luckyroll3

[luckyroll3]

Mine Chapter 17

Mine Masterlist Previous Chapter

Your palms are slick with sweat as you sit in Detective Seo's office, the leather of the chair clinging to your skin. The room feels claustrophobic, the air thick with tension that coils around you like a constrictor. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears.

The door opens, and there he is. Relief floods through you, but it's laced with anxiety that refuses to unclench its grip on your chest. The detective's calm demeanor is a stark contrast to the turmoil within you; it's both infuriating and reassuring. He moves easily, taking his seat behind the desk, his eyes locking onto yours.

"Tell me," he says, and even his voice is a smooth caress against the rawness of your nerves.

You dive into the recounting, words tumbling out in a desperate cascade. You share about Minho’s continued threats and stalking, about the cameras you found throughout your home.

The recounting of the events leaves your throat dry, your lips parting to draw in shaky breaths. Detective Seo's gaze never wavers, his pen scratching notes onto paper, the sound abrasive in the silence between your sentences.

"Please," you whisper, "I need to know I'm not alone in this." The plea hangs between you.

Detective Seo leans forward, his face a mask of professionalism. "You're not alone," he assures you. "I'm here."

"Chan's hurt because of me," you continue, the guilt slicing through you. "Minho's obsession…it's like a sickness. And Chan... he got caught in the crossfire. But this is just the beginning, isn’t it?"

Detective Seo nods. “Probably. Someone like him who doesn’t care about anything other than his obsession, will only continue to escalate.”

“I don’t understand. If this is the known pattern and it’s a given that he’ll do something worse, how can there be nothing we can do, or that you can do? It’s just absolutely insane, especially when I’m in constant fear that I, or someone I love, will get hurt and this is also a forgone conclusion by the police.”

Detective Seo leans back, the chair groaning under the subtle shift of his weight. His fingers steeple as he regards you from across the expanse of his cluttered desk, steeped in the shadows that the failing light outside cannot chase away.

"I hear you," he begins, his voice low, resonating within the close confines of the office, seeping into your pores. "The fear you're living with... it's palpable. But we need something tangible, something that will stick in court; not just suspicion. That’s just how the law works. Without hard, concrete evidence, my hands are tied." There's a tinge of frustration coloring his words, a shared sentiment that wraps your gut in knots.

The skin around your knuckles grow tight as you clench your hands into fists, the wood of the table groaning under the pressure. The walls of Detective Seo's office close in on you, and the air feels thick, suffocating, like a velvet noose tightening with every breath you struggle to take. Detective Seo's words, measured and frustratingly calm, echo in your head, offering little more than a bureaucratic shrug dressed in sympathy. That’s just how the law works. To protect him from being arrested, not you from being tormented.

You're caught in a spider's web, each strand a silken thread of Minho's making, invisible and yet palpable, drawing tighter with every futile squirm. You're prey, and the predator holds all the cards, watching with those cat-like eyes that once promised ecstasy but now only deliver dread.

"Minho is clever, leaving nothing but whispers and paranoia in his wake," you respond, feeling the sting of tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “What else can I do?”

"Change everything," Detective Seo advises, his voice a steady hum that belies the storm brewing in his dark eyes. "Your routes, your routines. Become unpredictable." He leans forward, hands folded on the desk. "Don't give him patterns to trace."

"Understood," you whisper with a nod, your throat tight as if Minho's fingers are already there, squeezing the life out of you. “I’ve already started changing some of my routines, but I’ll make it a priority.” The thought of having to alter every aspect of your life just to stay one step ahead of Minho's twisted love game feels like suffocating but necessary.

"Good." Detective Seo's gaze holds yours, intense and unflinching. "And keep your phone charged at all times. If you don’t have a power bank, get one and keep that charged as a backup. If you’re not using it, a fully charged power bank should be good for a couple weeks. Use your phone if you even sense him near. Call someone, anyone, and if they don’t pick up, let it go to their voicemail. Or record on your voice notes. Anything that will capture evidence for us."

You nod.

“And try not to be alone. I know that you’re worried about potentially getting other people in Minho’s crosshairs, but the less direct access he has to isolating you, the better.”

“Okay. I’ll figure it out.”

“In the meantime, here’s the number to a good friend of mine,” he jots a name and phone number on a hot pink sticky note pad before peeling it off to offer to you. “He’s a third degree black belt in Taekwondo and gives self defense training to women. He’s a good dude. When you call him, tell him I sent you.”

You take a look at the name on the sticky, Felix Lee, before you fold it and slip it in the front pocket of your jeans.

"Rest assured, my investigation is ongoing. I won’t stop until I get something on him or catch him red handed. I can promise you that." Detective Seo's gaze doesn't waver as he imparts this sliver of hope, his determination shining through. "And I've arranged for regular patrols around your neighborhood. They were already near your area anyway; I just persuaded them to add your streets too.” He sighs then says under his breath, “For a pair of basketball season tickets, but a small price to pay.” He smiles warmly at you before continuing at a normal volume. “They have his picture and know who to look for. It's not just about catching him, it's about keeping you safe. Uh, you and Chan. The law might not give me much leeway, but there are levers I can pull on."

Gratitude swells within you. You nod, the motion jerky with the effort to keep composure. The thought of Chan, vulnerable and healing, ignites a protective fervor that burns through your veins. Detective Seo's promise is soothing, albeit temporary, against the relentless assault of your fears.

"Thank you for doing that, Detective Seo" you manage to whisper, the words scraped from the depths of your throat, hoarse with unshed emotion. “For everything.”

"Go home. Try to get some rest," he advises, but the concern etched into the lines of his face belies the simplicity of the task.

You rise from the chair, legs unsteady as if you've just been fucked to oblivion, left shaky and raw. Your movements are languid and heavy, each step towards the door an exercise in control. You can feel Detective Seo's eyes on you, the heat of his stare on your skin.

"Stay safe." His parting words follow you out the door. But you know safety is a luxury you can no longer afford, not with Minho's obsessive hunger lurking in every shadowed corner.

You stride out of the police station, your breath quickening as you emerge into the night. The city wraps around you like a lover's whisper, familiar and yet so alien now that every shadow seems to pulse with Minho's presence. Your eyes dart from face to face, seeking out the cat-like gaze that haunts your waking hours, the smirk that once promised pleasure and now foretells danger.

With each hurried step, the chill of the evening air licks at your skin. You feel exposed, an erotic thrill mingling with fear, knowing he could be watching, feeding on your vulnerability like a starved predator. You're part of his twisted game, a pawn moved across a board of shadows and streetlights.

The distant hum of traffic is a murmuring crowd in your ears, voices rising and falling, a cacophony that cocoons the city in a false sense of security. But not for you. For you, every sound is amplified, a siren call to your senses, making your heart race and your flesh tingle with dread.

Every passerby becomes a potential threat, their footsteps a countdown to possible discovery. You imagine Minho's lean, well-toned figure blending into the masses, his keen eyes tracking you with intense scrutiny.

Your own paranoia is a weight that presses against you, smothering, yet strangely, perversely intimate. It's as if with each breath you draw, you inhale more of him, filling your lungs with the essence of his dark, manipulative love. It's a violation of your mind, an uninvited invasion that leaves you gasping, part revulsion, part aching desire.

Minho’s phantom fingertips trace your curves through the layers of your clothing. His touch, imagined or not, is a ghostly sensation that draws a shudder from deep within you, a reminder that even in his absence, he can elicit such a raw response.

"Focus," you chastise yourself, but the admonishment is weak, faltering against the onslaught of sensory overload that engulfs you. Each exhale mists before you, a ghostly apparition that dances away into the night, much like the remnants of your shattered tranquility.

The walk home is a gauntlet, each step an act of defiance against the shadows that beckon with sinister intent. Your apartment awaits, a sanctuary that feels more like a cell with each passing night. And somewhere out there, Minho watches, a phantom in the darkness, his presence an unspoken truth.

The key turns with a decisive click, the solid thud of the deadbolt home in its cradle. Hands that tremble ever so slightly, betraying the steely resolve on your face, slide over the door's surface, ensuring it's shut tight. You move from window to window, fingers trailing along glass and frame, securing every lock with practiced precision, each click a small symphony echoing through the empty space.

Your heart beats a frantic rhythm as you scan each familiar corner for shadows where none should be. The silence wraps around you like a shroud, comforting yet suffocating, a reminder that you are alone, so vulnerably alone.

Sitting on your couch, as silence settles around you, your mind betrays you, dragging you back to the days drenched in Minho's seductive allure. You remember the heat of his body against yours, the way he could read your flesh like braille, sending shivers down your spine with just a brush of his fingertips. He was a siren, and you, oh so willingly, crashed upon his rocks.

How could you have been so blind? Minho's charm wrapped around you like smoke, intoxicating, blinding. His smile, that smirk that hinted at secret knowledge and unspeakable pleasures, lured you into his life, into his bed. And now, you're ensnared in his twisted game, a pawn to his possessive whims.

Regret is a cold lover in your bed, whispering 'if only’s' in the dark. If only you'd heeded the warning signs: the jealousy, the intensity, the quicksilver flash of anger over trivialities. If only you'd listened to that nagging doubt instead of surrendering to that magnetic pull Minho wielded with such expert finesse.

"Fuck," you curse under your breath, a litany of self-loathing for your naivety. It's a cruel irony, how the very traits that drew you to Minho are the ones that now foretell your ruin. You gave him your heart, and in return, he's inscribed his ownership upon your very skin, an indelible mark no one else can see.

You exhale a shaky breath, eyes closing for a moment as you lean against the back of the couch, allowing yourself this brief respite. Your mind now wanders to Chan, to the warmth of his broad chest, the gentleness in those thoughtful brown eyes that look upon you with such tender affection.

"Chan," you whisper to the quiet. The dull ache in your chest flares as you picture him, recuperating, safe within the walls of his parent’s home. And yet, the thought of his touch, his kiss, those strong hands exploring the contours of your body with possessive need—it stirs a dangerous longing deep within.

Would going to him be an act of solace or a step into peril? Would your presence at his side draw Minho's ire even closer to him? But Chan, with his dimpled smile and easy charm, he had always been your haven from the storms.

The buzz of your phone slices through the thick tension, and you startle, pulse hammering in your throat. You hesitate to reach for the phone, needing a reprieve from Minho’s taunts, if even just for the night. But your hand grasps it anyway and lifts the screen to your eye level. A smile crosses your face when you see the name: Chan. It’s as if he felt you thinking about him.

Chan: Hey beautiful. Just thinking about you and how much I need you. Come stay with me at my parents’ place.

And there, in the darkening twilight of your apartment, you're torn between the desire to rush into his arms and the fear that doing so could shatter what little safety remains for the both of you.

You: I’m coming.

Grabbing your keys, you leave the sanctuary of your solitude.

Twenty-five minutes later, the door to the Bahng's home swings open, and the scent of roasted garlic and soy wafts toward you. It's a warm, familial aroma that wraps around your senses, dulling the edge of your anxiety for a fleeting moment. You step inside, and their laughter ushers you further into the fold.

"Finally," Jessica exclaims, greeting you with an embrace that squeezes the breath from your lungs, her affection a tangible thing. “Happy to have you with us,” she says softly in your ear.

Jack first offers a firm handshake but quickly pulls you into a warm hug, his eyes crinkling in a smile. Hannah, ever the doting sister, pulls you into a hug so full of comfort it almost hurts.

Chan sits there, a vision of casual strength despite the bruises marring his skin, his dimpled smile just for you. Your heart flutters as you lean down and press a soft kiss to his lips. It's chaste, but the electricity it sparks is anything but.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers.

“Me too,” you whisper back.

“We just finished dinner, but I can make you a plate if you’re hungry,” Jack offers, standing to move towards the counter where the remaining food sits in fancy serving dishes and trays.

“Thank you, but I’m good,” you say with a warm smile. You haven’t eaten in a couple hours, but then again, your appetite hasn’t been the same over the past few weeks.

Chan takes your hand as you follow the rest of the family into the living room.

Drinks clink and swirl in glasses as you settle into the plush cushions of their couch, seated between Chan and Hannah. The conversation flows like wine, smooth, intoxicating. Memories are shared, each one a stitch in the tapestry of what once was. Laughter bubbles up, genuine and carefree, and for a second, you let yourself drown in the illusion of normalcy.

"Bedtime, Channie," Jessica declares two hours later, her voice coated with motherly authority.

He protests, the boyish mischief in his eyes belying the man he's become, but she's unyielding.

“I don’t care how old you are. You’re still my baby boy and you’re under my roof, so my rules. You have to rest if you’re going to heal fully. That means a full 8 hours, young man.”

With a playful roll of his eyes, he acquiesces with a sarcastic, “Fine mom,” and you find yourself standing, offering ‘goodnight’s’, and following him down the hallway to his old bedroom.

"Missed you," Chan murmurs as soon as the door clicks shut and he locks it, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your core. He’s on you in an instant, lips colliding, hands mapping the familiar terrain of your body. Every touch is a spark, every kiss a promise of the carnal bliss to come.

His hands roam with assertive tenderness as he walks backwards to the bed, bringing you along with him. When the back of his knees hits the edge of the mattress, he sits, coaxing you atop his lap, his bulge already starting to grow.

“Chan,” you whisper. “Maybe we shouldn’t. I don’t want to hurt you,” your concern for his wounds surfacing amid the tempest of desire. “Jessica will kill me if I injure her precious baby. Plus, your sister will hear us.” You point your head towards the wall that separates Hannah’s room from Chan’s.

“You really want to talk about my mother right now?” he asks, eyebrow raised as he moves his hips beneath you to grind into your crotch.

You smirk. “That tiny woman is the only thing you’re scared of.”

“True, cause she’s terrifying. But we’ll be quiet,” he says with a devilish grin dancing on his lips before he presses them to yours again. “And you could never hurt me. Just be… gentle,” he whispers between the fervor of hungry mouths.

“You’ve never been quiet in your life, mister,” you say with a soft laugh before you peel his t-shirt off and guide him backwards until he’s lying on the bed. You stand to remove your own clothes, Chan’s eyes glued to your body with a smirk. Then you tug at his sweatpants, pulling them and his boxers off in one motion to reveal his erection.

You climb back on top of him, positioning his hard dick at your entrance before sliding down slowly. You both sigh quietly as you take him deep within you.

The rhythm is slow and gentle, the love between you both evident in every touch, every caress. Though your bodies move together with passionate familiarity, it's different this time. The weight of his injuries hangs over you both like a dark cloud, tempering the intensity of your usual lovemaking.

But even through the haze of worry, there's no denying the raw desire that burns between you. Chan's hands grip your hips tightly as he guides you up and down his length, each thrust driving you both closer to the edge.

You lean down to kiss him, soft and sweet against his lips. His fingers thread through your hair, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. It's a beautiful contradiction, gentle yet desperate, loving yet primal.

The world narrows to the heat of his skin against yours, the rhythm of two bodies moving in silent concert. You ride him with a restraint born of necessity, yet every restrained moan, every stifled gasp, stokes the fire. Breathless, you seal his lips with a kiss again, swallowing the sounds of pleasure as they threaten to escape. The tension coils, tighter and tighter and tighter.

A soft moan escapes both your lips as you find release in each other's arms. Your bodies tremble together as Chan whispers words of love and adoration against your skin.

In the aftermath, you collapse into Chan's embrace, the taste of him lingering on your tongue. He pulls you close and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "That was great," he says softly, his eyes sparkling with lust.

“I know,” you say matter-of-factly, eliciting a chuckle from him. You smile and trace your fingers lightly over the bruises on his skin.

“Love you,” he adds

“Love you,” you whisper back.

In this moment, lying in each other's arms in the safety of his childhood bedroom, it feels like nothing can tear you apart. Soon, sleep claims you both, entwined in a haven of limbs and whispered confessions.

A/N: Only 5 chapters left!

[luckyroll3]

Mine Chapter 16

Mine Masterlist Previous Chapter

Additional warning: Possessive and obsessive behavior; stalking; some violence

You and Chan sit at a cozy corner table in the dimly lit restaurant. A flickering candle casts a warm glow over the intimate space, and the soft clinking of cutlery mingles with hushed conversations. Chan leans in, one hand resting on your thigh. His eyes sparkle as he shares a funny story, and you can't help but laugh.

As your laughter subsides, your gaze drifts across the room, landing on the bar. Your breath catches in your throat. Standing there, a drink in hand, is Minho. His intense eyes bore into yours, sending an involuntary shiver through you. He's dressed impeccably as always, but tonight, that smirk on his lips chills you to the bone.

The atmosphere shifts in an instant, and it feels as if the world around you fades away. You're frozen in place, trapped in Minho's unblinking stare. He raises his glass in a mock toast, the action oozing with a sickening level of confidence.

Chan notices your distraction and follows your gaze. “Who’s that?” he asks curiously. 

“Minho,” you whisper. 

His features immediately harden as the name of the man who'd caused you so much pain leaves your lips. His hand finds yours under the table, squeezing it reassuringly.

You lean in, the soft fabric of the plush booth pressing against your side. The murmur of the restaurant fades as you whisper into Chan's ear. "We need to leave." You can feel his warm breath as he turns to face you, his eyes steady and comforting.

"Don't let him get to you," Chan says, his voice a low murmur that vibrates through your skin. He gives your hand another gentle squeeze, sending a jolt of reassurance through you, but it's not enough to quell the roiling unease in your gut. Your eyes find their way back to Minho. "We won’t let him ruin this night, alright? He's not worth it," he whispers in your ear.

You force yourself to tear your eyes away, returning your gaze to Chan, whose warmth and familiarity are a comforting blanket. He's right; you can't let Minho ruin tonight.

You try to refocus on Chan, on the way his dimpled smile usually makes your heart flutter. But there's a crackle in the air now, an electric charge that sets your nerves alight. Minho's gaze is like a physical weight on your skin, invasive and possessive. It's a reminder of the carnal grip he once had on you.

As the evening progresses, you're barely able to keep your mind off the unwelcome intrusion. 

"Focus on me," Chan says softly, and there's a hint of something in his voice now, protective and dangerously close to possession. He reaches up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, and his fingertips trail down the column of your neck. This should be intimate, a lover's caress, but it feels like a challenge thrown across the room to the predator watching you.

The tension coils tighter. You're trapped in this moment, between the man who offers you a future and the one who threatens to drag you back into a past laced with dark pleasure and whispered lies. It's suffocating, each breath you take contaminated with unspoken threats and unfulfilled desires.

"Please, let's get out of here," you finally breathe. You want to escape.

“Okay. We’ll go.” Chan raises his hand to signal the waiter. 

“Thank you,” you say as you lean your head on his shoulder and bask in the warmth emanating from his body. 

The moment shatters like glass when Minho, slinks to your corner with a smirk that could slice the tension hanging heavy in the air. He doesn't even bother acknowledging Chan's presence as his gaze latches onto you, a predator recognizing its prey.

"You’re looking delicious, my love," Minho drawls, the words oozing out like poisoned honey, and you can feel Chan stiffening beside you. 

You sit up quickly and keep your voice low, a blade wrapped in velvet. "You need to leave."

But Minho only leans closer, his breath a caress on the shell of your ear, causing you to still. "I remember how you used to beg for it, beg for me," he whispers loud enough for Chan to hear, his tongue tracing each syllable with perverse precision. "How you'd arch and moan under me, pleading for more, screaming my name."

Chan surges to his feet, muscles tensing like coiled springs, the embodiment of protective fury. There's fire in those warm brown eyes now, a promise of violence against anyone who dares tarnish your honor. "Back the fuck off," he growls, every inch the defender, ready to rip into the world for you.

Undeterred, Minho's fingers dare to brush your bare shoulder, a deliberate provocation, possessive and chilling. It’s the final straw that snaps Chan’s restraint. With a primal shove, he sends Minho staggering back, the impact reverberating through the thick atmosphere of the restaurant.

"Touch her again, and I swear…" Chan's threat hangs unfinished but unmistakable, a declaration of war over your body and soul. 

Minho stumbles, but regains his balance quickly, his smirk never wavering. “You swear what?” he taunts with a chuckle as he steps forward, coming face to face with Chan. 

“I swear I will break every bone in your body if you lay your filthy hands on her again,” Chan snarls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrates through the tense air.

Minho’s eyes, those sharp, cat-like orbs, gleam with a perverse delight at the turmoil he's wrought. "She liked my filthy hands deep within her plenty before you came along. Oh you should have seen how my girl’s body trembled when I fucked her with my filthy fingers in public," he spits back, venom dripping from every syllable.

Your heart hammers in your chest as the restaurant descends into chaos when Chan’s fist collides with Minho’s jaw. 

Minho's audacity has ignited a fire in Chan that you’ve rarely seen, and now they clash like titans amidst the gasps of onlookers. You watch, breath caught in your throat, as Chan channels his anger into each punch, the sounds of knuckles meeting bone filling your ears. Minho fights back, fueled by equal parts pride and fury. But they are evenly matched. 

The staff swarm around them, a flurry of uniforms trying to separate the entangled men. Their movements are clumsy, desperation lending an edge to their actions as they pull at arms and shoulders. A waiter nearly topples over as he's inadvertently caught in the scuffle, his tray clattering to the floor in a symphony of shattering glass.

"Enough!" you call out, but you’re not sure if your voice is loud enough to cut through the cacophony of the melee. Your skin burns with the eyes of the entire restaurant upon you, yet all you can feel is Minho's invasive touch lingering on your shoulder, marking you like a brand.

Finally, the men are pulled apart, each held back by 2 or 3 of the restaurant’s staff. 

“Chan…,” you plead. He finally looks at you, and once his eyes lock on to yours, he stops struggling against the men holding him. 

“I’m good,” he says softly, raising his hands in surrender. They nod and release him. 

"Call the police," you demand of the manager, who stands wringing his hands, clearly out of his depth. "There's a restraining order against him. He shouldn't be here." You point at Minho. Your words are measured, a façade of control, but inside you're a tempest. Fear gnaws at your gut, and frustration claws at your psyche, knowing that Minho's presence here isn't just a violation of the law, it's a calculated move in his sick game of domination.

The officers arrive within minutes, probably called by one of the other patrons at the start of the fight, stern and authoritative in their approach. They pry Minho away from the scene, his body taut with resistance. And still, he smirks at you, a silent promise that this dance of danger is far from over. 

"See you soon, my love," he taunts as they drag him away, the endearment a poisoned arrow aimed straight at your resolve.

You shiver, not from the chill of the evening, but from the unsettling knowledge that Minho's obsession knows no bounds. And as he's escorted out, that smirk etched into your memory, you understand the treacherous tightrope you walk.

****

The night cloaks you in its cold embrace as you and Chan sit on the couch. You’re curled up into his side, his arm around your shoulder, as you nurse a glass of wine, its ruby depths reflecting the dim lights of your apartment, casting shadows across the walls that seem to pulse with the rhythm of your own racing heart.

Your phone shatters the silence, its ring slicing through the quietude like a knife. You sit up and answer, the husky voice of Detective Seo scratching at your ear, dragging you back into the nightmare you thought had ended hours before.

"Hey, bad news. Minho's been released," he says, each word landing like a blow to your chest. Your eyes flicker to Chan, and then down to the floor as you rest your elbows on your thighs. You sigh dejectedly. A technicality he explains. “According to the bartender, Minho was there before you and your partner arrived. So technically, he didn’t violate the retraining order.” His words leave a sour taste in your mouth.

You sigh again, “Okay.”

“What?” Chan whispers next to you.

“There’s more,” Detective Seo continued. “He tried to file assault charges against Chan, but when that didn’t work, he decided to file his own restraining order instead.”

"Against Chan?" Your voice, a whisper, is thick with disbelief. Your eyes flicker to Chan again, who is now sitting up at hearing his name. Detective Seo's affirmation slithers into your ear. A reciprocal restraining order on Chan, a defensive maneuver by Minho, sharp and cunning, strikes you like an unexpected lash. The sensation is visceral, a punch that steals your breath and fans the flames of your frustration.

"Thank you," you murmur, but the words are empty, a hollow echo in the void of your helplessness. You end the call, feeling stripped bare, exposed under the harsh scrutiny of unseen eyes. Your mind races, dark thoughts swirling like smoke.

“What did he say?” Chan asked again. 

“Minho’s been released. And he filed a restraining order against you for punching him.”

“Shit!” He runs his hands through his hair.

“Yeah. Detective Seo said you’ll probably get served tomorrow afternoon.” You stand, pacing, the wine forgotten, blood humming with a cocktail of fear and fury. You can almost feel Minho's smug satisfaction.

You feel Chan come behind you and wrap his arms around your body, holding you in place. 

“Hey, it’s okay baby. It’s not a big deal.” You lay your head back against his shoulder and feel his lips on your neck. “I’d do it again. Anything to protect you.”

You turn to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” He places a soft kiss on your forehead. 

You throw your arms around him, clasping your hands behind his neck. “Love you,” you whisper as you drop your head to his shoulder. 

“Love you, too.”

The moon's pale light filters through the curtains, casting ghostly shadows across your bedroom. You're tangled beneath the sheets, Chan next to you. Then, the sharp trill of your phone slices through the silence.

You reach for it with a sense of dread, your heart drumming a frantic beat against your ribcage as another unknown number flashes. You know it's him. Minho. You wait until you see that tape icon pop up, then you press play, pushing the phone against your ear. 

His voice crackles from the voicemail, saturated with venom. "You can't hide behind Chan forever," he sneers, his words like the caress of a knife against the soft flesh of your vulnerability. "He can't protect you. Not from me. I’ll get him out of our way soon."

The threat echoes in your mind, reverberating with each ragged breath you take. You toss the phone onto the floor and sob quietly into your pillow for a few minutes before snuggling back in against Chan’s bare chest. 

In the days that follow, you move through life like a shadow, skittish and hollow. Every stranger on the street morphs into Minho in your mind's eye, every touch laced with an undercurrent of fear. Your skin tingles, anticipating his grasp, a perverse craving for the danger he represents despite yourself.

Chan, ever the bastion of support, wraps himself around you at night, his muscular arms a fortress against the dark. Yet even as he makes love to you and presses tender kisses to the nape of your neck, the hairs there stand on end, sensing Minho's eyes upon you. The intimacy you seek with Chan is fraught, a razor's edge between pleasure and pain..

"Are you okay?" Chan murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and heavy with concern.

"Never better," you lie, teeth grazing his earlobe in a facsimile of desire. “Please don’t stop,” you whisper. He obliges, fucking you slowly until you shatter around his cock. But inside, you're a coiled spring, wound so tight with anxiety that claws at your insides, that even an orgasm doesn’t help to ease it.

At work, your focus fractures, splinters of concentration piercing the veil of lust and paranoia that clouds your thoughts. Coffee spills from trembling hands, staining white blouses in splotches of caramel defiance. 

"Is everything alright?" your colleagues ask, voices dripping with faux sympathy. 

"Perfect," you respond, words laced with a venomous sweetness that sends them scurrying back to their cubicles.

Sleep becomes an elusive lover, fleeing from your bed as images of Minho's smirk invade your dreams. They twist into lewd fantasies, his hands roaming over your body with a possessiveness that leaves you aching and empty upon waking. You crave the release, the sweet oblivion of surrender, but it’s tainted by the knowledge of who controls the strings of your desires.

Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind against the windowpane sends your pulse racing, a symphony of panic that crescendos with each imagined footstep drawing nearer. You are prey, hunted by a predator whose appetite is insatiable, whose lust for control is unmatched.

"Hold me," you plead to Chan every night, voice raw and edged with desperation. He always obliges, his embrace a temporary reprieve from the torment that clutches at your soul.

But Minho is relentless, his shadow a specter that looms over every stolen moment of peace. You feel him out there, waiting, biding his time until he can reclaim what he believes is rightfully his: you, a trophy to be won, a conquest to be savored.

And so, you wait too, caught in the taut wire of tension that strangles your every breath. Waiting for the inevitable collision of wills, for the storm that threatens to engulf you whole.

"Whatever happens," Chan vows, his voice steady, "I won't let him get close to you again."

You wonder if his promise is enough against Minho's obsession. 

****

A couple days later, you sit on the floor, your back against the couch as you paint your toenails a bright neon yellow. Your phone vibrates and you smile as you see Hannah’s name flash across the screen. You push the button to answer and place it on speaker. 

“Hey girl!” You sink the nail polish brush back into the bottle and start your second coat. “What are you up to? Is Chan with you and your parents? He should have been here an hour ago but I haven’t heard from him,” you ramble.

“Hey,” Hannah says, her breath very shaky. 

You cap the nail polish bottle and set it aside, picking up the phone, concerned. “Hannah? Is everything okay? What’s going on.”

“Something happened,” she says softly. Your heart plummets when Hannah tells you that Chan was mugged and was taken to the emergency room. Immediately, you flee to the hospital, fear and rage intertwining like serpents in your belly. 

You are a whirlwind of fury and anguish as you pace the sterile hallways of the hospital, waiting with Chan’s family for any news about his condition. Hannah's call shook you to your core, a rawness in her voice that only magnified your own pain. You know immediately who is behind this, his cruel fingerprints leaving a trail of destruction wherever they touched.

Jack tries to calm Jessica down, but his words fall on deaf ears. Your thoughts are consumed with Minho: his twisted sense of control, his violent tendencies that you had been all too familiar with in the past. How could he have done this to Chan? 

How could you have let this happen?

Guilt gnaws at your conscience, constricting your heart with its icy grip. If only you had listened to your gut telling you something wasn’t right when you first started dating Minho.

But it's too late for regrets now.

Finally, the doctor emerges from Chan's room and allows you all to enter. Your heart plummets at the sight of Chan lying lifeless on the bed behind the doctor, his face marred by bruises and cuts, his body battered. You feel anger and grief as you rush to his side.

"How is he?" you ask softly, but your voice is laced with a venomous edge that betrays your feelings towards Minho.

"He'll be alright," The doctor reassures you, "No concussion, which is great. Just some broken ribs but nothing too serious."

You let out an involuntary sigh of relief. You kiss one of the bruises on Chan’s cheek, his injuries a blunt reminder of Minho's reach. Guilt fills your chest, tearing you apart. 

“Oh, look what they did to my baby’s beautiful face,” Jessica says as tears stream down her cheeks. She takes Chan’s hand in hers before she dramatically throws herself over his chest. 

“He’ll be alright mom,” Hannah says. “I’m sure he’ll be back to his normal, annoying self by tomorrow. Right doc?” She turns towards the doctor with a hopeful look on her face. 

The doctor smiles warmly. “Your big brother?” She nods. “Absolutely. He’ll be sore, but relatively back to normal and picking on you with all the obnoxiousness a sibling can muster.” His voice drops to a kind whisper, “I’m a younger sibling too.” Hannah chuckles softly and snuggles against her father’s chest. 

“Thank you, doctor,” Jack says as he encloses his arms around Hannah. 

“We’ll be by to check in on him in a few hours.” He flips Chan’s chart closed. “Visitor hours end in about 45 minutes. After that, one of you can stay in the room with him. The rest can wait in the lobby or return at 7:00 am.” Jack nods and the doctor departs, leaving you alone with the Bahngs. 

“Do they know who did this?” you ask as you move a chair from against the wall and position it behind Jessica. You touch her back gently. When she raises her head from Chan’s chest, you motion for her to sit. A grateful smile graces her face as she nods a thanks in your direction. She quickly turns her gaze back to Chan. 

“No. The witnesses said the person was in a mask and attacked Chan with a metal pipe or small bat.” Jack said as he releases Hannah. “Of course Chan tried to fight back.”

Hannah moves to sit at the foot of the bed, one of her hands coming to rest on Chan’s leg. “They originally thought it was a mugging, but afterwards we realized nothing was taken. The only thing missing was one of his bracelets, but it’s more likely it snapped off in the scuffle.”

“Who would do this?” Jessica adds with a sob in her throat. “Who would do this to my Channie?” Jack walks behind her and rubs her shoulders.

Minho, you think to yourself angrily. 

The next 40 minutes pass by in a blur as the four of you try to distract yourselves from the heaviness in the room. You talk about anything and everything, including the latest drama with Hannah’s college friends, which even draws a laugh from Jessica. 

You can’t help but smile, grateful for this moment of normalcy amidst the chaos. But as visitor hours come to an end, reality sets back in and your heart clenches with worry for Chan’s wellbeing.

“Alright guys, I think it’s time we go,” Jack says as he checks his watch. 

“But dad…” Hannah starts to protest.

Simultaneously, Jessica also pleads, “But Jack, I want to stay and keep an eye on him. He needs his eomma.”

“No, we should go, sweetheart, and get some rest.” He calls your name and you look towards him. “You’re sticking around?”

“Yeah.” 

“See, it’s okay. He’ll be in good hands.”

“I promise to call as soon as he wakes up, Jessica,” you reassure her.

“Okay,” she says dejectedly. “Take care of my baby boy.”

“Always.” 

“Thank you.” Jessica throws her arms around your neck and squeezes you tight. “I’m so glad you’re back in his life,” she whispers in your ear. 

She gives you one more squeeze before releasing you. She gives Chan a gentle kiss on the nose then walks over to take Jack’s hand. 

Hannah hugs you next. “See you in the morning.”

You rub her back softly. “Yup.”

Jack nods towards you, whispering a thanks in your direction, then leads them out the door. 

As the door closes behind Chan’s family, you take a deep breath and sink into the chair next to his bed, the one recently vacated by Jessica. Your eyes never leave his peaceful face as he sleeps, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

After a few minutes of just watching him, you pull out your phone and dial Detective Seo’s cell number. You’re not sure if it’s too late to call him, but you need to talk to him about your suspicions.

“Hello?” his voice answers after a couple of rings. 

“Hi. I hope it’s okay that I’m calling so late.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. What’s up?”

You pause for a moment before deciding to dive right in, telling him about Chan’s “mugging”. 

“He left me a message a few days ago saying he’d find a way to get rid of Chan. I don’t know if that can help in some way.”

“That’s definitely suspicious,” Detective Seo says after you finish your story. “Forward me the message. I’ll also have my team look into Minho and see if we can find any evidence linking him to the attack.”

“Thank you,” you say with relief.

“I’ll keep you updated on any developments,” he adds before hanging up.

After forwarding Detective Seo the threatening voicemail, you put your phone away, your heart racing with worry. You can’t believe that Minho would do something like this.

You shake your head and push those thoughts aside for now. Right now, all you can do is wait for any news from Detective Seo and hope that Chan wakes up soon. 

You climb into the small hospital bed next to Chan, your arms becoming a protective barrier around his shuddering form.

"I won't let him hurt you again," you swear, the words a vow seared with desperation and resolve.

Resolve builds within you, a molten core of determination. Enough is enough. You must end this twisted game before it consumes you all. 

Tonight, you vow, you'll take the fight to Minho's doorstep, ready to face the consequences head-on. Because if there's one thing you've learned from this sordid affair, it's that sometimes, to emerge from the darkness intact, you must first embrace the shadows. 

A couple hours later, you feel Chan stir next to you. You look up towards his face and find him staring warmly at you. 

“Thanks for staying,” he says softly.

“Of course, I couldn’t just leave you alone here,” you reply with a small smile. “Besides, who else is going to keep you entertained? Plus your mom was ready to reabsorb her precious baby boy back into her womb. She doesn’t even pretend that she doesn’t have a favorite child, does she? I fully believe she'd climb into a coffin with you. Jack would have to pull her out before she locked herself in with your body.”

Chan chuckles weakly before wincing in pain. “Ouch. Don’t make me laugh. And Hannah’s used to it,” he adds with a smirk. You slap his arm playfully. 

You move closer to him and gently brush his hair away from his forehead. “Does it hurt a lot?” you ask softly.

“It’s not too bad,” he replies with a shrug. “I’ve felt worse.”

You frown at his nonchalance and gently trace your fingers over one of the bruises on his cheek

“It shouldn’t have happened at all,” you say firmly.

Chan gives you a sad smile. “I know, but what can we do?”

“Was it Minho?” you ask quietly. 

“I don’t know. The person attacked me from behind and was wearing a hoodie and a mask. I was too busy blocking blows to my face to get a good look at anything.”

You bite your lip, wishing there was something you could do to make this all go away. But right now, it is enough to be here with Chan. You nuzzle back into his chest as the two of you cling to each other. 

[luckyroll3]

I'm gonna need Christopher to leave me the fuck alone. I got shit to do today! I have to finish writing an article...I can't be distracted by all this...fineness.

Me right now: Keep mind on work...not on smut...

And I'm failing miserably.

Damn!

[luckyroll3]

Mine Chapter 15

Mine Masterlist Previous Chapter

Additional warning: Possessive and obsessive behavior; discussions about stalking

You take a deep breath as you push through the heavy glass doors of the police station, the cool air-conditioned air greeting you like a long-awaited embrace. The bustle inside the station is a stark contrast to the dark thoughts swirling in your head, each step echoing off the tiled floors like a death knell. Your heart races, and your palms sweat, but you force yourself to keep moving toward the front desk. The tattered posters on the walls, from missing children and wanted criminals to various other unsavory characters, only heighten your apprehension.

Your eyes lock with the duty sergeant's as you explain why you’re there, his expression impassive as he gestures towards a side door. This is it, you think to yourself, your stomach churning with a mix of dread and determination. You're here to reclaim your life, to put an end to the nightmare that has been slowly unraveling around you.

The room is dimly lit, the fluorescent lights flickering ominously as you walk in. Your eyes land on the buff man sitting behind the desk. His name badge reads 'Detective Changbin Seo.' He rises from his leather swivel chair, extending a firm, reassuring handshake. "Please, have a seat. I'm Detective Seo. I'm here to help you." His voice is like honey, dripping with sincerity and understanding.

“Good morning, detective. Thanks for meeting with me.” You sit in one of the two chairs on the opposite side of his desk.

"Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water?" he asks, his eyes roaming over your tense frame. “A shot of bourbon?” His lips turn up in a playful smirk as he tries to ease your tension.

You appreciate it, but can’t manage much more than a tight lipped smile. You shake your head, your tongue feeling like sandpaper in your mouth. "No, I'm fine. I just... Where should I start?"

Detective Seo nods as he settles back into his chair, notepad and pen at the ready. "Tell me everything. Take your time. I'm here to listen."

And so, you begin to unravel the twisted tale that has become your life, starting with the day you met Minho.

As you begin to recount your story, the air in the interrogation room thickens, suffocating you. Detective Seo's eyes never leave your face, his gaze warm.

“And now he’s following me and leaving threatening messages on my voicemail.”

"I'm sorry, this must be so difficult for you," he sympathizes. He holds a box of tissues towards you. You hadn’t even realized you’d started crying.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

The coarse fabric of the chair scratches against your thighs as you perch on the edge, every nerve in your body strung tight. Detective Seo leans across the table, his eyes a dark pool of solemnity that draws you in. You can almost feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.

"Let me be clear," he begins, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the cramped space of the office. "The laws we have for stalking and harassment... they're not always as effective as I'd like them to be."

Your heart hammers against your ribcage as your thoughts spiral.

"Even with evidence, the process is…complicated," Detective Seo continues, each syllable slicing through the fog of your despair. "We're often steps behind, trying to patch up the law's shortcomings."

You clench your fists beneath the table, nails digging crescents into your palms as if trying to anchor yourself to something solid amidst this maelstrom of uncertainty. The tension coils in your gut as you realize the taste of safety is just out of reach.

