterday jumped straight out of them and is now in front of you--black attires, hats, masks, and all armed as they stand right in the middle of the town square as the one that spoke just now stands just a couple feet ahead of the rest.

"listen up! we want a thousand coins from each house within an hour! if you don't have it, you better find a way!" the man threatens, his right hand holding a gun that sits on his shoulder so comfortably.

cries and panics ensues instantly, your heart breaking at the distress written all over fathers, mothers, and children's faces as most of them cradles each other in a hug and cry together, then some retreating back into their house in defeat.

you turn to look at minsoo and he has the same look all over his face, sharing the same desperation as you but also disappointment and anger that nothing can be done.

"i'll get back to you soon. you let me know if you need me," he tells you much to a nod before going back to his own house and family.

you take another glance at the men in black as they just sit around and chat away like they're not ruining the lives of a community already going through a hard time.

your father is already awake when you return inside, asking you in his frail voice, "what's going on?"

"nothing," you tell him, putting on your best smile. he's sick and he doesn't need even more things to worry about. "just a town event."

he doesn't say furthermore but he does watch you go through your belongings until you pick up what looks like a jar full of coins.

"i'll be back," you assure, walking out and shutting the door because you don't want him to see or be a part of any of it.

as you await in the compacted living area for your turn, the longer you stare at the jar in your hand, the more you wanna cry because this is all you have from all the years of saving.

all of your dreams and future is in this small jar that you've spent the last few years putting all your blood, sweats, and tears into because if you were to ever get out of dune one day, you want it to be by your own doings.

a thousand coins is almost an entire year worth of living in the south sea. stupid fucking pirates.

you don't necessarily have a problem with them because just like people, there's good and bad pirates, and at least the ones that had passed through dune before were just rowdy at worst given most only came for the brothel, but they never held the townsfolk at freaking gunpoint.

at least half an hour goes by when you finally hear the voices before the knocks.

"are you sure it's this one?"

"yes. he couldn't shut up about it."

you open the door slowly with a racing heart, the two men in front glaring you down and making you feel all kinds of discomfort even through the disguises.

you don't say anything, only extending your hands with the jar in it, hoping and wishing for it to be over as soon as possible while you keep your gaze to your feet.

too long goes by when nothing happens, looking up again only for one of them to say, "we don't want coins from you." the statement making you raise a brow in confusion.

"you're y/n, right?" the other one who's just slightly taller than the first, says, with you returning a halfhearted nod. "it's been requested that you come with us."

and if they weren't holding your entire town hostage and parading around like they'll actually do what they say, you might think they're out of their minds because how in the hell do they know your name and is now demanding just the absolute craziest request.

"says who?" you reply, an edge to your voice that's starting to no longer consider the presence of these maniacs who could do anything to you.

"you don't need to know," the first one responds, the audacity to sound even more annoyed than you, before swiftly grabbing for your wrist but you're quick to pull back.

"i'm not fucking going," you spit. "i'll do anything and everything, even pay double, but if you guys think i'm coming with, you're insane."

he only laughs, his amusement clear even with the mask on.

"sweetheart, you're insane if you think you have a choice, now let's not make this even--"

it's probably stupid of you to shut the door in front of two very obviously strong men who's also taller than you, but you do it anyway and of course--it doesn't work, the one with a deeper and more annoying voice stops it immediately, pushing the frame back so hard it thumps against the wall and causes your father's voice to pierce from the bedroom.

"y/n, honey, is everything okay?"

"yes! everything's fine. please don't come out!"

when you look them both in the eyes again, backing away slowly with your throat and heart clenched as they only get closer, you're really not sure if you'll be able to get out of this.

"that your father?" the more annoying one asks again, his head tilted and mocking you through the tone.

"none of your fucking business."

but he only laughs again, like there's something so entertaining for him in other people's misery.

"oh, but it is. because if you don't come with us, you'll be putting your father in a lot of trouble."

you fume through your nose. "you wouldn't dare."

and just when you eventually loosen up and lets your guard down, not wanting to put your father in any danger, the other one comes at you so fast, you can barely react.

his hand clasp your mouth and nose tightly with something you can't even properly make out because you're busy struggling, eyes suddenly heavy and consciousness gone before all you see is utter darkness.

"seriously, what the fuck?"

"he asked us to do it."

"doesn't mean you had to. you know he's a fucking maniac."

"he also asked us to not smother her with chloroform but that also didn't happen."

"what else were we supposed to do? she was resisting."

"does hongjoong know about this?"

"not yet."

"jesus fucking christ... did she see you guys without your masks on?"

"no. but not like it matters now anyway."

you hear the conversation and booming voices for a good minute before you can fully make out your surrounding.

there's a brown nightstand in front of you with a badly lit lantern sitting on top, and when you're able to roll onto your back, you find the ceiling is made out of wood with multiple lines of thicker woods spreading across just a few inches apart.

you're constantly rocking back and forth, unable to stay still as if being swayed by the motions of water, and then comes the smell. something of fish and another you can't dissect just yet.

then it hits you. halateez and their threats, the two men walking into your house and demanding you come with them, then your attempt to fight when one of them suddenly came at you.

you wish it was all a bad dream, but you know it's not. it all feels too real and your current state is proof of it.

you turn to face the side of the wall made out of even more wood, a lone tear rolling down your cheek as you sniff the salty air when the door comes apart, causing you to jolt from your position.

standing there is a face you can actually see as you two just continuously stare at one another, your body naturally retracting and curled up because these people could do anything to you.

it's almost as if he can read your mind, shutting the door gently and telling you at the same time, "i'm not gonna hurt you, don't worry."

he looks a lot younger than any pirates you've ever seen in your lifetime... like he could be even younger than you.

"where am i?" you ask, volume barely loud enough and sounding like you're gonna break into a cry any second.

"a pirate ship," he answers, having stopped just short of the door and staring you down... but you knew where you are. maybe you were just hoping you would be wrong.

"please let me go back home," you beg, the waterworks already coming, usually not one to drop a sob story to get your ways but there's no other choice.

this is so wrong on so many levels and you actually cannot fathom it being a reality right now.

the man takes a short, almost remorseful breath, moving his gaze to the floor briefly before he locks eyes with you again.

"i'm afraid that isn't possible. the ship's already moved away from dune for a while now. plus, he won't let you leave. not anytime soon at least."

"he?" you quote, pitch high and curious.

"says who?" you reply, an edge to your voice that's starting to no longer consider the presence of these maniacs who could do anything to you.

"you don't need to know," the first one responds, the audacity to sound even more annoyed than you, before swiftly grabbing for your wrist but you're quick to pull back.

"he'll be here soon," is all he tells you about this mysterious man before going off about other things. "if you need to relieve yourself, it's the door to your right. probably different than what you're used to but you'll get the hang of it soon. dinner is at 7, and if you have any further questions, you'll have to ask san yourself. i don't know when i'll get to talk to you again."

you open your mouth to say something but a call outside cuts you short.

"jongho!"

he gives you another look, his expression unreadable. he seems to feel bad for you but it's hard to believe anyone's intentions and sincerity in your current state.

"i have to go," he says, turning his back to you, one hand on the handle when he stops to look over his shoulder to give you the final farewell, his pitch suddenly deeper as if sending you a warning. "i know it sucks, but please, try to be on your best behavior. he won't show you the same mercy."

you don't say anything, watching as he leaves and gaze drawn to the tattoo on the back of his wrist that you swear looks familiar but is unable to get a closer look.

left to your own devices, your mind is traveling at a thousand miles per hour, talking under your breath and pacing around the tiny cabin trying to digest everything just now while simultaneously trying to think of how to get the hell out of here.

san. jongho, who you think is his name, said it. san is the fucking lunatic that ordered for you to be here.

well, you definitely don't wanna be here when he shows up, searching the entire perimeter of the room for anything and even going into the so-called "restroom" jongho was referring to only to find two buckets--one filled with water and one empty, before shutting the door in defeat.

when you're just about out of ideas, plopping down on the edge of the bed and accidentally making eye contact with the porthole on the other side of the nightstand, you don't know why you didn't think of it sooner.

you can try breaking it... if you can find something, once again touring the area and busy looking over and under that when the door creaks open again, you just freeze in place.

"planning to escape?" a voice lighter but different from jongho and filled with amusement rings from behind as you swallow down the knot and spin around slowly. "i wouldn't do that if i were you."

he still has on his diguise attire or whatever the hell it is, but the second he locks eyes with you, he starts taking off just about everything, starting from his hat then his mask.

when it finally comes off, you visibily and audibly gasp.

“again, i’m sor–” but you stop just short of finishing when you finally look up and the dark figure hovering over your body conjures up a knot in your throat, clearing it lowly and standing on your feet as you try to make out his features in the poor lighting.

he hasn’t said anything despite the situation, though you’re able to make out his brows as they curve at you in judgement.

"you!" your finger weakly points at him in accusation, but the man just smirks like he finds a kick out it.

his chin nods off to the porthole and you follow, his voice soon filling up the space, "if you wanna try jumping out of that, i'll tell you now it won't work. we're so far from any lands at this point, you'll soon drown before you even know it."

now that you're able to see him clearly, his features more prominent and menacing in daylight, nothing welcoming like the boy that came before him especially with how he's literally undressing you with fox eyes, you can't help but to grow smaller and slowly retract away from this man.

"you're the one that ordered all of this shit?" you still manage to say despite the fear overtaking your body as you watch him take off the coat and pull the turtleneck off his head.

you avert your eyes to the floor to avoid the sight of his naked torso, but he seems to find something so funny about it as he laughs it off.

"i did," he replies nonchalantly, clearly unbothered even with the sincerity and seriousness of your question, only throwing himself down onto the bed with his hands behind his head as he continues to stare at you some more, never in your life have you ever felt this uncomfortable.

"why?" your voice cracks, all that anger and grief coming back up even stronger this time around. "what did i do to deserve this? i was just living my life, my father is sick and he needs me. what would he do without me?"

you're full on crying at this point, hoping and praying that maybe this man in front of you who looks like he's listening to just about the most boring past time story, will somehow take pity on you and let you go.

you've done nothing but tried your best to only do good deeds, so why you of all people?

you think of your father; of minsoo...

san shrugs, not moved by the tears or the breaking of your voice.

"i did it because i can? i did it because i want to?" he says, unsure himself much to your utter disbelief because he cannot be serious.

"so you're that fucking bored you just go around stealing lives of people because you can?" you scoff. "you pirates are so stupid."

he smirks and you regret the words the instant he gets off from the bed and starts walking toward you until your back hits the wall and you cannot go any further, really showing you where you stand in a situation like this.

you're holding your breath with clenched fists when he lowers his gaze to yours, tilting his head mockingly in a proximity too close for your liking.

"if you don't want anything bad to happen to you, i suggest you speak to me a little more fucking nicely, huh?"

you swallow the tension, staying quiet and choosing safety because you have no idea how he's gonna react and what he's capable of just yet.

then it catches your attention again while you're actively avoiding his gaze... the black ink on his chest in the shape of an 'a' and a circle around it.

that must also be what jongho has at the back of his wrist.

"good girl," he coos, breaking your train of thoughts as the pet name makes you feel all forms of disgust, the way he says it so affectionately when right now, all you wanna do is kick him in the shin.

you think if you don't say anything and let him be, he'll leave you alone, but he shamelessly rakes over your face and figure with a twisted gaze.

"you know," he whispers, breath ghosting the tip of your skin, finally looking up to meet his eyes. you hate the fact he's attractive for such a sick person, and you hate it even more the way he's biting at his lower lip. "you're even more beautiful up close."

you wonder if he can hear how loud your heart is beating, so afraid and fearful about what he's gonna do to you.

and when one of his fingers slowly creeps up to brush against your cheek, you visibly flinch, prompting a snicker from him before he backs away completely much to your relief.

you proceed to watch as he walks over to the nightstand and pulls a piece of clothing out of the top drawer, then throwing it onto the bed.

"change into this by tonight," he informs, tone calm but you know it's an order.

he isn't done just yet, going back to fetch one last thing before shutting it and putting on a show for you as he works on wearing the black top he got just now, pulling until it sits on his skin comfortably.

"i've got some unfinished business so i'll be back by dinner time. but for now, stay put and might i warn you one more time, don't try anything stupid and don't even try entertaining the idea of escaping," he states, the warnings sending a chill down your spine.

he doesn't wait for any kind of response from you, leaving the second after and lifting the heaviness off your chest even if just slightly.

this man really just came in here to intimidate you because he can.

--

there is really not much to do, especially in a small space you're unfamiliar with. you go back between sitting on the bed and looking through the porthole watching as the waves carry the ship along the dark water.

you don't allow yourself to sleep even if your eyelids are growing heavier each hour, your heart unable to be at rest with such a situation you had no say in.

you still haven't even changed into the outfit san demanded you to because you don't know why he wants you in such skimpy clothings for.

you absolutely refuse to wear it.

and although he's warned you to not even think of escaping, your mind can't help but to drift to the possibility of getting out of here. maybe not right now but in the future, it could happen.

he's a fool if he thinks you've already accepted your fate.

it's getting darker outside and you're failing at finding things to keep yourself occupied, when the sudden chatters outside takes your attention.

it's a tad muffled but you can still make out most of what they're saying--the voices sounding like they belong to the men earlier who's responsible for you being here in the first place.

"yeah, she's beautiful so i can understand, but san is still one crazy son of a bitch for doing this." you hear the laughters, such a matter being reduced to a casual discussion between the two.

"he didn't do it alone, though. we literally took the girl away from her home."

"you think san's going to... tonight?"

you don't even realize your ears are practically glued to the door attempting to eavesdrop, but you back away from it the second you finally digest the comment, not even bothering to hear the rest of the conversation.

is this why he took you in the first place and even ordered for you to change into some lingerie by the time he returns? it would only make sense because what other use would someone like you be good for?

just the thought of it sends your body into a state so scared and helpless, desperate to take back the rights of your life into your own hand but completely out of ideas as of currently.

minsoo would always tell you you're the most beautiful girl he's ever seen, and it was flattering at first... why wouldn't it be? it was until it wasn't; your appearance all anyone could talk about.

the aunties that lived next door would always tell your father jokingly that if he had just let you work at the brothel, the two of you could make way more than tending to crops and animals.

you don't have a problem with anyone who does that as a way of living, but it is simply not for you.

your beauty has done nothing in life for you but served troubles.

there's no way to tell time except for the darkness coating the porthole and the way your heart beats faster every passing minute, waiting in anxiety till san will eventually come back.

when you're just starting to doze off, managing to forget about him for just that quick moment, he finally makes an appearance again, the sound of the door opening jolting you from the drowsy state and into fear once again.

you watch him throw a mere glance at the piece of clothing still untouched on the bed.

"i'm pretty sure i gave you a clear order, no?" he looks at you, his antagonizing gaze already making you feel small.

but you stand your ground, spitting lowly but boldly, "i'm not wearing that."

he scoffs, shaking his head to the ground, honestly amazed at the amount of resistance and bravery one still has in a scene where they're clearly at a disadvantage.

he thinks you have absolutely no instincts for survival.

"what exactly do you plan to do with me?" you ask, desperate for a clearer answer, even if you have to annoy it out of him at your own expense. "where the hell are we even going, and can i please just know what's going on?"

he sits himself down on the lone chair near the door, eyes burning into yours as if shooting lasers.

"you sure have a lot of questions, don't you?"

"well i suppose you would too if you were taken away from your home by some lunatic."

san laughs at the jab, a smirk overtaking the shape of his lips after.

"curse at me some more, don't you? it kind of turns me on."

him abducting you should be more than enough proof you're not dealing with a sane person, but this seals it.

"you're out of your fucking mind," you say under your breath in utter disbelief but barely making an effort so he doesn't hear it.

"call me whatever names or insults you want, but it won't faze me, dear. i've heard it all."

you roll your eyes. "oh, i don't doubt it."

a couple seconds of fuming silence goes by before he's the one to speak up.

"we're heading to scorched bay. we'll reach it in a day or two. any more questions, princess?" he raises a brow, his tone a combination of teasing and purposely provoking you.

"why did you decide to ruin my life? why me?" your delivery a bit sarcastic and bitter, bringing about a chuckle from san. but he wouldn't really just do it because he can as he so-called claimed, right?

"that's some strong wordings, but i did it because i like you, is that so hard to believe?"

the room goes even more quiet than before, because this man in front of you who did just about the last thing anyone would do to someone they like, is saying that's exactly what this is.

"yeah, i do find it quite hard to believe."

he shrugs, still unmoved and only proceeding to stare at you with something in his eyes--a challenge--going on to say something that makes you even more uneasy than before.

"well, stick around longer and you'll find i mean every word i say."

if san couldn't get any crazier, he definitely hit his peak when he thought you'd sleep in the same bed as him.

he surprisingly didn't put up much of a fight when you obviously refused, but now you're starting to think he did it on purpose because he knew how uncomfortable the floor is, and that eventually, you're gonna end up regretting the choice.

"changed your mind just yet?" his voice in the dark making you jump slightly, but you try your best to maintain the composure.

"no," you say stubbornly.

because even if the wood flooring is hard and rough on your skin, you'd rather have that than spend the night sharing the same bed with a man you barely know.

"suit yourself."

you squeeze your eyes and force it shut, because if you can fall into darkness, this will all be over soon enough

--

san doesn't let you leave the room even the following day, only bringing you food when it's time so you'll have something and not die off--though you'd much rather prefer that at this point.

the only good thing is he isn't with you most of the day, always out and about and only showing up once in a while to warn you again, or get something before leaving for hours.

occasionally you'd listen to the conversations outside that's within earshot, none of them too interesting or important until you hear one concerning the ship's arrival in scorched bay by tomorrow morning.

you can't seem to trust san's words for now and you don't want to considering the person he is, but it only makes sense they're going in order.

after scorched bay, port cove would be up next.

you know you probably shouldn't entertain the idea, but you go to sleep tonight on the hard wood flooring with hope comforting you in your dreams and that tomorrow, there's a chance you could be free from this prison.

--

you're woken up by the much louder chatters foreign to a ship with a relatively small group of people, when the revelation of yesterday hits you, sitting up immediately only to see san raising an eyebrow at you while sitting on the edge of the bed shirtless.

"excited to wake up today, aren't you?" the way he says it, as if trying to get under your skin, but if you really want your plan to work, you have to go just the extra mile to stay on his good side.

you smile in return instead. "i've just always wanted to see scorched bay."

he smirks, shaking his head before standing up to look for his shirt.

"you're not going anywhere," he says, the same time he throws that same turtleneck over his head.

you already knew that but you still can't help but to feel a little dejected at the reminder.

"so what am i going to be doing for the meantime?" you ask.

he shrugs, grabbing for his coat on the rack near the door.

"you don't try to do anything stupid before we return, which should be before it gets too dark."

you fume lowly at the response. it's like every time you try to talk to him like a normal human being, he always has a way to make you feel less in return.

"i'll be back," he tells you and storms off.

you sigh as soon as the door closes. you need to do it quick and fast before he leaves. that it needs to be believable and there's a big chance it might not work but you need to try.

scorched bay is the closest to dune and the further the ship drifts away, the harder and longer it will be to get back to your father and minsoo.

you make yourself more presentable during the time he's gone, waiting in apprehension because as soon as he comes back, you have to strike immediately.

when the door finally creaks open again, you jump up so fast, san might think you're just that excited to see him again.

"what do you want?" he asks, already able to tell from your body language you want something.

"san," you roll his name off your tongue, making sure you sound soft and sweet, watching the way he blinks at such a tone, "i really need to use the restroom."

"go in the bucket," he replies coldly.

"no, but, i-i'm not used to it yet. can i please just go out to use the restroom? just this once? i promise i'll return as soon as i'm done."

he exhales in annoyance, unable to believe you're doing this right now.

"please?" you try again, even more desperate this time. "i also want to see scorched bay just once. i've never been out of dune. i-if i try anything, you can do whatever you want to me."

you say the last line a little too boldly though a little regretfully, the consequences of the words slipped not even in your mind at the time you said it.

"anything?" he repeats after, a smirk creeping onto his lips.

you nod hesitantly, feeling yourself shrink when he steps closer to you.

"remember your words, princess. because if it turns out you have other things in mind, don't say i didn't warn you."

--

it was obvious he wouldn't send you alone, but you were surprised he didn't go with you himself and instead sends one of his men.

he's trailing behind you, eyes burning into the back of your head and never failing to remind you that he's watching your every moves.

you walk through the crowd of townsfolk, able to see mountains and trees peaking from behind their heads, and shops and stalls everywhere.

the place similar to dune but much livelier and spacious if judging by the amount of people there are compared to the small town square back where you came from.

you find yourself smiling and stopping in place to admire the new but almost familiar setting, the hit of nostalgia already through the roof even though you haven't even been away for that long.

it makes you miss the place, and more importantly, it makes you miss your father and minsoo.

"hey," the voice from behind knocks you out of your thoughts.

you snap your neck around to san's man's stern gaze as he ushers at the road ahead.

"no looking around. we have to get going."

"i was just admiring the scenery," you reasons, much to the continuously cold shoulder.

"doesn't matter. now go." he slightly nudges you by the back to keep walking and you scoff at the physical force.

what the hell is wrong with all these men and their need for aggression?

you avoid the hair raising at the back of your neck and keep walking until you finally spot a public restroom, turning around to tell him you'll be back.

"make it quick," he says rather harshly and a bit annoyed, much to an eye roll from you as soon as you turn the other way.

the women's restroom is a small four stalls with tan brick walls, your eyes scanning every corner for an escape route--immediately landing upon the lone window sitting at the very top of the biggest stall.

it looks like it could barely fit you but you think you might make it. you have to try. you just need something to help you get up there first.

thankful that no one's here to see such madness, you step inside the biggest stall and of course, there's absolutely nothing here that could help you reach that height.

you bite at your bottom lip, trying to reframe from panicking and pacing around the open space of the stall when it clicks.

you can just use the toilet itself as a stepping stool. it's not high enough, but it's a start and you'll be able to open it up from where you are.

the rest is up to your perseverence and whether you can really push yourself up and through such a tight opening.

there's no time to think the plan more through or pick out the flaws, because the longer you're in here, the more suspicious san's man will get.

you step on the toilet seat before moving up onto the tank, reaching your arm out at this angle and easily pushing the window open by the handle as you can hear the glass thump quietly against the other side of the wall.

on your tippy-toe, you grab the other side with both arms and grip it with all your strength, scraping the walls with your feet to help your body over it.

the good thing is that it's grass you'll be falling into. the part where you didn't think through is that you'll be falling face and head first.

thankfully, it's not too high but there's no way you'll make it out without getting some form of injuries.

you probably just stare at it for a few seconds, contemplating just about everything and if you really wanna do this, until the loud knock at the door with your name echoing from the other side reminds you just once again of how much you'd rather break a neck or a leg than to be stuck on that ship for who knows how long.

the pain is quick at first, your arms having covered your face as you brace the fall and land hard against your back. it doesn't really hurt till it settles in, the ache and burn on the surface of your skin that has been scrapped on the way down.

the amount of trees luckily covers the scene, and though you're still sore and hurting from the fall, there's no time to waste as you stand on your feet and limp away the best you can.

that if you can get far enough; if you can stay in hiding for a while, you'll be free again. you can go back to living the life you once were and be able to return to your father.

the townsfolk are probably only able to help you as much as the people in dune can--as in they're completely powerless when it comes to a crew like halateez so it's best you don't trouble anyone.

the best bet for now is to stay in hiding until you're safe and then go from there.

you manage to make it to another public restroom, using the crowd and scenery to blend in, running to the men's this time because it would be harder and unpredictable if they were to try to find you.

you breathe an air of relief when you finally sit down on the toilet seat, your back and just about every bones still sore and hurting but you're just so happy to have come this far.

the front of your hands and elbows are bleeding, using the toilet papers to quickly mend away the pain for now until you can get actual help later on if you make this.

then you wait and wait, each steps whether loud or quiet into the restroom making your heart jump in uneasiness, until a ruckus outside takes you and what sounds like about everyone's attention.

that must be them--san and the rest of his men doing what they do best; doing the same thing they did to the people of dune.

the voice confirms your suspicion, though it doesn't belong to san, the familiarity still rings a memory so clear.

"listen up! we want a thousand coins from each house within an hour! if you don't have it, you better find a way!" the man threatens, his right hand holding a gun that sits on his shoulder so smoothly.

you hate them so much. every one of them.

what rights do they think they have by taking away from others and playing god?

you wish you could do something but the hard to swallow truth is you can't. if you could, you wouldn't have been in this position in the first place.

you're no different than anyone currently being held hostage and threatened by these stupid pirates.

so you wait some more. wait so long that you've lost track of time and the night has gone so quiet, you haven't heard a single footstep or any signs of life nearby for a while now.

maybe you should wait it out longer until the sun comes up at least and increase the chances of being in the clear, but it has very certainly turned dark quite a while ago and probably past midnight.

you can feel the goosebumps on your skin raise from just the realization that you're alone in the restroom at night in a town you have little knowledge regarding.

it's way too quiet and late for halateez to still be at the dock.

san said they'd be leaving before it gets dark, and surely you don't mean that much to him just yet that he'd make the ship delay their route when he hasn't even known you for a week.

you can probably make it to the town hall, recalling seeing it on your way and maybe ask if the mayor or anyone can help.

you don't know if you can bear staying here for another hour.

quietly peeking out the stall, you walk with cautious steps and a conscious fully alarmed when exiting the restroom, ignoring spine-chilling sensation you get from the setting as you make your way to the town hall following a path you believe should lead you there.

the closer you get, the smaller the anxiety brewing in your chest becomes, feeling as if safety and security is only so close, you can reach it if you just walk a little faster.

your pace picks up and for a second there, you see the light. your heart beating faster and your breath harsher from the distance traveled here, because just a little more and you'll make it.

all it takes for your dreams and such a bright future ahead to be crushed is the sudden hand that appears out of thin air and latches onto your wrist at such a speed you can't even react to as it flings your body to the side and drags you away.

you think the same man san sent found you, when the figure comes to an abrupt stop and turns around, wishing that it had been him instead of san himself.

you swallow in fear, never in your life have you ever felt so scared before.

he stares down at you still in his diguise except the mask that has come off, a burning look of anger in his eyes and you can't predict what he's gonna do at all.

you fucked up. you officially got caught and ruined probably your only chance of ever escaping.

god, you feel so hopeless.

"what did i fucking tell you?" he growls lowly into the night, feeling his grip on you get tighter with every spoken word. "i warned you, didn't i?"

you're in such shock, mind out of ideas until the only thing you can think of in the moment to still possibly salvage the situation is to immediately scream for help.

you barely get more than one shriek when san pulls you toward him, flushed against his chest and one hand gripping at your jaw to shut you up.

"if you know what's good for you, you'd shut up and go back nicely. besides, what can these pathetic people do for you? you'll end up right back in my arms either way."

you spit in his face, pushed to your absolute limit and way past the point of caring.

"fuck you," you curse at him. "i will never like you. i hate you. hate you, you hear me?" you deliver your words with such boldness and resentment despite the tears starting to brew.

you almost expect him to hit you, but instead, he hurls out a deep and sinister chuckle, wiping the spit off with his free hand and angles you to look up at him with the grip he still has on your jaw.

"since you love spitting so much, i'm 'oughta teach that mouth of yours some respect."

you have no idea what he means until he suddenly crashes his lips onto yours in a swift motion, allowing you no room to breathe except to stubbornly close off your own lips and deny him any entrance or satisfaction.

though you're desperately trying to fight back, both palms at his chest trying to push him away, he barely moves from his spot because he's so much stronger than you.

not only have you ever felt so hopeless, but now also violated as this person who's already stripped you of your future is trying to take ownership of your body, too.

it's the longest few seconds of your life when all you can focus on are the sloppy movements of his tongue, finally able to free yourself when he loosens up, pushing him away as you weep quietly into the night.

you don't get the time to mourn or cry about the fact this man just took your first kiss by force given he has no sympathy and only seems to care about himself.

"if you wanna make it through the night, you better keep that mouth shut and rethink any other ideas you have in mind, because trust me, i can do much worse."

you absolutely don't doubt he can, which is why you keep your sobs quiet while he drags you by the wrist to that godforsaken ship you thought you would never see again.

"san, it hurts," you try telling him plenty of times throughout the trip back only for your pleads to go in vain.

he doesn't care how tight he's holding onto you or how fast he's walking and that you're unable to keep up. this is your punishment for what you've done and he's gonna make sure you feel the wrath of it.

when you guys finally aboard the ship, he drags you through the few people watching just as harshly.

some wearing the same outfit as him but with masks on and some without--one of them you recognize as jongho, and then the rest in much casual attire similar to the man san sent with you in the first place.

you meet jongho's eyes briefly and you can't tell if it's sympathy that's present in them due to how fast san is moving until the door to the cabin you've been trapped in for the past days is standing in front of you.

with a quick unlock, it all happens so fast you can't even process san tossing you onto the bed until you're planted face first, turning on your back only to cower away in fear of what he's gonna do--especially now that you two are actually alone.

you're able to make out his features better in the ship's lighting, a look of unamused and anger crossing both at once that makes you regret the events of today.

he gave you a clear warning and you defied it. there's no way you're coming out of this unscathed.

and you don't wanna think about what could be even worse than forcefully shoving his tongue down your throat.

there's a few seconds of stare off as you try to predict his next moves.

"you're sleeping in the bed with me from now on. i don't wanna hear it," he tells you sternly.

you keep your mouth shut, knowing that continuously pissing san off is probably the last thing you wanna do right now, especially after having annoyed him enough for today.

"did i make myself clear?"

when you don't say anything, he walks closer that you can barely stutter out a, "y-yes."

"great. when i come back, i better see it."

and he walks out, the aftermath of the door shutting is the first peace and relief you get after being in the presence of him.

you really don't wanna do it but there's no other choice. you've ran yourself into this corner and the only way out--at least for now--is to abide by his rules.

you finally hop into bed after a few minutes of mentally battling yourself.

being able to sleep on an actual bed for what feels like a while is the upside, so it sucks that you're gonna have to share it with what is basically the spawn of satan himself.

you just hope to fall asleep fast enough so you won't have to deal with it when he actually comes back. praying that when you wake up the next morning, he'll also be gone before you know it.

but too much is going through your mind; your thoughts absolutely consuming, that before you can even black out, you hear the fidgeting of the door handle and then the opening of it, much to your disappointment.

you force your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep but the smallest curiosity has you opening just one eye to see what he's doing, having to keep from reacting when you can make out his shirtless torso.

when he senses some movements and suddenly snaps your way, you have to keep up the act of being asleep although the sounds of his clothes hitting the floor makes you extremely uncomfortable.

it gets harder to keep it up the second he starts crawling onto bed, pulling up the blanket to situate himself under and then next to you, his chest now flushed against your back and you just wanna kick him off already.

you think it can't get any worse but he proves you wrong by snaking an arm around your waist and practically crushes you with his own skin until you can feel something hard rubbing against the back of your thighs.

"i know you're not asleep," he whispers into your ear, the surprise making you flinch as your eyes open fully to darkness.

you can't see him but you can hear his genuine and amused laughter, immediately attempting to pry off his arm much to no use.

"shhh. don't try to fight it."

and maybe the weight of today finally hit you, because you don't even have the strength to fight him anymore. between sleeping in the same bed with san and him occasionally placing small kisses at your neck, you eventually manage to fall asleep.

the next couple of days goes by with you holding your breath every second you're with him.

he has become stricter; although he didn't let you out of the cabin before, he's now made it an official rule you cannot go out unless he gives you permission.

if he has to leave for his daily business, he makes one of his men guard the door outside and practically has you on watch 24/7.

if he can't bring you food himself, he'd also leave it to them. your whole entire world is basically the perimeter of this room at this point.

you have become so bored (though you've rather be bored and not have him here than be alerted with him), you begged him to let you do something or at least give you something to do.

he dropped off a bunch of books and told you to "do whatever you want with it."

he also tries to treat your injuries at one point despite your stubbornness that finally shows its head again after some time--a stubbornness that only gets worse when you discover something.

because just when you think san's already cruel enough, he goes even further to really show you just how much of an asshole he really is.

the first argument after your little attempted escape happens the night they return from port cove, when you happen to see the man who accompanied you that day to scorched bay when you needed to "use the restroom".

him and someone else were assigned to keep watch on you while the rest were out doing what they do best to the new place they just arrived in, and you just so happened to see him all bruised and battered through the small crack of the door window, or at least in a recovery state where you can still see very clearly the marks made on him.

you confront san as soon he walks into the room and starts his usual undressing for the night.

