#He was disoriented and not in his right mind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

madamechrissy · 15 days ago

Text

Just Friends!?

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and popular F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

Warnings - Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- this chap- explicit sex, shower sex, oral ( f receiving) lots of fluff, lots of emotions, mentions of past angst, an INSANE breed kink (reader and Toru hehe) cumplay, sweet whipped Satoru, they're so in lovvve.- WC- 7.8k

Based on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙 Taglist closed! -Comments/rbs appreciated <3

<<<Part Seven - Masterlist - Playlist- Part Nine>>> (soon)

Part Eight

You’ve never been on a plane.

You’ve driven everywhere, even out of state you’d get a car rental and just cruise, but Satoru has you on a plane in first class, headed to Hollywood. You’re so nervous, heart racing as you think of seeing him again, as you think of being in his arms. It’s only been a couple weeks, but a couple weeks feels like forever when it has been eight years without him.

The plane ride goes smoothly, despite your anxiety, a couple airport bottles may have been necessary for how panicked you were at first, so you may or may not be a little buzzed when you get off the plane. You step into the airport and the overwhelming amount of people surround you, you’re momentarily disoriented at just how many, walking past and rushing off.

You eye your phone then, before a big sign catches your attention, a dark haired man with glasses holding up your name on a huge sign. You giggle just a bit and walk over then, he smiles at you. “That would be me!”

“Perfect, I’m Ijichi. Mr. Gojo is waiting in the limo, he didn’t want to overwhelm you with too much attention if he came out.” You nod in understanding, certainly the paparazzi would be all over him. “Right this way, Miss.”

You follow him out, and through all of the rest of the enormous airport, the chaos makes you just a little dizzy. You can still feel the nerves even as you walk out into the much different climate than back home. It’s warm and sunny, there’s a dry heat you’ve never really felt entering your lungs as you inhale and exhale, shutting your eyes at how good it feels when Ijichi reaches a black limo.

The door opens and Satoru rushes out of the car, surprising you when he scoops you up in his arms, wearing some round Gucci shades and a big grin. You giggle and let him pick you up, twirling you like you’re a little feather in his strong hold, slamming his lips down. That’s when the tears well up, mixed with the laughter, how badly you missed this.

How can you miss something you didn’t have before so vividly? Now it feels the perfect and only place to be, his arms, clinging so tightly to him. He’s whispering your name over and over when cameras start flashing, you hear the clicks and feel eyes on the two of you then, not just paparazzi either, it’s random people gossiping.

“Satoru, baby they’re all watching…” You murmur then, and he glares at them for a moment, setting you down.

“Mr. Gojo, weren't you supposed to hide in the limo?”

“I got too excited,” he’s pouting as he looks down at you, cupping your face, you feel his eyes are only on you, feel the warmth of his touch as you grip his wrist gently. “Fuck I missed you.”

“I missed you more, um… are you okay with them seeing me?” He frowns a bit, caressing your jaw line tenderly, and it’s really just you two, nothing else at that very moment.

“I should ask you, I’d love everyone to know I have the prettiest fucking girl in the world.”

“You go on too much!”

“Wanna bet?” You’re giggling again even as he swipes your tears, and his bright, brilliant eyes look at you so lovingly.

“You hype me up a lot you know.”

“As I should,” he kisses you again, right as people are wondering who you are outside of LAX, you feel the warmth of the sun shining down as he tugs you closer. “Should give ‘em a show.”

“Oh gosh!”

“Blushing, cute.”

“You’re ridiculous!” He’s chuckling again, slipping back on his shades and then gesturing for you to climb in as Ijichi puts up your luggage in the trunk.

When Satoru’s back with you, he’s pressing your back against the seat, leaning on top and kissing every inch he can find, your face, your throat, your chest, all while you giggle breathlessly. You gasp when he’s at the base of your neck, his plush lips brushing on sensitive skin, god he missed you so much it takes everything not to fuck you right here.

He’s sure you want a shower, to relax a bit from a long flight with two layovers, so he holds back just a bit, keeping the touches teasing and sweet. Your lips are pliant under his, parting as his tongue slips through the seam, and he tastes your sweetness again.

“Mochi has nothing on you.”

“You’re too much!” You’re grinning against his lips now, and he sighs, leaning up to look down at you for a moment, before kissing you again.

“Hmm, wait… is that tequila!?” He’s lapping at your lips as if it’s an inspection, you burst out into more laughter.

“Maybe! Maybe I’m a little tipsy. Just this much.” You put your thumb and finger together, grinning now, he can’t help but laugh with you, infectious as ever, studying your precious face and wondering how he ever went without it.

“You’re good and drunk, I can’t take advantage of you.”

“Not even, take all the advantage.” You’re kissing across his neck, hands slipping over his dress shirt, feeling the luxurious material as it ripples across his muscles, eliciting a soft whine from his throat.

“Fuck,” he’s throbbing under his slacks now, pressing against your heat and feeling your body arch, hips pressing for more of him. “You need water bottles or something, you're gonna get dehydrated that soaking wet.”

“Oh!” He’s smirking, sitting you up then, tugging you right against his side as he leans over and snatches a bottle up. “Do you just typically ride in a limo?”

“Yeah, long legs you know.” You roll your eyes as he spreads them wide, shoving one on you.

“You are like ninety percent leg.” You take the cool water, sipping it and sighing as it hits, cooling you off just a bit, Satoru nudges you further, before you kick back at him, and he tugs you to him again.

“Fuck, I missed you so much,” he’s softer now, the teasing gone as he cups your face, the condensation from the water pressing against your palm and dampening his dress shirt just a bit. Your heart races, the emotions mixing with the exhaustion, you haven’t slept in days in anticipation. “I don’t know how I went that long without seeing you to begin with.”

“I always missed you.” Your words break him, the sincerity and sweetness, and he swallows down the guilt once more.

He could have had this.

He could have had you in his arms, in his life, but you quickly shut off his thoughts with another kiss. “Hey, Satoru…”

“Yeah?” His voice is soft, you feel it then, his longing for something that cannot be, even if he doesn’t say it.

“We don’t know what would have happened, if we confessed our feelings then, we’ve grown a lot now, and we’re different in ways. I think everything happens for a reason, okay? So don’t look back on the past, we can’t change it. Focus on this right here.” You kiss him again, pulling back to look up at him, he sighs then.

“You’re all wise and shit huh?” You smile and wiggle your brows. “You’re right, there’s no sense in it. But to think I could have had you in my life…”

“I’m in your life right now, Toru.” The little nickname always breaks him, always melts him for you even more.

“Drink your water,” he presses a kiss on your forehead. “You little drunk.”

“Am not!” But you’re doing as he says, you are so thirsty, soon you’re resting your head on his chest as you two drive through the LA traffic, he’s got an arm wrapped around you as you yawn. “I don’t want to sleep as soon as I see you!”

“Take a nap, we have an hour before we’ll get home.”

Home, the words make your heart race, how he says it so easily, as if you’ll instantly be a part of that for him. The love you’ve always had makes the ease of this so perfect, a new relationship shouldn’t feel like this, nothing could ever really feel like this, like your home is in the arms of the boy you’ve always loved. Your eyes drift shut even as you fight it.

“I got a guitar you know,” you smile against his chest, inhaling his scent as he tugs you closer. “I am trying to remember how to play it.”

“I’m excited, I’ll get serenaded by the Satoru Gojo huh?”

“You’re very special, it's exclusive.” You’re resting more and more, until he hears it - a light little snore, and he knows you’re zonked out from your trip. Affection claws at his throat, mixing with his own exhaustion, while he strokes back your hair gently.

He’s been so busy this week, he worked to clear as much time as he could with you, but even so he has events. He’ll have you right by his side for them all, which he can’t wait to have you there, not being lonely and plastering on a trademark look for every camera and every interviewer. No, he’ll have you, all dolled up in one of the fancy dresses he bought you.

You soon find out he went overboard, as you all eventually take the elevator up to Satoru’s fancy penthouse overlooking the oceanside, it’s stunning and spotless as he gives you a little tour of it and you notice he’s already got half his closet filled with beautiful gowns. There are stacks of fancy shoe brands you cannot even pronounce but you’ve seen in magazines.

“Satoru! I said a couple dresses, holy fuck…” You’re brushing your fingers along one now, black sequined with a slit all the way up, you flush as you think how much leg that will show. “I’m more of a jean or legging girl you know.”

“Oh, I know, it’ll make it even hotter to dress you up,” he’s got his arms wrapped around you, tugging your back against him, lips trailing along your temple. “Like you’re my little doll, huh?”

“Mnh…” You’re lost as he presses hot kisses on the side of your neck, gasping at the sensation, his closet is as big as your room back home, organized by color and brand, a mirror between the shelves that shows your disheveled state. “Your doll?”

“Would you like that? Be my pretty little doll,” your eyes shut for a moment as your body reacts to his nearness, to his touch, igniting heat in your tummy that spreads at his whispered words. “No thoughts in your head, just for me to dress you up and fuck you like you’re a toy?”

“God,” you’re done for, his words bringing filthy pictures as his hand splays over your tummy, long fingers spread across it, the knot tightening with how badly you want him inside you. “You’re insane.”

“You really haven’t seen anything yet, sweetheart.” Your chin is turned, and he kisses you deeply, tongue delving inside your mouth again.

“I need a shower, I’m sweaty Toru.”

“Like I care?” You giggle again, but he pulls back, sighing. “I figured you would want to wash up. Go put your things up here and I’ll get it started, okay?”

“Yes, thank you!” He kisses you once more as you start placing the few outfits and things you brought with you, he’s got a whole empty drawer as if he was waiting for you and cleared it out.

You hear the water running, walking out to smell sweet fragrant steam, following it until you get into one of his bathrooms, it’s all polished cream marble and immaculate, some waterfall shower with three heads, two on either side and one overhead. You blink in surprise at it, before studying a now shirtless Satoru, his body is so perfect it makes you ache more.

“This shower is insane,” you shut the door and slip off your own shirt, just wearing a bra, they bounce gently when you do, making Satoru exhale, his cock throbbing as he sees the body he’s been missing so fucking bad. You brush your hair over one shoulder, turning then. “Can you help me?”

He runs over there like an eager teenager, you both laugh at it, at experienced supermodel Satoru Gojo’s hands trembling with anticipation, as he unclasps the bra nervously. He slips it down your shoulders until it falls to the floor, turning you and running his slender fingers over the marks the bra left, as if he could soothe them away for you.

“Don’t wear one here, please?” His pout is enough to do you in.

“Not at all?”

“Not at all, my one thing I’ll ask. Well…” he eases down your jean shorts, then slips your panties down, his breath hot on you as steam fills the room, swirling around you two, your thighs trembling, cunt pulsing around nothing at his avid attention. “Two things.”

“What’s the other thing, hmm?” Your fingers card through his silky white locks carefully, nails gentle on his scalp, while he presses a kiss to your thigh.

“No panties here either.” He eyes you under those snowy lashes, on his knees like he worships you, it’s a heady feeling, the way his huge hands grip your thighs, the way his lips caress your hip.

“I can do that for you, only here though,” he grins against your skin, you feel the lines of his pretty white teeth as he does, before he stands, towering over you and cupping your face. “I want you in there with me, please?”

“You think there’s a world where I wasn’t going to take a shower with you?”

Soon Satoru is leading you in, and the hot water starts pounding against your skin, soothing the soreness of the flight right away. He’s gently running a sudsy washcloth all over your body, inch by inch, relishing and putting attention into every little bit he can see. Your head falls back against the warmed tiles as he starts massaging his hands, feeling the fragrant bubbles and your soft, slick skin.

“This is perfect, it’s well worth any flight.” He smiles at that, lips quirking up at the corner while he continues, now his thumbs brush your nipples, you gasp.

“Sensitive?” He teases, you nod then, looking up at him, the water has made his silvery locks long and slick, you brush them back, biting your lip when he brushes them again. “Asked ya a question, sweetheart.”

“They are sensitive, feels s’good though, mmm!” He’s got them between his thumb and forefingers now, twisting just a bit and making the need unbearable, you gasp out at it.

“Imagine when I get you pregnant,” his words fuck what’s left of your dumb brain then, his eyes flashing with some feral hunger that makes them almost hard to look into. “They’re gonna be so full.”

“Fuck, you’re talking like that?” You’re dragging him down for a kiss, trying to tiptoe and nearly slipping, he grabs you and keeps you steady, his other hand slipping down to cup your ass cheek. “God, don’t even talk like that to me.”

“Why, you got a breed kink?” You’re burying your face against his chest, slick from the body wash, and he chuckles at you then, you feel the vibrations against your body as you whine out. “You do? Don’t be shy, I wanna know all about it.”

“I’ve never… acted on it… mnh…” Satoru turns you then, leaning down as you brace your hands against the wall, pressing closer to him when he slips his fingers between your soppy folds, you’re whining out at it.

“Tell me, what do you think about, hmm?” He’s taunting you, his other hand gripping yours as the water cascades over you both.

“I want babies in me,” your whisper ends him, his cock throbbing and leaking precum as he runs his finger over your clit in little circles. You’re gasping out at the sensations, him pressing up more, it’s twitching against his fingers, cunt leaking out of your hole. “Ah!”

“You want babies in you, what a little freak my sweet girl is, tsk,” he’s taunting you, fingers entwining, his teeth sinking into your neck as he leans over you, the water pounding against his muscled back, heating his skin until it’s a blushing red. “You want my babies inside you?”

“Only yours, only ever yours.” You’re arching for more, his teasing fingers just dipping in your hole, that grips his fingertip like she wants to suck it so greedily inside of her.

“You want me to throw out that fucking birth control?”

“Oh, Toru…”

“You do, huh?” He’s lost in his madness, you two know it’s nonsense for now, but his words end you, picturing it vividly. “I’ll put so much cum in you it’ll never work anyway.”

“Ngh, please do it - ah!” Satoru’s got you spun back so quickly you’re dizzy, the mix of the heat of the shower and his hard body overtaking all your senses. He’s leaned down, kissing your lips, his big hands taking your body over, your waist, your hips, slipping even lower.

“Thought you were a good girl,” he’s taunting you, but you couldn’t care less, when he lifts you like it’s nothing, pressing you against the wall, your thighs against his narrow hips. “You want all of my cum, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, I want it.” He’s moaning, hoarse sounds from his throat, his tip aligning itself with your hole, pressing inside - the most delicious pressure, stretching your tight ring of muscles when he pulls back and thrusts his hips. You choke on your moan, while he just looks at you, hungry and fucking insane, hands sinking into your thighs.

“Want me to fill this perfect cunt till you can’t walk without dripping?” You nod weakly, he’s sinking deeper in your slick walls, which pulse and slip down his veiny length. Your cunt tries to accommodate him, but he’s so thick, that leaky tip hitting just your spot, until you’re shattering already, cumming so hard you can’t think. “Ya that easy, we just started.”

“Shh,” you’re kissing him, aftershocks rocking you, the release so good you’re already fucked out in moments. “Want you.”

“I want you, pregnant with milk pouring from your nipples.” Satoru’s trying to end you, your eyes shooting up to his as he braces you on the wall, one hand gripping a slick breast and squishing. You’re cries echo in the shower, bouncing right off the walls to fill his ears, a sound he never wants to stop fucking hearing. “That’s it, you’re so easy when I bring it up.”

“J-jerk…” He’s smiling against your neck when he buries his face against it, bottoming out as deep as he can go, making you so full you feel him everywhere, in your stomach, hitting every spot you have with his mean tip. “M’gonna cum again,”

“Again, god you’re slutty for me,” he’s lost inside you, talking all the shit he can when he’s just trying to desperately not cum, not bust this early, but the way your cunt is milking him for all it’s worth. He’s pulling back, hands back on your ass, dragging your cunt closer, just making it more sensitive. “You’re trying to get me to cum, aren’t you brat?”

“Me? N-no,” you tighten just a bit, earning his cute glare, when he starts pounding into your cunt, you’re gripping his shoulders, nails pressing in, as he fucks you so hard it hurts - the pain perfect, heady and addictive.

“God I would keep you pregnant,” he’s huffing those words under his breath, your lower back bruising against the wall as he presses you harder, head lowering to rest his forehead on yours as he holds you up. “Use you, like my little doll, just to fill with cum over and over.”

“Ngh!” How many kinks is he trying to hit!? You’re gasping and clinging to his back, fingers slipping as he holds you up, pulling you off the wall. “Toru I’m gonna fall, s-stop!”

“Think I don’t got you, sweetheart?” He’s dragging your cunt down, using you, you’re not even able to move, his hands on your ass guiding you up and down as your head falls to the side, slick hair dripping down across your shoulder. He’s devouring your neck as his thick cock shoves in so deep, your cries making his cock twitch, making him sensitive.

You’re whining out his name, while he holds you like that, and you’re shivering, goosebumps rising as the pleasure builds, until you feel like you’re going to break. “Mnh! Fuck…”

“That’s it, cum again,” he’s pressing you back on the wall, eyes looking down into yours. “Want me to use you don’t you? Till I bust inside, fill you up?”

All you can do is nod in jerky motions, and Satoru’s filthy with it, his strokes mean as they slam your cervix over and over. He’s whispering your name over and over, you’re clinging to him, fingers slipping, thighs threatening to lock up, but he doesn’t let you fall, he’s lost as you are, rhythm faster and faster as your cunt gushes around him, head falling back for his teeth and mouth to mark you.

You’re kissing him as he presses you against the tiles, as the water drips and cascades off his face to yours, and your lips move over each other, until you feel him slow, and thicken. He thickens so much, so deep inside you, stretching you out as his tip is against your cervix, and his hands leave marks against your thighs. You’re crying out in his mouth, gasping as he pumps hot cum inside you.

“Toru!” He moans, kissing you messy, saliva dripping as white hot ropes shoot up inside you.

“That’s it, take all my cum, huh?” You’re nodding desperately, thighs shaking with the effort, as he moans low in your ear, resting his head against the shower wall as he fills you. “God I missed this.”