"Restraining orders are pieces of paper," he adds, a note of apologetic steel in his tone. "Sometimes they work. Other times..." He trails off, leaving the unsaid to fester like an open wound. After taking a beat to think about how he wants to phrase his next words he continues. “Often, they cause the perpetrator to escalate.”

A frustrated sob claws its way up your throat, and you fight to swallow it down. Your skin feels too tight, stretched over the heaving tumult of your emotions. Every breath is a battle, the air thick and cloying as you start to feel like you’re suffocating.

Detective Seo leans back, his chair groaning in protest. His eyes never leave your face, searching, perhaps, for signs of acquiescence. When your panic attack escalates, he stands and moves to the chair next to you.

As he sits, he takes your hand in his. “Just breathe. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four,” he says softly. He counts you through several rounds of breathing until you've seemed to stabilize. "Look, I wish I could offer more than just words," he adds, and there's a genuine flicker of something akin to regret in his gaze. It's a small comfort, a fleeting touch of warmth in the chill of your reality, but it does little to quell the storm inside you.

Your frustration mounts, a raw, keening pressure that threatens to tear you apart from the inside. It's a cruel mockery of intimacy, this game of cat and mouse where you are perpetually one step behind, always waiting for the next strike.

"Is there nothing more you can do?" you rasp, the plea naked and vulnerable, stripped of all but the most primal need to survive, to escape the hunter's relentless pursuit. You use your free hand to dab at your face with the tissue.

"Believe me, I'm on your side." His voice is firm, insistent, yet you detect an edge of helplessness that mirrors your own. You're barely able to contain the tremor in your hand as Detective Seo squeezes it gently and leans in closer, his gaze unwavering. "The best course of action," he begins, voice low and steady, "is to file for the restraining order."

"Restraining order?" you echo. “But you just said…,” you stare into his eyes, a bit confused.

“I know what I just said. But with the restraining order in place, anything he does after it is issued is now illegal. It gives us the ability to hold him accountable in a way we’re unable to without it. For instance, if he approaches you on your morning jog again, we can immediately arrest him.”

You nod in understanding. It's a fragile shield, but it’s something.

"First," he instructs, "we file a petition with the court. They'll review your case and decide whether to grant the protective order based on your written testimony. This can typically be done within 24 hours."

“Okay, good,” you say with an exhale, finally starting to relax.

"Then," he continues, the timbre of his voice seems to resonate with the humming anxiety under your skin, "you'll need to compile evidence. Texts, emails, any form of communication where he's made threats or shown obsessive behavior." His eyes probe yours, assessing your understanding. "Also record everything. Dates, times, details, how and where he approached you. We need a clear picture of what you've been enduring. Because when he breaks the restraining order, which, given what you’ve told me about him, he definitely will do, we’ll need every bit of ammunition we can get to prove that he’s a danger to you in order to put him away."

"Clear picture," you repeat, nodding mechanically. You can do that.

"Exactly," he confirms, and there's a glint of steel in those dark eyes, a silent pledge that he's with you in this fight. "Remember," Detective Seo leans back, the chair creaking subtly under his weight, "this is about your security. Don't take any chances. If you sense he's near, or if he violates the order once it's in place, call us immediately."

You nod again.

"Are you willing to go through with this?" He watches you closely, searching for hesitation, for cracks in your armor.

"Yes," you assert, the word slicing through the fog of fear, a defiant challenge to the shadows that Minho has cast over your life. Your heart pounds with a primal rhythm, echoing the urgent need to reclaim your existence from his invasive grasp.

"Good." Detective Seo nods as he pats your hand gently before releasing it, his approval radiating like heat from a flame. "I'll be here every step of the way. We stop at nothing until you're safe."

"Thank you," you say.

“Of course.” He leans over to his desk to grab a business card and a pen. He flips the card over and begins to scribble quickly on it. “Here’s my card, and I’ve also jotted down my personal cell. Call me anytime.” He holds the card out towards you. “And I really mean that. It doesn't matter how late or how early.”

You take it in between your fingers as you stand, legs firm despite the quiver that threatens to unseat you. “I appreciate this,” you say, grateful for his kindness.

“Let me walk you over to one of my colleagues, who can get you started with the paperwork,” he says as he stands and walks you to the door.

A minute later, you’re in a different office, three sheets of paper in front of you waiting to be filled.

"Take care of yourself," Detective Seo says as he pats your shoulder. “And remember you can contact me anytime you need to.”

“Thanks detective.”

Twenty minutes later, you exit the police station. Outside, the world is a blur of motion and color, but within you, there's a burgeoning sense of power. It courses through your veins, a potent mix of adrenaline and resolve, as you prepare to document every sordid detail of Minho's obsession. Your journey back to control has begun, and though the path is fraught with peril, you walk it unflinchingly.

****

You sit at your kitchen table, the wood cold and unyielding beneath your touch, much like the resolve that's hardened in your chest. In front of you, your phone is a chronicle of Minho's relentless pursuit. You begin the meticulous task of documenting every message, every call, every unsolicited "I'm thinking of you" that now sends shivers down your spine.

With each entry, your hand moves with precision, etching the details into a journal as if the very act could excise him from your life. Your fingers tremble slightly as you transcribe words laced with a deceitful tenderness that once set your skin aflame. Now, they're just evidence. Proof of how his obsession has burrowed beneath your skin. Each text saved feels like another chain link rattling loose, each note in your journal a step away from the enigmatic pull of his cat-like eyes and the dark promise of his smirk.

As you record the final message, a hollow victory fills you. This is it. The start of a paper trail that will bind him in the eyes of the law. The journal closes with a snap.

A couple days pass and the waiting is its own kind of torment. But then the moment comes. You hear about it secondhand from Detective Seo, who calls to tell you about the delivery of the restraining order to Minho, the legal embodiment of "stay away" that you've thrust between the two of you as a paper shield.

You stand by the window, peering through the glass that separates you from the world outside. There's a whirlwind of relief that you've taken action, but also a gnawing anxiety about how he'll react. Will he rage against the binding words? Will he see them as a challenge? A seductive game?

The knowledge that you've marked a boundary is empowering, yet it's coupled with the visceral understanding that some men, some men like Minho, take pleasure in crossing lines. His intelligence, his resourcefulness, they've always been part of his allure. But now, they're weapons turned against you.

The sun dips below the horizon, and your apartment is bathed in the soft glow of twilight. As darkness settles, you realize the true depth of your entanglement. Minho, with his lean and predatory grace, has not just invaded your life, he's become a specter haunting your every move. And though the law may offer some protection, the most primal part of you knows the truth: some beasts can't be caged by mere words on paper.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when your phone vibrates against the cold granite countertop. A herald of chaos stirs in you as an unknown number flashes across the screen with a preview of the incoming text message. You feel the first prickle of unease crawl up your spine as you swipe to unlock the floodgates. His words erupt in a violent cascade, each message a visceral punch that drains color from your world.

738-555-4251: Is this a game to you? You think a piece of paper can stop me?

You can imagine his voice hissing through the text, venomous and dripping with scorn.

You scroll, each word slicing deeper.

738-555-4251: You belong to me. Remember how you screamed my name, how you begged for more? Doesn’t matter how many times you fuck him, how many times you let him take you from the back while you’re bent over the bathroom sink. You’re still MINE.

The allusion to intimate events shared within the confines of your apartment walls sends a shiver of horror down your back. A couple days ago, you and Chan had fucked in your bathroom, the desire to connect too great for either of you to wait until you got to the bed. And last weekend, when he’d interrupted your run, Minho had mentioned Chan fucking you on the coffee table.

You hadn’t realized it then, but there was no way he could have known that unless…. Your gaze darts around the dimly lit room, shadows morph into sinister shapes, and a cold dread settles in your stomach.

Is Minho watching you? Could he be watching even now?

738-555-4251: Nothing’s changed. This is all just a temporary setback in our relationship. But I see everything.

The threat is naked, unadorned by pretense. He knows. He's been here, unseen but ever-present. A sudden image flashes through your mind, Minho's sharp, cat-like eyes glinting with a dangerous knowledge as he peers into your soul from afar. You imagine him licking his lips with satisfaction at your realization, his smirk revealing a darkness that belies any charm.

738-555-4251: Look around, sweetheart. I'm closer than you think.

The very air feels tainted, thick with the stench of his intrusion. You feel sick from the realization that he has been watching you, cataloguing your moves. Your fingers tremble as they clutch the phone, every nerve ending on fire with the need to escape. The walls of your sanctuary press in, whispering traitorous secrets, and you know you can't stay a moment longer.

You throw essentials and clothes into a bag. You flee, leaving behind the tainted air of a place no longer your own. The night embraces you, but offers no solace from the terror gnawing at your insides.

Chan's door opens before you even knock, his broad chest and curly hair outlined in the soft yellow light from within. His warm brown eyes search yours, and for a moment, you drown in the depth of his concern. But there's no time for tender reunions; you're a fugitive in your own life, seeking refuge from a monster made of flesh and bone.

"Come on in," Chan says, his voice a grounding force.

As you step into the sanctuary of Chan's home, the scent of vanilla from the candles he likes to burn wraps around you, a stark contrast to the acrid fear still clinging to your skin. Chan watches you with an intensity that makes your heart race for reasons beyond fear.

Tonight, he's your port in the storm, the only semblance of safety against Minho's relentless pursuit. You curl up on his couch, your body taut with the effort of holding yourself together, while Chan moves with quiet efficiency, securing doors and windows. You watch the muscles in his back tense and release beneath the fabric of his shirt, and despite the terror, desire blooms, hot and insistent.

In the dark, the lines blur; protector or lover, safety or sin. The weight of his gaze is a tangible thing, and you're caught in the limbo of longing and dread, pulled under by a current too powerful to resist. Tomorrow, the battle continues, but tonight, in Chan's arms, you find a bitter reprieve, a chance to pretend that love can conquer the demons lurking just beyond the threshold.

****

The next day at work, you dial the number for your bank’s security department. On the second ring, the line clicks.

“Hi stranger! Haven’t heard from you in a while. What can I help you with today?”

“Hey Seungmin,” you begin, steeling yourself against the invasion that Minho has marked upon your life. "I need your help with a personal matter. Can you swing by my office when you get a chance?"

"Of course," Seungmin replies, a note of concern threading through his words. “I can be there in 30 minutes.”

You try to shift your focus back to reviewing hiring documents, but you’re finding it difficult to concentrate. Finally you hear a soft knock on the door. You look up and see Seungmin waving at you through the glass window, with a bright smile on his adorable face. You wave at him to come in.

“Hey woman. What's going on?" He plops down in the chair in front of your desk.

"I think... I'm being watched." You recount your suspicions about Minho’s violations. "Can you come over after work and take a look?" Your voice is a ghost of itself, haunted.

“Does this have anything to do with the person my guys escorted from your office the other day?”

You nod, followed by a shaky, “Yeah.”

"Say no more," he assures you, decisive. "I'll be there."

The wait is a tempest of anxiety, every minute stretching until you and Seungmin arrive at your place. He’s carrying a kit that looks like it belongs in a spy thriller.

"Let's start," Seungmin says, his eyes scanning the perimeter with practiced vigilance. "We need to clean sweep your apartment for bugs."

Seungmin moves through each room with methodical precision, a silent hunter tracking invisible prey. You follow him, your breath catching every time his detector buzzes a confirmation of your fears.

"Found one," he murmurs, extracting a tiny camera from the hollow of the bookshelf in your living room. It's like a shard of ice lodged in your gut, each subsequent find—kitchen, bedroom, even the bathroom—another twist of the blade.

"Damn it, Minho," you seethe under your breath, fury mingling with panic.

"Every room," Seungmin confirms grimly, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm sorry."

"Does it... excite him?" The question spills from you, a dark curiosity that claws at your insides. "Seeing me, invading me like this?"

"Probably," Seungmin admits, and his gaze lingers on you. "On the positive side, they seem to be transmitting only video, no audio. But we're ending it now." His hands set immediately to work to dismantle Minho's invasive network, each motion precise and assured.

"Good," you breathe out, watching Seungmin wipe away traces of Minho's obsession. "Make him blind to me." You watch, muscles coiled tight as a spring, as Seungmin dismantles the last of Minho's prying eyes. Each camera lens glints malevolently before he smashes it into oblivion. Each decisive click and crunch is a symphony to your ears.

"Done," Seungmin says finally, the parts of the last camera in his hand tossed into a box. His voice is a low rumble, sending vibrations along your spine. "He won't see you anymore."

"Thank you," you whisper, feeling a rush of gratitude for your friend.

"Anything for you," Seungmin replies. “You know you’re one of my favorite people.” Seungmin looks around the apartment, his eyes settling on the front door. “Your locks," he murmurs, his voice a low thrum that skates across the raw edges of your nerves. "We need to change them. He needed a lot of time to be able to install these, which meant he had unfettered access to your place. Did you give him a key?" You shake your head no. “That doesn’t mean he didn’t make one though. Let’s get this taken care of today.”

You nod, swallowing the heartache and betrayal that rise like bile. It's not enough to erase Minho's visual hold; you need to purge him from every threshold of your sanctuary.

"Calling my locksmith friend now," Seungmin adds, punching numbers into his phone determinedly. He walks into the kitchen to speak, then joins you back in the living room a few minutes later. “He’ll be here within the hour. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?” He gives you a tight hug before he takes his spy kit and the box with the disassembled cameras and walks out the door.

The tension coils tighter within you as the locksmith arrives, his tools clinking with promises of safety. He works swiftly, replacing each lock with meticulous care, while you stand sentinel, watching every fortified door and window become a barrier against the chaos Minho brings.

There is a moment, fleeting and sharp-edged, when the last lock clicks into place with a sound that reverberates through your core. Relief floods you, yet it's tinged with the metallic taste of fear due to Minho’s unpredictability. But as you survey the reinforced entry points, a fierce pride swells within you. You're reclaiming your territory, your body, your self.

"Done," the locksmith declares, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

"Thank you," you say softly. You reach for your bag on the coffee table. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” he says calmly as he stands and packs up his tools. “I owed Seung a favor and this doesn't even cover half of it. Good luck.” A warm smile covers his face before he departs.

You're alone now, wrapped in the silence of your fortress.

[luckyroll3]

Unexpected Chapter 32: Any Time, Any Place

Unexpected Masterlist Previous Chapter

Mia

Mia stirred in the dimly lit room, her eyelids fluttering open to the faint tapping of keys. She found herself wrapped in a cocoon of soft sheets and Chan’s familiar scent. Blinking away sleep, she rolled over to see Chan propped up against the headboard, headphones on, the laptop balanced on his knees and the glow from the screen illuminating his face in the dark room as he typed away. His tousled hair fell over his furrowed brow as he concentrated on what was happening on the screen. A fond smile tugged at Mia’s lips as she watched him, his focus absolute. She took a look at her watch. It wasn’t even 2 am. She stifled a laugh, shaking her head at his workaholic tendencies. 

"Do you ever actually sleep?" she teased, her voice still husky from slumber as she propped herself up on one elbow. "Or are you some kind of vampire who only pretends for my benefit?"

Chan glanced over at her, his expression shifting to a playful grin as he removed the headphones from one ear. "I'll have you know I got a solid four hours. Practically a coma by my standards."

Mia chuckled and shook her head. Four hours was better than his usual, at least. And after last night's ‘activities’, even she was impressed he had the energy to be productive at this hour with limited rest. 

He leaned down to give her a soft kiss on the lips. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“You didn’t.” Mia turned onto her stomach and rested her head down on top of her hands, her face turned towards him. “What are you working on?”

“I’m just reviewing some of the tracks for the new album.”

“Let me hear one.”

Chan placed the headphones over her ears and pressed play. Mia closed her eyes as she listened, nodding her head to the beat.

Mia opened her eyes and grinned at him. “Did y’all really make a fuck boy song?” She handed the headphones back.

“Yes. Yes we did.” Chan laughed. 

“It’s catchy as hell. ‘Ooh, I like it…’” she started to sing. 

“‘Ooh ooh I like it like it.’,” Chan joined in. He lowered his voice before continuing. “I wrote a song for you too.”

“For me?!” Mia said, shocked. “Can I hear that one?” She extended her hand back out, motioning for him to return the headphones. 

“Naur,” he said with a grin.

“Why not?” She pouted. 

“It’s not ready yet. It’s for the album after this one. Plus, I have an idea for the look and feel of the performance. I want you to hear and experience it live when I do it for the first time at our concert.

“Boo. That’s like 5 months away!”

“I guarantee that you’ll love it. Have I ever disappointed you?” Mia cocked her head to the side as she pretended to think about the question. “Ha! Not funny,” Chan laughed as he pressed a kiss to her lips. Mia smiled against his mouth. 

Mia set her head back down and just watched Chan as he continued to work. After tapping out keystrokes for the next 20 minutes, he snapped the laptop shut with a sigh and set it and the headphones aside. Rolling onto his side to face her, he tucked an errant curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek.

“You don’t have to stop working,” Mia whispered as she caressed his hand on her face. 

"I know, but I'd much rather focus on you right now. On us. Who knows when we'll get another lazy night and morning like this?"

Mia’s heart sank at the reminder. In the whirlwind of the past few months, it was easy to forget that his time in Miami was only temporary. She felt a twinge in her chest, recalling their conversation from the previous day. In less than a week, he'd be flying halfway across the world, back to Korea, to prepare for Stray Kids next comeback and world tour. 

Mia hummed in agreement, also turning to her side and shifting closer until they were nose to nose, his warm breath tickling her skin. "I'm going to miss this. Miss you." 

"Me too," Chan murmured. "But we'll make it work, yeah?"

"I know. It's just..." She trailed off, not wanting to dwell on the time and distance that would soon stretch between them.

As if sensing her melancholy, Chan tipped her chin up to meet his eyes, warm and earnest. "Hey. I knaur this won’t be easy. But we will make it work. Messages, video calls, visits when we can. And in a year and a half when the tour is over…"

He trailed off, but Mia could hear the unspoken promise in his words.

She took his hand and squeezed it, offering a tremulous smile. “We knew this wouldn’t be simple. But we can do this. I just wish…” 

Just wish what? she asked herself. That he could stay? That their lives weren't beholden to schedules and obligations half a planet apart? If she let herself tumble too far down that rabbit hole of wistful thinking, she may never emerge. 

So instead, she pasted on a smile and said, "I just wish we could freeze time. Bottle up our alone time like this to uncork later when the missing gets too hard."

Chan smiled back at her. A comfortable silence fell between them, each lost in their own thoughts. 

After a few moments, Chan cleared his throat. “Saur, tell me about these new projects you’ve been working on,” he whispered. “I want to hear all about them.”

Mia launched into an explanation of her new accounts at work, Chan listening with rapt attention, asking questions and offering encouragement. Mia asked him to share about his plans since he and the rest of the members had recently resigned their contracts. 

“I’m really excited about producing music for other artists. Maybe even outside of the company.”

“That sounds amazing, Chris. I think it would be great for you to work with more groups outside your own. Just promise me you won’t overwork yourself, okay?”

“Says the other workaholic in the room,” he countered, pulling her in closer to him. “Of course I fell in love with another workaholic… you have to promise to do the same.”

“Deal,” she agreed with a grin, feeling the soft warmth emanating from his chest. 

She turned to her other side, allowing him to wrap his arms around her body to spoon her. Their conversation continued and flowed naturally as they shared their short-term work goals and explored ways they could support each other. Mia couldn’t help but feel a surge of affection for this man who had unexpectedly entered her life, even as uncertainty about their future loomed in the back of her mind. 

They lapsed into another comfortable quiet, content to simply hold each other, skin to skin, heartbeats syncing into a shared tempo. In moments like this, it was easy to forget all the obstacles and unknowns, the nagging realities waiting to intrude on their blissful bubble... and just be.

Mia knew they couldn't hide out in his bedroom haven forever. But for now, with Chan's arms banded snugly around her, his face buried in the crook of her neck as he breathed her in, she could almost imagine that they could.

A sigh escaped Mia's lips as her thoughts drifted to the challenges that awaited them. She ran her hand up and down Chan’s arms as they encircled her, her voice soft and tinged with worry when she finally spoke. "Chris, I have to admit I’m concerned about us being in a long-distance relationship. Scared of what happens when you leave, when we're forced to navigate this relationship from opposite sides of the world. I can’t help but worry about how we’ll maintain our connection with all the demands of both of our careers. I mean, it was difficult to do when we were both in the same city."

Chan tightened his embrace, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "I knaur, Mia. I hear you and I'm scared too. Long-distance relationships are challenging. But if there's one thing I've learned in my career, it's that when you truly care about something, or someone, you find a way to make it work."

Mia bit her lip, wondering if she should voice her remaining doubts. Finally, she decided it was better to be honest. “I just don't want us to drift apart or let miscommunications turn into unresolved conflicts. I'm terrified of losing what we've built… of losing you.”

"Hey, hey..." Chan soothed, he rested his chin on her shoulder. "You're not going to lose me, Mia. I'm in this, completely. I won’t let distance get in the way of what we’re building together."

She leaned back into his touch, wanting so badly to believe him. But the pragmatist in her couldn't help but voice the doubts swirling in her mind. "But what about your career, your fans? I don't want to be a distraction or a hindrance to everything you've worked so hard for. How can I compete with that?"

Chan shook his head vehemently. "You could never be a distraction, Mia. And there’s no competition. It's true that my career comes with a lot of attention, but none of those fans could ever compare to what I feel when I'm with you."

Mia's heart clenched at the raw sincerity in his words, the determination blazing in his eyes. She wanted to be that pillar of strength for him, to be the partner he deserved. But the realities of their situation still loomed large and daunting.

"I don't have all the answers, Mia,” Chan continued. “This is uncharted territory for me too. But I do knaur that what we have is real, and it's worth fighting for. We'll take it day by day, and we'll lean on each other when it gets tough. Because I love you, and I'm not letting go. Not now, not ever."

Mia wanted to absorb his strength and certainty into her own being. Because despite the obstacles ahead, the miles that would soon stretch between them, she knew he was right. This love, this once-in-a-lifetime connection they'd forged against all odds, it was worth everything. And she would move heaven and earth to protect it, to nurture it, to fight for their future, no matter what challenges the universe threw their way.

"Okay," she whispered, turning her face to meet his gaze, her eyes shimmering with equal parts vulnerability and resolve. "Day by day. Together. No matter what."

Chan smiled at her and sealed their pact with a slow, sweet kiss. 

Their lips parted but the tips of their noses continued to touch and nuzzle. Chan’s hands moved slowly up and down Mia’s back in soothing strokes. 

After a few minutes, Mia spoke. “We need a plan,” she declared, her businesswoman instincts kicking in. “Let’s establish some ground rules for us, strategies to ensure we stay connected, even when we’re apart. We can’t rely on spontaneity.”

Chan nodded, his expression serious. "You're right. We can't just wing it and hope for the best."

“We have to be practical about this. Our jobs will keep us busy, and the time difference will be difficult to navigate.” Mia rolled onto her back, grabbing her phone from the nightstand and opening her notes app. "Okay, first things first. Communication. We need to set aside specific times to talk, no matter how crazy our schedules get."

"Agreed. How about three or four times a week for now for  voice or video calls. And we can text the other days." Chan said, reaching for his own phone. "Let's sync our calendars right now, block out those non-negotiable time slots where we can."

Mia nodded and switched to her calendar. “Sounds good. And let’s make it a priority to visit each other when our schedules allow,” she suggested, knowing that seeing each other in person would be crucial for maintaining their connection. “We need to prioritize face-to-face time whenever possible. Even if it’s just a quick weekend here and there. My schedule is probably more flexible, so I’ll come to you whenever I can maneuver four or more days of free time. It shouldn’t be a problem given all the vacation and sick days I’ve saved up over the years. And you can visit me too, if it fits within your promotion and tour dates.”

“Absolutely. And you can meet up with me on tour.” Chan's brow furrowed as he scrolled through his upcoming itinerary. “I'll talk to management, see if we can build in some extra travel days around our major tour stops. Sending you the pdf with the dates." He looks up from his phone. “Please don’t share that with anyone; it’s top secret.”

“Who am I gonna share it with? No one I know cares about you guys.” She laughs. 

“Uh… Lianna?”

“She’s more likely to get this information out of Bin than from me! I think that boy is pussy whipped!” Mia thought back to what Lianna had shared recently about her and Changbin’s ‘dates’… and they hadn’t done a whole lot of dating.

Chan giggled. “I think you’re right. What is it about you Sharpe women?”

They spent the next few minutes huddled over their devices, coordinating schedules and setting reminders. Mia felt a flicker of relief as she watched their shared calendar fill up with color-coded slots, tangible proof of their commitment to making this work.

“In terms of ground rules,” Mia added, “we shouldn’t go more than a couple of days without any contact or make any assumptions if one of us is too busy to call.” They locked eyes, sharing a determined nod before moving on to the next point. "Communication, part two," she started, her voice serious. "Staying connected isn't just about scheduling calls. It's about being open and honest, even when it's hard."

Chan swallowed, knowing all too well how distance could strain even the strongest bonds. "Definitely. Naur holding back," he agreed, his voice soft but resolute.

"We talk about the good, the bad, and everything in between. If either of us feels neglected or hurt by something, we need to bring it up. No bottling things up until they fester."

“Right. Naur avoiding issues, naur secrets, and naur jealousy over people we have to interact with. And if we’re ever feeling overwhelmed, we share that.” Chan took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Saur… what about hooking up with other people?”

Mia turned to face him and locked eyes. “Do you want to fuck other people?” she asked pointedly.

By now, Chan was very used to her directness and his response was immediate and sincere. “I only want to fuck you,” he declared before kissing the back of her hand. “But let’s be honest. You and I are both highly sexual people. We were regularly fucking before we met. And in the past 2 months at least, we’ve been having sex, what, five to six times per week? We’re literally about to go cold turkey for the next three months. It’s a recipe for disaster, especially with all the temptation. I just want to surface it as something we should think about. I’m happy to go with whatever you decide.”

Mia nodded, her mind racing. Maybe if Jason and I had a compromise like this in place, he wouldn’t have cheated, she thought bitterly. But then again, we were fucking like rabbits and he still strayed. But it didn’t matter now because they were no longer together. She took a deep breath before speaking.

“You’re right. I don’t necessarily have a problem with it. I just need total honesty.” Her heart ached as she remembered how her relationship with Jason had ended. “I guess if either of us reaches a point where we crave that physical intimacy, we should tell each other immediately.” Mia paused. “Should we take sex, as in penetration, off the table? Leave it at everything but?”

Chan’s face softened as he listened to her words. “I’d be good with that. I probably wouldn’t be with anyone anyway, but it’s good to know we have the option.” He hesitated before asking tentatively, “And… naur previous partners?” His raised eyebrow conveyed his unspoken thoughts. She could see the hint of worry in Chan’s expression and knew exactly what he was getting at. 

“You don’t have to worry Chris,” she reassured him. “I won’t hook up with Jason again.” 

“It would be hard for me not to hook up with him,” he said with a chuckle. “That man is fucking gorgeous! How did you give him up?”

Mia’s laughter rang out. “You’re ridiculous,” she teased, shaking her head with a smirk. “It was easy because he was a shit boyfriend.” Chan laughed in response. “Okay. So we agree on hook ups, pre-authorized with each other before it happens. And anyone we’ve dated before is off limits.”

“And we share details afterwards,” he added with a mischievous grin. He leaned in for a kiss and Mia eagerly met him halfway. 

“You’re such a fucking deviant!” Mia whispered against his lips 

“You love it,” Chan said confidently as his grin widened while he pulled back to gaze at her. Mia laughed again, shaking her head, unable to hide her smile. She added their new agreement to her notes. 

They continued talking as their hands intertwined again. 

Chan’s tone suddenly turned serious, and he sighed. "We're definitely going to hit rough patches. Miscommunications, lonely nights, the pressure of work and fame and public scrutiny. But we face it head-on, together. No running, no hiding. Yeah?"

Mia squeezed his hand tightly, a fierce, bone-deep certainty taking root in her chest. "Together," she echoed, sealing the vow. "No matter how hard it gets."

“I don’t plan on giving you up, Mia.” Chan lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Not now, not ever.”

“Have you ever thought about what it would be like if we were able to close the distance between us in the near future?” Mia asked hesitantly. “You know, living together?”

Chan’s dark eyes searched hers, his fingers gently caressing her hand. “I’ve thought about it more than once. I knaur we’ve only just started, but I can’t help thinking about the future. About us, together,” he admitted. “But it won’t be easy.”

Mia bit her lip, lost in thought for a moment before continuing. “What if we found a way to make it work? To build a life together without sacrificing our dreams?”

“Sounds incredible,” Chan murmured as he pulled Mia closer to him. He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. 

The energy shifted between them. As they exchanged slow, passionate kisses, Chan’s hands roamed over Mia’s body, teasing the curves and planes of her figure. Mia responded in kind, fingers sliding into his hair and tugging gently. 

Chan broke the kiss to trail his lips down Mia’s neck, lingering to nip at the sensitive spot beneath her ear. She couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped her lips as she arched into his touch. 

“Can I have you?” he murmured against her collarbone.

“Yes,” Mia breathed eagerly, her eyes locked with his. “Anytime. Anyplace. I’m yours.” She pulled him on top of her, their naked bodies molding against each other.

Chan gently spread her legs and teased her with his hard, throbbing cock by rubbing the tip along her slit. Then he slowly inserted it inside of her. Mia hissed slightly as he stretched her walls, still feeling the delicious soreness from their passionate lovemaking session earlier that night and the night before. They’d been fucking as much as they could, with reckless abandon, a desperate desire to make the most of their last week together. But the pleasure quickly overtook any discomfort as Chan began moving insider her with slow, deliberate thrusts, allowing himself to sink deeper and deeper into her with each stroke. 

Mia's breath hitched as he plunged in and out of her wet heat and they moved in unison. The sheets rustled as they moved in rhythm, their bodies glistening with sweat in the dark room. Her hands found their way to his broad shoulders, digging in as he continued his slow, deep thrusts. His pace quickened, her hips rising to meet each of his movements. The sound of skin on skin filled the room as they found their synchrony once more.

They made love slowly, tenderly, savoring every touch, every gasp, every shudder of pleasure like it could be their last. They muffled their moans against each other's skin, mindful of his sleeping members just beyond the walls, but the need to stay quiet only heightened the intensity, the intimacy of the act.

“Turn over,” he whispered. Mia complied, shifting to lay on her stomach and feeling his soft sheets against her skin. When Chan re-entered her, she crossed her legs at the ankles and let out a soft gasp at the sensation of him filling her again. “Oh shit. You feel saur tight like this,” he said quietly as he pressed his body flat against hers and continued his thrusts inside her. She could feel every inch of him, and it drove her wild.

He slid his hands down her arms and linked his fingers with hers. Gently, he extended their arms out to a T-shape, before slowly sliding them above their heads. 

"I can't imagine my life without you now. I never want to be without you," Chan confessed, his voice a low murmur against Mia's ear. “You make me lose control, break all my rules. All I can think about is my dick buried deep inside you, making you groan, and seeing the beautiful faces you make when I take you and make you cum.” He pressed a kiss onto the spot on her neck that made her melt, eliciting more moans from her. “Tell me you’re mine forever,” he growled in her ear. “My goddess.”

“Forever,” she whispered back. And she meant it. She only wanted him and didn’t see herself with anyone else.

Her response resulted in a smile spreading across Chris’ face. He leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth before slipping his tongue past her lips and increased the pace of his movements.

Every thrust brought Mia closer to the brink of ecstasy. Suddenly, Mia's body tensed, her walls clamping tightly around his cock as she came and shattered into a million stars. 

Chan followed shortly after, his hips jerking into her as he released himself inside her. His heavy breathing mingled with hers as he stayed buried inside, his chest heaving against her back. They stayed locked together for a long moment, Chan peppering soft kisses on Mia’s cheek and the back of her neck and shoulders before he pulled out and rolled onto his back, both of them panting like runners at the finish line.

Afterwards, they lay tangled together, skin to skin, heart to heart. Mia's head rested on Chan's chest, listening to the steady pounding of his heartbeat as his fingers combed through her curls.

"I never want to forget this," she murmured, her voice heavy with satiation. "The way you make me feel, the way we fit together. I want to remember every moment, every detail, to hold me over until the next time."

Chan pressed a kiss to her temple, his arms tightening around her. "This is only the beginning, Mia.” 

“Remember the first time we met?”

Chan chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I remember. You ignored me and rebuffed all my advances, even though I was throwing you my best game! And it just made me want you more.”

“Honestly,” Mia looked up at Chan, “Some of your game was working. But it was very clear you were a player and used to getting what you want. I couldn’t give in.”

“Wow! Now you tell me, after you had me doubting my skills.” His dimpled grin brightened his face. 

“Well, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you all night. You were… otherworldly, and undeniably hot. Then we ran into each other the next day, and I don’t know, you won me over.”

“That was serendipitous. After that lunch with you, I knew you were someone special.” He leaned down to kiss her gently. 

“Special enough to make you break your no kiss, no sleepover, no commitment rules,” she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

“Special enough to make me want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he corrected in a soft voice, the seriousness of his words taking her breath away. She caressed his face.

“Is that why you proposed to me?” she asked with a grin. 

Chan stiffened, a flush creeping up his neck, while his ears turned red. "I... yeah. Yeah," he said, his tone sheepish. "I'm sorry I put you on the spot like that. I knaur it was sudden, and maybe not the most romantic way to go about it." Chan's gaze met hers, his eyes intense and sincere. "I knaur it's fast, and I knaur there are a million reasons why it might not make sense and is the absolute worst fucking idea, but... I love you, Mia. I love who I am when I’m with you; I love who we are together. You…,” he paused as he thought about what to say next. “…co-write me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to marry you, if that's what you want, too."

Mia was floored by his words. ‘You co-write me.’ It was a lyric from one of her favorite songs that she had shared with him the first night they’d been intimate on her couch. About being so in love that person helped define who you were at your core, your essence. And he remembered that. Mia's heart raced, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling through her. Joy, fear, uncertainty, hope. 

As Mia thought about what he said, Chan shifted, reaching for something in the nightstand drawer. "I knaur you said to ask again in two years," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "But I... I couldn't leave without asking one more time. The right way." He held out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a simple, elegant ring with a sliver band and a greenish-blue stone that looked like it came from the ocean. "Mia Sharpe, will you marry me?"

Mia's breath caught, her eyes welling with tears. She had asked him to propose again in a few years, to give them time to navigate the challenges ahead. But he was doing it now,  barely a couple months later. She sat up as she reached out, taking the box with shaking hands. The ring was beautiful, the oval-shaped stone perfect. Clearly expensive, yet still understated, capturing her style. A tangible symbol of the love they shared, of the future they dreamed of building together.

Mia stared at the ring, her heartbeat quickening as the weight of the moment settled upon her. He’s fucking insane! she thought as she shifted her gaze to him. But she could see the love and vulnerability in Chan's eyes, his hopes and fears laid bare before her. 

"Chris, I... I don't know what to say," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. She closed the box, clutching it to her chest. "It’s fucking perfect. Is it….?”

“Yeah. A natural aquamarine.” It was her favorite gemstone. “I knew it was yours the second I saw it.”

Mia sighed. “I love you too, but... but I'm scared. What if we can't make it work? What if the distance, the challenges, the everything... what if it's just too much?"

Chan sat up, taking her face in his hands. "Mia, listen to me," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "I knaur it won't be easy. I knaur there will be obstacles, and moments when it feels like the whole world is against us. But I also knaur that what we have is worth fighting for. Worth risking everything for."

The doubts lingered, the fears and uncertainties that had held her back before. The age difference, the demands of their careers, the scrutiny of the public eye, the impending separation. Could they really make it work? Could she bear to have her heart broken again?

But the thought of letting him leave the country, leave her, without a definitive answer, of letting this moment slip away… It was all too much.

"I need time to process everything, especially with you leaving so soon. It’s not a no; I just need more time. I hope you understand." She felt a tear escape her eye. 

He brushed the tear from her cheek, his touch tender and reassuring. "I'm not asking for an answer right now," he said softly. "I just... I wanted you to knaur how I feel. How much I love you, how much I want this. Keep the ring, think about it. And when you're ready, when you knaur in your heart what you want... I'll be here, waiting. Always."

Mia nodded, a smile breaking through her tears. She leaned in, capturing his lips in a fierce, passionate kiss. The future was unknown, the path ahead shrouded in uncertainty. And she wondered whether maybe, just maybe, she could have a happily ever after with this man.

A/N: What song do you think Chan wrote for Mia???

Song: Any Time, Any Place Artist: Janet Jackson

[luckyroll3]

Mine Chapter 14

Mine Masterlist Previous Chapter

Additional warning: Possessive and obsessive behavior

As you knot the laces of your running shoes, a ritual that marks the beginning of every Saturday morning, the cool kiss of dawn brushes against your skin. The air is crisp, tinged with the promise of the day ahead, yet your mind churns relentlessly with thoughts of Minho's behavior. Despite blocking him, he’s still been calling you, at least once a day, from a seemingly endless pool of new numbers. It’s to the point now that if you don’t have a number saved in your phone, you let it ring through to voicemail. You wrestle the persistent unease into the recesses of your consciousness, determined to lose yourself in the hypnotic cadence of your feet pounding the pavement.

You set off, each stride an assertion of control, a defiance against the turbulent sea of emotions Minho has stirred within you. His charm, once as intoxicating as aged wine, now feels like a vice around your heart, with the sweet aftertaste turning bitter. 

The trail unfolds before you, familiar from countless mornings spent seeking solace in its winding embrace. But today, a prickling sensation dances along the nape of your neck; it’s delicate, almost like the ghostly caress of a lover, yet fraught with an unnameable dread. You feel a presence watching you, tracking your every move through the thicket of trees.

Your breath catches, and you cast a furtive glance over your shoulder. Nothing. The trail is empty, save for the occasional flutter of leaves in the gentle morning breeze. Yet, the eerie certainty of unseen eyes tracing the curve of your spine remains, a voyeuristic shadow clinging to your skin. You shiver, the feeling as invasive as unwelcome fingers sliding along your flesh. 

This unsettling sense of surveillance quickens your pulse, heat flooding your cheeks despite the chill in the air. You push harder, the slap of your sneakers against the ground a desperate plea for escape, for release. With each step, you try to outrun the drama. Sweat beads on your forehead, not just from exertion but from the harrowing knowledge that something is not quite right.

The path unfolds before you. And then he's there, Minho, materializing like a specter on the trail ahead, shattering the precarious peace of your retreat. Your heart stutters, trips over itself in a frantic rhythm. You slow to a stop as he strides toward you, his hair wild and his eyes two black holes sucking in the light, desperate and intense.

A smirk crosses his face. "Running from me?" he murmurs, voice low and laced with an emotion you can't name, but it feels like danger, tastes like fear. 

"Minho," you start, but the words die in your throat. His presence is overwhelming.

"So you’re back with Chan?" he asks, and the question strikes like a whip, sharp and unexpected. “I see it didn’t take long for you to crawl back to that cheating motherfucker.”

How does he know about Chan? you wonder. 

You try to mask your shock. “What do you want Minho?”

“You know what I want,” he says as he steps into your personal space. You flinch slightly as he grazes your cheek softly with his knuckles. His hand slides down your cheek to your neck and then to your collarbone. His finger brushes back and forth so lightly it makes you quiver. He leans in to whisper in your ear, “I bet I’m making you dripping wet right now.”