"were you the one who did that? to the guy that was with me at scorched bay?" you ask, sitting at the edge of the bed.

he almost has to do a double take, the question catching him offguard but not more than the fact you're even talking to him. you usually never do.

"yeah?" he answers, more like a question in return because why are you asking.

an inaudible gasp leaves your mouth at that, the reality setting in that this is who you're really messing with.

someone capable of inflicting physical harms onto others without an ounce of regret or sympathy.

"why?" he adds, his tone starting to sound more taunting. "you have something to say about it?" his head tilts at you mockingly, his hands stopping short at the waistband of his pants.

you gulp before speaking, "i-i just don't think you should've done that."

"and why not? he's one of my men. shouldn't i discipline him if he fails to carry out an order?"

"but it wasn't his fault."

"then whose fault was it?" he tests you, mirth in his eyes and if you could, you would punch him.

"m-mine," you stutter out.

he moves closer to you, your body naturally shrinking and your throat feeling tight.

"then should i punish you instead?" he bends down to look you in the eyes but you're quick to avoid his gaze, grabbing a pillow to stand up and head for the floor at the end of the bed.

"just being with you is already enough of a punishment," you mutter to yourself but you know he hears it, if the chuckle from behind means anything.

"i'm sleeping on the floor tonight," you tell him, setting the pillow down and immediately laying flat, regretting starting the conversation and now just hoping he'll leave you to be.

surprisingly, he shrugs it off and doesn't fight you on it.

"your choice. but if the waves ever gets too much and you wanna hop in bed again, know i'll always welcome with open arms."

the way he says it makes your skin crawls, feeling more annoyed than ever and just wanting to fall asleep for the sake of it all.

"goodnight, love," he coos the same time the bed creaks from above, your only response is to let out a slight puff through your nose.

you probably haven't said more than three words to san in the past couple of days, going out of your way to avoid conversations and only giving him the cold shoulder whenever he's around.

you still haven't slept on the bed since and he doesn't seem to care about it despite making it one of the rules you have to follow.

maybe he's so relaxed about it because he knows you can't do anything even if you act as tough as a nail; at the end of the night, you're still stuck in this stupid cabin with him.

on a day you're passing time the only way you can, he busts into the room earlier than usual and knocks you out of the page you're reading.

"get dressed," he demands out of thin air.

"what?"

"change into something more fitting, i'm bringing you out to meet the rest of the guys."

the book in your hands is forgotten, the mere idea of finally getting the hell out of this tiny cabin more enticing even if you're gonna have to meet a bunch of other guys probably like san.

you're just happy to catch some fresh air for what feels like forever.

"what should i change into?" you ask, watching him walk over to the top drawer as he pulls something out, turning back to extend an arm.

you look down at the fabric and see what looks like a white dress, taking it from him with slight hesitance.

you're about to ask more questions but he's already walking past you, only muttering out, "come out to the deck when you're ready." and leaving you with no choice but to follow his order.

you inspect the piece more closely after, seeing it's a white square neck midi dress and just wondering where does san even get these things from before eventually changing into it.

--

even if you don't know the ship too well, it's not hard to find where exactly san wants you to be; the noises hard to miss and coming from one direction only.

you've never gotten a proper look at the ship considering the only times you had the chance to, san's quick to rush you through it, you've never even realized just how detailed and cluttered everything is.

ropes and barrels almost everywhere and the sea smells much saltier out here, watching the way waves crashes against each other in front of your very eyes just under your feet.

when you make it out to the deck and feel the first pair of eyes on you, it's as if everyone else follows and you suddenly become the center of attention.

the once loud chitters comes to a stop the second you arrive and all you can hear is the background music, scanning the surrounding and seeing jugs of alcohol and men of all kinds standing around with smiles on their faces moments just before you arrived.

you swallow the knot in your throat and look for anything to detract the attention--a familiar face maybe, spotting san at a table a few feet away with two other men before noticing jongho just mere inches from you and alone.

you've barely spoken to jongho but he's the only other person here that you know. and frankly, you feel a lot safer with him given he has shown to have at least some sympathy towards you.

you walk quickly and sit yourself down just right across from him; such choice taking him aback before he eventually breaks the ice.

"don't feel like sitting with san?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"don't feel like ever doing anything with him, to be honest," you let slip even though it might not be the best idea to bad mouth him in front of his people, but jongho just laughs it off.

"why are they all even looking at me?" you add, evidently bothered by all the stares.

"they're curious about you. we all are."

you sigh and roll your eyes at that.

"you all want to see the poor soul he has under his grip?" you say sarcastically despite the lack of animosity and that jongho actually comes off quite genuine.

"no. he just has been talking about you a lot. nonstop. aside from me, yunho, and mingi, none of the other guys and seamen on the ship has really gotten a close look at you. san's a bit stingy."

"stingy is an understatement."

jongho snickers lowly.

"it took a lot of convincing to get him to finally let you out here. hongjoong said it isn't good to keep you in one place for too long... that you might start going crazy."

"well, hongjoong would be right. whoever he is."

"hongjoong's our captain," jongho says, nodding off to a direction you follow, unexpectedly meeting san's unamused gaze. "the one on the left of san. and then to the right would be seonghwa, our quartermaster. when hongjoong isn't around, he takes the lead."

you raise a brow, quite unfamiliar with all these pirate terms but you're learning.

"and you guys steal for a living?" you quip, relieved everyone has gone back to chit chatting and minding their own business as more music and voices fill the background.

you can see the conflicts written all over his face. from what you've known of him so far, jongho seems like a rather decent person it's almost hard to believe he's one of the pirates currently posing a threat to the citizens of wonderland.

"we don't steal because we want to, but because we have to. i know it's hard to believe but it's the truth."

"you guys surely don't seem to feel very bad about it, though..."

jongho is silent, a part of him knows that you're not entirely wrong. but also not entirely right.

"some of us manages to stay true to ourselves despite the circumstances and some loses it along the way. just all part of it, i guess."

it's almost as if he's talking to himself, the bittersweet tone in his voice and the sadden smile, his eyes kept to the table until he finally looks up to you again.

"i know it doesn't excuse his behaviors, but san's had it quite rough before we eventually accepted him as an official member. always been a little fucked in the head but he's reliable and gets things done, which is why hongjoong made him the gunner. his violent nature has benefitted us more than not."

you visibly grimace at such information, or maybe it's just the mention of san himself.

"so you guys just let him run loose and do whatever he wants?" like stealing the future of an innocent girl.

jongho recognizes your anger, knowing you're in the absolute right to cry, kick, and scream about this.

"hongjoong did advocated to let you go when he found out but san said you already saw his face and mine and that it would be too dangerous to let you go. i'm sorry."

you certainly wanna cry about just being let go and you won't ever tell on them but you know it's not even worth it.

"so what do you do? i mean, everyone else seems to have a role, you must too, no?" you switch the subject.

he chuckles, a soft smile on his lips after.

"i thought you'd never ask. i'm the crew's navigator. no one knows the ins and outs of wonderland better than i do. at least no one on this ship."

"really?" you beam, the first time you ever felt true and pure excitement ever since stepping foot here. "like... you also have a map?"

he nods.

"can i... can i see it?" you ask shyly, to a genuine giggle from jongho.

"yeah, of course. i was just gonna work on it."

you watch in amazement as he turns to his side to fidget at something before pulling out the rolled up map in the palm of his hand, spreading it out on the table as your eyes go wide.

"wow," you sing, one finger tracing along the drawn islands, towns, rivers, and just about everything with names labeled on each. "this is amazing."

jongho hums along, nodding.

"sorry," you apologize, blushing lightly when you realize just how excited you might've come off. "it might sound silly but it was always my dream to make my own map of wonderland."

"is that so?"

"yeah... i've studied charts, currents, winds, coastlines, and read just about almost everything from the local library regarding the geography of wonderland. of course, nothing beats actually seeing the places for yourself. i hear each maps are always a little different. some more detailed than others. still, i think it'd be fun to create one of my own."

"you can!" he says just as elated as you. "how about... i give you some papers and pens to start with? i mean, it's a start, right?"

"that'd be awesome. it would also really give me something to do in that tiny cabin."

you're actually having such a good time with jongho as he tells you about his finding, walking you through every little thing on the map until you're both joined by the addition of yeosang and wooyoung, two other official members of the main crew.

you learn yeosang is the officer, usually in charge of giving everyone else not on the main crew their daily tasks, and then wooyoung is the cook--the brilliant mastermind behind all of the meals you consume.

the three are so much more lighthearted and easy to talk to compared to san and the other two you had the displeasure of meeting first, you almost wanna be in denial that they're even remotely on the same team.

you might've gotten a little too comfortable and carried away by the presence of the three that you have forgotten about san and completely misses his disapproving gaze the entire time.

it's only when wooyoung suddenly stops mid-sentence and gulps down nervously that you ask what's wrong.

"it's probably best you return to san. he doesn't look very happy."

you glance his direction again and can feel the hostility from the distance, the way he chugs at his drink and loudly slams it down on the table after, the sight already making you dread having to be alone with him.

maybe you should've just sat with him. but then again, he did say he wanted you to meet the guys... which you did, a couple of them at least.

you frown at wooyoung's suggestion, your expression already enough of a response that you'd rather much stay here but you don't say it, instead opting to watch san get out of his seat and laser you a glare before storming off.

you just roll your eyes in return, hoping to resume whatever conversation you were having with the guys and not have to worry about what awaits you after all this.

the rest of the night goes by and you probably feel the most relaxed you've been in a long while, only trying to enjoy the small moments and not think about what horrible things these guys are capable of in spite of actually being quite nice to talk to.

hongjoong and seonghwa shortly introduced themselves after san's departure, and the longer you're with hongjoong the more you can understand why he's the chosen captain.

something about him; the way he talks and presents himself, an aura so strong that you can feel it by just briefly locking eyes for a few seconds.

he controls the topics and knows exactly what to say to keep it going.

seonghwa is a lot more soft-spoken on the other hand, the kind to let things flow and let the people around him talk rather than take charge.

point is, you had a much better time than expected, you don't even wanna go back into that suffocating cabin if not for the night slowly coming to an end.

you bid farewell to the guys and make your way back to the cabin with a tight throat, every second closer to the door makes you wish you could turn back the other way.

you can see from the small window it's pitched black, knocking twice quietly with baited breath before just twisting the knob and finding it unlocked.

keeping the door opened while you reach for the lantern on the side, you jump the second the room lits up and you're finally able to make out san's eyebrows creasing together and with a gaze that could kill while he's sitting on the end of the bed with hands planted onto the sheet, having waited for you the entire time and not asleep like you thought he was.

"had your fun?" he speaks with a tone you can't quite read into, head lowering to the pen and parchment paper jongho had given you.

you clear your throat, shutting the door behind and setting both of it down on the free space shared with the lantern.

"yeah," you answer casually, unaware to the bubbling tension and that such carefree attitude might just be making it worse, walking past him to head for your clothes sitting on top of the drawer. "the guys were a lot more tolerable than i thought."

you mumble the same time you grab your clothes, "i'm gonna change so if you can--" your words dying in your throat midway when you barely spin around and san's already standing tall in front of you, you're literally only centimeters away from bumping into his chest.

"--go out," you finish off awkwardly, the way he has you cornered suddenly shifting the atmosphere--or maybe you just haven't noticed.

"thick-skinned of you to be acting so modest now when you were just throwing yourself at everyone earlier," he accuses, that same look of anger showing but now with something else as well. jealousy.

you retract, offended at such false claims.

"what the hell are you talking about? you wanted me to meet them and i did. that was all that happened."

"all that happened, huh? well you seemed to really enjoy yourself out there with all the attention."

you're in complete and uttter disbelief, you're not even sure what to say; only feeling smaller with his voice raising over you with such ridiculousness.

"whatever, san. think whatever you wanna think, but if you can leave for just a minute so i can finally--"

the clothes fall out of your grasp when he roughly grabs at both your wrists and cuts your words short due to the shock.

"you know what i hate more than a disobedient little bitch?" he growls lowly in your face, the goosebumps on you raising at that. "a disobedient little bitch who's also a whore."

he throws you onto the bed so fast you can barely process it, your worst fear coming to life when he crawls on top of you and traps you in between his arms.

your breathing becomes hitched and you try with your utmost strength to push him away but the effort goes to waste, his hands going to restrain your own as he pins them down onto the sheet beside your head.

and as if you haven't learned your lesson the first time, you spit right in his face again and he's expectedly pissed off about it... more than he already is.

he lets go of one of your hands to shove it under your dress to your protest, kicking with your legs and pushing with your free hand so he doesn't reach the place you're most afraid he would.

"san, please... stop," you cry, all you can do is hit his shoulder pathetically with whatever strength still left in you, but of course, he doesn't listen.

you feel his fingers sneak past your undergarment and to the very spot you've always thought only a lover should feel and see. not someone like san.

the warmness of his fingers running along your flesh has never made you feel so dirty in your life, but when you look into his eyes and see the sinister smile plastered so smugly on his lips, all you can feel is hatred.

his fingers entering you makes you shutter in disgust even if you arch your back slightly and let just the smallest moan slip, you realize in this very moment where you're powerless, the only thing that still holds some of that power are your words.

so you aim to hurt.

"i don't care. you can take my body, you can take whatever you want, but you'll never take my heart. i hate you and i always fucking will!" you shout at him, some of the smugness disappearing slowly at that.

"shut the fuck up!" he curses back, his speed picking up with his anger, but you just keep going.

"you ruined my life! i was doing just fine before you came along, and i already have someone i love! if you didn't take me, i would still be with him!"

that seems to about done it, his fingers stopping the same time his chest heaves in and out with fumes brimming under his nose.

"you think i give a fuck about that? about him? about whether you two loved each other?" he gets in your face. "you're mine now and i can do whatever i want to you."

you're just about to bite back when he roughly takes your lips in for a messy kiss and his fingers in your core goes back to pumping in and out at such a pace that has you almost squirming.

you shouldn't feel like this. you should only hate everything about this but your body has a mind of its own and you can't deny the pleasure overflowing from the work of san's fingers.

he's kissing you too roughly--biting, pulling and tugging, you have to brace your hold onto his shoulders just to keep from falling out of place.

"you act like you hate it, but you actually fucking love it, slut," he pulls from the kiss briefly to say, not allowing a response from you before crashing his lips onto yours again.

it all goes on for a while too long until you feel the walls of your vagina close in on his fingers and he finally pulls out with a plop the same time he breaks the kiss.

you feel dirty, used, and pathetic after. especially still laying in bed trying to catch your breath with your core still soaking wet, watching as san says nothing but gets up and leaves the room with a slam of the door.

you haven't seen san since he stormed off two days ago after such an experience that you'd rather forget about.

every time thinking back to it, you feel disgusted with yourself for even finding the slightest pleasure and enjoyment in a moment where you shouldn't--the guilt building in your stomach whenever the scene plays out again, and all you can think of is minsoo.

it's as if you've betrayed him--letting another man touch you in ways he shouldn't be allowed to.

different people comes in and out through the day to bring you food, each of them you cannot put a name to.

it's usually at 7 p.m. where your last meal is delivered, expecting for another nameless face to show but is taken aback when you see it's jongho himself.

he has a plate of cooked fish and water on the side, greeting you with a thin smile as he steps into the room and sets the food aside.

"how's things going for you?" he asks, voice a tinge of pity already.

you've been busying yourself with the same parchment paper and pen that jongho gave you, having drawn the cardinal directions and just about almost every islands belonging to those areas that you're aware of--its existence at least.

"i'm... alive, i guess?" because you're not really living. at this point, you're merely just breathing and coping. "how about san? i haven't seen him in two days."

it's not that you care. you much rather prefer it this way, but you just wonder what else he could be doing.

"he's upset."

you scoff, genuinely surprise someone like san can even remotely feel such an emotion.

"about what?" you ask dryly because you're failing to believe it.

"he wouldn't tell us all of it, but something about you having another lover already."

you keep quiet out of incredulity, because he can kidnap you and force things against your will, but dare you say something back that holds some truth and he's like a wounded animal.

"he said he'll be coming back tomorrow," jongho informs, seeing the irritation mixed with horror that crosses your face the second you hear those words.

"listen, y/n," he continues, voice still full of that softness you know jongho to sound like, but it's similar to the first time he met you in this cabin again, almost as if he's lecturing you. "i know it sucks."

"yeah, it does suck," is all you say, at this point derived of pretty much all hopes and chances of leaving this ship.

"but if you want to raise the odds of getting out of here, you have to stay on san's good side."

just jongho saying that feels like the first slip of sunlight you've gotten in ages; the revive of hope, even if only slightly. your eyes go wide and you can only stare before blurting, "you mean it?"

he still looks hesitant but eventually nods.

"we're now heading west... we've been for a couple of days now. i'm sure you're somewhat familiar with the myths regarding the seas surrounding the west. they're bigger, more dangerous, unpredictable... especially rocky port."

you only nod and continue to let him speak.

"it's the one place the guys want to avoid, though i've been trying to convince them we should try for it. i've been studying the currents and tide surrounding the area and i think we can make it there safely if we go at certain times but they still think it's too risky. lots of pirates and sailors are known to not make it out of the area."

"my point is," he adds, shaking his head as if going off on an unrelated tangent, "you have to convince san to head to rocky port. if he's with it, he might be able to get the rest to reconsider. and if you do make it happen, i'll help you escape."

your throat closes up, too much information to process and so many questions at once, but at the same time still able to feel the thrill from just the possibility of being free.

"how exactly is something i'm still working on, but i know all of their schedules; when san goes in and out of the cabin. i'll be the one to bring you food when most convenient and when i eventually think of something."

"but how am i gonna be able to convince him?" you ask, probably the part you're most confused about.

conflict is written all over his face before he answers, "you have to win his heart. whatever you have to do, it's the only way to gain his trust."

he looks over his shoulder to the door. "i have to go. i know this is asking a lot of you in return but there's no reward without risk, and we're both gonna be taking pretty big ones, so think of it as an exchange of favor."

when you don't say anything, he excuses himself, his back facing you.

"wait," you stop, just short of his grip on the door handle. "why are you helping me?"

you can see his smile from the side, his head only slightly turned back to look at you.

"because i think you deserve to choose your own destiny, don't you also?"

and even though he phrased it like a question, it's more of a statement because he doesn't let you answer, bidding you a goodnight and walking out leaving you to digest what happened just now.

--

you don't fully grasp the meaning of jongho's words until you're left to your own devices moments later, tossing and turning in bed.

“but if you want to raise the odds of getting out of here, you have to stay on san’s good side.”

“you have to win his heart. whatever you have to do, it’s the only way to gain his trust.”

the comprehension makes your skin crawls and you feel dirty all over again, similar to the last night you saw san.

but the cold, hard truth is that this is the world you're living in now. a world that you cannot survive in unless you strip yourself bare of any ounce of dignity and self-respect you have.

that if it's the only way you can possibly make it back to your father and minsoo again, you might have to take the chance.

betray who you are and lie in the face of the person you hate the most just to have your life back in your hand, though it should've never been taken in the first place.

san returns the following day just as jongho said he would; a creak of the door while you work on correcting details of the map, unmoved from your seat all day.

you look over your shoulder and merely meet his eyes but neither of you says anything before you pull away to look back down at the map.

there's a minute of silence just listening to him shuffle behind you, the small room allowing you to feel his presence not far away, glancing back as discreetly as possible to see he's unbuttoning his now white shirt.

if you have a choice, you wouldn't do it. but jongho's words ring loudly in your ears and all you can hear is the mission you're out to fulfill and the freedom that might come from it.

you take a deep breath and brace yourself for whatever's about to happen, sure enough that you've thought it through after a night of restless sleeping.

standing from your seat, you walk over to san and you can tell even he's surprise when your hands suddenly overtakes his on one of the buttons he's working through.

he glares at you, raising a brow in response.

"what?" he says coldly.

you clear your throat before speaking. "i-i just want to help you... as an apology for the other day."

you can barely look at him, afraid that he just might be able to see through you--and as much as you hate his guts, you have to admit he's attractive with very prominent features that complements the work he does.

he smirks at your answer because for someone like san, nothing strokes his ego more than thinking he's in the right; feeling your heartbeat multiply when he slowly pulls you in closer.

you thought you were ready to sacrifice anything but every inch of space closed off between you two, the doubts start creeping up if you truly are ready, given how much you actually wanna run.

"is that so?" his breath ghosts against your skin, proceeding to lift your chin up to lock eyes that has you blinking in apprehension; just the way he's staring at you sends a jump of butterflies to your stomach.

you only nod, trying to keep yourself from faltering on the spot when he goes to guide your fingers with the last three buttons, unclasping them one by one with a tension in the air that only grows when the last one comes undone.

his naked torso sits in front of you, and though you've seen it a couple times by now, you don't think you ever truly want to admire it more than right now, tracing the lines of his abs and rubbing over the bumps tenderly by your own doing.

soon, you take it upon yourself to pull the shirt off as it drops to the floor, the sight in front of you almost too delicious but wrong at the same time.

still, you have to get on his good side, staring up at him and biting at your lips like he's the only person you're ever gonna need for the rest of your life.

he's quick and fast to fulfill the look in your eyes, pulling you even closer by your arms until you're flushed against his bare chest and now trying to hide the fear despite knowing it's too late to back out now.

"how sorry are you, exactly?" he teases, eyes lowering to mock you.

"r-really sorry," you stutter out, attempting to keep the composure.

"then show me." he almost growls but it actually comes out a lot more mellow, his head dipping in for an immediate kiss that unlike any of the ones before, you don't fight it.

instead, you wrap your arms around his neck and return the kiss like you mean it. like you don't actually loathe his guts and wanna throw him overboard.

clashing your tongue along with his and continuing that even when your back hits the sheet of the bed and he's hovering over you before pulling away, a look in his eyes never so hungry and desperate in his life.

you watch as he unbuckles his pants and sees the bump protruding from his underwear, time seemingly passing by so slow and torturous you just wish for it to be over with.

and after a couple more minutes of passionately making out (at least that's what it looks like) where he undresses you in the process, he sends his fingers down the same way they were in before the last time you two were in this position.

moans and cries of pleasure escapes your lips against your will until your vision fills itself with only stars, your skin also betraying you and shuttering when he whisper words of insults into your ear.

"you look much better like this. under me where you belong."

and when he finally spreads your legs and rules over your body the only way he can--a squirm leaving you when he buries his entire length inside your cunt, the conflict swirling in your stomach reaches its height.

you've ever only imagined doing such a thing with someone you love, your heart clenching and a lone tear escaping at the fact that won't be happening anymore.

despite still having your arms around his neck and displaying no signs of resistance, you think of minsoo and your father to get through with it.

that you're doing it for a greater good; a chance. and one day, it will be worth it, even if it doesn't seem like it currently.

--

you learn what it means to really get on san's good side. that only when you throw away any ounce of respect you have for yourself, that's when you get his in return.

he's nicer to you and talks nicer to you, a sweet tone always on his tongue every time he tucks a hair behind your ear or every time he meets your eyes--staring at them so lovingly like he wasn't the one bringing out tears from them not even that long ago.

but you go with it. of course you do. stare at him right back with blinking lashes and return the same sweet words you don't even mean, all because he finally lets you out of the cabin.

not only allowing you out when he says so, but whenever you want. whenever you wanna get some fresh air or just walk around the ship, he said.

doing so has led you into the two other boys you haven't properly met up until this point--yunho and mingi, who were almost as responsible as san for your capture, and who doesn't seem to be as approachable as the others, always with a cold look on both their faces.

it just makes sense they were the ones to help san.

but on the bright side, sometimes while on the deck, you'll catch jongho coming from his cabin or already at a table, always sending you a smile and a knowing look.

though san lets you roam freely, a luxury you've still haven't earned is being able to talk to anyone.

he doesn't seem to trust you regarding that just yet, or maybe because every time you bring it up, there's still always that tinge of jealousy present similar to the first night when you finally met the other guys.

luckily, you don't have the need to talk to anyone but jongho, who does so as he said he would--sneaking an appearance in one day when it's time to eat.

it's also the one thing you told san you'd be okay with still doing in your room even if he gave you permission to go out with the rest. all so you can get the chance to speak one on one with jongho to know where exactly the plan is heading.

"how are you doing?" he asks, sitting across from you in the spare chair as you make the end of the bed your home.

to be in your position is tough. he knows this. he didn't wanna say it. tell you what you really have to do to get someone like san to even remotely look at you as a person of your own.

"it's been alright," you answer, doubting for second if it's the right one.

if you truly have been brainwashed, used to being confined down here like a prisoner all day that even being able to go out and catch some air is considered a privilege.

you should be more bitter and spiteful because in the end, no matter how high the highs are, it's still at the cost of yourself.

"i'm sorry again. for making you do this. it's... the only way i know how to get you out."

you shake your head, again with the half-baked lies you're feeding yourself, but you need the push to keep going so that the reality doesn't set in. something positive in all of this mess.

"it's fine, trust me," you tell him, as much as you're trying to tell yourself. "i'm okay. as long as we go through with it, it won't be for nothing."

because san's actually quite tender and loving after sex; his temper and need for aggression seemingly having died down after the first night and you're at least glad for that.

jongho stays silent, maybe a part of him already knows how you're feeling even if you don't say so.

"we'll be hitting up mist island tomorrow. it'll be the first place from the west. shortly after should be rocky reef. you have about four days from now to convince san. after reef, if we don't head for port after, the guys will make a detour and it'll be too late."

"also," he adds, "it's best you don't wander while we're still in the west. again, the waves are more aggressive here and it's gonna be pretty hard on the ship for the meantime."

you nod understandably.

"no chance of us flipping over or anything?" you let the joke slip as an attempt to lighten the mood.

jongho snickers lowly.

"i hope not," he replies with the same lighthearted tone. "no, but really. we'll be fine. i've advised them to take a less taxing route."

you smile at that, though the idea of the ship overturning doesn't sound too bad, especially if it takes san with it.

jongho goes on, "by the way, just so we're clear and you're not thinking why i didn't help you sooner, if there's a place that you'll have the best chance of successfully fleeing, it'll be rocky port. i heard they have one of the best systems, as well as some of the best sailors and navigators to know the sea due to having lived in such a rough area. it will be your best bet back to dune. plus, you said your father is sick?"

"yes."

"they have good medicines. plants known for curing diseases no man was able to. if you do return, it might help your father."

you've never felt happier (at least in the entirety you've been on this ship) that you might not only be free from san's grip but that there's also a chance you'll be able to help your father if he already hasn't gotten better.

"if i'm able to convince him, how would we go at it if we do get there?"

he quirks his lips slightly. "you make up some kind of excuse and i'll fight to be the one to escort you, whatever it is. from there, i'll give you all the coins you'll ever need to get someone to take you back to dune, along with any medicines you need for your father which i should be able to acquire considering we usually tour the places out of disguise beforehand."

"and if san comes looking for me?"

"he won't. i'll make sure he won't. just stay in hiding and don't even come out until the crack of dawn. our ship should be leaving by then and i'll also make sure of that. we also won't be stepping foot into any of the south seas again and if san tries, you can put your trust in me i'll do everything that doesn't happen."

you don't know whether to be impressed or scared the fact jongho seems to have thought just about everything through.

"thank you, jongho. really." your voice full of gratitude you can't express enough in words.

he smiles in response.

"no need to thank me. i'm just trying to do the right thing, i guess."

there's a few seconds where you guys just embrace the comfortable silence until jongho speaks again.

"i have to go. stay any longer and the others might start raising an eyebrow. good luck, okay? i'll talk to you soon."

you nod. "you, too. good luck."

it sounds like enough of a thorough and executable plan, right?

you can tell san's in the mood based on the first few gestures he makes when he gets in bed, usually whispering into your ear and running his fingers under your shirt if he's up for it--and delivering just a short kiss to your cheek and goodnight if he isn't.

when he sends a quick peck to your cheek, you're not surprise he doesn't want to tonight.

they'll finally be landing in the west tomorrow so the guys must've had quite a hefty discussion considering he was gone for most part of the day.

"san," you call his name quietly in the night, taking it upon yourself to start a conversation and shifting on your side to meet his eyes in the darkly lit room.

"yeah?" he replies.

he looks so calm in such a setting, his face deprived of any malice and signs that tells of the actual man he is.

"we'll be landing in mist island tomorrow?" you ask with feigning innocence.

"yeah."

"i-is it okay if i go out tomorrow? for a little bit? i really wanna see the place." you put on your sweetest tone because it's a genuine question. you do.

you've always wondered what islands, towns, and cities beyond dune are like, but even more so what's beyond the south seas. you hear they're more prosperous; filled with riches and buildings you won't ever see down in the south.

even the people are different.

but when san is seemingly unfazed, his thumb going to caress one side of your face instead, you already know the answer.

"sorry, dear. can't just yet. not until we get to the north at least. you'll be able to roam more freely then."

the north. you think of how nice that sounds. finally seeing for yourself what you've always dreamed of, as if places from fairytales you've been reading since you were a child coming to life.

but for once, you wish you won't have to see it. wish that the west--that rocky port is as far as you make it.

you take a deep breath, sighing into the night. "fine."

at least when they're gone tomorrow, it'll give you time to really think through a believable enough lie that'll get san and the rest to where you need to be.

--

the spot next to you is empty when you wake up, your head slightly throbbing whether from how the ship fought the sea of the west last night, or maybe it's the new chatters and voices of the morning.

one of the biggest signs of being close to land are the presence of other people.

the event of yesterday hits you, recalling the ship should now be in mist island, you're quick to peek outside the small window of the door, only able to see crates and maybe the heads of a few passersby.

it doesn't hurt to just get a glance, right? it's the least san should allow you to do if he isn't gonna let you out.

you twist the knob of the door, pushing it forward only to come face first with one of san's men standing outside. of course.

but the smell... it's fresher, your nose sniffing the air like a fish fresh out of water and the cold that grazes your skin along with a breeze is different.

you're not very used to such weather and condition because you grew up in the south where it was basically summer all year long--the reason why most of the places there are named either after the sun or the heat.

"you can't be out here," he tells you sternly that you almost wanna roll your eyes to.

"i know. i just wanna look for a bit."

you quickly scan the area (at least the parts you can see) with awe, noticing along the way the light fog that seems to grace the place permanently and sticking to its name of mist island.

the buildings isn't rundown or made of bamboo and whatever woods they could find, and though it doesn't hold the familiarity of dune and the south seas with townsfolk running all over the place, citizens still populates the sidewalks and talk to each other... in a more calm and tame manner.

no running or fooling around, a certain grace in even the way they stand, but especially in the way they dress.

no clothes that looks worned or unwashed, the fabrics clean and polished to the eyes.

"ma'am?" he breaks your train of thoughts, to which you really roll your eyes in return this time.

"i know."

you give the place one last admiration before stepping back inside the cabin of doom, jongho's words playing in your head.

"you have about four days from now to convince san. after reef, if we don’t head for port after, the guys will make a detour and it’ll be too late.”

you only have three more days. tonight, they will leave for reef and you're gonna need to strike as soon as possible--pacing around the room to think of anything you can possibly use against san.

he's an asshole, but he isn't stupid.

and after a few hours of going in circle, you think it just might work.

“they have good medicines. plants known for curing diseases no man was able to. if you do return, it might help your father.”

--

it's the next night after mist island and before they can even reach rocky reef. you figure the time is as good as now, giving san at least two days to think it through instead of stalling and only having one where he could possibly rush the decision.

his chest is pressed up against your back with his hard-on rubbing at your thighs, his fingers slowly sneaking under your shirt.

he's more likely to be in the mood on days where he does very little and has more energy reserved at the end of the night. you also made sure to be extra sweet to him today since you planned this out, but now going on to stop his hand short of reaching your breast.

"san," you call, similar to the other night.

"what?" he answers boredly, at this point already accustomed to you only calling his name when you need something, which you admit you're guilty of.

you turn to face him, holding your breath before spewing the first few words of the lie you've been brewing, having thought out every possible scenarios and responses ahead of time.

"i'm not feeling too well."

not only did you make sure you were on your best behaviors today, but you also made sure to act sick whenever he was around--coughing, sighing from time to time, lower energy, and maybe be a bit dramatic so he'll notice.

it doesn't seem like he did, or maybe he just doesn't care. but he won't have any reasons to doubt if you bring it up.

"i think it may be that i'm not used to the cold or maybe i caught something, i'm not sure," you add onto the lie when he doesn't say anything, only slightly raising a brow in response.