“M-me too, mmm, me too.” The kisses are messier as he eases out, he gently washes you after, careful as you’re sore just a bit from having him inside you again.

“Beat her up.”

“Toru!”

“Sorry, she’s cute.” He presses a kiss on her and chuckles after the shower is done and he’s drying you off. “Let me dry your hair.”

Satoru works carefully then, bringing you back to thoughts of when he’d curl or straighten your hair before a competition. To when he’d help you do your makeup because you were hopeless at it, and his hand was always so steady and precise. The thoughts fill you with warmth as you swipe some of the steam off the mirror, bringing him into view.

He has a towel loose around his narrow hips, yours is carefully tucked around your breasts, it’s so domestic, it’s so perfect. A comfort you think you could only feel with him, even after the time and distance, he shows you that affection, the sweet way he slathers some fancy oil in your hair, how he massages some other fancy lotion against your skin.

“You use all this?”

“I get a lot of free things when I do commercials or ads, I have a stupid collection. You can take anything you want, though I don’t think I wanna remember you have to leave after a few days.” You hear it, the sadness in his voice, before he clears his throat and tugs you against him, pressing the soft terry cloth against his chest. “Let’s not think of it at all.”

“Let’s not, let’s enjoy.”

Laying in Satoru Gojo’s fancy ass bed, in his huge immaculate room, it feels as cozy as his childhood room did, because he is there. He’s holding you close to him, an arm wrapped around your waist, hand gripping your tit, you giggle at it, tugging it a little lower, for him to bite your shoulder playfully and scooch it back.

“I waited how long to grab these? Better let me.”

“You’re silly, y’know that?” You turn your head and he just grins, squishing it again and making you laugh.

“The first pair of titties I noticed.”

“Oh whatever!”

“Think I’m lying? Don’t you remember the tissues, the lotion, the-”

“Oh god. Not a poster girl or model?”

“Nah fuck that, nicest pair right here.” He squishes your other one now, you exhale and arch against him at the sensations. “They’ll get so big when you’re-”

“Fuck this.” You’re on him before he can blink, and you do not get any rest until the sun rises and filters through the blinds.

*****

“Relax, you look fucking beautiful.” Satoru’s grinning at you the next evening as you two sit in the limo, right in front of the event. He is looking like a million bucks in his dark blue suit, elaborate lace designs embedded in the lapels, matching just a few shades of his blue eyes.

His big hand holds yours, he feels how sweaty it is, how shaky as you tremble just a bit, looking out at the limo then, your heart pounding in your chest. “I know you think I’m beautiful-”

“I will put this off and bend you over my knee,” he tugs you to him, a hand precariously on your thigh, scowl on his handsome features. “I’ll beat that pretty ass so hard if you say one more thing.”

“Satoru, you’re a model. I am not a model.”

“No, because I’d be too jealous to ever let anyone see your pretty fucking body, huh?” You’re a blushing mess, as he does look at you like you’re the prettiest thing in the world.

That’s when it all hits.

Satoru always looked at you like that, maybe not as intense, maybe not as bold as he is now, but he always eyed you with that devotion. The memories all start to cascade together, bits and pieces - a memory of going to your middle school dance together in eighth grade.

‘You’re the prettiest girl here,’ he’d been so cute with his fully buttoned dress shirt and bowtie, grinning with his braces on full display as he twirled you on the floor.

‘And you’re the cutest boy!’ he’d blushed, full pink, his eyes directly on your face, and when a boy asked to dance, the little pout he gave made sure you turned it down.

‘You can dance with other people, it’s okay.’

‘No, it’s our night.’

That memory is as vivid as the others, all falling together and showing the glaring conclusion - Satoru Gojo had always been in love with you. It’s exactly as he said, and you’d been oblivious to it, now just quiet as your eyes fill with tears, he frowns in concern, his brows drawing together, fingers caressing your cheek with the utmost care, eliciting another memory.

“Sweetheart, if you’re not ready, I can put this off.”

“No… it’s not that.” He swipes a tear, glittery with the mascara dripping from your lashes, while you remember again, a night at a party where you’d been far too intoxicated back in high school, when he’d eyed you with that look.

‘Satoru, dance with me!’ you’d been slurring your words a bit, wrapping your arms around his neck, seeing him flustered.

‘No, I hate dancing, you know.’

‘Not with me!’ you’re pouting as you stood outside the blaring loud party at someone’s house, you both didn’t even know, but Satoru always got dragged along with your dumb ideas. ‘Please!’

‘We’re in their yard, silly,’ he pecked a kiss on your head then, looking at you with an unreadable expression, sighing as his fingers hovered over your cheek, but never touched it.

‘Satoru has anyone told you, you’re really hot?’

‘Yeah, you did. You’re really drunk huh?’

‘Hmm, maybe,’ you’d leaned up, eyes fluttering shut, and Satoru would have died to kiss you, if he knew you were sober. ‘Hmph!’

‘You’re going home with me, c’mon.’ you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder as he drove you home, but you remembered it - how he looked at you.

“Sweets, what’s wrong?” He asks then, and you realize you’re in a full throw of tears, remembering his caring, remembering the way he just listened, how he was always there.

Until he wasn’t.

“Satoru, if I appreciated you more, would you have stayed?” He glares now, lips parted, shaking his head at you, you grip his wrist while he cups your face, sniffling more now. “Be honest.”

“You appreciated me, god you were the best person in the world. You really think that’s why?” His voice is hushed, while you look back out at the window, hearing the flash of the cameras, the announcements, echoing in the confines of the limousine, before looking back at him.

“You always loved me.” He exhales then, swallowing, nodding his head imperceptibly. “And I didn’t know.”

“To be fair, I was as oblivious as you, remember?” You nod then, while he brushes back just a bit of your carefully curled hair. “I didn’t leave because you didn’t appreciate me. I left because I didn’t love myself.”

“Oh, Toru…”

“Shh, gonna cry off all that makeup.” He’s gentle as he tries to fix the smudges, smiling at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners a bit. “I wasn’t okay with who I was, I wanted to be… perfect. And now I am by all standards ‘perfect’ but baby, it wasn’t shit without you, okay?”

You’re done then, kissing him furiously, as you pour everything into it, he gets lost right with you, lips pressing over yours over and over, breaths heavy and scattered, his hands sliding over those delicate sequins. “I don’t want to go home.”

“I don’t want you to, fuck… ever.” He’s kissing you softer now, pulling back as he eyes the window then. “But will you really feel home here?”

“I want to keep trying, and see if I can. I just know I have a lot to… take care of if I do that first.”

“Then we’ll figure it out, anything okay? If you fucking hate this event, we’ll figure out something. If you love it, then we’ll go to every one you want. I want you, more than anything.” You kiss him again, he’s tugging you closer, every memory of you two drifting in his mind now too.

“You always loved me, and I always loved you.”

“Always, sweetheart. Since I met you. Who wouldn’t?”

“Who wouldn’t love you?” He sucks a breath in, his hand slipping up the bare skin of your thigh, watching your face flush, your eyes dilate.

“We’re not gonna make it out of the car if you keep lookin’ at me like that, I’ll put a baby in you here.”

“Toru don’t say it, you know what it does to me now!” You’re whining and he smirks now.

“Soaking wet?”

“Hush!”

“You’re so easy f’me,” he’s kissing your lower lip, lapping across it with his tongue as your lips part, your hands tugging at the lapels of his jacket. “I should have fucked you before, could drip cum on the red carpet.”

“You’re ridiculous, stop it,” but you’re wetter now, and he knows it, his teasing smile replacing the emotional one he had earlier.

“Ya really want me to stop, sweets?” You exhale, shaking your head as he slips it higher, finding you over the delicate lace of the panties he bought you, groaning. “You are soaked, you wanna be pregnant so bad.”

“We will never m-make it if you keep touching me.” He swipes his finger closer, as another courtesy rap on the door sounds, you pull away a bit, when he swipes your glistening arousal on his lips, making them even glossier, your tummy tenses, breaths caught in your throat at the sight.

“Should I tell them my new secret to glossy lips?” He kisses you again, spreading your flavor along your mouth, you’re whining out softly when he finally pulls back. “Let’s knock 'em all dead, yeah?”

“Let’s do it.” He’s grinning, so brilliant, and you try to focus on him then, as the cameras hone in on you, lights glittering off the sequins while Satoru keeps a hand at the small of your back.

“It’s so many people,” you murmur, looking everywhere, it’s loud and insane with the sheer amount of people walking, the attention on you makes you anxious. You used to cheer and competitions would also have you in a cold sweat, he’d always hype you up. “Satoru…”

“I’m here baby,” he tugs you against his side, you feel his reassuring arm wrap as he looks at the cameras ahead. “Just look at me.”

You do that, and he eyes you and smiles, when a couple interviewers start shouting his name. “Should you go?”

“We’ll go,” he’s holding your hand as you two walk over, and then more interviewers run up, overwhelming you as you look down at your glittery heels, but Satoru holds your hand even tighter. “One question each.”

“Are you two together?” One asks, and you look up at Satoru, focusing on his cute little smile as he winks at you.

“We are together.”

There’s a clamoring, and people are leaving other interviews to get a shot at a question of the elusive Satoru and his new girlfriend. The attention is just too much, you’re not sure how he handles it all, but the way he commands them with just enough friendliness, but still holds back himself from them is impressive.

That Satoru is all yours.

“How long have you known each other?”

“Hmm,” he taps his chin, eyes narrowing. “Let’s see… over eighteen years ago we met.”

“How has she been a secret?”

“She lives back home. For now.” He’s winking again, you let him command them, answering their questions until he sighs a bit. “Okay, yes she’s my girl, but this is boring and I’m ready for the show. One more question.”

“Is it serious?” One of the girls asked, and Satoru holds your hand to his lips, giving your knuckles a little kiss as he eyes you.

“It’s very serious. I’m afraid I’m permanently off the market.” He says, to the murmurs and gasps of everyone around.

The warmth spreads, as you realize how devoted he is openly, making you fall impossibly deeper, the love spreading an expanse of your lifetime but still growing with every moment. As he looks into your eyes, you see it too, the apprehension, but the love shining so brightly, nervous maybe that he said it, but you’re reassuring him with a smile, a little nod, until he exhales and grins.

“May we ask you a question?” You look at an interviewer then, nodding shyly, Satoru tenses when she opens her mouth.

“How do you feel about his career, with all these models and now he’ll have co stars? Are you ever stressed about how you’ll fit in his life?”

The words hurt, and suddenly you feel every bit of your prior apprehension, Satoru scoffs. “She knows she’s the only girl for me.”

“I can answer, it’s okay,” you smile up at him again, and he nods a bit, as you look back at the interviewer, the lights still bombarding you. “I would never worry, it’s his career, but also I know what we have, and it’s irreplaceable.”

He leans close, murmuring - ‘good girl’ in your ear, you flush under his praise meant just for you as they keep chatting and throwing out questions, but he’s already leading you away. The closer to the red ropes, the more lively, but the less cameras, as you two walk hand in hand.

“My feet are killing me already,” you whisper, only for him to pick you up in his arms. “You don’t have to!”

“Shh, let me carry you,” he’s pressing a kiss on your head as everyone is oohing and ahhing, you snuggle against his neck, sore feet finally feeling better as you relish in his devotion. “You’ll get used to the heels.”

“Really? I want to just wear some tennis shoes next time.”

“I love you but no, not on the red carpet. Fashion faux pas.”

“I see, you take this serious.”

“Hmm,” he’s raising a brow as he eases you down into the theater, slipping across his body, and he kisses you right in front of a room full of stars. “Let’s enjoy the show.”

*****

The next couple days are a whirlwind, so many things he’s packed in, even at lunch people snap photos from outside the windows, but Satoru seems oblivious to it, just happy to be there with you. You go see the stars on Hollywood boulevard, you put your hands against your favorite stars and he takes a photo.

He’s got you and him together as his instagram picture, it has an insane amount of likes and comments, you’re reading them as you lay on the soft carpet of his floor, ankles crossed as he takes out his new guitar. “Satoru, they’re insane - I wanna suck his dick - wow.”

“They all want to, it’s true.” He has a shameless grin, you giggle, sipping the wine he’d poured. “Only you get to though.”

It’s so similar to that night in his room.

The nostalgia hits, but so does one thing, you miss home - and not just home, you miss him being home. You swallow it down, the fact that you’re not sure you fit in out here, because no matter what you want him to follow his dreams, and you want to be by your side. You all still have time to figure this out, even if you have to leave in a couple days.

That ache of missing him happens before you have to go, like your heart and body is already anticipating it. You push it down, looking at another comment. “This guy says I have nice tits, what?”

“He what now?” Satoru snatches your phone up, glaring. “Oh fuck no.”

You’re giggling as he types a mean, nasty ass response to him, then to many others who said anything. “Toru!”

“Don’t ‘Toru’ me, tch, the fuck they think they have a chance? Never.” He has to have the phone physically taken and put up, eyes lit up with anger when you straddle his lap, cupping his face.

“No one can have me, ever.”

“Fuck,” he kisses you then, deep and desperate, the hunger that’s always there ignites, the constant need for him in every fucking way, every position, every rythm, a neverending madness. “Fuck the guitar, wanna put cum in you again.”

“No no, I wanna hear! Please!”

“Don’t you pout at me,” he sighs though. “You’re too cute. Fine, go sit before I fuck you so hard you can’t walk.”

“Oh god, maybe not,” he’s chuckling as you slip off, going to grab your wine and sitting with your legs crossed. “I’m ready!”

“All right, it’s the one I played in school, but I’m rusty.” He holds the guitar now, on his lap, a light tan acoustic that his fingers gently begin to strum the frets, and his gaze locks on you. “I wrote that song for you.”

“You composed that song for me? You never told me.” You’re swallowing now, as you scooch closer, a hand on his thigh over the soft pajama pants littered with little white kittens.

Everything in that moment feels so perfect, you never want to leave.

“I never told you, I never sang the words to you,” he’s blushing like the boy he was back then, nervous you can tell, when you reassure him with a nod and smile. “All right then, here it goes.”

Satoru’s melody fills the room, as he starts playing the familiar rhythm, it’s a little off key in places, but you instantly remember it. Remember studying as he played - Satoru was so smart he never studied. You had to try pretty hard for your grades, and he helped you all the time, answering questions as he played that guitar with those long fingers.

You’re suddenly that girl, but also now a woman, both of them sitting and looking at the boy they love, as you now realize it’s meant for you, when his lips form those words. You almost can hardly contain yourself, the longing to stay and the dread of leaving falling back, to just enjoy this moment, in how much you adore him, how much you love this moment.

The words are for you, they’re only for you, spilling from his lips in a soft little husky pitch, and before you can comprehend your tears have spilled across your cheeks in glittery streaks. As Satoru sings the words he only sang on his own, practicing over and over in front of the mirror, too afraid to ever play them, too afraid to sing them out loud.

They mirror the poem in the year book, the mirror everything he’s never said, as he sings about your smile, as he sings about his heart. You’re a mess to the point his fingers falter, but you shake your head. “No, keep going please.”

Satoru finishes the song and he has just enough time to put it aside when you’ve knocked him to the ground, wrapping your arms around him, he chuckles a bit, stroking your back gently. “Would I have gotten this response then?”

“Yes, I would’ve been your first.” He chuckles again, as you pull back. “I’m such a crybaby.”

“You are… and you are the first that has ever mattered. Okay?” You nod quickly, kissing him again, until he’s hungrily kissing down your body, you’re on your back as he does, your gasps fueling him. “Fucking perfect.”

“Love you, mnh don’t wanna - ah - miss you again,” he exhales, breath tickling your tummy as he leans up, silvery hair falling over his brow. “I don’t want it to ever end.”

“It won’t baby,” he’s kissing lower, spreading your thighs, you’re gasping when his tongue slips up your slit, and he moans. “I never want this taste out of my mouth.”

“Please…” He’s groaning against your hot, eager cunt, tongue swirling and flicking your clit, as two fingers curl in your messy cunt. “Ah! Oh god… mnh!”

He’s devouring your cunt hungrily, losing himself in your wetness pouring, in your taste as he eyes you under those lashes, his long fingers pressing into your hips to drag you closer. He’s working you so good, curling his fingers in your soppy little hole as his mouth latches on your clit, and he sucks the tiny, twitchy nub into his hot and eager mouth.

You’re screaming out, so fucking thankful you can - the quietness of playing in your childhood houses did not do his sexy moans or your cries justice. You’re closer and closer, feeling the coil tighten and then release, until the pleasure shoots through your body, and you’re convulsing around his thick fingers, clear arousal pouring into his mouth which he slurps up, fucking obscene.

“That’s it, make me a mess baby,” he’s dragging you back against his mouth, lapping every drop up as more starts dripping, then leaning up and slamming your thighs to your chest, pressing you into the floor. “Can’t make it to the bed.”

“Then fuck me on the floor, ah!”

Satoru needs no more invitation, he’s hastily tugged those pajamas down, precum dripping on your pretty cunt as he slips his tip between your folds, feeling how fucking perfect you are. He doesn’t give it inch by inch, no he bottoms out in one thrust, making you so full so fast, you’re screaming out, fingers gripping the plush carpet underneath.

“Mnh, it’s so much!”

“Take it f’me, all my cum hmm? Gonna fill you so much…” you’re cumming so quick it’d be embarassing if he didn’t love it, if he wasn’t lifting your thighs and fucking into you deeper, harder, strokes mean and messy, loud with the slapping of his skin against yours. “Perfect, fuck you’re perfect.”

“Toru! Please,” you don’t even know what the fuck you’re begging for, until he finds your clit, hugging your legs with his other arm, and you’re shattering underneath him again. “Ngh, there, yes please! L-love you!”

“I fucking love you, I’ll love you round with me, huh?” You nod eagerly, your cunt greedy as she milks him when he does bust after fucking you harder, faster, until you’re both broken. You’re cumming from his hot white ropes filling you. He’s cursing stuttering as his weight presses on you, heavy and so perfect, smushing your thighs up even higher, until he’s slamming his cum against your cervix.