Your body betrays you, reacting to his proximity and his words. He’s a toxic drug, one you crave even as it poisons you from within. You feel the heat of him, see the flicker of hurt beneath the possessiveness. Minho is a storm, one you willingly walked into, and now, standing here, you realize there is no calm at the eye, only more destruction.

"Leave me alone, Minho." The words tumble out of your mouth, more fervent than you intend. They cut through the stillness of the morning like a blade, sharp and definite. But your voice, that damnable quiver, betrays the fear gnawing at your insides, betraying the facade you struggle to uphold.

A surge of panic licks up your spine as his eyes lock onto yours, feral and unyielding. They dissect your defenses, leaving you naked to his scrutiny. You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, an involuntary response to the intensity of his gaze.

"Can't do that, gorgeous," he purrs, his voice a paradox of velvet over steel. “Because you’re mine.” Each word is a caress mixed with a threat, sending shivers cascading down your body. His breath brushes against your skin, mingling with the morning air, laden with the scent of pine and the underlying musk of his own desire.

The trail around you narrows into a corridor, the trees standing sentinel, silent witnesses to this intimate standoff. This place, once an escape, is now a snare, holding you captive in Minho's unwavering focus.

"Minho, please…" 

"Please?" He echoes, mocking. "Please what? You want me to touch you here?" His fingers trail down your sternum, igniting a fire within you. "Or perhaps here?" His hand drifts lower, tracing a scorching path across the exposed skin of your belly.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you instinctively retreat, one step back, then another. The gravel beneath your feet crunches, a jarring counterpoint to the smooth silk of his voice. Lust and dread intertwine, forming a knot in your stomach that tightens with each inch he advances.

"Minho, stop." It's an attempt to wield control where you have none, to douse the flames with a whisper. He's too close, the predator to your prey, and you're left wondering if you ever truly knew him or if you only saw the mask he wanted you to see.

"Stop?" The smirk that twists across his lips is a work of art, cruel and beautiful. "But darling, we haven't even started." His chuckle is a low rumble, a sound that resonates with the darkest parts of your soul. You can't help but tremble.

The air grows thick with his breath, tainted with the scent of his cologne, a mixture of wood and spice that you once found intoxicating. Now, it suffocates you, a miasma that seeps into your pores and poisons your senses.

"Chan can't give you what I can," Minho whispers, the dangerous edge in his voice slicing through the morning stillness. “You think because he fucked you on the coffee table that it would make you forget about me? I don’t care what he does. He's too wrapped up in himself to care about your needs. But you’ll never forget how I made you cum, even before I shoved my cock into you. I see you. I know you."

His words, raw and intrusive, crawl under your skin. You shiver again, not from the cool kiss of dawn but from the realization that he knows more than he should. His obsession, once a shadow lurking at the periphery of your consciousness, now stands fully illuminated, monstrous in its clarity.

"Leave me alone, Minho," you repeat. The command leaves your lips, but it's brittle, like thin ice over a dark lake.

"Or what?" His gaze is predatory, tracking your racing pulse as it throbs visibly at the base of your throat. 

Fear coils tightly inside you, a serpent ready to strike. But it's coupled with an infernal heat, an unwanted reaction to the danger before you. It's wrong, the throb between your legs, the flush on your cheeks, but it's there, undeniable.

"Nothing will keep me from protecting what's mine." His hand grazes your arm, and you feel the scorch of his touch through the fabric of your running jacket. A promise or a threat? Both, perhaps.

Adrenaline surges within you. Your legs tense, primed for escape. With a burst of energy born of desperation, you shove past him, your body grazing his in a fleeting, electric contact that sparks another wave of unwelcome desire.

"Just fucking stay away!" you shout over your shoulder, fleeing down the path, heart hammering against your ribcage urging you forward. Branches whip past you, leaving stinging marks of their passage, a physical testament to your frantic escape.

Minho's presence looms behind you, a specter that fuels your flight. You're a wild thing cornered, your every sense heightened to the point of pain. Your lungs burn, your muscles scream, but the thought of his eyes tracking your retreat keeps you moving.

You stagger against the cold wood of your front door, the deadbolt sliding home with a click that echoes in the hollow silence of your sanctuary. The cool metal feels like ice against your feverish skin as you lean heavily on it, your chest heaving, drawing in ragged breaths that slice through the haze of panic.

The reality of Minho's obsession crashes down upon you, waves of dread lapping at the edges of your mind. Anger simmers in the pit of your stomach. You're furious; furious that his twisted desire has tainted your haven, furious at yourself for once finding solace in those same piercing eyes that now hunt you with predatory precision.

Your vulnerability nips at your consciousness, a stark reminder of the raw intimacy shared in moments now poisoned by his manic fixation. How many times had you gasped beneath his touch, ignorant to the darkness lurking beneath that charming exterior? His face, once the embodiment of pleasure, now conjures a visceral fear that clenches around your heart like a vice.

"Fuck," you curse softly, the word slicing through the air, an attempt to reclaim some semblance of control. But it's feeble, impotent against the onslaught of emotions roiling within you.

You pace the confines of your living room, every step echoing off the walls, a metronome ticking towards an uncertain future. The notion of involving the authorities slithers into your thoughts. Is this the moment to escalate?

Hesitation creeps in, its insidious tendrils wrapping around your resolve. Are you overreacting? Is this just another jilted lover's ploy for attention, or is there something sinister in the way Minho watches, waits, moves with calculated grace?

"Legal advice," you mutter. You consider whether to reach out to one of Chan’s coworkers. But the thought of exposing yourself, laying bare the details of your entanglement with Minho, leaves a slick sheen of sweat upon your brow. The intimate secrets, the whispered promises, the heat of his body pressed against yours; it would all become fodder for judgmental scrutiny. And they would probably tell Chan.

"Can't risk it," you decide, your voice a broken whisper, acknowledging the thin line between passion and peril. The threat of his violence is a shadow that stretches across the floor, dark fingers reaching for you even now.

You sink to the ground, back still pressed against the door, the weight of Minho's gaze a tangible pressure against the barrier. The floorboards are cool beneath you, grounding you to the here and now, away from the haunting memories of his lips tracing paths of fire across your skin.

"Need to think," you breathe, your mind a whirlpool of fear and longing. The game has changed; it's no longer about love or lust…it's survival. And you'll be damned if you let Minho's obsession become your downfall.

You’re pulled out of deep thought when you feel your phone vibrate against your ribs. Your hands are trembling as you pull the phone from your pocket, the screen lighting up with the ominous glow of an unknown number. You decline the call, only for the voicemail icon to pop up a minute later. 

You swipe at the icon and aren’t surprised when Minho’s voice comes through the speakers. "I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted your run this morning. I know how much it means to you to keep your routine," it starts, honeyed words that drip with regret. But each syllable morphs into a jagged threat, like broken glass hidden beneath silk sheets. "But you don't know what you're missing," he continues, "and you never will if you keep running to him."

The air in the room thickens, charged with the electric current of his manic need. You continue to listen, his voice laced with longing and malice as he makes accusations about Chan. 

“You think he’s gonna be faithful to you? He doesn’t respect you. His focus is always on someone else, never you.” A pit forms in your stomach. "Is he touching you like I did?" Minho taunts, the memory of his fingers tracing your curves, pressing into your flesh with ownership, sends a shiver down your spine. The way he made you feel wanted, needed, but also like prey under the scrutiny of a predator. It was an addictive danger, the kind that kept you coming back for more, even when your conscience screamed for you to run. Your breath hitches as you recall Chan's touch, so different from Minho's; the warmth of his palm against your cheek, his kiss that spoke of tenderness rather than possession.

But Minho's words slither through your mind, dark tendrils of suspicion entangling around each memory. "He'll never love you like I do," he asserts, a bold claim that reeks of desperation and control. A control he exerts not just over your body, but over your psyche, leaving imprints of his presence in every corner of your thoughts.

"Ask him about last night," Minho whispers as if you’re not the only one listening to his message, suggesting secrets shared between shadows, the very insinuation designed to unhinge you. 

You picture Chan's dimpled smile, that easy charm that could disarm and deceive, and wonder if there's truth to the venomous seeds Minho plants. 

“Where he was; who he was with. Let’s see how honest he’ll be. But enough about him, cause he won’t be around for long. I’ll make sure of that. In the meantime, think of me when he's inside you," he adds and you can practically hear the smirk that covers his face. It’s the same smirk he would flash before pinning you against a wall, his lips at your neck, his body driving yours to the brink of madness. It's a stark reminder of the duality of desire, a force that can both liberate and enslave.

With a shaky exhale, you drop the phone, Minho's twisted declarations reverberating through the room. His ability to infiltrate your sanctuary, the one place where you should feel safe, makes your skin crawl. You're caught in the crossfire of an emotional battleground, and the scars of this war threaten to be more than skin deep.

"Fuck," you curse aloud again, the sound harsh in the silence. This isn't just a game of jealous lovers; it's psychological warfare, and you're the territory being fought over. Minho's fixation is no longer just a spark of madness; it's a raging inferno, and you're perilously close to being consumed by the flames.

You thumb the screen of your phone, hesitating on Chan’s contact. Your pulse throbs in your temples, a reminder of Minho's last haunting words. With a push of willpower that feels like moving mountains, you tap the call button and bring the device to your ear. The ringing is a lifeline, each tone severing a thread of panic.

"Hey," Chan's voice, deep and soothing, cascades into your senses, steadying the tremors that quake through you. "What's up?"

"Minho," you begin, throat tight, "he confronted me today, during my run." You recount the encounter, the suffocating fear, Minho's threats hissing between your teeth like venom.

"Jesus," Chan breathes out, and you can picture him: brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, both dimples present from his concern-hardened face. "I'm sorry. That shouldn't have happened."

‘Shouldn't’ doesn't change the fact that it did, and your body remembers the proximity of Minho's heat, the baritone timber of his possessive claims. But Chan's words are soothing, a fleeting comfort that you cling to.

"Stay with me," you whisper, not ready to lose the connection, the sense of safety his voice provides.

"Of course," he assures. “I can be there in ten minutes.” 

“Okay,” you sigh out in relief. 

"Just keep the doors and windows locked," Chan adds, protective instincts laced with hints of his own fears. "I’ll be there soon."

You hang up with Chan, his promises still a warm echo in your ear, but they do nothing to quell your nerves.

A few hours later, night presses against the windows, dark and silent, watching. You move through the house, double-checking locks, drawing curtains closed against unseen watchers. Every creak, every sigh of the building sets your nerves alight.

“Relax,” Chan tells you, but you can’t. Not with the memory of Minho's threats still burning in your mind. You sit on the edge of the bed, knees drawn up to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Chan has been here for a while now, trying to soothe and comfort you, but nothing seems to be working.

"I can't calm down," you admit, voice trembling. "I keep thinking about what happened today."

Chan sighs and sits down next to you, placing a gentle hand on your back. "It's understandable that you're shaken up," he says softly. "But try not to let it consume you."

"I know," you reply, rubbing at your eyes tiredly.

There's a moment of silence before Chan stands up abruptly and offers his hand to help you up as well. "Come on," he says with a small smile. "Let me draw you a bath."

You follow him into the bathroom, watching as he fills the tub with warm water and adds some body wash and drops of essential oil.

You step in, the water scalding, hoping to cleanse away the day’s nerves and the taint of Minho’s touch. Steam curls around you. You sink deeper, allowing the heat to seep into your bones. Minutes later, Chan slides in behind you, urging you to rest against his chest and you oblige. 

The warm water and Chan's touch serve as a temporary distraction, but they can't erase the events of the day from your mind. You try to relax, to let go of the tension that still coils within you, but it's difficult when your thoughts keep drifting back to Minho and his threats.

Chan senses your restlessness and he tightens his hold on you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. "I'm here," he murmurs. "You're safe with me."

You close your eyes, trying to focus on Chan's presence and his comforting words. Slowly, you begin to relax under his touch.

"Better?" Chan asks after a while.

You nod, feeling more at ease now that you're in Chan's arms.

"Good," he says with a soft smile. "Let's stay like this for a bit longer."

You lean back against him, enjoying the feeling of being held and protected by someone who cares about you. The fear and anxiety that had consumed you earlier start to fade away as Chan continues to soothe you.

His hand wanders, causing the water to ripple gently as he traces lines and curves on your body, eventually seeking solace in the depths of your warmth. You sigh softly as his fingers enter you slowly. 

As Chan's fingers move inside you, a tremble moves through your body. The warmth of the water envelopes you both, heightening the sensations coursing through your body. You tilt your head back, baring your neck for him, silently inviting more.

Chan obliges, his lips trailing feverish kisses along your neck and shoulder, his fingers picking up the pace. The rhythm of his touch is both soothing and electrifying, making your toes curl and the tension in your muscles unravel.

"Mmmh," you moan, gripping the edge of the tub as the pleasure intensifies. 

"I’m here," he whispers between kisses, slipping a third finger inside you.

His fingers continue to move in slow, sensual strokes, each touch as if to erase the memory of Minho's intrusion.

As he brings you closer to the brink of release, you cling to him tighter, grounding yourself in the here and now, in the safety and familiarity of him. The orgasm when it comes is a cleansing wave, washing away some of the nerves that had plagued you all day.

Chan's arms tighten around you as your breathing returns to normal. "Are you good?" he asks softly, planting a light kiss on your damp temple.

"Mmm-hmm," you manage softly. 

Eventually, the water starts to cool. Chan helps you up, rinses your body with the detachable shower head, and then assists you out of the tub. He dries your body with a towel before picking you up bridal style and carrying you into the bedroom.

He lays you down gently on the bed and covers you with blankets before joining you under the covers himself. He pulls you close, tucking your head under his chin as he wraps his arms around you protectively.

"You know I love you right?" he whispers against your hair.

"I know," you reply.

You drift off to sleep in Chan's arms, feeling safe and loved for the first time since Minho's confrontation. Your dreams are peaceful for once, free from any nightmares or worries.

A few hours later, when you wake up in Chan's embrace, everything feels a little bit brighter. But you still have to deal with Minho and his threats.

You slowly climb out of the bed, careful not to wake Chan, and head to the kitchen for a glass of water. As you stand in the living room, you stare out the window, wondering if Minho is lurking out there in the dark.

You press your forehead against the cool glass, the night's ebony veil punctuating your tumultuous thoughts. Your breath fogs up the window pane, obscuring the world outside, a reflection of the chaos muddling your mind. The decision hangs in the air, thick and heavy. Should you call the authorities on Minho? 

You swallow the lump of anxiety forming in your throat, the taste as bitter as the betrayal that has led you here.

"Fuck it," you murmur, the words dancing into the night, bold and resolute. The possibility of involving the police prickles at your skin as your nails dig into the windowsill. You can almost feel Minho out there, watching, waiting, a predator in the shadows of your deepest fears.

You step away from the window, your movements deliberate, every sense heightened. You think back to Minho’s words from the voice mail early today, “He won’t be around for long. I’ll make sure of that.” The threat was clear. It’s in this moment that you make the decision to go to the police.

[luckyroll3]

Christopher threatening to smack disrespectful Stays in his live this morning is the highlight of my week. And also very hot! [Off to use this as inspiration for a fic....😏😂]

[luckyroll3]

Mine Chapter 13

Mine Masterlist Previous Chapter

Your phone buzzes, disturbing the calm of your evening solitude. The screen lights up with Chan’s name and an invitation. 

Chan: Up for meeting for coffee?

It's succinct, casual, but you know there's nothing casual about this. Your fingers hover, indecisive. Part of you wants to ignore it, to sink back into the safety of oblivion, but curiosity is a persistent itch beneath your skin. You send a simple reply.

You: Where?

Chan: Le Café Noir

The name alone stirs feelings within you. That was one of the spots you and Chan frequented when you were together, memories of shared laughter and secret touches beneath the table. You hesitate, feel the weight of all those unresolved emotions—the love, the hurt, the betrayal—clenching in your chest like a fist. But ultimately, the need to see him, to hear what he has to say, propels you out the door.

You arrive, heart pounding, Le Café Noir looming before you, its windows slightly fogged. You push through the door, and the familiar scent of their signature lavender latte wraps around you.

There he is: Chan, sitting at a corner table near the back, exuding that effortless charisma. His light brown hair is tousled, just the way it always gets when he runs his fingers through it, an absent-minded habit you remember all too well. As your eyes lock onto his, he greets you with that dimpled smile, the one that could always cut through your defenses no matter how high you built them. You approach, each step laden with the gravity of what once was and what might yet be.

"Hey," he says softly, as if the word carries the weight of every apology he's ever owed you. The simple greeting belies the simmering tension that stretches between you, the current so potent it's almost palpable. 

"Hi, Chan." Your voice is steady despite the chaos inside you.

He gestures to the chair across from him where there’s already a coffee waiting for you. You sit, folding your hands atop the table to conceal their subtle trembling. Chan looks at you, really looks at you, his warm brown eyes searching, brimming with an earnestness that tugs at the frayed edges of your heart. He's wearing a leather jacket over a graphic tee, his style screaming bad-boy charm, but you know better. You've seen the vulnerability behind the veneer.

"I'm sorry," he begins, his voice low, intimate, as if the words are for you and you alone. "For everything. I made mistakes…mistakes I regret more than you can imagine."

As he speaks, each syllable seems to reverberate within you, stirring dormant embers of happier times. The way he'd look at you across a crowded room, the heat of his gaze setting your skin ablaze, the late-night confessions whispered against the curve of your neck. The longing, the nostalgia… It gnaws at you with hungry teeth.

"Chan…," you breathe out, and it feels like a release, an unraveling. His hand twitches on the table, as if he's fighting the urge to reach out, to bridge the chasm of distance and past hurts with the warmth of his touch.

"Please, just listen.”

"Okay," you say, and the word is a key turning in a long-locked door to open it. "I'm listening."

“I..." He trails off, struggling to find the words, and in that hesitation, you see the flicker of the man you fell for, the one who'd fight the world for those he loved, even if he couldn't fight for himself. "I know I hurt you," he says earnestly, "and I can't take back what I did. But I want to make things right. Will you give me that chance?"

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you gaze into his pleading face. You know that forgiving him won't erase the past or guarantee a future without pain, but there's still a part of you that wants to believe in second chances.

"I don't know if I can," you say honestly, your voice quivering with emotion.

He nods understandingly and reaches across the table to take your hand gently in his own. "I understand," he says softly. "But please know that I never stopped loving you."

And just like that, all your walls come crashing down. You see the sincerity in his eyes and feel the warmth of his touch on your skin, and suddenly all the hurt and anger seem so insignificant compared to what you once had.

"I've missed you," you admit quietly, tears now streaming down your cheeks.

A small smile tugs at Chan's lips as he pulls out a tissue from his pocket and hands it to you. You laugh through your tears, knowing that he probably brought the tissues for himself; he’s the crier between the two of you. You wipe them away before meeting his gaze once again.

"Can we start over?" he asks, his eyes pleading.

It's a loaded question, but one you can’t answer just yet. Your heart feels like a clenched fist in your chest as you sit across from Chan in the muted light of the café. The clink of porcelain and murmur of voices fade into the background as you brace yourself to peel back the layers of pain.

"Chan," you start, sitting back in the chair and slowly pulling your hand away from his, "I need to understand why you did it. Why her? Claire. Why cheat? Why wasn’t I enough?" Your voice shakes slightly, betraying the turmoil beneath your calm exterior.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his athletic build tensing as he prepares to bare his soul. "I felt cornered," he confesses, his warm brown eyes locking onto yours, raw with an honesty that slices through you. "Like I was being pushed towards something I wasn't sure I wanted, or was ready for, yet. Marrying you... it seemed inevitable, but part of me panicked, wanted to destroy it all before it consumed me. And Claire was just… there. There wasn’t anything special about her other than she was always flirting with me."

The sting of his words lashes against you, cruel whips of betrayal. Incredulity hardens your voice as you reply, "I never asked you for anything more than what we had. You set the pace. Always." The memories of your patience clash with the present, fueling your indignation.

Chan nods, the lines of regret etched deep on his face. "I know, I did. But it wasn't you," he insists, the quiet intensity in his tone making your skin prickle with awareness. "It was everyone else: my parents, my sister, our friends, even the damn people at work. They kept asking when I'd propose and lock you down, as if it was a foregone conclusion. It got under my skin, made me rebel against what I secretly craved."

You search his face, looking for the man who once made your world spin, now revealing cracks in his armor. Your body reacts despite the anger, the intimate setting amplifying the tension between you.

"Was self-sabotage worth losing us?" Your question is a soft growl, laced with both accusation and longing.

"Never," he whispers, leaning forward, so close the scent of his cologne wraps around you. "I lost myself in fear and hurt the one person I love most."

"Love," you echo, the word a ghostly touch against your lips. The air between you crackles, thick with unspoken desires and regrets. You can feel the heat of his gaze, imagining the roughness of his hands as they once explored every inch of you, the thought alone igniting a fire within. You look away, shifting your gaze out the window. 

The cafe's hum fades to a murmur, an inconsequential backdrop as Chan's hand reaches across the table towards yours again. His fingertips brush against your skin, the barest contact sending a shockwave of electricity through your veins. You've forgotten how much you crave this, his touch, the simple connection that speaks directly to your heart, igniting old flames with the ease of striking a match.

"Look at me," he whispers, his voice like velvet, dark and rich with hidden promises.

You turn your gaze back to meet his, and there’s something in those deep pools of brown that hooks into the rawest part of you. The part that aches and yearns, that remembers the way he used to look at you when desire and love was all that existed between you. It's all there, in the warmth of his eyes, in the lines of his face that have grown sharper with regret.

"Listen," he says, his thumb now stroking the inside of your palm, a caress that sends shivers up your arm. "I fucked up. I know that. And I'm sorry. For the pain, for the betrayal, for everything."

Your breath hitches at the sincerity etched in his every word, but the wound he left is still fresh, still bleeding. "Words don't erase memories, Chan. The hurt... it lingers."

"Let me make it right." His grip tightens, a silent plea. “I can’t lose you, not again.”

"Chan…" you begin, but he cuts you off, urgency lacing his tone.

"Please. I'm begging you. Our time apart… it was hell without you. It showed me there's no one else, just you. Only you." His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "I want a life with you. A future."

The thought of it, of him, of what could be, sparks a fire low in your belly, a heat that has nothing to do with the tepid coffee in front of you. A hunger, long-suppressed, claws its way to the surface, demanding to be sated.

"And Claire?" Your voice is steady, but inside, you're trembling.

"Promoted. Moved to another city. She won't come between us anymore. No one will again." His eyes plead for forgiveness, for a chance to prove his words true.

It's reckless, the way your heart lurches at his confession, at the possibility of reclaiming what was once yours. The idea that he might actually mean it, that he could be yours again, body and soul. But then, caution has never been your strong suit, not where Chan is concerned. Not even when you first met.

"Taking you back..." you trail off, the unfinished sentence hanging heavy between you. "It means risking everything. Again."

"I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret it." His lips are so close to yours now, a mere whisper away. The air is thick with his scent now. It's intoxicating, maddening.

With your free hand, you circle the rim of your coffee cup, the porcelain cool and smooth beneath your fingertips. Across from you, Chan waits. The urge to take him back, tugs at your core. But the scars of heartbreak are not easily forgotten, nor is the sage advice of Liz and Lucas, their voices ghosts in your mind.

It’s okay to be alone, Liz's voice echoes, her warning wrapped in a veil of concern. Heal.

Take it slow, Lucas’ chimes in.

But as you sit there, the weight of history pressing down upon you, you cannot dismiss the simple truth that Chan is etched into your very being. Five years of love can’t be swept away by a few months apart or the bitter taste of betrayal.

"Chan," you begin, the word laced with a thousand memories, releasing something within you. "This... us... it's never been simple."

He leans in, elbows resting on the table, his presence a gravitational pull. "Nothing worth having ever is," he says, his voice low and certain.

"Maybe so,” you concede, “but I can't dive back in. I won't… not until trust is rebuilt brick by painstaking brick. You have to prove to me that you’re worth letting back into my life,” you say softly, tasting the shape of future possibilities on your tongue.

"Every damn day," he vows, and the raw determination in his eyes is your undoing. After a brief silence he adds, “So we can we… Can we start over?” Chan's question hangs in the air, a plea wrapped in hope and shadowed by the specter of past sins.

"Yes. But we need to take this slow," you state, a declaration and a dare all at once.

"As slow as you need us to go," he agrees, sealing the vow as if it were a sacred pact.

The air around you thickens, heavy with unsaid desires and unspent passion. The need to feel him against you, skin against skin, mouth against mouth, is an inferno raging within your veins. You crave the raw thrust of his body, the primal rhythm that speaks of ownership and surrender. It’s a hunger that has gnawed at your insides since the moment you walked in.

"No more second chances, Chan," you warn, even as you imagine how his hands would feel roaming over the canvas of your flesh, rough and demanding. "This is it. Break my heart again, and there won't be anything left to salvage. After all of this…," you say softly, referencing both him and Minho, “I don’t know I can take much more.”

"Understood," he replies, his hand squeezing yours in a silent promise. 

You emerge from the café with Chan, the last traces of daylight painting the world in shades of amber and rose. The park beckons, a lush expanse of greenery that promises a refuge from the chaos of your thoughts. As you step into the embrace of nature, the scent of damp earth and the chorus of evening birdsong envelop you.

"Remember the time we fed the ducks here?" Chan's voice is a low hum, a pleasant vibration against the canvas of silence around you. You nod, recalling how his laughter had echoed across the water, how the sun had glinted off his tousled hair.

"Those ducks were practically mugging us for bread," you reply, the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. The tension that has been coiling within you begins to unravel, thread by thread, as laughter bubbles from your chest, light and unburdened.

"Highway robbery in broad daylight," he chuckles, and the sound is rich, infused with an intimacy that seeps into your pores, heavy with memories. The warmth of his arm brushes against yours, sending ripples of heat coursing through your veins.

"Good thing you were there to protect us," you tease, eyes dancing with mirth as you nudge him playfully. "You took on those winged bandits like a true knight."

"Always," he says, a playful smirk curving his lips. "For you, I'd fight off a whole flock."

The air between you crackles, charged with a current that's both familiar and dangerously new. It's the slow burn of embers waiting to ignite, the simmering cauldron of longing and anticipation. Step by step, you walk alongside him, your bodies maintaining a careful distance even as every fiber of your being yearns to bridge the gap.

"Look at that sunset," you murmur, gesturing towards the horizon where the sky bleeds into a fiery spectacle. "It's like the universe painted it just for us."

Chan follows your gaze, his proximity a magnetic force pulling you closer. "Beautiful," he agrees, but his eyes are not on the sky; they're fixed on you, intense and unflinching.

The dying light drapes you both in a golden veil, the world around you fading into a backdrop for this moment, this precarious dance of reconnection. Your heart thuds against your ribs.

Chan steps closer to you, his eyes half-lidded in the dimming light, a silent invitation that sends waves of anticipation rippling through you. His gaze drops down to your lips and then back up to your eyes. "May I?" His voice is barely audible over the rustling leaves. You nod, and the moment his lips touch yours, gentle as the first drop of rain on parched earth, you're transported back to a time when love was simple, and trust wasn't a casualty.

His kiss is soft, explorative, like he’s relearning the shape and curves of your mouth, rediscovering territory once so familiar. Heat blooms within you, unfurling like a flower at dawn, as you taste the subtle sweetness that lingers on his tongue. The world tilts, and you fall, willingly, into the abyss of sensation.

Your hands roam, slipping under his leather jacket to map the expanse of his muscular back, tracing the lines etched into his shoulders. The fabric of his tee bunches beneath your fingers, a barrier you're desperate to eliminate. When Chan's hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you deeper into the kiss, there's no hesitation, only the deep-seated urge to merge, to erase the space between your bodies.

You let out a moan, unrestrained, as your mouths clash with renewed fervor, tongues tangling. His hands slide down, gripping your ass with an ownership that speaks of past intimacies, of nights spent wrapped in each other's arms, gasping into the dark.

"Slow... we said slow," you gasp, the protest dying on your lips as his tongue slips past them once again. You allow yourself one more minute to indulge in Chan before you pull away from him.

The taste of him still lingers like the finest liquor on your tongue. Your chest heaves, a testament to the rush of blood singing through your veins. His eyes are dark pools of need, mirroring the storm that's been brewing within you since the moment you laid eyes on him today. 

"Chan..." you start, but words fail as you share a tender smile, one that holds the weight of histories rekindled, the kindling of something fiery and raw. 

"Wow," he breathes out, his thumb brushing your cheek in a featherlight caress, leaving trails of fire. "I've missed us."

Your heart flutters against your ribcage, each beat spelling out the hope and excitement that's blossoming between you, fierce and unyielding. It would be so easy to lose yourself in him again, to let go of all restraint and drown in the depths of what was once shattered, yet now seeks to mend.

"Come back to my place?" Chan's voice is a husky whisper, heavy with desire, his hand reaching out tentatively as if to tether you to him.

The suggestion sounds enticing, but deep in your core, the embers of caution flare up. You remember the promises you made to yourself, the journey of healing you embarked upon, the resolve to take things at a pace that won't leave you lost in the whirlwind of passion and pain.

"I can't, Chan." Your voice is soft but firm, wrapped in the silk of newfound strength. “There’s only one thing that will happen if we go to your apartment. We have to take it slow. We need to rebuild from the ground up."

The shadow of disappointment flickers across his features, a brief cloud obscuring the warmth of his dimpled smile. But then he nods, understanding flashing in his eyes like the glint of a sword honed by regret and longing.

"You're right," he concedes, his grip on your hand both protective and reverent. "Slow is good. I don't want to mess this up; not again."

You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to the stubble along his cheek, the roughness a delicious contrast to the smoothness of your lips. The contact is chaste yet searing, a promise of what could be, a vow etched in the quiet of the night.

"Goodnight, Chan," you murmur, pulling away with a reluctance that tugs at your very soul.

"Goodnight," he echoes, the word a sigh carried away on the wind, laced with yearning and the unspoken pledge of tomorrows yet to come.

You part ways beneath the canopy of stars, the distance between you filled with the echoes of whispered touches and silent confessions. 

****

Your phone screen glows in the dim light of your bedroom, text bubbles from Chan popping up. With each passing day, the rhythm of your interactions with him becomes a soothing melody, lulling you into a sense of familiarity and warmth that you had thought was lost. 

His voice has also become your nightly serenade, a comforting presence that whispers you to sleep each night after chatting for hours. It’s very reminiscent of when you and Chan first started dating all those years ago, both of you reluctant to hang up first, so you regularly fell asleep while talking to each other on the phone. 

But you’re both determined not to do it again tonight. Finally, after talking for hours about your days at work, Chan murmurs, "Goodnight," his words heavy with sleep as the clock ticks past midnight. You can almost feel the heat of his breath against your ear, a phantom sensation that makes your skin tingle.

"Night, Chan," you reply, the phone slipping from your grasp as dreams claim you. 

Reconnecting with Chan over the past week has brought you so much joy, it temporarily made you forget about your challenges with Minho. 

A couple nights later a sharp rap on your door startles you; your heart stutters in your chest as fear grips you for a moment, the possibility of Minho lurking on the other side of your door sends a chill crawling across your skin.

But it's Chan who waits on the other side of the peephole, his eyes crinkling with mirth, bags of takeout in hand. Relief floods through you, washing away the icy tendrils of dread. You swing open the door, and he stands there, the aroma of garlic swirling around him like an olfactory embrace.

"Thought we could use some comfort food," he says, his voice low and velvety, a sound you've come to crave more than the richest chocolate.

"God, you read my mind," you breathe out, stepping aside to let him in, the air thick with unspoken promises.

Chan sets down the bags on your coffee table, revealing the treasures within, promising flavors forged in the heat of Mario the Baker's ovens, one of your favorite restaurants: lasagna layered like sedimentary rock; garlic knots glistening with butter, their twisted forms begging to be pulled apart; tiramisu, a decadent landscape of mascarpone and espresso-soaked ladyfingers, dusted with cocoa.

"Everything looks amazing," you sigh after inhaling deeply. You look up at Chan, eyes wide and pleading. “Please tell me you got the lasagna with the meatballs baked into it??”

"Any other lasagna is trash!” he replies with a smirk, causing you to grin widely. “And only the best for you." His voice is soft, his gaze holding yours, a smoldering intensity flickering within, before he leans in to press a gentle kiss on your lips. 

You reach for a garlic knot, fingers brushing against Chan's as you do. The contact is electric, a current that jolts directly to your core. You wonder if he feels it too, this magnetic pull that seems to draw you ever closer, despite your intentions to take things slow.

"Let's dig in," he suggests, his lips quirking up in a smile that's all too knowing.

You nod, your body acutely aware of his proximity, the heat emanating from him in waves. As you sit side by side on the floor, knees occasionally grazing, you find yourself savoring not just the flavors of the food, but the delicious tension that hangs between you, a dessert yet to be indulged.

You're perched on the plush carpet, Chan's presence a gravitational pull as you share laughter over mouthfuls of lasagna. The clink of wine glasses punctuates the room, resonating with a crispness that matches the burgeoning tension between you. Each sip is like kindling, the rich red liquid fanning flames in your belly that spread through your limbs.

"God, I missed this," he confesses, his voice husky, fingers dancing perilously close to yours, grazing with an intention that sends ripples across your skin. “Just hanging out with you.” You catch his gaze, a tempestuous sea reflecting back at you, warm and dangerous. His touch crawls up your arm, leaving scorching trails in its wake.

"Me too," you breathe out, your words staggering, tripping over the sudden dryness in your throat. The air between you thickens, laden with unspoken promises and desires, a delicious haze that muddles your senses. You move imperceptibly closer, the heat from his body searing through the chilled space around you.

The remainder of dinner passes in a blur, the world shrinking until it's just Chan, you, and the electric current zapping every time skin grazes skin. Laughter fades into soft sighs, and playful banter gives way to weighted silence, heavy with want. When he looks at you, it's with a raw hunger, one that mirrors the gnawing ache deep within your own core. 

Chan brings his wine glass to his lips and guzzles what remains of the red liquid as his eyes lock on yours. 

"Fuck, I can't take it anymore," Chan growls, setting his glass aside with a thud that echoes like a starting gun. His hands quickly frame your face, rough and sure, pulling you into a kiss that detonates through you, incendiary and all-consuming.

"Chan…" Your protest dies on your lips, crushed by the urgency of his mouth against yours. Without detaching from your mouth, he pushes everything from the coffee table, boxes and plastic bags and plates falling to the floor, and then he lifts you up and on to it. The wooden surface is cool against your back as he lays you down so slowly it belies the carnal intent glittering in his eyes.

"I want you," he pants, words slurred with wine and lust. He pulls off your sweatpants and your dampened panties, tossing them both over his shoulder. This is quickly followed by your shirt going over your head, leaving you stark naked, baring you to his ravenous gaze. 

Chan’s hands are everywhere, exploring every inch of your body as if it’s the first time he’s discovering it. His fingers probe and stroke, mapping the geography of your yearning flesh with the precision of a cartographer possessed. Each touch sets off tremors that shake you to your core. 

“Do you want me?” he murmurs against your skin. He presses a series of kisses along your collarbone. 

"Please, Chan," you whimper, desperation clawing at your voice, as you try to hold on to this concept of going slow. "I need…"

"Say it," he commands, his own control frayed to tatters as he peels off his shirt and stands to free himself from his jeans, his desire for you naked, pulsing, and unashamed.

“Yes.” You give in with a whisper. "Fuck me," you plead, unabashed and raw, and he obliges with a thrust that cleaves you open, a perfect agony that blooms into blinding pleasure as he bottoms out. 

The rhythm he sets is relentless, feral from the start; no warm-up, no mercy. It’s a pounding beat that drives the breath from your lungs and sends stars scattering behind your eyelids.

"Harder," you gasp, spurring him into a fervor. His grip on your thighs is bruising as he folds you in half, knees pinned to your chest so he can go deeper, the force of his body against yours a tempest that threatens to tear you asunder.

His mouth finds yours again in a messy collision of lips and teeth and tongues as his hips snap forward again and again. Every thrust punches a moan from your throat until you’re sobbing for air between gasps of, “don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

"I’m yours," he grunts, each word punctuated with another snap of his hips that pushes you closer to the edge. "Always forever yours."

The coil inside you tightens viciously, and when release crashes over you, it's a cataclysm that shatters your composure into a thousand shards of ecstasy. You cling to him like a lifeline as pleasure makes your entire body tingle. Chan follows, burying himself deep within you, a symphony of guttural moans marking his own undoing as he spills into you, hot and claiming. As you hold on to each other, it feels like coming home. 

"Christ," Chan pants, collapsing onto the floor while grasping your hand in his, both of you slick with sweat and sated desires. He brings your wrist to his lips and kisses it gently. The aftermath is a serene lull, the carnage of your passion strewn around the living room, a testament to the ferocity of your rekindled connection. 

Chan's arms cradle you as he scoops you up and carries you to the sanctuary of your bedroom. The world outside this embrace ceases to exist as he lays you down on the bed, the sheets cool against your fevered skin. You nestle beneath the covers next to Chan, his body a solid warmth beside you, enveloping you in an intimate cocoon.

He holds you close, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear as he runs gentle fingers through your hair. You lay there together in comfortable silence. 

"Sorry," he murmurs, voice tinged with regret. "I really meant to take things slow."

But you don't need slow. Not now. Not after feeling adrift for so long. His presence is an anchor, grounding you in this moment of pure contentment. "It's okay," you assure him, voice barely above a whisper. "This... us... it's right. I'm where I want to be." After a beat, you add, “And we were never good at the slow part,” causing him to chuckle.

The room is quiet, save for the rhythmic beat of your hearts, a testament to the fervor that claimed you both. Your thoughts wander to practicalities, the mundane realities waiting beyond these sheets. 

"Chan?" you start, tentative. "My lease is up in two months."

Silence stretches, taut as a bowstring, and uncertainty gnaws at you. Have you pushed too far, too fast? But just as you're about to backtrack, to soothe any pressure he might feel, Chan speaks.

"Mine's up in three," he says, his voice measured but laced with something new. "Maybe… we should look for a place together? Even buy something... if you want."

Shock jolts through you, followed swiftly by a surge of excitement. This is commitment, a future unfurling before you. "You mean that?" you ask, breath hitching with the implications.

"I do," he assures you, his tone resolute. "I want us to start fresh. Together."

Gratitude overwhelms you, and you kiss him, a seal to his promise. The touch reignites the smoldering embers of desire, and soon you're lost in each other once more. You give in to the magnetic pull, collapsing into each other with a reckless surrender that comes from knowing and losing and finding again. You cling to him as your bodies entwine, familiar and new all at once, a revelation of what it means to belong.

You sigh at the sensation that floods your senses, drowning in the slow deliberate push of his cock, the way he stretches time with every luxurious thrust. It's a sweet torture, a languid revisit of your frantic frenzy on the coffee table. This time it's unhurried. Each caress is a rediscovery, every gasp a devotion whispered in the dark. You savor the taste of him, the weight of his body as he moves within you, slow, deliberate, deep. Every touch, every movement is a balm to the raw ache you've felt since that day you kicked him out.

"Fuck…,” he exhales, voice barely a tremor. “I didn’t think I’d get to ever feel you like this again," he groans, his movements punctuating his words. You clasp onto him, urging him closer, needing to obliterate any distance between you.