"and how long have you been feeling like this?"

"starting yesterday. i thought i was just feeling a little under the weather and it'd go away but it seems to have gotten worse today."

you wait in anticipation, not wanting to jump ahead of yourself. it's better you be patient and calculate the responses when the timing is right, but the way he looks just permanently stuck in a trance of thinking is slowly starting to tick you off.

"it shouldn't be too bad. it'll probably go away after a few days, and if not, we're reaching reef tomorrow and can get you something there."

well, he sure does have a way to disappoint.

"but what if it doesn't?" your pitch grows higher, even turning your lips downward for a pout. "c-can we go to rocky port after reef?"

you have expected the confusion to cross san and it's exactly what happens. but you also know that as much as san claims to give a shit about you, that reason alone isn't gonna be enough to move him.

"plus, wouldn't it also be good for you guys to go there? skipping an entire island means losing an entire island's worth of coins, goods... they also have advanced medicines and remedies. you guys can take some for the journey."

you can't tell if it's annoyance crossing him or he's just in deep thoughts trying to digest your words and weighing all the pros and cons of it.

"i'll think about it," he finally says after some time, much to your relief and joy.

it's a good start. not a definitive answer but at least he isn't dismissing the idea entirely.

"i'll have to talk it over with hongjoong and the rest first," he adds, to a nod from you and a smile he doesn't fully see in the dark. "if you're not feeling well, then get some rest . i'll talk to you in the morning."

he places a kiss to your forehead before pulling back to your blinking eyes.

"goodnight, san," you coo.

"goodnight."

--

you wake up a couple times throughout the night due to the harsher ripple of water, most of them to san staring back and attempting to calm you to sleep again.

for your final wake, he takes you into his arms and cradles you, resting his chin on top of your head that's buried into his chest as you close your eyes and let the drowsiness take over.

it's almost weird how safe you can feel in the presence of him in a situation like this.

--

the arrival to rocky reef is no different than before; only thing different is the time much later in the afternoon, allowing for you to spend some time with san, proceeding to ask him briefly before he leaves if you can take a look at the place from where you are.

he says to not make it too long, taking his official leave and sending one of his men outside the door again in replacement.

and if you think the people and buildings in mist island were nice, rocky reef is even nicer. it's plausible that at this point, the further you head north, the more sophisticated it will only get.

the entire time he's gone, you keep your head straight so you don't lose focus on your initial goal--that tonight, san has to make the decision or else it'll be too late.

"i got these for you," he says, handing you a bottle of pills after returning from the long day, his black attire still stuck to his skin. "you feeling any better?"

you shake your head, quite desperate at this point. you really need it to work or else you'd have to face jongho with the news of failure.

"not really," you answer, voice timid and sick to the best of your ability.

he doesn't say anything while he changes out of his shirt, facing you again when it's off--a look on him like something dying to leave his throat.

"i talked to hongjoong and the rest."

you keep calm and let him talk even if you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

"they said it'd be good to give it a try. rocky port... jongho's also talked about it before and knows a way around it."

"r-really?" your heartbeat seems to get louder, but this time out of relief and an excitement different from any before.

"yeah," he confirms, the smile on him morphing into a smirk at the state of you. "a bit esctatic, aren't you?"

you gulp. "well, yeah. i mean, i-i wasn't sure if it was gonna happen at all."

"it's gonna happen, and you have me to thank for."

the next two days are a mix of anxiety and thrill, now that you've set the course, all there's left is to execute it.

jongho shared a knowing nod just the other day when you passed by the deck, casually and naturally starting a conversation with you before quietly slipping a note that you opened only when you were alone.

i'm glad you followed through. i appreciate it. i haven't been bringing in foods because i want to avoid any attention and suspicions for when we do eventually arrive at port. i hope you're taking care of yourself in the midst of all of this. when we're there, i'll give you the sign and just follow my lead - jongho

you still carry on your performance of being unwell so san knows whatever he got you from mist island didn't work; the pretentious state serving you more benefits than you would've thought.

other than kissing you a good morning and good night and cuddling you from behind during sleep, he doesn't initiate any other forms of intimacy, you honestly can't believe you haven't put up the act sooner.

but even if he does, you console in the hope that in just a day, you'll be free from his grip forever; that you'll do anything in exchange for freedom even if that's spending another night with san, body tangled and having to catch your breath under him.

everyone has been warned to keep off the deck aside from jongho who knows the route more than anyone, so if san isn't stuck to the bed flipping through pages of whatever he's reading, he's sniffing the hair down your neck and taking interest in the progress you've made on the 'map' so far.

--

it's the most restless night of sleep you've ever gotten, having to reframe from tossing and turning due to your back being practically glued to san's chest, but you still stare into the darkness with a heavy heart.

everything you and jongho did is for this very moment. a part of you thrilled, of course, but another is also filled with doubts with just the smallest possibility of it going wrong.

what would san do to you if he found out? if he caught you in the midst of the plan and realized everything that has been going on. what would he do to jongho?

and exactly what sign is jongho gonna use? what if you miss it? your mind races with uncertainty, scaring yourself into sleep because you wouldn't want san to suspect why you're still up and about and with a heartbeat that's about to burst.

the morning after san leaves as he usually does, you pace around the room biting your nails in apprehension, eventually deciding to fold the map you've been working on the smallest you possibly can and shoving it into the pocket of your pants.

it's the only thing in this room worth bringing if you have to make a run for it now.

the voices outside seems to only get louder the more hours go by, and just when you're thinking when jongho's gonna give you any sort of sign, the knock at the door takes your breath away.

it's jongho, his expression neutral and eyes skimming past your shoulders into the room before uttering a "come with me".

you follow behind him to the rest of them on the deck, all their heads turning at once, but you especially don't miss san's--a rather unamused look on his face that makes you swallow the knot in your throat.

"i told you, i can take her myself," san says, glaring straight at jongho.

"no. hongjoong and the rest need you. it's best you stay here. we'll be back before you even know it," jongho assures, the way he talks full of confidence and you could almost believe him.

san fumes, annoyance written all over him, but before he can object again, seonghwa beats him to it.

"jongho's right. it's best he takes her. he knows the place better, and plus, we'll need you here in case anything happens."

you watch san struggle with himself, a word on the tip of his tongue not coming out and sighing in irritation until he eventually gives in.

"fine. but no later than evening, or else i'll come to scrounge these ground myself."

a calm smile rest at jongho's lips, his body bending forward to bow slightly. "of course."

as you follow jongho off the ship, you sneak a brief glance at san because if everything goes as planned, it'll hopefully be the last time you see him.

"what did you tell them?" you ask, when at a safe enough distance from the watchful eyes of the others.

"that it's best you go see a doctor," he explains.

"and where are we going exactly?"

"somewhere far enough from here," is all he says. you don't question him or even have the time to admire the scenery, your mind too entirely occupied by a single goal.

you just keep walking, not sure for how long but when jongho finally stops for the first time, your know your legs are gonna be sore tomorrow.

"here," he says, taking off the pouch that has been sitting around his waist the entire time and handing it to you. "it has all the coins you need to get someone to take you back and extra as well for anything else. i also dropped by the pharmacy as soon as we arrived and got what i could."

you're speechless, staring at the pouch a little too long. the moment bittersweet like saying goodbye to a lifelong friend.

"thank you, jongho," you tell him the same time you take the pouch, throwing it over your head and onto your shoulder like a crossbody bag. "i don't know how to thank you enough."

"there's no need. i already know, trust me," he comforts you with a smile. "you remember what i said, right?"

you nod, repeating the words he said to you last time, "stay in hiding and don’t even come out until the crack of dawn."

"good. i'll be on my way now."

you're surprise when his back is already to you and feet about to start walking away, your voice raising to stop him for one last time.

"jongho..."

he stops in place and turns to you only halfway, "yeah?"

"how are you gonna deal with it when san finds out?"

he smiles and proceeds to tell you calmly, "don't worry. i have my ways. good luck, y/n."

you take a short breath, choosing to believe in him.

"you, too. good luck, jongho."

6 months later

at the time, you weren't sure if it was gonna work; the chances of it all crashing down higher than not... but it did.

you stayed in hiding on a hungry stomach and barely any sleep even past the crack of dawn, the ship probably already gone for hours by the time you finally peeked around the corner, each steps bolder and closer to the dock to confirm the departure of the ship that filled your head with mostly negative memories.

from then, with the money jongho had given you, you were able to get someone to take you back to dune--the look on your father's face when you returned as vivid as the day it happened, as if you came back from the dead.

it's the same look minsoo and a few other townsfolk gave you, none of them able to accurately explain your disappearance; only that it happened the same day the pirates raided.

some thought you were dead, or worse--sold off somewhere, because there was no way a girl like you would be able to survive out in the seas with a group of thieves and possibly murderers.

they all considered your return a miracle, and so did you--the first couple of days bombarded with questions of your exact whereabouts and you remember not even knowing where to start.

you remember still processing everything and mourning for the life you thought you had lost; as if given another chance at it again.

everyone you told asked if you saw the faces of the pirates that took you, but you simply lied and said you didn't. you just think everything is better left in the past, not having to dwell on it or to want some kind of retribution for what happened.

you feel that somewhat and somehow, jongho must've known this; the fact you wouldn't rat them out.

but the event gave you a new outlook on life, how you used to want to get out of such a small place but now you have no other desire but to stay here with the people you love for as long as possible.

it taught you to be grateful for what you have because in any given second, those things could be taken away.

minsoo had been caring for your father during the time you were gone, and with the remedies and medicines jongho gave you, your father was able to recover within just a matter of days.

now, you've gone back to the routine of tending crops and animals with your father to make ends meet and you wouldn't trade it for the world--life seemingly back to just as it was before. safe and secure.

you spent the first two months in paranoia, afraid every single day that just by chance, jongho would break his promise or knowing how san is, he'd find a way back somehow.

only until you realized you were wasting more time worrying than living life did you learn to give it up. if he wanted to find you, he would've already.

but just because he wasn't next to you anymore didn't mean he still didn't hold some sort of power over you, ever since sleeping with him and doing things only lovers did, you no longer wish to do any of those with minsoo.

even if you hold great feelings for minsoo--feelings you can't ever hold for san, you can't help but to think of him at any thoughts of intimacy.

there isn't a single thing you're unable to talk about with minsoo, the boy the least judgmental person you know, but you won't ever tell him what you had to give up in order to come back to him.

--

the view from atop of the hill is the same as you remember, a few months ago your breath taken away when you finally saw it again for the first time in a while.

ever since, you and minsoo has been making it more of a habit to show--even more than before.

when you look out far enough, you can still picture all the other islands, towns, and settlements--most of them you've actually been to yourself. but now, only the mere idea of it sounds good.

you like being here, exactly where you are.

"so, you ever think of finishing the map?" minsoo would always ask, and you'd always tell him 'maybe'.

he thinks it's impressive but you wish he had seen jongho's work. sometimes, you get the urge to tell him about jongho and how much he helped you. but again, it's all things you wanna leave behind.

on the way home, you pick up a couple groceries to make soup for your father, learning new recipes a hobby of yours lately on top of picking up new books.

you've adapted to the routine even if it's repetitive, making sure your father eats before sending him off to bed so you can occupy yourself with whatever book you managed to find from the library this week for the next hour before calling it a night.

you're just about to sip on your tea when the knock at the door at such an odd hour takes your attention, placing the book down on the nearby table immediately and getting up from the seat.

if it's not minsoo, you don't know who else. unless one of the neighbors wanna complain again.

you fling the door open, a snarky remark already slipping because you're so sure it's minsoo. "why are you--"

but all you need for confirmation it's not him and that life really is so cruel and unfair, is for you to come face first with that stupid tattoo that is every reminder of the hell you thought you were free from.

that black ink on his chest in the shape of an ‘a’ and a circle you wanna scrape off just as much as the equally stupid smirk on his face.

"miss me, princess?"

a/n: story has been in my drafts for over a year now & iomt san rlly helped in finally making it happen. literally got most of my pirate knowledge from the one piece live action lmfaooo

[downbadreading]

yandere simulator; xo (only if you say yes)

2024 | 18+ | SERIES | STARRING ➤ Y.JW | SUMMARY; when you—a corporate worker in her late twenties—finds a strange self-proclaimed online game "no one has ever win this game yet", where its premise are centered around yanderes, but instead of the classic route where the yanderes had to chase you, it is you who have to do it; turn the boy you've chosen into a lovesick creature for you before someone else does. playing it online is surely fine, but what happens when you find yourself stuck in its world?

GENRE: roleplay story with polls, yandere, survival/death game, character-driven story, dark psychology, psychological thriller, drama

WARNING: violence/gore, profanities, yandere content

DIRECTOR'S CUT no taglists!

ꗃ ༝༚ . loading. . . LVL 1

ꗃ ༝༚ . loading. . . LVL 2

ꄗ ༝༚ . LVL 3 LOCKED !

ꄗ ༝༚ . LVL 4 LOCKED !

ꄗ ༝༚ . LVL 5 LOCKED !

ꄗ ༝༚ . LVL 6 LOCKED !

ꄗ ༝༚ . LVL 7 LOCKED !

© 2022-2024, pieroulette on [tumblr]. all rights reserved.

[downbadreading]

Pathetic

Twice Sana x Male Reader

4k words

Content Warning: smut, cheating, mix of degrading and praise

Minors DNI

A/N: First of all I wanna say thank you so much for the support on my latest fic! It motivates me to put out more for you guys and I really appreciate it.

So so so sorry to the person that wanted female reader next, I PROMISE its coming. This is just some smut that was in my drafts, i figured I'd post it while I write the next fic I plan on uploading.

This is cut from a longer fic I wrote a little bit ago. I won't be posting the entire thing because I took alot of inspiration from a different fic I read. Not the smut though, the smut is all my writing so that's why I'm sharing it with you all.

(Also when I mention "Kim Minji" I'm talking about Jiu from Dreamcatcher.)

-

"You're pathetic"

-

One bad night was all it took, an argument with your wife over the way you looked at the intern at work earlier that day. You swore you weren't looking because 'no co-workers' was the rule in your open marriage and you would always honor that. Even if it wasn't, you knew that they didn't like each other so it'd be nothing short of betrayal to fuck someone who hated your wife. So no matter how incredible the girl looked in her short dresses and her tiny mini skirts, she was forbidden fruit.

Minji couldn't trust you though, she knew your type and could spot that look in your eye from a mile away. So she waited until you both got home to confront you about it. Of course, you denied even looking the interns way—a lie, might I add—then it turned into a screaming match, the hatred she had for her subordinate much more prevalent in her fiery eyes.

It ended with a slam of your bedroom door and the expectation that you'd sleep on the couch that night, which you did.

That's basically how you spent the following weekend, not talking to each other and only being painfully cold and passive aggressive when you did. You never liked to fight, it always felt so cold and empty, sleeping in different rooms waiting for the other to apologize. Days had passed, still barely any communication as your weekend fight bled into the weekdays. At work you kept things cordial, still not communicating much at all.

Everyone could tell, people at work could tell, there was a certain coldness in the both of you. You two were similar in that way, being extra shitty to your co-workers when things weren't going well at home. That and the fact that you chose to eat alone at lunch rather than with her.

You were in your office spending your lunch eating some ordered fast food while trying to catch up to a deadline when you heard your door open. Assuming it's one of your assistants you say "I'm on my lunch break, come back in thirty" without even looking up from your computer.

In your peripheral vision, you see the person instead step into your office and close the door behind them. Actually looking up this time, you open your mouth to speak, but the words fail to come out. It's the intern, Sana and she looks incredible. Her hair is straight and black today, very different from her usual brown wavy look but she pulled it off all the same. She wore a cute black dress, its material velvet and its collar white with three cute silver buttons down the midline. Then your eyes drift to her legs. Bare, pale and slim, not to mention there wasn't a bruise, scab or blemish in sight.

"Minatozaki, if you're looking for Mrs. Kim, she should be in her office" You throat goes dry, immediately noticing the interns quick move to lock the door behind her, a mischievous grin on her face.

"She's my boss, I know where she is. If I was looking for her, I would've went to her" Sana rolls her eyes and approaches your desk, leaning forwards to place her palms flat against the maple wood, straightening her arms as well. You look above your desktop, meeting her eyes for a split second before hearing alarms ringing distantly in the back of your mind.

You dart your eyes back to the paper you were working on then you gather up the thread of authority you have left to say "I can't imagine there would be anything you'd want from me, we work in completely different departments and.." You make eye contact for a moment "No disrespect but you're just an intern, so if you could please unlock the door and see your way out.." You say it so non chalantly, almost catching her confident demeanor shift at your passive aggressive tone.

Sana chews on her bottom lip for a bit "Oh don't be like that Mr. L/n..." She fake pouts, acting as if she's oh-so upset about your tone and in a way it was sexy. It's the way she drags out the words all slow in that sweet voice of hers, God it's killing  you. "I just noticed that Mrs. Kim's been extra bitchy this week... you know, at first I thought maybe she's on her period but then I noticed you two are barely talking to each other. Trouble in Paradise?" She asks, circling around your desk to stand beside you.

You look over with a fake polite grin on your face, making the grave mistake of rolling your chair back and turning it so you could face her. "That's really none of your business"

"Oh please, your open marriage is everybody's business" Sana chuckles for a moment and she leans down, holding herself up on the armrests of your chair. You mean to scoot the chair back as far as it can go, stand up and demand that she leave with your voice stern but instead you freeze. You fucking freeze, realizing how close she is and those ringing alarms from before? They turn into blaring sirens "So, why don't you tell me what happened? Whose fault is it? Yours or hers? She fuck someone she's not supposed to?"

It takes you a second to blink, then you swallow hard as you feel your body begin to burn, that nervous heat in your armpits. You catch a whiff of her perfume and it's fucking heavenly, some warm mix of vanilla and maybe cinnamon. Then her face, her beautiful face, one that could've only been hand sculpted by God himself. Her pink lipgloss only making her plump lips look all the more delectable and—fuck you're staring way too hard. "Listen, you're - you're way too close right now"

Sana leans down even closer and conveniently, if you were to look a few millimeters down, you'd be able to see her cleavage pouring out of her dress. "I'm just as close as I need to be, Sir" She says and there's that smirk again, that fucking smirk, the one that says 'I know i've got this mother fucker right where I want him' Now there's a thumping sound that begins filling your ears and it takes a second for you to realize it's your heart.

"I'm married, you should know this is very inappropriate and- "

A whimper escapes your lips the moment she makes a move to straddle your legs. "You're in an open relationship, so this..." She puts her hands on your shoulders "Is fine"

"We have certain boundaries, certain rules that aren't to be broken.. it's what makes us work"

She pokes her bottom lip out and looks at you through her lashes "Am I a boundary?"

"Of course you are! I know you and my wife aren't exactly the best of friends and to be frank, you're a stuck up, entitled brat who seriously needs a fucking reality check" You tell her and for the first time it actually sounds as if you have some sort of backbone but Sana doesn't flinch, make a face or get upset.

She just tilts her head "If i'm so bad, then why am I still on your lap?" She pauses, then looks down observing exactly how your body has betrayed you "And why are you hard?" She asks with a false-innocent tone, God you hated when she used that voice because she just sounded so stupidly sexy. She leans in closer to you, just by your ear "How about you give me a reality check" Her breath is warm as it brushes past your ear lobe.

Then you lose it, like actually lose it. Your hands find their way to her waist and you squeeze, hard enough that it elicits a sharp gasp from her. You pull her forwards and your bodies are now closer than ever, she leans down, arms wrapped loosely around your neck before your lips are pressed together. It's nothing like a rom-com, where the two main characters kiss and suddenly fireworks go off and it's magical and wholesome. No, this was pure raw lust, so strong that if it had a scent, the room would fucking reek of it.

Your lips move together so messily—sloppily as if you're genuinely trying to absolutely devour each other. Sana shoves her tongue into your mouth and you can taste her lipgloss, sweet strawberries, so intoxicating it all made your vision start to blur like a lucid dream. But this is no dream, this is real and the it's the sinful desire that makes it feel so good.

Now she's rocking her hips, whining and humming into your mouth as you suck each others lips swollen. She kisses your cheek and then deviates all the way down to your neck. You sigh a pleasureful breath "I shouldn't be doing this" You mutter, but make no effort to push her off.

She slides back then works on unbuttoning your shirt. "But you want to, I know you do" Her tongue darts out to wet her lips even more than they already were as she focused on getting your shirt off "God, how many fucking buttons.." She whispers to herself with a hot frustration.

This is wrong. You know it's wrong, hell your mind is yelling at you, sending an army of receptors to stimulate your brain to form a coherent rejection. Something mean enough that'll make this evil seductress leave the your office crying. It doesn't work in the slightest, you can't control the way you grip her waist or the way your head stirs from the feeling of being under her.

Sana finally finishes opening your button up "How'd I know you'd have a perfect body?" She mumbled, allowing her cute black nails to scrape against the hard surface of your chest and torso. Your hands drifted, eager to finally get a feel of those legs you've been leering at since day one. They were even softer than you imagined, you grabbed them softly, refraining from digging your fingernails into them. You just couldn't bring yourself to ruin such beautiful skin just yet.

"Sana" You say her name, low and deep, still not taking your eyes off of the way her thighs seem so tiny in your hands. With one hand still on her thigh, your dominant one slides up her dress and you pull her so called panties to the side. The material feels so thin and lacy, you couldn't even for sure call it underwear. "You're already dripping for me" You announce, sliding the pad of your middle finger up and down her slit, just slightly parting her lips so that it can graze against her clit ever so slightly when you reach the top. Her body jerks as you do, a tight gasp escaping her lips.

She's grinding on the pad of your fingers now and you're just watching—observing how she was so desperate, so needy for you. For you. She needed you to do something so badly but you wouldn't yet. It was frustrating her, of course but she just refused to open her mouth to say something so you do "Go ahead Sana, beg for it, tell me exactly what you want" You say it softly, slight rasp in your voice only adding to her burning arousal.

It takes her a moment before she can actually communicate words that didn't sound like pathetic whines. Still, moving her hips on your now stationary hand she mutters "I d-don't beg." She says it so weakly without even an ounce of conviction in her tone. What a fucking brat. You slip your hand from under her dress and they're on her waist again, then you pull her forwards and sit her directly over the rock hard bulge between your legs. She gasps, wet core directly on your clothed cock and when she moves to grind she realizes she can't because you are holding her still.

"You know, my lunch break will be over in a little under 20 minutes. Then people will be in and out of here like clock work and you?" You pause, taking a second to admire her beautiful face. From those pink pouty lips all the way to those dark and lustful eyes. "You'll be walking out of here un-touched and so wet that it's leaking down your thighs" You chuckle for a moment and shake your head "Is that what you want Sana?"

"mm-mm" She shakes her head, then looks deep into your eyes as if the thought of walking out of your office unsatisfied was the worst possible thing that could ever happen in life. "Please Sir, please - I need you inside of me please, please Sir"

You push her back a bit, then slide your dominant hand back under her dress. Your fingers come back into contact with her core and she's looking at you, her eyes begging-pleading for you to take her right here, right now in your office. Ever so slowly, you push your middle and ring fingers inside. She took them easy, a long whine escaping her lips when you curl your fingers "Fuck - thank you sir, thank you, thank you, thank you—" She's chanting in short breaths, her eyes screwing shut the moment you begin to pump in and out.

It's so wet, the sticky sound echoing throughout the otherwise empty office. Her walls hugged you tightly, only making your cock throb even more in your pants when you realized that you were going to be inside of her. Inside of this perfect fucking pussy. "So fucking tight, baby" You mutter as she mirrors your movements, grinding down on your fingers. She's moaning and whining so loud you think someone will hear, but you don't care anymore. Sana looks amazing like this, like she's made for this. To be on your fingers, rutting like a needy slut on top of you as she tries to get them much deeper than they could go.

"Oh - Fuck yes... just like that sir" She cuts herself off with a gasp "That feels so fucking good" You're allowing the pad of your fingers to press against her g-spot and you can tell its driving her crazy. By the way she's moving her hips and squeezing your arms for leverage, she's fucking loving this. Everything about Sana is just obscene. From the way she curses in that filthy tone to the way she's shamelessly

Now her breathing is erratic, like she's about to have a panic attack or faint, and you can feel her walls massaging you. "Are you gonna cum already?" You mutter almost in awe as you stare at her beautiful face. She was so pretty with her eyes closed and her head hung from the embarrassment of being so needy and horny. Then she was soaking, her arousal running down your fingers.

"I - fuck sir - please" She tries to respond, nodding frantically as she begins moaning unabashedly in your face. Her breath warm and shaky as it escapes her lips "Ah - Please make me cum sir, please make me fucking cum" Sana's begging now, pridefully without any kind of shame even though she was in a really shameful position. Riding her superior's fingers on his lap in his office where there's a big ass window in the door. If someone looked through at the right angle, she would've been caught and she knew that. Hell, she gets off on it.

The stirring in your pants gets more persistent, more impatient and it's fucking aching. So you slide your fingers out and for a moment, Sana's still whining and grinding, her fucked out brain still not registering the loss of touch yet. You grab her legs and stand up, then you place her on the desk, right next to your computer and you begin unzipping your pants. "Oh fuck yes daddy please give me your cock" She bites her bottom lip and gives you a look and it almost makes you growl.

Your pants are at your ankles along with your boxers and you're pulling her closer, her legs loosely wrapping around your waist. "You're a real fucking slut" You grab her face, squeezing her cheeks so her lips sort of smush together. In your grip, she nods the best she can, a hot 'mm-hmm' leaving her throat. There's a moment you take to just look into her eyes, the way her eyebrows were upturned, the look of pure fucking want in her eyes. God it was ruining you.

"I can be your personal slut if you'd like, sir" She says it like she's pleading after you let go of her face. Then you hike her dress up a bit more and you're finally lining yourself up. You press the fat tip against her entrance and she winces and looks down. She's holding onto your arms to brace herself "Fuck, it's so big - want you to fucking stretch me"

God she's so filthy, in the way she speaks, moves and stares at you it's unbelievable and you fucking love it. You know you should hate it, you should be disgusted with her. Practically throwing herself at a married man all to spite his wife, her boss at that. You should fucking hate her for the things she's said to Minji and the fact that she hates her. But you just can't get over her body, the way she walks, the way she talks, the way she does fucking anything with that pretty face of hers.

You slide your cock into of her entrance ever so slowly, immediately feeling the tight grip of her warm walls. "Holy shit" You groan and Sana's gone silent, her jaw slack as she looks up and directly into the white light in the ceiling with her eyebrows furrowed. "So - fucking - tight" Your teeth are clenched as you're grunting finally making it all the way to the hilt.

Then you stop for a moment, pulling her even closer "You're so fucking deep i - please fuck me sir, please" You do exactly as she says, pulling your hips back just to thrust all the way back in and she lets out a moan so guttural that it had to have been stuck the back of her throat. Then you're in more of a rhythm, fucking the tight, smooth hole that she's just letting you have. "That's right - fucking use me - oh God"

She's more than just enjoying herself and you're both moaning way louder than you should be. But everything's just too much, because you're a thousand degrees, sweaty and tousled. You can't smell it but you know the room reeks of that pungent aroma, one that could only be recognized for what it was—what it could only be. Sex.

You lean over, resting your head in the crook of her neck so that your lips can come into contact with the salty flesh. "You feel so fucking good - God" You mumble on her skin, licking, kissing, sucking all to make everything feel all the more overstimulating to her. It was something you never thought you'd ever say, but she felt the best out of almost any girl you've ever been with. There was something uniquely warm, tight and moist about her that you've never felt before.

"Yeah - Yeah - Yeah - please don't stop sir, please keep fucking me like that." You can't get enough of her, you wouldn't even stop if you wanted to. Then you're reaching your hand down, tongue still licking her neck as you press your fingers against her swollen clit. The poor thing was practically begging for attention before you got to it. You circled your fingers around it in a way which matched your thrusts.

Now Sana was really seeing stars, like actual stars, her vision even going black at some points. You knew you had her when you first felt her legs begin to shake, then the rhythmic pulsing inside. You lightly bite her ear "There you go baby, cum for me" You whisper so hotly that it's got her right on the edge.

"Yeah" She whispers, her voice shaking breathily and then she gets louder "G-Gonna - Fuck" It's erratic, the way she's moving so rigidly and the insane grip you have on her waist isn't doing any favors. "You're gonna make me cum, you're gonna make me fucking cum" Sana's nodding her head.

Then her back is arched, pushing her chest into yours and she's toppling over the edge. Her moans beautifully silent, caught in her throat as her body stutters and shakes erratically. "That's a Good girl, Sana" You encourage her, knowing that she'd love the praise.

Once she recovers, you don't slow down, in fact you're speeding up almost choking as you now recognize how pent up and sensitive you are. Like you could explode any fucking minute. You know it and Sana does from the way you're heaving and panting like a beat dog. The way your face is red, and then the serious concentration. She squeezes her legs tighter around your waist "Please cum in me sir - wanna feel you filling me up" She moans erotically.

You shiver at this, hearing the words come out of her mouth so fucking easily.. "I can't" Are the only words you can mutter without your voice breaking, it's almost humiliating. But she wants it, she wants it so bad.

"Yes you can" She wraps her arms around your neck and pulls you close, her mouth near your ear now. "Come on daddy, breed me. Mark your fucking territory" she eggs you on in that perfect voice of hers and you almost fucking malfunction. This girl is so dangerous. You mean to pull out, you really do but all of a sudden you can't make yourself stop when you begin shooting your load inside. Fucking it deep inside of her womb, like really deep and she's moaning so loud as if she's the one cumming. She's getting off on it.

The two of you stay like that for a bit, God knows how long with your heads empty and your bodies sweaty. When you finally pull out, your cock already soft. Sana giggles a bit, then pulls her panties back over her raw cunt and she slowly slides herself off of your desk. You're pulling your pants up, fixing your belt and then your button up as she tidy's up her dress. "I shouldn't have done that" You sigh, immediately feeling the regret hit you like a truck now that the lust has withered away.

"Come on, it's not like your marriage is exclusive"

You sit in your chair, leaning forwards as you bury your hands in your face, smelling Sana on them. "We have fucking rules Sana, and i broke them all" You're thinking about what you'll tell Minji, how badly this'll probably fucking hurt her. Way to go, you went ahead and fucked a load into the only girl your wife hates. The one you promised that she didn't have to worry about. Sana opens her mouth to say something else but you don't want to hear it "Please get out and... don't tell anybody about this"

"Okay" She says, but she says it sarcastically, like she doesn't take you seriously. You get up from your chair as she puts her hand on the door knob "I'm fucking serious, Sana. Nobody, not your friends, not our co-workers and certainly not-"

"Mrs. Kim?" She finishes your thought, tilting her head. "You're pathetic, let go of me" She scoffs then snatches her arm from your hands then continues to exit your office. You exhale deeply, and you punch the wall, not hard enough to leave a hole but hard enough to leave a bruise. So you immediately regret it, shaking the hand you used.  Sana was right, you were pathetic.

"This can't happen again" You tell yourself out loud as if it'll make your words true.

It doesn't.

[downbadreading]

𝐀𝐌 𝐈 (𝟐𝟓𝐅) 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 (𝟐𝟖𝐌)

i know it sounds bad but we got high and he's hot!!

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ plug!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: thank u 2 @chososdoll for beta reading for me!! this is part of @ohkento's reddit-inspired collab! (ps this isnt a true form fic i just think he looks SEXY IN THAT PIC HNNNNGN) Warnings: 18+, dubcon, mean dom!sukuna, sub!reader, cheating, hate sex ♡, drug taking, weed smoking, blowbacks/shotgunning, heavy degradation, slight praise, fingering ♡, vaginal sex, sixty-nineing ♡, face sitting, squirting ♡, pussy spanking, noncon filming, coercion, manipulation, daddy!kink, creampie, cervix fucking. Words: 10.6k

“I’ve heard about you.” Yuuji starts, turning his head from looking up at the stars to facing you. Your mind feels cloudy, but you return his stare. He thinks your pearly smile belongs in the sky; a permanent constellation to remind him of this moment. “How come this is my first time meeting you?”

You sigh, reaching over as he hands a lit spliff to you. The bonfire rages in front of you both, the smoke burning your eyes until they fill with water.

At least you have the perfect cover if you burst into tears.