“Want it, want it all.” He’s moaning, pulling out and watching your little hole twitch and wink at him, as white milky cum pours out.

“Wasting it, tsk,” he fingers it right back inside you, smirking at you with dilated eyes when you’re wriggling under him, cunt so sensitive. “Don’t you want it all?”

“All of it. Mmm, I can take it.” He’s inside you again and again, it’s like the two of you can’t stop, until you’re so sore it’s hard to move, and he’s hugging you against him in the bed.

“Don’t ever go, please.” He’s pouting against your neck, you’re so fucked out it’s hard to think, you look back at him, and he caresses your face.

“I will try to see if I can start to… figure out what to do. But Satoru, I don’t know if I fit in here?”

“You will, god everyone thought you were a star,” you’re smiling shyly, sleepy eyes dozing off, while he presses little kisses on your head. “It’ll be so lonely if you go please…”

“Toru…” You’re kissing him again, turning until you’re facing him, and he tugs you against him closely, sighing shakily.

“I shouldn’t put so much pressure.”

“No, no, I don’t want to be lonely without you either,” you’re kissing him gently, feeling sleep tug at you as the desire to stay awake and be with him every second you can fights it. “We will figure something out. I know it.”

“We will. I’ll lock you in chains to the bed-”

“Wait now.”

He’s smiling abashedly, but your eyes narrow. “You think I really would!?”

“I don’t know, you look devious!” He’s tickling you then, it’s all too perfect, every bit of this night, as the two of you try to be in the moment, but also dread the moment you’ll have to part, wondering just how the fuck you’ll make it work.

taglist #1- @pinkyvomit @saitamaswifey @kachowness @vraiao @artbligh @psychoartiste @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @bsenpai @simp-for-wanderer @rjreins @emonaculate @myahfig4 @casua11ycrying @psycren @blushedcheri @ureuphoriasworld @frozenmallows @kanaojacksonofc @rcveriees @xlilycoco @yukimaniac @sypnasis @tokina @sharkubi @tztuoo @hyori2 @yesdere @gradmacoco @gamerhere @seikamuzu @xinsonyax @vvaoo @angie420 @ria54sworld @blue-musingss @mysticmyth @asimpinamillion @arabellasolstice @ilovebeansyay @notme000 @emochosoluvr @iv-vee @heh123321 @fushikamo @danilovesboba @spookyy-gracee @satorusleftnut @clqxuds @femaholicc

1K notes · View notes

holdinggrudges · 3 months ago

Text

i can be your antidote - sam winchester

pairing: sam winchester x reader

content: EXPLICIT 18+, sex curse, fuck or die, mildly dubious consent (because of the fuck or die of it all), fem!reader, mutual pining, unprotected piv sex, cumplay (just a little), nipple play, size kink

word count: 6.3k

summary: You fucking hate witches. Especially the one that hit you and Sam Winchester, whom you've been harboring a crush on for years, with a sex curse.

notes: i don't usually even read sex curse/fuck or die fics. i have no idea where this came from. i think i was possessed by some sort of horny demon or something. anyways i've been looking at this one so long that i have no idea if it's even good anymore. hope you all enjoy it lmao. also, divider by @cafekitsune <3 EDITING THIS TO MENTION THE TITLE IS FROM DISEASE BY LADY GAGA OKAY BYEEE!!!

crossposted on ao3

You fucking hate witches.

Some of them are alright. Some of them are kind and generous and only use their magic for protection and good luck and they only put hexes on people who really deserve it. You don’t mind those sorts of witches. Most of them, though, like the one currently throwing you across the room, are the fucking worst.

Your back slams into the wall before you tumble to the ground—maybe two, three feet away from where Sam is currently stumbling back to his feet—and the impact knocks the breath right out of your lungs. You groan, shoving up on your hands; you don’t have time to try and catch your breath. This witch is, frankly, kicking your asses. But right now, she’s focused on Dean on the other side of the room. If you’re quick, you might be able to get the jump on her.

You drag yourself up to your knees, just high enough to be able to access the gun in the waistband of your jeans and to aim it straight for her fucking head. Once you’ve got the gun in your hands, though, several things happen in quick, extremely unlucky succession.

The witch gets Dean on the ground and turns her head just as you raise the gun to aim right between her eyes, and she begins to chant, crackling, magical energy sparking in the space between her hands. You have just enough to time to think—fuck it. If I’m going down, I’m taking her out with me—before that energy is shot straight at you. You squeeze your finger on the trigger just as Sam, who has apparently recovered enough to try to take a bullet for you, jumps in front of you, knocking you back and sending your aim way wide so the bullet hits the wall instead of the witch’s skull.

And the worst part is it doesn’t even work. Six feet and four inches of pure muscle barrels into you, has you slamming right back against the wall with a pained, breathless grunt, and still, you feel the magic when it hits you, the energy of it spreading over your skin and sinking into your bones like an electric shock. Either you hit your head when you hit the wall, or the spell is making your head swim, leaving you too disoriented to tell which way the witch goes when she runs out the door.

Sam groans where he landed half on top of you. You blink in an effort to clear your vision, blindly reaching out to touch his face, to check if he’s okay. You don’t know exactly what that spell did, you were too far away to hear exactly what she was chanting, but you can feel it tingling across your skin, settling in like it’s making a home there. Sam got blasted too, that much is clear when your hand lands on his cheek and magic sparks across your palm.

He sucks in a breath, flinching away from the foreign feeling at the same time as you yank your hand back. “What the hell did she do to us?” he asks, shoving up on his arms to look down at you. And isn’t that just the million dollar question?

You’re on the phone with Bobby almost before you’ve even made it back to the Impala. All three of you agree whatever is going on with this hex you’ve been hit with, you’re in over your heads. You need some expert help.

“You get the witch?” Bobby greets, just rubbing salt in the wound.

“Uh. No,” you answer, climbing into the backseat of the car. You and Sam have been avoiding touching as much as possible, and it’s been shockingly hard. Honestly, you never noticed how closely you usually walk until every brush of your shoulders or hands sent sparks cascading over your skin. “There’s been a bit of a…complication.”

There’s silence, and then an exhausted, beleaguered sigh from the other end of the call. “You idjits managed to get yourselves cursed, didn’t you?” Bobby asks, his tone exasperated.

Ugh, God. The sun must’ve recently peaked in the sky, beaming down on the car and cooking you like you’re in a damn oven. You don’t remember it being this hot before. “Jesus—Dean, can you turn the air up?” you call out to the front before deigning to answer Bobby’s question. “Yeah. Yeah, she hit me and Sam with some sort of spell before I could shoot her. Problem is, we can’t really tell what sort of spell it actually is. It’s sort of creating like…static electricity? Every time we touch it’s kind of sparking.”

“Well, did she say anything?” Bobby asks.

You frown, irritated. “Don’t you think if I knew what spell she cast, I would’ve told you? I was too far away, I couldn’t hear what she was saying.”

From the front seat, Dean says, “I heard it, sort of. She was speaking Latin for sure, something about cupid?”

As Dean says this, you watch Sam’s eyes go wide and his face go a little pale, which really doesn’t seem like a very good sign. “Cupiditas?” he asks. And it’s strange, looking into the front seat, you notice Sam’s face is a little red, a sheen of sweat starting to build on his forehead. Clearly, he’s noticing the heat as you are. And though you have a bit of a hard time drawing your eyes from Sam—though, when don’t you?—you can see that Dean doesn’t seem to be hot at all, not seeming bothered by the way the car is cooking you.

“Yeah! Cupiditas con… something,” Dean confirms.

You repeat what Dean said to Bobby, and you hear the pages he’d been flipping through stop turning. “You know, I wish you three would stop putting me in situations where I have to explain shit like this to you,” he mutters.

You feel as out of the loop as Dean, which is not a very comfortable feeling to have. Sam seems to have some idea of what’s going on, if the look on his face is to be believed, and Bobby’s long-suffering complaints make you believe he knows exactly what spell you’re suffering from. “Explain shit like what?” you ask.

“She hit the two of you with a damn sex curse, is what,” Bobby says, and you feel your stomach drop out your ass.

“A sex curse?!” you repeat, incredulous. Of fucking course this would happen to you. “You’re joking. That’s not a real thing.”

“It certainly is. And deadly, too,” Bobby says, and you hear the turning of pages start up again until he finds what he’s looking for. “Says here you’ve only got about two hours before the, uh…lust heats you up too hot, cooks your brain inside your damn skull.”

Well. That at least explains why it’s so damn hot in here. “Well, how do we make that not happen?” You’re pretty interested in not getting so horny you literally die, thanks.

Bobby is silent for a moment, his discomfort with the subject warring with the knowledge that time is of the essence. “You’ve gotta…sate it,” he says haltingly. “You’re an adult, I’m sure I don’t have to explain how. It won’t break the curse completely, but it’ll buy Dean time to find the witch and kill her; that’s the only way to actually break the curse.”

Oh, fucking hell. “So…we’ve got two hours, unless we…” you trail off, your stomach flipping at the thought. Sam’s hands desperately tugging at your clothes, needy, he’s got to have you or he’ll die, literally. You tug at the collar of your shirt, sweating for real now, and shake it off. “But if…if Dean finds the witch before then, then we wouldn’t have to. Right?”

“If you wanna tempt fate like that, be my guest. But it’s gonna be uncomfortable as hell. Soon enough, it’ll be pretty hard to remember exactly why you’re tempting fate in the first place.” You hear Bobby slam the book shut. “But if you do decide to sate the curse, keep it to yourselves, please. I already know too much about this, and I don’t wanna know any more.”

You swallow, your mouth dry with the images swirling through your head again. Familiar ones, sure; this is certainly not the first time you’ve ever thought of Sam like that. But these images are so vivid, so intense, shooting arousal down your spine and building in your gut faster than you’ve ever known it to do so. “Alright. We’ll just…let you know when we—when Dean gets her, then.” You hang up the phone, turning your attention to the front seat where both brothers are staring at you, eyes wide. Right. They could hear your side of the conversation.

“A sex curse?” Dean asks, voice flooded with disgust. Like Bobby, he probably already knows way more about this than he’d like to.

Sam though…his expression is strange, a little unreadable. You wish you could get a better handle on his thoughts here because you have pretty mixed emotions, yourself. On the one hand, you’ve wanted Sam…God, since you met him. The only thing the curse is doing is amplifying it, turning that desire into something deadly. But this was never how you wanted it to happen, although you’re not sure who would ever want a sex curse to be the reason they finally got to kiss their crush.

You relay what Bobby told you to the boys, everything Bobby told you, even when the mention of sating the curse makes Dean’s lip curl in disgust. It doesn’t escape your notice that Sam visibly relaxes when you say that you don’t necessarily have to do anything, so long as Dean is quick enough, and it stings a little, the idea that he would rather push through the discomfort of arousal burning him up from the inside out than touch you.

Dean nods, untwisting his body to face the front of the car again. “Alright. We’ll get you two back to the hotel, and then I’ll kill the bitch.”

By the time Dean drops you and Sam back at the room, the effects of the curse are in full swing. You’re so hot, stripped down to shorts and your sports bra and still sweating buckets. Sam is in a similar state of undress, his shirt tossed somewhere across the room after the heat became unbearable. Of course, you only know this from quick glances because if you look at him too long, the urge to touch him, lick him, bite him, starts getting almost too strong to ignore. Every time you see his pecs out of the corner of your eye, your mouth starts to water. It only takes half an hour for it to start to get a little bit too much.

“Do you think Dean’s found her yet?” you ask, striking a conversation just for any type of distraction from the ache between your legs. And it does ache; you think you may have ruined both your underwear and these shorts from the way your cunt is dripping.

Where you’re looking at him in your periphery—in an effort not to exacerbate the flooding of your panties—Sam shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice is low and rich and almost rasping, and you squirm where you’re sitting as it hits your ears. “He texted me a few minutes ago, said he thinks he’s getting closer, but…” But it’s not looking good. The words hang unsaid in the air.

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “We might not have a choice,” you mutter, glancing at him through the gap between your fingers. Your eyes zero in on the hollow of his neck, your entire body buzzing with the need to attach your mouth to it, to see what noise he’d make if you did. You can’t drag your eyes away. “He’s not gonna find her in time.”

Sam’s gaze turns to you, and you finally manage to lift your eyes to watch his drag down your body, his pupils blown so wide you can no longer see the hazel of his irises. “He might,” he protests, but the argument falls flat with the way his eyes are locked on your cleavage, glistening with sweat.

“And if he doesn’t?” you ask, lifting your head from where you’ve been hiding behind your hands. Seeing him full on, no hiding in your periphery or stealing quick glances, it’s like staring straight into the sun. Blinding. You have to take a deep breath and dig your fingers into the sheets beneath you to keep from reaching out. “How long are we gonna push it? Are we gonna let it kill us just so we don’t have to—”

He interrupts you with a rasp of your name, and you almost groan out loud at the sound of it. Fuck, you’ve never needed anything like you need him right now. Like air, like water. “That’s the thing, I don’t want to have to. I—God, it feels like…forcing you. It feels wrong.”

Is that his hold up? He thinks you don’t want this? Jesus, you’ve gone this whole time thinking he’d literally rather die than fuck you, and it turns out he was just scared you didn’t really want him, that the curse was making you feel things you’d never feel otherwise. “Sam, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you’re hot. I’d way rather have sex with you than die.” You watch his hands flex, his fingers spreading before he balls them into fists, and your cunt flutters. “Actually, the list of things I’d rather do than fuck you is probably significantly shorter than the opposite. Not…not just because of the curse.” Of course, the curse is definitely making it worse. You can’t stop thinking of how good his thick fingers would feel curling inside you, imagining how attentive he’d be. How generous. Normally, you can curb it a little, save those thoughts for late at night, guilty and shameful. But right now they’re sticking at the forefront of your mind, no matter how hard you try to think about literally anything else.

You watch the conflict in his mind playing out on his face before he groans and rubs his hands over it. “You don’t get it; it’s not—I don’t want to just be someone you fuck, I want…I want everything,” he tells you, and if your heartbeat wasn’t already erratic, it would be skipping in your chest right now. “And this is just absolutely the last way I wanted you to find out, but that’s why I’m not…I just don’t know if I can do this if this is all I’m gonna get.”

“Oh, Sam.” His name falls from your lips before you even realize you’re saying it. You stand up and cross the room to sit next to him on the bed, and you don’t miss the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way his eyes flick down your body for just a moment, the way he twists his fingers into the sheets. You set it aside for now; this is more important. He is more important. “You really don’t know?”

He’s silent for a moment, his eyes searching your face; although for what, you don’t know. “Know what?” he asks, his voice quiet as a breath.

You lift your hand to touch his face, and this time, when the magic sparks across your skin, it feels like a salve, cooling the skin of your palm. From the way he sighs, you imagine he’s feeling the effect as well. “Of course I want that. Who wouldn’t want everything with you?” You’re so engrossed in the look on his face—wide-eyed awe, as if he truly never believed you could want him too—that the sparking of his hand touching your waist makes you jump. Oh, but God, the relief is instantaneous. If just this, your hand on his cheek, his hand on your waist, feels this good, how good would it feel to kiss him? To drag his shorts down his legs and sink down onto his cock, feel the way it stretches you out— “Now if you’re properly reassured, could you please, please fuck me already?”

Sam may have the self-control of some sort of divine being, but he is, in the end, only human, and the curse is deep, and hot, and needy. You can see it the moment his restraint snaps, and even if you couldn’t, he drags you in and plants his lips on yours. Every feeling is amplified tenfold, and as you gasp at his hungry kiss, Sam takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, his free hand coming up to the back of your head to hold you close, guide you how he wants you. It’s not how you imagined he would kiss you, not really, but it’s exactly what you need right now, and the magic sparks down your spine in a wave of cool respite from the heat that had been eating you up.

Then he pulls away—to speak, or maybe just to breathe—and the heat surges back in instantly, stealing your breath and leaving you panting into his mouth as you frantically drag him back in. “No,” you groan, shoving your hand into his hair to keep him from pulling back again. “We have to keep—oh, fuck.”

The feeling of his hand shoving under the fabric of your sports bra, pushing it up to expose your breasts, shuts you up quickly. He brushes his thumb over your nipple, and you moan, pleasure sparking across what feels like every nerve ending you have. He doesn’t pull away to speak this time, well aware now that the relief you’re both feeling is very dependent on the contact. “I wish I could take this slow,” he mumbles, and you feel his voice buzzing against your lips. “Lay you down and taste every inch of you until you’re begging for my cock.”

As if you needed to be any hornier. “I’m already begging for it,” you tell him, before dragging his bottom lip between your teeth. The noise he makes goes straight to your cunt, and you scramble to climb onto his lap. Fuck, you can feel how hard he is underneath you as you straddle him—even through the layers of fabric separating you, he feels huge. You need him inside you yesterday. “Next time—” you start, although it’s a little hard to speak with Sam’s tongue dragging over yours on nearly every other word— “we can have slow and sweet and whatever you want. But if you’re not inside me in the next two minutes, I’ll kill you before the curse even gets a chance, I swear to God.”

Sam laughs, like you’re joking. You’re absolutely not. “Alright, I got you,” he mutters, and your brain registers the magic sparking across your skin before his hand as he shoves it under the waistband of your shorts. Your entire body jolts as he brushes a finger over your center through the fabric of your panties, but only because it feels so good, more intense than it has any right to be. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

You hardly have the brain power to even kiss him anymore, but it doesn’t matter as much now. His hand in your pants is providing infinitely more relief than kissing him could hope to achieve. You drag your lips down his neck before laving your tongue over the hollow of his throat, tasting the sweat that’s gathered there. “I need it so bad,” you mumble against his skin, and apparently you’re so fucking desperate for it that you’ve been reduced to cheesy, porny dirty talk.

Sam doesn’t seem to mind. He tips his head back on a groan as you scrape your teeth over the thin skin of his throat. “Yeah? I can tell. You’re soaked,” he says, and then his fingers deftly tug the fabric of your underwear aside so he can press a finger inside you. You’re pretty sure you see God. From the look on his face, Sam might be in the same boat. “Fucking hell—off. Off, take them off.” Tragically, he removes his hand from your cunt, and you could actually cry at the way the overwhelming heat comes slamming back into you the second his touch leaves. But it only takes a moment before magic is sparking over your skin again as his hands brush your hips in his efforts to drag your shorts and underwear down your legs.