"More," you beg, nails raking along his back, marking him as much as he marks you with each relentless thrust. He obliges, every stroke a carnal vow binding you tighter to him.

The room is filled with the sweet scent of sweat and sex as your bodies move together in perfect synchrony. Chan's fingers graze over your skin so lightly, eliciting shivers of pleasure that cascade down your spine.

His lips trail along your throat. Your hands tangle in his hair as he kisses down your chest and takes one of your breasts into his mouth.

You arch into him as he sucks on your nipple while his hand kneads the other breast with expert precision. Every touch is electrifying and sends sparks flying through your veins.

"I want to taste all of you," Chan murmurs against your skin before pulling out and trailing kisses down to your stomach. He nips at the soft skin around your bellybutton before settling his face between your legs.

His tongue swirls around your clit and sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. You cry out his name as he continues to lavish attention on this sensitive spot until you're writhing beneath him, lost in the pleasure he's giving you. 

As your climax washes over you, Chan doesn't let up, his mouth still working diligently to prolong your ecstasy. You moan and gasp as he brings you to new heights of euphoria. He deposits kisses back up your body, slowly sliding his cock back into your quivering pussy. He fucks you through the rest of your orgasm, allowing you to ride out every last wave of pleasure until you finally collapse onto the bed, panting and spent.

Chan lies beside you, a satisfied grin on his face. His arms wrap around your naked form, pulling you close against him. “I hope this is what forever feels like,” he whispers into your ear, before pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You turn to face him, cupping his face in your hands. “Me too,” you whisper back with sincerity. “Me too.”

[luckyroll3]

Unexpected Chapter 31: Baby You Got Someone

Unexpected Masterlist Previous Chapter

A/N: Last 4 chapters, y'all!

Chan

Chan's heart pounded as he rushed through the hospital corridors with Mia, his hand gripped tightly in hers. The sterile white walls and pungent scent of disinfectant faded into the background, his focus solely on being there for her. Glancing at Mia's tense profile, he squeezed her hand in reassurance. 

Internally, nerves jittered through his stomach at the impending introduction to Jason. What would Mia's ex think of him? Would there be awkwardness or animosity? Chan took a deep breath, pushing the doubts aside. Right now, Mia needed his strength and support. He had to be her rock.

As they burst into the waiting room, Mia suddenly froze, her eyes locking on a tall figure across the room. Chan followed her gaze, and his breath caught. The man was ridiculously handsome, at least six feet, with chiseled features, smooth mocha colored skin, hazel eyes, and dressed impeccably in very casual, but expensive, clothes that accentuated his muscular physique. He exuded confidence and charisma, even as he was distraught. 

So this is Jason, Chan thought. His stomach sank as he took in the impressive figure. Of course Mia's ex would be devastatingly good-looking and put-together; her mirror. Chan suddenly felt young and inadequate in comparison. 

"Jason!" Mia called out, breaking away from Chan to rush into the man's open arms. 

Chan hung back awkwardly as he watched them embrace tightly, giving each other soft kisses on the cheek, murmuring words of comfort to each other. Jason's large frame enveloped Mia as she pressed her face into his broad chest. They fit together with the familiarity of a couple who had once been intimate in every way. 

Chan's chest tightened. He knew it was irrational to feel threatened or jealous. Mia was just supporting her friend during a family tragedy after Chan encouraged her to. But seeing their obvious bond and closeness stirred up all his deep-seated insecurities. 

Taking a shaky breath, Chan willed himself to stay calm and not let his inner turmoil show. Mia was relying on him to be strong and steady. He couldn't make this awful situation about himself and his petty worries. Chan straightened his shoulders as he shoved his hands in his jean pockets and fixed a neutral expression on his face, determined to get through this with maturity and grace for Mia's sake.

After a few long moments, Mia pulled back from Jason's embrace, wiping at her damp eyes. She glanced over her shoulder, seeming to suddenly remember Chan's presence. 

"Oh Chris, come here," she called out, waving him over. "I want you to meet Jason."

Chan's feet felt like lead as he forced himself to approach the intimidating figure of Mia's ex. Up close, Jason was even more imposing as he towered over Chan, all chiseled features and piercing eyes that seemed to see right through him. 

"Jay, this is Chris, my boyfriend; the guy I told you about." Mia introduced, placing a hand on Chan's arm. Chan realized this was the first time he'd heard Mia refer to him out loud as ‘her boyfriend'. He liked how it sounded.

"Nice to meet you," Chan managed, extending a hand. "I'm so sorry to hear about your brother."

Jason gripped his hand firmly, his gaze assessing as it swept over Chan from head to toe. "Thanks for coming," he said gruffly. "It means a lot to me that you’re here."

Chan nodded, unsure what to say. The air felt thick with tension and unspoken history between the three of them. Chan's mind raced, trying to think of something intelligent and insightful to add.

"How... how is he doing? Any updates from the doctors?" he asked tentatively.

Jason sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. "Still in a coma. They're monitoring him closely but won't know more until he wakes up." 

Mia reached out to squeeze Jason's arm. "He'll pull through this. Jacob's strong and stubborn, just like you," she reassured with a light smile.

“Ha ha,” Jason said sarcastically as he gave her a pained smile before turning back to Chan. "So, Mia tells me you're from Korea?" His tone was polite but distant.

"Ah, actually Australia," Chan demurred. "But I live in Korea now for work." 

Jason nods as he chuckles. “Yeah, I don’t know why I said that. That’s definitely not a Korean accent.” Chan smiled at his joke.

An awkward silence descended as the three stood there, the beeping of machines and distant chatter of the hospital filling the space between them. Chan shifted his weight from foot to foot. Mia noticed, giving him a look before grabbing his hand. 

As Mia and Jason started to talk again, he wondered if he should offer to give them privacy, but was loath to leave Mia's side when she might need him. So, he just waited, trying not to fidget noticeably, as Mia and Jason continued their hushed conversation.

Chan couldn't help but notice the way Mia touched Jason's arm so tenderly, how in sync they seemed even in this horrible situation. He wondered, did she touch him like that? Look at him with the same softness and concern? He could only hope that time and shared experiences would eventually build that kind of connection between them.

For now, Chan resigned himself to being the awkward third wheel, the new boyfriend who couldn't possibly understand the depth of emotions at play. But he was determined to push through the discomfort and be there for Mia in whatever way she needed. Even if that meant making painful small talk with the man who used to share her bed and her heart.

As a doctor emerged from the ICU, Chan kissed Mia’s hand before releasing it and stepped back, giving Mia and Jason space to receive the update privately. Mia gave him an appreciative nod. He made his way to the waiting area, where Lianna sat scrolling through her phone. Chan sank into the chair beside her, releasing a heavy sigh.

Lianna glanced up, her brow furrowed with concern. "You okay?"

Chan forced a smile. "Yeah, just... a lot to process."

He turned his gaze back to Mia and Jason, who were now holding each other tightly as the doctor spoke. Chan's chest tightened as he watched Mia bury her face in Jason's chest, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Jason wrapped his arms around her, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Chan couldn't help but compare himself to the man being comforted by the woman he loved. Jason was tall, almost half a foot taller than Chan, although their builds were similar despite their height difference. He was also undeniably handsome, especially with those piercing eyes. He exuded confidence and success, from his designer t-shirt and jeans to his expensive watch. And he clearly had a deep, unbreakable bond with Mia.

In contrast, Chan felt young, inexperienced, short, and overall, woefully inadequate. Yeah, he was a K-pop idol, but he was more a boy playing at being a man. What could he possibly offer Mia that Jason couldn't? Why would she choose him over who she once considered the love of her life?

Lianna's gentle touch on his arm startled Chan from his spiraling thoughts. "Hey," she said softly, "don't do that to yourself."

Chan blinked at her, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I can see the wheels turning in your head," Lianna said with a knowing smile. "You're comparing yourself to Jason and wondering why Aunt Mimi would want you."

Chan ducked his head, embarrassed. "Is it that obvious?" he asked with a shy smile. 

Lianna squeezed his arm reassuringly. "She wants you, Chan. She's choosing to be with you. Don't doubt that."

"But look at them," Chan murmured, gesturing to the embracing couple. "They have so much history, so much love between them. And they look fucking great together. How can I compete with that?"

"You don't have to compete," Lianna insisted. "Aunt Mimi and Uncle Jay will always care about each other, but their romantic relationship is over. Has been for a long time. She's just being a good friend to him right now."

Chan nodded, trying to absorb Lianna's words. He knew she was right, but it was hard to quiet the insecurities swirling in his mind; he’d always had trouble with that. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was just a temporary distraction, a placeholder until Mia inevitably returned to Jason's arms. It had already happened once. Chan recognized that it was his fault that Mia ran back to Jason, but it hurt all the same.

As if sensing his turbulent emotions, Lianna leaned in and whispered, "Trust Aunt Mia, Chan. Trust what you two have together. Don't let your fears sabotage something beautiful."

Chan met Lianna's earnest gaze, seeing the genuine affection and concern in her eyes. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. He had to believe in Mia, in their connection. He had to have faith that their love was strong enough to weather any storm, even the ghost of her past.

With a grateful smile, Chan patted Lianna's hand. "Thanks, Lianna. I needed to hear that. Are you sure you’re only 18?"

Lianna grinned, her youthful face bright with optimism. "Anytime, superstar," she said, using Mia’s nickname for him.

Chan sat back in the chair, letting his head loll dramatically, then popped upright with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Saur,” he said, stretching the word out. “You and Changbin, huh? How’s that going?” he asked, shifting his tone to be more light and playful.

Lianna snorted, her thumb frozen mid-scroll as she glanced up from her phone. “Seriously, Chan?”

“I like to keep up with what my ‘kids’ are getting into.”

“Literally and figuratively,” Lianna giggled. “I guess the Stays are right about you, huh. That you’re nosey. They’re always like, ‘Bang Chan knows everything.’”

Chan grinned, delighted. “Oh absolutely. I stay in everyone’s business. You have no idea how much gossip I collect. ‘My hair is this big because it’s full of secrets.’” He leaned in, lowering his voice to an exaggerated, conspiratorial whisper.

Lianna laughed, flopping sideways so her head nearly touched his arm. “I think you meant your ass,” she whispered back, causing Chan to smirk. “Unless you want me to ask about your sex life, I’ll keep mine to myself.”

Chan almost choked, a half-laugh-half-cough escaping from him. “We are not…” he started, hands up in mock surrender, “…having that conversation with your aunt in the room, or ever, actually.”

“That’s what I thought.” Lianna returned her gaze to her phone, a pleased look on her face. “I’ll just get the details from Changbin…,” Chan mumbled. Lianna gave him a side-eye.

A few minutes later, a tall, distinguished-looking man in a white coat approached them, his features bearing a striking resemblance to Lianna's. Chan stood up, smoothing his t-shirt nervously as Lianna rose to greet the man.

"Dad!" Lianna exclaimed, hugging him tightly. "I'm so glad you're here."

The man smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Hi sweetheart."

“Dad, this is Chan,” Lianna said, introducing them. 

Michael turned his attention to Chan, extending a hand. "Wow! The Bang Chan! I'm Michael Brooks, Lianna's father."

Chan shook his hand firmly, trying to project confidence despite his nerves. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Brooks. I've heard so much about you from Mia."

Michael's smile widened. "Please, call me Mike. And I must say, I'm a big fan of your music, Chan. Your talent is truly remarkable."

Chan felt a flush of pride at the compliment. "Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you."

Michael clapped him on the shoulder, his touch reassuring. "I've only heard good things about you, Chan. From both Lianna and Mia. They speak very highly of you."

Chan ran his fingers through his hair, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "Really?"

Michael nodded. “And you know those two are too damn honest for their own good! So they must really like you.” he added with a chuckle, causing Chan to laugh. 

“Dad!” Lianna nudged him with her shoulder. “What? It’s true.” He kissed Lianna affectionately on her temple. His expression soon turned serious. "I better go check on Jacob and consult with Mia and Jason. I'll catch up with you two later, okay?"

Lianna and Chan murmured their agreement, watching as Michael strode towards the hospital room where Jacob lay.

Twenty minutes later, Michael emerged from the room, his face somber but not grim. He approached Chan and Lianna, his voice low and reassuring.

"There's no sign of brain damage at the moment," he said, his hand resting lightly on Lianna's shoulder. "But we'll need to monitor Jacob closely over the next few days. He's not out of the woods yet, but there's reason to be hopeful."

Lianna sagged with relief, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Thank God," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Michael hugged her close, his eyes meeting Chan's over the top of her head. "Mia and Jason are going to stay with him for a while longer. Why don't we head home, Lianna? You look like you could use some rest."

Lianna nodded, wiping her eyes. She turned to Chan, her smile wobbly but genuine. "I’ll see you later Chan."

Chan hugged her tightly. "Thank you so much for talking some sense into me," he murmured, his eyes finding Mia's through the glass window of Jacob's room. “Bye.”

Mia met his gaze, her eyes soft and full of gratitude. In that moment, Chan knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together. As a team. As partners.

Lianna and Michael said their goodbyes and headed for the elevators.

An hour later, Mia stepped into the waiting area, her eyes immediately drawn to Chan. He sat hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. The tension in his shoulders was palpable.

She approached him slowly, sinking into the chair beside him. "Hey," she murmured. “I finally was able to convince Jason to take a break and to find something to eat.” She placed a gentle hand on his forearm. "Are you okay?"

Chan's gaze flickered to hers, a forced smile on his lips. "I'm fine," he assured her, but the tightness in his voice betrayed his true feelings. "Don't worry about me. How's Jason holding up?"

Mia studied him for a long moment, her brows furrowed with concern. Chan knew she could see right through the walls he was trying to put up, the brave face he was attempting to maintain. She knew him so well despite their relationship being so new. "Chris," she pressed softly, "talk to me. What's going on in that head of yours?"

He shook his head, his eyes darting away from hers. "It's nothing, really. I don't want to make this about me. You have enough to worry about right now."

She reached out, cupping his cheek and gently turning his face towards hers. "Hey," she whispered, her thumb stroking the soft skin beneath his eye. "We're in this together, remember? Your feelings matter to me, Chris. Always."

Chan's resolve crumbled under the weight of her words, his shoulders sagging as he leaned into her touch. "I just...." He swallowed hard, his eyes searching hers. "Seeing you with Jason, the way he looks at you... It's hard not to feel like I'm just a placeholder, you knaur? Like I'm just keeping his seat warm until he's ready to step back in."

Mia's heart broke at the vulnerability in his voice, the raw pain etched into every line of his face. "Oh, Chris," she breathed, pulling him into her arms. "That couldn't be further from the truth." She held him close, her fingers threading through his hair as she spoke softly into his ear. "What I had with Jason... It's in the past. It's over. You are my present, and my future. You're the one I want to be with, Chris. The one I choose, every single day."

Chan's arms tightened around her, his face buried in the crook of her neck. "I want to believe that," he whispered, his voice muffled against her skin. "I do. But sometimes I can't help but wonder... Why me? Why would you choose me over him?"

Mia pulled back slightly, cradling his face in her hands. "Because you're you, Chris. You're kind, and generous, and thoughtful, and so unbelievably talented. You make me laugh, and you make me feel safe. You see me, the real me, and you accept me for who I am. Flaws and all."

She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his. "I'm not going to lie to you and say that this is going to be easy. We both have a lot of baggage, and a lot of challenges to face. But I want to face them with you, Chris. I want to build a life with you. A future. And I will do everything in my power to make you feel as loved and cherished as you make me feel every single day."

Chan's eyes glistened with unshed tears, his lips trembling as he struggled to find the words. "I want that too," he finally managed, his voice thick with emotion. "More than anything."

Mia smiled, brushing her nose against his. "Then let's make it happen," she whispered, sealing her promise with a soft, lingering kiss.

As they pulled apart, Mia rested her head on Chan's shoulder, her fingers intertwined with his. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, drawing strength from each other's presence.

"Jason seems to be holding up okay, considering the circumstances," Mia said softly, her thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of Chan's hand. "He's always been the strong one, the rock that everyone in his family leans on. But I could see the cracks starting to show."

Chan nodded, his cheek pressed against the top of Mia's head. "It's a lot for anyone to handle, let alone someone who's used to being in control all the time."

"Exactly," Mia agreed, sighing. "He's trying to stay positive, but I can tell he's terrified. Jacob is his whole world. The thought of losing him..." She trailed off, shuddering slightly.

Chan tightened his arm around her, offering silent comfort. "Jacob's in good hands," he reminded her gently. "Isn’t this one of the best trauma hospitals in the country? They'll do everything they can to help him."

"I know," Mia said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But sometimes, even the best isn't enough."

They lapsed into silence again, each lost in their own thoughts. Chan's mind drifted to Jacob, lying still and bruised in his hospital bed. He didn’t know him, but he could see how much he meant to Mia, and of course to Jason. The thought of Jason losing a brother was unbearable; it would be unbearable to Chan to lose either of his siblings.

"Thank you, Chris. For being here; for being you.” Mia lifted her head, meeting his gaze with an easy smile. Her eyes shone with gratitude and love. “I don't know what I'd do without you."

Chan leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "You'll never have to find out," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere, Mia. Not now, not ever."

Chan gazed into Mia's eyes for a moment longer before gently extracting himself from her embrace. 

"I'll go get us some tea and snacks," he said softly. "You stay here and rest for a bit."

Mia nodded, offering him a grateful smile as he stood and made his way down the hospital corridor. Chan's mind was still reeling from the events of the day, and he found himself lost in thought as he approached the vending machines.

Suddenly, a familiar voice startled him out of his reverie. "Chris."

He turned to see Jason standing behind him, his expression unreadable. Chan tensed, bracing himself for a confrontation, but to his surprise, Jason's face softened into a smile.

"I wanted to thank you," Jason said, his voice low and sincere. "For making Mia happy, and for being here for her today. I know it couldn't have been easy for you, given our history."

Chan shook his head, stunned by the unexpected olive branch. "I'm just doing what anyone would do," he said honestly. "Mia cares about you and your brother. Of course, I'll support her through this."

Jason nodded, his eyes flickering with an emotion Chan couldn't quite place. "Still, I appreciate it. I also wanted to thank you for being the bigger man. She told me you convinced her to come here. I know it must have been hard for you to put aside your own feelings and do what was best for her. I honestly don’t know if I could have done it, sending her off to an ex.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I didn't treat Mia the way she deserved, and I regret that more than I can say. But I hope you can treat her better than I did. I can already tell she’s in good hands with you.”

Chan felt a lump forming in his throat, touched by the sincerity in Jason's words. "I just want Mia to be happy," he said simply. "That's all that matters to me."

Jason smiled, clapping Chan on the shoulder. "Then we have that in common," he said warmly. "I hope that, in time, you and I can become friends. I know it would mean a lot to Mia."

Chan nodded, surprised to find that the idea didn't bother him as much as he'd expected. "I'd like that," he said honestly. "For Mia's sake, if nothing else."

Together, they made their way back to the waiting area, a new understanding blossoming between them. As they approached, Chan saw Mia's eyes widen in surprise at the sight of them walking side by side.

"Everything okay?" she asked, her gaze darting between them.

Chan smiled, taking her hand in his. "Everything's fine," he assured her. "Jason and I just had a little chat, that's all."

Mia's brow furrowed in concern, but as Jason walked to the room to check on his brother, Chan quickly filled Mia in on the details of their conversation. As he spoke, he watched the tension drain from her shoulders, replaced by a look of pure relief.

"I'm so glad you two are getting along," she said, her voice thick with emotion, "given everything that's happened."

Chan squeezed her hand. “You and I are in this together.”

Mia leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder once more. "I like the sound of that," she murmured, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Although, I have to admit, the idea of all three of us being friends is going to take some getting used to."

Chan chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "We'll take it one day at a time," he promised, his voice warm with affection.

Jason joined them in the waiting area a few minutes later. 

As the hours ticked by, Jason seemed to find solace in conversation, his attention turning to Chan's life as an idol. "So, what's it like?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair. "The fame, the fans, the endless rehearsals?"

Chan hesitated, glancing at Mia for support. She nodded encouragingly, and he took a deep breath. "It's a lot of work," he admitted, his voice thoughtful. "And I’ve given up a lot. But, it's also incredibly rewarding. The fans, the music, the chance to perform on stage... there's nothing quite like it."

Jason listened intently, his eyes alight with curiosity. He peppered Chan with questions about his training, his bandmates, and the challenges of the industry. Chan answered each one with candor, his passion for his craft evident in every word.

As the conversation flowed, Mia watched the two men with a mixture of pride and trepidation. She couldn't help but marvel at the way Chan handled himself, his natural charisma, humility, and sense of humor shining through. And yet, a part of her wondered if the differences in their lives would eventually prove too great to overcome.

****

The first rays of dawn were just beginning to filter through the hospital windows when Jason's parents arrived. Chan watched as they rushed to their son's side, their faces etched with worry and exhaustion.

"Mia, sweetheart," Jason's mother said, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Thank you for being here. We still consider you to be our daughter, you know that?"

Mia’s eyes stung with tears. "I wouldn't be anywhere else," she said softly, returning the hug with equal fervor.

Jason's father placed a hand on her shoulder, his eyes warm with gratitude. "We're so glad Jason still has you in his life," he said gruffly. "Even if things didn't work out between you two, you'll always be family to us."

Mia nodded, swallowing hard. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "That means more to me than you know."

As the Mitchell family gathered around Jacob's bedside, Chan can see a wave of sadness pass over Mia. She stepped back, as if she recognized that her presence was no longer necessary. Jason’s real family was here now. 

"I should probably get going," she said softly to Jason’s mom, her gaze flickering to Chan. "But I promise I'll come back to visit every day. And maybe we can all have dinner together sometime soon?"

Jason's parents nodded, their smiles tinged with disappointment. "We'd like that very much," his mother said, reaching out to squeeze Mia's hand. "Thank you again, sweetheart. For everything."

Jason pulled Mia into a tight hug. “Thanks M,” he said as he kissed her cheek. 

“You’ll call me if anything changes?” Mia asked as he released her.

“Of course. Chris.” He held out his hand. As Chan took his hand to shake it, Jason surprised him by pulling him in for a hug. “Great to meet you, man. And thanks.”

“Nice to finally meet you too, Jason. Good luck.”

“Shit. Do I have to worry about a bromance developing between the two of you? That never works out well for the girlfriend.”

Chan and Jason chuckle as they step back from each other. “Never change, M. Bye.”

“Bye Jay.”

Mia and Chan made their way out of the hospital, hand in hand. “Breakfast?” Mia asked him.

“Yes! I’m starving!”

Ten minutes later they were at a diner. The bell above the door chimed as Mia and Chan stepped inside, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon enveloping them. Chan inhaled deeply, the familiar scents offering a small measure of comfort after the emotional rollercoaster of the past 24 hours.

"Smells amazing in here," Chan remarked, guiding Mia towards a cozy booth in the corner. "I need food."

Mia managed a small smile, sliding into the booth from the other end. She picked up the menu, her eyes scanning the options. Chan could tell that she wasn’t really seeing what she was looking at. 

Chan reached across the table, his hand gently covering hers. "Hey," he said softly, his eyes searching her face. "How are you holding up?"

Mia sighed, setting the menu aside. "Honestly? I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "My mind is still back at the hospital. Seeing Jason like that, so vulnerable and broken... it was harder than I thought it would be."

Chan nodded. "I can't even imagine what he's going through right now," he said. "But you were there for him, Mia. You showed up when he needed you most. That's what matters."

Mia felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. "I know," she said, her voice wavering. "But part of me still feels guilty, you know? Like I should be doing more."

"You're doing everything you can," Chan reassured her. "And you heard what Jason's parents said. They're grateful for your support, but they understand that you have your own life to live too."

Mia nodded, blinking back the tears. "I know you're right," she said. "I just need to keep reminding myself of that."

The waitress appeared then, notepad in hand. "What can I get for you folks?" she asked, her voice bright and cheery.

Mia and Chan placed their orders, and as the waitress walked away, Chan leaned back in the booth, his eyes never leaving Mia's face.

"So," he said, his tone lightening. "What do you want to do with the rest of our weekend? We've got a few hours before we have to head back to reality."

Mia considered for a moment, her fingers absently fiddling with the ring on her finger. "Honestly? I just want to go home and cuddle on the couch with you," she said, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "Maybe watch a movie or two, order some takeout. Something low-key and relaxing."

Chan grinned, his eyes twinkling. "That sounds perfect," he said. "But only if I get to choose the movie."

Mia laughed, the sound surprising Chan. It felt good to see her laugh, to feel the weight of the past few hours lifting from her, even if only for a moment.

"Deal," she said, reaching over intertwining her fingers with his again. "As long as it's something funny. I don't think my nerves can handle any more drama today."

Chan chuckled, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "Nothing serious, I promise," he said, his eyes soft with understanding. "Just you, me, and some good old-fashioned rom-coms."

A/N: Song: I'll be Your Shelter Artist: Taylor Dayne

[luckyroll3]

Mine Chapter 12

Mine Masterlist Previous Chapter

Additional Warnings: Possessiveness; Emotional manipulation.

You wake up with the sun's first light grazing your bare shoulders, the soft glow casting your room into a realm of golden tranquility. It's been seven days since you shut the door on Minho and his tempestuous love that once consumed every fiber of your being. Today, the sorrow that clung to your skin like a second shadow has finally dissipated, replaced by an unfamiliar yet welcome sense of liberation.

Stretching languidly across the expanse of your bed, you revel in the cool touch of satin sheets against your skin. You've reclaimed this space, your sanctuary, from the remnants of Minho's lingering presence. The air is different, sweeter somehow, as if it too recognizes your newfound freedom.

With determination etched into every movement, you rise, muscles flexing in silent strength. You stride across the bedroom, each step a conscious effort to rebuild the routine you once had before Minho’s chaotic whirlwind swept through your life. Opening the window, you breathe in deeply, filling your lungs with the crisp morning air, the scent of blooming jasmine from the garden below weaving its way into your senses, invigorating and pure.

In the kitchen, you move with purpose, reaching for ingredients that speak of self-care and nourishment. A ripe avocado yields to your touch, its creamy texture juxtaposed against the crunch of toasted multigrain bread, slices of tomato, and a sprinkle of salt. You take a bite, savoring the simplicity of flavors.

Your yoga mat, rolled in the back corner of your living room, beckons like an old friend. You unroll it in the center of your living room where morning light kisses the wooden floors. You position yourself at its head, feet planted firmly, hands reaching skyward as if to grasp the threads of tranquility that now seem within reach. With each inhale, you draw in serenity; with each exhale, you release the entangled memories of whispered promises and gasped confessions in the dark.

Downward dog stretches your body taut, the burn a delicious reminder of your own resilience. You flow into warrior pose, imagining yourself a statue carved of marble and defiance, impervious to the seductive darkness that once threatened to swallow you whole. And as you transition into a seated meditation thirty minutes later, eyes closed, breath steady, you confront the void where Minho's obsessive adoration used to reside.

Here, in the silence, you are untouchable. Here, you are a portrait of self-possession, no longer subject to Minho's manipulative caresses or the piercing intensity of his cat-like gaze. The erotic thrill of his touch, once electric upon your flesh, now pales in comparison to the ecstasy of autonomy pulsing through your veins.

You linger in this meditative state until the sun climbs higher, reminding you of the day ahead, a day belonging solely to you. And so, with a final, grounding breath, you open your eyes, the world coming back into focus, sharp and undistorted.

Your day has just begun, and already, you feel the profound weight of its potential, the promise of pleasure found not in another's arms, but in the embrace of your own spirit.

****

Tonight, the kitchen fills with the sizzle of searing garlic and the comforting aroma of rosemary-infused chicken as Lucas takes over your kitchen with the confidence of a seasoned chef. The clink of glassware punctuates the symphony of culinary sounds as you set the table, the soft glow of candles casting dancing shadows across the room.

"Smells like heaven in here," you say, pouring a rich burgundy wine into the glasses, its scent a promise of relaxation.

Lucas turns to you with that signature smirk, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Only the best for you," he replies, transferring the golden-brown chicken onto a platter. "Now sit. Eat."

You obey, and you both settle in at the dining table. 

"Talk to me. How have you been holding up?" Lucas asks, his voice gentle, yet firm, demanding honesty.

You exhale slowly. "Better. Each day feels a bit lighter." But even as you speak, an undercurrent of tension hums beneath your words.

"Good," he nods, but his gaze lingers on you, probing for the truth you're not saying. He doesn’t probe further, choosing instead to change the subject.

The next day, you find yourself walking through the bustling streets alongside Liz, her laughter bright and loud. You try to match her vivacity, to lose yourself in the vibrant tapestry of life around you. But it's like moving through a haze, each step heavy with the weight of unseen eyes tracing your form.

"Isn't this market amazing?" Liz's voice pulls you back, her excitement palpable as she fingers the delicate embroidery of a scarf.

"Beautiful," you agree, though your focus drifts from the brilliant colors to the periphery, where shadows seem to shift with an unsettling intent.

"Hey, are you okay?" Liz's brow furrows, her hazel eyes searching yours with concern.

"Fine," you lie, plastering on a smile that feels as fragile as spun sugar. Yet the paranoia claws at you; you’ve had the feeling of being watched all day and you find yourself constantly scanning the crowd.

"Let's get coffee," you suggest, eager to retreat to the sanctuary of a crowded café. The warm rush of steam from the espresso machine and the bitter tang of roasted beans should be comfort enough, but they're not. Even as Liz shares stories, her voice soothing, you can't shake off the chilling sensation that Minho is lingering somewhere nearby, a dark specter haunting your newfound freedom.

"Girl, snap out of it," Liz admonishes softly, her hand warm on yours. "He doesn't get to take this from you."

And she's right. You squeeze her hand in gratitude, determined to reclaim each moment from the sinister undercurrent trying to pull you under.

"Thanks," you murmur, meeting her gaze with a fierce determination. "I won't let him win."

"Damn straight," Liz affirms, her mischievous grin a beacon in the darkness. "You're unbreakable."

****

You’re two hours into reviewing job applications for a new manager position at your bank when the email notification blinks on your screen. It's from him. Minho. The name alone sends a shard of ice down your spine, and yet you can't help but open it, as if drawn by some masochistic need to confirm the dread pooling in your gut.

Please, baby. Please forgive me. I love you so much. I’m sorry. I’ll never do anything like that again. 

His words slither across the screen. Apologies, so sickly sweet they could choke you. Then you read the rest, the switch in tone swift. 

But this is your fault. If you hadn’t been so touchy feely with Lucas, like you always are, this wouldn’t have happened. We would still be happy and in love. You betrayed me. 

The accusations brand your skin like a hot iron. Betrayal? The audacity tightens your chest, suffocating. "Love" he claims, but it's possession in all its twisted forms. 

You delete the message, followed by blocking his email address; each click is defiance. 

Days bleed into one another, each seemingly calm until you're thrust into a nightmare in broad daylight. There he stands, casual as sin, outside the grocery store where you've shopped a hundred times before. "Fancy seeing you here," he purrs, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. But there's nothing charming about the cold dread that washes over you.

Coincidence? No. A hunter doesn’t chance upon their prey. His eyes lock onto yours, piercing, predatory. Fear clenches your throat as you pivot on your heel, heart pounding a frantic escape rhythm. You flee, leaving groceries, leaving normalcy, leaving him behind.

But Minho, like a relentless shadow, stretches further into your life. Voicemails litter your phone. New numbers sprouting like weeds no matter how many you block. You hear his voice, dripping with honeyed venom, apologies laced with desperation, pleas for another chance.

"Baby, I need you," he breathes into the phone. 

Your skin crawls, revolted by the intimacy of his haunting words.

"I can't live without you. Why are you doing this to me?" But you, you’re suffocating with the weight of him still clinging to your world.

Paranoia becomes your constant companion, whispering doubts, painting every stranger’s glance as a potential spy. Your head swivels, eyes darting to every corner, every movement in your periphery a potential threat. You're hyper-aware, nerves strung taut, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

You try to lose yourself in your hobbies, in the scent of oils as you paint. Yet even as colors swirl on the canvas, it's his face that emerges, smirking from the shadows you dab into existence.

"Fuck," you curse under your breath, tossing the brush down. The project lies abandoned, a testament to Minho’s invasive presence in your psyche. Every time your phone rings, it's an assault, a reminder that he's out there, watching, waiting.

"Give us another chance," his voice pleads, but you know better. Chance after chance would lead to the same dark path, spiraling, spiraling into an abyss where only he thrives.

"Miss you, love you, hate how we ended. Take me back. Please!" the voicemails continue. 

"Never again," you vow, as you continue to delete and block each time.

Each time you leave the house now, you’re concerned about what, or rather who, could be waiting for you. You’re looking over your shoulder, peering into shadows, shifting routes. 

"Is this paranoia?" you whisper into the silence of your apartment. But it doesn't matter if it's all in your head or not; Minho's eyes seem to peer at you from every dark corner, his smirk a ghostly imprint on your mind's eye.

"Fuck," you mutter. "I need freedom." 

Nights are the worst, when vulnerability cloaks you like a second skin, sheer and clinging. Tonight, it wraps its cold fingers around your throat, squeezes until you gasp for air. The damn breaks, and tears, hot and relentless, carve tracks down your cheeks. 

"Damn you, Minho," you choke out between sobs. You allow yourself to cry, wrapping a blanket around you as you sink onto your side on your couch, burying your face in one of the decorative pillows. 

An hour passes, maybe two, before you roll yourself onto your back, covering your eyes with your palms before you gently slide them down your face, wiping away the evidence. Enough, you scold yourself. This moment of weakness leaves you hollowed out but… lighter somehow. 

"I need to move on," you vow, the words sharp, unyielding. You'll smudge his fingerprints from your life, one memory at a time. Tomorrow, you’ll start anew; a different coffee shop, a new route to work, a random pattern to your steps. Then you’ll get on with your life. Fuck him.

"Reclaim," you breathe, a mantra to seal this pact with yourself. His specter may haunt the edges of your existence, but you'll be damned if you let him dance in the center of it any longer. You are more than a character in his twisted narrative, you are the author of your own destiny. No fucks given, no chains to bind you, only the raw, unfiltered truth of your strength. “Fuck him!” you scream out loud to the empty room.

[luckyroll3]

Mine Chapter 11

Mine Masterlist Previous Chapter

Additional Warnings: Possessiveness; Emotional and mental abuse; Some violence.

The relentless buzz of your phone is a torment you've grown accustomed to these past few days. Minho's name flashes on the screen, his calls and texts an unending cascade you coldly ignore. The vibrations against the wooden surface of your nightstand are a constant reminder of his persistence—a persistence that borders on obsession.

But this silence you cloak yourself in has been your fortress.

One evening, as shadows stretch across the floor of your apartment, a knock shatters the silence. It’s him, outside your door, his voice seeping through the wood like some kind of acoustic seduction. "Please," he pleads, the baritone timbre of desperation wrapping around each syllable. "Just let me explain." But the words fall flat, their once sweet cadence now a bitter pill you refuse to swallow.

You don't answer; instead, you pour yourself another glass of wine, relishing the rich aroma before taking a slow sip.

The next day, the office becomes yet another battleground. There he sits, the picture of disarming charm, when you return from your meeting. Minho had played your assistant, Jen, like a virtuoso, convincing her to let him wait in your office. The way he leans back in your chair, legs crossed with a deceptive casualness… It's an act you know too well.

"Hello, beautiful," he purrs, the word slithering off his tongue. He rises, the air between you charged with an electric current of mixed emotions. You can almost feel the heat of his body from across the room, a heat you've basked in before but now only chills you to the bone.

"Get out," you command, barely recognizing the steely edge in your own voice.

“I just want to talk,” he starts, moving closer as if to touch you. The walls close in, and panic licks at your insides like hungry flames. You take a step back, moving just out of his reach. He sighs at your reaction. “I’ve missed you. I… Please just talk to me.”

You stay silent for a few seconds, before walking out of the office and asking Jen to call security. “Tell Seungmin we need a couple of his guys up here to remove an intruder.” Jen nods as she dials.

Their arrival is swift, their hands firm as they peel him away from your office.

“Don’t do this,” Minho calls out as they walk him to the elevator.

Later that night, you exchange messages with Liz and Lucas.

Liz: I can’t believe he showed up at your office.

You: Yeah. I don’t know what the fuck Jen was thinking, letting him in to sit at my desk. He was acting like nothing was wrong.

Lucas: Have you told him it’s over yet?

You: No I haven’t spoken with him since that night.

Lucas: You need to end it, babe. Officially.

Liz: I agree. He seems to be someone who has to be told directly so that there’s no question or opportunity to misunderstand.

You: I know. I’ve just been so emotional. But I’m ready.

Lucas: Make sure you do it somewhere public. He’d be less likely to spiral.

Liz: And we can be nearby.

You: Okay. I’ll plan to do it Saturday morning. I’ll find a coffee shop or cafe and message him to meet me there.

You’re thankful for Liz’s comforting warmth and Lucas’ always stoic advice that cuts straight to the heart of the matter. Their encouragement is the nudge you need to officially call it quits on this relationship.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you navigate to your text thread with Minho.

You: Hey. I’m finally ready to talk.

Minho: Oh baby! I’m so glad to hear that.

You: Meet me on Saturday at Blue Sky Cafe Will 11:00 work for you?

Minho: I’ll be there. I love you.

You ignore his last message as you toss your phone to the other end of the couch. Saturday cannot come soon enough.

****

The cafe swirls around you, a maelstrom of clinking cups and indistinct chatter. You're perched on the edge of your seat, fingers drumming an erratic rhythm against the warm ceramic mug, each tap echoing the jittery thrum of your heart. Just a little coffee and confrontation, you chant silently, steeling yourself with each sip of the bitter brew.

"Keep it together," you mutter under your breath, though the words are a thin shield against the onslaught of nerves threatening to spill forth. The taste of caffeine lingers on your tongue, acrid and grounding. You inhale deeply, letting the rich aroma bolster your resolve. This is the last stand, the culmination of sleepless nights and tear-streaked pillows.

Your phone vibrates.

Lucas: Is he there yet?

You: No. Still waiting. But he’s only a couple minutes late.

Liz: Ok. Text us when he arrives.

You glance at the entrance again, that familiar flutter-kick in your chest, part dread, part anticipation. You take another sip of your coffee as your eyes move around the room, assessing who is there. The cafe is not as busy as you’d expect it to be late morning on a weekend, but there are about 10 other patrons present, plus the 4 visible staff. Busy enough, you think to yourself.

A few minutes later, the door swings open, drawing your attention, and there he is, Minho, a storm dressed in human skin. His eyes, dark and searching, cut through the crowd. When his gaze finally finds you, his expression softens. As he moves closer, the air grows thick, charged with unspoken words and memories that coil around you like smoke.

You send a short message in the group text chain letting Liz and Lucas know that Minho has arrived.

Your heart races, a wild thing caged within your ribs, and your palms dampen. But you are determined to portray a cool detachment. The tremor in your hands belies the chill of your exterior; you move them to your lap to hide them.

"Stay calm," you whisper to yourself. "Stay assertive." You can’t help but notice how good he looks today, his hair wet and combed back, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. You feel a small quiver between your legs, your body betraying its longing for his touch, for the rough press of his lips. “And stop getting distracted,” you add under your breath.

He slides into the chair across from you, the scrape of the metal legs on tile jarring. "Hello," he breathes softly. The word wraps around you, trying to pull you back into the depths from which you're so desperately swimming.