“Things got… hard.” you tell him, not really wanting to elaborate. But golden-brown puppy dog eyes will you to continue. It’s stupid, really, how cliché people become when they smoke. You’re no exception. The intoxication and the setting make you feel as though you’re in an indie movie, longing to share your scars and become closer to the one attractive boy giving you his attention. “My ex, he cheated on me. I was with him for two years so it hurt.” you confess, taking a thick drag before passing it back to him, he tuts as he takes it from you.

“I’m really sorry,” he expresses, holding eye contact while he smokes. The feeling rushes straight to his head and through his blood. He laughs a little as he gets comfortable in his seat. “Sorry… I’m not laughing at you.” he clarifies, laughing again.

You start to laugh too, leaning over to grab the spliff from his hand before he sets the back garden on fire with it. Both of your attention is pulled from each other as you hear a scream from inside. The party is still going on indoors, and the scream soon turns into a girly laugh.

No doubt one of your friends flirting with one of the other guys.

“It’s okay.” you assure him, getting just as comfortable in your own seat as you smoke the remainder of the joint. You wrap yourself in the blanket you brought outside and turn your body slightly to face him. “It was with my best friend, too.” you continue, your deepest wound not seeming so scarring as you allow the high to expose your secrets on your behalf.

“Shit.” he shakes his head.

“I’ve been doing therapy and stuff so I’m better. I just wasn’t in the mood to see people…” you explain, jolting upright a little as you realise you’re oversharing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so deep and make you feel uncomfortable.” you tell him.

“I’m fine, I’m the one who asked.” he chuckles, getting comfier under his own blanket as he turns to look at you.

His warm eyes make you feel relaxed, safe. And you hate it. You hate how much of a cliché you really are becoming and you hate that you can’t help it. This moment feels so much bigger than anything, but deep down, you’re paranoid, because you’re sure it’s the drugs talking.

You’ve heard about Yuuji, too.

You’ve heard about how sweet he is and how he doesn’t have a bad bone in his body. He has a sports scholarship of some kind, and after a quick stalk of his socials you noted how reflected this is in the form of his chiseled body. Could he really be so nice? He seems, perfect.

And apparently he, gives the best head.

“I have a secret.” he tells you, quietly. His voice almost drowned out by the crackling bonfire beside you. You aren’t sure what makes you heat up so quickly. The implication of his words or the way he said them. A lustful look in his eyes as the fire dances wildly beside you both.

“Yeah?” you tell him, cheeks fill with warmth as you try to ignore how fucking hot it is in pursuit of looking cool. And that makes you giggle, for some reason. Yuuji isn’t the one making you flush with heat, it’s the fire, idiot. “T-Tell me.” you encourage him, throwing off your blanket and fanning yourself dramatically.

So much for looking cool.

He grins, almost coyly, as he leans across the arm of his chair. And for some reason, you instinctively mirror him. Is it so secret that you need to be close? He might whisper it to you.

He tilts his head, smirking. His eyes flit from your eyes to your lips a few times. Enough times that you make a note of it. And your heart is fucking racing with each flicker of his gaze. You think you know what’s coming. But you stay still, watching him, waiting for him to make the first move.

“… I really wanna kiss you.” he admits. And if you weren’t hot before, you certainly are now. You try, and likely fail, to keep it cool. A wide grin spreads across your face and you burst into giggles. But your eyes meet his again, and you see a smile just as wide as yours on his face as he observes you.

“Yeah?” you ask, dumbly.

“Yeah.” he nods.

You gulp, shallowly, leaning in closer to him and letting your eyes fall closed. He smirks, again, leaning in until your lips meet. It’s sweet and passionate, until he pulls away. It surprises you a little. Worries you, even. Are you a bad kisser? Maybe you are when you’re high. But worry turns to astonishment as he pulls your chair closer to until the arms of both of your seats touch. He smirks, again, wrapping his arm around your neck as he leans in to kiss you.

And now, you really do hate yourself.

You moan into it.

You aren’t even sure where it came from. Was that really you? He grins, nonetheless, a feeling of pride swelling in his chest as his tongue meets yours in a more than welcome manner. You pull away, a string of spit connecting you both. A kiss infused daze covers your features as you look at him under heavy eyelids, and you pant, deeply.

“I have another secret.” he whispers, stealing another sweet kiss from your raw lips. Gloss smeared over your lip line and a dewiness transferred to his.

“Is it as good as the first?” you tease, giggling as his hand cups your face. You mewl, melting into his touch as his thumb strokes your cheek delicately. Your eyes widen. A look of curiosity replaces the majority of the lust, though you both know it’s still lurking.

“Well,” he starts, his eyes begin to wander. You observe him as his vision roams from the sky to the flames beside you. He takes his time, the anticipation of his words runs rampant through your bloodstream. Until, finally, he blesses you with his gaze once more. “I want to stay with you until the sun comes up. I want you to sit on my lap, with my cock inside you, under our blankets. All night.”

You’d hoped once he told you that your anxiety would have diminished. Though you’re sure with the way his eyes are fixated on your lips, your heart is surely surveying an escape route from your slack-jawed mouth as it pumps hard and violently through you. He doesn’t seem worried that you haven’t said a word, and his gaze doesn’t falter.

“Okay.” you nod.

It excites you. You haven’t been with anyone since your ex. And it might be a bad idea, but it doesn’t stop you. It’s not like you’re rushing into being with someone. It’s been months since things ended with your cheating ex-boyfriend. You stand up, bringing your blanket as you stand over Yuuji, and he holds your hips gently.

He feels under your skirt, smiling when he feels how soaked your panties are but he doesn’t comment. He moves them into the crease of your thigh and encourages you to straddle him.

You do.

Hovering slightly as he pulls down his joggers and his semi springs free. It’s big and pretty, like him. You kiss him as he jerks himself until he’s aching. He’s desperate to bury it inside of your gummy walls, his cock catches against your eager hole with every purposeful stroke.

He throws his head back as you sink down on him, and your hips stutter slightly from the stretch. You’re trying to focus on concealing your bodies with the fuzzy blanket wrapped around you, but your lips fly to his in a bid to silence yourself as he sheaths himself fully.

“Fuck, you’re tight… so wet, too.” he mumbles, hips rolling ever so slightly as he enjoys the feeling of being inside of you raw.

You jolt, panicked, as you hear a knock from the kitchen window. Both of your attention is stolen to see the origin, and you spot a group of partygoers hollering from inside. Two of his friends and one of yours, they all cheer and whoop as they can only assume what’s going on under the blanket.

Yuuji smiles, shaking his head before turning back to capture your lips in another soft kiss. You’re too distracted to notice him flip them off until they disappear.

“Do I remember the night the most perfect woman in the world let me hit her raw after a few minutes of talking under the stars? Yes, baby, I remember the best night of my life, why?” Yuuji asks after you recall that first night you met. “Very cool of you, by the way. I didn’t think you were gonna say yes.”

You giggle, punching his arm softly as you curl into his side in bed. And you sigh, dreamily, thinking about it again. It’s been over a year since that night and you feel just as hazy around him as you did then. You were worried about him thinking of you as a one night stand. Worried that you’d just given in to this stranger for no real reason only to get your feelings hurt again.

But as the sun began to rise and wake you both up in that horrendously uncomfortable chair, he kissed your forehead and held you tightly against his chest. He stroked your hair until you managed to blink the blurriness from your eyes and see his in a new light. The crackle of the orange and white flames had gone from them. Instead, they were honeyed and soft. The kindest eyes you’d ever seen.

“The McDonald’s breakfast in the carpark was better than the sex in the garden, by the way.” you tease him, earning a tickle attack into your sides.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s why you were begging me to fuck you in the backseat afterwards.” he laughs, stopping his assault as you begin to scream. You cuddle into him again, his fingers tracing over the flesh of your upper arm. “It was good though, really good. Should we order hash browns?”

“Yes.” you nod, excitedly.

He sits up and reaches over to his bedside cabinet to grab his phone. He sighs as he checks his notifications. You sigh, too, watching him as he gets out of your warm bed in search of his clothes.

So much for hash browns.

“Yuuji…” you start.

“Don’t start, please, I don’t wanna leave in a bad mood.” he tells you. He smirks when he realises you’re checking out his abs, only focusing on him again as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. “I don’t want to rush moving in just because you feel sorry for me.”

“I’m not rushing you, and I don’t feel sorry for you!” you tell him, shuffling onto your knees and crawling across the bed until you’re kneeling beside the edge of the mattress. “I hate your brother. He’s a creep and he treats you like shit. I have plenty of room here… you can move in here and have your own space and—”

“I know he’s a dick.” he agrees, pulling on his socks and slipping his feet into his sneakers. “But he’s my only family. I’m not just gonna ditch him. Why don’t you move in with me?” he wonders.

“Um… I live in a townhouse instead of an apartment and it’s better, it’s in a better neighbourhood and your brother isn’t here.” you smile, smugly, and it earns a chuckle from him.

“Okay, you’re right about that. Speaking of which though I can’t stay tonight but you can come over if you want. I’ll order those hash browns for you tomorrow when I’m on my to the gym. I’m booked with PT sessions my entire shift.”

“I’m not waking up at 6am to eat hash browns alone, Yuuji.” you roll your eyes.

“You can text me when you wake up and I’ll order them for you. Pleeeeease?” he flutters his eyelashes dramatically before kissing your forehead. “Good girl.”

“I didn’t say yes?” you respond, flabbergasted. “Is Sukuna gonna be there?”

“Well, yeah. He lives there.” Yuuji tells you, earning an eye roll from you. He is in complete agreement on how much his older brother sucks. He understands why you hate him. He’s irritating, he’s crass and seems to have no concept of personal space or privacy. Yuuji doesn’t care for his brother in the least, and he has no doubt the feeling is mutual. There is love there, of course, but only out of necessity. “You don’t seem to mind him when the family discount applies for weed, though. Interesting.” he says with faux suspicion.

“Okay, that is literally the only thing he’s good for.” you remind him. He laughs, agreeing.

He kisses your lips chastely, hurrying to grab his backpack to hurry home to his expectant brother. The only two reasons he ever leaves you in haste are for work, or for Sukuna. Today was meant to be a day you could spend together since you both have the day off.

But of course, Sukuna ruins everything.

YUUJI: FORGOT TO ASK YUUJI: ARE WE SMOKING TONIGHT? YOU: DUH! YUUJI: BETTER BE NICE TO SUKUNA FOR THAT FAMILY DISCOUNT THEN 😉

You stand outside of your boyfriends apartment complex, shivering, waiting for somebody to answer the door. He ordered a taxi for you since he knows you always worry about your car getting broken into when you visit, his own car suffering numerous break-ins in the span of your relationship.

And really, you don’t want somebody to answer the door. You want it to be Yuuji, specifically, the thought of Sukuna answering the door and tormenting you until you get to the safety of Yuuji’s room is entirely too much to handle. Your nerves are already shredded by being here, the thought of having a battle of words with Sukuna will surely tip you over the edge.

“Oh, hey, I didn’t think you’d get here so quickly.” you hear a voice from behind you. You turn around to see Yuuji. Fuck. You see the hallway light flicker on from under the crack of the front door to his apartment and you realise too late that a demon has been summoned. “I went and got cookie ingredients, I thought we could bake some before we smoke later.”

“Sounds fun.” you smile, his sweet idea assuages the tension you feel, albeit briefly, before his elder brother swings open the front door. Yuuji pulls his lips into a thin line when you can barely contain the scoff that scratches through your throat. Sukuna rolls his eyes, moving aside to let you both in. He peaks inside the bag Yuuji is holding before his little brother smacks his hand away. “Do not touch or I will kill you.” Yuuji warns him, carrying the ingredients to the kitchen before putting them away.

You decide to help, hoping it will go quicker if you pitch in and you can escape his brother’s intimidating stare faster. Sukuna approaches, leaning over a counter as he watches you both.

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence, princess. It’s been a while.” Sukuna taunts, but you ignore him. He clacks his fingernails against the countertop, and the sound is jarring. He smirks when you shoot him a pointedly aggravated stare, giving him reason to do it more. “What do we owe the pleasure?”

You sigh, nostrils flaring as you put two bars of chocolate in the fridge.

“We’re just hanging out, gonna bake these cookies and smoke.” Yuuji answers for you. So you smile, falsely, and rest your back against the wall once you’re done. “Oh, speaking of which… family discount?”

“I’m busy now.” Sukuna looks at you and then back at his brother. “Ask me later.” he expresses, red eyes fixed on you for a moment before he turns to leave.

It’s like you can finally breathe again when you hear him go to his room and close the door. You kick yourself away from the wall and into Yuuji’s open arms. He smooths his heavy hand over your hair, hoping you’ll relax a little. He spends some time figuring out what you can do to pass some time, knowing you’ll need a distraction.

“Let’s just bake the cookies.” you speak, words muffled as you talk into his shirt. You pull away as he looks down at you so that you can speak to him clearly. “I just wanna stay in your room all night…”

“Sure, baby, whatever you want.” he nods. “Okay, lets get all of the ingredients out again.”

He takes his time trying to remember where everything is. You, on the other hand, are rushing to gather them all. Sukuna has a way of making your anxiety spike. He’s too… commandeering. He has a way of forcing everyone’s attention to remain solely on him whether you try to ignore him or not.

You’re intimidated by him, he’s more muscular than your boyfriend and he’s a drug dealer for fuck sake.

It brings shame to you when Yuuji has to snap his fingers to get you out of your trance as you think about his brother. You start cutting up the chocolate bars while he puts ingredients in the stand mixer.

And your mind wanders, again. It’s not like you’re scared of Sukuna. Well, you are, terrified would be more apt. But you know he wouldn’t do anything to you. He’d risk losing Yuuji. And as much as they don’t really get along, they’re extremely co-dependent. Especially Sukuna. He likes the presence of his little sibling and has a slight superiority complex due to being older.

The reality is, you think Sukuna would be lost without Yuuji. Lonely, even. And having Yuuji’s steady income is a nice sense of security for him. He makes plenty of money being a dealer, of course, but he knows it’s a fools game. It’s not reliable and it’s risky.

You put the chocolate chunks into the mixer and watch him as he masterfully fills the ingredients into the bowl. Your thoughts calm for a moment as you can do nought but watch the whisk whir.

“You know I wanna move in with you eventually, right?” Yuuji tells you, and it fully breaks you from your train of thought. You look at him, staying silent so that he can feel free to continue speaking. He leans against the counter as the ingredients continue to mix. “I wanna live with you… marry you… all that.”

His talk of marriage makes your cheeks fill with heat, though you’ve gotten better at playing things cool since your first encounter. You just smile, and nod, as you drink in the delicious information.

“I’m just worried about him.” he tilts his head, indicating he is referring to his elder brother. You nod in understanding, though you don’t have much sympathy for your future brother-in-law. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. “We aren’t like you, we don’t have a big family. It’s just us.”

“Well my family isn’t that—” you stop yourself, looking into Yuuji’s disappointed eyes. It’s foolish to pretend you aren’t blessed with an adoring family. You’re your parents only child, though. You can’t imagine what it’s like to have a sibling. And, of course, you’re spoilt rotten. The reality is that if you didn’t come from privilege, you and Yuuji could have been neighbours. But your parents weren’t about to let you live in a dangerous neighbourhood when they can easily afford to subsidise you. “It must be tough, baby. I know you feel guilty for wanting to leave him.” you rub your hand up and down his arm as a show of comfort.

“Yeah…”

“But…” you start, his eyes locking with yours again. “He’s a grown man, Yuuji. You’ve lived the same life and look at you now… You’re nothing like him.”

You’re right. He knows you are, that’s why you’re standing in silence until the timer goes off and he checks the ingredient bowl. It’s sticky. He scoops a little on his finger and dots it on your nose. The kitchen fills with laughter as you try to retaliate. He’s too fast for you, though.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry…” he tells you as the situation calms. He licks the chocolatey dough from your nose and presses a gentle kiss onto the tip. And dammit you can’t help but smile.

You begin rolling the dough into balls on a tray. The silence has dissipated, but your thoughts still run rampant. Should Sukuna really be Yuuji’s responsibility? No, of course not. But Yuuji won’t see it that way. He’s sensitive and caring. God, he cares so much.

It makes you dizzy as you watch him smile and walk with the cookies to the oven. They smell so great already, you could have eaten them raw. But they’ll be even better when they’re baked to perfection.

You’ve made these cookies so many times now. The pair of you have process committed to memory. They’re so good. Especially with a tall glass of milk. You always tease Yuuji when you do this since he’s always left with a milk moustache after devouring his plate of cookies.

The sound of the timer rings through the kitchen again. You clap excitedly as Yuuji covers his hands with some oven mitts. The chocolatey smell hits you both like a train, the pair of you moaning involuntarily as you inhale it. He brings them over to the countertop, setting them down to cool.

Sukuna smells it, too. He loves it when you bake cookies because he knows neither of you will deny him one. He’s been smoking and playing video games since he retreated to his room. He’s thoroughly stoned and would very much enjoy a sweet treat right about now. He pauses his game, and the sound of his door opening and closing brings back all of the tension to your body.

“Here.” Sukuna speaks as he enters the kitchen. He tosses a baggie onto the counter and looks at his brother expectantly. Yuuji nods, reaching into his pocket for his wallet so he can pay him. Sukuna’s eyes are fixed on you in the meantime. And as you go to grab the weed, he places his hand over it and pulls it back towards himself.

“Thanks, man.” Yuuji smiles, handing the cash to his brother who pockets it without even checking it’s right. Though Sukuna’s stare doesn’t waver, you find yourself looking down at his hand covering the weed and then turning away completely. He internally beams with pride at that, thrilled to know it’s still so easy to intimidate you. But on the outside it’s simply portrayed as a slight curve of the corner of his mouth. “Is something wrong?” Yuuji wonders.

“Yeah, actually,” Sukuna speaks, finding your eyes again before he looks into Yuuji’s. “I want a cookie, call it family tax.”

“Take two.” you tell him, sternly, a new ferocity in your eyes he hasn’t seen before. You walk over to them and place two cookies on a little plate for him. You go to hand it to him, but as he reaches out to grab them you place them down on the counter. “Let them cool.” you smile, sarcastically.

“Aren’t you sweet.” Sukuna snarls, teeth bared as he slides the plate towards himself. “Sweet enough for your turn. Pay up, you know what I want.” he chuckles. He turns his head and taps his finger against his cheek.

“C’mon, dude…” Yuuji tries to interject. You know Yuuji is furious, deep down. But he won’t call him out on it. Last time he did he wouldn’t give either of you any weed for two weeks. It wouldn’t be a problem if you knew anyone else you could buy from. And the shit Sukuna gets is good. Yuuji has given up on trying to be a dominating presence when it comes to living with his brother. Sukuna is always one step ahead and Yuuji can’t quite keep up.

You go to him, reluctantly, and plant a soft kiss to his cheek. It makes your skin crawl. He makes your skin crawl. And despite your sense of urgency to flee the scene, you can’t. His hand grabs your wrist, and Yuuji is ready to spring to action. Sukuna’s face is unbearably close to yours. His red eyes piercing your own as he does all he can to make you feel small and pathetic.

“That’s a good girl.” he sneers, placing the baggie on the top of your hand after releasing your wrist. He chuckles, darkly, as he walks away with his plate of cookies, taking a bite out of one before he disappears. He kicks his bedroom door shut behind himself, the sound of laughter and guns shooting loudly from his TV are the only thing either of you can hear.

“I’ll bring the cookies and clean up.” Yuuji sighs as he ventures to the sink. “Go and get comfy and pick a movie.”

You don’t say anything, leaving your boyfriend to tidy up in silence. You’re seething with rage. This isn’t right. He does this every single time you’re here and you buy a deal from him. And Yuuji just lets him. You know you neither of you have much choice if you want the access and ability to smoke. But it’s getting to you, badly.

Around fifteen minutes pass after you left the kitchen. You’ve since gotten into your sweatpants and comfortable vest. Shorts would have been preferable, since there’s still an uncomfortable sizzle to the November air, but you’ve learnt your lesson about what you wear when you visit the Itadori household. You’ve had Sukuna leer at your thighs more times than you can count. And it’s never subtle, his eyes lingering for a moment too long to have it potentially be an accident. It’s always so lecherous and purposeful.

You decide to watch Clueless, again. You’re sure Yuuji will be defeated when he sees your choice, he’s lost count of how many times you’ve watched it recently. It’s been a comfort movie to you, for some reason, since Halloween.

“Hey.” Yuuji smiles as he enters the room, somehow managing to carry two glasses of milk and two plates of cookies. “What are we watching?” he asks, looking at the TV. You rush to grab a plate and a glass from his hands to ease his load, putting them on your bedside cabinet as he does the same with his own.

“Clueless.” you smile, happily. “Her step-brother has been hitting really different for me, lately.”

He closes his eyes and stifles a sigh. You can see a laugh desperate to break free as his mouth shakes through a smile. But to his credit, he manages to compose himself, eyes opening again once the reality has set in. Clueless. Again!

“Sounds great baby.”

It’s been a week since you last got to spent time with Yuuji. Your work schedules have been clashing, it feels like a lifetime since you got to spend any time together.

You enjoyed your hash browns in bed after he ordered them for you when you stayed over at his place. Though he ended up ordering Sukuna breakfast, too, leading to uncomfortable extended time with him that you prefer to avoid at all costs. He tried to make conversation with you, he often does, but you took it upon yourself to go back to bed with your hash browns. You tried to enjoy them. You tried to relax. But it’s near impossible when you’re under the same roof as someone you loathe. You watched a Youtube video on your phone while you ate, and then quickly got ready and booked a taxi home.

You’d hoped next time you got to see your boyfriend it would be at your house and away from Sukuna. But, alas, that was not the case. You received a text from him at 10am asking you to come over ASAP.

YOU: is something wrong??

YUUJI: no

YUUJI: just stressed

YUUJI: pls can u come? I’m working tomorrow so I cant stay over ☹️

YOU: okay ☹️ omw 💖

You’ve never had a text like this from him before, and it scared you. Something was telling you that he was downplaying how he was feeling. It took you barely any time to get ready. Forgoing makeup and making an effort in favour of rushing to your boyfriend’s side. Maybe something had happened at work.

Maybe he cheated on you.

He could be dying!

“Shut up…” you whisper to yourself as you pack your toothbrush into its travel case and throw it into your overnight bag. You pick up your car keys, not wanting to waste time waiting for a taxi.

You throw your bag on the passenger seat and speedily drive off. Your anxiety and the adrenaline was getting to you, you knew you’d have to calm down or you’d end up getting into an accident. As you focused on getting to your destination in one piece, you took several deep, slow breaths.

You’re safe.

You park up your car and lock it up. With your bag in tow, you rush to your boyfriend’s apartment. Your left foot taps impatiently after you knock on the door.

No answer.

You knock a little louder.

No answer.

And then you find yourself knocking louder, repeatedly, while you wait for your boyfriend to answer the door. He knew you were coming. He said it was urgent. So why are you waiting here, freezing, for him to answer the door? You’re filled with relief when you see his figure obscuring the light trickling through the cracks of the door. Your teeth chatter, and you begin stepping from foot to foot in a bid to warm through.

But your blood runs cold as the wrong Itadori opens the door.

“Heh. What do you want?” he asks, a cocky grin permeating his features.

“Move.” you demand, barging past him with your bag so that you can hurry to Yuuji’s side. Maybe something is wrong. He could be sick and resting in bed.

“He’s not here.” Sukuna informs you, halting you in your tracks. You turn to face him, a scowl that could kill adorning your face. Did he do something to him? All fear you’ve ever felt from him dies as you approach him, setting down your bag so that you can hit or punch or scratch him if needs be. “Relax.” he tells you.

“Where is he?”

“At work. I thought you had your entire relationship on a Google calendar, you didn’t know?” he laughs, angling his body so that he can bypass you in the skinny hallway. You huff a little, picking up your bag again so that you can follow him.

“But he asked me to come over, he said it was urgent.” you explain, though he doesn’t stop walking. You hurry after him, grabbing his arm until he stops. And he does, his eyes slowly dart down to where your hand holds onto his bicep until you awkwardly let go. “S-Sorry. I’m just confused. Why would he text me if he’s not even here?”

“Sweetheart, I’m not his PA. I don’t fucking know.” he turns away from you again, opening his bedroom door. You huff, again, utterly defeated as you try and decide what to do. You look towards his bedroom door and then to the entrance. You suppose you could go home until he finishes work. Or you could go to the gym he works at and find out what’s happening. You head towards the front door, thinking you’ll decide once you start driving. Sukuna hasn’t fully retreated into his room yet, leaning against his door frame as he calls out to you. “I’m making a bucket, want one?”

Your eyebrows knot as you turn to face him, another involuntary scoff turning to laughter as you look at him in disbelief. He’s got some nerve. You don’t even want to respond, opting to carry on your journey towards the entrance before you look at him again.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? I don’t want to smoke with you.” you roll your eyes.

“Awe, why not, princess? I won’t even add any tax.” he smirks, already heading towards the kitchen as if you’ve given him the answer he clearly wants to hear. And you hate him with your whole heart, because fuck, if you aren’t intrigued. It’s been a while since you’ve had a gravity bong. “Excellent choice, good girl.” he winks as he sees you out of the corner of his eye, as he grabs an empty one litre water bottle from beneath the sink.

You don’t say anything, leaning over the island counter as he prepares the bong for you both. It’s embarrassing, after some time, that you find yourself having to avert your gaze as realise you’ve been staring at his defined back muscles. He’d decided to forgo any form of clothing to cover his torso, only wearing a low riding pair of grey sweatpants, though they’re a darker grey than yours.

It isn’t much better as he whistles, tilting his head for you to join him by the sink. You’d close your eyes if it didn’t make you look like a complete freak, only to hide them from his flexing abs and his juicy pecs. The tattoos aren’t helping, either. It only serves as a reminder that you’re hopelessly trying not to ogle your boyfriends, older, larger, and scarier brother. He’s behaving interestingly, though. He’s never been like this before. He’s dismissive and almost uninterested in you.

“C’mere.” he orders you, dragging you closer to him as he lights the weed in the bowl. You gulp, a little intimidated. Gravity bongs are something you don’t partake in often, you can’t even remember the last time you did one. He moves his finger from the hole he’d poked into the bottle and the water begins to drain from it. Smoke fills the bottle in it’s wake, and when empty, he screws the lid off for you. “Quickly.”

You begin to inhale everything. Not caring how fucked up you feel in the least. You show no signs of stopping, and it impresses him. Your fingers hook around the kitchen counter as you finish, knowing when your bones feel like jelly that you’ve had too much.

“Atta girl,” he comments before repeating the process for himself. He pays you no mind as you wander towards the corner counter space, lifting yourself up like you’re the queen of the kitchen taking her throne.

He continues to ignore your presence as he smokes, inhaling and entirely draining the smoke that had filled the bottle. He tosses it into the sink, walking by you to grab a bag of ice from the freezer, filling two glasses to the brim with the frozen cubes. He fills them with water, sliding one to you.

“Drink.” he commands, and you do, not realising how thirsty you’d become. Your throat burning and eyes flooded with red veins. You drink the water and immediately need to refill. He shows you a kindness, though, handing you his glass to drink before filling your own again. “You’re a real lightweight, huh?”

“Oh shut up. I’m just gonna go.” you tell him, jumping down from the counter and going to collect your bag again.

“You can’t, you’re high.” he reminds you, and in your stoned state the sentence makes you burst into laughter. “You’ll end up crashing your car. Fool.” he gives you another glass of water, refilling his own for a second time before turning to leave the kitchen.

“Great, so I’m stuck here with you and nothing to do?” you pout, opening the fridge to see if there’s anything to eat. “Why did we not make cookies?” you mumble to yourself.

“I have snacks in my room.” Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, like a snake offering an apple in the garden of Eden. You’re tempted. God, you’re tempted. What else are you going to do until Yuuji gets home? He grins, widely, as he hears your feet follow after him as he walks into his bedroom.

You’ve never been in here before. It’s quite tidy, all things considered. It’s very tidy, actually. You’d expected it to be some dimly lit shit hole. It smells nice, save for the weed, the windows are open wide and the sheets smell fresh as you sit on his bed.

He throws a sleeve of Oreos at you and you turn into a giddy child. The two of you kick off your shoes, not caring for where they land as you both get comfortable on his bed. You’re above the duvet, sitting adjacent to him but angled away with your legs crossed. He gets under the covers, though, picking up his Xbox controller as he mindlessly plays GTA V.

You spend far too much time licking the cream of your first Oreo, utterly entranced by the characters, the plot and the violence of the game he’s playing. He doesn’t seem to mind when you ask him a million questions about it, either. He’s more amused that you’re so clueless.

“Here,” he tosses the controller at you. “Go for a drive, it’s fun when you’re stoned.” he tells you.

You’ve played video games before, you aren’t a total idiot. Though he had expected you to ask for more help when he gave you the controller. He thinks it’s cute that you try to obey the speed limits and stop at every red light.

He reaches into his bedside cabinet, pulling out a joint. It’s ignited quickly, his eyes squinting as he inhales and watches the screen to make sure you’re not getting him into trouble on his game.

“You’re not bad when you’re high.” you tell him, passing the controller back to him. He takes it from you, saving his progress before reaching out to smoke again. He sits upright, and you barely react when he pulls you away from where you were sitting until you're facing him. “U-Um…”

He’s giving you a look. That look. The look Yuuji gave you when he told you he had a secret. God, they could be fucking twins if Sukuna wasn’t covered in tattoos, it’s scary. But he doesn’t say he has a secret; he doesn’t say a word. He simply watches you with a pondering stare, but an aim behind his eyes nonetheless.

Your own eyes shift when you see him bring the spliff from his ashtray to his lips. The cherry end of it igniting holds your focus before your eyes are on his again, enraptured by the moment and what he’s thinking. He sucks the smoke deep down into his lungs, and you can’t help but watch the way his chest moves from his heavy breath.

You gasp, softly, as he snatches your stare once again. His thumb and forefinger grasp your chin and tug downwards until your jaw is lowered. His face is barely a centimetre from yours, you know he’s going to kiss you. But why are you about to let him? His lips ghost yours, and you’re taken aback as you feel a plume of smoke invade your mouth. He’s impressed when you breathe it in, though, but smirks wildly as you begin to cough it up.

“You taste like cookies and cream.” he whispers into your ear, the sensation of his words rushes straight to your heat. But your sense comes back, pushing him away from you as you look sternly into his eyes.

“I didn’t say you could do that.” you remind him, preparing to move back to where you were sitting prior. But he stops you, easily, pushing your body down until your head is in his lap but over the duvet cover. “Sukuna…” you sigh, your head and your limbs feel too heavy to move on their own anymore.

“Mm?”

“I’m wi- I’m with Yuuji… I’m with your brother.” you remind him, you move your head a little so that you can look up at him. He doesn’t look at you, though, still focused on his game. You can hear dialogue again, and guns, you’re not as exciting in comparison to that, you suppose.

“I know.” he speaks, his jawline bulging as he swallows and clenches his teeth slightly. “Don’t tell me you thought I was gonna kiss you. Silly girl.” he speaks, still not bothering to grant you with the eye contact you’re so desperately craving for some reason.

But your body betrays you as a whimper escapes from your throat. And that does get his attention. His game pauses, and he looks down at you. But you hide your face, scrunching your eyes shut so he can’t read your expression. But your shy little display tells him all he needs to know.

“Oh? You minx,” he torments you further, and you want to scream. You can’t hide your face anymore, your cheeks becoming too warm and your entire body sizzling with heat. You’re panting, uncomfortably as you try and cool down. “You wanted me to kiss you. You’re with Yuuji, remember?”

“I didn’t! I- I- would never. I love Yuuji, I’m in love with him! I’d never kiss you. Yuck.” you fib, if you weren’t high, you know you’d never be in this predicament. You know you’d never have agreed to hang out with him. But really, it’s a lie. You weren’t high when he asked if you wanted to do buckets. He intrigued you, and you’re a fool, because you fell for it. Hook, line and sinker.

“Hm…” he hums, his spliff resting between his lips as his eyes linger on your cleavage before roaming down your body to your sweatpants. He places the blunt back in the ashtray, his eyes setting their sights on your hands. He moves one with ease above your head, though you instinctively pull it back. But it’s too late, the other one joins, a singular hand of his pin both of your wrists down above your head. You wriggle against him, but you don’t pose a challenge in the least.

“S-Sukuna?” you question as his fingers breach the waistline of your sweatpants. A sadistic smirk sprawls across his face as he realises in your haste to be here you’d not bothered putting on panties. You mewl, desperately, as his fingers find your petalled flesh. He doesn’t do much, simply feeling your slick and teasing your folds as he examines your facial expressions.