You take over once he’s got them halfway down your thighs, crawling off his lap in favor of ridding yourself of the offending garments. And while you’re at it, you drag your sports bra over your head too. In the time between you crawling off him and tossing your bra carelessly aside, Sam has followed suit. When you turn your attention back to him, he’s entirely bare, having tossed his pants and underwear to the same careless void you’d abandoned yours to.

Despite your desperate urgency, you take a moment to let your eyes fall to his lap, and fuck, your mouth waters at the sight of him, hard and leaking. He’s…God, you expected him to be big—he’s six foot four for fuck’s sake, of course he’d be big—but this is just absurd. You can’t help but reach out, gingerly wrapping your fingers around his length. You’re so engrossed in the way your hand looks wrapped around him that you almost miss the choked little moan he gives, his body bowing towards you.

“Please,” he groans, and then he reaches out to grab you by the shoulders, tugging you back in close again, urging you to reclaim your perch on his lap. “I wanna feel you, I need to—God, you’re so hot; please let me fuck you.”

You aren’t sure if he means it as a compliment, or a comment on the insane waves of heat radiating off your skin. Either way, you’re more than willing to fulfill his request. “Yeah. Yeah, anything,” you murmur, ducking your head to press your forehead against his. From this angle, you can almost see as you use your grip on him to guide his cockhead to line up with your entrance. Where you touch, the magic between you sings. It’s nearly automatic; you sink down onto his cock without so much as a second thought.

Despite Sam’s…considerable size, somehow, you expected the slide to be easy, what with the aching desperation of it all. You’d expected your dripping cunt to suck him right in, make the stretch of taking his cock bearable. It seems even sex curses can’t work miracles, though. “Fuck, Sam—” you choke out, dropping your head to rest on his shoulder. The stretch doesn’t hurt, necessarily, but it’s so much—would be so much anyway, even without the curse amplifying it and making it so much more. You have to stop and take a moment just to remember how to breathe before you’ve even sunk to the top of your hand, wrapped no less than halfway down.

“I know.” His voice when he speaks is rough, teeth gritted like it’s a real test of his strength to keep still, to keep from fucking up into you, to keep from making you take it. God, you almost want him to, but the soothing tone of his voice is nice too. It rumbles in his chest, echoing through your body just as sure as the pleasure of his cock stretching you out. He brushes his hands over your shoulders and down your back to finally land on your hips. You think maybe he means to keep his grip gentle, because the pressure of his fingers digging into your skin fluctuates, like he’s fighting the urge to bruise you. He’s not doing a very good job of it, though, and it sends a thrill up your spine to know he’s going to leave his mark there, even if that’s not his intention. “I know, take your time. I’ve got you.”

It’s a sweet sentiment, but you both know time is something you actually don’t have a lot of right now. You can feel the heat crawling up your spine even now, though Sam’s cock spearing you open is holding it at bay. Somewhat. So you dig your fingers into Sam’s hair to steel yourself, and you sink down. And down, and down, until you can’t imagine how there could possibly be more to take, and then, finally, your hips kiss his, and he’s bottomed out inside you. “Fuck,” you groan, panting against the skin of his shoulder as you try to catch your breath. It feels like your lungs emptied out in an attempt to make room, like he’s buried so deep inside you they can’t quite fill right anymore. “Oh, fuck.”

Sam makes an attempt to soothe you, laying hot, open mouthed kisses over your neck and shoulder. “So good, you’re so good, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rumbling over your skin. His hands abandon their stations at your hips to pull your face up so he can press those same kisses all across your face. “Taking me so well, so perfect for me.”

Fuck, but he’s got your number, doesn’t he? The praise hits like a drug, zipping down your spine to your cunt and making you flutter around him. It’s frankly entirely unconscious when you shift your hips, but the stars that erupt in your vision when he moves inside you have you moaning in tandem with him.

“Shit—” He drags you into a messy kiss, all open mouths and panting breaths, his hands buried in your hair. “Can I—God, please, can I move?” You’ve never heard him sound like that before, just the very edge of a whine in his voice as he pleads against your lips. He sounds wrecked, and it feels…good, heady. Powerful. You want to drag that voice out of him a hundred more times, make him whine for you like that for the rest of his life.

You shake your head, tilting your head down to press a biting kiss on his jaw. “No. No, I’m gonna…” With that, you brace your arms on his shoulders and your knees on either side of him and lift your hips until you’ve nearly moved off him entirely, just the tip of his cock still pressed inside you. And then you drop back down. You feel every inch of it as he drags along your walls, and though it’s easier to take this time, the stretch is still intense, still nearly makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

You force yourself to keep your eyes forward, though, because the look on Sam’s face is almost as good as the stretch of his cock. His brows furrow, face twisting in his pleasure, and his mouth falls open, like he wants to moan but something is holding him back. And, well. That just won’t do.

You lift yourself up to drop down again, satisfied when Sam groans and drags his hands down your back to dig his fingers into your hips again, pressing into familiar aches. You duck to press your smug smile against his neck, and find it so slick with sweat that you can’t help licking a stripe up his throat. “I’m gonna ride you so good, Sammy,” you mutter, your lips brushing his skin as you speak. His hands help guide you when you bounce this time, and it only makes the slide more delicious, makes your words drag out into a moan before you can continue, “Fuck, do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this? See your face while I make myself come on your cock?” You start up a steady rhythm with Sam’s grip spurring you along, lifting up to slam back down again, his cock spearing you open again and again and again.

Once you’ve got into the rhythm, his hands move from your hips to your upper back to drag you closer until he can lean down and press his face in the valley between your breasts, kissing and biting and licking the soft skin there, and all the while his hands keep pressing you closer, keeping your chest arched into his mouth. “How long?” he asks, his voice muffled as he drags his lips over the swell of your breast to leave his biting kisses there too.

You drag your hands up into his hair as you roll your hips, moving in more of a grind now than a bounce, and the new movement means his cock is frankly unrelenting against your g-spot, the pressure of it never leaving, only shifting. The feeling is near overwhelming, has your hips faltering so much that Sam has to bring his hands back to your hips just so you keep moving. “Mm, God, forever, feels like,” you answer, once you’ve gathered enough brain power to even process that he had asked you a question. “Since the first time I saw you, probably.” Saying it out loud, it feels a little bit creepy to confess that you’ve been fantasizing about riding him since the moment you met him, but you’re a little too blissed out at the moment to feel embarrassed about it.

Besides, judging by the way Sam groans against your chest and fucks up into you, he clearly doesn’t find it creepy at all. “Guess I’d better make it worth the wait, then,” he mutters, before dragging the blunt of his teeth over your pebbled nipple and then moaning against it when the shock of pleasure makes your grip tighten in his hair. And, fuck, if you thought it was good before…

He digs his heels into the bed to brace and starts thrusting up to meet every roll of your hips, his cock pounding so deep inside you now that you swear you can almost taste it. If there was enough room in your mind to even process it behind the fog of lust, you’d realize he’s fucking needy, desperate little moans from your throat with every thrust. And all the while he keeps his face buried in your tits, despite the way they bounce with the force of his thrusts. He drags his teeth over the skin between them, laves his tongue over your nipples, making noises like there’s no place he’d rather be. It’s intoxicating.

And you’re so close, toeing the edge and hurtling ever closer with every thrust Sam pounds into you. The entire energy of the curse settles in your core at the same place the coil of your impending orgasm grows ever tighter. “Sam,” his name falls from your lips like a prayer, and you use your grip in his hair to drag him up, to kiss him messy and deep. You swallow the sweet, hungry noises he’s making, and he nips at your lip, and you are so fucking close. “Please.”

Sam’s got you. Of course he does. He brings one hand from your hip to press between your legs and rub his thumb over your clit in quick, firm little circles. “Come on, pretty girl,” he murmurs, “let me feel you come on my cock.”

And who are you to deny him anything he wants? You cry out as your orgasm explodes through you, whiting out your vision with the force of it. You’ve never come so hard in your life, and it just keeps going, burning up your spine like it’s singlehandedly eating up the energy the curse had created in your body. You’re just conscious enough to feel when Sam’s cock twitches and spills inside you, the frantic spasming of your cunt milking him for all he’s worth.

You do come down, eventually, your fingers aching where they’ve been white knuckled in Sam’s hair. You bury your face in his neck and try to catch your breath, and his nose presses against your hair as he seems to do the same. It takes you a moment to notice—and you think you can be excused, considering you just came so hard you saw God—but despite the cum that you can feel slowly beginning to seep out of you, Sam is still hard, and doesn’t seem to be softening. Like, at all. And once you notice that, it’s a quick step to realize that the heat at the base of your spine, while significantly lessened, has not completely subsided.

Fuck. “She’s not dead,” you groan, which morphs into a whimper when an involuntary shift of your hips makes Sam’s cock press against your oversensitive sweet spot. “God, we’re still cursed.” You can feel the awful heat starting to build again, that same devastating arousal eating at you despite the way you’re still trembling all over with the aftermath of your last orgasm.

You feel Sam’s lips press against your hair, soothing hands rubbing up your sides as they do. “We’ve probably bought enough time,” he offers, smoothing his thumbs over your hip bones. It seems sweet, until he smooths his hand down your thigh and keeps talking, “If you can’t go again.” And that? Well, that sounds like a challenge.

Pushing through the oversensitivity, you rock your hips down, dragging your nails down the back of Sam’s neck and shoulders in an effort to dull the feeling. “Oh, I can go again,” you retort, with a confidence that you’re not sure you’ve really earned, considering the way your thighs are shaking. “Just…not on top.”

The rumble of Sam’s laugh in his chest is your only warning before you’re suddenly bouncing on the bed on your back, a shocked yelp passing your lips at the sudden movement, and the sudden emptiness—your cunt clenches around nothing but air, Sam’s spend spilling from your fluttering hole.

“There,” Sam says, his face smug as he climbs over you. “Problem solved.”

You roll your eyes, ready to shoot back some sassy retort of your own, but Sam’s not looking at you. Not at your face, at least. Instead, his eyes are trained between your legs, and simply because it seems like it would be more effective than a sarcastic comment—and not because of the way his eyes glaze over a little while he’s staring, definitely not—you let your legs fall open a little further. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and then he reaches between your legs to press two fingers in your cunt. It takes you a moment to realize he’s pushing his cum back in, gathering up whatever had spilled from you when he pulled out and fucking it back into you with his fingers.

You groan, tossing your arm over your eyes. It’s not really something you’d thought you’d be into, but now that he’s doing it… “Fuck, Sam…”

Sam laughs, but it comes out a little breathless, and you lift your arm to watch him as he draws his fingers from your cunt and brings them right up to his mouth to lick them clean. Holy fucking shit. “Yeah,” he mutters, tucking his hand under your thigh to lift your leg up onto his shoulder, “That’s sort of the idea.”

He doesn’t waste much time after that, lines himself up and pushes in. You’re so sensitive; it’s so good it almost hurts, and though this angle doesn’t allow him to get nearly as deep, it’s clearly better for him to drive into you. His thrusts are quick and punchy, drawing little ‘ah’s from your throat as he drags you back to the edge faster than you would’ve thought possible. Maybe that’s the curse. Maybe he’s just that good.

“Come on, baby,” he mutters, pressing sloppy kisses all over your face, down your neck. “You can give me one more, yeah?” You don’t even notice his arm move, but between one blink and the next, he’s got his thumb back on your clit, rubbing circles over the sensitive bud.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging down his back as you arch your own. “God, don’t stop, fuck—”

You feel it the second it happens. It’s completely instant, the sudden and total disappearance of the magic that had been consuming your and Sam’s bodies. The witch is dead, the curse is broken, and the complete relief in tandem with Sam railing you into the fucking bed sends you careening over the edge in an instant, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

Sam groans and digs his teeth into your shoulder, following right after you as the curse dissipates from his body as well.

The two of you don’t talk for a long while after that, going about the motions of recovery and cleaning up in silence. He pulls out—the both of you hissing with oversensitivity at the motion—and heads into the bathroom to get a rag. He wipes himself down and then you, mindful of the way you wince when he presses too hard.

You catch his wrist when he goes to walk away. “I meant what I said.” You wait until he turns to look at you, and then you tangle your fingers in his. “It wasn’t just about the curse for me.”

You can see it on his face, the hesitance. Like he really never thought he could have this. Fuck, if you had known, you’d have told him years ago, just to make sure he knew how adored he was. How adored he is, always.

“Yeah?” he says, his voice quiet as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. It’s sweeter, much more tender than any of the kisses before, and this is exactly how you had always thought Sam would kiss you. With his entire heart on his sleeve. “Me too.”

Maybe you’ve got a little to thank witches for after all.

2K notes · View notes

pookiesylus · 2 months ago

Text

Sylus when you’re on your period

(I’m on my period, and I need Sylus rn)

Notes:

- His dragon nesting instincts tend to come into play. First he’d toss you into bed with the softest blanket he could find along with your favorite plushies. He would play some soothing music or put on a show you like. He’d prepare tea, and leave it by your bedside. Basically, Sylus would collect any little thing in order to make the most comforting and safe environment for you.

- He wants to be your personal heating pad. He doesn’t mind grabbing one for you, but he’d much rather use his own body heat. (“It’s much more convenient this way, kitten.”) He likes to massage your abdomen with his hand, but he’s also very new to this type of care. So, he makes it known that his whole body is free real estate. Whether you want a massage, a cuddle session, or you just want to squeeze his arms when your cramps surface, Sylus is readily available.

- He does his research looking into the many ways to alleviate your discomfort, but he also studies you, taking your preferences into account. He pays attention to what pad or tampon brand you always get. He notices the snacks you tend to crave, and is always stocked up on them. Sometimes he senses your period before you even know it’s coming.

Scenario:

Sylus had picked you up from work, after you sent him many messages about how bad your cramps were. He carried you princess-style and took you to his nearest place of residence. Once he set you on the warm bed, you fell asleep shortly after.

After a few hours, you shook awake, a little disoriented from the new setting, despite its welcome atmosphere. The memory of Sylus carrying you there almost felt like a dream.

You slowly get up in search of Sylus, but find a red trail on the sheets.

“Ugh. I stained it.”

Your eyes travel to the nightstand where a set of lounge clothes is folded.

“Thank goodness.”

You change out of your tight work clothes and into the much more comfortable clothes Sylus left you.

You set back off to search for Sylus. The moment you make it to the hallway, a rich, delicious aroma hits your nose. You follow it to find him in a well-decorated kitchen, cooking your favorite meal.

“There’s my tired girl.” He looks to his side, his hands still busy.

“Sylus?” You guiltily shuffle your feet and hug his waist from behind.

“Yes, Kitten?” He hums.

“I might have stained your sheets. I’m sorry.” You say hiding your face into his back.

He doesn’t answer and just chuckles.

“What?” You reply in confusion.

“You’re cute. That’s all.” He chuckles again,” I’ll wash them.”

You look up at him from the side. “Wait. That’s not fair. Let me do something. You’ve done so much for me.”

He looks down and smirks at you. “Then you can reward me.”

“Reward?”

“You can reward me with a date once you feel better. Then it’ll be fair, right?”

“Okay…” You answer softly.

“Don’t feel guilty, kitten. You’re the one in pain.” He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Now, why don’t you go sit on the couch. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He directs his eyes back to what he’s cooking.

“I don’t want to. I want to be here.” You say, still glued to his back.

“So…” He says inquisitively. “When my kitten’s on her period, she likes it when I’m near her at all times. Noted.”

“I guess you’re stuck with me tonight.” You giggle.

“I wouldn’t mind being stuck with you every night.”

#sylus #lads #love and deepspace #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader fanfic #Sylus x reader #period care #fluff #Sylus fluff #Sylus headcanon #hc #sylus headcanons

2K notes · View notes

hoonstqr · 2 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ۫ 𓈒 SCREAM, CAUSE WE WANNA GO FASTER ♩

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝖾 ? 𝗆𝗋. 𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾

warnings. smut. noncon, knife play, dacryphilia, choking, blood, petnames usage, oral (f!), biting + if i missed smth lmk word count. 2099 vampire bites: please don't read if it makes you uncomfortable. i know noncon is not everyone's cup of tea so if you don't like it, don't read it and scroll past. i won't tolerate any hate comments nor asks.

── : @rikkesttz @nics-fxy @woniesbae @jk1601 @starrias @rikiiimeow @drmsrina | @kikidoul @jaylaxies

“you’re not coming,” you said, eyeing the halloween decorations with a hint of distaste. jake had invited you to the mirror maze, of all places, and you had reluctantly agreed. halloween was never your thing. but here you were, dressed in your last-minute costume, a pair of cat ears perched awkwardly on your head, feeling like you’d walked into a cheesy horror movie.

“i’m sorry,” jake croaked over the phone. “i’ve got the flu. i can barely get out of bed.”

you stared at the phone, disbelief etched on your face. “you’re kidding, right?”

“i wish i was. listen, you don’t have to go. i know you hate halloween.”

“no, i’ll go. i’ll be fine.”

‘i’ll be fine’ my ass.

you’d been wandering the mirror maze for what felt like hours but in reality it’d only been a few minutes, the cold glass walls reflecting your panic at you in a hundred distorted versions. the twists and turns of the corridors played with your mind, leaving you disoriented and on edge. each reflection taunted you with a different outcome: a dead end, a turn you’d already taken, or a fleeting glimpse of an exit that never seemed to get closer. your heart hammered against your ribs, and the echoes of your footsteps were the only company you had.

suddenly, a masked figure emerged from the chaos of reflections. you froze, your breath catching in your throat as the world around you narrowed to just the two of you. he was tall, with a knife glinting in his hand and a sinister grin beneath the jagged teeth of his mask. your legs trembled, but you forced them to hold you upright as he approached, your mind racing for a way out of this nightmare.

stop overthinking, he’s probably just another person lost in the maze. that’s all... but then why do you feel so uneasy?

his stride was deliberate, the clack of his boots against the tiles like a metronome counting down to your doom. you swallowed hard, trying to convince yourself that this was just a part of the halloween attraction, but the knife was too real, the glint in his eye too malicious for comfort.