"Hi Minho," you acknowledge, your voice unwavering.

He leans in, the low timbre of his voice caressing the charged air between you. "Thanks for inviting me to meet you. I just want to start by saying I'm sorry," he murmurs, his words laced with a vulnerability that cuts through the noise of the café.

You stay silent, moving your hands back onto the table and grasping your coffee mug. Your fingers trace the edge of the mug, the ceramic cool and unyielding beneath your touch. You look up, meeting his feline gaze, those sharp eyes that once promised adventure now hold a desperate plea. You see in them the shadow of the man who charmed his way into your bed and burrowed under your skin, whose whispers in the dark became chains around your heart.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself against the onslaught you know is coming. "This isn't working anymore, Minho. I... I can't do this." The words are a dagger in your own heart, but you know they must be spoken. "I need a relationship built on trust and mutual respect, Minho," you continue, the steel in your voice belying the warmth of your flushed cheeks. "A relationship where my safety, and the safety of the people I love, is not a question mark hanging over us."

The confession feels like a strip tease, each sentence peeling away layers of vulnerability until you're emotionally naked before him. You remember the nights that pulsed with erotic promise, how his hands sculpted your desires into reality, how his mouth charted a map of ecstasy across your skin. But those memories are stained by the darker hues of his possessiveness, the grip of his control leaving marks no amount of time can erase.

Minho looks away with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

"Look at me, Minho," you insist, and he does, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your insides twist with a cocktail of dread and desire. "I fell for you. Hard. But the way you try to control me, your possessiveness, is too much. And you've hurt people I care about. And that... that I cannot forgive or forget."

You pause, watching as he absorbs the gravity of your words. The air hums with tension, thick and palpable, a prelude to a storm. You feel it, the danger that lurks behind his eyes, but you also sense the pull of him, the magnetic draw that hasn't waned even as everything else crumbled.

"It's over, Minho," you declare, the finality of the statement ringing louder than the clatter around you. "We're done. There's no going back from here." Your heart hammers against your ribcage, fighting the constriction of fear and longing that threatens to choke you.

Minho’s eyes widen in shock and there’s a silent plea for clemency hanging in the air between you.

"Please, you have to understand," Minho's voice is a desperate whisper, rough like sandpaper against your resolve. "I did it because I care too much... I can change, I swear."

You watch him, this man who has mapped every inch of your body with a connoisseur's precision, now fumbling with the words he thinks will stitch the tattered fabric of your relationship back together. But you've seen the pattern of his design, his obsession dressed as devotion, and you will not be woven back into the tapestry of his control.

"No, Minho." You cut him off, the reservoir of restraint within you crumbling. "You don't know where the line is, do you? I’ve been telling you that there’s nothing between me and Lucas. Lucas prefers men; he’s not interested in me and never has been. We are just friends. But you wouldn’t listen, then insisted on starting a fight to ‘defend my honor’. And that doesn’t even cover the other issues we’ve had, that we’ve talked about before. You said you would change then. Remember? No more chances, Minho," you say, your voice steady despite the trembling in your chest.

His face crumples then hardens, a tempest of emotions swirling within him. The air thickens with his anger, the muscles in his jaw tensing visibly. He leans forward, and you can almost feel the emotions radiating from him, smell the mixture of cologne and frustration.

"Remember how you told me about your fears?" Minho's voice drops. "How you never felt truly seen? With me, you were visible, radiant... We have something special, don't throw it away over a mistake."

You're caught in the heady nostalgia he conjures: the intimacy of whispered secrets, the way his hands felt tracing the contours of your vulnerability.

"Think of the nights we spent entwined, the taste of you on my tongue, me buried deep within you, the promise of what we could be," he murmurs, his gaze locked onto yours, unyielding.

But behind the sweet veneer of his pleas, you discern the shadow of manipulation.

"Special doesn't justify obsession, Minho," you counter, your fingers gripping the edge of the table, anchoring you to the present. "Love should empower, not imprison."

He recoils as if struck, the lines of his face sharpening with hurt, then hardening into something darker. You see him there, teetering on the brink of something dangerous, and part of you, a twisted, secret part, yearns to reach out and pull him back. But you won't. Not this time.

“No one else wants you. That’s why you ended things with Chan right? Couldn’t get him to commit. And here I am, telling you I want you, that I want to spend my life with you, and you’re preventing what we could be.”

You can feel the muscles in your jaw clench as you stare Minho down, his every word hitting you like daggers. “Wow,” you say softly. “That you would throw Chan in my face like that, as a way to manipulate me into staying with you.” You sigh. “This is the type of shit I’m talking about that I just don’t want to deal with anymore.” The cafe buzzes with life around you, but it all falls away, leaving nothing but the space between you and him, a battlefield strewn with broken promises and the shards of what might have been. “I’m done.”

He leans forward, his breath a hot whisper against the cool distance you've placed between you.

"Please," he says, voice breaking, a crack in the dam of his composure. "I love you. I love you more than Chan ever could. We're fire and gasoline; you know the blaze we create together. I can change, I'll do anything. A future, a family, whatever you want."

The words dangle before you, sweetly toxic fruit from a tree you know too well. The thought of a future, one filled with tender touches and laughter echoing through hallways, pulls at something deep within you. But it's a mirage, an illusion painted with the ink of Minho's obsession.

"This isn’t love," you say, each syllable laced with the venom of truth.

He reaches for you, fingertips brushing the back of your hand, a touch that once sparked a wildfire across your skin. Now, it's just heat, devoid of light, devoid of warmth. You pull away, denying him even that small concession.

"I need you to understand that it's over, Minho," you say, voice unwavering despite the torrent within. "I don't want to see you or hear from you again. I need space to heal.” Your eyes lock onto his, the final nail in the coffin of what was once tender between you.

His face contorts into a grotesque mask of anger replacing the desperate lover’s visage. Accusations spill from him, vile and bitter, claiming you've betrayed him, misunderstood him. But you've understood more than enough; you've seen the darkness that lingers behind that polished exterior.

“Don’t do this. You'll regret this," he hisses, spittle flying from his lips.

"Regret?" you challenge, even as your pulse quickens. "I already regret a lot of things. This isn’t one of them."

The cafe becomes a battleground as he lashes out, sweeping the items on the table, including your half-filled coffee mug, to the floor in a clatter of porcelain and pain. His hand shoots out, latching onto your wrist in a vice grip, his fingers branding you with their desperation. "No one leaves me! No one!" he snarls, a wild animal backed into a corner.

Panic surges through your veins, your heart hammering in your chest as you try to break free. The patrons around you have registered the commotion, and people start to watch.

"Are you okay?" The question cuts through the mayhem, thrown at you like a lifeline from a stranger at the table nearby. In that brief moment of outside concern, your reality snaps back into focus.

"Fine! She's fine!" Minho barks at the good Samaritan, but there's no mistaking the anger in his eyes, or the panic in yours. His grip tightens, and you yelp in pain.

“I wasn’t talking to you asshole!” the man yells loudly, starting to rise from his seat. “Ma’am, are you good?”

With a surge of adrenaline, you wrench free from Minho’s hold. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Sorry for the disruption,” you murmur to the bystander, your voice a low purr masking a tremble of fear. “Thank you.”

You push your chair back to stand and face Minho one last time, your gaze steady despite the chaos he's wrought.

"Get help, Min." The plea is for him as much as it is for you. "And please, just... leave me alone. I don’t want to see you again."

You turn on your heels, every step away from him a stitch mending the fabric of your dignity. You push through the cafe door and hurry outside. You spot Liz and Lucas seated next to the window of the restaurant across the street and after pausing to check for traffic, you jog across to join them.

****

The wine trickles down your throat, a bittersweet river that mirrors the tangled emotions coursing through you. You stretch out on the couch, the fabric beneath you indifferent to the storm of relief and sorrow swirling in your chest. The sense of unease clings like a shadow, like a promise that the echoes of yesterday's chaos will still linger tomorrow.

Your phone buzzes and Chan's name flashes across the screen. Your pulse hitches, a reluctant drumbeat at the sight of the familiar name. You hesitate, fingertips grazing the cool glass instead of reaching for the device. You haven’t spoken to Chan since you ran away from him at his mom’s party. And in your current emotional state, you’re not quite sure you want to deal with him right now. You choose to ignore his call.

But when the phone vibrates again, this time with a text, curiosity gets the better of you. You reach over and bring the device to eye level, swiping the screen to open up the texting app.

Chan: Hey. Sorry for what happened at the party. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I was out of line.

You can’t help but think back to that moment. Chan pressing you up against the wall, his mouth devouring yours, his hands beneath your skirt.

You: It’s fine.

Chan: No it’s not. I made you uncomfortable. I made you run. How are you?

You: I’ve been better.

Chan: Travis told me about your break up. I’m sorry.

You: Are you?

Chan: Honestly? Not really. I’m happy that you’re available. Hoping that this gives me the opportunity to make things right with you. To build a real future with you.

You: Chan…

You’re not sure about how to feel about this declaration right now. But as you think about his words, the scent of his cologne seems to rise from the depths of your mind. It’s followed by memories of you and him together, kindling a warmth in your core. But right now also isn’t the time for this. You feel broken and you know you need time to heal. You heed the advice of your friends that maybe what you need most is time with yourself, time for self-care and self-discovery.

Chan: Tell me what you’re thinking.

You: I need time.

Chan: Okay. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here… waiting for you.

You don’t send a reply back.

You let out a sigh, a soundless surrender to the turmoil within. The wine's flush spreads over your skin, a reminder of blushes past and the heat of bodies entwined. But scars of betrayal, fresh and stinging, plead for a reprieve from this emotional whiplash.

The soft glow of the room blurs as tears threaten, but you blink them away. You turn off your phone, severing the last thread of conversation, and sink deeper into the embrace of the couch, pulling the blanket tight around you and closing your eyes.

[luckyroll3]

Unexpected Chapter 30: All In

Unexpected Masterlist Previous Chapter

Mia

Mia practically skipped up the steps to her house. After a draining week at work, she was more than ready for an uninterrupted weekend alone with Chan. As she swung open the front door, she was greeted by the sight of Chan in the kitchen, his dimples on full display as he grinned at her. 

"Hey beautiful," he said over his shoulder as he shut the refrigerator. He walked over to her and pulled her into a warm hug. Mia inhaled his familiar scent. As they separated, she noticed the bags on the counter.

"What's all this?" She peered into one of them, spotting several bottles of her favorite brand of red wine.

Chan's smile widened. "Just some provisions for the weekend. I got that pinot noir you love, a case of your favorite beer, already chilling in the fridge, and plenty of snacks, including sour worms." He held up the grocery bag enticingly. The fact that he remembered all her favorites, that he had taken the time to get them for her… it meant more than she could express. 

"You're the best, you know that?" She stretched up on her toes to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. "I ordered a bunch of food from Cenzo's too, all our favorites." She lifted the bag in her hand. 

"Mmm, you're spoiling me. And I think you’re trying to make me fat," Chan murmured, leaning down to capture her lips in a real kiss this time. Mia sighed into it, relishing the feel of his pillowy, soft lips moving against hers. God, she would never get tired of kissing him.

Finally, they broke apart, both slightly breathless. Chan's eyes were dark with desire and Mia felt an answering pull low in her belly. 

"As much as you work out, you don’t have to worry, Superstar. Plus, I think it all goes to your ass anyway.” She playfully smacked his butt and he giggled. “Let me help you put this stuff away. Then I vote we get into comfy clothes, put something on Netflix, and not leave the couch for the rest of the night."

"I like the way you think," Chan agreed with a wink. They walked back to the kitchen. Chan unloaded the wine and snacks while she transferred the takeout containers to the stove. "I’m looking forward to disconnecting from the real world for a bit." He uncorked the wine and poured them both a glass. "Just us, some good food, and plenty of alcohol." He handed her a glass.

Mia nodded in agreement, taking a sip of her wine. Her eyes drifted shut as she savored the taste.

Within minutes, they had changed, Mia in black sweatpants shorts and an oversized t-shirt and Chan into sweats and a tank top, and were curled up together under a fuzzy blanket on the sofa. Mia rested her head on Chan's broad chest, smiling as his arm tightened around her.

As much as she craved him, as much as her body ached to be touched by him, what she loved most was this; just being close to him, feeling safe and cherished in his embrace. Both of them had turned their phones off, allowing the rest of the world to fade away until it was only the two of them, cocooned in their own little bubble.

"This is perfect," she murmured, tilting her head up to look at him. "No phone, no social media, no interruptions. Just us."

Chan traced his fingers along her arm, his touch feather-light and sending goosebumps across her skin. "Exactly how I want it. I don't need anything else when I have you in my arms."

As Chan queued up a new K-drama, Mia turned to face the screen, her head resting on his bicep. They nestled even closer together as the opening credits rolled. “Subtitles or English dubs?”

“Do you mind if we do the audio?” Mia asked. “I’m too tired to concentrate on reading.”

“Done.”

They watched the first few episodes, making commentary about the characters and the storyline. Chan also shared some juicy real-life drama about a couple of the actors. 

But as the show played on, Mia found it increasingly difficult to focus. Not when Chan's fingertips were drawing maddening patterns on the small of her back under her shirt. Not when his breath was hot against her neck and his body was so firm and warm against hers...

Chan’s hand slid down Mia’s lower back to her ass, his hand settling just below the fabric of her shorts. He gently massaged the soft skin of her ass cheek. Desire coiled tightly within Mia and she shifted, rubbing her ass subtly against the growing bulge she could feel in Chan's sweats. He let out a soft groan, his hand tightening on her hip.

"Mmmm." The sound fell from his lips and Mia couldn't resist any longer. In one swift move, she turned on the couch to face him, framing his face in her hands as she claimed his mouth in a searing kiss. 

Chan responded in kind, his tongue delving past her parted lips to stroke against hers. Large hands gripped her ass, encouraging the roll of her hips against his now rock-hard erection. Sparks of pleasure shot through her with each brush of her aching core against him.

They made quick work of shedding their clothes, desperate for the slide of skin against skin. And then he was inside her, filling her so perfectly. They lay side-by-side, making love slowly. 

“You feel so good,” Chan murmured, his voice low and sultry. 

Mia moaned softly, her fingers fidgeting in the hair at the back of his head as she pulled him closer, then on top of her. “I want you,” she whispered. 

Chan smirked. “You already have me.” His lips attacked hers. He grabbed her right leg, hooking his hand just under her knee and pulling it in close against his body as he continued to push into her, keeping his pace slow and steady. His other hand found hers and their fingers laced together. He kissed her wrist before bringing their joined hands over her head. The TV played in the background for a bit, then the notification flashed asking if they wanted to continue watching, but they barely noticed, lost in the haze of desire.

As their bodies moved in tandem, Mia’s mind wandered to the feel of his skin against hers, the smell of his cologne lingering in the air, and the sound of their breaths mingling. With each stroke, Chan pressed deeper into her. His kisses were passionate, yet tender; his lips commanding and hungry as he nipped at hers playfully while she moaned into his mouth. Every now and then, they would pull back to take a breath, staring deeply into each other’s eyes before diving back in again for more kisses. Their tongues tangled together as if they couldn't get enough of one another. The taste of wine on his lips only heightened the sensation for Mia as she rolled her hips against him. Their lips separated again and Chan stared at her intensely. 

“Why are you looking at me like that, Christopher?” Mia asked in a whisper, feeling a bit self-conscious. 

“Because I really like you Mia,” he whispered in response. He leaned down to her ear. “I can't believe you're mine.” He kissed her earlobe softly, then placed more gentle kisses on each cheek, her chin, and the tip of her nose before returning his lips to hers. Mia was notorious for her ability to not be seduced easily, but something about Chan–the way he looked at her, touched her, said her name–made her absolutely melt. She smiled against his lips.

Chan started to pick up speed, his rhythm becoming faster and rougher. Chan buried himself deep inside her as he came, but he continued to pump furiously. Mia moaned from his intensity, and shortly after, she felt her vaginal walls clench tightly as a warm rush moved from her core throughout the rest of her body. Her legs trembled beneath him as she clung tightly to him. Panting heavily, they collapsed onto each other on the couch in a tangle of limbs and sweat-dampened skin. 

The afterglow of their lovemaking lingered as they lay intertwined on the couch. Mia's head rested against Chan's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat while he gently rubbed her back.

“I really like you, too,” Mia said with a soft chuckle.

“Why is that funny?” Chan asked, adding giggles of his own. 

“Because I feel like we're in middle school!” She looked up at him. “You make me feel like I'm 13 years old again and I’m flustered because the hot neighbor kid who moved to town 6 months ago, who I'm completely infatuated with, has started paying attention to me because I finally got boobs.”

Chan laughed loudly. “Well, they are lovely boobs…” He ran his knuckles across one of them gently.

Mia playfully smacked his chest before resting her head back down on it. “That's besides the point. You make me feel… I don't know, special. And I haven't felt that way in a long time.”

“Any guy who didn't make you feel like you were special didn't deserve you.” He grabbed her hand and held it tight against his chest.

“I don’t think that’s part of the fuck boy manifesto, is it?” Mia joked.

“I'm a lover at heart. I only became a fuck boy after my heart was stomped on, then tossed in a dumpster fire.”

“Oh, you poor thing. Having to drown your sorrows in all that pussy.”

“Ouch. Harsh!” Chan laughed. “But I did have a lot of fun. And that's what I needed at the time. Now… I just need you.” He brought Mia’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into it. 

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Mia teased. 

“Nope. Just the ones I’m in love with.” He kissed Mia's forehead.

Mia didn’t say anything. She just smiled to herself and let her eyes close as she continued listening to him breathing. 

After a few minutes of silence, Chan said very quietly under his breath, “Marry me,” his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Hmmm? What was that?” Mia asked softly. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said, ‘marry me’,” Chan repeated a little louder. 

Mia’s eyes popped open, “What?!?” She pushed herself up to a seated position and turned to look at him. “Did you just….?”

“Will you marry me?” His eyes searched hers as he looked up at her.

Mia looked for a sign in his face that he was joking. The start of a smirk, the raise of an eyebrow, the squint of his eyes, but there was nothing. Nothing but hope. “You’re serious? You can’t be serious.”

Chan sat up, bringing himself to her eye level. “I don’t want to live the rest of my life without you.” He rested his forehead against hers and whispered, “Say yes. Say you’ll be mine forever.”

“Christopher…” Mia whispered back. “I’m already yours forever.” She kissed him gently. “But you don’t get married after dating for barely three months.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

He pulled away from her to look at her face. “So you don’t want to marry me?”

Mia looked into Chan’s eyes, seeing a brief moment of hurt flash across his face. She reached up to cup his cheek and smiled softly at him. 

“I didn’t say that. Of course I want to marry you, but I just don’t think we’re ready for that yet. Do you honestly think this is the right time for that type of commitment? In just over a month, we’ll be shifting into a long-distance relationship. On top of that, you have your next comeback and tour and all the things that come with being ‘Bang Chan’. You don’t have time for a marriage. Also, your fans would put a fucking hit out on me!” Chan couldn’t help but smile at her joke. “You know I’m right. About everything.” 

Chan sighed. “I guess.” He ran his fingers through his hair and looked down. 

Mia grabbed his hands. “Hey. Look at me.” Chan brought his gaze back up to her. “How about this: We see how our relationship plays out when we’re out of this fucking bubble and have to deal with the realities of our lives. And if we don’t end up fucking this all up, you ask me to marry you again in 3 years.”

Chan’s lips curled up into a playful smile. “Two,” he countered, his voice low. 

“Okay. Two.” Mia tossed her head back and burst into laughter that was so loud it rang against the walls. “You’re fucking insane!”

“Insane about you.” He pressed soft kisses along the delicate curve of her neck. “Mia Bahng,” he whispered in between kisses, savoring the sound of her name with his on his lips. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves now,” Mia giggled as his kisses danced playfully along her neck and tickled her skin. 

Chan pulled away suddenly, a serious expression crossing his face. “You’d change your name, right?” he asked earnestly. 

“Have you met me? Absolutely not!” she replied with mock indignation before a sly grin crept onto her face. “But I’d let you call me that in bed…” 

“I can work with that,” Chan said, a broad grin spreading across his handsome face. With a swift motion, he leaned in to kiss her once more before pulling her back down to the couch. 

By the time they surfaced for air an hour later, Mia’s stomach was growling loudly. “I need to eat something.” Her eyes never left Chan’s smoldering gaze. 

Chan chuckled, leaning in to steal one more quick kiss before reluctantly disentangling himself from her embrace. "Yeah, I don't want you to pass out on me later," he winked. Mia laughed. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed the now cold take-out and set it on the coffee table as he sat on the floor against the couch. He handed her the container with meatballs and a fork. 

Mia joined him on the floor, their legs intertwined as they shoveled cold meatballs and pasta into their mouths, sometimes feeding each other. Their fingers brushed and their eyes met often. 

After dinner, they curled up together on the couch again, their naked bodies pressed against each other as they watched a few more episodes of the K-drama. Chan's hand rested on Mia's thigh, his thumb lazily moving back and forth across her skin. Later that evening, as they started to fall asleep, they migrated back to the bedroom, collapsing onto the bed with a sigh of contentment, Mia curled into Chan’s arms. 

The next morning sun filtered through the curtains, its gentle rays stirring Mia from a deep, happy sleep. Mia stretched languidly, her body deliciously sore in all the right places, a reminder of the passionate night she'd shared with Chan. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered their hours of lovemaking and a laugh bubbled out of her as she thought back to his dramatic, post-coitus marriage proposal. Mia reached behind her for Chan, only to find his side of the bed empty, the sheets cool to the touch. 

The man never fucking sleeps, she thought to herself.

Mia sat up, hugging the duvet to her chest as she listened intently. The faint sizzle of something cooking and rich aromas drifted in from the kitchen. Mia grabbed the first item of clothing her hand touched from the floor, slipping it on. It was one of Chan's discarded t-shirts. She padded barefoot towards the enticing scents.

She found him standing at the stove, his back to her, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung black sweatpants. Mia took a moment to appreciate the play of muscles across his shoulders and his ass as he worked, his lean body a testament to the rigorous training and regular workouts he did as an idol.

"Good morning," she murmured, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Why are you up so early?”

Chan turned in her embrace, his handsome face breaking into a dimpled grin. "Morning, beautiful. I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed."

"This is even better." Mia lifted her head to brush her lips against his. "I get to enjoy the view of the chef. Is this what trained chefs usually wear to work?"

Chan chuckled. He nuzzled her neck, his hands roaming beneath the oversized shirt to caress her bare skin. "You're the tempting one, walking out here in nothing but my shirt. Very sexy."

Mia gasped as his fingers found their way inside her, desire reigniting immediately. "The food will get cold," she protested weakly, even as she arched into him.

"Let it," Chan growled, capturing her mouth in a heated kiss. He broke the kiss for a short moment to turn off the burner, then quickly returned his lips and hands to her.

Breakfast was forgotten as they lost themselves in each other once more, the intimate cocoon of Mia's home allowing them the freedom to simply be together without the outside world intruding. 

They spent the day tangled in the sheets, talking and laughing between languid kisses and tender caresses, the connection between them growing stronger with each passing moment. At one point, Mia forced Chan to teach her choreography to one of his songs, All In, but the dance lesson quickly devolved to Mia watching Chan’s version of a Magic Mike show, causing her to laugh so hard, she fell off the bed.

As evening approached, they finally managed to drag themselves from the bedroom, giddy with the happiness of two people in love. Mia watched fondly as Chan moved around her kitchen with ease, his culinary skills as impressive as his talent on stage.

A knock at the door startled her. Mia frowned, not expecting any visitors. "I'll get it," she told Chan as she walked to the entryway.

She opened the door to find Lee Know standing on her porch, a mischievous glint in his eye and a bottle of expensive tequila in his hand. "Hey Mia," he said, his tone relaxed and cooled. 

“Hey Minho,” Mia leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Are you here for Chris? He’s in the kitchen.” She stepped out of the way to let him in. 

“I’m actually here for you,” Lee Know announced, his cool guy demeanor never faltering as his gaze flicked over her shoulder to where Chan had appeared behind her. 

Mia swiveled her head to look at Chan. “Christopher, what the fuck is he talking about?”

“Oooh, the full government name,” Lee Know teased as he entered the space. “Did you not tell her?”

“Surprise?” Chan said, bringing his hands up and shrugging his shoulders, as if to say, ‘maybe?’. “I wanted to help you cross that fantasy we talked about off your list.” His hand moved to the back of his neck and started to rub it nervously as he grinned. 

Mia's heart raced as understanding dawned. Chan walked over to her, his arms encircling her waist from behind, his chest pressed against her back, and his lips brushing her ear as he murmured, "Are you game or do you want to murder me?" He giggled. 

“A little of both?” Mia responded as she pushed the door closed and locked it. She took a deep breath, both nervous and exhilarated by the prospect. She turned in Chan's arms, searching his face. "Are you sure about this?" 

Chan smiled, his eyes warm with affection. "I want to give you everything, Mia. And I trust Minho. But if you're not comfortable..."

"No, I guess we can see where this goes," Mia assured him, her pulse quickening. Chan kissed her neck.

“Great,” Lee Know said as he walked towards the kitchen. Mia took in his confident stride and playful expression as he glided past them as if he had been there a million times before. “I’ll put this in the freezer to chill.” 

Over dinner, the three of them fell into easy conversation, the wine and good food relaxing them as they shared stories and laughter. Mia found herself drawn to Lee Know's quick wit and bold flirtation, even as she marveled at the obvious chemistry between him and Chan. Mia was sure that he’d have amazing chemistry with a rock too. 

“How’s your secluded weekend been going,” Lee Know asked. 

“Good. Really good,” Chan answered. 

“So, lot’s of sex, then?” Lee Know asked, matter-of-factly.

“And talking, laughing, dancing, eating, watching movies…” Chan countered.

“And marriage proposals,” Mia said under her breath.

“Excuse me?” Minho’s eyebrows arching up dramatically.

“Minho, this motherfucker proposed to me last night,” Mia said with a laugh.

“Did he, now?” He turned to look at Chan, a look of surprise on his face. “Channie hyung, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I…. It…. it just kind of slipped out.” Chan buried his face in his hands as it turned beet red.

“You said ‘no’, right?” Lee Know turned back to Mia. “He can’t get married. After JYP passes out and is resuscitated from his favorite child going rogue, the company would literally kill him. And the fans….” Lee Know shook his head. 

“Of course I said no! I convinced him to revisit it in a couple years.” 

“Good.” Lee Know sounded relieved. “You’re supposed to be the one in the group who makes the good decisions, Chan. You can’t fly off the fucking rails, just because you’re in love or whatever.” He rolled his eyes and laughed.

Chan peeked out from behind his hands. “I know. I know. Don’t laugh at me!” Chan giggled uncomfortably. 

Mia rubbed his back. "Isn’t he so cute when he’s embarrassed?” She placed a kiss on his cheek. “So, Minho," Mia began, emboldened by the alcohol buzzing through her veins, "What's the wildest thing you've ever done in bed?"

Lee Know smirked, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Well, there was this one time a guy I was with wanted us to pretend that we were cats. He had ears and tails and everything. I think he was like a furry or something..."

As he launched into the scandalous tale, Mia felt Chan's hand come to rest on her thigh beneath the table, his touch igniting sparks under her skin. She met his heated gaze, silently communicating her desire. She turned back to Lee Know, who had just started describing the giant “litter box”, a kiddie pool filled with sand, that the guy pulled out from beneath his bed. 

“Everyone knows I’m a cat person, but that shit was so fucking weird. I’m not trying to kink shame but I’m also not going to use a human-sized litter box. The fuck I look like?” The words tumbled out of Lee Know’s mouth in a burst of laughter.

Mia let out a boisterous laugh, covering her mouth as she tried to keep it in. 

“But you still fucked him though, right?” Chan asked with a grin. 

Lee Know shrugged casually. “Of course I did. He was a hot weirdo. And had a mouth on him like a fucking hoover.”

“Are you into women?” Mia blurted out without a transition, curiosity getting the better of her. 

Lee Know cocked an eyebrow, intrigued by the sudden and direct question. With a cool confidence, he replied, “Absolutely. I lost my virginity to a girl in my high school.” He took a sip of wine. 

Mia nodded, a bit surprised, as she’d expected him to say something along the lines of his first sexual experience being with another guy. 

But then Lee Know’s mischievous grin returned, and he added, “And then the next week I also fucked her boyfriend.” 

Mia’s eyes widened at his boldness, and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “Wow,” she said in between laughs as she sat back in the chair. “So, you’re ALL fuck boys!”

Both Lee Know and Chan’s laughter filled the room, their chemistry becoming more evident by the minute. 

“I heard from a little birdie that you love fuck boys Mia,” Lee Know playfully smirked. Mia shot a playful side eye to Chan who just grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “But seriously,” he continued. “I love women, but the past few years at least, I’ve been more into guys.”

“Well, one guy in particular,” Chan chimed in, his tone teasing but knowing. 

“Yeah…” Lee Know smiled warmly and took another sip. 

“Han?” Mia asked. Lee Know nodded slowly, an amused twinkle in his eye. “I can see it. He’s very sexy in his own way, especially when he’s performing. There’s this raw energy about him that’s hard to ignore. The two of you are a cute couple.”

His voice dropped an octave as he spoke. “He’s very sexy. We have too many sexy people in our group.” He winked at Chan playfully. Chan smiled in return as he blushed. The energy between the three of them shifted slightly, the playful atmosphere charging with a sexual tension that made Mia's body hum with need. Lee Know seemed to sense it too.

"I think...," Lee Know said standing up from the table and walking to the refrigerator, "it's time for a few shots to really get this party going." He retrieved the bottle of tequila from the freezer and headed for the living room, sitting on the floor next to the coffee table. 

Chan and Mia got up too. Mia joined Lee Know on the floor, sitting on the other side of the coffee table across from him, her back against the couch, while Chan grabbed three shot glasses from the bar. He sat next to Mia as he placed the glasses on the table.

Lee Know filled each one to the brim and handed one to Chan, then to Mia. Mia accepted the glass, clinking it against Chan's and Lee Know's before tossing back the smooth liquor. It burned down her throat, settling warm in her belly as she watched the body language between the two men. 

Lee Know exuded confidence and his gaze flickered between Chan and Mia, his tongue slowly licking leftover tequila from his bottom lip. Chan leaned lightly against Mia, one hand on her thigh, but his eyes were glued to Minho’s lips as they had a random conversation that Mia was not paying attention to. It was clear that they had been intimate with each other in the past. She felt a rush of arousal run through her body as she watched them playfully banter back and forth. 

As Lee Know poured a second shot, Mia asked, “So tell me about you two.” All three of them drank the shots. 

“What d’ya mean,” Chan asked, his Aussie accent becoming thicker the more he drank. 

“Well, you’ve obviously hooked up before. Tell me about it. How’d it start?”

“Oh, well it happened during our pre-debut days,” Chan started as Lee Know prepped the next round of shots. “In the months leading up to our debut, and I think for maybe 2 years after, we weren’t allowed to ‘date’.” He used air quotes to emphasize the last word. “So usually, a lot of sneaking around tends to happen, either with our actual partners, with other idols in our company in the same predicament, or with your members, if you’re into that sort of thing.” He picked up his shot glass and brought it to his lips. Lee Know and Mia copied him. 

“One night after a long rehearsal,” Lee Know jumped in, already pouring out a fourth shot for each person, “Chan and I stayed up late just talking. After a few beers, he kissed me…”

“Uh, you kissed me!” Chan interrupted. “You said you couldn’t resist my dimples!”

“Fine, I kissed him,” he rolled his eyes and took the shot. Mia suppressed a grin as she took hers too. “And I let him fuck me quietly on the couch in the dorm while everyone else slept.”

“Sounds scandalous,” Mia said.

Chan took his shot. “It only happened a couple times before he got bored and moved on to his next conquests.” Chan grinned.

Lee Know laughed. “Not true! You were equally as bored. We were attracted to each other, but we weren’t really into each other. So, we both moved on. Plus, Chan took his leader role very seriously and he stepped back from those kinds of relationships with all of us. Or tried to.” He leaned into Chan's space. "Remember that night in Bangkok?" Lee Know purred, trailing a finger along Chan's jaw. "When we snuck away from the others and you let me do that thing with my tongue..."

Chan nodded, eyes fluttering shut as Lee Know kissed his jaw. Chan grabbed Lee Know’s face and tried to kiss him, but Lee Know resisted, shoving him away. 

One of Lee Know’s hands wrapped around Chan’s neck forcefully. “Uh uh, hyung,” Lee Know growled, his eyes locked on Chan’s as his hand squeezed tighter. “What did we decide?” Lee Know paused, his feline features amplified when he tilted his head like a cat playing with its trapped prey. “I’m the one in charge tonight, remember?” Chan nodded, his breath hitching when Lee Know’s other hand grabbed his cock through his pants and started massaging gently. “Say it, leader.”

“You’re in charge tonight, Min,” Chan whispered, barely getting enough air to speak, but a gleeful grin on his face anyway. Mia noted that they had already discussed the dynamics for the evening.

Lee Know closed the distance to capture Chan’s mouth in a fierce kiss. Mia's breath caught at the sight, desire pulsing between her thighs as she watched the two gorgeous men lost in each other.

When they parted, they were both breathing hard. Chan turned to pull Mia into a heated kiss of their own. "Still good, baby?" he checked after breaking away from her lips, his voice rough with want.

"God, yes," Mia managed, her head spinning with lust and tequila.

“Good,” Lee Know said in a husky voice. He picked up the tequila bottle and instructed her to, “Open.” Mia complied, tilting her head back and opening her mouth. Lee Know poured the liquid in and when she closed her mouth to swallow, he leaned over Chan’s body to kiss her slowly. 

Mia moaned into Lee Know’s mouth as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers as she savored the taste of tequila and Chan on him. The heat between them grew. Lee Know’s hands roamed her body, pulling her as close to him as he could, even with Chan’s body as a barrier between them. 

When they finally broke apart, Lee Know grinned wickedly at Mia. “Gorgeous.” He turned to Chan, “You’re right, she’s an amazing kisser.” He returned to his spot on the floor. 

Mia was still kneeling upright, not sure what the hell just happened or what to do next. Chan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back down to a seated position. “You okay?” he chuckled. 

Mia shook her head, coming out of her daze. “I think my brain just short circuited for a second there. Wow!”

Lee Know poured one more round and capped the bottle. “Let’s make this interesting,” he said as he handed them the shot glasses. 

“What do you have in mind?” Chan asked, his voice low. He drank the shot and set the glass down. 

“I say we play a little game.” He raised his eyebrow at Mia as he took the shot. Mia took hers as well and slid the shot glass away from her. One more shot at this pace was going to push her into blackout territory. “We take turns spinning the bottle and whoever it lands on has to do whatever the spinner wants," Lee Know added. He moved the coffee table out of the way and laid the tequila bottle on its side on the rug between them. Then he repositioned his body so that he was an equal distance away, but within arms reach, from both Mia and Chan. He placed a hand on Mia’s knee.

Mia felt a thrill run through her at the suggestion. The thought of being at their mercy was incredibly enticing. 

"Sounds like fun," Chan said with a smirk. "I'll go first." He gave the bottle a spin and it landed on Mia. She looked back and forth between Chan and Lee Know, unsure of what they would ask of her.

"Kiss me," Chan said simply, his lips curling up in a seductive smile.

Mia leaned forward without hesitation, pressing her lips against his as he pulled her close. She could feel Lee Know's hand still resting on her leg and she felt it move higher up to her thigh as she and Chan kissed and she shivered.

When they parted, Mia was breathless. She gave the bottle a spin and it landed on Lee Know.

"Take off your shirt," she commanded, feeling bold under their heated gazes and wanting to see how his body compared to Chan’s. From the videos she’d seen of Stray Kids, Chan, and to a lesser extent, Felix, were the exhibitionists in the group. The other members were rarely seen with their shirts off or even untucked. 

Lee Know chuckled but did as she asked, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal his toned chest and abs. His muscles weren’t as defined as Chan’s, but they were still glorious. Mia couldn't help but reach out to touch him, running her fingers over his fair skin, but avoiding the scar on his lower belly. He leaned into her touch with a pleased hum before returning his hand to her thigh, slightly higher than its last placement, and taking his turn to spin the bottle.

This time it landed on Chan. 

“Suck on her breast,” Lee Know said calmly. 

Chan pulled Mia’s shirt over her head and revealed her tits. She had chosen not to put a bra on after their escapades earlier that day. He softly fondled Mia’s breast, pinching the nipple, before leaning his head down to cover it with his mouth. As he sucked and tugged on the nipple, Mia’s hand went to the back of Chan’s head, but her eyes landed on Lee Know, who was watching her enjoy Chan’s actions. He smiled warmly at her as he slid his hand higher on her leg, his thumb just barely nuzzling her crotch. Instinctively, Mia parted her legs, just slightly. The motion caused Lee Know to grin widely, clearly liking the effect he was having on her. 

Chan gave her breast a light kiss before sitting back up and spinning the bottle again. It stopped at Lee Know.

“Finger her,” Chan said without hesitation, very much aware of Lee Know’s traveling hand. Chan pulled the elastic waistband of Mia’s sweatpants away from her body, creating space for Lee Know to place his hand in. Mia felt his middle finger slide down the center line of her mound, over her clit, and on to her slit. Then he slowly sunk several fingers inside of her before he started to pump them in and out.

Mia allowed her head to roll back against the cushion of the couch. She sighed and started to rock her hips back and forth against his finger. Suddenly, he pulled his hand away. 

Mia sat up and looked at the two men, both with shit eating grins on their faces. “Okay,” she said, composing herself. She took her turn spinning the bottle and it again landed on Lee Know. “Place the fingers you just took out of me into his mouth,” she said as she pointed at Chan. 

Lee Know chuckled at Mia’s bold command. He held up his index, middle, and ring finger, each glistening with Mia’s juices, as if in demonstration. Then he leaned over and pushed them into Chan’s mouth. Chan eagerly sucked and licked at the fingers as Lee Know mimicked their action in Mia, slowly pumping them in and out of Chan’s mouth. 

Chan finally pulled away and laughed, “Okay, okay. That’s enough of that. Your turn, Min.”

Lee Know spun the bottle and it landed on Mia. Lee Know thought for a second. “Come sit on my lap,” he instructed softly, his eyes glinting with mischief. 

Mia hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering to Chan. He nodded at her and mouthed, Go ahead.

She took a deep breath and slowly crawled over to Lee Know. She straddled his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. As she sank down on him, she could feel his hardness beneath her through their clothes. Lee Know grabbed her face and brought her lips to his. 

As they kissed, his hands moved to grip her hips and he started moving them for her, back and forth, forcing her to grind onto his hard on. Mia moaned into his mouth as her already sensitive bits rubbed against him. A few seconds later, she felt Chan’s lips on her neck, kissing her spot. He had moved behind her, his hands slipping around her waist onto her belly. One hand moved up to cup her breast, while his other hand moved in the opposite direction, slipping into her underwear to play with her clit. Mia gasped at all the sensations on the different parts of her body. 

She pulled away from Lee Know to catch her breath, and he immediately leaned over her shoulder to kiss Chan again. Neither of them stopped moving their hands on her as they indulged in each other. 

When they stopped kissing, Chan rested his chin on Mia’s shoulder and grinned. “Should we move this to the bedroom? Mia, what do you want, love?” He kissed her cheek as he waited for an answer, adding a tiny bit more pressure to his assault on her clitoris. 