“You didn’t want me to kiss you?” he asks again. He drags two fingers up your slippery slit until he finds your clit, rubbing targeted circles around it slowly. The tension makes your hips buck, but his face is stern as he watches you keen for him. “Then why is this cunt soaked?”

His words almost bring you to tears, and he can tell. The way they fill with water so rapidly and your face becomes sweaty. You’re ashamed. You’re embarrassed. He’s humiliating you, but you’re too turned on to tell him to stop. You don’t want him to stop.

“I hate you!” you tell him, and there is certainly venom behind it. Because you mean it, you really fucking mean it. He’s the absolute worst. You’re so in love with Yuuji, but he’s ruined everything, now. You should have known this would happen. He’s been flirting and teasing and bothering you throughout your entire relationship with Yuuji. But you never thought it would come to this, ever. Especially after what you’ve been through, you’d never want to inflict that same agonising betrayal onto Yuuji.

“I know. You think I’m so beneath you, yeah?” he grins, and your mouth falls open in surprise, though his circling touch doesn’t stop. “I’m a drug dealer, I’m a bastard, I’m a piece of shit. But, sweetheart, me ‘n Yuuji didn’t grow up with daddy’s bank account like you. But look at you, princess. You hate me and you’re still letting me play with your sloppy cunt.”

“Fuck you.”

“You can, I know you want that. You’re drenched. My fuckin’ fingers are pruning.” he laughs, you want nothing more than to cover your face in shame, but you can’t while Sukuna’s heavy hand trap your wrists. “Awe, you’re cute when you’re embarrassed. Much cuter than when you’re trying to be tough f’me.” his rubbing halts, though the sense of abandonment is short lived as he plunges two thick fingers into you tight hole, his thumb rubbing circles into your clit again.

“O-Oh, fuck, hnng—” you groan, eyes meeting his as he pleasures you. And he drinks in the sight. Your tongue lolled from your mouth as you accommodate his touch, the pads of his fingers batter your g-spot again and again until your back arches. “Sukuna, s-stop, we can’t.” you warn him.

He smirks, ignoring you, opting to do the opposite. He increases the pace in which his fingers torment you, his cock leaks when he sees a few tears spill from your eyes. He’s that good, huh? Maybe his little brother isn’t as talented.

“You’re fucking tight. You’re gonna cum, aren’tcha?” he taunts you, you attempt to clamp your thighs around his hand, but it only spurs him on more. His fingers sink deeper. Your mind and rationale become lost to him. “You’re gonna cum for a bastard like me? Your boyfriends brother, too. Gonna cum in your pants like a virgin just for me? Pathetic little girl.”

“Oh FUCK, GOD!” you cry out, thighs trembling around his hand as you orgasm. Your chest heaves, and he doesn’t fail to notice how your nipples have began to poke through your vest. “C-Christ, okay, lets just forget—”

“I’m not done with you.” he speaks, it cuts through you as he lets your hands go. You massage them quickly, before he pushes his full weight on top of you as you lie flat against the mattress atop the sheets. He holds your jaw, roughly, and kisses you.

He humps his clothed, hard cock against your soaked sweatpants, your slick dampening them with each roll of his hips. He breathes heavily as you kiss. An exchange of saliva and clashing teeth as you moan and break away before licking at each other’s tongues again and again.

You shudder when you feel him put his hands down your pants again, collecting the dewiness at the apex of your thighs before forcing it onto your tongue. And you suck, gratefully, replacing the loss of his lips with his monstrously thick fingers. You can hardly believe he fingered you so easily.

Your lips wrap around his digits beautifully. He moans as he watches your little hands in comparison to his own hold it in place so you can bob your head up and down the length, your tongue licks and laves until there isn’t a trace of your dewiness left.

So he kisses you, again, tongues tangling as he dry fucks his cock into your clothed core. His hands roam and pinch and squeeze every inch of your body that he can grab. He yanks your sweatpants down, tossing them aside with little care to where they might land. And he surprises you, again, when he manoeuvres you seamlessly so that you’re straddling him.

He thinks it’s cute as you look around, unsure of how you got into this position. But he brings you back to him when he humps up into you so that you fall forwards. You kiss him again, but he breaks it to speak.

“Let me taste you, baby. Sit on my face.” he tells you. You’re nervous, but you move yourself so that you’re hovering above him. He pushes a finger into your hole and you throw your head back in satisfaction. “I said sit. I wanna know what a slutty princess cunt tastes like, so fucking sit.” he orders, his arms hooking around your thighs and forcing you down until you smother him with your heat.

“FUCK,” you moan, loudly, as his nose nudges against your throbbing clit. You aren’t sure what to do with so much freedom to move. The way he slurps and feasts on your dripping flesh sends wave after wave of embarrassment through you. And he’s loud he’s so fucking noisy as he moans into your heat and drinks every drop that your heavenly cunt has to offer. “J-Jesus… ah—!” you yelp, feeling his palm come down hard to strike your behind.

You begin to roll your hips, rubbing your pussy up and down over his face and stimulating your clit with his nose. He reaches under your vest, tweaking your nipple as you hump his face. He spanks you again, quickly, as you stop moving. You’re too gone, completely lost in the moment as you use him for your pleasure. You’d never have expected this from him.

He relinquishes your nipple to free his cock from it’s material prison. You heard the sticky sound of it ring through the room as he jerks himself off. His moaning becomes louder. The divine taste of your cunt and the ability to stroke himself goes straight to his head. You’re gone, you’re fucking gone. But he’s right behind you. The way you’re smothering him makes him lightheaded, but he’s not letting you go until he’s ready.

You see the pink silhouette of his cock as you look over your shoulder, but you’re desperate to get a better view. He groans, so loudly that you think he might have came, as you tug on his pink hair. Using it to your advantage as you ride his face into your next toe-curling orgasm. And at that, you do collapse. Practically singing his name as you cum in his mouth, only when you’ve reached your high does he let up on you.

He admires the view of your tits as you back up to look down at him, throwing your vest over your head as carelessly as he’s discarded your pants. His face is shimmering with your juices, and you feel another searing tidal wave of embarrassment as the reality sets in that you’ve done this to him. And you’re still cheating on your boyfriend. But you’re past the point of no return, you think. Yuuji is barely on your mind, all of your attention is on his brother, now.

And he’s still not through with you yet.

“Do you need some cock?” he asks.

“Y-Yes.” you nod, pathetically.

“Look at it, then. Look at my cock and beg for it.” he tells you.

You adjust your position so that you’re hovering above his face again but facing his cock perfectly. It’s beautiful, you think. More defined than Yuuji’s but around the same size and width. His cockhead is more prominent and the veins are unmissable. You’d have begged without even being asked if you’d gotten the chance to see it earlier.

“Go on,” he starts. You feel his hands between your shoulder blades and he pushes you down roughly. “Beg for my cock, whore.”

“Please, please Sukuna. I need you to fuck me.” you start, completely reduced to tears as you look at it as your mouth waters. You hold him with both hands, and you’re still unable to hold the entire length of it. “Wanna cum on you. W-Want you to b-bruise my cervix. Need to feel you inside, please, please please.” you’re practically sobbing as you continue.

“Kiss it.” he demands. “Worship my cock, and I’ll decide if your slutty cunt is worthy.” he tells you. Your eyes widen, but you kiss his tip without question. It’s so sweet and affectionate despite how sordid and lewd it is. But you can’t help it. It’s worthy of worship. You’re sure it’ll hurt, but you’ll take it. You don’t mind in the least.

You lick your tongue across his slit, poking your tongue into it slightly and relishing in how he hisses from the sensation. He buries his face in your cunt again, moaning into your soaking folds as you please him.

His length is freed from one of your hands, making the decision to cup his balls as your kiss down his shaft towards his pubis. His head is thrown back as you make contact with his balls, the grunt he releases is ethereal, you’d never have known such beautiful sounds could from him.

You scream, slightly, as he spanks your ass. It encourages you to take him down your throat and ignore your gag reflex and you bob and suck and run your tongue along each vein it can detect. He can barely focus on eating you out, too bewildered with your near pornographic performance.

“Such a good little cocksucker. No wonder Yuuji likes you.” he spanks you again. “Think he’d still like you if I told him I’ve been balls deep down your throat, slut? I’m not so sure. But I like you, a lot more now.”

“S-Shut up.” you tell him, defiantly. You silence him as you lower your pussy to his lips again, distracting him momentarily with your sweet taste.

You feel his cock flexing in your hand, like he’s ready to blow his load right down your willing throat. Even though you don’t want him to cum like this, you wouldn’t mind. You’ll swallow every last drop for him.

He stops you, though, shoving you away from him so that he doesn’t cum prematurely.

“Hands and knees, now.” he speaks coldly. He admires your face quickly before you get into the position he wants you in. It’s glistening with sweat, tears, spit, and his precum. “Good fucking girl.” he spanks you as you arch your back and wait patiently for him. Your legs spread apart and your cunt pulses in anticipation for him to slot himself inside.

He doesn’t though, not right away. Instead, he leans over to his beside table and pulls his phone off charge. He kneels behind you as he pulls up the camera app and swiping to video mode. His sweatpants are shoved down his thighs and rest at his knees. He takes a few photos of your glittering, pulsating cunt, spreading it open as his fingers dig into one of your ass cheeks.

“Pretty fuckin’ princess pussy…” he moans, and you mirror him, following it with a giggle. You feel a sense of pride at his praise, arching your back deeper. “Ohhh there she is, good girl, good little slut.”

He drags his cockhead through your shimmering folds, gasping each time it catches against your hole.

“P-Please fuck me, daddy, n-eed it.” you whine, earning another hard slap against your ass. He’s happy, of course. He didn’t expect you to be such a slut, he’d never have expected you to utter such a filthy title for him of all people. He’s certainly never heard you refer to Yuuji as daddy whenever he hears you fucking through the thin walls.

“You’ve got good manners, for a whore.” he speaks, your hole flutters with each word, but he sees how hard you clench as he degrades you. A new understanding of what your body likes. He’d only been doing it for his benefit, but now, he knows you like it too. “Do you like being a whore for daddy, hm?”

“Y-Yes,” you pant, “Love bein’ a whore for you, daddy…”

“Cute. I’ll give you my cock, then.” he pushes the tip in before pulling out completely again, chuckling at how whiny you are from the loss. “But you know, princess, good whores like to be cummed in. You’ll let me, won’t you?”

“Please… please cum inside. W-Want you to fill me up!” you tell him, and it’s enough. It’s more than enough to have him bullying his cock into your desperate cunt. You moan, boisterously from the stretch. You’re sure their neighbours won’t be happy if they’re home, the whole complex probably heard you. But you don’t care, and neither does he.

He’s glad that you said he could cum inside.

It’s not like you had a choice, though.

“Do you still want me to bruise your cervix?” he asks, angling the phone in his hand to capture how fucking deep he is inside of you. Your ass pressed flush against him as you swallow his cock hungrily. You nod, dumbly, yelping again when you feel a stinging slap against your cushioned ass. “Words.”

“Want you to br-uuise my c-cervix, daddy.” you wince.

“You’re such a good fuck toy, aren’t you?” he laughs.

He begins to pound into you, his brute strength and weight behind every aggressive pummel of his hips. It hurts, God, it fucking hurts as his tip nudges against your cervix. But you don’t care, you’re sure you will when you’re sober and your logical train of thought returns.

But now, in this moment, you truly are Sukuna’s fuck toy.

And it feels fucking sublime.

He captures on film the way that you moan and gasp and plead for something you aren’t even aware of. The way your hands grip into his pristine white sheets. But is favourite part is watching how your pussy stretches open as you swallow his coke can cock. And the way your ass ripples with each pulverizing thrust into you.

“F-Fuck,” he moans, “You’re fucking suffocating me.” he speaks, barely able to contain himself as he feels heady with lust. He doesn’t stop, though, he doesn’t care if you cum anymore. He’ll finger you again to finish you off if needs be, but for now, he needs to be selfish. Thoughts of filling you up and flooding your unprotected womb make him feral.

“Sukuna! S-Stop!” you warn him.

“Huh?” he responds, showing no intention of stopping or slowing as he rams his cock into you repeatedly. The only thing on his mind is finishing, he couldn’t care less about your change of heart or guilty conscience.

“F-Feels funny, I- I can’t! Hnnng—!” you finish, cunt squirting and gushing like a fountain all over him. “Oh my god…” you pant, burying your face in the pillows as you hide your shame from him.

“Holy fuck,” he responds, thrilled that he’d captured the moment on film. You show no signs of stopping either. You squirt as much as a backed-up teenager getting his first handjob. He spanks your pussy and rubs his hand all over it, making a complete mess of the two of you and the sheets below. “Dirty little squirter, hah? Fuck, you’re like a pornstar.” he tells you, chuckling again.

You don’t dare show your face, but you mewl into the pillows as you ride out the rest of your high as he shoves his cock back into you.

“Do it again, on my cock.” he demands.

“C-Can’t, can’t cum anymore.” you tell him, utterly spent and defeated as you allow him to use your body for his own benefit.

“Brat. You’ll cum on daddy’s cock and be grateful that I’ve been so good to you.” he explains. And true to his word, he manages to build it up in you again, somehow, as he continuously batters his length into your g-spot until your vision turns white.

He’s not doing much better, either, still enraptured by the sight of your dripping wet pussy and soiled sheets. It’s something he needs to see again, a sight he will treasure ‘til the day he fucking dies.

“Cum, slut. Make a fucking mess.” he speaks through gritted teeth.

“Mmmnf, hah, aaaah—!” you moan, granting his wish. The sight helps him topple over into his own bliss. His cum flooding your ruined walls, he fucks it further into you, but pulls out eventually to see his sperm dripping from your filthy cunt.

“Are you embarrassed, brat? You sprayed yourself again.” he snickers, spreading your pussy open with two fingers to see the mixture of his cum and your release spill from your twitching hole. “Has Yuuji ever made you do that? No… I’m sure he doesn’t know you’re this much of a dirty whore. But I do, I know now.”

The mere mention of the man you’ve betrayed has you bursting into tears. The sex was mind-blowing, yes, but at what cost? You’ve been begging him to move in. Hell, he was talking about marrying you. But you can’t have that with him, now, not after this.

You sobered up a little after a shower, making sure to keep the door locked as you washed yourself of your indiscretion. You even waited in there until you dried off to get changed, not wanting to risk Sukuna seeing you naked again. The damage is done, of course, but you at least want to be able to proudly say it was a mistake that will never happen again.

Maybe Yuuji will forgive you.

There’s no way you can keep it from him. Not after what you went through. It’ll break his heart, of course it will. But you can’t hide it, it’ll just get worse over time when it eventually comes out, because it will. Whether you tell him or Sukuna does through a weed induced stupor, the truth will come out.

You’ve been checking the time on your phone repeatedly to see if Yuuji has finished work yet. Eager and filled with fear and anxiety so that you can tell him, honestly, what happened. He’s going to hate you. There’s no way he won’t hate you after this. But you owe it to him and you owe it to yourself to be truthful.

You tense up as you hear a knock at the door. Yuuji wouldn’t knock, so you know who it is.

“Go away.” you warn him, but it doesn’t deter him.

“Aw, don’t talk to daddy like that.” he smiles, a shit eating grin that you want to smash against concrete.

“You’ve ruined my life, get out of here.” you tell him, crossing your legs as you check the time on your phone again. You sigh, throwing it further down the bed so that it’s out of reach. You’d missed how he shrugged his shoulders with a laugh as he turned to leave. But you stop him. “Don’t tell Yuuji, please. I want to be the one to tell him.”

“Tell him… what?”

You look at him, bewildered, unable to process if he’s being serious or not.

“That we fucked.” you remind him, deciding you aren’t about to spend all day trying to decipher his tone. “I need to be the one to tell him, so don’t say anything.”

“Oh, tell him that?” he questions, laughing again as he realises he knows something you don’t know.

“It’s not fucking funny, Sukuna!”

“Yeah, it is, you’re a little slow on the uptake.” he laughs some more, sitting on the edge of the bed. His ruby red eyes piercing into yours intimidatingly despite the smile on his face. “You don’t need to tell Yuuji anything.”

“Yeah, I d—”

“Yuuji knows.” he laughs, louder, almost bursting into hysterics as he sees the astonished look on your face.

“W-What?” you sigh, looking around the room in horror.

“Yeah… I mean, c’mon.” he smirks. “Why else would he text you to come over, when he wasn’t even home?”

© 2023 rinitxshi

[downbadreading]

is it casual now? (teaser) 🫀 seungcheol x reader.

★ seungcheol x makeup artist!f!reader. ★ teaser word count: ~8,000 ★ genre/warnings: mdni. 18+ content. situationship/friends with benefits, light angst, use of pet name ('love'). soft dom!seungcheol, making out, biting/marking, protected sex. let me know if i missed anything! ★ footnotes: this has been on my backburner for months. it's admittedly a full-blown story in need of hard editing, and so i'm posting this in hopes of bullying myself into working on the whole thing. should it come down to it, though, i like to think this can stand on its own. enjoy. <3

Seungcheol has been in the industry long enough to know that everybody had vices.

Trainees, rookies, veterans. It didn't matter. There were dangerous, risky vices. Alcohol, drugs, smoking. There was dating, too, of course. Dating fans, dating fellow idols.

Seungcheol didn't do drugs. He smoked socially, but he would rather not. And he drank, sure, but never to an unhealthy amount. Dating, however—

Did it really count when there was only really ever one person he treated like a vice?

You've been in his life since the group debuted. Nine years, give or take. And then, at one point, he just... tried something with you. And it clicked, fell into place, and now you've been sneaking around for the better half of three years. It's the one place Seungcheol feels like he can breathe, can get away. But it's also the biggest secret he's kept.

You're his makeup artist, after all.

When the two of you started off, you both insisted on nothing serious. To 'keep it casual'.

That worked perfectly for Seungcheol. He likes to think it's still working for him, as he raps at the door of your apartment and waits for you to open up. His wristwatch says that it's midnight, but it doesn't matter. He knocks a little louder, growing a touch impatient.

You open the door, and you're greeted with Seungcheol looking reproachful. "Yah," he chides. "Why haven't you been answering my texts?"

When you rub your eyes with the back of your hands and look over your shoulder to glimpse at your wall clock, Seungcheol almost feels apologetic. Almost. “Cheol,” you say exasperatedly, slowly. “It’s the middle of the night.” 

"So you were sleeping then, hmm?" Seungcheol says. The corner of his lips tilt up, just slightly. He leans against the doorframe, taking a brief amount of time to glance you over. As he does, a small wave of tiredness finally washes over him— just how late had he kept himself up working on new music? "I sent you texts hours ago."

"You didn't even read them." He reaches up, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He sighs, the sound almost exaggerated. "How cruel of you."

You let out a low hum at Seungcheol’s fingers brushing against your skin. “Mmm, I fell asleep with my phone in my hand,” you admit, the words coming out more like a soft sigh than anything else.

You seem to finally drag yourself out of your sleepy state to give Seungcheol a once-over. He knows it shows all over— the exhaustion in his eyes, his stance. He’s tired, and you can tell. You’ve always been able to tell. 

You step aside a bit and he takes that as his cue. Seungcheol moves past you, a small hum in the back of his throat. He toes off his shoes and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. In spite of himself, the moment he's inside, he reaches for you. 

One arm is loosely slung over your shoulders, pulling you in close. He rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose against your neck.

"You fell asleep..." he gripes. "Do you know how many texts I sent you? I sent five.” 

“Five”” you repeat as you bear Seungcheol’s weight. Your hand instinctively raises to stroke the base of his hair behind his neck, and he thinks he could melt then and there— your soothing touch, your light tone. “Oh, how ever will you live?”

Seungcheol huffs into the crook of your neck. The feel of your fingers in his hair does wonders to combat the tired, stressed part of himself. Slowly, his shoulders relax, and he sighs, the sound long and deep.

"Don't get snarky with me," he mutters. But there's no bite to it at all, just a quiet sense of contentment in his voice. "You could've at the very least read the messages." He moves, presses a kiss to your neck. "Would've taken ten seconds."

“I was asleep,” you protest, but— whether or not you notice— your head is tilting around a bit to press a lingering kiss on to the side of his face.Seungcheol's stomach flutters. You're sweet like that. Always have been, always will be. He hums under his breath at the kiss, his hand that's on your shoulder moves up to cup your cheek.

“That’s my penance,” you say drowsily. 

"One kiss isn't nearly enough," he tells you. 

He pulls back from your shoulder to look at you, now. The eye contact, the way he regards you, has a more focused weight. He takes a moment to look you over again— hair mussed, face still flushed faintly from sleep. "Two,” he says in a tone that brokers no argument. 

“Greedy,” you mumble, but both of you know it doesn’t matter. 

Not when your free hand finds purchase at his side and you use your fingers in his hair to pull him down so you don't have to stand on your tiptoes. Not when you press your lips together into a kiss that's soft and sweet, almost sleepy.

All it takes is the sound of your voice for Seungcheol to be pulled in— when you tug at his hair, he follows, his chest against yours. He bends down, his own hands coming up to the sides of your face.

He melts against your mouth, his eyes closing in an instant. But it’s done as quickly as it started. You pull away, your face still inches away from Seungcheol’s, as you smilingly mumble to him, “There. Two kisses.” 

His eyes open again once you pull away, his grip on your face tightening just slightly. "Three," he mutters back, and then he leans back in. 

You hum against his mouth, the sound breaking free from the back of your throat. You’re both so tired from your respective work and it shows in the kiss. No heat, no fire. Your tongue swiping over his lip makes Seungcheol hum, quiet and low in his throat. He's usually so used to being the one who takes control, making the first move, but here with you, in the early hours of the morning— there's something else to it.

He pulls you closer against him, his hands moving down to your hips. Against your mouth, he murmurs, "Four," before his tongue slips in, just to get a taste. Just to linger, just to savor, but not take over.

“Cheol,” you huff, though your reprimand is tempered by the way Seungcheol is intent on keeping the kiss going. “You’re— mmph— being greedy—” 

"Five—" he sighs against your mouth. "Let me be greedy a second more."

One of his hands moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling up in your hair. This is what he likes, this is what he always comes to you for. Something that's simple. This, he can deal with. This, he can handle.

It’s never a second more with Seungcheol. He’s always out the door when he can go, when he has to. He’s never been a glutton for time, and so it’s enough for you to sense that something is wrong. 

You break away from him. 

Seungcheol has to resist a whine when you pull back, his eyes fluttering open in a daze. Your hand has moved to his face and you’re looking up at him with a small frown and a quiet query. “Long week?” 

He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, the hand in your hair loosening its grip, fingers just idly combing through the strands.

He glances at your face— the furrow of your brow, the hint of concern in your eyes— and it makes him sigh. He turns his head to press a soft, quick kiss to your palm.

"Long year," he corrects.

You look like you want to say more. Seungcheol almost begs you not to. This— whatever the two of you have— it’s an outlet that won’t break him, won't ruin him, won't tarnish him or the group's name. He just wants— he needs—

You know exactly what he needs, even if he doesn’t always know himself. “How do you want your fifth kiss?” you ask instead of commenting on his obvious fatigue. 

Your question makes Seungcheol's head empty out in an instant.

It takes him a moment to think, to consider. His mind, hazy and tired as it is, struggles to come up with an adequate answer. All he knows is that he's comfortable, that he's tired, that you're here. And that's all he really needs, in the end.

He lets his hand fall from your hair, to the nape of your neck. "... Soft," he murmurs. "Soft and easy."

You’re back up on your tiptoes to give him what he asked for. A sweet, slow press of your lips against his. It’s a kiss that lovers give each other, even though you’re the furthest from that. 

It's easy, easy, easy for him to fall into the kiss just like that, a shudder running down his spine when your tongue doesn't invade him. It's sweet, it's chaste, it's simple. It's exactly the kind of kiss he needs after a week of work.

His hand on your neck moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. He breaks away for a mere second, a fraction of a beat, to catch his own breath, but he kisses you right back after. 

"Six," he whispers desperately. "Again."

This time, you laugh against his mouth— a slightly muffled sound, not any less amused— but you give in, still. When you separate for air again, one of your hands rests on his chest to keep him away. “You have to let me breathe, Cheol,” you huff. 

Seungcheol has to resist groaning outright when your palm on his chest keeps him from coming in for another kiss. You're adorable like this, in the middle of the night, with sleep in your eyes and annoyance in your voice.

He knows he's being needy, taking advantage, but at the same time? It's all he seems to be able to do. Greedy, he hears you call him, and it's true.

"I'll let you breathe when I get my seventh kiss, then," he grumbles.

He can see the annoyance blooming on your expression, but he’s saved by one thing and one thing alone: The fact that you can get pretty greedy sometimes, too, especially when Seungcheol was involved. 

"Fine," you say haughtily, feigning annoyance. "Just one more kiss."

Seungcheol's eyes glimmer with something akin to mischief. His hands move to your face again, his own lips curving up in a smirk. You give him an inch, he wants a mile. It's his style. "One more kiss. That I can work with."

He brushes a thumb over your cheek again, his grip in your hair loosening only to brush some stray strands away from your face. "Only fair that I get to pick the way, then," he says, his tone low.

He's going to make the most of this opportunity, and you're letting him.

His tongue darts out briefly to lick over his bottom lip. "Open your mouth."

When you let out a noncommittal hom and oblige, parting your lips, he knows he’s gone. Seeing the obedience in your face makes Seungcheol's stomach do a little bit of an excited flip. You're like this, this, even when you're tired, when you're barely awake.

It's a little addicting.

"Good," he says softly. It's all the warning you get before he's got his mouth on yours again.

He kisses you— devours you, his tongue parting your lips, sliding into your mouth, taking. The kiss is almost bruising and seems to throw you off balance, but you quickly recover by pressing flush against Seungcheol and holding the sides of his arms. If he were a better person, Seungcheol would let this be the last one. Would let this kiss end and call it a night. 

But then the smallest of sounds escape you. A whimper, a soft noise that only makes all sense fly right out of Seungcheol's head. It's not fair, he thinks, that you still have a hold on him even in the middle of the night.

All it makes him do is pull you closer— press you up against the wall with his entire body, his hands still gripping your face as he kisses you deep. Harder than he usually would, rougher than he normally did.

He swallows the sound, his tongue still in your mouth.

Your fingernails are pressing into his biceps now. Your tongue is sinking into his lower lip; not quite biting, but enough to drag his focus away for a moment. "Seung," you sigh, and it’s like music to his goddamn ears. 

He was Choi or Seungcheol when he was in your makeup chair. Cheol, when it was just the two of you. But Seung was something different entirely. 

A small moan, low and quiet, gets caught in Seungcheol's throat when you bite into his lip, when you whine out his name like that. He knows what it means when you call him like that— knows what he's in for.

He relishes in it. In moments like these when he gets to be like this. When he doesn't have to be responsible, when he doesn't have to be a leader. He gets to be just Seung.

There isn't a single part of his body that's not on fire right now, not when he's got you pinned against the wall, not when you're all satin and soft against him. His grip on your face tightens, and now his lips are no longer on your mouth, but on your jaw, moving down to your neck, your throat.

A quiet, needy little ah falls out your lips when he nips at that spot on your pulse point, and there, there is exactly when he knows that he's got you exactly where he wants you. Pinned by his body, shaking and shivering like he's touching you for the first time.

If he was feeling a little less riled up, a little less needy, he'd keep up the teasing. But he can't, not now. His hands move from your face to your hips, moving under the satin of your pajamas. It's not enough, never enough.

Every sound that leaves your mouth, every little please, just, already sets a fire in his brain. Every part of his mind turns to static, white noise, as he keeps his lips on your throat, your neck, biting and nipping at your skin.

“Seung,” you hiss, your hands flying to his shoulders as you press your back on to the entryway wall, willing yourself not to crumple. “I’m going to get a noise complaint again—”

“I'll pay the fine,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips against your collarbone now, his hands still on your hips. His brain is starting to grow fuzzy, his thoughts less coherent, but this was the goal.

To get you like this. Soft and shaking and desperate. To make you his for the night, for just a little while. To hold some sort of control over something in his life.

“You can't just keep paying for— ah— the fines,” you’re babbling. “They're going— t-to kick me— Seung, fuck!"

Whatever you’re trying to say dies out when Seungcheol nips at your warm skin. The rational part of him, somewhere deep, deep inside, knows that you're right. He can't keep paying your fines for complaints of loud music and loud sex.

The part of him that's currently working on painting a bruise on your collarbone doesn't seem to care all that much.

"I'll pay," he repeats, between leaving a few more marks on your skin for good measure. "As many times as I have to—"

“Jesus Christ,” you cuss, your chest heaving as Seungcheol’s hand moves higher and higher up your shirt. “My neighbors are so fucking sick of me, and it’s all your fault.”

“My fault?” Even through the haze in his head, Seungcheol can't help the low scoff that he lets out. He wants to say that he couldn't care less about your neighbors— wants to say that your pretty mouth makes up for the noise, but something else catches his attention. The brush of his fingers on bare skin. 

His eyes go wide, his brain suddenly clearing.

"You're not wearing anything underneath your pajamas," he deadpans, his voice coming out in a low drawl.

Of course, that adds up. You hadn’t been expecting Seungcheol, after all, so he can’t blame you for foregoing the underclothes. Still, it only stokes the growing flame in the base of his stomach. Especially when you move your head back against the wall so you’re looking right up at Seungcheol, the ghost of a smirk on your face. 

“Wanna check for yourself?” you taunt. 

A low groan falls out of Seungcheol's mouth as soon as you ask that. Like clockwork, his hands go to the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up slightly. Just a little bit, just to see if you're really not wearing anything beneath.

"You always like to tease," he says, his voice low. That hint of a smirk on your face is only serving to drive him that much crazier. "Go on, then. Show me, since you want to act all cocky."

You give him half an eye roll that’s more affectionate than anything else before reaching over to the back of your pajama collar. You pull the top over your head in one deft, swift movement. Seungcheol's eyes go wide for just a moment, taking in the sight of you, undressed, in front of him. It never stops shocking him, never stops making his heart thump a little harder, his breath coming out a little more labored.

“Happy?” you half-joke, your voice low. 

He looks at you, up and down, before his eyes go back to your face. His hands move from your hips to your waist, fingers tracing over the sides of your chest as he shakes his head.

"Not yet," he says. "But I will be."

His hands keep tracing over your skin, his touch light— almost feathery, as he keeps his eyes fixed on your face. There's something about seeing you so exposed like this that's driving him absolutely insane, something about you being entirely at his mercy that's making his eyes grow dark.

He leans in, bringing his lips just past your ear. "Turn around," he murmurs, almost like a command.

He sees how you swallow hard, how you take in the familiar darkness in Seungcheol’s gaze. You know him, have known him for years, and that comes with trust. Unflinchingly, you twist around in his arms to press your chest against the wall. 

He has you practically trapped, all against his chest and the wall. His eyes look at you up and down, taking in your bare shoulders and back, the way you've submitted to him so perfectly.

His hands go to your hips again, and his eyes look over your back, following the line of your bare spine. "What do you say we find a use for this wall besides me just pushing you up against it," he murmurs. "Hm?"

“Yes, please,” you whimper, and as soon as you agree, Seungcheol's hands tighten on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he pulls you a little closer to him. You're not going anywhere, not when he's got you like this.

He leans in, his body practically pressing up against your back, his chest against your skin. He bites down on your shoulder, pulling a strangled whine out from somewhere deep in your throat. "You look so goddamn pretty like this, love," he murmurs against your skin.

His hands move from your hips to your chest, tracing the skin there before he brings them up to your throat. He presses his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the thump thump thump of your heartbeat.

He can feel your heart thrumming against his hand, can practically hear you shaking. It's driving him absolutely insane— you, underneath him, trembling for him. The knowledge that he's got you like this, the fact that you're letting him take control, letting him do whatever he wants.

He moves his mouth to that spot on your neck again, the skin that's so sensitive that it makes you whimper and shiver. He always finds it so easy to tease those sounds out of you, and always relishes in doing it.

His hands stay at your neck, his fingers still pressed against your pulse point. This had always been one of Seungcheol's little habits— a single finger on your pulse point, as if he liked seeing which actions would make your heart rate spike, which words would have it hammering.

Seungcheol presses his lips on your skin again. "You're so loud."

He marvels at the way you ball your hands into fists, the way you shake all over with poorly concealed want and need as he keeps nipping and marking. "‘M not," you gasp, lurching forward against the wall. "‘M perfectly— hng!"