“hey, are you lost too?”

it was a feeble attempt at conversation, your voice wavering and high-pitched, but it was the only thing that came to mind as the masked figure approached, his knife still poised and menacing. he stopped, tilting his head slightly to the side as if considering your words. the silence was thick and heavy, and the only sound was the pounding of your heart in your ears.

“actually, i’m exactly where i want to be,” he said, the grin beneath his mask growing wider, “and it looks like you're exactly where i want you to be.”

his voice was low and gravelly, sending shivers down your spine. you tried to back away, but your legs felt like jelly, trapped by the walls of the mirrored corridor. “please, don’t do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the thunderous beat of your heart.

he stepped closer, the tip of the knife pressing gently against your neck. “now, now, no need to be dramatic. i’ll give you a little game, okay? run, hide, and if you can find your way out of here in five minutes, you’re free to go.” the cold steel dug in slightly, and you winced. “but if i catch you…” his words trailed off, leaving the grisly threat hanging in the air.

you nodded frantically, your eyes wide with fear. “okay, okay,” you managed to murmur. the masked figure released you with a shove, and you stumbled backwards before catching yourself. “starting... now,” he said, and you didn’t wait for him to finish. you bolted down the corridor, your heart racing as you searched for an escape. the mirrors stretched on forever, your panic-stricken face multiplied into an infinite number of terrified reflections.

the sound of his laughter echoed through the maze, sending chills down your spine. your breath came in ragged gasps as you turned corner after corner, hoping to find an exit. the walls seemed to shift and close in on you, the reflections playing tricks with your vision. the floor was slick with the sweat from your palms, making it difficult to get a good grip as you pushed yourself faster, ignoring the burning in your lungs.

the mirrors grew more and more distorted, twisting your reflection into a monstrous caricature of fear. you stumbled into a dead end, your back slamming against the cold, hard surface. a whimper escaped your lips as you frantically searched for a way out, your eyes darting from one warped reflection to another. the walls of the maze felt like they were closing in, suffocating you.

your ears picked up the sound of heavy footsteps, growing louder and closer with each passing second. you knew the masked figure had found you. the game was over. your heart pounded in your chest, so loud that you thought it might shatter the mirrors around you. you had no escape. no one to save you from this hell.

his hand clamped down on your shoulder, spinning you around to face him. his grin was wider now, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “time’s up, kitty,” he said, his voice thick with anticipation. the knife pressed against your throat once again, and you felt the warmth of your fear trickle down your neck.

you trembled, your eyes searching the mirrored walls for any sign of hope, any reflection that didn’t show his twisted smile. “please,” you choked out, your voice barely a whisper.

his grip tightened, the knife digging in slightly. “shh, no one’s going to save you now,” he said, his voice a sinister purr. the echoes of his laughter danced around the maze, taunting you, making you feel like you were drowning in a sea of terror.

he leaned in, his eyes locked onto yours in the mirror. you felt his hot breath on your cheek, a stark contrast to the cold metal of the blade. with a quick, surprising movement, he lifted the bottom of his mask and licked the tears that had been streaming down your face. his tongue was rough, the taste of his saliva making your skin crawl. “you’re so delicious when you're scared,” he murmured, the sound sending a jolt of fear through your body.

you flinched at the contact, trying to pull away, but his grip was iron-clad. your eyes widened in horror as you watched the distorted reflection of his tongue dart out again, this time tracing the line of your jaw. you could feel the sticky wetness of his saliva on your skin, mixing with your fear. “please, no,” you whimpered, the words barely escaping your trembling lips.

his grin grew wider, and you could see his eyes sparkle with delight in the mirror. “oh, but i like it when you beg,” he said, his voice a low, dark whisper that sent chills down your spine. his free hand reached out, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back to expose your throat further. “it makes it so much more... interesting.”

his tongue darted out again, and you felt it trace the line of your neck, following the path of the knife. it was wet and rough, and you couldn't help but gag at the sensation. you struggled against him, trying to free yourself from his grip, but your movements only seemed to excite him more. his hand tightened around your throat, cutting off your air supply, and you felt the world start to spin around you.

you could see stars in the mirrored walls, your vision fading as his mouth moved closer to yours. your eyes were wide with panic, searching for escape, but the walls just reflected your desperation at you. your breaths grew shallower, and your chest tightened as he leaned in, his breath hot and rancid against your face. you tried to scream, but only a strangled sound escaped your throat.

then, with a sudden jerk, he pulled the knife away from your neck and dragged it downward, slicing through the fabric of your costume. the cold blade grazed your skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. you felt the fabric fall away, exposing your bare chest to the chilly air. your breasts heaved as you struggled for air.

his eyes followed the path of the blade, lingering on your exposed flesh with a hunger that made you feel violated. “now that’s what i’m talking about,” he murmured “much better.”

you tried to fight, but the lack of oxygen had made your body weak. your fists connected with his chest, but it was like hitting a brick wall. he didn’t even flinch, only chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your skin. “you can try,” he said, “but it won’t do you any good.”

his grip on your hair tightened, forcing your head back even further, and the knife trailed down to your stomach. your legs buckled, and you would have fallen if not for the wall behind you.

his other hand roamed over your body, his cold, calloused fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. his touch was invasive, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, landing with a soft plop on the floor.

you watched in the mirror as his hand moved down to the hem of your skirt, slowly pulling it up. the fabric slid over your thighs, exposing them to the chilly air. you could feel his gaze on you, drinking in your fear like it was a sweet elixir. the knife was still at your stomach, the tip digging slightly into your skin.

a small trickle of blood began to escape from the shallow cut he’d made, painting a crimson line down your body. it was enough to sting, but not enough to cause any real harm—yet. your eyes widened with horror as the masked man took in the sight of your blood with a look of twisted delight.

then, without warning, he reached up and ripped off his mask, revealing the face of lee heeseung, someone you recognized from the brief moments you’d spent with jake’s friends. shock registered on your face, your eyes blinking rapidly as you tried to make sense of what was happening. he’d always been a bit of an oddball, but you’d never expected this.

“heeseung?!” you gasped, the name barely a whisper on your lips. the realization hit you like a ton of bricks. the mask fell to the floor, revealing the face of the person you had hoped to never cross paths with again. his dark hair fell over his eyes, the same eyes that had once held a friendly spark but now gleamed with malice.

his grin grew wider at your recognition, a twisted sense of pleasure lighting up his features. “yes, it’s me,” he said, his voice still low and taunting. “i knew you’d remember.” his grip on your hair loosened slightly, but his hand remained firmly on the knife pressed against your stomach.

the revelation of his identity sent a new wave of terror crashing over you. you had always felt uncomfortable around him, but had dismissed it as mere awkwardness. now, you realized that there was something much more sinister lurking beneath his quiet demeanor.

heeseung’s hand moved away from the knife, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. with a swift motion, he pushed aside your panties, exposing your most vulnerable area to the cold air. your legs trembled as his fingers trailed over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

his mouth moved to your neck, kissing and nipping as he moved downward, his breath hot and erratic. your stomach twisted in a mix of fear and revulsion. you felt his tongue slide over your skin, tracing the path the knife had taken moments before. your eyes were squeezed shut, trying to block out the sight of your reflection, but the mirrors offered no escape.

as heeseung’s mouth reached your collarbone, you felt a strange, unwanted sensation—a twitch of arousal. the horror of the situation warred with a traitorous part of you that responded to the dominance and danger of his touch. you felt sick for actually enjoying the way his teeth scraped against your flesh, for the way your body betrayed you in that moment of sheer terror.

his hand moved from the knife to cup your breast, squeezing it roughly. your nipples tightened in response, and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips. the sound seemed to encourage him, his teeth grazing your skin harder, his hand squeezing tighter. you felt a warmth spreading between your legs, and you hated yourself for it. this wasn’t supposed to be sexy—it was supposed to be terrifying. but your body had other ideas, a primal instinct that responded to the thrill of the chase despite the fear.

his mouth moved lower, kissing and biting as he went, leaving a trail of fire across your stomach. the knife was forgotten now, his focus solely on the intimate dance of his mouth and hands. you felt his tongue flick against your clit, and despite the horror, your body jolted with pleasure. his teeth sunk into your inner thigh, and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from crying out.

his tongue delved into your folds, tasting and teasing. you were soaking wet, your juices coating his face, and the realization of your arousal only made you feel more ashamed. your legs shook, your knees threatening to give way, but his hands held you in place, his grip unyielding. your thoughts were a jumbled mess of fear and confusion, your body responding in a way it shouldn’t to the monster before you.

his mouth worked with a fervor that belied his earlier calm demeanor, his tongue swirling around your clit before dipping into your pussy, tasting you deeply. you felt his fingers dig into your thighs, his nails scraping against your sensitive skin as he held you open for his feast. the sounds of his mouth on you echoed through the maze, a symphony of licks and sucks that filled the air.

your hands found their way into his hair, not to push him away but to pull him closer, to grind yourself against his face. the fear was still there, a heavy weight in the pit of your stomach, but it was mingling with something else now—desire, pure and raw. his tongue was relentless, flicking and probing, bringing you closer to the edge with every stroke.

you moaned, the sound echoing through the maze, bouncing off the mirrored walls. your hips rolled, trying to get more of him, trying to get away from the painful pleasure that was building inside of you. you didn’t want this, but your body was screaming for more.

his hands moved to your waist, holding you still as his tongue danced around your clit. you felt the pressure building, your breaths coming in pants. oh no, no, absolutely not, you were not supposed to enjoy this... but your body was betraying you, your pussy clenching around his tongue, begging for release.

his eyes flicked up to meet yours in the mirror, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “you like it, don’t you?” he murmured, smirking smugly. you tried to shake your head, to deny the pleasure he was coaxing from you, but it only served to make your hips rock against his face more desperately. “liar,”

his grip on you tightened, his tongue swirling faster, pressing harder. your legs were trembling so badly you weren’t sure how much longer you could stand. your breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, your chest heaving. you didn’t want to cum for him, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose control, but your body was spiraling, inexorably closer to the edge.

his eyes bore into yours in the mirror, watching your every reaction, feeding off your fear and arousal. the smirk on his lips grew as he felt your muscles tighten around his tongue. “that’s it,” he whispered, his breath hot against your sensitive skin, “cum for me, baby. let me hear you scream.”

his words were like a match to gasoline, igniting the fire that had been building inside you. you couldn't stop it, didn't want to stop it. with a strangled cry, you climaxed, your body convulsing with the intensity of the orgasm that ripped through you. his tongue didn’t relent, riding out your pleasure, savoring every tremor that shook you to your core.

you felt the heat of his breath on your neck as he pulled away, his eyes gleaming with triumph. the taste of your fear and arousal lingered on his lips, and the sight of it in the mirror was almost too much to bear. “see, that wasn't so bad, was it?” he whispered, his voice a dark caress.

without warning, his teeth sunk into your neck, the sharp sting of pain followed by the wet warmth of your blood. your eyes watered as you felt the pressure. “see you again, baby, perhaps we can play another game,”

2K notes · View notes

websterss · 2 months ago

Text

THE HAND THAT’S FORCED (2) — ROBERT REYNOLDS

SUMMARY: You hadn’t meant to get attached to Bob, much less fall in love with him. You hadn’t meant for things to slip out right from underneath your grasp. Out of your control, much like Valentina holding your love for one another over your heads.

WARNING(S): SPOILERS!!! angst, some visual descriptions, but nothing too extreme, I believe, dead parent/sibling illusion, Valentina being a horrible being again.

WORD COUNT: 5,164

PAIRING: Robert Reynolds (Sentry/The Void) x fem!reader

A/N: Hope you guys like it. There will be one more part to this now mini series lmfao. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but the ideas kept coming.

MASTERLIST | PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

Valentina had opened the door, the light from the hall greeting the body that lay slumped.

“She’s not dead, is she?” She looked over at Mel, holding a tablet to her chest. She was wearing a black blazer over her white blouse. Her eyes widened as the directed question finally settled into her mind. "Told some people to rough her up a bit, but geezus...look at her."

“Oh! Um…” She rushed forward, her jacket flailing outward as she crouched down, reaching two fingers forward, pressing them against your neck. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. Counting the barely there heartbeats. “Her heartbeat, it’s faint but there…Is she gonna die?” She stood slowly from crouching down before you.

“No. Why? Does her chart imply otherwise, because I need her alive? The kid may be gullible, but the other one…That one is a force to be reckoned with. Though I’m not too sure if he’s even aware of her state. I did separate them for a good while.”

"She should be fine. Her vitals look good. Her energy is still stable. A broken rib or two perhaps." Mel glances up from the tablet in her hand.

Valentina let her shoulders fall. The relief was so obvious that she nearly clicked her heels for you. Probed with genuine concern for your well-being. It was a change from the cold demeanor and indifference she carried for you.

"What is she worth to you?" Mel asked out of curiosity.

"What is she worth to me? She’s leverage, Mel. To sway that other one out there.” Valentina lifted her phone to her line of sight. "Bait him in with her while we still have the upper hand. It came with some force on my end, but she altered his memories before. Just as I hoped she could. Now, if we could just get her close enough to do it again. Come on, let's get a move on with transporting her. Two hands are better than four!"

"Isn't it four hands that are better than two?"

"Two hands!" Valentina called over her shoulder. Gesturing for Mel to follow her with you hauled up in her arms.

She looks back down at you.

“I guess I’m dragging you. Sorry.” She grimaced.

You didn't know the length of which you'd been out cold. It hadn't been long before you came to. Shaken, more like. Your disoriented state adjusting to the harsh darkness bleeding through a massive broken window. The tower. You sit up slowly, pushing up with your hands to steady your rise.

"Easy there." A voice spoke to your right, just barely above a whisper. You knew whose voice it belonged to. The false sincerity was evident. “Take it slow now, sweetheart. You’ve been through hell.”

Valentina. You turn your head steadily. Your gaze meets the smile you’ve wanted to slap off her face.

"You-" You muster enough to say. "You sent men after me, and then, they beat me down. Then you drugged me."

"I did." She admitted without a hint of shame. You scoff at her accountability.

"W-Where's Bob? What have you done with him now?"

A moment passed before she responded, the silence growing heavy. Terrorized screams and cries ran past the entrance. You finally glanced around, taking in the rubble of drywall disregarded, the entryway glass windows shattered, as though driven into. Your attention shifts to your left, eyeing the random delivery truck parked inside the building with genuine curiosity.

"Oh, your lover, he's outside right now, thrashing New York City for the umpteenth time, turning people into shadows, that sort of thing. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" She hums.

"Shadows?" You mutter to yourself before you push yourself off the ground, your legs try to give as you stand. "No...It's taken control over him again. It's happening again like it did in the lab." Your eyes shut.

She took note of your confusion, watching your movements carefully. "What do you mean, like it did in the lab?"

"You have no idea what we witnessed in Malaysia. It was something unexplainable. Way beyond our jurisdiction and capabilities, and you never bothered to try and hear us out. You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"You're right." Valentina conceded, taking a step forward. "I have no idea what we're dealing with…but what I do know is how you managed to go this far, this whole time, and not tell a single soul the abilities you possess. I mean a telepath? Mental manipulation, and a PHD under your belt. You're a shoo-in for the front cover of the New York Times, sweetheart."

Absolute dread consumes you.

Her lips curled into a smirk, noting your panic. "Oh, don't act so surprised. Your mother was quite a special lady, I hear. Talk about mother of the year, am I right? Those developed mommy issues, I’m sure. God, what kind of parent experiments on their own child?"

“She was unwell. S-She was lost after we lost my father.” You try to justify her actions like you'd done for half your life.

"Right…" Valentina stepped forward once more, the coolness of her breath hitting your face. "You always defend your mother's abuse? Even I know better than to believe that she wasn't anything but mentally unstable, not that you'd ever admit it, as I can see."

"What do you want from me?"

"Information. A way to control him." Her words were straightforward. No beating around the bush. Your gaze was drawn to the slight bruising forming around her neck.

Your stance grows confident, as does your smirk. "This is way above your pay grade, huh?"

A scoff escaped her lips. "You're gonna go out there, use that bond you created with him to your advantage, and alter his memory."

Was she serious?

"You really believe altering his memories will stop this chaos?" You scoff at her this time. "You're in over your head, lady."

She paused, taking a moment to examine your reluctance. "Then what would you suggest to stop him?" She complained.

"I don't know-"

"Then how the hell can you stand there and claim that I'm the one in over my head? The nerve you have, kid-"

"Look, the last time we dealt with him this way. Two of our doctors died. I was a last resort to bring him down from his own mind, they thought I could talk to him, since I was the only one he was comfortable around, but-"

"Perfect! We'll use that then." Valentina was satisfied with the idea and started dragging you outside.

"No wait! You don't know what you're dealing with, Valentina. I wasn't able to-" You grunt as she shoved you out onto the road. You catch your bearings as you peer up at her with anguish.

"I don't care what we're dealing with. You're gonna fix this and put this city back to the way it was, or so help me!"

"Just stop and listen for once! I can't help him the way you think I can. I-It didn't wo-" You begin to shake your head until you flatten against the concrete. Left as a shadowed victim in her wake. Valentina falters backward. Peering at the shadow of you that begins spreading like a wildfire.

"Shit!" The silence that followed Valentina's panicked outburst was unsettling.

“Where do you go…” Bob looks up from the IV you inserted into his left vein. “When you’re not here…with me?”

You paused your insertion, then continue putting tape over the line to prevent it from falling out of his skin. His curious eyes make the corners of your lips curl up.

“Home.” Your tone was casual as can be. “I-I go home. Then come back here to do it all over again.” You pick up your chart and jot notes down. They’d kill you on sight if your documentation was behind. They wouldn’t be able to rely on the existence of your tests if there’s no proof of you doing them.