Mia breathed heavily, her chest heaving. "Take me to bed. Both of you."

Chan kissed her cheek again and removed his fingers. 

With Mia still in his lap, Lee Know easily stood up. He carried her as he followed Chan to Mia’s bedroom. He placed her gently on the bed, then pulled off Mia’s sweatpants and underwear, leaving her exposed. 

"I want to taste you," he murmured, sinking gracefully to his knees. "May I?"

"Please," Mia gasped, her head falling back onto the plush comforter, now drunk from the combo of wine, tequila, and lust. She looked to Chan, who was watching them with hooded eyes, palming himself through his pants. "Come here, baby."

Chan quickly ditched his own clothes before obeying Mia and joining her on the bed. Lee Know wasted no time, burying his face between her thighs with a groan of appreciation. Mia cried out, hips rocking against his talented mouth.

"That's it," Chan encouraged, "Let go, let yourself feel it. You're so fucking gorgeous like this." He kissed her softly. 

Mia whimpered as she bucked forward into Lee Know’s wicked tongue. She reached over to Chan and wrapped her hand around his hard cock, stroking him up and down. Chan sighed and lay next to her as he enjoyed the friction from her hand. 

Lee Know alternated between sucking and biting her clit and fucking her with his tongue. When Mia was on the brink of losing it, she pushed him away with her foot. Lee Know smirked. 

"I need… ," she panted, a little bit dizzy. "I need you inside me, please."

“Oh, she’s so polite,” Lee Know laughed. He kissed her thigh before standing up, his hard on fighting against the fabric of his jeans. 

Chan sat up and unbuckled Lee Know’s pants, allowing his surprisingly large cock to spring free. Mia licked her lips at the sight of it, simultaneously speeding up her hand movement on Chan’s dick in response.  

Without a second thought, Chan’s tongue darted out to lick Lee Know’s shaft, starting from the bottom and dragging languidly towards the tip. Then he wrapped his lips around it and bobbed a couple times. 

Lee Know hissed as he grabbed the back of Chan’s head. “Still the best lips,” he whispered with a smile. 

Chan grinned and pulled away. “Maybe some other time, Min,” he teased. He reached over to Mia’s bedside table and pulled out a condom. “Here,” he said as he tossed it to Lee Know and resumed his reclined position next to Mia. He turned Mia’s face toward him and kissed her, allowing her to taste Lee Know on his lips.

Lee Know watched them as he opened the small package and slipped the condom on. Then he positioned himself between Mia’s legs. He hitched one of her legs over his shoulder. The first press of his cock against her entrance had Mia seeing stars.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," Lee Know grunted, bottoming out in one smooth thrust.

Mia groaned into Chan’s mouth. They kissed messily, panting into each other as Lee Know fucked into her with deep, powerful strokes. Chan’s hand moved to Mia’s clit and it wasn’t long before her body started convulsing with an orgasm. Lee Know continued to fuck her slowly through the entire wave. 

Once her body stilled, Mia tore her lips away from Chan and whispered, "I want to see you together." Her eyes met Chan's lust-darkened gaze. 

Chan shuddered in excitement, his cock jumping in her hand. “Yes, baby.”

"Happy to oblige," Lee Know said as he removed himself from Mia and shifted closer to Chan. He captured Chan’s lips in a filthy kiss. "Turn over," he growled. 

Chan flipped onto his stomach. Lee Know bent down and buried his head between Chan’s ass cheeks with the same fervor he had for Mia’s pussy. After licking and probing Chan with his tongue for a few minutes, he reached his hand in between Mia’s legs to cover his fingers in her wetness before smearing it over the condom on his dick. Within seconds, he was sliding into Chan’s ass.

“Oh fuck,” Chan groaned as Lee Know eased himself all the way in before thrusting forcefully. 

Lee Know reached his arms around Chan’s chest and pulled him upright, leaning Chan’s back against his own chest as he continued to thrust upwards. Mia watched in awe as Chan’s eyes rolled up into his head. It was the single most erotic thing she'd ever seen, their beautiful bodies moving together in perfect sync, both of their ridiculously pretty faces reflecting their pleasure and enjoyment. She felt the heat rising through her body again and her hand moved to her clit on its own, rubbing in soft circles. 

Lee Know motioned for her to join them with his head. “Come here, Mia,” he said, slightly out of breath. Mia sat up and inched herself closer to their two bodies. One of Lee Know’s hands was simultaneously jacking off Chan’s dick. “Get on,” he instructed.

He held Chan’s dick in place as Mia rose up and sank down on top of it. Both she and Chan moaned collectively as it slid deeply into her. Chan opened his eyes to look at her and he smiled. He positioned his hands under her ass and helped her stay in place as she bounced up and down and moved her hips back and forth on his dick. 

Chan brought his lips to hers and they kissed furiously as the three of them fucked. Mia’s motions soon matched the timing of Lee Know’s thrusts, causing Chan’s body to shake. 

“There we go,” Lee Know whispered as he increased his force into Chan. 

Mia broke away from Chan’s lips and leaned all the way back, her body arching gracefully as her head and upper back found their way to the bed. She continued to rock her hips up and down, the new positioning causing the tip of Chan’s dick to hit her g-spot. Coupled with her clit rubbing against his pubic bone, she came again. She squeezed her vaginal walls tightly. 

Suddenly, Chan reached his climax, his body shuddering intensely as his dick twitched inside Mia and his asshole clamped around Lee Know’s large cock. Seconds later, Lee Know came with a loud grunt. They collapsed into a sweaty, sated heap, all three of them trading slow kisses as they caught their breaths. They were a tangle of limbs, hands and mouths everywhere at once. Mia couldn't tell where she ended and they began, lost in pure sensation. 

Eventually, Lee Know rolled off of Chan, then sat up. “That was fun,” he said with a smile as he smacked Chan’s ass. He stood up and walked to the bathroom. Mia watched as he slipped off the condom and threw it in the trash. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve let someone fuck me. But anything for you, goddess. Did you enjoy that?” Chan asked, pulling her attention away from his friend. She turned to look at him and nodded. “Good.” He kissed her forehead and pulled Mia close to him, hugging her tightly. 

A few minutes later, Lee Know returned to join them on the bed, sandwiching Mia’s body in between his and Chan’s. He kissed Mia’s shoulder then used his finger to turn her head towards him. “Come here,” he whispered. 

Mia turned her body towards him. “What?” she asked softly looking into his eyes. 

“He gets to have you all the time.” He kissed her lips gently. “I want just a little more before this night is over and we go back to just being Channie’s girlfriend and best friend.” He kissed her again, this time slipping his tongue into her mouth. 

Chan moved closer to her until they were spooning, resting his hand on her hip. As Chan peppered her back with kisses, she felt Lee Know’s hand move between her legs again, his fingers gliding in and out of her easily despite the sticky mess present. 

Lee Know broke their kiss to ask, “Have you ever had two men inside of you at the same time?”

“No,” Mia answered breathlessly. She started to feel Chan grind against her ass in a delicious rhythm. 

Lee Know grinned at Chan. “Pass me another condom,” he demanded. Chan pulled away from Mia for a second, then tossed a new condom square at Lee Know, before he resumed his grind and kisses on her. 

Mia wasn’t sure what they were up to, but after the experience they’d just had, she was eager to find out. 

Lee Know removed his hand from Mia’s slit and rolled the condom onto his dick. Mia couldn’t believe that either of them were hard again so quickly. The benefits of being in your 20s, she guessed.

As he lay on his side facing Mia, Lee Know lifted her top leg over his hip, then pushed his dick slowly into her. 

“Oh,” Mia moaned before Lee Know started kissing her again. His hips moved forward and backward at a slow pace and Mia felt every inch of him as he rubbed against her fleshy, sore inner walls. 

A minute later, she heard Chan spit into his hand and listened as he lubed up his dick with it. Chan moved even closer to her, holding on to her hip as he slowly entered her anus. 

“Ah,” Mia gasped as she felt the fullness from both men inside of her at the same time. 

“Relax baby,” Chan cooed into her ear. “Just relax.” 

Mia closed her eyes and took deep breaths, trying to relax her body as she adjusted to the new sensation of being filled by two men at once. Soon, the initial discomfort faded away and was replaced with pleasure as Chan’s thrusts became more assertive and Lee Know’s kisses grew more passionate.

The three of them found a steady rhythm, their bodies moving together. Mia had never experienced anything like this before and she couldn’t believe how amazing it felt to have both men pleasuring her simultaneously. It was almost too much, the dual stimulation threatening to overwhelm her. 

As they moved together, Chan leaned in to plant kisses along her shoulders and neck. He whispered naughty words of encouragement into her ear, pushing her to enjoy every inch of this new experience. Lee Know's touch was rougher, his hands digging into her hips as he thrusted into her with more force, his tongue fighting against hers. Their breathing grew heavy and labored, the mattress squeaking beneath their combined weight.

Mia could feel her juices dripping down Lee Know’s shaft, contributing to a wet slapping sound against their skin with each of his powerful thrusts. She could feel heat from both men’s bodies radiating against her own, their skin slick with sweat from the intense pleasure they were sharing. Every touch made all her nerve endings tingle. 

Her moans grew louder as they both picked up the pace. Chan’s hips slammed into her ass harder than before. Lee Know’s growls echoed off the walls as he pushed deeper inside of Mia’s tight passage. Each time, he pulled back almost all the way out, before shoving himself back in again. Each of them drove deeper into her with each thrust. 

“Aaahhh! Mmmmm,” she groaned as she felt herself building towards a third orgasm. She knew this one would be even more intense than the first two. 

Chan’s free hand wrapped around her neck and squeezed gently. “I fucking love you, Mrs. Bahng,” he whispered in between kisses. Mia could feel the curve of his smirk against her ear. 

Despite herself, hearing him refer to her as his wife drove her wild and all of her inner walls started to twitch erratically. 

Chan chuckled. “Oh, that’s my girl. Cum for us, baby,” he whispered before licking her neck. 

Mia couldn’t hold back any longer. “Ohhhhh! FUUUUCK!” she screamed in pleasure as she reached another climax, wave after wave of ecstasy flowing through her body from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She felt her eyes roll back s both Chan and Lee Know continued to fuck her relentlessly, chasing releases of their own.

With one final thrust, accompanied by a loud, “Fuck!” Lee Know came. He eased himself out of her and planted one last kiss on her lips. Then he reached over her shoulder to kiss Chan forcefully. The contact of their lips and tongues made Chan cum hard into Mia. 

Lee Know pulled away and laughed, clearly enjoying the havoc he had helped to create. He removed the condom, tied it, and threw it on the floor, too spent to move from the spot as he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. 

As they lay together catching their breaths. Mia couldn’t believe what had just happened. Lee Know grabbed one of her hands and brought it to his chest. His other hand reached over her body and found its way into Chan’s hair. He gently played with the strands. Chan grabbed Mia’s other hand and wrapped his and her arms around her torso, resuming their spooned position. Each of them were touching some part of the other two, sparks of electricity flowing between their skin like current moving through a live wire. Within minutes, they had all fallen asleep. 

****

The early morning sun filtering through the curtains roused Mia from her slumber. She blinked, momentarily disoriented by the warm bodies pressed against her on either side. Chan's arm was draped over her waist, his face nestled into her neck, while Lee Know's leg was thrown over both of them, his soft breaths tickling her shoulder.

Mia was still in a bit of shock that these two men had brought her fantasy to life in such a spectacular fashion. She smiled lazily, her eyes still closed, savoring the afterglow of their intimate encounter. She knew the real world would come crashing back in soon enough, but for now, she wanted to savor this feeling of connection and contentment.

As if sensing her thoughts, Chan stirred, his hand tightening around her stomach as he nuzzled closer. "Morning," he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep. His fingers started to draw gentle circles around her bellybutton. 

Mia sighed happily, enjoying the simple affection. "Morning," she whispered back, turning her head to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “We should probably get up and clean.” She playfully pushed at his chest, making him roll onto his back. 

Chan groaned dramatically, reaching back over to her to pull her into a tight hug. "I just don't want this weekend to end," he murmured against her hair.

Mia rested her head on his shoulder, taking comfort in his warmth. "Me neither," she admitted.

The movement jostled Lee Know, who groaned and stretched, his lithe body arching against Mia's. "Is it time to get up already?" he whined, cracking one eye open.

Chan chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Lee Know's hair. "Afraid so.”

Lee Know adjusted his position on the bed to face Mia and Chan. He took in how their bodies were wrapped up in each other. “You two sleep well? Last night was a little… intense.”

“Who are you telling?” Mia replied. “I feel like I got my soul fucked out of me.” She covered her eyes with her hand and laughed softly.

“As long as you enjoyed it, goddess,” Chan said as he kissed Mia’s hand. “And as much as I hate to say it, we should probably keep this between us. Well, us and Han, since I know you'll tell him anyway."

Lee Know nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. But for the record, Han only gave me approval to participate in this little adventure if I promised to give him details. But I’ll make sure he keeps his trap shut.” 

“You better,” Chan said as he lifted his leg over Mia to kick Lee Know. 

"Thanks, Minho. I appreciate you doing this for us." She disentangled herself from Chan to give Lee Know a hug. “But let’s just pretend we haven’t seen each other naked, ok?”

Lee Know laughed, then he gave her still naked body a once over. “This will be a hard memory to block out, but I’ll give it my best effort!”

With a final round of hugs and kisses, Lee Know extracted himself from the tangle of limbs and set about gathering his clothes. Mia and Chan watched him dress in comfortable silence, their hands intertwined.

Once Lee Know had left with a jaunty wave and a wink, Chan turned to Mia, his expression serious. "How are you feeling about everything? I know this was a big step for us."

Mia took a deep breath, trying to put her jumbled emotions into words. "Honestly? I'm surprised by how much I enjoyed it. I mean, I've had this fantasy for so long, but I never thought I'd actually go through with it. And now that I have, I don't regret it at all. In fact, I think I might be open to exploring more with you, if that’s still something you’d want."

Chan's eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Really? Because I may have been looking into this sex club that's supposed to be pretty exclusive and discreet..."

Mia laughed, pulling him closer to her. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

Chan's expression softened, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. "I love you so much, Mia. I never want you to doubt that, no matter what we explore together."

"I love you too, Chris. More than I ever thought possible." 

They sealed their declarations with a deep, tender kiss, pouring all their love and trust into the embrace. When they finally parted, breathless and flushed, Chan rested his forehead against Mia's.

“Do you really want to marry me?” Mia whispered.

“Absolutely,” Chan whispered back as he stared into her eyes. “I can promise you nothing will change that.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. 

“Okay. Two years to this date, you ask me again.”

Chan’s dimpled grin appeared. "What do you say we continue this conversation in the shower? I'm feeling the need to worship every inch of your body right now."

Mia shivered at the heat in his words, already imagining the slick slide of their bodies under the warm spray. "Lead the way, baby. I'm all yours."

Hand in hand, they tumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, ready to lose themselves in each other once more. The outside world could wait a little longer. 

****

After eating dinner later that night, Chan and Mia curled up on the couch to watch a movie. They were both exhausted from the weekend and wanted to spend their last night just cuddling. 

A sudden, urgent knock at the door startled them. They exchanged a puzzled glance, wondering who could be visiting at this hour.

“Did you plan another surprise?” Mia asked as she paused the movie. 

“Nope. I have no idea who it is.”

"Um, okay. I'll get it," Mia said, quickly throwing off the blanket and walking to the front door. She peered through the window and was surprised to see her niece, Lianna, standing outside, her expression tense and worried.

Mia opened the door, concern etched on her face. "Lianna? Why didn’t you just use your key.”

“I didn’t want to potentially interrupt anything.” Lianna nodded to Chan on the couch as she stepped inside.

“What's wrong? Did something happen?" Mia asked as she closed the door.

Lianna fidgeted with the strap of her backpack. "Aunt Mia, we've been trying to reach you all day. Dad, Bella, and I… But none of the calls were going through. I called Changbin to see if you were at the beach house, but he said you and Chan were offline for the weekend."

Mia's heart sank, a sense of dread washing over her. "What is it, Lianna? You're scaring me." Chan sat up on the couch, his gaze flitting between the two of them. 

Lianna took a deep breath, her voice trembling. "It's Jacob. He was hit by a drunk driver early this morning on his way home from work. He's in critical condition, Aunt Mimi. I guess Uncle Jay tried to call you too. And when he couldn’t reach you, he called us. He thought you blocked him.”

“Who’s Jacob?” Chan asked, his eyebrow’s furrowed. 

“Jason’s older brother,” Mia responded quietly, as her brain processed the news Lianna just shared. 

Lianna continued, “Uncle Jay's family is still in California, and they can't get here until tomorrow or Tuesday. You're the only one he's been asking for. He’s freaking the fuck out."

As the urgency sank in for Mia, she felt as if the ground had shifted beneath her feet. She gripped the door frame for support, her mind reeling. Jason's brother, the man who had been like a sibling to her for so many years, fighting for his life. She felt a panic attack coming on.

Chan appeared behind her, his presence warm and reassuring. "Mia… Breathe."

Mia turned to him, her eyes brimming with tears as she struggled to catch her breath. She slowly exhaled in and out, waiting for her breathing to stabilize. "Chris, I.…"

Chan wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "Shh, it's okay. We'll figure this out."

Mia clung to him, her heart torn between her loyalty to Jason's family and her deepening feelings for Chan. She knew she needed to be there for Jason, but the thought of leaving Chan, of cutting their weekend short, made her ache inside.

As if reading her thoughts, Chan pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Mia, I know this is hard, but you need to go to him. Jason and his family need you right now, and I understand that. Don't worry about me or our weekend. We'll have plenty of time together in the future."

Mia looked up at him, her eyes searching his. "Are you sure, Chris? I don't want to make you feel like I'm choosing him over you."

Chan cupped her face, his thumb wiping away a stray tear. "I'm sure, Mia. I love you, and I want to support you in every way I can. If that means letting you go be with your ex-partner's family during this crisis, then that's what I'll do. No questions asked."

At that moment, Mia knew that Chan was the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. A man who could put aside his own feelings and reservations to support her unconditionally.

She turned to Lianna, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "Okay. Let's go. Just give us a few minutes to change our clothes and Chris and I will head to the hospital together."

Lianna nodded. 

“Which hospital are they at? Jackson or Mount Sinai?”

“Jackson. Dad is consulting since there’s a fear he might have brain damage.”

“Okay, good. Call Jason and tell him I’m coming. We’ll meet you over there.” Mia gave Lianna a kiss on the forehead and Lianna responded by pulling her in for a tight hug. 

“I’ll see you in a few.” Lianna left. 

Mia grabbed Chan’s hand as they walked to the bedroom to get changed. 

“Are you sure you want me to come with you? I don’t mind staying here and waiting.”

“Yes! I need you there. Please.” Mia tugged on a pair of blue jeans and pulled a black sweatshirt she found on the floor over her head. She wasn’t sure if it was one of hers or one of Chan’s. 

“I can do that,” Chan replied. As he changed out of his shorts and tank top into black jeans and a black t-shirt, Mia threw her curls into a messy bun. 

“Thank you.” 

As they grabbed their essentials and headed out the door, Mia laced her fingers with Chan's, drawing strength from his unwavering presence. 

A/N: Only 5 chapters left, y'all.

[luckyroll3]

Mine Chapter 10

Mine Masterlist Previous Chapter

Additional Warnings: Possessiveness; Some violence

You and your friends are having a great night out at one of the local bars. The conversation had somehow moved into recollections about your college years, both fun and embarrassing moments. As you laugh at a story Travis spins, Minho gives you a kiss on the cheek and tells you that he’s heading to the bathroom. 

As he walks away, Liz brings up the time a guy from Lucas’ political science class kept popping up around campus and anytime Lucas went out. 

“He was my own personal stan,” Lucas adds. “He just wouldn’t leave me alone. Always hanging around with the puppy dog eyes, lingering in the background staring. It was a lot!”

“He loved you!” Liz says with a laugh.

“I’m not sure why. We hadn’t spoken more than 5 words to each other the entire semester.”

“For some reason, you couldn’t just tell him that you weren’t interested.” I add.

“I felt bad hurting his feelings. I’m too nice.”

“Sure,” you say with skepticism. “That’s when I had to swoop in and save you, pretending to be your girlfriend. Once he thought you were taken, he gave up.”

“You saved my ass every time!” Lucas said as he enveloped you into a playful hug from behind in one fluid motion, his arms snaking around your waist. He buries his face into the crook of your neck. “Always my savior.”

Laughter bursts from you, loud and uninhibited from how his nose tickled your skin. “That’s my job as your best friend; to save you from yourself. I definitely deserved to be paid for the amount of work I did saving your ass, only to get dirty looks thrown my way by every guy and girl who wanted to fuck you.”

“I paid you in food and alcohol!”

You lean back against him, enjoying his warm, familiar comfort as you chuckle at his words. “Mozzarella sticks, Natty Light, and drinks made with bottom shelf liquor don’t count.”

“I appreciate you, best friend,” he says as he sways your bodies from side to side. 

“You better.” 

As Liz launches into another story about Lucas from college, you feel like someone is watching you. You feel the shift before you see it, as if the air in the room has grown heavier, charged with an electric current that heralds the coming storm. You turn your head to the side and see Minho glowering in your direction, his eyes are dark tempests, swirling with a possessive fury that makes your heart race. The chill from Minho's gaze cuts through the warmth of Lucas' embrace, chilling you to the bone.

As he strides toward you and Lucas, every step is deliberate, oozing an animalistic grace that belies the chaos brewing in his stare. His lean muscles flex beneath the tailored fit of his shirt, each movement a silent testament to the dangerous energy he harbors just below the surface. The space between you shrinks rapidly, and there's no mistaking the intent behind his approach; it's predatory, honed in on you and Lucas with the precision of a hawk eyeing its prey.

When his hand clamps around your arm, it's firm and unyielding, his fingers leaving impressions on your skin that burn hotter than any touch should. He yanks you from the comfort of Lucas' arms, dragging you into the eye of his jealous hurricane. "You think I don't see it, huh?" he snarls at Lucas, his voice dripping with venom. "Trying to fuck what's mine?"

"Minho, stop," you manage, but your protest dies in your throat, strangled by the sheer absurdity of the accusation. Your words fall on deaf ears though. Instead, they only fuel his rage, the beast within him clawing closer to the surface.

Lucas doesn't flinch at Minho's seething assault. His posture remains relaxed, an infuriating calm in the face of Minho's tempest. "I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, but you've got this all wrong," he says unruffled.

"Wrong? Watching you cozy up to her, thinking I wouldn't notice?" Minho's grip tightens on your forearm, causing you to suck in a breath, a possessive claim that screams ownership. His other hand balls into a fist, the knuckles white with the strain of restraint.

"Let go of her," Lucas demands, his tone even but edged with steel. It's a protective command.

"Or what?" Minho's retort is a growl, a sound so primal it resonates deep in your core. 

"Or I'll make you," Lucas replies, taking a step towards Minho.

The standoff is taut, a stretched wire ready to snap. You're caught in the middle, a pawn in their battle of wills. The air between Minho and Lucas crackles with the kind of electric charge that forebodes destruction. 

“I’d love for you to try, but you’re fucking pathetic.” Minho sneers. His voice is a crescendo of fury, his words sharp daggers aimed straight at Lucas, who stands four inches taller than him as an immovable object. 

Lucas smirks at Minho, clearly unimpressed by his bravado. Growing up as an openly queer kid, Lucas had met and fought his fair share of bullies. The last time he cowered to someone, he was in the 6th grade and was beaten up by two older boys on the basketball court. He hadn’t lost a fight since. 

Lucas’ reaction does nothing but taunt Minho, fueling his anger. 

"Keep laughing," Minho spits out, his temper flaring like wildfire. He releases you and launches forward, barreling towards Lucas, shoving with enough force to make a lesser man stagger. But Lucas isn't a lesser man. He’s six feet tall and all lean muscle thanks to years of jiujitsu and boxing. His smirk turns into a laugh, as if he was only being harassed by a tiny gnat. 

Minho's arm whips out, fast as a viper strike, his fist connecting with Lucas' chin; it’s a blow meant to silence and subdue. But Lucas is undeterred, unfazed, as if pain is just another flavor of pleasure. He takes it with a smile, the impact resonating with a sickening crack that sends a jolt of alarm straight through the room.

Retaliation is swift, a gut punch delivered with precision, the kind that knocks the wind out of you and leaves you gasping for air. Lucas' fist sinks into Minho's abdomen, a brutal intrusion, and the sound it evokes from Minho is almost obscene; it’s a grunt that borders on the edge of a moan.

After taking a breath, Minho immediately charges at Lucas and the standoff turns into a brawl. It's a battle waged with fists and elbows, a display of raw masculinity. People scatter, screams mingle with the music from the jukebox, but all you can focus on is the primal spectacle before you. Your friends are voices in the distance, calls of concern that you barely register. 

Lucas and Minho are oblivious to the chaos they've wrought, each blow exchanged a testament to their ferocity. You watch, transfixed, as they grapple with each other, bodies slick with sweat and something far more primal. Their grunts and groans paint a lurid picture, one that sears itself onto your retinas and burrows deep into your psyche. As the room devolves into pandemonium, their brawl into a frenzied clash of flesh and wills, you stand frozen, a statue carved of longing and dread.

As your heart hammers against your ribcage, you see a gap in the chaos, a brief sliver of opportunity to intervene. You lunge forward, hands outstretched, reaching for Minho's tense shoulders in an attempt to pry him away from Lucas. "Min, stop it!" you scream, voice barely rising above the cacophony of violence.

Minho, lost in his own tempest of fury, turns on you with feral eyes that sear through the haze of rage. His arm shoots out, shoving you with such force that you stumble backward. Your footing gives way, and the world tilts dangerously as you crash to the ground, the breath knocked from your lungs in a silent gasp.

Pain blooms across your back, a stark reminder of Minho's betrayal. Liz is immediately by your side, her hands gentle as she helps you regain your senses. You feel Nat's steadying grip on your arm and Travis' concerned gaze upon you.

"Are you okay?" Liz asks, hazel eyes filled with worry.

But you're not listening; you're watching Minho, seeing the monster he's become. He hasn’t even registered what he’s done to you, instantly turning to advance on Lucas once again. 

You see the look of shock and concern on Lucas’ face, temporarily pulling his attention from Minho. Minho uses the distraction as an opportunity to sucker punch Lucas, drawing blood from his eyebrow. Lucas responds by throwing an uppercut that catches Minho under his jaw, making him stagger this time.

Clambering to your feet, a decision crystallizes within you. You need to escape this toxic waltz of jealousy and possessiveness. “Fuck this!” you say quietly before you start to push past the tangled bodies and spilled drinks. The floor feels sticky beneath your heels, each step imprinting a mark of your resolve.

"Wait! Please!" Minho screams as he notices you walking away. The desperation in his plea claws at you, but it's nothing compared to the iron grip of fear clenching your heart. His words are empty echoes, futile attempts to reel you back into his twisted game.

You barrel through the crowd, the faces around you a blur of shock and voyeuristic thrill. They feed off the drama.

Security guards muscle their way through the crowd in the opposite direction to you, their bulky forms rushing to create a wall between Minho and Lucas. You don't stop to see who lands the last punch or whose blood stains the floor; your soul is screaming for release, for the cool night air to cleanse you of the stain of this evening.

"Come back to me!" Minho's voice is a tortured sound that slices through the noise, his words trying to latch onto you like chains. But you're done being caged. You tear free from the crowd, sprinting towards the door, the taste of liberation sharp and intoxicating on your tongue.

The exit looms ahead, a beacon of reprieve, and you throw yourself into it. The chill of the night hits you, a stark contrast to the feverish heat of the room you've left behind. This is where you draw the line; this is where you reclaim your life.

Your hands tremble as they scrape the depths of your purse, searching for the car keys. They feel alien, slippery like eels evading capture. The cold metal finally presses against your fingertips. You seize them, and blindly press at the buttons to unlock the sanctuary that is your car.

You slide into the driver's seat, the leather cool against the heat of your flushed skin. Your movements are mechanical, robotic, driven by an instinct to flee. Just as you shut the door, a thud on the window startles you; it's Minho, his face a mask of desperation, distorted by the glass pane and the tears that threaten to fall. His fists pound against the barrier, a brute-force plea to stay, to listen, to forgive. You quickly lock all the doors.

"Please, don't do this!" he mouths, the words muffled but clear enough. Apologies spill from his lips, a torrent of regret and promises unkept.

But you won't be swayed. You push the starter button and the engine growls to life. It's the sound of escape, of liberation. You rev the engine, casting him away with every decibel that vibrates through the air. Minho's voice becomes a distant echo, a ghost soon to be forgotten as you shift into reverse to back out, then drive and accelerate away from the storm that is him.

The road home stretches before you. Your thoughts whirlpool, sucking in memories, doubts, and a new-found clarity that bites at your consciousness. Minho's allure, once magnetic, now repels you, the charm that ensnared you shattered by the violence of his true nature.

His possessiveness, once mistaken for passion, now stands naked, a grotesque display of control and danger. The way he moved, spoke, touched—it was never love, but ownership disguised as devotion. 

As streetlights flicker past, illuminating the path ahead in intermittent flashes, a cocktail of relief and sorrow washes over you. Relief that you had the strength to leave, sorrow for the love that was never real. Minho's name lights up your entertainment display over and over again; each time you decline, until you just give up, allowing the vibrations to become background noise.

By the time your neighborhood looms into view, the weight of the night sinks into your bones. You're heavy with the knowledge that your world has shifted on its axis, irrevocably altered by Minho's unforgivable actions. 

Alone in the quiet of your home, you reflect on the night's events, the emotional turmoil leaving you drained yet resolute.

You take a long, hot shower, letting the scalding water rinse away the residue of violence and heartache. As you wrap yourself in a soft towel, the events replay in your mind on an endless loop.

Minho's rage, Lucas' bloodied face, the sounds of fists meeting flesh; these memories make you shudder despite the steam filling the bathroom. You wish you could wash them down the drain along with the dirtied water circling in the shower.

After changing into comfy pajamas, you settle into the couch with a mug of tea, seeking comfort in the quiet solitude. Your phone lights up with another call from Minho. Without hesitation, you silence it.

You know you need to have a conversation with him, to make it clear this relationship has run its course. But you also know that Minho's words hold a dangerous power over you, and you need to gather your thoughts before facing him.

You scroll through your contacts, stopping on Lucas' name. You hit call, not sure what to expect.

"Hey," Lucas answers after a few rings.

"Hi," you reply softly, feeling awkward and unsure of how to proceed.

"How are you holding up?" he asks, concern evident in his voice.

"I'm okay," you reply truthfully. "Just trying to process everything." There’s silence on the line. “How are you? How’s your face?”

“I’m okay,” he echoes. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve fought scarier dudes than Minho. Are you at home?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you safe? He hasn’t tried to come over there, has he.”

“I’m good. And he hasn’t. He just keeps calling.”

“Do you need me to come over? I can be there in 15 minutes…”

“No. It’s okay. I think I’ll be fine. It’s just…. I…. I’m so sorry Lucas,” you say with a sob, tears escaping from your eyes. 

“Hey! What are you apologizing for? This isn’t on you. This was Minho’s doing.”

“I know, but I knew he had a dark side. I just didn’t think things would get this bad.”

As you wipe away your tears, Lucas' reassuring voice travels through the phone. "Listen, none of this is your fault. He's dangerous." 

You let out a shaky breath. "I know. Tonight made it so clear. The way he exploded...it was like he became a completely different person." 

"Yeah. But now you can move on, get him out of your life for good."

You close your eyes, the weight of it all sinking in. "I'm scared, Lucas. Ending things with him, I don't know how he'll react. You saw what he's capable of." 

Lucas is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is gentle but firm. "I’m here. Whatever you need.” He pauses. “It’s my job as your best friend,” he said softly, echoing your words to him from earlier that night.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll check in with you tomorrow, ok? Love you.”

“Love you too.” The line goes dead, leaving you alone in the silence of your home.

You sink back into the couch cushions, the warmth of Lucas' words lingering even as anxiety creeps in. You know ending things with Minho won't be easy, but it's necessary. 

Your phone lights up with another call from Minho, but you ignore it. You need space to think through how to approach this. 

As you sip your tea, your mind drifts to memories of how things started with Minho; the excitement of a new relationship, falling for his charm and passion. But then, gradually, possessiveness and manipulation seeped in like a poison. The first time he yelled at you for talking to another guy at a party. The way he always needed to know where you were, who you were with. The mounting jealousy and rage that finally erupted tonight. 

You feel the loss of what could have been, while accepting that the relationship turned toxic long ago. Still, confronting Minho fills you with dread.

[luckyroll3]

Mine Chapter 9

Mine Masterlist Previous Chapter

The morning light filters through the blinds, casting stripes across Minho's bare chest as he stands before the mirror, and slips his arms into a long-sleeved blue business shirt. You watch him, the desire to reach out and feel his warmth wars with the anxiety that always simmers just beneath the surface.

"Any plans for the weekend?" His voice is casual; it’s a simple question laced with an undercurrent of expectation. He wraps a tie around his neck and starts to tie it.

You know this dance well enough by now.

"Nothing much," you respond, your voice measured, fingers twitching against the fabric of your blouse. You're careful, so careful, filtering every word through a sieve of what might please him, what might soothe that smoldering look in his eyes. It's a small price to pay, you tell yourself. For the passionate nights wrapped up in each other's limbs, for the way his touch ignites a fire within you.

"Good." He slides his gaze over to you, a smirk tugging at his lips. He’s an artist admiring his masterpiece, the subtle control he wields over you, the palette of your life colored by his insecurities.

You sit at the breakfast table, the aroma of coffee mingling with the tension that hangs between you. Somehow, the conversation has turned to your friend group. Minho thinks you spend too much time with them and worry about how they might be influencing you, how their intentions might not be so pure. His words are sugar-coated venom, dripping with concern, but behind them is the unmistakable tint of command.

Then his focus shifts to Travis and Lucas, how they always seem to be around. "Lucas... he can be such a flirt. And Travis? Why’s he always talking to you when he has his own wife? It’s a bit much, don't you think?" Minho's tone feigns nonchalance, but there's steel behind it, a silent demand for acquiescence.

You don’t react, your heart sinking even as you want to believe the best of him. Perhaps it's not possessiveness but intensity. Maybe he's just looking out for you, in his own twisted way. Your mind rationalizes, but your gut twists with the knowledge that you're slowly being pruned away from anyone who could be a threat to his fragile dominion.

Your spoon clinks against the bowl as you stir your uneaten cereal. “Travis is just a talker; he knows I’ll listen to him without interrupting or judging,” you murmur. “And Lucas is a flirt; he’s just not flirting with me.” You know Lucas isn’t flirting with you because you’re simply not his type. His preferred type has pecs and a dick.

Minho reaches across the table, his hand brushing yours with tenderness. "I’m just always looking out for you, baby," he whispers. You nod, a tight smile on your lips.

****

You slide into the booth across from Liz and Lucas, the aroma of coffee and bacon mingling through the air. The restaurant's cacophony fades to a low hum as Liz leans forward, her hazel eyes glinting.

"Spill it. How are things really going with Minho?" she probes, her tone light but insistent.

"Good," you breathe out a little too quickly, like a reflex. "He's been... attentive." Your cheeks warm as flashes of last night's carnal abandon dance before your eyes. The way his fingers traced your skin, igniting trails of fire, the possessive hunger in his gaze as he claimed you while fucking you. "And he’s given me the most thoughtful gifts..." You let the sentence hang.

"Did you have that conversation about boundaries like we discussed?" Lucas' voice cuts through, a knife of skepticism slicing your fragile narrative.

"Yep, went well," you lie, sipping your Bloody Mary to avoid his searching gaze. You don't mention Minho's darkened eyes, the clench of his jaw, the venom lacing his words, his anger and frustration when he thought you were pulling away.

Lucas leans back, arms folded, the ink on his forearm peeking out from under his sleeve. You remember when he got that tattoo; he had dragged you with him on his 19th birthday. "You're holding back. What aren’t you telling us?"

The dam breaks. Words tumble out, hushed whispers of doubt and fear. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm walking on shards of glass with him," you confess, the admission tasting bitter, like betrayal. "I'm constantly modulating myself around him; my words, my actions, even my thoughts."

Liz's hand reaches across the table, enveloping yours in a comforting squeeze. "The relationship is new and the two of you are still learning about each other. That’s okay. There’s a chance that this is all just growing pains. But, and I say this with all the love in the world, you have a habit of overlooking things when it comes to your partners. Like with Chan. How you kept hoping he'd commit even as he kept dragging his feet about taking the relationship to the next level? You stayed with him when it was clear he didn’t want to move forward. You only left when you caught him stepping out.” She sighs. “Don't make excuses for anyone again. You don’t deserve it and they don’t deserve your kindness."

Her words are compassionate, yet they burn, searing reminders of past scars etched deep in your heart.

"And are you happy, truly?" Lucas's question is gentle but unyielding. "Or are you just molding yourself into someone else’s ideal again?"

"Maybe I am happy," you whisper, more to yourself than to them. But the conviction wavers.

"Or maybe you're just scared to be alone," Lucas says, his hand covering your other hand on the table. "It's okay not to be with someone, especially if being with them means losing yourself."

The raw honesty in Lucas' words stings, a slap of reality against the soft caress of illusion. You nod, the truth clawing its way up your throat, fighting for release.

"Being single might not be so bad," you contemplate aloud, the thought both terrifying and liberating. You and Chan had barely been apart for a month when you met Minho. And you started dating Chan less than 6 months after your college boyfriend Gabe dumped you just before graduation. Maybe being alone and reconnecting with yourself is what you needed. The possibility unfurls within you.

"Think about it, no need to rush," Liz offers, her tone a mix of empathy and firmness.

Later that evening, you’re cloaked in solitude. You're perched on the edge of your bed, a glass of red wine cradled in your hand. The pale glow of the bedside lamp casts shadows that dance across the walls, mocking the turmoil within you.

Your friends’ words creep into your mind. Lucas’ concern gnaws at you; Liz’s empathy soothing.

A vibration shatters the silence; your phone, alive with urgency. It's Chan.

Chan: Hey, been thinking about you

His message is casual but loaded. You wonder what he wants. You haven’t talked to him since your parents’ anniversary party. You hesitate, fingertips hovering over the keyboard for a full minute before you type out a reply.

You: Hi Chan. How are you?

Chan: Relieved I’m not blocked. Lol! But seriously, I’m good. A bit tired after playing football for most of the afternoon. You?

You: Just recuperating from weekend brunch with a glass of wine.

Chan: I hope Lucas and Liz are good.

You: They are.

Chan: So… Mom’s birthday party tomorrow… You should come.

You: I don’t know…

Between thinking about the awkwardness of spending time with Chan’s family now that you were no longer a part of and how you might need to navigate Minho’s jealousy of Chan, you’re already exhausted.

Chan: Please? I know you don’t owe me anything after… But she asked for you specifically. It’d mean a lot to her. And to me.

You picture Minho's face, contorted with possessive rage if he found out about you spending time with Chan’s family. But the image blurs, replaced by Chan’s dimpled smile, the warmth of his family's total acceptance of you, a reminder of a love that once was. You know Chan would do anything for his mom, even reaching out to an ex because his mom asked him to.

You: Okay. I’ll be there.