Everything is working in his favor.

You're shaking, and your heart is racing, and every noise you make is just more fodder for him. God, he loves it. Loves being the one to make you absolutely tremble and shiver like this. Loves the fact that he's the only one to make you feel like this.

"You're mine," he says again, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He bites the shell of it, hard, before letting out a low hum.

This is his favorite place in the entire world— right against your back, feeling your body heat against his chest, his tongue running over your skin. He loves how reactive you are to him, how sensitive you are, how your body just melts under his touch.

"Say it," he mutters against your skin. "Who's in control?"

There it is. The million won question.

The whole reason you started these rendezvouses in the first place. He had been spinning out of control, and you had been lonely, and you clicked into place like magnets. 

You give in, like you always do. The words are a soft whimper, almost a shout in your otherwise empty apartment. "You. You're in control, Seung."

That's all he wants to hear.

He digs his fingers into your jaw and wrenches your head so it's turned to look at him, his lips inches from yours. Even if there's a little pain, nothing in him is stopping. "Good," he mutters, his breath hot against your lips. "Good girl."

The kiss that follows is absolutely messy, the kind of kiss where it's just tongue and teeth and raw need. It's worlds different from the soft and easy kisses that Seungcheol asked for earlier, when he first came in complaining about five unanswered texts.

"Seung," you groan as you pull away for air. "Please—" 

When you moan his name, it's like something snaps.

He growls low, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts, gripping the fabric hard enough that there's a very real chance of them ripping. "Please what?" he mumbles against your neck. "You need to tell me what you need, love. Use your words."

"I hate you," you whine, and Seungcheol nearly smiles. He knows you’re not fond of begging, but he needs to hear it from you. At least, he wants to. 

"You know what I—" you’re saying, but dammit, his control is already razor thin as is. He rips off the last fabric of clothing on you until you’re completely bare, pressed entirely up between the wall and him. 

Somehow, your mind still has some shrivel of coherence to complain, "I liked this set, asshole!"

He grins against your skin at your words, chuckling at your whine, at the way you're just reacting to him. You can act annoyed, you can act like you don't need him, but he knows. "I'll buy you a new one," he hums, finally letting go of your shorts and letting them fall to the floor in tatters. "One for me to rip to shreds all over again."

That thought alone makes his blood sing.

It takes you a great effort to turn around, but somehow you manage. Seungcheol is still fully clothed and so your bare chest presses against the front of his shirt. The sight of you, naked, his hands at your hips, pressed right up against him, against his chest like this— he's gone.

And then you’re asking him, low and sweet as he has you caged in, "Where are you going to fuck me tonight, Seung?"

He can't even manage a word for a moment, his hands holding you so tight that he's definitely going to leave marks on your skin, his eyes fixed on your face.

He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry at the question. "You want me to say it out loud, hm?"

You go to steal the upper hand for a minute or so, and you do it so effectively. Your hand rises almost lazily to his neck, your finger instinctively finding his pulse point. He feels his heart rate speed up as he watches, just watches, you do it. You stand on your tiptoes to raise your lips directly to his ear. 

All he can feel is the thunder of his heart racing against your hand. You seem to notice it, too, if the smile on your face is any indication. 

"How about you just show me instead?" you say, and he’s convinced he’ll pass out then and there. 

"You're a brat," he mutters through gritted teeth, his hand moving up from your hips and up your spine. "A brat who needs to be taught a lesson."

He takes a shuddering breath, almost completely lost in your little game, before he snaps back to himself. Seungcheol's hand leaves your hip and goes to your hand, gripping your wrist hard. "On the sofa," he says, and it’s nothing short of a command. 

He practically drags you on to the piece of furniture, watching intently as you fall back with a small oomph. Seungcheol stands on the edge of the couch as you prop yourself up by the elbows to watch him right back. 

The sight of you underneath him— your hair splayed against the cushions, your eyes half-lidded and fixed on him? It's absolutely perfect. It's the kind of thing that he wants to keep in his mind forever, the sight he wants to always be able to remember.

He lets out a noise under his breath as he undoes the button of his jeans, the sound of the zipper going down obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Gorgeous,” he breathes. 

He gets his jeans undone and kicked off, his shirt following them not long after, and then he's on top of you, caging you in, his hands either side of your head, staring down at you.

The look in his eyes isn't something he really gets to show often— that raw need, that want, how desperate he is for you. He wants you, God, he wants you so badly, and you're letting him have you.

He dips his head to your neck, his lips against your skin, his breath hot against your pulse point, still absolutely obsessed with that spot. His hands find your wrists, pinning them back against the couch, while his knee finds its way between your thighs, pressing up against you.

You arch and squirm underneath him, visibly distressed with the facsimile of friction that you’re getting from his knee. “Seung,” you pant, grinding your dripping core against his knee. It sends a jolt of electricity through him. “Please— don’t wanna wait any more—”

“Where’s all that snark now, hm?” he teases, his teeth running over the skin on your neck. But he’s not any better off, his own self-control slipping through his very fingers as his hips grind down against you desperately. 

"Been driving me insane, love," he whispers, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck. "Been dreaming about this for days. Missing you—” 

A low keen escapes you, and he can only echo it as you tug at the last piece of material separating you. “Can we get this off already, please?” you huff as you hook your fingers at the waistband of his boxer shorts. 

He groans against your skin, his teeth finally letting go when he lifts his head to look down at you, the expression on his face looking like he's fighting for control. "God, yes," he groans, lifting his hips just enough for you to tug them off him.

He kicks them off once you’ve yanked them down, and his hand— which has instinctively gravitated to your pulse point— feels how the beat absolutely skyrockets. One of your arms goes around his shoulder and the other, surprisingly, clutches his jaw.

You’re looking right at him as you say, "Fast and hard, Seung."

"Yeah?" he says, just the slightest hint of a surprise in his voice. "You want me to be rough with you, love?"

Seungcheol was usually a sweet lover. He liked taking his time, liked being gentle and responsible even in bed.

But there were particularly rough weeks, terrible days, where he just needed a means to an end. Where the sex was an outlet, where the best thing you could be for him was his. 

He waits for your permission, because he still always remembers to ask no matter how far deep you’re in. The agreement comes in the form of the best three words. 

"Ruin me, Seung."

You know him too well. You know how he works, you know how he thinks, and you know him better than anyone.

He groans in response to your words, his head dipping down to drag his teeth gently over your collarbone. He's trying to hang on to his control, he is, but it's a losing effort.

"I will, love." His breath is hot against your skin, his hands finding your hips. "Just give me a minute—"

He shifts, just for a moment, to find the condom in his jean pocket. He goes through the motions until he's back on top of you again, one hand coming up to grip your hip again, the other coming up to rest against your throat. He looks down at you, his eyes almost glowing. 

"You trust me?" he mutters. His hand at your hip tightens; his hand at your throat barely clenches around your pulse point, his eyes never leaving yours.

You can feel it, see it. The way the little threads are beginning to unravel and fray. The way this was no longer Seungcheol of SEVENTEEN; not the leader, not the idol. This was something different entirely, someone else completely.

"I do," you whisper back, your eyes so full of adoration for him that he has to bite back the urge to scream. "I trust you, Seungcheol."

His full name is what really does it for him, because then he's pushing in, and you’re gasping, whimpering, trying to adjust around him and the fact that you’re practically clenching him on the get-go. Seungcheol eases in, nice and slow, because you’re too tightly coiled for him to do more than carefully bottom out. You’re both heaving, your breaths coming out as gasps; your own breaths are sharp, harsh, because Seungcheol is still choking you a little. 

His head dips down to your shoulder because he needs something to hold on to, anything, while his mind spins. His head is dizzy feeling you like this, feeling you around him so tightly. He's trembling, his thighs shaking, but he's holding himself back as long as he can.

When Seungcheol gets as far in as he can possibly get, you let out twin groans. He’s completely sheathed inside of you and you’re fluttering around him in a way that’s dangerous. 

“Y’can move, Seung,” you reassure him after a moment, the words coming out strained with desire. “As fast and hard as you want.” 

You sound strangled, just like he feels, and it's taking him a mammoth amount of control to hold himself back. He groans against your shoulder at the sound of your voice, the words you say. He wants to move, to thrust, but he's trying to have some semblance of composure. 

"Love," he says, his voice wrecked. "I—"

His voice breaks. It breaks, because there is only so much he can take, and he's beyond that point now. There's a tremor in his thighs, his hands clenching in the cushion below you.

You drag him right back down, with the sound that you let out that’s halfway a whine and a sigh. One of your hands goes to rest in the space between Seungcheol’s shoulder blades, as if to steady the two of you. 

Your voice is surprisingly firm when you speak. "Let go," you command. And then, softer, "I need you."

Your words, your voice— it's in complete conflict with the situation you're currently in. And yet, it works. He lets out a sound, one that's somewhere between a growl and a whimper, his breath hot against your skin. And then he's moving and he's holding nothing back.

He's hard, brutal, and he's taking. His teeth on your shoulder; his breath against your neck; his nails digging into you.

It's a relentless, dizzying pace. Seungcheol bullies into your weeping cunt, fast and hard, and it draws out the most obscene sounds from you. Gasps, whines, an occasional scream when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. What has him seeing stars is the fact that you can't seem to settle on a name to moan. "Seung— Seungcheol— Cheol—"

Yes, you're saying, yes.

Seungcheol loses himself, utterly and completely, in you. You're on the edge, he can hear it; he can feel it, and God, he wants to hear you say his name. Every single one of them. 

It almost sounds like a mantra, your voice, as he takes and takes and takes, his breathing harsh, ragged.

You go through all of the names you have for him, breathless and wrecked, until you can't even say anything because his hips are snapping into you with a ferocity that's rare but not unwelcome. Your pornographic moans reverberate in your otherwise empty apartment, and Seungcheol thinks he might go insane. 

"'M close," you choke out. "Cheollie, baby, I'm— ah, fuck— Seung—"

His breath catches at your words, his eyes closing for a moment as he groans. You, you, in all your perfect, glorious, undone state. It’s a sight he wishes he could capture, freeze in time.

He lets out a whimper, his words almost slurred when he responds. "Love— I—"

He's never been this rough, never this intense. You're the only one, the only person he's ever let himself go like this with. The only person who he's ever let see everything, take everything.

He's on the edge, he's there, he's—

"C'mon," he whines, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand clenching hard around your hip. "With me, love, please."

It's a miracle that you can even nod, can even find your voice as Seungcheol keeps on going with his erratic, stuttering thrusts. "With you," you gasp. 

He snaps into you, then, and you arch up with a scream of his name. There’s the familiar white-hot flash of pleasure; the impossibly tight clench of your walls around him.

He stays buried in you for several long moments, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. He has never felt so utterly spent in his entire life, never been so completely, utterly drained of energy. He's weak against you. He’s weak because of you. 

"God," he finally manages to mutter.

He lifts his head, just enough to be able to look at you, but he can't even muster a grin. He's spent and he knows you know that.

His hand comes up slightly, to brush the hair off of your forehead. "I think..." he says, his voice thick and hoarse, "I think I ruined you, love."

You let out a breathless laugh, one that you have to push out of your heaving chest. "You—" you try to say, but the words don't form, not at first. You take a few moments to take in some air, to gulp past the lump in your throat. "You're a fool."

His lips twitch into a tired but genuine smile at the sound of your laugh. It’s a soft sound that he's always thought sounds beautiful, especially coming from you.

A hoarse, broken laugh of his own escapes; his hand coming up to rest at your jawline, his thumb gently tracing over the warm skin there. He's still catching his breath, but he's slowly gathering himself.

"Am I a fool?" he asks quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. "What does that make you, then?"

You’re a fool, too, he thinks to himself. For letting me have this. 

Instead of answering him, you press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s the only answer he’s going to get from you for now, it seems. 

He lets out a soft huff, moving his head back just slightly, his eyes closing. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says quietly, his voice still rough with fatigue.

"Every time," you respond. Your own voice is strained, almost tired, but there's a hint of amused exasperation. "You say that every time, Cheol."

His eyes opened once again to look at you.

"Because it's true," he says simply, his voice soft and sincere, the hand resting at your jaw moving to brush your hair back from your face. "It's always true, love."

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes tracing over your face, taking in every inch of you. His eyes pause at your lips for a moment, his tongue gently wetting his own, his gaze finally moving back up to meet your eyes.

You thread your shaking fingers through the back of his hair and answer his unspoken question. "Kiss me soft and easy, Cheol," you whisper.

The moment the words leave your mouth, he's in action.

He leans forward without a second thought, the hand not buried in your hair going to rest on your hip, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

There's no heat in it, no want or need. Just a soft press of his lips against yours, gentle and slow. 

It's languid and unhurried. Like there's nowhere either of you have to be after this. For a moment, you can pretend that this is normal— that Seungcheol will not have to leave, and that you’ll not have to change into new pajamas because he'd broken yours, and that you can be... well, something, anything aside from what you are now.

But it's wishful thinking, you both know, so all Seungcheol can do is kiss you. He lets out a soft sound, almost a sigh, as his tongue slides into your mouth, his hand on your hip tightening slightly. His other hand is in your hair still, his fingers gently tracing over your scalp, his body almost melting against yours.

He will have to leave. He always does. But for now, he's here, with you, and you feel perfect, and—

Five minutes, he bargains. Five more minutes.

And then things end, not really by your own accord.

The sharp, shrill sound of Seungcheol's phone ringing breaks through your haze. You pull away, a bit jolted at the foreign sound— at something other than your words, your breathing, reverberating in the room. It takes you a beat too long to realize someone is calling him— his phone in his discarded jeans— in the godawful middle of the night. 

He lets out a loud groan, the sound tired and drawn out, and he can't help but rest his forehead against your shoulder once again, letting out a resigned sigh.

"God, save me," he mutters, his voice rough. "What time is it?"

You chuckle lightly. "Go on," you urge softly, not because you want to but because you have to. "Answer."

Seungcheol lets out another loud, drawn out sigh, his shoulders slumping in obvious defeat. He reluctantly lifts his head from your shoulder with a grumble, but he can't quite stop himself from pressing a kiss to your cheek just before he shifts up and off of the couch.

Once he’s reached down to grab his phone from where it's stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, he answers without looking at the caller ID. "Yeah?"

"Hyung!"

It's Soonyoung— of course it's Soonyoung— calling.

"Are you still at the company?" the younger member asks. "I think I forgot my headset in one of the practice rooms, and Minghao said you didn't go home with them."

"It's midnight, Soonyoung." 

You shit over on the couch, careful not to make any sound. Not to give Soonyoung any suspicion that Seungcheol might be somewhere where he shouldn't be. You press a small, reassuring kiss to Seungcheol's hip as Soonyoung goes on to whine, "Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's the expensive headset, hyung. If you're still there, could you check? Please?"

Seungcheol lets out a huff— a mixture of resigned affection and irritation— at the feeling of your lips against his skin. He can feel the exhaustion deep within his bones now, and all he wants to do is go back to snuggling into you for the night.

But he can't say no to Soonyoung, especially not at this time of night.

"Fine," he grumbles, letting out a huff. "Which practice room?"

You can hear the moment Soonyoung practically brightens with triumph.

"Third floor!" he says happily, and you bury your face into Seungcheol's side to keep yourself from laughing. "You're the best, hyung! I'll buy you a meal tomorrow for the trouble!"

He reaches down with the hand not holding his phone, pressing his palm to the top of your head, pushing lightly down. A warning of don't laugh. "Just be thankful I'm your hyung, kid," Seungcheol grouses.

Soonyoung ends the call soon enough, saying some things about sending Seungcheol a photo of his headset so he knows exactly which one is missing. When it's back to just the two of you again, you tilt your head up to look at Seungcheol. 

"You're really going back for it tonight?" you ask, even though you already know the answer. 

The corner of his lip twitches into a half smile at the way you look up at him. His eyes takein the sight of you— his hand on the back of your head, his fingers gently twisting strands of your hair.

"Of course I am," he sighs. "I can't say no to him, love."

You shift upward so you can sit side by side with Seungcheol. Both of you have yet to put on any clothes, but you’ve at least gathered your bearings enough to form coherent words now.

"You can't say 'no' to any of them," you tease as you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. There's an almost blinding affection in your tone as you say, "You and your goddamn boys."

Seungcheol reaches out, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you closer to him. Briefly, he presses his lips against your hair. His eyes are almost tender as he speaks.

"They're my boys," he says, his voice soft.

You let the words hang there for just a moment. It’s an admission, one that both of you have known for the longest time, but it's also a reminder. It’s the reason why you and Seungcheol can never be more than this—because he has his boys, and he would never do anything to jeopardize them.

You press your face against the column of his neck for just one more precious moment. You’ve never been selfish about Seungcheol, but there were nights when you thought about it. Just… thought about it.

The thought never wins.

"Let’s clean up, get dressed," you whisper into his skin. "So you can head to the company sooner."

He lets out a soft, almost painful exhale. He knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling; he's thought about it himself, as well. He hates having to leave you, hates having to say that he has to leave you. But his boys are his boys, and one day all this will be over, and then...

He can't think about it right now, though.

Instead, he nods, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Yeah."

It takes about ten minutes or so for you both to gather everything together. Seungcheol still looks tired, though for different reasons now. He’s essentially traded one exhaustion for another.

As he puts on the shoes he left in your entryway, you lean against your doorway with your arms crossed over your chest. "I’ll be holding you accountable for my pajama set," you warn him. "And for tomorrow’s noise complaint."

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, taking a step toward you. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten."

His face softens as he reaches you, his hands coming up to grab your elbows, gently pulling you closer to him. "Sorry," he says. "Again."

 "You’re not sorry, " you sigh pointedly, more out of spite than anything. It’s the truth—he’s not really that apologetic about losing control every now and then, about your neighbors knowing you’re being pulled close every so often.

When you bury your face into his chest, he lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his chin resting gently against the top of your head. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him, just like every single time before.

"You’re right," he murmurs. A quiet, affectionate admission. “Not sorry. Not even a little.”

He holds you there against him, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows himself just a few more moments before he has to leave. You both stay there, allowing yourselves that moment, until the tension in Seungcheol’s shoulders fades and your annoyance at your torn pajamas ebbs. It could’ve been five minutes, maybe less, but then Seungcheol’s phone pings with a text—surely Soonyoung asking if he’s found his headset.

You’re the one who takes the step back, putting some distance between you. "Drive safe," you tell Seungcheol. "Text me when you’re there."

Resigned. That’s the only way to describe the smile that tugs at his lips. "Yeah," he says. "I will."

True to his word, Seungcheol does indeed send you a text about an hour or so after he'd arrived at the company, informing you that he was there and had found Soonyoung’s headset.

He's still exhausted, and all he wants is to be back. Back inside of you, back with you. But he can't do any of that. At least, not right now. Not at this point.

I miss you already, is the only other thing he adds to his text.

Your text comes in only moments later, like you had been waiting by your phone. 

you're a fool. head home. take care.

A soft sigh escapes him the moment he reads your text, his eyes flickering over the words you'd typed, the harshness of it. It's another layer of protection for the both of you, but it's still not easy to read.

He's about to respond with something snarky, some light-hearted joke to tease you a bit, but he stops himself at the last moment. He knows that you're right.

He needs to head home. He needs to take care.

And he’s an absolute goddamn fool, in more ways than one. 

[downbadreading]

— 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

➺ PAIRING: yoon jeonghan x female reader

➺ GENRE: stepdad au, smut

➺ SUMMARY: the story of how you get caught in your stepdad’s web of depraved desires.

➺ CW/TW: stepcest, infidelity, age gap, manipulation, dub con, drugging, toxic relationship(s), slight dd/lg themes, daddy kink, dacryphilia, breeding kink, degradation, spanking, dumbification, unprotected sex, riding, cum play, ass play, fingering, multiple rounds, overstimulation, creampies, squirting

➺ WC: 4.2k

NOTE: don’t like, don’t read. once again, i have to thank the amazing @wonustars for beta reading this for me <3

The moment your mom asked you to move back home, you knew things in her marriage were heading south. It’s not like she didn’t want you around, but even you could tell she only asked you to act as a buffer between her and her husband. Like the good daughter you always tried to be, you accept her invitation even though you know it probably won’t be the best idea in the long run.

Things are relatively normal at first. Jeonghan is a sweetheart. He always has been, even dating back to when you were a college freshman and you officially met him. You can tell he tries to keep the peace with you around. That doesn’t mean you haven’t accidentally overheard your mom and him arguing when they think you’re not around.

It’s awkward, especially because your mom seems like the bad guy in ninety percent of their fights. You wonder if seeing a marriage counselor will help their situation.

“My friend’s dad is a marriage counselor,” you casually mention to your mom when it’s only two of you one day. “I can give you the number to his office—”

You’re abruptly cut off when your mom slams her spoon down on the table. The look she has on her face is borderline murderous, and you wonder if you should’ve just kept your mouth shut.

“Did Jeonghan tell you he wants to go to counseling?” She demands, teeth gnashing together as she spits her words.

“What? No!” You exclaim wondering why she was so quick to throw the blame on your stepdad. “I just thought—”

“I can’t believe this shit,” her words are spoken through a bitter chuckle. “You know, I’m the one who told him we need to talk to someone. I can’t believe he had the audacity to put this idea in your head!”

Despite your attempt to clear up the misunderstanding your mom has, she leaves the house and doesn’t come back until the next day. You feel incredibly guilty. It’s not like you meant to make her angry, and you definitely didn’t mean for her to get angry with Jeonghan again.

Your stepdad remains incredibly sweet. He hugs you and rubs your back, assuring you that it wasn’t your fault.

“Don’t worry, little girl,” Jeonghan says with a kind smile. “Your mom and I will be fine. Just focus on school, okay? I pay a lot of money so you can be the best.”

He’s teasing you, and you’re not sure why you feel so relieved to know that he’s not angry with you.

Unfortunately for everyone, things get worse before they even have a chance to get better. Eventually, your mom no longer cares to start arguments with her husband even when you’re around.

You can’t help but feel sorry for Jeonghan because you can see how exhausted he is. That sweet smile can’t hide all the pain and defeat he feels. You wish you could do something to help, but he always pats your head affectionately and tells you to focus on school when you offer.

It’s not until you come home one night and find him alone in the trashed living room that you know things have gone too far.

“Jeonghan?” You say cautiously, walking around the broken glass littered on the floor.

It’s a mixture of a broken wine bottle and glass from a picture frame. The one that held your mother’s wedding photo. Jeonghan has his head in his hands as you tiptoe around the spilled alcohol to sit next to him. His long hair partially covers his face, but you can see the tear stains on his cheeks.

“Jeonghan,” your voice is more firm this time, but still gentle. “What happened? Where’s my mom?”

Your stepdad sniffles and looks up. For a minute, he can’t meet your eyes. Even without the eye contact, you can see how broken he is. It makes something inside you break.

“She’s okay,” he turns to you with that pretty smile of his that you love. Except it doesn’t reach his eyes like usual. “She had a little too much to drink so I laid her down in the guest room.”

You’re sure he’s talking about the one downstairs—the one she’s been sleeping in lately.

“You still didn’t answer my question.” You say, needing to know what happened.

Jeonghan whimpers, and you can’t resist the urge to hug him. He closes his eyes as more tears stream down his face. Your stepdad gently buries his face in your neck as you press your body against him, not caring that you’re almost on his lap. All you can think about is comforting him.

“Your mom wants a divorce,” Jeonghan croaks against your wet skin. “She–She—there’s someone else, and I—”

He cuts himself off with a quiet sob, and your heart just breaks for him. Part of you suspected it. Your mom was the one who would come home late or not at all sometimes. She would often accuse your stepdad of having an affair, but now you just know she was projecting her wrongdoings onto him. It makes you feel sick because even though she’s your mom, Jeonghan didn’t deserve that.

“I’m so sorry,” you say sincerely, stroking his back like he often did to you when you were upset.

As you comfort him, he slips his arms around you and presses you closer to him. An electrifying sensation courses through you when you become aware of how close you two are.

Urges that you’ve tried so hard to push to the depths of your mind suddenly rush forward, and now you can’t stifle them or pretend they don’t exist. Especially now that you’ve realized that your mom doesn’t deserve such a wonderful man.

So, you throw away every scrap of morality you have left in you and give into your depraved desires.

Jeonghan lets out a shocked noise when you push him back on the couch and straddle him. His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open in awe. You grin when he doesn’t immediately push you off, taking it as a sign to swoop down for a kiss.

He softly moans into your mouth, overwhelmed by how warm and soft you are. Jeonghan whimpers as tears keep streaming down his face, trembling when you pull away from him.

“It’s okay, daddy,” you purr in his ear, grinding your dampening cunt against his growing bulge. “Let me take care of you.”

Jeonghan shakes his head, hands slowly settling on your waist as if he wants to push you away. Except he doesn’t.

Instead, he lets you stay on his lap. Your stepdad doesn’t try to stop you even as you move in closer and start to undo his pants. He can easily push you off, but he doesn’t. Not even when you reach into his underwear to palm his growing cock. He’s hard. Really fucking hard.

“Wait, baby—” the pet name falls easily, and you love it.

“Shh, daddy,” you coo as you take him out of his pants. “Just let me touch you. Let me make you feel better.”

“Oh, god,” Jeonghan mewls when you start to stroke him.

Your stepdad’s cock is long and thick and oozing with precum. You lick your lips as you slowly move your hand, eyes trained on Jeonghan’s pretty face. You can tell he feels guilty, and you don’t blame him. He’s such a good guy that he wouldn’t want to hurt your mom, even after everything she’s done to him.

“We… we shouldn’t do this,” Jeonghan protests weakly.

When you get off his lap, he fights a whine even though he knows it’s for the best. Once again you surprise him by slipping out of your clothes and getting back on top of him. His pupils are blown wide when he sees your bare tits and cute pussy.

“Honey,” Jeonghan’s voice has gone deeper, eyes fixed on your body. “This is wrong.”

You ignore him because his cock is twitching and standing to attention. Gently, you cradle the back of his head and press his face to your chest. Your warm tits envelop him, and he’s delirious. You smell so good that it makes his brain fuzzy. Jeonghan feels his cock twitch when you reach for it again, and this time he doesn’t try to stop you.

“Please, daddy,” you beg as you glide your slick cunt over his throbbing cock. “I need your cock. Need it so fucking bad.”

A deep groan escapes him because you feel so warm and wet. Jeonghan just knows you’ll feel so good wrapped around his cock.

“You deserve my little pussy,” you whisper in his ear, pressing down harder on him. “Deserve to fuck someone who won’t ever make you feel so terrible.”

“God, baby,” Jeonghan grunts when he feels your dripping pussy nudging the head of his cock. His resolve is weak, and he doesn’t want to fight it anymore.

His moan syncs with yours when you slowly sink down on his cock. Your little cunt is so hot and tight. Jeonghan can’t think about things like guilt because he feels too fucking good. A nice, wet pussy wrapped around his neglected cock, sucking him in and squeezing him just right. He’s been so lonely and miserable lately that you feel like absolute heaven to him.

“Such a naughty little girl,” Jeonghan growls when you start to rock in his lap. You tighten around him and hold on to the back of his head when you start to bounce.

“Daddy,” you whimper as your juices coat his cock.

Jeonghan’s lips brush against your nipples as your bounces grow more eager. You clench around his fat cock when his weeping tip brushes against your sweet spot. Your stepdad lets out a mixture of a groan and a wail of pleasure as you keep riding him.

You’re lost in pleasure with the feeling of your stepdad’s hard cock twitching and throbbing inside you. It turns you on that he’s strong enough to push you off of him, but never attempts to. You cry out loudly when his hands curl around your waist to help you fuck his cock the way he likes it.

Jeonghan’s lidded gaze is focused on where you two are connected, watching as his cock disappears in and out of your little pussy with every rough bounce. He feels his balls start to tighten with his impending release. Never in his life has he felt so turned on. The way his stepdaughter is just using his cock like a toy is just driving him closer to the edge.

“Daddy,” you purr in Jeonghan’s ear. “You like my pussy better than my mom’s, don’t you?”

You already have your answer from the way he twitches and throbs inside you, his cock answering for him. It makes you happier than you expect. Of course, it would be you. Your pussy was made for him, and you’ll make sure he feels the same way by the end of the night.

“Fuck yeah I do,” Jeonghan groans as his hands go down to squeeze your ass. “Love this little princess cunt.”

You cry out loudly as your orgasm abruptly hits, coating his cock and balls with your essence. “Fuck, daddy! It’s yours! Only yours! You can have this princess pussy every day!”

Your fucked out moans do their job in pushing Jeonghan over the edge. He grips your hips and flips you under him, buries his head in your shoulder and frantically fucks you into the couch as he starts to spill his cum inside you. Lewd squelching fills the air as you happily wrap your legs around him and meet his thrusts to help him fuck his cum deeper inside you.

The both of you are panting by the time you’re done, but your stepdad makes no move to get off of you.

“Don’t think we’re done, little girl,” his voice is ravenous. “Daddy’s not letting you off this cock until you’re nice and stretched out.”

That’s how you end up on the bed he shares with your mother, face down and ass up as you beg for his cock. Jeonghan smirks, eyes trained on your sloppy hole. You look so hot like this, and he knows that he won’t ever let you go after tonight.

“What a nasty slut,” Jeonghan says, palms smoothing over the globes of your ass to keep you still. “Dripping all over my sheets. You want daddy’s cock that bad, honey?”

You whine and arch your back some more. “I need it!”

“Yeah?” You can tell he’s smirking. “Do you even care that your mom might wake up and see what a nasty slut her daughter is?”

You shake your head, pussy clenching around nothing. “Just want daddy’s cock in my little pussy.”

“Don’t worry, little girl,” Jeonghan groans as he kneels behind you. “Daddy’s going to stuff this needy hole and cover it with his cum.”

“Please!”

You cry out when Jeonghan shoves his thick cock into your clenching pussy. He bottoms out in a single thrust since you’re already so wet from when you rode him earlier. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, whining his name when you feel his balls slap against your clit.

“Oh, fuck,” your stepdad hisses. “Your little princess pussy keeps sucking me in, honey.”

Jeonghan spanks your ass. You moan loudly and clench down on his aching cock. “Mhm, just needed daddy’s cock to fill you up, huh?”

“Yes, daddy, yes!” You moan into his sheets.

The thick musk of sex fills the air as Jeonghan pulls his twitching cock out of you halfway only to slam it back into your needy cunt. You squeal and tighten around him when you feel him spread your ass and gently trace your asshole. His thumb slips down to gather juices from your dripping pussy and slides it back up to your asshole, gently pushing past the taut muscle. Your pussy clamps down on his dick hard, making him moan loudly.

“Can’t wait to break in this tight little hole too,” Jeonghan’s voice is thick with lust. “Gonna train you to take daddy’s cock in every hole.”

You moan and bounce back against him, cunt pulsing around his cock as his thumb slips in and out of your clenching rim. “Daddy!”

Jeonghan laughs in delight. “Sounds like you like it.”

You nod your head, and Jeonghan fucks into you harder, balls slapping against your sloppy cunt with every rough thrust. “God, you’re fucking tight.”

He groans when your sweet little pussy clenches around him again.

“Feels so fucking good, daddy,” you say as your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Love your big cock.”

You cry out in pleasure when his hand pulls away from your ass to slip his fingers over your hip to pinch and rub your sensitive clit.

“Is my little girl already cock drunk?” Jeonghan is way too pleased when you deliriously nod your head with a fucked out mewl.

You’re fucking perfect. It makes him wish he would’ve done this sooner.

“My pretty little slut,” Jeonghan coos adoringly. “Just a sweet little hole to dump my load into. Isn’t that right, baby?”

You shiver and meet his thrusts with more vigor, “Yes! Stuff my little hole full of your cum, daddy!”

“Fucking shit,” Jeonghan hisses as he grabs your hair and yanks you backward to give you a sloppy kiss.

His hips never stop, only snapping harder against you.

“I’ll give it to you, honey. Daddy’s going to cream your hot little cunt all night long.”

You mewl in satisfaction when your head is shoved back into the mattress as you keep getting railed hard. Wet slapping fills the room as your stepdad continues spearing you open on his cock. The smell of sex permeates the room as Jeonghan keeps using your body for his pleasure.

“Daddy’s close, baby,” Jeonghan groans.

You moan loudly. “Gonna cum, daddy!”