“What’s something you like to do for fun?”

You feel the gentle caress of his fingertips, pushing back a strand that got in the way of his view of you.

Your pen stops moving as you tilt your head up. His eyes soften as he timidly curls the hand on your face around to cup your neck. A small gasp leaves you as a flash crosses the forefront of your mind. A little girl watches from behind an ajar door, peeking inside a lab where a disheveled woman, near right, trashes her equipment. ‘It’s not working? Why isn’t it working?’ The woman exclaims. Bob's voice pulls you back.

He watches how your face goes blank for a split second until life flashes across your eyes again. He didn’t mean to make you relive a memory. A new ability of his that he had yet to gain control over.

“I’m sorry.” He goes to pull his hand back. “I didn’t mean to make you see that-“

“You can’t help it.” You reassured. “But umm…besides talking to you and the guinea pigs…” You breathe a nervous laugh, wanting to make light of the troubling memory you saw. His grin widens a bit as he senses the notion of your teasing. “I like to write sometimes. Reading is what I do most, though.”

“W-What do you write about?” He focuses his attention on caressing your skin with his thumb. Taken by your good nature, how pure you were compared to the others who manhandled him. Your touch was always so sweet, gentle.

He hated himself more than ever in this moment; he made you relive a memory unintentionally. He couldn’t help that when he came into contact with someone, they’d get a relapse of their past.

“Anything. Everything. My life. What life could be. How my life could have been. Though it's mostly about a girl who wants to live a life that's not her own, someone who's entered this false fantasy she craves more than anything. I don’t like to dwell too much on reality when writing honestly. It’s trying to escape it, I write more of.”

"D-Do you think your writing helps you to cope...with reality? From certain pain."

"It distracts me for a short while." Your eyes flutter as he continues to trace your neck to your jawline. The slight twitch of your muscles didn't go unnoticed by him. His thumb gently presses just a bit under your ear in response. "It's temporary, though. An...illusion. It only helps so much. You still have to come back to reality at the end of the day. You can never escape from what’s truly real."

“That’s a bit ironic, no?” Bob’s brows furrow in thought. His smile remains the same. Gentle and serene. “Wanting to run from reality doesn’t seem like something a doctor like you would do, since you’re all about the science and the logic of things?”

"Science and logic doesn't always have to be applied to all things in life." You respond nonchalantly as you make another mark on your paper. A soft hum escapes you as he continues to rub your neck with his thumb at the same time. "I prefer to see things from a variety of perspectives, through emotions, for example."

He nods, taking in your response. He's not too surprised that a woman like you isn't confined to thinking one particular way. For one, you never saw him as a weapon, a subject to be tested on. He wasn’t another candidate, he was just Bob to you, and you were Y/n to him.

You tilt your head up, your gaze meeting his once more. “Just because I'm a scientist doesn't mean I'm not human. I have vices. I have opinions. I have feelings. I have fears as much as I do doubts. I have weaknesses...As I have certain strengths." You mutter the last bit. Bob locks eyes with you. His eyes softened. “So yes, I suppose it may seem ironic, but when you know certain truths, you start to wonder if logic and reasoning are enough anymore to justify the reality of them.“

Bob’s gaze remains locked onto yours, his smile disappearing as he seems to get caught up in his thoughts. He seemed hesitant to speak aloud. He continues to gently rub your neck, the touch of his thumb on your skin sending ripples down your spine.

After a few moments of him not saying anything, you speak up. "Penny for your thoughts?"

“I-I know exactly what that feels like and I wanna kiss you for it…”

Your head snapped up instantly, your eyes widening in surprise. You can visibly see that Bob's demeanor has changed. The calm, gentle aura he had before has turned into something much more intense, something much more charged and desperate and full of want. His grip on your neck tightens just a bit. His gaze is fixed on your lips, as if he's been starved.

The faint flicker between his amber eyes then to his blue ones had you wanting to take precaution like they taught you all to do, but you don’t remove his grasp on your neck, and let him in. Let him kiss you. It wasn’t long until Bob wrapped a hand around your waist to tug you closer.

“She was your person…” Yelena‘s heart hammers with guilt. The others quietly take in the tender scene unfolding.

“S-She’s the only one who saw me.” Bob’s eyes tear up at the sight of you and him together. “And I couldn’t save her, I-” Bob flinches as another you enters the room they’re all in, the door having been slammed open.

“What’s this one?” Yelena reaches for her gun by her side, having been startled by your appearance as well.

“I don't know…” Bob’s brows furrow as he watches this version of you, fear-stricken. “I don’t have any memories of this, at all.”

“Y/n?” Bob sat up.

“Bob! Oh my god, thank god!” You exclaim, rushing forward to cup his face. “You're okay. I’ve missed you!”

“Y/n, what are you doing here?” Bob was startled by your hurried entrance. He hadn’t seen you for months. Then he woke up alone with no clue where he was, and now you appeared out of the blue.

“I don’t have much time-“ You hurried around the space, frantically pulling out a syringe and a bottle. "Valentina will know I'm here and send people after me."

“Wait, what do you mean?” Bob steps back.

“I need to hurry. I gotta get you out of here.” Your shaking hands fumbled with the syringe. Bob reaches for them. Another memory pulling you from this reality at his touch. You stood still, motionless, until Bob pulled back, guilt eating at his features as he heard you gasp. You looked around, out of breath, until your gaze settled on him once again. You were still here. You were still here with him.

“I-I don’t understand-“Bob's brows furrow as he holds his hands out.

“They don't know that you made it through the final trial.” You stop altogether, meeting his scared eyes. "That you're alive. Valentina only knows what I've been telling her, but they don't know. I can get you out of here while I still can. We can go like we talked about. O-Our mediocre picket fence cliche." You breathe out a laugh. "We've got to go now, though!"

“Alive? But I am alive! Why would she think otherwise…” Bob’s innocence always seemed to fill you with dread. You close your eyes.

“Because I told her you didn't.” You peer open your eyes. Finding his resolve disappearing.

“You what?”

“I was never gonna go through with it. The others didn't make it, and when you came to us in Malaysia, every test we ran kept working...Your trials exceeded our expectations. The way things were heading, though, they were only gonna weaponize you. I couldn't do it. I couldn't stand with them, while you only endured more pain. You have to know this! It’s why you woke up.” You held his arms. Eyeing his entire being, head to toe. He wasn’t scarred or injured. He was fine. “I had to make it look real, but she knows now. She found out about what I did.”

“I don’t remember this.” Bob walked towards the replica of yourself. “She told me she wanted to out Valentina's secrets to the public? This isn't my memory.” Bob shakes his head. "I don't remember this!"

The memory glitched. Your body convulsed until the memory glitched once more, and the next you were kneeling before him, crying.

"I don't want to. I don't want to. You took them from me." You choked back a sob. You were talking to yourself.

"Y/n? Don't want to what?" He cupped your face.

"I'm so sorry..." A tear fell down your face before your hands reached up, cupping his face. You gasped before his body gave, and he slumped into your shoulder. You cradled him close. Closing your eyes as you kissed his hair.

“Well, if it’s not yours, then whose is it?” John questioned.

“I-It’s mine.” Their heads whip around. Your disheveled state catches them off guard. You’d been walking for what felt like hours through various doors of your past. All filled with some form of pain, guilt, and dread, you had to endure. Much like this one. “Hi.”

Bob’s shoulders dropped when he realized that it was really you. You curled in on yourself as five suited figures stared back at you. All curious, all wondering the same thing, like how the hell you’d end up here with all of them.

“Y/n…” Bob called out your name as though it made it all the more real. “I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming.” He shook his head as you grew closer.

“If you’re here, then…you weren’t dead when I found you.” Yelena was taken by her realization. Your pulse had been nonexistent when she checked. Now you stood amongst them, facing your own demons like theirs in the void. “You were dead.” She stated. "I felt no pulse. They beat the shit out of you."

You nodded, peering up at the blonde, lifting your chin, which was facing the ground. “They call it Tetrodotoxin B; it slows the heart to one beat per minute. It’s how I slowed Bob’s to trick them into thinking he didn't make it.” Your voice croaks, dread overconsumes you.

“She wanted me dead,” Bob states. "I thought she got you, too."

Your hands shake, tears falling past your waterline. You shake your head. An ache returns to the forefront of your mind, but it settles in your chest. “Valentina can eat shit. You can't take me down that easily." You shrug, a faint smile on your face. You were worn out.

"Y-You changed my memories." Bob's bottom lip trembled. "Could you do that all this time we were together? I never knew you could do that."

"Since I was fifteen, and I only altered it." You reassured. "Gave you a reality that wouldn't hurt as much to remember."

"The memory with Valentina holding a gun at you-"

"I gave it to you. It wasn't real, but keeping us apart was real. Her sending her men to beat the shit out of me. Real. I'm good now." Your voice cracks with exhaustion.

"You told me you were, are you still, is that real?" You gathered what he was trying to ask in front of the others. Your own dam broke. You begin to shake your head no.

"No." You mutter. "I'm not pregnant. What you saw was an altered memory of my mother and father."

"Oh."

"Yeah..."

"What are you?" Ava speculated.

"My mom's lab rat." That was all you gave them. You didn't want to pursue the memory of her in whatever this place was. "Gone wrong..."

"Why wouldn't you tell me?" You look over to Bob.

“I thought I was protecting you…I didn't want to add on to here.” Your voice cracks, lightly tapping his temple. “I can give anyone any memory, make them see something great or horrific rather than something they want to forget. I wasn't gifted with the ability to take away any of the bad ones, though.” You couldn’t stop the tears from falling. "Why would she do this to me? I can do something incredible, but it's flawed. It's good for a specific use, when it could be something greater." You push your arms outward in question. You pause before continuing, catching your breath. "She got them like she said she would, my family." Your voice cracks. "After she found out I knew you were alive, she made me watch. So now there's not much left for me to mourn over...but I'm damned if she tries to kill you.”

A curdle scream made you all flinch, four shots firing off, but two dead bodies dropping over, the telltale signs of your trauma. You peer at them, your brother, your mother. Numb to the sight, but the ache lingered like a burned-out candle.

“What is this place, Bob…?” You mutter as the gory imagery fades into another illusion. Yelena steps over to you, placing a steady hand around your forearms, pressing her head against yours gently. You look back at Bob, who stared at the spot where your mom and younger brother lay. Then he turned back to you. Reaching out for your touch.

"A void." Bob presses his nose into your hair for comfort. You lean into his embrace, comforted by the soft texture of his jumper. "Where'd you come from?"

"I don't know, Valentina threw me out onto the street. Thinking I could sway your void-self. Which I got to hand it to her, she had high expectations." You scoff. "I'm sure he took one look at me and well...here I am going through endless doors of hell." You laugh at your own predicament.

"How dare he..." Bob's gaze softens. “I would’ve left you alone.” He muttered, holding onto you in a way he had been deprived of for months. You let a soft chuckle escape your lips as you buried your face in his chest, soaking up the heat that radiated off of him. The steady beating of his heart was a sound you’d heard plenty of times before, but you took the time to appreciate it anyway. You feel his lips place a soft kiss down on top of your head, melting away your burdens.

"I know you would've." You peer up at Bob, but he doesn't meet your gaze. Instead, he stared dead ahead, glaring at the empty void that now presented itself before you all. The others exchanged uneasy looks. "Bob?" You called out softly, but he remains still. You finally glanced around. "This is the lab..." You push back from him. Your gaze settles on your workstation. Moments, flashes of laughter, and grunts of frustration are displayed like a broken record.

"He's not gonna come back, is he?" A timid-natured Bob looks back towards the entryway. Then settles his gaze on you. He reaches forward to fix the collar of your lab coat.

"No. He's out for a bit. You can relax."

"Hey, Y/n-"

"Mhm." You're writing something in your notebook.

"If it doesn't work out tomorrow-"

"It will!" You turn, facing him, to calm his worries.

"Y-You don't know that. I mean, anything could go wrong. Surely something is going to go wrong-"

"I do." You nod, but you sound uncertain.

"It's okay if it doesn't. I know you've always had my best interests. You've been there for me when no one else has. It's okay if the procedure doesn't go the way you want it to."

"No, I don't think it will be. Okay, I mean. I don't know if anything will ever be fine again if it doesn't work."

You step closer to the limited fond memory. Another flash appears before the previously existing one fades.

"Will it hurt?"

You tilted your head at the sight of yourself, first meeting him.

"No. You shouldn't feel a thing. It’s just got a bit of a sting, more like a poke. H-Have you ever pricked your finger on something? Maybe a splinter stuck in your skin. A needle point, maybe even a-"

"Does a slap count as a sting?"

"Oh...Um, I-I suppose it could, but trust me when I say it won't feel as bad as-" You gasped as you stumbled into the bed's edge, he sat perched on.

"Dr Y/L/N?" Your eyes rolled to the back of your head before you fell to the ground. Bob panicked as he lurched forward in an attempt to save you from your head crashing against the hard, cold floor.

"H-Help! Can someone help! S-She needs help in here!" Bob cradled you in his arms, calling out to any listening ears, before he was dragged into your memories.

"I've been here already," Yelena tilts her head.

You shift your attention, being drawn towards the eerie figure sitting on the bed.

"This is where it all started. I was roaming around Southeast Asia, thought I'd figure something out, or at least find more drugs." You step with Bob as he cautiously tells his story. "Then there's this guy. He started talking to me about a medical study. A trial drug that can make me stronger. I met Y/n shortly after that. It felt like a miracle...I'd finally get to show everyone that I was more. That I was something."

"And look what you unleashed." The void spoke. His head lifted as he got up to round the bed. "The most shameful thing of all was thinking you could be anything more than nothing."

"We're leaving." Yelena straightened her back as she stood before the Void.

"...No."

Before you knew it, your air circulation was being prevented as you fell to your knees before the dark figure.

Yelena made a beeline for you, only to get thrown back with Alexei. The rest of the group followed your demise. Wrapping them in metal and wires against your work stations and the back wall.

Void chuckled under his breath as he lifted his gaze to meet your eyes, locking you in place. “You thought I’d show you mercy? You limited us. Fed us false hope. Love is weak. Why should we spare you? You don't care about him. You don't accept this part of him. Bob and I will remain alone.” He taunted, gripping tighter, forcing your windpipe shut. You watched helplessly as you were thrown around like a ragdoll, then fell a few feet from Bob, still grasping for air as you clutched at your neck, tears welling up in your eyes. No one there to soothe you.

Bob watched in stunned horror. He couldn't move, but you saw his body tense, fight response kicking in.

"D-Don't listen t-to him, Bob- please!" You rasp out in labored breaths.

The mention of his name snaps him out of his stance. He focuses his attention on you. Worry was a clear indicator across his eyes, but he stood his ground in front of the Void. Moving his body to block his view of you.

"Stop. J-Just let them go." Bob pleaded.

"You think they care about you? You don't matter. To anyone." The Void replied, his tone sounding smug.

"That's not true-ugh!" Yelena's protests of pain were emitted out loud. A wire tightened around her neck

"We do care about him-argh!" You exclaim, an immense pain pulsing in the center of your chest. You choke back on air, raising a hand to your chest, grabbing at the sting that settled in it. Your body gave up as you fell to your side slowly.

"Don't hurt her..." Bob responded. "We don't hurt her."

"She won't last." The Void, not done hazing the group, pushed glass particles towards all of you. A few miniature cuts were caused by the sharp pieces. "Robert the hero." He chuckled darkly.

To instigate him further, he felt the need to forcefully pull you towards him. He gave you a moment's worth of rest before his shadowed hand gripped itself around your neck. Lifting you off the ground five inches. You grasped at them, trying to pry them off you.

"Let her go."

"No." The Void pulled you closer to him. Its shadowed demeanor added to the fear you felt when you pushed against it. The two orbs for eyes did nothing but unsettle you. He leaned in, pressing his nose against your temple much like Bob had done earlier in a comforting manner.

Bob stepped forward, squaring his shoulders like a lion guarding its territory. "I'm stronger than you."

"Let's see." He tilted his head. Then he was shoving you onto the ground beside Bob in a split second

It didn't take Bob long to rush at him. You slumped onto your side. Your head resting against the cold ground. Your energy was drained as you tried to regain oxygen in your system. "N-No."

Void and he went at it for a few seconds. Punching, dodging. Though Void got the upper hand as Bob was sent to the floor.

"Get up, Bobby!" John encouraged.

"You thought you were gonna be some great man. Some savior." Void mocked him, Bob slowly pushing himself off the floor. "You can't even save yourself." Bob lurched forward again. Until he received multiple punches to his gut. Void threw in a good lick across his jaw before he sent him to the ground once more.

"Bob, get up...get up." Your outcry made him meet your gaze.

"We will always be alone."

If you didn't think it couldn't get worse, you were wrong, as the room expanded. Increasing the distance between you all and Bob. Out of reach.

Bob pushed up a bit, glancing at each one of you, before he made up his mind. Turning to run, to tackle Void to the ground. The ongoing right and left hooks never ended as the room began to shake and tear itself apart.

"This isn't right." Bucky shook his head.

"Bob, stop!" Yelena called out.

"It's taking over him again..." You close your eyes, feeling lightheaded. You peer down at your side, your hand pressing into your abdomen, pulling it back to take in your red-coated palm. You were bleeding. Void's manacled laughter growing as Bob continued punching the shit out of him, did not easing your worries. "T-This is what he wants..." You mutter to the rest of them before your vision grows foggy.

"Y/n?" Bucky tries to push against the light protector wrapped around him. "Hey, kid!" Bucky grunts.

With all his strength left, Alexei freed Yelena. She made a run for it. Towards Bob. Your vision gives as the last thing you see is her wrapping her arms around him.

#bob reynolds imagines #bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x fem!reader #robert reynolds imagines #robert reynolds x fem!reader #robert reynolds imagine #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #sentry x reader #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts fanfic #my gif #writings by juls #writings by juls: robert reynolds

1K notes · View notes

cbeargyu · 3 months ago

Text

virgin's debut

A friendship can’t be ruined by having sex… can it?