The decision sends a rush of adrenaline through your body, as the four words you send feel like a betrayal. It's just a couple of hours with people who were technically your family. Minho would surely understand, but just in case, you’ll keep it to yourself.

Chan: Great. I’ll let her know. Starts at 6. Can’t wait to see you.

You feel his words like a touch, fingers trailing down the column of your neck, igniting sparks on your skin.

Me too, you confess to yourself as the wine buzzes in your head.

****

Seconds after you step into the Bahng’s home, you hear Chan’s mom call out your name. She walks over to you and immediately envelops you in a warm embrace.

“Hi Jessica,” you say as she wraps her arms around you tightly, beaming with joy at seeing you once again. “Happy birthday. You look amazing!”

“Hi. Thank you! I’m so glad that you could make it,” Jessica coos. She pulls away to take a look at you. “Still so beautiful. No matter what my Channie did, you will always be a part of this family. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You’re not sure how much she knows, how much Chan told her. They’re very close and he usually shares everything with his mom. His infidelity though….he probably didn’t share that, not wanting to disappoint her. But Jessica has always treated you like her own daughter, and tonight is no different. “Here. This is for you.” You hand her a small gift bag, decorative tissue paper jutting out from the top.

“Oh, thank you,” she says as she accepts it “You really didn’t need to get me anything. Having you here with us is the gift.” She takes your hand in hers and gives it a gentle squeeze before leading you through the house to the backyard. “Jack! Look who’s here!” she calls out to her husband as you approach him and Chan. They’re standing at the home bar mixing drinks.

“Oh hey!” Jack said enthusiastically as he gives you a bear hug. “So good to see you. I guess you and Chan are back on speaking terms?” He claps Chan on the shoulder and looks back and forth between the two of you.

You and Chan’s eyes meet. “For now,” you say with a smile. You turn your attention back to the handsome older gentleman. “How’ve you been Jack?”

“Can’t complain. Life is good.” Something over your shoulder catches his attention. “Oh… I’ll be right back,” he says before walking away, leaving you alone with Chan.

“Whisky sour?” Chan asks as he lifts one of the drinks he just made, knowing it’s one of your go-to cocktails.

“Thanks.” You accept the glass, your fingers slightly grazing Chan’s.

“Thanks for coming. My parents haven’t stopped talking about you all day,” he takes a sip of his drink. “Or scolding me for losing you. I think they like you more than they like me.”

“Everyone likes me better than you,” you joke with a smile, watching as Chan’s lips upturned into that dimpled grin of his. It goes silent between the two of you for a few beats. “It’s nice to see everyone,” you finally say. “It’s nice to see you too.”

Before Chan can respond, you feel someone hug you from behind. You’re stunned by the unexpected familiarity as the arms wrap around you and lift you in the air.

“Never thought I’d see you near this dummy again,” the voice, unmistakable, says with a teasing lilt.

Before you can stop yourself, you squeal with delight. “Hannie!” you gasp as he sets you down, giddy from the lift. You turn to face him, pulling him into a more proper embrace. It's shocking to see him, Chan’s best friend, here like nothing’s changed, like the last few months haven’t ripped your world apart. He squeezes you tightly, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Channie didn’t tell me you were coming. And he tells me everything,” Han says, shooting Chan a look of mock betrayal. “Especially after the stunt he pulled showing up at your mom and dad’s anniversary party. I told him not to go. Thought maybe I’d have to beat some sense into him after that.”

“Honestly, didn’t think she’d come,” Chan admits with a sheepish look, raising his drink to his lips like he's trying to hide behind it.

“You’ve got some serious guts to show up here and face my wrath, woman,” Han laughs, giving you another squeeze. “It’s been too long. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Han.” You remember the countless nights the three of you spent together, drinking, playing video games, trading jokes, just hanging out like a little family of your own. Nostalgia seeps into your bones, the warmth of being welcomed back thawing something inside you. This feels easy, uncomplicated. A brief flash of what it could have been like if you and Chan hadn’t veered off track. “So how’s life? Which cool musician’s album are you working on now?” you ask Han as he grabs a beer from the bar.

“Life’s been a trip,” Han says. The cap hisses as he cracks open the bottle. “You know me, always in the middle of some chaos. Just wrapped a project with the guys from The New Romantics. They’re more insane than ever. Love it.”

“Oh shit, really?” You perk up at the name, surprised. “I thought they broke up.”

“They did. Got back together to put this album out. I think they’re already broken up again,” Han laughs, taking a long pull from his bottle. “What about you? You’re the last person I expected to see here, especially after what this clown did to you.”

You snort at him calling Chan a clown. Han is clearly aware of why the breakup happened. “Honestly, neither did I,” you say, glancing at Chan, who’s pretending to be deeply focused on mixing more drinks. The dimple in his cheek gives him away.

“Literally fumbled the best thing he’s ever had,” Han declares, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Okay, Jisung. We get it. I fucked up big time,” Chan interjects, his voice tinged with regret. His shoulders slump slightly as he measures out another drink, avoiding eye contact. “Maybe you can stop throwing my biggest mistake in my face.”

“Have you met me?” Han mocks, tossing an arm around Chan’s shoulder in a brotherly gesture. “I’ll never let you live it down.” He turns his attention back to you. “So, how have you been?”

You smile at them, at this tiny snapshot of your old life. “I’ve been alright. Busy with work. Keeping my head above water.” You hesitate, trying not to let the moment turn. “You know…”

“Staying one step ahead of the game,” Han finishes for you, nodding his head like he understands. Maybe he does.

“Pretty much,” you reply, unable to hide the slight waver in your voice. Han notices and flashes you a warm smile.

The three of you engage in small talk until Jessica starts gathering everyone for dinner. Chan walks you over to the area in the large backyard where tables have been set up.

“Is my baby boy being nice to you,” Jessica asks as she motions for you to join her at the main table with the rest of the family.

“I’m always nice, mom.”

Jessica side eyes Chan, “I’m not talking to you.” She pats his cheek, gives him a kiss, and gently pushes him towards the other side of the table. “Get over there!” Chan makes a pouty face at her.

You smile at their interaction. Chan’s always been a mama’s boy. His relationship with his mom is one of the things that made you fall in love with him. “He’s been on his best behavior so far,” you say.

“Good. I know he’s almost thirty and taller than me, but I can still spank him if I need to. You just let me know.” You laugh and nod your head. “You’re here, next to me.”

You find yourself seated between Jessica and Chan’s younger sister Hannah, who squeals and throws her arms around you. Chan takes the seat across from you, flashing a bright smile that stirs something in your heart. Han sits next to him. You never thought you’d be at the Bahng house again, much less sitting amongst the family as if nothing had changed. But you’re appreciative that even after all that has happened, Chan’s family still embraces you as if you belonged with them.

The air is filled with laughter and chatter as the food is served. Throughout dinner, you feel Chan's gaze on you. Every time your eyes drift in his direction, he’s watching you intently, a warm smile on his face. You wonder what he’s thinking, but don’t ask. You struggle to pay attention to the conversation at the table, too hyperaware of Chan's presence.

Hannah insists on catching up. She chatters with infectious enthusiasm, filling you in on her life and studies. You nod along, but your attention keeps drifting back to Chan.

You turn your focus back to Hannah, smiling warmly at her bubbly energy when she mentions that she’s missed you.

“I’ve wanted to call and message, but didn’t know if it would be okay since the breakup,” she added quietly.

You’ve been a part of Hannah’s life since she was 16 and the two of you were very close. As an only child, you were excited to have a little sister and you prioritized a relationship with her that included sleep overs, shopping, girls’ trips. You’d also become a confidante and she often described you as one of her best friends.

"I've missed you too, Hannah. I'm sorry I haven't been around as much lately. But I want you to know that you can contact me anytime you want, okay? I promise I'll do a better job being a good big sister from now on, regardless of whatever me and your knuckle-headed brother are going through. You’re important to me."

Hannah beams, her eyes lighting up. "Really? I'd love that! Maybe we can set up a monthly girl's night or something, just the two of us?"

"That sounds incredible," you reply, throwing an arm around her. "Let's make a plan." You grab your phone and open your calendar.

You feel a swell of affection for Hannah as the two of you schedule a girls’ weekend for 2 weeks from now. Despite everything, she remains a bright spot, a reminder of the family you once imagined being a part of. You make a silent vow not to disappear from her life again, no matter what happens with Chan.

Some of the tension in your shoulders releases as you fall back into easy conversation with Hannah, who excitedly gushes about the guy she’s been seeing. You remember when they started dating about six months ago. You listen with a smile on your face, genuinely happy for her.

“Sounds like things are going well.”

“They are,” Hannah agrees dreamily. She drops her voice before continuing. “I was worried that after we… you know, that things would be different. Like the last time. But he’s still been so good to me.”

You nod, understanding her caution. The first guy she fell for in college had swept her off her feet, wooing her with the perfect guy routine until he had worn down her defenses and convinced her to sleep with him. Then he was gone, leaving her in tears as he moved on to his next conquest, her suite mate. It took all your energy to keep Chan from driving over to the campus to find the guy after he overheard you on the phone calming Hannah down. You’re pretty sure he had murder on his mind, always so protective of his little sister.

Something similar had happened to you too. After all, you’d been through enough heartbreak in your teens and college years to know that sometimes guys are just shitty humans. You are still learning that lesson now.

“Sounds like a standup guy.” You take a sip of your drink. “And…?”

“And what?”

“Well how was it?” you question curiously with your eyebrow raised. Hannah’s cheeks flushed red. “You know you don’t have to be embarrassed with me.”

Hannah smiled as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh so good!” she shared excitedly.

“Really?”

“Really.” She leans in to whisper in your ear. “It was the first time I ever orgasmed from sex.” She sat back with a grin.

“Okay girl! Congrats! He’s definitely a keeper then!” You and Hannah start giggling, drawing the attention of Chan.

“What are you two gossiping about?” he asks curiously.

“Nothing!” Hannah squeaks out before stuffing her mouth with a forkful of mashed potatoes to avoid further probing. Her bashfulness amuses you, makes the moment almost feel like old times

“Just girl talk,” you say, brushing him off. “And none of your business.” You know he hates being left out of the loop, and it’s satisfying to see him squirm, even if it’s for just a second.

“So sex,” Han declares with a mischievous glint, taking a deliberate bite of his biscuit as if to accentuate his point. “They’re definitely talking about sex.” He looks immensely pleased with himself, like he’s cracked a complicated mystery wide open. The comment sends Hannah into another fit of giggles, but you’re quick to retaliate, balling up your napkin and launching it at Han with surprising accuracy.

The cloth projectile lands right on his forehead, and he lets out an exaggerated “Hey!” before laughing and throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Jeez, take it easy! I’m fragile!”

Chan chuckles, shaking his head at you. “Still got your aim,” he murmurs, an edge of admiration in his voice. You catch the way his eyes linger on you, a twinge of something unspoken hanging in the space between his words. It hits you in the chest and spreads like wildfire, the heat of his gaze, the weight of his attention. You can feel it everywhere.

The banter circles back as you nudge Hannah gently with your shoulder. “Guess they figured us out,” you whisper, injecting a conspiratorial edge to keep the mood light. She laughs again, and the astonishing ease of it all, from the unexpected comfort of being here to being surrounded by their voices and familiarity, creeps its way through you, settling like a second skin.

“Hey, if we’re talking about sex, can I be included?” Han ribs, winking at you as he tosses the napkin back across the table. You can’t help but roll your eyes, fighting back the smile that tugs at your lips. “I think I’m old enough now,” he adds with a mock seriousness that only heightens the amusement.

“What are you all talking about?” Jessica inquires, her curiosity piqued as she momentarily shifts her attention away from Jack, her eyes scanning your faces for clues.

“Nothing!” the four of you chorus in perfect harmony, the word barely escaping your mouths before all four of you are engulfed in a wave of laughter. The table rattles slightly as you all dissolve into collective giggles, each of you hastily pretending to focus on the plates in front of you, the clinking of utensils against china the only sound breaking through the lingering mirth.

Definitely like old times.

****

The chocolate mousse on your fork trembles as the DJ's set shifts, a languid melody seeping through the conversation and clinking glasses. Your gaze drifts from the quivering dessert to the dance floor, where bodies sway more closely now, wrapped in the intimate net of a slower song. The air between the dancers seems thick with promises whispered and desires unconfessed.

"Would you like to dance?" Chan's voice, a husky whisper against the shell of your ear, startles you, sending a jolt down your spine. You look up into his warm brown eyes, their depth familiar yet hauntingly distant, like a dream half-remembered.

"Sure," you murmur, setting aside the silverware, the forgotten morsel of dessert left to melt in its loneliness.

His hand is firm around yours, pulling you gently towards the dance floor. As you step into his embrace, your body instinctively molds to his, muscle memory dictating the closeness, an intricate choreography of intimacy you've not forgotten. His breath is steady against your neck, each exhale stirring wisps of hair, tickling your sensitized skin.

Chan leads, and you follow, your hips brushing with every subtle move. The fabric of his shirt is soft under your fingertips, but it's the steel of his muscles beneath that ignites a fire within you; it’s a blaze you thought you'd doused long ago. You're acutely aware of his thighs, one in between yours, pressing against yours, the heat of him seeping into you, stoking the flames higher.

"Thanks for inviting me tonight," you say sincerely. “It’s nice to see everyone.”

"I'm glad you came," he replies softly. In that moment, it feels like old times; comfortable and easy between the two of you. "God, I've missed this," he confesses, voice low, a rumble that vibrates through your core. "Missed you."

Your tongue feels heavy, swollen with words you can't trust yourself to speak. Instead, you press closer, your chest flush against his, feeling the steady thud of his heart against your breasts.

"Look at me," he implores, tipping your chin up with a gentle finger.

As you lock eyes with him, there's a sincerity there that fractures the protective walls you've tried so hard to build.

"I'm ready now," he continues, his confession hanging between you like a sacred oath. "Ready for us, for a real shot at forever. Being apart from you these past few months has made me realize that you are the only thing I want. Fuck the promotions, new cities, other women. None of it matters. My life has been empty, sad, and meaningless without you in it." He's being so open, vulnerable, speaking of futures and foundations.

Within you, a battle rages as desire wars with reason, the memory of his past indifference clashing with the truth in his eyes now. It's all too much, too raw, the taste of him bittersweet on your soul.

When you don’t speak, he continues. "Is it... is it too late for us?" he asks softly, a tremor in his voice betraying the fear of a man who's tasted loss and regrets the flavor. “Tell me it’s not too late…” You see the moisture start to build around his beautiful brown eyes. He rests his forehead against yours. “Tell me it’s not…,” he whispers.

You want to speak, to scream, to cry. The emotions swell like the tide, threatening to drown you both in the what-ifs and could-be’s. But silence reigns, your throat tight with unsaid words and your own unshed tears building. In this dance, you find no refuge, no solace; there’s only the naked truth of two hearts entwined in pain and longing, dancing on the edge of something terrifying and tantalizing all at once.

“I…,” you start. His eyes search yours as he waits for you to continue. “I… need to use the bathroom.” You chicken out, pulling away from him and turning back towards the house, your steps hurried, without a second thought.

You slip away to the sanctuary of the bathroom, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. The cool air inside the room is a sharp contrast to the warmth swirling inside you, the tempest fueled by Chan's unexpected confession. You hike your dress up and slip down your underwear; as you sit on the porcelain throne, the sound of your own erratic breaths echoes off the walls and your urine tinkles in the bowl beneath you, mingling with the muffled beats from the party outside.

Your mind races, a carousel of thoughts whirling too fast to grasp. Minho's stern gaze and possessive caresses flash before your eyes. Yet here, entwined with the sharp scent of lemony lavender, you allow yourself to wonder about the road not taken with Chan.

You pull up your panties, flush the toilet, then hover over the sink as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You soap up your hands, then turn on the faucet. Once your hands are clean, you bring your face down closer to the stream to splash water on it.

With each splash of water against your skin, you wash away the sticky residue of doubt clinging to your flesh. Now is not the time for choices, you convince yourself, not when the whiskey and wine has painted your judgment in shades of reckless desire. You're frayed at the edges, torn between two men; each mark they've left on you is a brand upon your soul. You use a fluffy towel to pat your face dry, giving yourself one last look in the mirror with a dejected sigh, before you turn the doorknob.

Emerging from the bathroom, your resolve wavers as you find Chan leaning against the wall, his gaze down towards the floor. When he hears the door squeak open, his head pops up and his eyes immediately land on yours. You can’t quite read the look on his face, but his proximity is electric, a current that sizzles through the air, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

Before words can form on your lips to ask him what he’s doing, he seizes you with a hunger that silences all potential protest, pinning you to the wall with the weight of all the passion you once shared. His mouth immediately claims yours with a fervor that rekindles the embers of an old fire, his lips hungry against your own, devouring the gasps that spill from your throat. It's a kiss designed to ignite, to remind, to stake a claim… And oh, how easily, how willingly you fall into its spell, succumb to him, letting him plunder the depths of your longing. The rough texture of the wall bites into your back, a stark reminder of reality as his hands chart a path of molten desire up your thigh, hiking the hem of your dress upwards with such intent.

Heat pools between your legs when his fingers dance beneath the lace of your panties, bold and unapologetic as they slip inside you. There’s no gentle caress; just urgency and lust. A moan escapes your lips, a sound primal and raw, as you rock against the intrusion, instinctively seeking more of his touch. Your body is a fucking traitor, yearning for the sinful rhythm Chan orchestrates inside you with a practiced ease.

His other hand grips your hip firmly as he presses his body against you, preventing any escape. You can feel the thickness of his erection pulsing against your thigh through the fabric of his pants, a maddening reminder of the beautiful cock that used to belong to only you. Your hand, moving with a mind of its own, settles on top of his bulge, squeezing gently.

The action results in Chan’s tongue invading your mouth with more ferocity, matching the intensity with which his fingers plow into you. Your other arm clings to him, tightening around the back of his shoulders, desperation and lust fueling every touch. You feel his fingers leave your warmth, followed by them grasping at the waistband of your panties to pull them down.

But then, like a specter rising from the ashes, Minho's image intrudes upon the moment. Guilt gnaws at your insides, a bitter reminder of the bed you've made… a bed without Chan. Torn asunder by the intensity of it all, by the dichotomy of what you’ve always wanted and what you currently have, you shove Chan away with a strength born of conflict.

Panting, you manage to choke out the words, "I need to leave," the taste of betrayal still lingering on your tongue.

Your flight is swift, a blur of motion and emotion as you escape the pull of the past, leaving behind the echoes of what could be and the shadow of what should not be. You can hear Chan calling out your name as you throw the front door open and sprint out of the party, pulling it closed behind you. The night wraps around you, a cloak that offers no comfort, only the cold embrace of uncertainty.

Your heart hammers against your ribcage, echoing the chaos brewing in your mind. The cool night air does nothing to quell the heat that Chan's touch has ignited within you, a fire that refuses to be stifled, even by the caress of the evening breeze. Your car is a sanctuary on wheels as you slip inside, the door closing with a thud that seems to seal your fate.

As you drive, the city lights streak past like falling stars, blurring into a kaleidoscope of neon and shadow. Your thoughts race, careening between two lovers, two futures, that beckon with the sweetness of forbidden fruit. Chan, the ghost of romance past, whispers promises of commitment, his words heavy with the weight of a love reborn from ashes. To return to Chan would mean diving back into the depths of a sea whose tides are familiar yet unpredictable; the man who once held you at arm's length now extends an open hand, ready to catch you in a lifelong embrace. But Minho, your tempestuous present, offers a different kind of passion. There's an intensity that both thrills and terrifies.

Your fingers tighten around the steering wheel, knuckles tight as the battle rages within you. The ring of your phone shatters the silence, Chan's name flashing across the entertainment display of your car. Without hesitation, you press the decline button, sending him spiraling into the void of voicemail. But the act brings no relief, only a deeper plunge into turmoil.

Tears begin their treacherous path down your cheeks, born from the frustration that knots in your throat. Chan's desire to weave a future with you tugs at your heartstrings, each memory a melody of what once was. It’s what you’ve always wanted; what you’ve dreamed of. Yet the thought of severing ties with Minho unravels you, for he has been the one to restore your broken spirit, despite the poison that sometimes drips from his kiss.

You weep for the woman caught between these two men, each offering their own brand of ecstasy and agony. In this labyrinth of emotion, where every turn leads to another question, you find yourself lost, adrift in a sea of what-ifs and maybes. The tears that stain your face reflect the confusion that racks your soul, the indecision that clouds your judgment.

"Fuck," you whisper into the emptiness, a single word that carries the weight of your world. It's a curse and an admission of defeat in the face of choices too daunting to make. With the taste of Chan still lingering on your lips and the shadow of Minho looming over your heart, you realize that the road ahead is uncertain, paved with equal parts hope and despair.

And so you drive, wiping away your tears, the city fading into a backdrop of obscurity as you seek clarity in the arms of the night that keeps your secrets, and your sins, hidden.

[luckyroll3]

Mine Chapter 8

Mine Masterlist Previous Chapter

You invite Minho over for dinner at your house, the ambiance cozy and intimate. Candles flicker, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and a bottle of red wine sits on the table, ready to be shared. As you both finish eating, the weight of the conversation you've been dreading hangs in the air, your heart pounding in anticipation. You take a deep breath and decide it's time to address the elephant in the room.

"Minho, we need to talk," you say, your voice trembling slightly. He looks up from his plate, his dark, enigmatic eyes meeting yours with curiosity.

A flicker of concern passes through his eyes before it's quickly replaced by his charming smile. "Of course, what's on your mind?" His voice is dripping with honey, but there's an undercurrent of tension that wasn't there before.

"It's about us... and how things have been lately."

He sets down his fork, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin before leaning in with a concerned expression. "What's wrong, baby?" His voice is laced with a hint of worry.

You muster the courage to continue, "I... I enjoy spending time with you, I really do. But... I can't ignore the way you've been acting lately. Your behavior…”

Minho's eyes narrow, his charming demeanor shifting in an instant. "What do you mean, you're concerned about my behavior?" he says, accusation creeping into his voice. "Haven't I been good to you?

“This possessiveness, the constant need for check-ins and updates... it's a bit suffocating." You take another deep breath, steeling yourself for his response.

Minho's expression shifts, his features hardening. "What do you mean by that? I'm just looking out for you, making sure you're safe." His voice is low, somewhat dangerous, but he quickly masks it with a charming smirk. "You know I can't help but worry about you, babe. With my job, I've seen the worst in people..."

"I understand that, Minho, I really do," you say, choosing your words carefully in an attempt to broach the topic without hurting his feelings. "But it's gotten to the point where I feel like I can't breathe. I need space, I need... I need a partner who trusts me enough to let me breathe."

His brow furrows, the shift subtle but notable. "I just care about you, that's all. Is it wrong to want to know you're safe?" he asks, though there's a dark undertone that suggests it's more about control than concern.

"I know you do," you say, reaching across the table to take his hand in yours, trying to convey your own feelings without pushing him away. "Care is one thing," you insist, "but this feels different. Sometimes it’s too much and overwhelming. I need space.”

"Space?" he repeats, the single word laced with an edge. "Is that what you actually want? Or is it freedom from me?" He leans forward slightly, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive.

"What I want are some boundaries, Minho," you clarify, sitting back from the table. "Healthy boundaries." You watch a flicker of something dark pass over his face, quickly veiled by the practiced smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “All the calls and texts, all day and night long? Let’s get some boundaries in place about how we contact each other.”

Minho's posture stiffens, the suave charm that once draped him like a tailored coat now replaced by an armor of defensiveness. He leans back in his chair, the subtle shift marking the transformation from attentive lover to wounded beast. His eyes, cat-like and calculating, narrow into slits of indignation, as if you've just challenged the core of who he is.

"Boundaries?" His voice rises, a tempest brewing beneath the surface of his carefully controlled exterior. "Do you have any idea how much effort I put into us?" He looks down briefly at his plate before raising his head to meet your eyes again. "Every message, every call; it's all to show I care!" Minho continues, his hands clenched as if to physically grasp the reins of the conversation slipping away from him. "And you want space? And boundaries? You think I’m doing too much? Tell me, how would you feel if the shoe were on the other foot? If I started disappearing for hours at a time, texting you infrequently, if at all?"

“But that’s just it, Min. I’m not ‘disappearing’; I’m at work. There are times when I’m in meetings and trainings for an hour or more at a time, and I’m simply not available to take a call or reply to a text. I feel like the expectation has been that I need to check-in with you every 15-20 minutes. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t mind checking in. But that frequency seems a bit excessive. And if I’m being totally honest, obsessive. It’s simply just too much.”

You watch, frozen, as the tight line of Minho's mouth quivers with barely contained emotion. Anger simmers in his gaze, his jaw set hard enough to cut glass. The air becomes thick with unspoken emotions, a miasma of desire and resentment that chokes the space between you.

"Too much?" he repeats, a sardonic laugh escaping his lips before it fractures, raw and unguarded. Minho scoffs. "I'm trying to protect you! But it's clear you don't appreciate anything I do." His voice rises as he speaks, words sharpening.

The tension in the room builds, emotions crackling. You feel his anger like a physical force, pressing down.

His composure finally breaks, voice cracking as he yells, "Everything I've done is for you! But you're too selfish to see it."

Suddenly, his rage gives way to tears, unexpected and humanizing, streaking down his cheeks, a juxtaposition to the vehemence in his voice moments before. The sight leaves you reeling; this isn't the Minho you know, the one who holds control like a second skin. This is someone else, someone desperate and breaking. You’re stunned by his raw vulnerability on display.

You watch, conflicted, as his shoulders shake, realizing how deeply your words have hurt him. The room falls silent except for his muffled sobs, the air thick with uncertainty. You don't know whether to comfort him or remain resolute. His breakdown is jarring, the transition from anger to sorrow as swift as it is unsettling. You sit there, feeling the heat of your flushed skin as you witness his unraveling.

"Damn it," he whispers, a tremor in his voice as he swipes at the wet trails with the back of his hand. "Not again. I didn't mean for this… I don't want to be this way..."

This breakdown blurs the lines, making you question if you went about this in the wrong way.

"Please," he chokes out, his plea wrapped in a vulnerability that claws at your insides, "Don't push me away."

You watch Minho cry, his body wracked with sobs. His shoulders shudder with each breath he tries to take. Each ragged breath Minho takes sounds like thunder in the charged silence.

The intensity of the moment binds you and your senses are heightened. He's broken, perhaps more than you realized, and guilt gnaws at you, warring with the confusion inside you. Seeing him like this tugs at your heart, but you know his behavior has been unhealthy.

Was I too severe? you wonder silently, watching the way his hands tremble as he tries to compose himself. Have I pushed him to this edge? The questions swirl in your mind, muddying your resolve.

"I'm sorry," you say softly. "I didn't mean to upset you this much. I just want us to have a healthy relationship."

Minho looks up, eyes rimmed red. "No, I'm the one who should apologize," he says, voice hoarse and soft with a tremor in it betraying his turmoil. "I know I can be… too much sometimes,” he admits, his eyes lifting to yours, begging for absolution. They’re dark pools of earnest pain, glistening with tears, and you feel your heart wrench in response. “I don't mean to smother you."

He takes a shuddering breath, reaching for your hand. "I've just been hurt so badly in the past. Previous partners who’ve treated me awful, lied and cheated, and left scars that make me cling tighter than I should,” he confesses, and the raw honesty in his voice pierces you deep.

You understand, still feeling the pain from Chan’s betrayal.

“I'm just terrified of losing you." His eyes plead for understanding. "I'll work on giving you space. We can establish the boundaries you want. Just please, don't leave me."

You falter, resolve wavering. His sincerity makes you doubt your concerns. Perhaps you were too harsh. If his clinginess comes from a place of insecurity, shouldn't you be more understanding?

"Can you forgive me?" he whispers, the plea wrapped in the silken threads of hope and fear. His touch is hesitant as he intertwines his fingers with yours.

Maybe I was harsh, you concede internally, Minho's words reshaping your perception. You see his intensity as devotion and insecurity now, not possession. It’s proof that he cares deeply.

"It's okay," you say gently. "I know your intentions are good. We can work through this together."

Minho squeezes your hand, relief washing over his features. In this moment, you push aside the uneasy feeling in your gut. You decide to give him another chance, tamping down your misgivings. For now, you let his vulnerability draw you back in.

Once he’s calmed himself down, the two of you discuss some boundaries to put in place.

****

The next day, you are relieved to have relatively little contact with Minho. He sends you a ‘good morning, beautiful’ text, but is quiet for the rest of the day. Later that afternoon, he sends you another message.

Minho: Would love to see you tonight. Okay if I stop by?

You: Yeah, that would be great. No plans for the rest of the day.

You are appreciative that after your charged conversation, he is following the boundaries you’ve agreed on.

Minho: Great. Running some errands but will head over in a couple hours.

You: Can’t wait to see you.

Just after sunset, there’s a soft knock at your door. You open it to find Minho standing there, looking adorable in black jeans, a simple white t-shirt, and a leather jacket. In one hand is a beautifully wrapped gift box tied with an elegant bow; in the other a paper grocery bag.

“Hi. What’s all this?” you ask as you step aside to let him in.

"I wanted to properly apologize for last night," Minho says, his gaze soulful. "You deserve to be treated like a queen."

He sets the bag on the kitchen counter, then turns back to face you. He presents the gift box with a flourish.

You take it gingerly in your hands and unwrap it slowly as Minho removes a bottle of champagne, two personal-sized rice and chicken dishes with salads, and some sort of chocolate dessert. Once the wrapping paper is off, you open the box to find a stunning, beautifully bound first edition of The Picture of Dorian Gray. Your favorite. Your fingers trace the embossed cover as you open to the title page, seeing it's been signed by Oscar Wilde himself. You thumb through the pages, the familiar words dancing before your eyes, yet now they hold new weight, new meaning.

Minho’s gaze is intense as he watches you closely.

"Minho. This is…" you breathe. Your eyes well up at the thoughtfulness of it all. This rare book must have cost a fortune, proving not only just how deeply he cares, but also that he listens to you. The gesture is so thoughtful, so extravagantly tailored to you that it sends a pang through your chest, tugging at the threads of doubt until they fray and snap. How can something this perfect be anything but genuine? "Thank you," you whisper.

Minho smiles, pleased by your reaction. "Anything for you. I never want you to doubt what you mean to me. I’m sorry for my emotional outburst yesterday. And the possessiveness." He pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. “I just like being around you. I guess I got carried away.”

As Minho's strong arms envelop you, you inhale his intoxicating scent, the spicy undertones of his cologne mingling with the musk of arousal. His words linger in your mind, and you find yourself rationalizing his behavior as proof of his fierce devotion to you.

His charm and intensity are intoxicating. In this moment, your doubts seem petty and foolish. How could you question someone so clearly devoted? You let his romantic gesture sweep you up, drawn back into his orbit by the sheer force of his affection.

"It's fine," you assure him, your voice raw with newfound tenderness. "I'm here with you, Minho; I'm not going anywhere."

His grip on you tightens, just for a moment, before loosening. "I know, I know. I'll work on it, I promise," he says, his voice gruff with unshed emotion. His eyes meet yours, his gaze intense and filled with remorse. "I just get... My ex…"

"Shh," you interrupt, laying a finger against his lips. "It's in the past, okay?"

Minho nods, the tension leaving his body as he relaxes against you. "You're right. I’ll take it down a notch, I promise."

"Thank you," you whisper, leaning in to kiss him. "This means the world to me."

Minho's eyes darken with desire as he pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you. "I'll spend every day trying to make you this happy," he murmurs against your lips, before slipping his tongue in your mouth.

In his arms, you feel desired, cherished, worshipped. Concerns fade away as you lose yourself in Minho's ardent adoration. All your misgivings melt in the face of such an extravagant display. You decide this man is worth it - worth weathering the storm for the moments of pure bliss.

He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours. "Can I tell you something?" he breathes out, the words laced with a vulnerability that contradicts the confidence of his stride.

"Anything."

"I love you." The confession spills from him raw and unadorned, stripped of any pretense. "I've been holding it inside, afraid, but it's burning me up."

His sudden confession catches you off guard. Your heart skitters like a caged bird against your ribs and you pull back slightly to meet Minho's intense gaze. His eyes bore into yours with such raw need that it makes you stop breathing. You search his face and see only sincerity reflected back. In this moment, he is utterly vulnerable, laying his heart bare before you.

"I've never felt this way about anyone before. You... you make me feel whole." His voice is thick with emotion. "You have my heart, forever."

You swallow hard, overcome by the significance of the words. "Minho..."

"Please," he whispers, cupping your face in his hands. "I know it's fast, but I can't hold back how I feel anymore."

His thumbs gently rub up and down across your cheek as he awaits your response. You feel yourself getting swept up in the tenderness of the moment. The raw need in his voice resonates deeply with your own desire for connection.

Caught up in the spell of intimacy, the details that bothered you before now seem hazy and distant. All you can focus on is how right it feels to be with him. Your memory flashes back to the first time you saw him at the bookstore, the way he smiled at you as the two of you chatted for for almost an hour; to your first kiss on the lake under the moonlight; to the concert when he made you cum in the middle of the crowded floor; to the first time he fucked you.

You smile up at him, your reservations melting away. "I’m not sure that I’m ready to say the L-word just yet, but… I'm falling for you too," you confess.

Minho's eyes light up. He crushes you against his chest in a fierce embrace. As you cling to each other, the past fades away. All your energy is directed to the future you could build together.

In this perfect moment, you feel certain you've made the right choice. With patience and work, your relationship can be stronger than ever. You silently promise yourself you'll try harder to understand Minho's needs, ignoring any lingering doubts.

“Dinner?” he asks excitedly.

“Yes. Dinner. I’m starving.” You grab utensils as Minho stacks the containers and walks them to the couch. You sit next to him, folding your feet beneath you. “Tell me about your day," you request as he hands you one of the food containers.

The two of you eat, talk, and laugh. You let your eyes wander over Minho’s face, taking in every beautiful detail. His lips curl into a soft smile as he notices you staring.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You shake your head, feeling suddenly shy. "Just how lucky I am."

Minho grins and pulls you in for a lingering kiss. As your lips meet, the chemistry between you ignites. You run your hands up his chest, relishing the feel of his muscular frame beneath the thin t-shirt.

Minho deepens the kiss, his tongue dancing sensuously with yours. You can't get enough of his taste, his scent, the way he makes you feel so desired. You trail kisses along his jawline, eliciting a low groan from him.

"I want you," Minho breathes into your ear.

Your whole body trembles with anticipation. You push Minho down playfully on the couch, straddling his lap.

His eyes darken as he looks up at you. You feel powerful and sexy hovering above him. Slowly, teasingly, you peel off your top. Minho's gaze roams hungrily over your exposed skin. His eyes fix on your breasts, his hunger growing at the sight of your nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of your bra before his eyes.

He reaches for the remnants of the chocolate mousse cake you had for dessert. "This could be fun," Minho says with a wink. You watch, mesmerized, as he dips his fingers in the cake and frosting, scooping up a chunk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He smears it over your collarbone, watching intently as it sticks to your skin. His tongue darts out to lick it off, the sensation sending shivers down your spine.

You capture his mouth in a searing kiss, the taste of chocolate on his tongue mingling with passion. You find yourself craving more, and with equal fervor, you grab a handful and swipe bits of cake down his neck before you lean down and start sucking on his skin.

Your fingers grab at the hem of his shirt and you pull it off his body, exposing his toned chest and stomach. You continue exploring each other, alternating smearing cake on each other and licking, sucking, biting it off, lips tasting skin and chocolate. Each caress from Minho’s sinful, pouty lips leaves you dizzy.

You bring your lips to his again. The sweet taste of chocolate mousse cake lingers on your tongue as you continue to kiss Minho passionately. You can feel his hands roaming over your body, pulling you closer to him.

Minho breaks the kiss and looks up at you with lust filled eyes. "Tell me what you want," he growls, his voice thick with desire.

"I want you," you breathe.

Without another word, you lean in for another kiss, this time more urgent and desperate. As your tongues dance together, Minho's hands move up to cup your breasts through your bra.

A moan escapes your lips as he squeezes lightly, teasingly. You grind your hips against him, feeling his hardness through both of your clothes.

Minho pulls away from the kiss and reaches behind you to unhook your bra. You let it fall off and toss it aside before reconnecting with his lips. His hot hands glide over the bare skin of your back as he deepens the kiss.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Minho whispers against your lips before trailing kisses down your neck and chest. You gasp as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it expertly. Your hands tangle in his soft hair as you arch into him, wanting more of him.

"Minho," you moan out as he switches to suck on the other nipple while kneading the first between his fingers.

He smirks up at you before moving lower, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your stomach until he reaches the waistband of your pants. Minho's fingers deftly unbutton your jeans and he slides his hand beneath the waistband, teasing you with feather-light touches.

In one smooth motion, Minho sits up, rolling you onto the couch, so that you are now on your back. He removes your jeans, along with your panties and tosses them to the side, revealing your wet pussy. As he crawls his way back up your body, he groans, “You have no idea what you do to me.” He presses a kiss onto your lips then whispers in your ear, “I promise… I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

And you believe him, because in this moment, with his body pressed hotly against yours, there's nothing else but the searing connection that binds you together. You're reassured, hopelessly entangled in the possibility of a future with him as his words undo you.

He makes his way back down your body, spreading your legs and settling himself between them, his face just inches from where you’re aching for more. He kisses your clit gently before sucking it into his mouth, his lips moist and warm around it.

His tongue flicks expertly over the bundle of nerves as you moan and squirm beneath him. He slides a couple of fingers into your wetness, pumping in and out of you while his mouth continues to work magic on your clit.

You're lost in pleasure, your hands gripping onto the couch cushions as Minho brings you closer and closer to the edge. Just when you feel like you can't take anymore, he stops abruptly, leaving you panting and desperate for release.

He stands up and quickly removes his own jeans before joining you on the couch again. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him tight against you as he positions himself at your entrance.

Without a word, he guides himself inside of you, filling you completely. The sensation is so exquisite it’s almost painful and you can’t help but gasp at the feeling of him deep within you.

As he begins to move rhythmically inside of you, everything else fades away. It's just the two of you, connected in this intimate act that makes your heart swell with emotions.

As Minho fucks you, he looks down at you, a predatory glint in his eyes. “You’re mine. Mine to protect, mine to pleasure, mine to…” The rest of his words are cut off as you pull his head down, causing his lips to crash into yours, silencing him with a searing kiss.

Minho's thrusts become more urgent, grinding into you harder and faster, his grunts mingling with your moans. Suddenly, he pulls out and with a burst of strength, flips you over on your stomach and pulls you towards him. He wastes no time reentering you roughly, causing you to cry out, “Oh god!”

You can feel his hands grasping your shoulders tightly for support to brace himself as he takes you forcefully from the back, every movement bringing both pleasure and pain. As he pounds into you, your loud moans are muffled by the couch cushions.

“Fuck yes,” Minho groans deeply as his hips buck wildly against your ass.

With one final thrust, you both reach climax together, riding out waves of pleasure before collapsing onto each other in a sweaty heap, hearts racing, bodies spent.

For a few moments, all is quiet except for heavy breathing as you both come down from your high. Finally, Minho speaks up as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close against his chest. “I love you," he whispers. The words hang in the air between you. “I don’t know if I can go back to living without you,” he breathes, his voice a low rumble vibrating against the skin of your neck. The words wind around your heart like ivy, insidious and binding. You feel their weight, heavy with the unspoken promise of forever.