You’re moaning so loud now, and you don’t really care that your mom might wake up and come upstairs to catch her husband fucking you raw. All you can care about is how good you feel. You grind your pussy down on your stepdad’s throbbing cock while his fingers rub fast circles on your puffy clit.

“Yeah? Do it, honey.” Jeonghan leans forward to bite your shoulder. “Cream on me. Want to feel your juices all over my cock.”

His cock pistons in and out of your hot cunt, ramming against your g-spot repeatedly until all you can do is chant his name. You’re a moaning mess at this point, only caring about the white-hot pleasure you’re feeling.

“Gonna cum!” You slur out, drool dripping on the mattress.

“Cum for daddy, baby. Cum all over this cock.”

With those commanding words, Jeonghan spanks your cunt hard, palm coming down on your clit over and over until you’re screaming out in pleasure. It’s not long before your orgasm hits. Slick gushes out around his cock as he keeps fucking into that spongy spot and spanking your pussy. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as liquid spurts from your pussy and coats his cock and balls, making a mess all over the sheets.

It feels like electricity is coursing through your body from how intense you cum. Your fingers and toes curl in on themselves as your cunt pulses and clenches down on his cock.

“Fuck yes,” Jeonghan growls, as he keeps pounding into your fluttering pussy. “Didn’t know you were a squirter, little girl. So fucking sexy.”

It only takes a few more thrusts for him to bury himself deep inside your cunt and release his hot load inside you. Thick spurts of cum fill you up as he moans your name like it’s something holy. Jeonghan fucks his cum deeper inside you, making no move to slip out of your spent pussy.

However, you’re not done. Far from it, actually.

Jeonghan quickly flips you on your back, one hand on your hip and his other on your thigh. He’s spreading you open and holding you down as he starts to roll his hips into you. A deep groan leaves his mouth every time you clench down on him.

“Da—addy!” You cry out at a particularly sharp thrust that slams against your sweet spot and has you clenching violently around him, teetering on the edge already.

Jeonghan smirks, loving what a cock hungry slut you are. Not that he’s any better. He’s already addicted to your sweet little cunt.

“I know, honey, I know,” he coos in a sickly sweet voice as he continues to fuck you deep and hard. “Daddy’s cock feels good, huh?”

You nod stupidly, all coherent thoughts long gone from your mind. “Uh-huh. Feels so—so good!”

Jeonghan spits on your pussy as you grasp the sheets underneath you. You’re dripping all over him, making an obscene squelching noise every time his cock hits deep inside your tight pussy. He loves the way your pretty pussy opens up to let his aching cock inside. The way you grip him is the hottest sight he’s ever seen, and he knows nothing will ever compare.

“Daddy,” you mewl, barely able to think.

The only thing on your mind is that you want him to cum inside you again. You can’t voice your thoughts because an orgasm rocks your body all over again. Jeonghan laughs delightedly, loving how you keep wetting his dick with your orgasms.

“Dirty little girl,” he growls, bullying his cock into you harder than before. “Making such a mess on daddy’s cock.”

You mewl again, “I need…”

“Need what, baby?” Jeonghan coaxes as he starts to rub slow circles on your throbbing clit. “Say it. Tell daddy what you need, honey.”

“N-Need you to—!” His voice is so sweet that all you can do is break off into another moan. Your pussy tightens and stains his cock with more cream. All you can smell is sex and Jeonghan’s cologne. It only pushes you close to the edge once again.

Jeonghan laughs softly and fucks into you just a little harder, “You need me to...? Use your words, little girl. Daddy can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell him. Better hurry before your mom wakes up and finds you getting fucked like the nasty whore you are.”

That won’t happen, but you don’t need to know that. Although he can tell the thought of your mom catching you in their bed, fucking like animals, turns you on.

“Cum inside me, daddy. Please.”

Your words are slightly slurred and completely fucked out, and Jeonghan bites his lip before smirking down at you. There’s no way he can deny you his seed, especially when you’re asking him so nicely.

“There you go, honey. Take all of daddy’s cum like a good little slut.”

You and Jeonghan moan together when he spills his hot cum inside you. He fucks it into you like the last two times, loving how your tight pussy flutters and pulses around him. You’re such a good girl that you thank him repeatedly through a moan.

The rest of the night you two fuck in every position possible. Jeonghan is insatiable, and you’re tired and completely fucked out before he even thinks about letting you off his cock.

Jeonghan has your back pressed against his chest, a strong arm wrapped around your neck as he pounds you into his mattress. All of your previous orgasms leak on the sheets beneath you as you cry and gasp from the overstimulation. It all feels so good, but you don’t think you can handle any more.

“Daddy,” you whimper pathetically. “C-Can’t cum anymore.”

It feels like your head is starting to spin as his cock splits your pussy open. Jeonghan pounds into your g-spot relentlessly, cock swelling when he sees the tears streaming down your face. His cock twitches and throbs because despite your words, you’re still moving your hips to meet his thrusts.

Your stepdad smirks meanly. “Is that why you keep rutting against me like a nasty slut, little girl?”

You cry out when Jeonghan releases you and sits up to roughly smack your ass. He repeats the harsh motion until you’re screaming in pleasure. Your cunt clenches around him, hips involuntarily bucking back in an attempt to force his fat dick deeper into your tiny little pussy. It’s like an automatic reaction, but your stepdad loves it.

“Just lay there and let daddy breed you, honey,” Jeonghan growls when you give him another weak orgasm. He groans and smacks your ass as he forces the juices out of your soiled cunt with every snap of his hips. “Be a good cock sleeve for me.”

“Want it so bad, daddy!” You cry out, pussy fucked raw yet still so desperate for another one of his hot loads. “Breed me like the slut I am.”

“Want you to scream for me, baby.” Jeonghan moans as his head falls back. He pounds into your hot cunt harder, gripping your hips tighter as he chases his orgasm, using your pussy to get himself off. “Let your mother know how much you love your stepdad’s cock.”

“DADDY!” You scream at the top of your lungs, almost hoping your mom will walk upstairs and see her husband stuffing you full of cum on their marital bed.

Jeonghan cries out as his balls tighten up. His moan is loud as you cry out in pleasure, your pussy involuntarily giving him a fifth orgasm as he spills rope after rope of cum into your sopping pussy. He fucks you nice and deep, whispering filthy praises in your ear the entire time.

Your stepdad lets out a low hiss as he pulls his softening cock out of your sloppy pussy. He licks his lips and forces his cum back in with three of his fingers, pressing so deep into you that his wedding band touches your puffy little pussy lips, making you whine.

“Such a good little girl,” Jeonghan coos as he fingers his cum back into your pussy with a filthy smirk. “My pretty little slut.”

You’re completely fucked out, feeling completely satiated as you slump into the bed. You mewl softly when Jeonghan pulls you into his arms and starts to rub soothing circles on your pussy.

“Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He presses a gentle kiss on your temple, and just like that you’re out like a light.

Jeonghan smirks into your hair when your breathing evens out and you fall into a deep sleep. There’s no better feeling than knowing his plan worked perfectly.

Admittedly, your mom played a significant role. With her insecure and angry personality, it was easy to make himself look like the victim. Faking the maudlin expressions and crushed spirit was easy enough, especially since you’ve always been so empathetic. Getting his wife to stay out all night was easy since he always lied and told her he’d be at the bar. She went looking for him every single time not knowing he was at home, fucking his fist to the thought of you.

And then there was the final act.

Inviting his unsuspecting wife for a drink was easy enough. Despite all of the fighting, she still wanted to have Jeonghan to herself. She couldn’t have known that he spiked her drink so he could stage the perfect tragedy. It worked perfectly since you didn’t think twice about believing him.

Everything has worked out as he hoped, and now all he has to think of is the future with his true beloved. You.

[downbadreading]

— 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

➺ PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x female reader

➺ GENRE: boyfriend’s dad au, smut

➺ SUMMARY: your boyfriend’s manipulative father helps you get revenge in the nastiest way possible.

➺ CW/TW: yandere themes, slight obsession, age gap, cheating, manipulation, baby trapping, dry humping, panty stealing, mentions of masturbation, wonwoo is a depraved perv, dilf!wonwoo, nipple play, spitting, fingering, some cum play, unprotected sex, squirting, creampies

➺ WC: 4k

NOTE: don’t like, don’t read. @wonustars hope you like it <3

Wonwoo is a sick man.

He knows this, he acknowledges it, and most importantly, he hides it.

When people thought of Jeon Wonwoo, they thought of a respectable lawyer, widower, loving father of two. And they were right. He had never done anything to indicate otherwise. Not publicly, anyway. For years he’s hidden his most depraved side without letting anyone know it existed.

His facade all starts to crumble when his son comes home from college with a lovely girl who he’s apparently head over heels for. Wonwoo recognizes the starry eyed look in his son’s eyes, and instead of being happy for him, all Wonwoo can feel is faint disgust and disdain. It’s pathetic and vile, but it’s a feeling that he can’t get rid of no matter what he does.

It gets worse when you start coming around more often, prancing around in your little shorts and skirts like Wonwoo doesn’t get hard just seeing your exposed skin. He’s sick for stealing your dirty panties when you come over and using them to jerk off, but again, he can’t stop his despicable actions. His obsession with you only grows as time goes on, and eventually he decides that he’s going to have you no matter what.

The first step in Wonwoo’s sick plan is showing you just how lavish life is with a man who can provide. He ruthlessly cuts his son off, insisting that getting out in the real world and being independent is necessary. It’s easy to ignore his son’s protests and clamors about how unfair it is that his sister doesn’t get the same treatment, mostly because he sees how fast this strategy works.

When he overhears his son tell you he actually can’t buy you the bag you’ve been wanting he can see the disappointment in your face. Wonwoo is smart enough to know it’s less about the bag and more about the seemingly empty promise. It makes sense since his son can no longer pay for your food or makeup or any clothes you like. His son can’t even get you lavish gifts you’d grown accustom to.

That’s why when your birthday rolls around, you don’t expect much. It’s perfect because you don’t expect to be spoiled which makes your reaction that much sweeter.

“Mr. Jeon!” You cry out in shock when you open the bag your boyfriend’s dad gave you. “I-I don’t know what to say! This is– I mean—Thank you!”

Not only did he gift you an expensive bag that his son had failed to give you, he also got you the biggest bottle of your favorite perfume, some clothes, and a very expensive necklace. Wonwoo smirked smugly when you hugged him, loving how you pressed your entire body against his. His son couldn’t have known, but he saw the way you started to look at him with less appreciation. Of course, it was only natural. After all, all women loved a man who could provide.

The next step was something Wonwoo couldn’t really be blamed for. All he did was have his coworker and her pretty daughter over for dinner when you were away visiting your family. He can’t be to blame for the fact that his son is a weak man who hasn’t truly accepted monogamy. Sure, he did push it along by leaving two college kids alone in a house full of liquor. And yes, he was responsible for them often meeting up whenever you weren’t around, but again, it wasn’t entirely his fault.

The final step to this long winded plan was making sure you found out.

Wonwoo is lucky his daughter has more of a moral compass than he and his son combined. The second she realized what was going on, she didn’t hesitate to tell you. Admittedly, he was saddened to know how heartbroken you initially felt. However, when he saw you again, you seemed void of that. All he could see was your thirst for revenge.

Luckily for you, he was more than willing to help you make that happen.

You still haven’t broken up with Wonwoo’s son, much to his annoyance. In fact, you’re acting like nothing’s wrong even when you come along to their vacation home during the summer. His son is hardly paying you any attention and his daughter has gone off with her friends somewhere, leaving you to your own devices.

“Hey, babe. I’m running to the store real quick. Need anything?” Your boyfriend asks without looking up from his phone.

Before, he would’ve insisted you go with him. Things change, but you don’t care. Not anymore.

“No thanks. Be safe.”

He doesn’t kiss you goodbye, and you’re glad.

Your eyes drift over to Wonwoo, appreciating how good he looks. The perfect idea for revenge had occurred to you a while ago, and with the older man quietly sipping on some liquor on the couch, you know there’s no better time than the present to set your plan in motion.

Boldly, you get up from where you’re sitting and slide onto Wonwoo’s lap. Your panties are already slick with your arousal as you sit directly on his crotch. Dark eyes look at you in surprise when you gently start to grind your panty-clad pussy down without any qualms. All you do is smirk seductively before you go to kiss and suck on Wonwoo’s neck.

“Sweetheart.” Wonwoo groans, cock already hardening because of the wet heat that’s pushing down on him. “What about—?”

“Your son’s an asshole.” You say bluntly. “And I want him to feel as shitty as I do.”

You pull back, expecting Wonwoo to push you off of him or tell you what you’re doing is wrong. Instead he only laughs and goes to kiss you. A quiet squeal escapes you when he starts to lick into your mouth. You’re quick to melt into the kiss, moaning into his mouth when Wonwoo starts to guide your hips down onto his covered cock.

The sound of a car door slamming has you pulling away. You smirk when Wonwoo groans in disapproval. The wet spot you’ve left on his pants only turns you on even more, and all you do is wink at him before running upstairs to the guest room he provided for you.

The rest of the evening goes by without incident, well except for the fact that your boyfriend got a little too drunk on wine and was now passed out on the couch. His sister only looks at him with disgust and announces that she’s going to bed. You know the truth. Earlier, she confessed that she was going to sneak out to go clubbing with her friends. This was perfect since you were going to need her gone to execute your plan.

“Goodnight, Mr. Jeon.” You purr as you stretch your arms over your head, noticing his eyes drift down you where your skirt had ridden up.

You don’t bother to hide your smirk as you go upstairs. As soon as you get to the room, you leave the door open, slipping out of your clothes and putting on a tiny night shirt that came just above your belly button. You get on the bed and settle on your side, cunt still thrumming with arousal. All you can think about is getting fucked raw by your boyfriend’s dad, and you hope he hurries up and gives you what you want.

Slowly, you slide your hand into your panties, teasing your fingers across your swollen clit. It’s easy to lose yourself to the pleasure. Especially since your mind can’t stop replaying what happened earlier in the day. God, was Mr. Jeon a good kisser. Way better than his pathetic son. You mewl quietly, wishing the ache between your legs was being soothed by someone else.

Wonwoo almost cums in his pants when he sees you on the bed. You’re only wearing a small shirt and panties, which makes it easy to see what you’re doing. He smirks, slowly undressing himself as he approaches you. It’s funny how you don’t notice him until he slides in right behind you.

“Need some help?”

You pussy throbs in excitement, and before you can answer him, you feel his hand slip down your body to cover the one you have in your panties. The mewl you let out makes his cock twitch and throb. Wonwoo holds back a groan, ready to have you in the way he’s dreamed of for months.

“You have to be quiet, sweetheart.” His breath fans against your ears. “I can’t have my kids walking in on us when we’re just getting started.”

You almost tell him his sweet little daughter is out partying with her friends so there’s no real reason to keep quiet, but you resist. After all, no one would be able stop you from fucking the insanely hot man playing with your pussy.

“So fucking wet.” Wonwoo whispers hotly. “What were you thinking about?”

“You.” It’s easy to admit, especially because you can tell how much he likes it. “And how fucking wrong this all is.”

Wonwoo hums, and it somehow seems like he’s gloating. His fingers circle your throbbing clit over and over until you’re squirming against him. “Maybe, but you like it. That’s why you’re dripping all over my hand. You like your boyfriend’s dad playing with your pussy that much, huh, baby?”

“Fuck yeah.” You hiss, eyes falling closed when he pinches your wet clit. “You’re so fucking hot, Mr. Jeon. Way better than your pussy ass son.”

Wonwoo’s dick presses against your ass as he rolls his hips to grind against you. Juices gush from your cunt as he groans into your neck. “I fucking knew it—I’ve always known it. Even before you were grinding your wet pussy on me.”

You bite your lip, slightly embarrassed that he knew you were attracted to him this entire time. It’s not like you can be blamed. He’s one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen, and obviously he felt some bit of attraction for you as well.

“Roll over and show me those pretty tits, baby.” Wonwoo rasps in your ear.

His words has more of your arousal coating his long fingers. You’re feeling hot all over, and you don’t hesitate to comply. You twist your body before you pull your shirt up to let your tits free. Immediately, your nipples harden under his dark gaze

“That’s it.” Wonwoo groans deeply as he rubs your pussy harder. “Prettiest tits I’ve ever seen. Fuck. Makes me want to suck on them until you’re creaming all over my fingers.”

You moan and arch your back into him. Wonwoo licks his lips and stops rubbing your pussy to pull off your panties. He grabs his cock and rubs it along your pussy. You cry out quietly when you feel his hot cock skip between your wet folds and drag against your clit and dripping hole. By now you’re panting, hips writhing from the stimulation. Wonwoo drags wet fingers up to pinch your taut nipples.

“You’ll let me suck on your sweet tits, won’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes!” You agree immediately, feeling an arousing thrill when Wonwoo lets out a deep groan.

He twists your upper body some more until your back is against the mattress. Your hips are still twisted at an angle so his cock can keep rubbing against your pussy. The position isn’t uncomfortable, and you watch with anticipation as Wonwoo ducks his head to drag his mouth across the swell of your breasts. His eyes never leave yours when his mouth dips down to suck on one of your sensitive nipples. As you feel the hot wet suction, your eyes slip close with a whine.

You grind your cunt down on Wonwoo’s cock, dripping slick all over him. He moans against you nipple as he slowly drags his dick back and forth to stimulate you. The head of his cock leaks precum making your pussy messier and stickier. You drag your hand through Wonwoo’s hair, sighing and mewling as his hot mouth suckles on your hard bud.

“Fuck, just like that!” You mewl, arching your back to shove more of your tit into his mouth.

The next time he catches your gaze, you can see his pupils blown wide and a light blush spread across his face. It’s so attractive that more of your arousal drips onto his cock. Wonwoo then sucks a bruise on the curve of your breast, teeth gently digging into the soft skin. You gasp at the dull ache, pussy clenching around nothing.

“So fucking sweet.” His voice is low and raspy, tongue lapping at the bruise he left behind.

You whine and arch up into him more. “S-Shit, Mr. Jeon. This is so fucking dirty.”

He just grins at you wickedly, hips swirling against you so his cock brushes against your throbbing clit. Wonwoo starts to press wet kisses on your tits tenderly, dark eyes never leaving yours. “It is, and yet you still like it. That’s why you’re not trying to be quiet. You want my son to know your little pussy is aching for my cock.”

You moan loudly when he starts to roughly suck on your other nipple. He’s not bothering to keep his own moans quiet as he swaps back and forth between your nipples until they’re both puffy and sore. As he works his teeth and tongue on your hard buds, he grinds his cock up against your slick hole making you part your legs further.

“I know you want it, baby.” Wonwoo says after he’s satisfied with the marks he’s left on your tits. He rubs his leaking tip against your clit to hear you moan again. “Want me to split you open on my fat cock, hm? I’ll show you how a real man fucks.”

“Fuck—please.” You whimper desperately. “Need you to fuck me, Mr. Jeon.”

“Call me Wonwoo, sweetheart.” He groans as he gets up and positions you so you’re fully on your back.

You mewl when Wonwoo rests his dick on your stomach. The sight is dizzying in the best way—an arousing image of how deep he’ll reach inside you once he slides into your pretty pussy. His leaking tip is almost to your belly button, and he wishes badly that he could take a picture. Wonwoo licks his lips as slowly rubs his cock through your slippery folds, covering it with your juices. His fat tip brushes against your clit and makes you whine.

You moan when he eases his cockhead past your slick folds. The squeeze of your hot cunt is tight, and it makes Wonwoo roll his hips into yours, fucking himself deeper into your clenching pussy.

“Wonwoo!” You mewl, already feeling so full even though he’s not even all the way inside.

Just hearing you moan his name has him thrusting forward and burying his cock balls deep inside your wet pussy with a deep growl. You cry out loudly, tits bouncing at his roughness. Wonwoo’s large palm immediately covers your mouth, cock throbbing inside you.

“Shh, baby. You don’t want us to get caught do you? What would my son say is he walked in and saw his dad fucking his girlfriend’s tight little cunt?”

You moan against his hand, pussy clamping down on his dick tighter than before. Wonwoo clicks his tongue, slowly grinding deeper into you. The thought turns him on too, more than he would ever admit.

“Oh? You like that?” He hums as you buck your hips up to meet his slow thrusts. “What a dirty little slut.”

Wonwoo keeps your mouth covered as he slowly fucks your cunt. All you can focus on is how stretched open your pussy feels. You keep whining and moaning as he bullies his cock into your fluttering hole. Even though they’re muffled, the cute little noises you’re making are driving Wonwoo closer to the edge.

“You’re so fucking tight, sweetheart.” Wonwoo groans. “Feels like you’ve never had a cock this big stuffing your little pussy.”

Wanting to hear you, he removes his hand.

You shake your head before you moan out an answer. “You’re the biggest—fuck—I’ve ever had.”

Wonwoo’s cock twitches inside you as he goes to cover your mouth with his. You two share a series of wet kisses between your filthy moans. His thick cock keeps rutting into your squelching pussy and slamming into the spongy spot inside your cunt that makes you keep tightening around him. At this point your mind has gone fuzzy. All you can think about is the man on top of you and the orgasm coiling in the pit of your stomach thanks to him.

In the haze of skin slapping together and the arousing scent of sex, Wonwoo feels like he’s found heaven. He’s absolutely thrilled to have you how he’s wanted since he first saw you. After months of planning, he finally has you trembling on his cock. Wonwoo groans lowly when you squeeze even tighter around him. You whine, moving your hips to meet his thrusts.

Wonwoo smirks when he sees your fucked out expression. He can’t care that his son is passed out downstairs while he’s quite literally fucking his sweet little girlfriend’s brains out. It’s what you deserved after all the hell his idiot spawn put you through.

“Looks like you’re already addicted to my cock, baby.” His laugh is so attractive that it makes your pussy flutter.

A deep pleasure shoots up your spine as Wonwoo fucks you hard and deep, plunging his cock into your sopping cunt. You cry out his name, feeling a pleasure you never have before. His hand moves between your bodies to flick and rub your sensitive clit.

“God, sweetheart. Fucking love how your sweet cunt squeezes my cock.” He groans in delight.

Wonwoo’s fingers keep rubbing your sensitive clit until your back arches off the bed. Wet slapping and loud squelching fills the room as the coil in your stomach abruptly snaps. Your legs clamp around his slim waist at the same time your cunt tightens around his dick, milking him for all he’s worth as your arousal gushes around his throbbing length.

“That’s it, baby. Milk this fucking cock.” Wonwoo growls as his hands spread you open even more. “Fuck. I’m gonna fill you with my cum and watch it spill out of your pretty pussy.”

You whine out, wanting nothing more. “Yes! Fill my pussy with your cum!”

Wonwoo growls into your skin, ramming his dick straight into your sweet spot until he reaches his own climax. With a loud moan of your name, he spills his hot cum inside your cunt. Thick ropes of his seed paint your walls as he keeps stuffing you full until it leaks out around his cock.

It feels like you’re stuck in a blissful haze, and it’s only until Wonwoo slowly pulls out of you that you come back to your senses. His eyes are dark as he watches his cum slowly drip out of you. It’s an erotic sight, you’re sure, and you can’t help but want more.

“Wonwoo.” Your voice comes out in a sigh. “Think you can go again?”

The older man groans in his throat. You’re insatiable, and so is he. Fuck. He knew you were perfect for him.

“For you? Always.”

Your eyes roll back when the bulbous tip of his length nudges your tender pussy. Wonwoo smirks and presses forward. His aching cock penetrates you in one deep thrust. Large hands hold down your squirming hips as he sheathes his big cock to the hilt. Wonwoo groans when your juices spill around his girth. He leans back and lets a string of spit falls straight onto your pussy. The filthy action makes you moan wantonly.

“Your sweet little cunt is driving me crazy, sweetheart.” Wonwoo hisses as you clench around him.

Your hot cunt is pulsing and soaking his cock as if you’re claiming it as your own. It makes him smirk. Wonwoo keeps pounding into your creamy cunt until only lewd squelching and pornographic moans fill the room. He can’t even think about his son anymore. All he cares about is splitting you open and molding your tight pussy to fit the shape of his dick.

“You just love this cock, don’t you, baby?” Wonwoo moans.

“I do—Fuck. Feels so fucking good!” Your voice is loud, and you’re both beyond the point of caring. “I love your cock. Love how you fuck my little pussy.”

His fat cock is splitting you open deliciously, weeping tip reaching your cervix with every strong pound of his hips. You’re already close again, and you know this next orgasm is going to be more intense than the last. Wonwoo seems to feel it too because he keeps driving his cock into you savagely until your thighs are trembling around him. His cock is piercing directly into your g-spot then drawing out, letting you feel every vein before plowing back into your sopping mess. His rough thrusts never lose their strength or depth. Not when you scream and convulse around his cock.

“God, you’re such a nasty slut.” Wonwoo groans. “You don’t even care that your boyfriend can wake up any moment and find you dripping all over his dad’s cock.”

You manage to smirk at him. “He has no right to be angry. Not when you’re fucking me better than he ever did.”

Wonwoo smirks back at you, thrusting deeper if possible. Your depraved words make a sick thrill shoot straight to his cock. It turns him on more than it should. Dark eyes are glued to your sopping cunt. The sight of you stretching to take his cock is so hot that he almost cums right then.

“Oh my god!” You cry out as your pulsing walls constrict around the dick ramming into you.

You let out a loud cry when Wonwoo’s spit lands where you two are connected. A guttural groan escapes him when your pussy squeezes his throbbing cock and your juices spill all over him. You topple over the edge he’s been pushing you toward, squirting all over his cock and abdomen. Your release covers him, dripping down his cock and to his heavy balls.

“Cum in me!” You plead loudly. “Stuff me full again!”

Wonwoo’s fat cock keeps sliding along your convulsing walls. The tip of his cock slams into your spot unrelentlessly, making you see stars. You keep falling apart as the older man uses your body how he wants.

“Just look at your pretty little pussy, squirting all over this cock like you own it.” Wonwoo’s grin looks wolfish and unfairly attractive. “Now I have to fill your slutty pussy like I own it.”

Wonwoo groans your name deeply. His hips are flush between your thighs as he presses to the hilt, his fat cockhead rutting into your most sensitive spot. Your toes curl tightly as you scream out his name once again. All you can see, feel, and think about is your boyfriend’s dad. His hot cum fills you up, coating every inch of your wet walls, stuffing you to the brim.

The older man falls forward a bit and buries his face in your neck, biting your sweaty skin and fucking his cum deeper into you. In your aroused daze, you can’t recognize how intoxicated he is over the feeling of you and your tight cunt.

When Wonwoo finally he pulls out, his hand lands on your tingling core. He cranes his neck to watch his fingers enter your hole. Licking his lips, he gently fucks his cum back inside you and gently toys with your messy pussy. Growls rumble in his chest as his cum slips out of you and down to your smaller puckered hole. The sight makes his cock twitch and ache all over again.

“My cute little slut.” Wonwoo coos as you slowly start to drift off to sleep. “All nice and bred—just like I’ve always dreamed.”

You look precious while you sleep, and Wonwoo can’t help but feel completely satisfied that he came inside you while you were ovulating. His son was such an idiot for not cherishing you how you deserved, but it was for the best.

Now you were all his. Only his.

[downbadreading]

— 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 !

➺ PAIRING: choi seungcheol x female reader

➺ GENRE: stepdad au, smut

➺ SUMMARY: your stepdad goes to great lengths to spoil you.

➺ CW/TW: stepcest, infedilty, age gap, daddy kink, breeding kink, somnophilia, cockwarming, masturbation, oral sex (f & m), rimming, face riding, unprotected sex, creampies, squirting, cum eating, riding, shower sex, recording during sex, having sex while on the phone, reader can be carried by cheol

➺ WC: 8k

NOTE: don’t like, don’t read. thank you @wonustars for beta reading this for me <3

Seungcheol is the first to admit that he spoils you rotten. He can’t really be blamed for it since you were a spoiled princess long before he met you. Technically, it’s your mother’s fault for always indulging you every time you asked for something. He knows she only gave in to compensate for not being around as much as she should have, but now it’s a responsibility he’s happily shouldered.

That’s why when you tell him you want to fuck all over the house with no interruptions, he doesn’t hesitate to make that happen. It's not hard despite there being certain obstacles he comes across.

"I don't understand," his wife's voice wobbles just enough for him to realize she's going to push back. "If you're upset with me, what we need is to talk, not give each other space."

"I need time to think, and I can't do that with you here."

"Seungcheol," his wife's voice is tight with repressed emotion. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not leaving my own house—"

"It's my house," he reminds her coldly. "You're hardly ever here, anyway. I know you'd rather be at work than spend time with me or Y/N."

Your mom flinches because his words are like ice, and because they're true. Still, the selfish part of her can't give him what he wants. Not when it feels like this will make her lose him forever.

"But giving you space for the entire weekend—!"

"Don't raise your voice," Seungcheol hisses, eyes dark and dangerous. "I don't want Y/N to hear."

He won't let her ruin your surprise. He wants to see your face when he tells you that you'll have the entire house to yourselves all weekend long.

Seungcheol doesn't feel bad even as his wife swallows thickly.

"Fine," she whispers, "I'll give you the space you want."

"Good. I want you gone before Saturday."

It's still early when you're gently pulled out of your wet dream by an intense pleasure. Through bleary eyes, you can see the sun still hasn't fully risen. You almost think you're still dreaming until you realize that your pussy being hot and wet is very real. Immediately, you recognize the situation and the pleasure clouding your senses.

You let out a needy mewl when you look down to see a head of hair between your thighs. Arousal rips through you when you realize you're completely naked, sleeping shirt and panties discarded beside your equally naked stepdad. Seungcheol groans into your cunt, pulling back a bit to gently suck on your swollen clit. The quiet whine you let out has his cock throbbing.

"Morning, princess."

"Daddy," you moan as you spread your trembling thighs.

"Shh, baby," Seungcheol gently shushes you while still lapping at your dripping cunt. "Your mom's still sleeping. You don't want to wake her up do you?"

More juices drip from your clenching pussy, and for a moment you wish he had crushed some of those sleeping pills in her drink again. But then again, if she slept in and missed her flight you wouldn't be able to have a cum-filled weekend with her husband like you planned. All you can do is hope she leaves for your grandparents' house soon.

"She's not gone yet?" You can't keep the whine out of your sleepy whisper.

"No," Seungcheol sighs in mutual disappointment before dropping his head back down to keep eating you out.

You toss your head back, mouth dropped open in a silent scream as he licks a broad stripe up your slit before sucking on your clit again. He repeats the action before forcing his tongue back into your slick pussy. Your clit pulses with pleasure as Seungcheol slowly eats you out.

"I've been feasting on your little pussy all morning," he hums against you, placing gentle kisses on your soft lips.

"Already got you to cream on my tongue twice."

He sounds so pleased that he got you to cum without waking you. The satisfied smirk on his shiny lips makes you moan and roll your hips into his mouth.

"You like that, sweetheart? Like that your daddy couldn't help himself?" Seungcheol's eyes are dark as he gently nips at your throbbing clit.

You give him a half-hearted nod, mind swimming with pleasure. Seungcheol's tongue smooths over your pussy and runs it up your slit to softly suckle on your clit, getting the sensitive bud messy with his spit. You grind your hips into his mouth eagerly, wanting to put on a show for the dark eyes that are watching you with molten heat.

Seungcheol pulls back, but not without pressing a quick kiss to your throbbing clit. "Roll over for me, baby. I want to try something."

You sluggishly do as he asks, rolling over until you're lying on your stomach. He grabs your thighs and pushes them until you're spread open, glistening cunt on display for him. Your stepdad's groan is guttural and makes you clench around nothing.

"Prettiest fucking view ever," Seungcheol hums to himself, cock throbbing at the erotic sight of you splayed out for him.

Seungcheol's hands grab your ass as he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy lips open. He's quick to dive back into your pussy like a starved man. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, back arching as arousal thrums in your belly.

"God, baby. Love eating this pretty pussy." Your stepdad groans into the wet mess he's created, fucking his tongue deeper into your tight hole.

You try to keep your moans quiet as your hips squirm against the wet tongue spearing you open. The way Seungcheol greedily eats your cunt turns you on even more, and just thinking about what he says gets you even wetter. Feeling his strong hands holding you open as he's fucking his tongue into your clenching hole over and over again is sending you closer to the edge.

You tense slightly when you feel the pad of a finger slide over the furl of your asshole. Seungcheol groans into your pussy making you clench and rock down on the bed. He doesn't move his finger, only rubs it softly back and forth over your asshole.