⊹₊⋆ pairing: best friend!haechan x fem!reader x love interest!jaehyun (slight)

⊹₊⋆ warnings: angst, fluff, smut, best friends to lovers trope, protected sex, unprotected sex (use protection pls), fingering, making out, nudes, slowburn, suggestive redaction, mild cursing, reader is a virgin lol, haechan isn't, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance.

⊹₊⋆wc: 18,3K

READ THE PREVIEW [HERE]

Two weeks later

haechan sighed again, his chest heavy as he collapsed onto the couch. With both hands, he covered his face, fingers digging into his skin, trying to block out the past two weeks.

hyuck didn’t understand why there was this twisted mess of emotions swirling in his stomach, why his thoughts were so scattered, a jumble of "what ifs" and "should I's".

it had been two weeks since you made that insane proposition to him. haechan hadn’t talked much since then, just the occasional texts letting each other know when they’d left or entered the building they both lived in. the topic hadn’t come up, and you hadn’t pressured him either. but, god, it haunted him.

it was unthinkable. his values just wouldn’t allow it. sleeping with his best friend? never crossed his mind. but you—you weren’t just anyone. you’d been inseparable since high school. your sense of humor matched perfectly, and everyone knew the two of you were a damn force together. their friends noticed the bond, the way they both seemed to fit like puzzle pieces, always there for each other, even when they fought. like siblings, but with none of the blood ties.

that word, "siblings"—it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was strange that others saw them two like that. but they were okay with it. there were boundaries in their relationship, and crossing them was unforgivable.

of course, you were angelic. your bubbly personality and constant jokes made you irresistible. physically, you were gorgeous, though you were a bit shorter than him—way too short, maybe. you had black hair and an odd but cute bangs just above your eyebrows, something he liked to tease you about.

and yeah, you’d catch anyone’s eye. he wasn’t gonna lie—he’d had a crush on you when he first met you in high school. but over time, that romantic attraction faded as your friendship grew stronger.

maybe it was also the way you were so open with your thoughts—no filter, no shame—that when you asked him about sleeping together, it sounded completely natural to you. to him, though? It was a punch to the gut, a cold shower, a slap to the face. he was spinning, disoriented, trapped in what felt like a twisted fantasy—or maybe a nightmare.

for him, sex wasn’t a taboo subject. he’d lost his virginity at 17 to one of his many girlfriends, and talking about it was casual. hell, haechan didn’t even hold back when discussing the details of his past experiences with you. he’d even described how he’d "done it" in vivid detail—like it was nothing.

but you? you were different. you had dated three guys since high school, but none of those relationships lasted more than two months. so, you didn’t exactly know what it was like to be in a serious, long-term relationship. snd sex? It didn’t seem like a necessity in your life—at least not until now.

“I mean, when you’re dating someone romantically and nothing happens, i’d call that a win,” you said, casually munching on a slice of lemon tart.

haechan furrowed his brows, taking a sip of his coffee. “explain that.”

“it’s simple,” you shrugged. “because if they haven’t seen you naked, you can run into them on the street and not have to worry about that bastard seeing your ass.”

heck couldn’t help but laugh at your reasoning. “right, totally.”

you both chuckled, agreeing on that one. but he also knew, deep down, it wasn’t that simple for him. not anymore. he couldn’t ignore what was bubbling beneath the surface.

haechan felt a buzz in his pocket. his phone. the first class of the day was about to start, and he had to rush if he didn’t want to be late. he lived close to campus, just a five-minute walk, but the class was on the other side of the building.

but this situation? it was messing with his head so much that he couldn’t fall asleep until 3 AM these past two weeks. he grabbed his backpack and keys, about to head out when his phone buzzed again.

it was you. a message: “i’m heading to class, just leaving my apartment.”

haechan froze. he hadn’t expected you to text him now. his hand gripped the doorknob, but he didn’t open it. the thought of seeing you right now made his heart race. he wasn’t ready. not yet. he couldn’t just pretend like everything was fine.

"shit... y/n, what were you thinking?"

he sighed deeply. what was this? haechan could hear his own voice in his head, his thoughts like an endless storm. he couldn’t stop thinking about you—about what you had said, and about everything that had changed in such a short time. his stomach twisted. what would happen if he saw you now? could he face you? could he even be the same around you after what you had suggested?

he shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts. He didn’t have the answers, but he knew one thing: this wasn’t going to be easy.

haechan let out a deep sigh, adjusting his scarf around his neck before stepping out of his apartment. he tried to calm himself, convincing himself that he could handle whatever came next. as if nothing had happened. as if he could just brush it off and pretend it hadn’t been weighing on him for the past two weeks.

but every time he thought about it, it made his chest tighten. that proposal of yours. the way you had looked at him, so casually, as if it were no big deal. he couldn’t get it out of his mind. he had always been the life of the party, the one to make jokes and laugh things off. but this—this was different. it gnawed at him like an insistent itch he couldn’t scratch, a question with no answer.

he made his way to campus, each step seeming faster than the last, but his thoughts were tangled in a mess of confusion and frustration. you hadn’t seemed bothered. if anything, you had acted like it was just another conversation. you hadn’t even tried to talk to him about it again, hadn’t pressured him. but that only made it worse. the silence between you both was deafening. you had sent that message, but it wasn’t the same. it was as if you had moved on without even thinking about it, while he was still stuck in the same place, drowning in his thoughts.

it was absurd. he was known for being the carefree one, the one who didn’t let anything get to him. but now? now he was a mess. the more he tried to convince himself that it was no big deal, the harder it was to believe it. you had said it so easily, like it was a joke, and yet it had shattered something inside him. the truth was, he didn’t know how to look at you anymore. he didn’t know how to face you after that. how could he? after everything?

haechan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. his footsteps carried him toward the building, and the closer he got, the more his anxiety grew. he couldn’t avoid it forever. he’d have to see you eventually. the communication department wasn’t that big, and it seemed like the entire campus would lead him straight to you.

as he reached the entrance of the building, his alert system kicked in. you were probably inside already. and damn it, the thought of running into you—now, after everything—felt like a punch in the gut. you hadn’t even mentioned it again, hadn’t tried to force a conversation. yet he could feel it. the tension. the distance. how had it gotten to this? why did he feel so… disconnected?

he stopped for a second, hand resting against the doorframe, trying to breathe. but it was like everything had changed. nothing was simple anymore. he had been your best friend for so long, but now? now it felt like he was walking on eggshells, unsure of what would break first.

“hey.”

a light punch to his back snapped him out of his daze, and the blood immediately drained from his face. that voice—he couldn’t mistake it, not even if a million voices tried to mimic it. His breath hitched, and he turned around so fast it almost hurt.

there you were. small, as always. a knitted beanie sitting snug over your head, that— ridiculous—fringe barely brushing the tops of your brows, framing your delicate face in a way that made his throat dry. a long grey coat hung from your shoulders, swallowing you slightly, and your black boots clicked softly against the floor. everything about you looked… normal. the way you looked at him, the way you smiled, even the casual punch to his back.

physical contact.

that word echoed in his head like a siren. he quickly shook the thought away, locking his focus on the paper Starbucks bag dangling from your left hand. maybe you’d stopped by the café on the way. maybe you ordered delivery. maybe someone gave it to you. maybe—god, he needed to stop. the hamster in his brain was doing flips, and he wanted to knock some sense into himself.

you held the bag out toward him.

haechan just stared at it for a second, until you raised your eyebrows, shook it again, and snapped, “are you gonna take it or what?! geez, i brought it for you and you’re just standing there looking at it like an idiot.”

your expression twisted in mock annoyance, brows curved upward—but oddly, he felt the tightness in his chest ease a little.

reluctantly, haechan reached out and took the bag, brushing his fingers against yours for a second too long. he tried not to react, but his mind was a chaotic storm. He couldn’t help but look at you—really look.

had you always looked like this? that coat hugged your waist just enough. the shape of your figure was something he never let himself notice before. and your chest… jesus. it wasn’t like you’d suddenly changed, but it felt like someone had wiped the fog off his glasses. He was seeing you differently. entirely.

and that terrified him.

he lowered his eyes quickly, too aware of how warm his ears were getting.

“thanks,” he mumbled, voice a little hoarse.

“no problem,” you replied, glancing around casually. “i figured you might skip breakfast again, so…”

you trailed off with a small shrug, stuffing your hands into your coat pockets. haechan tried to smile, but his stomach was tangled in impossible knots.

haechan took another deep breath as he tried to collect himself, shifting the weight of the Starbucks bag from one hand to the other. he looked at you, trying to ignore the pull in his chest—the sudden awareness of every little detail about you. there was a tension he couldn’t shake off, something that sat heavy in his stomach.

you seemed to notice his distracted state and leaned against the wall, your usual easygoing posture, the same as always, except now, he couldn’t stop noticing how you looked in that oversized coat and those boots. he was spiraling again, caught in the thought of you.

“so…” you broke the silence, “i’ve been kind of swamped lately. working on this branding project for a client. it’s been a pain, though. my computer decided to die on me right when I needed it most.”

haechan raised an eyebrow, his mind snapping back to reality. “really? you didn’t tell me about it. why didn’t you ask for help? I mean, i know a thing or two about fixing computers. I could’ve helped you.”

you shrugged, a small, nonchalant smile playing at the corners of your lips. “nah, i called taeyong instead. he’s better with that stuff.”

there was a sharp tug in haechan’s chest. he hadn’t expected that. the knot in his stomach tightened, a wave of discomfort washing over him. taeyong? really?

he tried to laugh it off, but there was something bitter in his tone as he asked, “taeyong? why him? i thought you knew I was good with that kind of stuff.”

“yeah, well,” you quipped with a raised eyebrow, “taeyong just happened to be the first one I thought of. besides, he’s pretty quick with tech stuff.”

haechan’s smile was tight, and his stomach churned. he told himself it was nothing. he was being stupid. but why didn’t you ask him? he had always been there when your tech failed. it felt… weird. almost like you didn’t need him anymore. but, of course, he didn’t voice any of that. instead, he played it off, trying to act casual.

“sure, sure,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. he was so not handling this well. the thought of you asking someone else for help left him unsettled, and he hated how much it bothered him. It was irrational, but he couldn't shake it.

you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he pulled back just a little. your smile softened as you leaned forward slightly, breaking the silence again.

“hey,” you said gently, “i’m sorry if it upset you. it wasn’t meant to make you feel left out, really.”

haechan quickly looked up, trying to look unfazed. “nah, it’s fine. I mean, it's not like i’m the only one you can ask for help, right?” he joked, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t quite match the tone of his words.

you raised your eyebrows, a knowing look in your eyes. “you’re acting like a total prude right now,” you said, a smirk forming. “didn’t you used to tell me all the crazy stuff you did with jang chanmi back in high school? and now the topic of helping a friend with a computer is freaking you out?”

haechan blinked, taken aback. the mention of chanmi, especially in the context of your teasing, was enough to snap him out of his spiraling thoughts. he groaned, running a hand through his hair, trying to laugh it off. “well, that was different, okay? that was high school stuff.”

you chuckled, leaning back against the wall, clearly amused by his discomfort. “oh, come on. don’t tell me you’re too shy to talk about tech problems now. you used to explain every position you tried with her—like it was a lesson in geometry or something.”

haechan let out an exasperated sigh, not sure whether to be embarrassed or grateful for the way you were managing to cut through the tension. he couldn’t stop the blush creeping up his neck, and he cursed under his breath. of all the people, you had to be the one to make him feel like a damn fool.

“well, that was different, okay? It’s... it’s not like i’m comfortable talking about that stuff with you anymore, alright?” he almost winced at his words. the last thing he wanted was to make it sound like he couldn’t be himself with you.

you tilted your head slightly, your tone playful but with a hint of mischief. “don’t worry, though. I just asked taeyong to help with the computer. i didn’t make the same proposal to him that i made to you.”

haechan’s eyes went wide. he froze, his face instantly flushing. did you really just say that? the sudden wave of heat rushing to his face felt like he was on fire. his brain scrambled for words, but all he could manage was a surprised, “wait, what?”

you laughed softly, clearly enjoying the effect you had on him.

“you’re scared i’m gonna bring it up, aren’t you?”

“what? i—no, i’m fine,” he said too quickly, almost defensively. “just tired. you know, early class. cold outside. normal stuff.”

you didn’t say anything right away. just looked at him with that calm gaze of yours, the one that could read people like open books.

that hit him harder than expected. he flinched. swallowed. you tilted your head slightly.

“it’s okay,” you said, voice even. “if it made you uncomfortable… we don’t have to talk about it. ever. i’m not gonna ambush you or corner you or expect anything.”

haechan blinked. your tone was so mature, so measured—like you’d thought about this. like you knew what it had done to him.

“it was dumb of me,” you continued with a small smile. “or maybe not dumb, just… bold. and i get it, you didn’t sign up for that. so, if you want to forget it ever happened, consider it forgotten. clean slate.”

he didn’t know what to say. a hundred emotions jostled in his chest, fighting for space. gratitude. relief. guilt. and something else entirely—something heavier and harder to name.

because despite everything, despite the panic and confusion and awkward silences, you were still here. talking to him. offering him coffee. smiling at him like you always did.

but something had changed. he saw it in the way he noticed your lips when they moved. in the way his eyes lingered a beat too long on the curve of your body. in the way his mind kept circling back to that question you’d asked two weeks ago.

and the worst part?

haechan didn’t know if he wanted to go back to before.

before everything had shifted. before he started noticing all these things about you—things he had never allowed himself to see. he wasn’t sure if it was fear of the unknown or something else entirely, but the thought of things returning to how they were felt… difficult.

“anyway,” you said, standing up from the railing and brushing your hands off as if to clear the air between you. "i’ll see you later. don’t overthink it, alright?"

the casual way you said it made his chest tighten. he could feel that something was still unspoken, that there was more you weren’t saying, but he didn’t press. you were good at hiding what you truly felt, always had been.

haechan tried to push the conversation out of his mind as he entered his class on media studies. he sat down, pulling his notes in front of him and attempting to focus, but his thoughts were all over the place. his brain kept circling back to your words—had you meant everything you said? Was it really that simple for you?

the ice-cold americano you’d brought him sat on the edge of his desk. Its perfect arrangement, just the way he always liked it, made his chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t explain. he watched as droplets of water gathered on the glass, slowly tracing their way down to pool at the bottom.

he was distracted. but even more than that, he was feeling something he couldn’t quite name. his gaze wandered over the cold surface, the way the water clung to the glass—his mind drifting to you. to your smile. to the way your voice had lingered in his thoughts.

he imagined, for a moment, what it would be like if those droplets were slipping along your skin instead. He didn’t want to think about it, but his mind had other plans. every thought that surfaced seemed to lead back to you—the curve of your lips, the way you had looked at him just before leaving.

his pulse quickened, a wave of heat rising to his face. he snapped back to reality, but the blush was already creeping up his neck. "what the hell am i doing?" he muttered under his breath, quickly looking down at his notes again, trying to focus. his mind refused to cooperate. why was he thinking about this now? why was his body reacting like this?

he could feel the tension rising, like a knot tightening in his stomach. he had never been this aware of you before—not like this. and the worst part was, he didn’t know how to stop it.

you buried your face in your hands, heart racing, panic rising in your chest. what had you done?

the proposal you made to haechan wasn’t random—not by a long shot. It came from somewhere raw, impulsive, and aching. you’d convinced yourself he would say yes. no hesitation. no second thoughts. that’s what your friends told you, right?

"guys are easy. especially when it comes to sex. they’re always down," yeri had said with a laugh, trying to encourage you. “come on, it’s haechan. he jokes about that stuff all the time.”

and maybe that was the worst part. because you believed her. you judged your best friend through a lens of assumption, reducing him to some stereotype, thinking he’d just say yes because he was a guy. because he was him.

but he didn’t.

and now you knew—you had judged him so, so wrong. haechan wasn’t like the guys in those stories your friends always told. he wasn’t thoughtless. he wasn’t careless. he was kind. and considerate. and the look on his face after your question… you could still see it. confused. hurt. maybe even disappointed. not because you asked, but because he didn’t know how to respond without breaking something between you.

the guilt clawed its way up your throat.

you hadn’t asked him just for the sake of it, either. it wasn’t some random experiment. it was desperation. because ever since last fall, ever since he came into the picture, something in you had changed.

jung jaehyun.

a senior in the visual arts department. tall, graceful, and unfairly good-looking—like he’d walked straight out of a perfume ad in a fashion magazine. chiseled jawline, smooth voice, perfect smile. the kind of man who turned heads in every hallway he walked through. girls whispered about him constantly—rumors, fantasies, stories that may or may not have been true. he was confident, magnetic, dangerous in that way only people who know they’re desired can be.

and of course, you weren’t immune.

you saw him at a few parties, caught glimpses of him sketching in the studio, his sleeves rolled up and headphones in, and felt a pull you didn’t fully understand. it wasn’t love. It wasn’t even a crush. it was curiosity. lust. a hunger you didn’t recognize as your own until it became too loud to ignore.

your friends told you to go for it. "just hook up with him," they said. "get it over with." but you couldn’t. you didn’t have the experience, the confidence, the… proof that you could be the kind of girl someone like jaehyun might want.

so you turned to the only person you trusted. the only one who made you feel safe, unjudged, seen.

haechan.

and now you’d hurt him.

you hadn’t just crossed a line—you’d shattered the trust he’d always given you so freely. all because you were afraid. because you wanted to prove something. because you thought he’d just say yes.

but he didn’t.

now you sat in the middle of your typography and composition class, surrounded by the soft clatter of keyboards and the low hum of your professor’s lecture, your laptop open in front of you and your adobe illustrator file untouched. letters floated on your screen in random positions, but your brain couldn’t form a single coherent thought. you weren’t even sure what the assignment was supposed to be.

your body was there—but your mind was somewhere else entirely. caught in the swirl of embarrassment, regret, and confusion. a storm of emotion you didn’t know how to calm. all you could think was: what have I done?

it had been a week since that conversation. on the surface, everything seemed fine—like a reset button had been pressed. you and haechan still exchanged jokes, shared snacks, and sat next to each other in class. but underneath the laughter and casual glances, there was a strange hollowness, like the two of you had become actors reciting old lines in a play that didn’t fit anymore. robotically pretending the elephant in the room didn’t exist, even though its shadow loomed over every interaction. after all, everything had already been said, hadn’t it?

still, something was off.

haechan hadn’t hooked up with anyone since then. it wasn’t for lack of trying—he’d gone out, flirted, danced—but each time, his mind wandered back to you. and it wasn’t just idle thoughts. no, it was worse.

every night that week, he'd woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart racing, and a painful hardness straining against his boxers. dreams of you—wearing almost nothing, bent in suggestive positions, whispering filthy things in his ear, inviting him to taste you, to touch you—played on a loop in his subconscious. but right when he was about to finally reach you, melt into you, he’d wake up frustrated and breathless. left with no choice but to slip his hand under the waistband and relieve the aching pressure. for serotonin. for oxytocin. for sanity.

now, it was saturday night and he was stuck at work.

the burger place was dead quiet. maybe it was the cold snap that had settled over the city, keeping everyone snuggled up in their homes instead of venturing out for greasy fast food. Haechan didn’t mind, really. he was sick of putting on his fake retail voice—“welcome! Fries with that?”—and dealing with people who didn’t say thank you. right now, he was working the closing shift, wearing the stiff black uniform cap and flipping patties that hissed on the flat top grill. the whole place smelled of grilled beef, fryer oil, and cheap pickles. his coworkers were goofing off while mopping the floor and stacking chairs, and haechan, while half-listening to their jokes, was just counting the minutes till he could clock out and go back to bed.

that was when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

unknown number.

haechan hesitated. he barely ever answered unknown numbers, but something in his gut told him to pick up.