You're silent, caught in the web of his confession, your mind a battlefield where doubt clashes with the remnants of ecstasy. The hazy afterglow blurs the lines of resolve, the memory of his body driving into yours with reckless abandon still fresh, still pulsing in the corners of your being.

"Tell me you need me, too," Minho insists, his grip tightening as if afraid you'll slip away.

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts and untangle the mess of conflicting emotions inside you. You know what Minho is asking for; a declaration of commitment, solely to him.

But can you give that to him? Can you let yourself be vulnerable again after being hurt so badly before?

You look into his dark eyes, searching for the truth in his words. And as you stare back at him, you realize that there's no doubt in his sincerity. He means every word he says; it endears you to him, but also scares you.

"Minho, I… I need you too," you choke out.

A relieved smile spreads across Minho's face as he leans down to kiss you tenderly. His lips are soft against yours, a stark contrast to the roughness of his earlier actions.

As he pulls away, he cups your face in his hands and gazes at you with such intensity that it makes your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he whispers.

You nestle into Minho's embrace, savoring the warmth of his body against yours. Your lips find the curve of his shoulder, placing soft kisses along his skin. He sighs contentedly, his fingers trailing up and down your back.

For a moment, everything feels right, perfect even.

[luckyroll3]

Unexpected Chapter 29: Girl Fight

Unexpected Masterlist Previous Chapter

A/N: I missed all my postings this weekend cause I was so tired! Worked all day on Saturday, on a boat, in the sun, over an hour in the water. I feel asleep around 6pm as I was editing. Then I flew home this morning...I was asleep by 7. Sorry! I'm old y'all!

Mia

Mia rang the doorbell, clutching the bottle of wine she had brought as a hostess gift. The door swung open, revealing Leila in a sleek navy pantsuit, her curls blow dried straight and cascading down her back.

"Mia! Come on in." Leila greeted her with a practiced smile, her dark eyes scanning her sister’s attire approvingly. “You look stunning.” She took the wine and ushered Mia inside.

“Thanks, Leila,” Mia replied, following behind her sister.

Mia stepped into the foyer, taking in the tasteful decor, navy and cream, matching Leila’s outfit. Delicious aromas wafted from the kitchen where Leila’s caterers were busy at work.

“Can I get you a drink?” Leila offered, already half-turned towards the bar she’d set up in the living room.

“I’ll have a Syrah.” Maybe this dinner party won’t be so bad after all, Mia thought hopefully. Leila seemed to be making an effort to keep things pleasant in front of the other guests.

"Mia, darling! So good to see you," trilled Evelyn, one of Leila's busybody neighbors, air kissing Mia's cheek. "I love your dress. This burgundy color is divine on you!"

"Thanks, Evelyn. Good to see you too," Mia replied warmly as Leila handed her the wine glass then walked away to speak to another guest.

With glass in hand, Mia made her way further into the living room as she mingled, exchanging pleasantries with other guests. She spotted Bella over in the corner and immediately headed that way.

“Bella! Thank gawd you’re here.”

“Hey girl! I thought I told you I was coming.” Bella threw her arms around Mia’s neck to pull her in for a hug and kissed her cheek. “Although I’m not sure why your sister invited me when she hired one of my competitors to plan this party!” she said before letting Mia go. She takes a step back to give Mia a once over. “This dress is everything! And you’re glowing.” She leaned in and whispered, “Must be all that 27-year-old dick.”

“That and hydrating!” Mia said with a laugh.

“Hydrating my ass. How is Chan? I still need to meet him, you know. I can’t believe you’re hiding your hot, popstar boyfriend from your best friend.”

“He’s good. We’re good. And I’m not hiding him. We’ve just both been busy. But soon. He asks about you all the time. We’ll do a happy hour or something.”

“Good. Tell me about Anguilla. I would give anything to be kidnapped by a gorgeous, rich man for the weekend.”

“Also good.” Mia leaned in close to Bella to whisper, “And lots of 27-year-old dick. He also brought handcuffs…”

Bella gasped, “He didn’t.”

“He did.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Tell me everything!”

Mia and Bella spent a few more minutes catching up, giggling like they were back in their freshman year dorm room, before they were interrupted by a small group of Leila’s colleagues from the hospital. Mia introduced Bella to them, and they all spent some time chatting and laughing together.

A short while later, a sudden ripple went through the crowd. “Isn’t that Jason Mitchell?” one of the female guests whispered to her friend. Jason was somewhat of a local celebrity, often defending high profile clients at his law firm, and regularly appearing on the local news. Given that he was hot and single, he tended to be on the radar of many women looking to lock him down. Bella and Mia’s gazes were drawn to the entrance.

Sure enough, there he was: Jason, looking every bit as dashing as usual. He wore a cream, long sleeved cashmere sweater and charcoal slacks, both hugging his frame in all the right places. The color of the sweater looked great against his pecan-brown skin.

“What’s Jason and his big ole head doing here?” Bella asked as she took a sip of her wine. “Did you know he was coming? Fuck he looks good. Why does he always look so good? Do you think he’s sacrificing virgins or something?”

Mia’s stomach flipped as she watched Jason stroll in. What was he doing here? she asked herself. He caught her eye and flashed that sparkling grin of his that used to make her melt. Not anymore, she told herself sternly. But she had to admit it, Bella was right; he looked fucking fantastic. Mia's gaze flicked to Leila who had glided over to welcome Jason.

“I didn’t know he was invited,” Mia answered as her gaze flicked over to Leila who glided over to the door to welcome Jason.

"Thank you for having me, Leila. It's been too long," Jason said smoothly, his voice carrying over the hum of conversation.

"Of course, Jason. We're always happy to see old friends," Leila replied, her lips pursed in what could have been satisfaction.

"Heh, old friends," Mia muttered under her breath, her suspicions mounting. She watched as Leila touched Jason's arm in a seemingly casual gesture, but to Mia, it looked orchestrated. Leila tiptoed up to murmur something in his ear. What was that about? Mia pursed her lips.

"Are you alright, Mia?" one of Leila’s long-time coworkers asked, noticing her distant expression. Bella raised an eyebrow at Mia, as she was probably thinking to ask the same question.

"Absolutely," Mia assured with a bright smile, though her mind raced. "Just lost in thought for a moment. Have you tried these mini crab cakes? They’re divine." Mia stopped the waiter passing by with the full tray and several of their group took a couple of the small appetizers.

Bella pulled Mia to the side. “Are you sure you’re good? When was the last time you saw him.”

“The night I told him there wouldn’t be a second chance. But I am good,” Mia replied, trying to reassure her friend.

As the evening wore on, Mia’s initial surprise at seeing Jason shifted into a sharp wariness. She observed Jason and Leila’s interactions, the way they seemed almost too comfortable with each other. It didn’t add up. Why would Leila invite Jason without mentioning it to her?

The dinner gong sounded, interrupting Mia's spiraling thoughts.

“Of course your sister has a fucking gong,” Bella said as she and Mia waited to refill their wine glasses.

“She’s so fucking extra,” Mia said as she leaned against the bar.

"Time to eat, everyone!" Leila called out with an overly saccharine tone. She began ushering people towards the dining room.

Mia and Bella hung back as Mia watched the bartender fill their glasses. Mia twirled her finger at him, urging him to add more, which he did. “Thank you,” she whispered with an appreciative smile and handed him a $20 bill as a tip. She turned and watched everyone walk towards the living room. She leaned against the bar again and took a generous sip from her glass, dreading whatever fresh hell this dinner had in store. With a resigned sigh, she said, “Let’s find our seats before we get scolded.” Bella nodded and the two of them followed behind the other guests. Mia hoped the night wouldn't prove as awkward as she feared.

The clinking of silverware and the soft murmur of conversation filled the warmly lit dining room as Mia found her place card at the elegantly set table. Bella’s was on the seat to Mia’s left. Mia settled into her chair, smoothing the fabric of her dress. Her heart sank as she took in the rest of the seating arrangements. The name on the card to her right was Jason’s. Leila was seated directly across from him. This has to be a setup, Mia thought. Anger flared in her chest, but she tamped it down, not wanting to make a scene in front of the other guests. She would deal with Leila later.

As Jason pulled out his chair, he casually remarked, “Small world, isn’t it? Hey Bella.”

Bella nodded her head at him. “Jason.” She wasn’t a fan and hadn’t been for a few years. A true best friend, unlike her disloyal sister.

Mia looked at Jason as he sat. “Seems smaller every day,” she replied, her tone light but her eyes searching Jason’s. What game is he playing? she wondered.

As everyone else settled into their chairs, Jason turned to Mia, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. "You look great, M." His voice was smooth, but there was an underlying edge of something. Longing? Regret?

Mia forced a tight smile. "Thanks, Jay. I didn't expect to see you here." She reached for her wine glass, taking a sip to avoid saying more.

"Leila invited me. She thought it would be nice for us to catch up." Jason's gaze remained fixed on her, ignoring the other guests' attempts to engage him in conversation.

Mia's grip tightened on her glass. Of course Leila had orchestrated this. She should have known better than to trust her sister's intentions. "How thoughtful of her," Mia muttered, her tone laced with sarcasm.

“I thought you would like to sit next to someone you know,” Leila quipped from across the table. “You two always have so much to talk about.”

“Had. Past tense,” Mia corrected softly, more to herself than anyone else.

“Am I invisible?” Bella asked Mia quietly with an eye roll. Mia simply shook her head and also rolled her eyes in response.

As the first course was served, Jason leaned closer, his arm brushing against hers. "Remember that time we went to that little Mediterranean place on 5th? The one with the amazing tapas?" His voice was low, intimate.

“I love tapas,” the person across from Mia, chimed in, attempting to join the conversation. Mia recognized her from Leila’s office. Her name was Kim and she was Leila’s relatively new office manager.

Mia's traitorous heart skipped a beat at the memory. She did remember. It had been one of their first dates, about 2 weeks after they had kissed for the first time unexpectedly after being friends for a few years, back when everything was new and exciting. Before the cracks in their relationship had started to show. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the nostalgia. "That was a long time ago, Jason."

"But it was a good time, wasn't it?" Jason persisted, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "We had a lot of those."

“We did,” Mia acknowledged, redirecting her attention to the other guests. “But you know, I’ve found this new place that does amazing tapas and authentic paella. El Carajo. You should all try it sometime.”

“I’ve been there. The food is fantastic,” Bella added, trying to help.

“Jason makes an excellent Paella,” Leila interjected, almost too eagerly, ignoring Bella. “He learned from a chef in Spain, didn’t you, Jason?”

“She sees me, right?” Bella whispered to Mia, annoyed at Leila.

“Ah, yes,” Jason said, leaning back in his chair with a nostalgic air. “Mia and I spent 2 weeks in Barcelona a few years back.”

Mia felt the tension creeping up her spine. She wanted to move on from these orchestrated trips down memory lane. Her past with Jason was just that; the fucking past. She needed to achieve the freedom and happiness she now knew was possible without him.

“Spain sounds lovely,” Kim offered, looking between Mia and Jason with a hint of curiosity. “I didn’t realize you two were together…”

“They’re not anymore,” Bella quickly answered, matter-of-factly. Kim seemed relieved as she grinned at Jason. She was clearly a fan.

“And Spain is fantastic. If you ever have the chance to go, you should,” Mia added, her attempt to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory. “Traveling gives you such a fresh perspective, doesn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Jason concurred, seizing the opportunity to speak before Kim could respond. "Like the trip we took to the vineyards. Remember how you adored the view from that hilltop?" The isolated hilltop they fucked on after ‘tasting’ 10 bottles of wine.

"Views are meant to be admired," Mia countered smoothly, her voice betraying none of the internal conflict that churned within her. She was determined not to let the evening devolve into a showcase of her history with Jason.

"True," Leila said, locking eyes with Mia. "But some views, like certain relationships, are worth revisiting, don't you think?"

"Or sometimes you find a new vista," Mia replied, her tone firm yet polite. "One that offers unexpected beauty and harmony."

The gazes of the other guests seated near them flickered between Mia, Jason, and Leila as they went back and forth.

"New can be good," Jason admitted, though his hazel eyes held a flicker of something unspoken. "But so can rekindling what once was great."

Mia opened her mouth to respond, but Leila cut in from across the table. "Jason, didn't you just get promoted to partner at your firm? That's so impressive!" Her tone was effusive, her smile a little too bright.

Jason tore his gaze away from Mia, his chest puffing out slightly at the praise. He loved being the center of attention. "Yes, I did. It's been a lot of hard work, but it's paying off."

“Some things never change,” Bella said under her breath. “He still loves talking about himself.”

“Congratulations!” Kim said enthusiastically as she batted her eyes. “That’s great.”

Mia caught Bella’s eye and knew they were both resisting the urge to fake gag. They both smirked at each other.

Jason launched into a description of his recent cases, Kim, Leila, and the others sitting near them hanging on his every word.

Mia pushed her food around her plate, her appetite gone. She couldn't believe Leila was actually trying to sell Jason to her like some sort of used car salesman. Did her sister really think she was this easily manipulated?

But even as indignation surged through her, Mia couldn't help but remember the good times she and Jason had shared. The lazy Sunday mornings in bed, the spontaneous weekend getaways, the way he used to make her laugh until her sides hurt, their hours long fuck sessions until neither of them could speak. It hadn't all been bad.

No! she mentally slapped herself back to reality. She couldn't let herself go down that road. Jason had hurt her deeply, many times, and she had worked too hard to rebuild herself to let him back in. Fucking him was one thing, but restarting their relationship was not something she was interested in. She was with Chan now, and he made her happier than she had ever been.

As if reading her mind, Leila asked pointedly, “Have you heard from your new friend recently? What’s his name again? Chan?” Mia turned to look at Leila but kept her face neutral. You know what his damn name is, Mia thought to herself.

“You know that’s his name, Leila,” Bella said, clearly reading Mia’s mind.

“Is Chan Chris?” Jason asked, confused.

Mia ignored him. “I hear from him and see him every day,” Mia responded, her eyes locked onto Leila’s as she sipped her wine. “That’s typically what happens in relationships, Leila.”

"Is he still busy with that… music project of his?" Leila asked, the words laced with a hint of disdain.

"You mean his career? Very," Mia answered curtly, feeling the protective fire rise in her chest. "He’s currently writing songs for their new album. He's passionate about his work, and I admire that about him."

“Oh, you’re dating a musician? That sounds exciting,” Kim said. “Are you dating anyone?” she tried to ask Jason, her transition nonexistent as she attempted to shoot her shot.

Jason ignored her, although it was likely he hadn’t heard her. "Passion is important," Jason conceded, looking down at his plate, a silent acknowledgment of the boundary Mia had drawn.

“It is," Mia affirmed, her gaze steady.

The caterer’s team interrupted them to clear away the dishes from the first course and prep for the next one. Mia straightened her spine, determined to make it through this dinner with her dignity intact. Leila and Jason could scheme all they wanted, but she knew her own heart. And it belonged to Chan.

The clinking of fine china and the soft murmur of conversation provided a veneer of normalcy to the dinner party, but Mia was acutely aware of her sister’s machinations. As the dinner progressed, Mia found herself growing increasingly uncomfortable with Leila and Jason's attempt to steer the conversation towards their shared past. She shifted in her seat and attempted to maintain a facade of polite interest in the salad being served. Bella placed her hand on Mia’s knee in an attempt to comfort her.

She glanced at Jason, her brow furrowed, and leaned in close to whisper, "Jason, what is going on here?"

Jason paused, his fork midway to his mouth, and met her gaze.

“Was this your idea?” she asked.

Jason's hazel eyes widened slightly. “Mia,” he started slowly, setting down his fork with deliberate care. “I thought we were past playing games.”

“Are we?” Mia challenged quietly, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass. She noticed how his eyes tracked the movement before returning to her face. Mia turned in her chair to face him, crossing her legs and leaning forward. “I thought you were okay with this, with us each moving on. But now you’re acting like… like…”

"Like… I want you back?" Jason finished, his voice low and earnest. “How about we go talk in private?” Mia nodded. They excused themselves from the table and walked to the empty living room, sitting on the couch. Mia was acutely aware of Leila's gaze boring into her and Jason.

"Mia, I'm sorry. I know I gave you the impression that I was fine with everything, but the truth is, I'm not. I still love you, and I'd do anything to have another chance."

Mia's heart clenched, a mix of emotions swirling within her. She shook her head, her curls brushing against her cheeks. "But this dinner, the way you and Leila have been acting... was this your plan all along?"

Jason hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. "No, it wasn't my plan. Leila reached out to me, said she thought we belonged together. She told me about the dinner and suggested it might be good for us to talk.”

“Talk,” Mia echoed. “And you agreed because…”

“Because I love you. Because I’m selfish.” He looked at her, his hazel eyes holding hers, intense and unwavering. “I wanted to see you, to try and win you back. I figured if there’s even a small chance, I had to take it."

Mia felt as though she had been punched in the gut. She took a sip of her wine, trying to numb how she felt. Her own sister, betraying her like this? Her sister’s interference was one thing, but Jason’s complicity was another. He had known how difficult this had been for her, yet here he was, ready to disregard her feelings for his own desires. Like usual. Some things never fucking change, she thought to herself. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let Jason see how much his confession had hurt her.

“Jason, I can’t….” her words trailed off as she grappled with a mix of old affection and newfound resolve. “I needed to move on. Our relationship wasn’t healthy for either of us.”

"I've changed, Mia. I swear…" he began, but she cut him off with a shake of her head.

"Even if you have, it doesn't change the past. Or my feelings now." Mia's words were firm, though she could feel the tremor in her voice. The room seemed to close in around her, the laughter and chatter of the other guests a distant buzz as she confronted the man she once thought she'd spend her life with. “And to find out that you two have been conspiring behind my back, trying to manipulate me into getting back together with you? It’s a lot."

Jason reached out, his fingers grazing her arm. "Mia, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I just... I miss you so much."

Mia shook off his hand, shaking her head. "No, Jason. You don't get to do this. You don't get to be the victim here and expect me to forget everything that happened between us. I'm happy with Chris. You need to respect that."

Jason's jaw clenched, a flicker of anger sparking in his eyes. "Chris? Or is it Chan? The musician? Leila told me he’s actually in a boy band? You think he can make you happier than I can? Mia, we had something special. We can have that again."

Mia's heart raced, her palms growing damp. A part of her wanted to believe him, to fall back into the comfort of their familiar relationship. But she knew better now. “So special that you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants,” she replied sarcastically. Mia knew her worth, and she knew that Chan saw it, too.

Jason flinched at her statement.

"No, Jason," she said firmly, her voice growing stronger. "What we had is in the past. I'm building a future with Chris now, and I won't let you or Leila interfere with that."

Jason stared at her for a long moment, his expression a mix of hurt and resignation. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Mia said. She quickly stood up and returned to her seat. Mia focused on her salad as Jason sat next to her.

“You two good?” Leila asked.

Jason flashed her his gorgeous smile. “We’re good. Right, Mia?” He turned to look at her.

“Oh yeah…saurrr good.” Mia’s dramatic pronunciation of ‘so’ mimicked Chan’s Australian accent. Mia plastered a smile on her face as she stuffed her mouth with lettuce. Bella just watched her.

Kim leaned in towards Mia, placing her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her fist. “Are you two really not together? You have so much chemistry.”

“Nope,” Mia said. She picked up her wine glass and took a sip. “We haven’t been a couple for over two years. We’re just good friends now.” Kim beamed at her response. Mia leaned forward and whispered, “He’s all yours, Kim.” Mia winked before draining her wine glass, then motioning for it to be refilled.

After two more courses, Mia was working hard to contribute to the conversations taking place at the table. But the additional glasses of wine that were supposed to chill her out had only made her angrier. She watched with narrow eyes as her sister stood from the table and made her way to the kitchen. Mia set her wine glass down with more force than necessary. She needed answers and she wasn’t going to get them sitting here, playing nice while anger simmered in her veins.

Jason eyed her, reading her mind, and mouthed the word, “Don’t.”

Ugh, why does he know me so fucking well, Mia thought.

Similarly, Bella touched her shoulder and simply said, “Mia…”

Mia ignored them both and pushed herself away from the table. “Excuse me,” she murmured to the people sitting next to her, her voice brittle with forced politeness. She rose, smoothing the front of her dress, and caught the looks exchanged between Jason and Bella. She didn’t care. She followed Leila’s path to the kitchen. Her burgundy dress swished with each determined step.

In the kitchen, Leila was fiddling with the dessert plates, her back to Mia. "Leila, we need to talk," Mia said, her voice firm and unwavering.

Leila turned, her expression a mix of surprise and defensiveness. "Mia, I'm in the middle of preparing dessert. Can't this wait?"

"No, it can't." Mia narrowed her eyes. "What the hell are you playing at, Leila?" Her words were a controlled explosion, her hands clenched at her sides.

Leila set down the dish she was holding, her movements measured and deliberate. "I don't know what you're talking about," she lied poorly.

Mia scoffed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Cut the shit, Leila. Why is Jason here? Why did you seat him next to me?”

"Because I care about you, Mia. Because you're making a mistake with this Chan guy and I'm trying to show you there's a better option." Leila's tone was measured, but it couldn't hide the undercurrent of frustration.

Mia sighed, disbelief etched into every line of her face. "Better for who? You?"

"Better for your future. Have you really thought this through? Chan is so young, and his career is hectic and unrealistic. Most ‘pop stars’,” she said, using air quotes, “don’t have long-lasting careers. No part of this relationship is practical." Leila’s argument was well-rehearsed.

Mia’s jaw clenched, her anger rising. "That's not your decision to make, Leila. I'm an adult, and I can choose who’s the right person for me."

Leila's eyes flashed with determination. "Jason is just the better option. With him, you'd have stability and a partner who understands our world."

Mia shook her head, her voice rising. "Our world? What the fuck are you even talking about?” Leila was so obsessed with this high society, Jack and Jill-type bullshit that Mia couldn’t stand. “I don't care about any of that shit. I love Chris, and he loves me. I’m happy. Why can’t you accept that?” Mia demanded, her heart pounding against her chest.

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Leila’s retort was sharp, cutting. “That this… infatuation with this boy is some grand romance? Wake up, Mia. This is real life.” Leila's brow furrowed, her tone growing more insistent. "You're making a mistake, Mia. Happiness isn’t always enough. You need security, stability. Jason can offer you that.”

“Infatuation?” Mia tasted the word like it was poison. The suggestion that what she felt for Chan was anything less than profound was insulting. And Leila’s insistence that what she had with Jason and all the hurt he had caused her was somehow better, was even more of a slap in the face. “Chris is not a boy. He's a grown man who treats me with more respect than Jason ever has. Jason offered me a cage!” Mia shot back, her voice rising despite her best efforts to keep calm. “I was expected to be the beautiful, talented, supportive woman on his arm while he fucked everything in a short skirt. And God forbid if another man even breathed the same air as me. I was so depressed towards the end of our relationship. It just wasn’t good for me. Why would I want to stay in something like that? Why would you as my sister want that for me?”

“Stop being dramatic Mia.”

Mia's hands balled into fists at her sides, her frustration reaching a boiling point. "Enough, Leila! I'm done being manipulated. My relationship with Jason is over, and I've moved on. If you think he’s that fucking great, then you date him! But you need to accept that Jason and I are done and support me, or stay out of my life."

Leila's eyes widened, shock and hurt flashing across her features. "Mia, I'm just trying to help."

"Well, stop trying," Mia snapped, her voice cracking with emotion. "Get over it."

"Fine," Leila snapped, her composure cracking. "But when this all falls apart, don't expect me to pick up the pieces."

Mia scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “When have you ever helped me ‘pick up the pieces’? You literally blamed me for Jason’s cheating. And you spend most of your time being a judgmental bitch!” Mia and Leila had never had a great relationship, but they had been trying since their dad died and their mom had moved out of Florida to be closer to her sisters. “And don’t think that I don’t know about the time you tried to kiss Jason when you were ‘drunk’. Yes, he told me about it. My own fucking sister…. Your ass is lucky that I love Mike like a brother and don’t want your actions to hurt him.” Mia knew it was a low blow bringing up an incident Leila had tried to keep hidden, but she didn’t care. Mia had kept this info to herself for the past few years and had resisted throwing it in Leila’s face on many an occasion.

Leila was pissed at being caught and launched into her own attack on Mia. They went back and forth for a few minutes. The argument grew louder, their voices echoing off the kitchen walls. Mia's heart raced, her anger and frustration fueling each word.

Just then, Michael appeared in the doorway, his expression caught between concern and annoyance. "Can you two keep it down? The entire party can hear you arguing."

Mia turned to face him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Sorry Mike, but your wife is being a fucking bitch and trying to control my life, as usual. You’d think I was the baby sister."

Michael sighed, stepping into the kitchen. "Leila, we've talked about this. You need to let Mia make her own choices."

Leila's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing. She hated that Mike always took Mia’s side. "But Michael, she's making a mistake. We have to protect her."

"Protect me? From what?" Mia laughed bitterly. "I don't need your protection. I need your support and acceptance."

Michael placed a hand on Leila's shoulder, his voice calm but firm. "Leila, stop. If she's happy, then let her be happy. Also, this isn’t the time or place."

Leila shrugged off Michael's hand, her expression defiant. "I can't just stand by and watch her ruin her life."

"You know what, Leila?" Mia's voice trembled with anger and hurt. "I've never once interfered in your relationships, even when I knew they were toxic. Don’t you wonder why you don’t have any real friends? Not just the people you show off for. I also don't say a word about how you treat Lianna or the way you manipulate Michael. But I'm done staying silent."

Leila's eyes widened, her mouth opening in shock. "How dare you…"

"No, how dare you!" Mia interrupted; her fists clenched at her sides were the only thing keeping her from doing something she’d regret. Her voice low, but laden with warning, she addressed Michael directly, “You need to talk to your wife, because if I don’t walk away right now, I might actually beat the shit out of her.”

Michael's eyebrows shot up, a clear sign of alarm. He and Mia had been friends forever, long before he and Leila had started dating, so he recognized the gravity of Mia's threat. He turned to Leila, his tone sharpening with every word. "Leila, you need to stop. You're out of line. You don’t know Chris and haven’t even bothered to learn anything about him. Yet, you’ve concocted this whole story in your brain about how awful he is and how destructive their relationship is. It’s not fair to him or Mia. It’s actually pretty shitty."

“I’m out of line?!?” Leila yelled, completely ignoring everything else Michael had pointed out. “She just threatened me in my own kitchen. And I wasn’t doing anything other than trying to help.”

"Help? Is that what bringing Jason here tonight was supposed to do? Help? This is meddling, and it's not the first time. It’s like you don’t even care about the impact it’s having on your sister." Michael countered, exasperation seeping into his voice.

Mia rolled her eyes. Leila was never able to see what she was doing wrong. Unable to stomach another second in her sister’s presence, Mia whirled around, her curls bouncing as she stormed out of the kitchen and strode through the living room. Several of the guests’ eyes followed her silent exit, but she ignored them. She needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of Leila’s judgment and manipulation.

Outside, the crisp evening air was a stark contrast to the heated argument she’d just walked away from. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions raging inside her. When she opened them, she immediately took a step down the porch when Jason’s voice halted her escape.

"Mia, wait!"

She didn't want to face him, but politeness, or perhaps some residual affection, made her pause. With her back still to him, Mia sighed, "What do you want, Jason?" Her shoulders sagged with exhaustion.

"I'm sorry," he said, taking a step closer. "I knew this was a bad idea. I only went along with it because I still love you."

Mia's heart ached at his words, remembering the love they once shared. But she knew it was over. She turned around to look at him. “Jason. We had our time and it’s over.”

"I don’t know how you can just turn it off, just like that. Isn't there any part of you that misses us?" His eyes searched hers, seeking an inkling of hope.

"I’ve never turned it off. Part of the reason our breakup hurt so much is because I couldn’t turn it off. I care about you, Jason, I do. You know how much I love you. But I'm not in love with you anymore. I haven't been for a long time." Mia's admission hung heavy between them. "I'm with Chris now, and he makes me happy in ways you never did." Her words sounded much harsher than she had intended, but she needed him to understand.

Jason's face fell, disappointment etched in his features. "I understand," he said softly. "I just thought... maybe we could try again. I guess I need to accept that and move on. I’m sorry."

"It's okay," Mia said, reaching out to give his hand a gentle squeeze. "I know you meant well. But I need you to respect how I feel about this and let me go if you want to remain friends. I can’t continue like this. It’s too much."

Jason met her gaze, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "I will," he promised. “You’re one of my best friends and I don’t want to lose that too.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’m sorry.”

With those parting words, Jason turned and walked away, heading straight for his SUV. Mia watched him go, a mix of sadness and relief washing over her. She knew it was the right decision, but it still hurt to close that chapter of her life. Taking a deep breath, she headed to her car.

Mia slid into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary. She retrieved her phone. Her fingers flew across the screen as she composed a message to her sister, each word punctuated by frustration.

Mia: Leila, I can’t do this anymore. I’m not speaking to you until you apologize for your behavior tonight and stop meddling in my life. Lianna and Michael can visit me if they want to see me. They know where I live.

She hit send, her heart pounding with a mixture of anger and hurt. The finality of the message was clear and her relationship with Leila, which had always been a bit fragile, was now hanging by thread.

Leila: You’re “not speaking to me”???? Stop acting like a child.

Mia: Fuck you, Leila!

Mia started the engine and pulled out onto the street. A few minutes later, she dialed Chan’s number. She listened to the rings, each one stretching longer than the last until his warm voice filled the void.

“Hey, babe. What’s up?”

Mia’s voice trembled slightly. "Hey."

"What's wrong?" Chan asked, instantly tuning into the distress in her tone. "You sound upset." Chan's concern was evident, even through the phone.

“Chris… I walked into a set up.” The story spilled out, Mia's words tumbling over each other as she recounted the disastrous dinner party. "...and then Leila had the nerve to try and justify her actions, saying she only wants what's best for me. Can you believe that? I just left."

Chan was silent for a moment, processing the information. "I'm so sorry, Mia," he said softly. "That must have been awful. Do you want to come over? The Kids and I are having a movie night, but you're always welcome. We can talk and you can spend the night."

Mia felt a rush of gratitude, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. "I'd love that," she whispered. "Thank you, Chris."

****

When Mia arrived at the beach house, the door swung open before she could knock, revealing Chan’s dimpled smile. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” Mia stepped into Chan’s open arms, and he wrapped her in the warmest of hugs. She sighed against his chest.

When Chan pulled away, he smiled at her. “This dress is… you look fucking incredible.”

“Thanks.” They walked into the house. “But all I want to do is get out of this thing.”

“Just borrow something of mine. I can make you a drink.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She pressed her lips to his.

As she walked down the hallway towards Chan’s room, she heard Changbin and Han yell excitedly, “Mia!” She chuckled as she nodded in their direction. Once in the room, she unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor. She pulled on one of Chan’s boxer briefs and one of his hoodies, then returned to the living room.

As she walked down the hallway, her phone lit up. It was Bella. She leaned against the wall and opened the message.

Bella: Hey girl. You good? That was a little crazy. Neither you or Jason came back. Did you leave with him?

Mia: I’m good. I’m at Chris’. Jason went home after we ended it… for the third fucking time. Hopefully, this one will stick.

Bella: Okay. Your sister is a nut. She came out of the kitchen and acted like World War 3 didn’t just happen at her dinner party.

Mia: Not surprised. I told her I’m not talking to her until she apologizes.

Bella: When has she ever apologized?

Mia: Never. But I’m not worrying about her. Just gonna live my life.

Bella: Good for you, mama. Let me know if you need me.

Mia: Thanks babe.

Mia continued down the hall. The living room was cozy, the soft glow of the television illuminating the faces of Chan and his members. Changbin got up to give her a hug, squeezing her tightly in his muscular arms.

“Don’t resist the hug,” he said with a laugh.

“Thanks Bin.” She smiled at him.

“He does give the best hugs,” Han chimed in from the love seat he and Lee Know were cuddled up on.

Changbin moved from his original spot on the couch to make room for her next to Chan. She curled into Chan’s side, breathing in his familiar scent as his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

She looked at Changbin. “Soooo, are you gonna tell me what you’ve been up to with my niece, or do I have to guess.” She nudged him playfully with her foot.

Changbin gave her a quick look, his life flashing before his eyes and simply said, “Nope,” before pulling his hoodie over his head, tugging down on the strings to cover his face, staring straight ahead to avoid her gaze, and gulping his drink. Chan, Han, and Lee Know all started laughing.

As the movie played, Mia felt the tension slowly leave her body, replaced by a sense of contentment and belonging. This was where she was meant to be, with Chan.

After about an hour, Chan leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. "You know," he murmured, his voice low and seductive, "I can think of a few things we could do that would be much more fun than watching this movie." His hand slipped down the back of the boxers.

Mia glanced at him, her eyes darkening with desire. "Oh, really?" she teased, her hand sliding up his thigh. "And what might those things be?"

Chan grinned, his dimples flashing in the dim light. "Let me show you," he whispered, standing up and pulling her with him. They made their excuses to the others, ignoring the knowing looks and good-natured ribbing as they headed towards Chan's bedroom.

“Just keep it down,” Han said with a smirk as they walked away. “We’d like to finish the movie in peace!” Chan picked up one of the decorative pillows and hit him with it.

As soon as the bedroom door closed behind them, Chan pulled Mia into his arms, his mouth descending on hers in a searing kiss.

“I guess we have to be quiet,” Chan said with a smirk as he pulled the hoodie off Mia.

“Challenge accepted,” Mia whispered back. “I think you’re louder than me anyway.”

Chan chuckled. “I am not! You’re the one who loves to scream my name. ‘Oh, Chris. Mmmm, Chris. Fuck, Christopher!’,” he mimicked her, getting louder and more dramatic with each one. When she rolled her eyes, he kissed the top of her shoulder. “First one to make a sound above a whisper loses. Deal?”

Mia pulled Chan’s t-shirt off. “Deal. And loser pays for brunch tomorrow.”

“Deal.” Chan tugged at the boxers Mia wore until they and her underwear were at her feet. He dropped to his knees and immediately threw her thigh over his shoulder and buried his face in between her legs.

“Why you little….” Mia couldn’t even continue because she was already gasping as Chan sucked ferociously on her clit. Seconds later, his fingers plunged into her, and she started whimpering, trying hard not to moan out loud. She could feel Chan smiling against her skin, enjoying how much she was fighting against his actions. Mia swallowed down any sounds and focused on breathing through her nose, trying to compose herself even as the vibrations spiraled outward towards the rest of her body and the leg that was supporting her started to tremble.

Chan looked up at her with a grin on his face, his chin covered in her juices. “Oh, you’re good at resisting. Maybe I need to try something else….”

Chan picked Mia up and walked her to the bed. He laid her down gently then pulled off his own shorts and boxers before climbing on top of her. Instead of his usual slow, inch by inch method of entering her, he plunged fully into her with one forceful thrust. Mia clasped her hands over her mouth to prevent the loud, “Ah fuck,” from emerging from her throat in response. Chan grinned as he continued to ram into her, then kissed the top of her hands.

Mia removed her hands as she got used to Chan’s rhythm. Then she pulled his face to hers for a deep kiss. Mia broke the kiss to whisper in Chan’s ear, “I got something for you.”

She immediately started to contract her vaginal walls, performing a series of Kegels back to back to back. She giggled when Chan’s expression changed from gloating into one of pure pleasure and he started moaning a combination of, “Ohhh. Ahhhh. Ughhhh,” over and over again. His eyes started to roll back into his head as his moans got progressively louder. When he’d had enough and was in danger of losing, he whispered, “Oh naur,” and pulled out of Mia. “You’re way too good at that,” he said as he gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

Without warning, he flipped Mia over onto her stomach and pulled her ass up into the air. He smacked her ass hard, causing her to whisper loudly, “Shit.” Then he leaned over her, pressing his chest to her back.

He brought his lips to her ear. “Let’s see if you can resist this.” He positioned the tip of his dick at her anus.

She looked back at him, as he spit a generous amount of saliva into his palm then massaged it onto his dick. “You wouldn’t dare….” Mia’s words cut off as she felt Chan enter her anus achingly slow; she exhaled loudly, the speed of her breath matching the speed of his motion.

“My members should have told you that I’m very, very competitive,” he whispered as the length of his hard cock filled her fully. “I don’t… like… to lose.” Each word was punctuated with a thrust.

Chan felt so good inside her, Mia didn’t know what to do other than try to control each of the grunts that escaped her every time he thrusted. It didn’t help that Chan was still in her ear, talking dirty, and it was really turning her on.

“I’m gonna make you scream when you cum around my dick. Then I’m gonna continue fucking you until you have no voice left,” he whispered.

When he reached his hand around her to start rubbing her clit, Mia knew she was losing this bet. Every inch of her was tingling with pleasure. Her body was no longer under her control as she started writhing from the overstimulation. She grabbed one of the pillows and buried her face into it to muffle the sounds she was making.

“Oh, what did you say? I didn’t quite catch that. You want me to go faster?” Chan asked with a wicked grin on his face before he started to ram into her with increasing speed and power, pushing her closer to the edge.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck,” Mia moaned loudly into the pillow.

“That’s right baby. You knaur you want to cum for me,” Chan whispered, clearly enjoying this way too much.

When his fingers pinched her clit, Mia lost it.

“Ohhhhhhhh! Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” She yelled into the pillow as the orgasm crashed over her with such an intensity she felt like she might explode. True to his word, Chan didn’t let up on his pace, continuing to thrust into her fast and hard while rubbing her clit furiously. Mia was screaming so loudly that no amount of pillows could help muffle the sound. She was sure the entire neighborhood could hear her, “Oh. Chris! FUCK!” Chan laughed quietly at her defeat.

“Oh, come on you guys!” they heard Han yell from the living room. “I asked for one fucking thing! One thing! Can you believe them?”

As Mia’s trembling body began to still, she felt Chan cum behind her. “Uhhh,” he grunted softly, the clear winner of this game. Chan continued to pump in and out of her slowly as he peppered her neck with kisses. "I love the way you look when you cum, goddess," he breathed against her neck. "You're so fucking beautiful." He growled low in his throat before adding, "Like an angel losing control."

Mia smiled, then elbowed him off of her. Chan finally pulled out and rolled onto his back, a wide grin plastered on his face.

“You don’t play fair,” Mia said with a playful pout as she collapsed on her belly and looked at him.

Chan laughed loudly. “I never play fair. I play to fucking win.” He winked at her.

When Mia tried to punch him, Chan grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, wrapping her in a warm embrace before kissing her. When they pulled away from each other, Mia stared at him. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the fight she had with her sister, not Jason. All that existed was them.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“Yes, much better,” she whispered as she rested her head on his chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered back and pulled her in even tighter. “And I expect unlimited bloody mary’s with my brunch tomorrow.”

Mia laughed, “Oh shut up, you dick!” Mia twisted one of his nipples and heard him suck air in between his teeth.

And as they lay there, their bodies intertwined, Mia knew that this was where she belonged. With Chan, she was home.

A/N: Song: Girlfight Artist: Brooke Valentine

[luckyroll3]

Uhm just came to say you totally called Chan going to the hotel pool late at night in your fic. When I saw it I was like omggg yassss, he’s on his way to meet the photographer 🤪

LMAO! What can I say... I know my man. Hehe! 😂