"Want me to eat this hole too, sweetheart?" Seungcheol pulls back with a wet sound, mouth dragging up to bite your ass cheeks. "All you have to do is ask."

You feel hot all over, loving how fucking nasty he is. How he doesn't hesitate to give you anything you want. All you do is hum, and in less than a second he's spreading your ass until your hole is completely bare for him to see. You wiggle your hips to further entice him. Seungcheol growls as he licks a hot, wet stripe from your cunt all the way to your asshole.

"Daddy!" You cry, pussy fluttering at how much you like it. "More!"

"Don't worry, brat. Daddy's gonna lick you clean," Seungcheol says before he spits on your puckered hole. "I'm gonna eat this cute little ass all morning."

You gasp and moan as he licks over your rim with his hot tongue. The sensation makes you squirm and rock your swollen clit into the bed. While you're distracted by his mouth, he slips a couple of fingers into your empty pussy making you squeal and buck your hips. Seungcheol hums and slowly slides his tongue into your ass, spit dripping down onto his fingers that are scissoring you open.

"Fuck, daddy." You choke out, feeling unbelievably turned on as Seungcheol fucks your ass open with his thick tongue.

He fucks his fingers into your pussy until he's rubbing against your g-spot. You whine and bite your pillow to try and stifle the filthy sounds you're letting out. His tongue greedily licks your asshole open, sloppy wet sounds echoing off your bedroom walls making you drip slick down his fingers. It all feels so good that you wouldn't care if your mom were to walk in on you and your stepdad like this.

You're so lost in pleasure that you almost miss the knock on your door.

"Y/N? Are you awake?" Your mom's groggy voice wanders through the door.

Seungcheol groans quietly and buries his tongue past your clenching hole. His tongue fucks deeper into your ass while he fingers your cunt. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as your stepdad starts to eat you out with more vigor than before. His fingers curl into you, massaging that spot that has you mewling into your covers.

Seungcheol briefly pulls away to whisper his filthy desire. "Cream all over my fingers, sweetheart. Show daddy how much you love having his tongue in your ass."

You can't keep your moan quiet when Seungcheol fucks his fingers into your squelching pussy harder. The long digits brush against your spongy spot until your tight pussy is pulsing around his fingers.

"Y/N?" Your mom sounds a bit more awake now.

You grind your hips into Seungcheol as his tongue slowly laps at the rim of your hole over and over again. The sloppy wet noise fills the room, and you wonder if your mom can hear it. Not that you or your stepdad care.

"I-I'm getting up now," luckily, your fucked out voice can easily be mistaken for fatigue.

"I won't be able to make you breakfast before I go. Make sure you eat something before you go to class!"

She's never made you breakfast—not even when you were in grade school. Instead of pondering on why she was trying to act doting, you give her a shaky okay. All you really care about is the teasing kicks her husband is giving your clenching hole.

When her footsteps fade away, his tongue spears you open again. Seungcheol starts to roughly fuck his fingers into your sopping pussy. It all feels so good that you start to bounce back against your stepdad's mouth and fingers, a preening whine high in your throat. Seungcheol lets out a feral growl and pushes his mouth harder against the furl of your asshole to fuck his tongue deeper into your clenching hole.

"I'm gonna cum, daddy," you mewl softly.

Seungcheol hums and keeps eating your ass, his long fingers massaging your velvety walls. You writhe against your bedsheets, the friction allowing the fabric to rub against your clit. Your toes curl as the stimulation pushes you over the edge. With a muffled wail, you cum hard around Seungcheol's fingers. Your wet walls flutter around his fingers as you asshole clenches around his wet tongue.

Your stepdad pulls away once you come down from your high. He groans lowly in his throat before telling you to stay still. A familiar wet sound fills your ears, and when you look over your shoulder you see him jerking off.

"Gonna cum on your holes." Seungcheol groans, fucking his hand harder.

His fat tip bumps against your spread pussy as hot ropes of cum cover your skin. You moan when you feel him drag the head of his leaking cock up to your asshole to cover it with the rest of his seed.

"So fucking pretty," Seungcheol groans.

You lick your lips and blindly reach for your phone. "Want pictures, daddy."

Seungcheol's grin is devious as he takes your phone and does as you ask. He even gets your permission to take a quick video of your soiled holes. Once he's done, he tosses the phone aside and pulls you up to give you a filthy kiss. You moan into his mouth, knowing this is going to be the best weekend of your life.

"Come on, princess," Seungcheol coos adoringly after you pull away. "Let's go shower."

You lick your lips as your stepdad picks you up and carries you over to the master bedroom. It's thrilling for you, especially because you can hear that your mom is still downstairs. Seungcheol shares your uncaring attitude. He's too busy showering you with affectionate kisses to care that his wife might come upstairs and find you two naked.

The air between you is intoxicating, and you almost feel impatient when Seungcheol gently sets you down on the bathroom counter. You make a move to get off and go towards the shower, but your stepdad is quick to stop you. He places a sweet kiss on your lips, eyes shimmering with arousal and affection.

"Stay there and let daddy take care of you, sweetheart," Seungcheol says before going to start the shower.

He waits until the water warms before picking you up again and placing you under the soothing water. You let out a content sigh and lean against him as the humid air surrounds you both. Seungcheol kisses the top of your head before grabbing a clean washcloth and lathering it up with soap.

Seungcheol is gentle as he runs the sudsy cloth along your body. He takes his time, gently cleaning you while murmuring how pretty you are. You can't help but relax under his gentle touch.

"Cheol," you half moan, half sigh as he presses open mouth kisses on your clean skin.

Your thighs squeeze together when he slowly runs the cloth across your tits. He slowly circles your sensitive nipples over and over until you're mewling and arching into his touch. Seungcheol is quick to discard the cloth and goes to grab your soapy tits.

"Fuck," he groans as he pinches and tugs on your hard nipples. "You have the prettiest tits, baby."

Molten heat invades your senses, the praise making you keen. The way your stepdad is so rough with your nipples has your pussy leaking with a different type of wetness running down your thighs. One of his large hands leaves your soft flesh to turn your head so he can give you a heated kiss. His other hand slowly trails down your body until you feel his fingers swiping across your slit then back up to circle your slippery clit.

"Such a sexy little brat," Seungcheol groans fondly before he hooks his chin over your shoulder so he can watch himself play with your pussy. "Always so ready for me."

You cry out in pleasure when his hand comes down to spank your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your knees buckle, but luckily Seungcheol's arm is tightly secured around your waist. He slowly turns you until your back is against the cool tile. Your eyes follow the beads of water that run down his toned body. The water drip off his thick cock, and you feel white hot arousal consume you entirely.

"Daddy," you whine and reach out for his cock.

Seungcheol smirks and kneels down, ignoring your petulant pout, "Daddy's still hungry."

You clench around nothing as he rubs his large hands along your thighs before spreading them open. His grin is devious as he places wet kisses along your inner thighs. You can't contain your moan as his breath ghosts across your throbbing clit.

"Daddy!" You squeal when Seungcheol finally fucks his tongue into your wet cunt.

Your stepdad groans, the vibration stimulating you further as his tongue slides deeper into your pulsing cunt. It's impossible not to watch him as he messily eats you out, licking and suckling on your sensitive bud. His dark eyes are trained on you, loving the fucked out face you're making.

Seungcheol moans when you grind your pussy into his face. He eagerly laps up your juices, licking and tasing every part of you his tongue can reach. The way he places soft kisses between his licks and sucks make your trembling legs feel like they're going to give out. Your eyes roll back as he fucks his tongue deeper into your hole, slurping up every last bit of your arousal.

Seungcheol's cock throbs at the sweet sounds you're letting out. He smirks against your cunt when you arch up and press closer to his pouty lips.

"Gonna cum, daddy."

Seungcheol hums in approval, tongue relentlessly lapping at your clit. "Do it, princess. Cum on daddy's face so he can fill you up."

You cry out loudly and squirt all over his face.

Seungcheol groans in approval and slurps up everything you release. He's smug when fucking you through your orgasm, and he doesn't stop until your legs are shaking. Your stepdad licks his lips and slowly stands, picking you up in the process. He can tell his display of strength turns you on, and it makes his ego inflate.

"Fuck," you mewl when you feel his cock nudge against your pussy.

Seungcheol's gaze is dark as he rubs his throbbing cock along your messy lips. The leaking tip bumps your sensitive clit, making you arch your back and cry out for him. You're so needy and desperate for his dick that he can't make you wait any longer. Seungcheol grabs your ass, squeezing it roughly, before he sinks you down on his aching cock.

"Mmmh, fuck, daddy," your moans come out in a fucked out pants, arms and legs locking around his body.

Seungcheol starts to fuck you slowly, rocking his cock in and out of your pussy at a pace you're not used to from him. Hot water cascades over the both of you, and it makes you feel that much better as your tight walls eagerly suck him in. You feel his cock stretching you out slowly, making you whine into his wet neck.

"Fucking shit, Y/N," your stepdad's groan is guttural. "Tight little pussy feels too good."

It's like you both lose sense of time as Seungcheol slowly splits you open on his cock. The movement of his hips are slow yet deliberate. Every time his pelvis rubs against your clit you see stars. His throbbing tip brushes against the spongy spot inside you, barely kissing your cervix with every precise movement. Molten pleasure consumes you slowly, already making you feel cock drunk.

"Seungcheol?"

Your stepdad's hips stutter at the sound of your mother's voice, but one look at the pout on your face makes him keep going. Especially since you tighten around him at the same time his cock starts to throb and twitch inside you. You two share a filthy smirk, loving the turn of events. It’s so sick and twisted, but both of you are past caring.

"What is it?" Seungcheol calls, slightly annoyed as he starts to bounce you on his cock.

"I– Well..." your mom trails off, sounding completely unsure of herself.

You don't care that it's uncharacteristic of her because Seungcheol starts to press sloppy kisses on your neck. His thrusts have grown rougher, harshly pounding into your squelching pussy. Your eyes roll back as your toes curl. The feeling of your stepdad's veiny cock dragging against your slick walls have you gushing all over him, and the fact that your mom is standing right outside the bathroom door completely unaware only turns you on more.

"I hope giving you the space you want doesn't mean this is the end of our marriage." You can tell she's close to tears as she speaks.

"Cum inside me, daddy," you purr into Seungcheol's ear, wanting nothing more than him to stuff you full.

Seungcheol quietly groans into your neck, feeling your pulsing walls flutter around his cock. His grip on your ass tightens, and he starts to bounce you harder on his aching dick. He hears his wife holding back sobs, but he doesn’t feel bad. Not since he has her daughter’s tight little pussy wrapped around his cock.

"Such a nasty little brat," he hums against your wet skin, hips snapping savagely. "You want me to cream this cute little pussy while your mom is on the other side of that door crying for me?"

You mewl into his ear, pussy clenching around his cock and staining it with more of your cream. Seungcheol grunts, hips moving faster as he fucks into your hole deeper and harder. Your back arches as your cunt spasms around his dick.

"Want it so bad, daddy," you whimper into his ears, nails digging into his back. "Breed this little pussy. Stuff me full and knock me up."

"God damn, baby. You're such a dirty little slut," he whispers against your hot, wet skin. "What would your mom say if she walked in and saw you begging for my cum?"

You whine again, hips rocking into his as his thick cock pistons in and out of your hot cunt.

"What would you tell your wife?" You say through a fucked out giggle. "You'd have to tell her that you're bouncing her daughter on your big cock because you want to put a baby in her."

Seungcheol's deep moan almost drowns out your mother's voice.

"I know you're still mad, so I'll call you when I land. Please take care of Y/N while I'm away."

"Don't worry," Seungcheol growls, loud enough to be heard over the running water. "I'll make sure to take care of her."

You finally wail out in pleasure when you hear the footsteps fade away. Seungcheol savagely rams his cock against your sweet spot over and over until you're cumming hard on his throbbing dick.

"That's it, princess. Make a mess all over daddy's cock. Fuck. I'm gonna fill this cute little pussy all weekend long. Not letting you off my dick until I know you're carrying my child."

Your stepdad spears into your sloppy cunt harder, his leaking tip brushing against your g spot with every thrust. "Fuck, sweetheart. Little pussy feels too good."

With a loud grunt, he pushed his cock as deep as it'll go before thick, hot ropes of cum spurt from his throbbing tip. Seungcheol moans loudly, grinding his cock into your pulsing walls.

You smash your lips onto his, loving the feeling of his cum slowly dripping out of you.

The weekend is coming to an end, and true to his word, your stepdad has not let you off his cock. You've fucked all over the house just like you wanted. In the hot tub out back, then in the pool. On the billiards table and in the laundry room. Even on the kitchen counter and the dining room table. Every surface has been stained with you and Seungcheol's mixed releases. It thrills you because it feels like you're marking the house—your house—in the filthiest way possible.

Seungcheol has been especially doting, giving into every single one of your wishes. He even agreed to record the nasty things you do so you can watch it later on. The videos are mainly taken on your phone, but you have to insist that he take some on his too. After all, he should have some memories of the weekend he planned as well.

This is all so wrong. Seungcheol knows that, but he can't seem to make himself care. Especially when you look so beautiful underneath him, with your puffy nipples covered in his saliva and your fucked out expression of absolute pleasure. Especially when you moan and whimper the single word that makes him go insane every single time it falls from your pretty lips.

"Daddy!"

Fuck. To have his sweet little stepdaughter in such a filthy way is everything to him. His cock is buried so deep inside of you that he's certain he's in your guts. His teeth graze your neck as you cling to him. "Like this, angel? Like when your stepdad fucks you like this?"

A cute whine escapes you, but you can't answer because you're too far gone. Seungcheol thinks that you may be doing it on purpose for the camera, but either way, he loves it.

"Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me how good it feels," his whispered voice in your ear makes you shudder.

Your pussy clenches hard around his thick cock, wanting to keep him there forever.

"So fucking good. God, daddy. I'm gonna cum." Again.

You don't know how many times you've cum already, or if you've even stopped cumming. The entire weekend has felt like one prolonged orgasm for you.

You grab his hair and pull his face to yours, looking into his eyes. "Cum with me—cum inside me," you plead, your tongue flicking against his lips.

Seungcheol can't deny you anything. He never has. His hips speed up, his orgasm so close but he needs you to tip over first. The feeling of his stepdaughter creaming and making a mess on his cock is one he'll never get tired of.

"God, you're such a needy little brat," he groans against your lips. Words can't describe how much he loves you. How fucking thankful he is that you love him the same way. "Can't get enough of daddy's cum, hm?"

It only takes a few circles of his thumb on your clit and you're cumming with a loud whine.

"Daddy, please!" Your fingers dig into the skin of his back while you plead with him to fill you up. It's only a few seconds later that you're taking load after load of his thick cum.

"Mm, yes!" You mewl, closing your eyes, savoring the feeling of it.

Seungcheol kisses your lips, not daring to pull out. He doesn't want a single drop to escape.

"You got all of daddy's cum. Is my sweet girl happy now?"

You smile into the kiss as you catch your breath, looking at him adoringly, "Yes, daddy."

Seungcheol licks his lips hungrily and reaches for the phone propped against the nightstand. He points it at your stuffed cunt, groaning when he sees his cum running down the length of his cock and down to his heavy sack. Just as he’s about to end the video, you buck your hips with a needy whine.

“Want more, daddy!”

And so, ever powerless to your desires, Seungcheol positions your phone in the same spot before giving you exactly what you want. He’s not soft like he was earlier—not that you want him to be. You always act like a greedy brat when you want him to be rough with you.

“What a greedy fucking brat!” He punctuates every word with a rough thrust, eyes rolling to the back of his head as your sloppy hole keeps sucking him in.

“Fucking shit. You need it that bad, baby? Need daddy’s cock to stuff you full until you’re dripping in his cum?"

Seungcheol doesn't realize just how badly you do need it. Your hands reach down to squeeze his plump ass, dragging him as far into you as physically possible. “Yes, daddy, yes! Need your cock, need your cum! Need it so fucking bad!”

Your needy moans only drive him to fuck you harder. Seungcheol feels fucking insane. This is undoubtedly the best sex of his life, and he can’t remember ever fucking anyone so passionately. Fuck, you feel so good.

He’s so addicted to your sweet little cunt that he thinks he might go crazy without it. You just have a molten little pussy that’s sucking and wetting his cock so deliciously, dragging his cum right out of his heavy balls, and he’s powerless to it. All he can do is groan and bury his face in your neck as he pulses warm and hot inside you.

“O-oh fuck, baby!” Seungcheol moans against your skin as he spills his thick load inside you. “There you go, princess. Take all of daddy’s cum.”

Your sweet moans sound like heaven, and he has to smash his lips on yours as he fucks his cum deeper into your pussy. “Fuck. Such a tight fucking pussy.”

Seungcheol’s heart nearly bursts when you give him a fucked out smile, eyes full of adoration. “It’s all yours, daddy.”

If there's one thing you've come to learn about your stepdad, it's that he's unexpectedly clingy. Honestly, you love that side of him, which is why you can't say no when he asks you to cockwarm him. You're both sitting on the couch with some movie playing softly in the background. Seungcheol is on a business call while you shop online.

All the pretty things you have in your cart are courtesy of your doting stepdad, and as you go to check out, you feel yourself slowly drifting into a peaceful haze. Seungcheol keeps talking, running a soothing hand up and down your back while periodically placing gentle kisses on your head.

You bask in his warmth and the floaty feeling taking over your consciousness. Seungcheol's cock feels so big and thick inside you that it's all you can think about. The delicious stretch it provides is driving you crazy in the best way, and it only gets worse when he trails his free hand down to squeeze your ass. You mewl into his neck, loving this dreamlike state his cock has you in.

"Feel good, princess?"

His soothing voice is like honey, and it has you sighing against his neck, "So good, daddy."

Seungcheol's smirk is smug, "Yeah?"

You hum with a halfhearted nod, still too lost in the feeling of his cock filling you up.

"Spoiled little brat likes being stretched out on this big cock, huh?"

You whine cutely, pussy clenching down on his thick cock, "Yes, daddy."

"Fuck," Seungcheol grunts, pressing his hips up into you further. "I think it's time to fill this needy cunt."

You roll your hips down with a moan of agreement. It's just like him to give you what you want before you ask for it, "Daddy's the best."

Seungcheol's smirk is unbearably attractive as his hands tighten on your waist. He wastes no time in fucking his cock up into your soaking pussy, making sure to go as deep as possible. You come back to life as his big dick hits your sweet spot immediately. With a loud cry you lift yourself off of his chest to take off the large shirt you're wearing. Your stepdad groans when he sees your pretty tits bouncing in his face, cock twitching inside you.

After several skin slapping thrusts, he slows down to deep rolling grinds. His eyes are dark as he reaches for the buzzing phone he discarded just seconds ago.

"Be quiet for me, baby."

Your eyes drift down to the phone in his hand, smirking when you see it's your mom calling. Seungcheol picks up and put it on speaker, setting the phone aside so he can grab your bouncing tits.

"Hello?"

"Hey, honey." Your mom sounds deflated. "How... How are you?"

"Fine," Seungcheol grunts before he starts to thrust deeply into your dripping cunt while pulling and pinching your pretty nipples. "How's things over there?"

Your eyes roll back as you hear your mom go on about how happy your grandparents were to see her. Molten pleasure licks up your spine as you start to meet Seungcheol's rough thrusts. His mouth drops open as your pussy pulses and clenches around his cock.

"How's Y/N?" Your mom asks, but there's something off about her tone.

Immediately, you can tell she's not really interested in what you were up to. It's a tactic to keep him on the phone longer. Not that you care. You know she's not all that concerned since you're an adult and have your own life. It's why she only texted you once after landing.

"She's fine. We spent some time together earlier—just like I promised you." His voice drips with honey as he watches you fall apart on his cock.

You grin impishly as he drills up into your squelching pussy with his thick, heavy cock. Part of you wonders if she can hear the sound of skin on skin or the lewd squelching coming from your stuffed pussy. The thought turns you on so much that you have to tamper down the moan climbing up your throat. You feel like screaming because of how good you feel, and your stepdad just smirks at you like he isn't making a mess of you.

One of Seungcheol's hands slowly trails down your body to where you're connected. His thumb circles your clit slowly, barely giving you any stimulation. You buck your hips and push yourself harder into his hand, ever the impatient brat. He loves it, and yet he ignores your silent plea. Your stepdad stops teasing your sensitive bud and moves his hand to guide your hips into a rolling grind. The other goes to the fat of your ass, roughly squeezing and kneading the soft flesh.

"Thank you, honey," her tone is love stricken, and you wonder how she could easily fall back into his trap just like that. Part of you finds it funny while the other part of you feels disgusted.

"It means a lot to me that you care for her even when I'm not there."

Seungcheol smirks at you, leaning back to focus on your bouncing tits, "Of course. I have to care for our little princess even when you're not around."

You bite your lip when Seungcheol aggressively thrusts you down on his dick.

"So fucking tight." He hisses through clenched teeth.

"Well I'm grateful, even though I sometimes think she's a little too spoiled."

Both of his large hands are now cupping your ass, helping you bounce on this aching cock. His hungry gaze stares at the way your pretty pussy swallows his cock so perfectly. By now, he's sure your insides are shaped like him, and it just makes him twitch and throb inside you. He's so focused on watching his cock piston in and out of your tight hole that he almost misses his wife's question.

"Honey, are you done thinking now?"

Seungcheol doesn't answer her, instead choosing to spit on your sloppy pussy. You slow your bounces, tight cunt clenches at the action. Your stepdad smirks and does it again. He watches, completely satisfied as you shudder and roll your eyes to the back of your skull.

"No," He admits as you start to bounce on his dick again, "I'm still a little angry."

"Really?" Your mom can't hide her disappointment.

Seungcheol nearly loses it when you start to roll your hips sensually, fucking his cock exactly the way he likes it. Your thighs are starting to stick to his from the amount of wetness between you two. With a smug grin, you lean forward to give him a sloppy kiss.

"Let it all out, daddy," you whisper against his lips, "fill my pussy with your cum."

"Seungcheol?"

That annoying voice makes your stepdad fuck you harder, eager to give you what you both want.

"It's going to take some time. Some things don't just go away overnight."

Your stepdad keeps talking to your mom like you're not grinding your needy cunt on his fat cock. It's just making you more wet, and you can feel your arousal dripping down his balls and onto the nice couch. You have no doubt that it'll leave a stain, but that's the least of your worries right now. It turns you on so much to know that Seungcheol is fucking you while he's talking to his wife. You feel like such a slut, but you can't deny how much you like it.

You've never been so wet, and it makes you want to ride your stepdad harder, maybe even get caught. Your pussy spasms and clenches down on him at that thought, making him flinch and bite his lip.

Seungcheol slaps your ass with both hands and cages you against his chest. You muffle your cry of pleasure in his neck as he savagely starts to thrust into you like you're nothing more than a hole. His leaking cock is hitting inside you so deep and hard that it's not long before you cum all over his big cock.

The room smells of sex as he starts to bounce you on his sensitive cock all over again. Loud squelching and quiet whimpers fill the air as your stepdad helps you ride him. One last, milking compression of your silky pussy has him emptying his balls inside you. Seungcheol groans into your shoulder, hips never stopping.

"Okay. I understand," your mom sounds close to tears.

You don’t care. Instead, you start to move your hips to help her husband fuck his cum deeper into your fertile pussy. Your wetness and his cum seeping between your folds and down his veiny girth turns your skilled movements sloppy.

“Give me more, daddy,” you mewl, batting your eyelashes in that coy way he loves.

Seungcheol raises his body into more of a sitting position and roughly pulls you up and off of his cock. You watch dazedly as his dick drools with the remnants of your orgasm and his cum. You lick your lips at the filthy sight of his wet cock.

“Honey?”

Your mom’s voice sounds distant as her husband positions you over the armrest of the couch. He only hums in response as he slowly slides his fat cock back into your messy pussy. Your mouth drops open at the feeling. Once again he’s stretching you out so good that it has your pussy clenching down on him compulsively.

“Do…” She pauses. “Do you still love me?”

Seungcheol can’t focus on her pathetic words as he slowly starts to fuck your sloppy pussy. He can see the remnants of his cum being pushed out of you as his thrusts start to get rougher. Your warm walls cling to his cock desperately, wanting to milk him for all he’s worth.

“How could you ask me that?” Seungcheol mocks her dejected tone, though she doesn’t notice. “You’re the one that’s never home anymore. I’m starting to wonder if you still love me?”

It’s sick how good he is at gaslighting, but you don’t feel bad. In fact it turns you on. Like really fucking bad. Your pussy tightens around your stepdad’s cock which makes him angle his hips to have you biting down on the armrest to stifle your filthy moans. He fucks into your sweet spot as pleasure whites out any coherent thoughts you have.

“Of course I do!” Your mom sounds shrill and distraught, so much that she can’t hear how good her husband is fucking you. How he’s splitting you open on the nice couch she picked out when they first got married. “How could you think—?”

“Let’s talk about it when you come home,” Seungcheol says through gritted teeth, eyes focused on how your pretty ass is bouncing back on his pelvis. “You’re upset, and this is a conversation we need to have in person.”

The pathetic okay sounds distant, and you vaguely catch her saying I love you to Seungcheol before he abruptly hangs up the phone without saying it back.

“Goddamn,” Seungcheol groans as disregards his phone, “trying to suck me in, sweetheart? Greedy little pussy needs daddy's cock that bad?"

He pounds into your sloppy, squelching hole when you loudly moan and nod. Your juices are dripping everywhere, and he fucking loves it. The swollen tip of his cock hammers against your g-spot until you’re screaming for him. Seungcheol smirks, knowing you were just waiting to let it all out.

"I fucking knew it," He groans with an endeared laugh.

"Don’t worry, princess. Daddy’s gonna cream this sweet fucking pussy. Get you all dirty so I can eat you out."

You whine and claw at the couch, clit rubbing against the rough material and pushing you closer and closer to orgasm. By now your legs are shaking from the sheer pleasure his big cock is giving you.

"Should I make you squirt on my cock, sweetheart? Get the couch all dirty?"

You start to bounce yourself back on his cock eagerly, "Daddy, gonna cum!"

Seungcheol grins and affectionately squeezes your sides before his hand slips down to your clit. He tugs your hips back just a little and lands a hard spank across your swollen bud. You squeal loudly, body trembling at the mean action.

"Daddy!"

"Oh, I know,” His voice drips with lust, "you know daddy can’t help but be a little rough with your little pussy."

Your stepdad smacks you again catching your clit on his wedding ring making you scream as your orgasm rushes over you. Slick drips around his cock as your cunt clamps down on his dick. You whine and move your hips in tandem with his, loving how intense this one is.

"Fuck!" Seungcheol growls, hips pistoning harder into your fluttering walls.

“Such a good girl. My good little brat—fuck!"

Your cunt milks his cock as he fills you with hot sticky cum. His thrusts start to get sloppy as he spills rope after rope into your hot cunt.

"Take it," he hisses, biting down hard on your shoulder causing you to moan, pussy clamping down even harder on his dick.

You’re crying out loudly from how good it feels, hole still gushing slick from his fat cock bullying into your pussy and cumming deep inside you. This load is the biggest he’s ever given you. Somehow he doesn’t stop cumming. It feels like stream after stream of his hot seed paints every inch of your fluttering walls white.

"Gonna eat you out after this," Seungcheol groans in your ear, "need to get my mouth on your messy little pussy."

You whine as he pulls out, cum and slick oozing from your hole to drip all down your thighs and onto the couch. Without moving you, Seungcheol lays on his back and shifts until he's underneath your splayed legs.

"Sit on my face, baby," he guides your hips down, “let your stepdad clean the mess he made.”

With a harsh tug, your cunt presses down on his awaiting mouth. His nose bumps against your clit as his eager tongue licks into your sensitive pussy. You feel him moan against your wetness, wasting to time in lapping up the cum he’s left inside you. The filthy action makes you rock against his soft lips. You grab onto his hair and start riding his face gently since you're still reeling from your previous orgasm.

"Daddy!" You cry out as he fucks his tongue deeper into your hole. "Feels so fucking good! Fuck—mhm."

You trail off with a whine as he sucks on your pussy lips and nips at your clit. He greedily eats all the cum out of your messy cunt. Mewling, you press yourself harder on Seungcheol’s face. He groans gutturally when you settle further onto his mouth. Your stepdad grinds his mouth against your puffy cunt making you whine louder, clit throbbing with arousal. He rubs his nose against the sensitive bundle of nerves making you buck into the feeling.

Arousal gushes out of you as your stepdad continues to eat your pussy, and you don’t realize you’re on the verge of another orgasm until you’re squirting all over his face. Seungcheol groans in satisfaction, lapping up every stream that gushes out of your hot little cunt.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Your back arches in a perfect curve as Seungcheol laps up all of your creamy slick.

Of course, Seungcheol only moans along with you and presses even further into your cunt, practically suffocating himself to taste you more. He’ll never get enough of your addicting taste, and you looked back to see his cock hard and throbbing, leaking with so much precum that it looks painful.

When he finally finishes, you don’t let him get up despite the fact that your legs are too shaky to hold your weight. Seungcheol lays back, curious about your next moves. He moans loudly when you crawl down his sweaty body and take his aching cock into your soft hands.

“My turn to have a taste, daddy.”

You don’t give him a chance to say anything before you push the drippy tip of his cock past your swollen lips. His loud moan makes your cunt pulse. It makes you swirl your tongue around his sensitive head before licking down the rest of his dirty cock. You can taste yourself, and that just turns you on even more.

"Gonna make me cum in your mouth, sweetheart," he groans, watching your lips stretch around his hard cock.

You keep your eyes on him as you sink your hot mouth on his pulsing cock. He’s so big, too big to fit all of him in your mouth. Not that you care. Sucking him off always gets you so wet. Especially because you can tell how much he loves it.

"Fuck. You gonna swallow the rest of daddy’s cum, baby?" Seungcheol grins at you as you moan around his dick.

“You like that? It’s gonna feel so good, baby. Daddy's hot cum pouring down your slutty throat."

You whine, reaching down to your sore cunt to rub your clit. His filthy words always turn you on so much, and he fucking knows it. You can tell by the way he smirks.

"That turn you on, sweetheart?" He chuckles as you slide his cock deeper into your mouth. Seungcheol pulls out a few inches and sinks back down into you making you moan as he fills your throat.

"Play with that cute pussy. I want you to cum all over your fingers while I fuck your mouth."

You continue to moan as you take his cock further down your throat.

"God, baby, I'm about to cum," his hips stutter, "Be a good girl and swallow every last drop for daddy. Milk my cock just how I like."

Your fingers circle and rub your clit faster until you're moaning uncontrollably around his length. Seungcheol’s eyes roll back at the vibrations he feels on his dick. He moans your name, and that’s all it takes to have you cumming, hole clenching down on nothing as slick drips from your pussy.

With a low groan, Seungcheol eases out of your mouth until you can only suckle on the fat head of his dick. Hot sticky ropes of cum fill your mouth and the back of your throat in the next second. Your stepdad grins when you take his cock and slowly sink it further into your mouth. You moan at the feeling of cum dripping down the back of your throat. Eagerly, you swallow and milk his throbbing cock for all it’s worth.

Seungcheol pulls out of your mouth completely but leaves his swollen tip pressed to your lips, “finish cleaning daddy’s cock, sweetheart."

You press a gentle kiss on his sensitive head before giving it a shy kitten lick that drives him crazy. After he’s satisfied, he pulls you off his cock and sits back on the couch before pulling you into his lap.

Seungcheol kisses you, tongue sloppily licking into your mouth. You moan happily, unable to get enough of him.

"You’re so good for me, baby," your stepdad mumbles after he pulls away, "always such a good girl."

After you’re done, Seungcheol carries you to your room. He cleans you up in your bathroom, tenderly cleaning every part of your body before washing himself. Once he’s done, he makes sure to dress you in your favorite sleep shirt before joining you in your bed.

“Daddy,” you hum as he nuzzles his face into your neck, “love you.”

“Me too, princess,” he hums, arms tightening around you.

“Don’t want this to end,” you say sleepily before finally drifting off into a lovely dream.

Seungcheol hums in agreement, staying up longer to contemplate.

Now that he’s had a taste of what it would be like to have you without anyone getting in the way, he knows he won’t be able to go back. And so, in his deeply twisted mind he starts to plot how he’s going to make that happen. Of course, he’ll have to run his plans by you before attempting anything, but he knows you won’t have any objections.

Seungcheol drifts off to sleep, happily dreaming of a life where it’s just you and him.