“hello?”

“HAECHAN!”

a girl’s voice. loud, panicked. He blinked.

“…who is this?”

“it’s seojung—y/n’s friend. you probably don’t remember me. we met, like, once.”

oh. right. you had sent him the numbers of your friends months ago, just in case. he’d never saved them.

“yeah, uh—what’s up?”

“it’s y/n,” she said quickly.

the emergency button in his brain went off.

“what happened? is she okay?! did something happen to her?”

“well—kind of?”

apparently, you’d gone out for a girls’ night. a little bar in the city downtown. everything was fine, until you’d gotten verydrunk. so drunk, in fact, you couldn’t even hold your head up, slurring nonsense, sobbing into seojung’s shoulder.

haechan grabbed his jacket before she even finished explaining.

“she kept saying… uh, really weird stuff,” seojung added nervously. “like—please don’t be mad, okay?—but she was screaming in the middle of the street that she was gonna die a virgin because her own best friend refused to help her.”

haechan stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in disbelief. “she said what?”

“i know! i was like, girl, stop embarrassing yourself! but she kept going. she even tried to climb on a statue to do a dramatic monologue or something, it was chaos.”

the line went quiet for a second.

“anyway,” seojung continued, “we can’t take her to the dorms—they don’t let us bring people in after curfew, and she’s way too far gone to be alone. you’re the only person she might listen to. can you come get her?”

“i’m on my way,” haechan said without hesitation, already sprinting out the back door. he didn’t even clock out. his coworkers just watched in stunned silence as he bolted into the freezing night air, hoodie half-zipped, hair disheveled, heart pounding.

he didn’t know exactly what he’d find when he got there.

but part of him was already bracing for it.

despite the cold weather, you had decided to wear a short velvet dress, sheer black tights, and an oversized puffer jacket that looked hilariously disproportionate on you—but also kind of cute. haechan blinked twice when he realized the jacket was his. the one he’d been looking for since last week. seeing you in it made his chest do something strange, tight and warm, like a coil winding in his ribs.

you looked disoriented, your makeup slightly smudged, your eyes glassy but still sparkly. your long legs peeked out from under the hem of the dress, knees wobbling as you leaned heavily on seojung for support. Behind her were yeri and jimin—both trying to look casual but clearly avoiding haechan’s gaze.

“sorry for calling so suddenly,” seojung said with an awkward smile, shifting nervously on her feet. “we didn’t know who else to call…”

“she just kept saying your name,” yeri added, crossing her arms.

“she’s been… emotional,” jimin muttered, eyes darting to the side. “also—sorry for… earlier stuff.”

the three girls looked anywhere but at haechan. there was something stiff in the air, a subtle frost behind their polite words. they knew what had happened. they knew he’d rejected you.

“thanks for looking after her,” haechan said simply, ignoring the tension as he gently took your arm. you mumbled something about “fuck friendship” and “i’ll die a virgin anyway,” making all three girls wince in embarrassment.

after quick goodbyes, they left hurriedly. haechan helped you into a cab, the inside warm and dimly lit, smelling faintly of peppermint and old leather.

“address?” the driver asked.

haechan rattled it off. the driver glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled.

“cute couple,” he said.

“oh—we’re not—” haechan began, but the man cut him off.

“young love. must be nice,” he chuckled. “leaving work in the middle of your shift to take care of your drunk girlfriend. that’s real devotion, son.”

haechan opened his mouth to correct him again, but then—

“HE REJECTED ME!” you suddenly shouted, head lolling dramatically to the side. “I asked him to have sex with me and he SAID NO.”

yhe cab fell into a stunned silence.

“…ah,” the driver finally said. “one-sided love, then.”

haechan wanted to crawl out of the moving car and disappear into the road. yhe driver shook his head sympathetically.

“you’re making a mistake, boy,” he said gravely. “a pretty lady like this? she won’t wait forever. you two already look like a couple. all that’s missing is the kiss.”

haechan glanced down at you, now slumped against his side, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. your makeup was a mess, your breath reeked of gin and lime, and you were clutching the hem of his jacket like it was your last lifeline.

and somehow, even like this, you looked heartbreakingly beautiful.

haechan stepped out of the taxi and paid the driver, the man's words echoing in his head like a song stuck on repeat. “you’re letting a good girl slip away…” he shouldn’t care what some stranger thought, but there was something about the way the guy said it — confident, certain — that made the sentence stick like honey to the roof of his mouth.

he turned around just in time to see you stepping out of the cab in your short dress, sheer tights hugging your legs, and a massive oversized jacket drowning your frame. his oversized jacket.

his breath caught a little. you looked both sexy and soft — long, graceful legs out in the cold, but your face flushed from alcohol and framed by the collar of his jacket. somehow, even in that state, you looked... perfect.

“you know where we are, right?” he asked gently, offering you his hand.

you nodded lazily, squinting at the familiar entrance of your apartment complex. but instead of walking toward it, you turned to him, a sly, sleepy smile playing on your lips.

“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you said, voice low and vaguely suggestive.

haechan blinked. “you need to sleep. you’re drunk.”

“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you repeated, this time slower, like you were daring him to challenge you. “i lost my keys.”

“you what?” his voice cracked as he stared at you in disbelief. “where the hell are you gonna sleep then?”

you tilted your head, your eyes glinting under the streetlight. “with you.”

silence.

haechan’s mouth opened slightly, the color rushing to his face like fire. he stammered, trying to find the words — to remind you of your promise, of how you said you'd drop this whole thing and start over.

but before he could say a word, you leaned forward with a groan and threw up directly into a nearby bush.

“oh, shit—” he muttered, rushing to hold you. he gathered your hair, gently rubbed your back, whispering reassurances under his breath. “okay, okay, it’s fine… just let it out…”

eventually, you straightened up, eyes glassy, cheeks damp from the cold wind. he sighed and wrapped an arm around you, leading you toward his place — your weight half-slumped against him.

inside, the warmth of his small apartment wrapped around you both. he carefully sat you on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, filling a glass of water and setting a tea kettle on the stove.

you watched him in silence for a moment before breaking it. “i know what i said,” you murmured. “About letting it go. About forgetting. but i can’t. i literally can’t.”

he froze, slowly turning toward you.

“i feel like a hormonal teenager,” you laughed bitterly, wiping your mouth. “I keep thinking about you. about what i asked you. about what it would be like.”

“y/n…” he warned gently, setting the water beside you.

“i have this thing,” you blurted. “with my sunbae. jung jaehyun. he’s… god, he’s stupidly hot. tall, broad shoulders, perfect hair, every girl wants him. he only sleeps with older women — the kind who know what they’re doing. and I just… i don’t want to disappoint him.”

haechan’s expression darkened, not with anger, but something deeper. “so you wanted to use me as practice?” he asked, voice low.

“i’m not trying to use you,” you said, firm but vulnerable. “you’re my best friend. i trust you more than anyone. and you’re… you’re good at it.”

haechan blinked. “what?”

“you’re good in bed.”

he narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. “and how the hell do you know that?”

you gave a half-smirk. “you talk about it all the time, remember? bragging about your conquests like a walking NSFW podcast. you made it sound like you practically invented foreplay.”

haechan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “god, I was joking half the time—”

“but that’s exactly why i asked you in the first place,” you cut in, locking eyes with him. “because there’s no one else i’d trust for something like this. and let’s be honest—” you tilted your head with a teasing smile. “it’s not like you’ve gotten laid recently either.”

his jaw tensed. “i’m not desperate for sex, y/n.”

“oh, really?” you raised an eyebrow. “so those midnight jerk-off sessions because of your dreams about me are just… what? a new coping mechanism?”

his face burned red. “how do you—?!”

“i may have heard a little something.” you sipped your water dramatically. “you’re not as quiet as you think.”

“i hate you,” he muttered under his breath, turning away to hide the growing smirk on his lips.

“no, you don’t.”

you stood up slowly, unsteady but serious, your eyes fixed on his. “if we did this… it would be safe. familiar. no weirdness. just… two people helping each other out.”

“that’s not what this is about for you though, is it?” he said, voice low.

you looked away for a moment before answering. “no. It’s not just that. i want to feel… wanted. i want to be good at this. and yeah… I want to impress jaehyun. but i also… want it to be with someone who won’t hurt me.”

and for a moment, everything was quiet. the only sound was the water boiling and both your hearts pounding.

he exhaled sharply, frustrated — but not just at you. At himself. At this whole ridiculous night.

then, haechan stepped closer.

he leaned over, hands gripping the back of the couch, caging you in — his face mere inches from yours. you froze. Your breath hitched. your fingers clenched around the glass.

then, without thinking, you kissed him.

it was messy. desperate. tasting of beer and heat and something reckless.

he kissed you back — just for a second — his hand cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. but then he pulled away suddenly, breath heavy, pupils blown wide.

“you’re drunk,” he said, voice hoarse. “i'm not kissing you like this.”

you blinked up at him, breathless.

“but if i weren’t?” you whispered.

he didn’t say anything.

but the fire in his eyes gave you all the answer you needed.

and that silence? it was louder than anything either of you had said all night.

that night, haechan slept on the couch, buried under a mess of blankets. you, on the other hand, took his bed — warm with freshly changed sheets and a white oversized t-shirt that smelled like him. he’d also lent you a hoodie for the cold, soft and worn from use.

when he asked if you'd prefer to sleep with the door shut for privacy, you shook your head and left it cracked open. Just slightly. maybe it was a silent invitation. maybe a part of you hoped he'd come in.

but he didn’t.

haechan's self-control was ironclad. he wouldn't touch you — not like that, not when you were drunk, no matter how much you asked. and you had asked. desperately.

by morning, your head throbbed with a brutal hangover. the light leaking through the blinds was cruel and unforgiving. still half-asleep, you blinked at the side table — a glass of water and a neatly placed pill waited for you. of course he remembered.

you padded out into the living room, barefoot, limbs aching. the smell of warm broth hit you first. then the quiet hum of a streamer's voice coming from his computer.

haechan sat hunched at the small dining table, glasses perched on his nose, hair slightly tousled from sleep. he was watching some gaming livestream, lazily slurping noodles from a bowl of ramen. a small pot sat between you, steam still curling up, and beside it — another bowl.

you noticed the sausage in the pot had been sliced perfectly small, just the way you liked. he always remembered little things like that.

your stomach twisted, not with hunger, but something softer. deeper.

without saying anything, haechan patted the seat beside him. you moved toward him slowly, like you were walking through a dream. he didn’t look at you — just kept his eyes on the screen as he grabbed the second bowl, carefully ladling ramen into it while glancing back and forth between the pot and your bowl to avoid making a mess.

you let out a quiet, involuntary giggle.

he glanced up at you then — his lips curved ever so slightly. and that's when you noticed it: his thick-rimmed glasses. the ones he only wore when he was deep into gaming or editing something late at night. they made him look effortlessly cool. casual. comfortable.

and stupidly handsome.

“thanks,” you murmured, your voice still hoarse from sleep and dehydration. “for… last night. picking me up.”

he didn’t respond at first — just nodded once, still watching the screen. no mention of the kiss. no mention of your drunken confession. nothing. just silence.

the elephant between you had never been bigger.

you glanced sideways again and noticed the dark circles under his eyes — deep and tired. he’d barely slept.

“you okay?” you asked gently.

“i’m fine,” he said, pushing up his glasses with a knuckle. “you had it worse.”

you looked down at the bowl in front of you, steam rising like it was trying to fill the silence. you slurped a noodle quietly, chewing.

that’s when you noticed something else.

the shape of his jaw as he ate — sharp, cut like stone under soft skin. you’d seen him eat ramen a hundred times, but this was the first time you really looked. the way his throat moved when he swallowed. the subtle flex of his neck. his collarbone peeking from under his hoodie. even the slope of his nose and the way his glasses rested perfectly above his cheekbones.

he wasn’t just your best friend. he was… really attractive.

painfully so.

and that realization made your stomach clench — not from the hangover, but from something dangerously close to want.

you sat there, fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic of the ramen bowl, the heat grounding you as your mind spun.

“hey…” your voice came out soft, hesitant. “about last night—”

the sound of his chopsticks hitting the table made you jump. it wasn’t loud, but it was enough. enough to cut through the quiet and slice the conversation before it could begin.

haechan didn’t look at you. his jaw tensed as he stared at the table, hands clenched loosely on either side of his bowl.

you froze. unsure.

he inhaled through his nose, controlled, calculated. then, finally, he spoke. “if you’re done eating… maybe you should call a locksmith. for your apartment.”

your stomach dropped.

just like that, the warmth left the room. or maybe it was still there, but it couldn’t reach you anymore.

“o-oh.” you blinked. “yeah… right. my keys.”

he stood up slowly, not rushed, just… distant. like something inside him had gone cold.

you watched him close the laptop screen with one hand, then gather his bowl and yours, moving with quiet efficiency. not meeting your gaze once.

you couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. the shift was too sharp, too sudden. it left you sitting there like a statue, hands still wrapped around the now lukewarm bowl.

“i’ll wash these,” he muttered, almost to himself.

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. your throat was tight, words caught somewhere between confusion and guilt. you hadn’t meant to ruin the morning. hadn’t meant to push.

but there it was again — the elephant. bigger than ever.

and this time, haechan had chosen to turn his back on it.

you stood up slowly, the chair scraping against the floor. he was already at the sink, rinsing the dishes like it was any other sunday. like nothing happened. like you hadn’t kissed him. like you hadn’t confessed the things that had been burning you from the inside out.

but your eyes were stuck on his back. the slope of his shoulders. the way his hoodie clung slightly at the waist. and still — that feeling. that gnawing ache deep in your chest.

he was right there. and still, he felt so far away.

“haechan…” your voice barely carried.

he didn’t turn around.

you bit your lip. hard. maybe you had crossed a line. maybe he was just being kind last night, and you mistook it for something else. maybe—

“i need to shower,” he said abruptly, setting the last plate down. “you can use my phone to call someone.”

and then he was gone, the bathroom door closing with a click that echoed too loudly in the silence he left behind.

you were alone again.

but this time, it hurt more than it should’ve.

your phone was still dead.

you hadn’t charged it since last night, and at this point, it didn’t matter. you weren’t exactly in the mood to speak to anyone else anyway.

you curled up on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest, arms wrapping tightly around them like they could somehow protect you from the weight pressing on your chest. you stared blankly ahead, trying to piece together what went wrong.

you hadn’t meant to make things weird. you hadn’t meant to cross a line. and yet… you did. and now, all of it felt like a mistake unraveling at your feet.

you chewed on your lip, eyes unfocused.

was it when you asked to stay with him? or when you told him the truth — that you couldn’t stop thinking about him, that you wanted to learn with him because you trusted him? maybe it was the kiss. that moment, hazy and laced with beer, when you leaned in and felt his lips move against yours. he kissed you back. you were sure of it.

but now… maybe it wasn’t enough. or maybe it was too much.

the sound of the bathroom door opening pulled you from your spiral. you looked up, heart stuttering in your chest.

haechan stepped out, steam drifting behind him in lazy clouds. his black t-shirt clung to his skin slightly, still damp from the shower. his sweatpants sat low on his hips, and around his neck hung a white towel, which he used intermittently to ruffle through his damp, dark hair.

he looked surprised to see you still there.

his expression flattened quickly, going unreadable. “you still haven’t called the locksmith?”

you didn’t answer.

he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, towel dragging with it. “y/n…”

but you were already crying.

your face was turned away, but he saw the tremble in your shoulders, the way your hands gripped tighter around your legs. the soft sound of you trying not to make a sound.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of your own words. “i ruined everything.”

he went quiet.

“i should’ve never suggested that,” you continued, barely audible. “i didn’t mean to treat you like you’re some— some kind of object. i was just thinking about myself. about what i wanted. and that was selfish. i wasn’t thinking about you.”

he still didn’t move.

“i just—” you swallowed thickly, lifting your head to look at him through blurry eyes. “i wasn’t trying to use you. i swear. i… i just trust you. you’re my best friend. and maybe i took that too far. i just… i feel like i’ve messed everything up.”

you laughed bitterly. “you didn’t even have to say anything. your face this morning said it all.”

for a second, haechan just looked at you. his gaze scanned your face — your tear-stained cheeks, your trembling mouth. the regret swimming in your eyes.

then he sighed and walked closer. dropped the towel onto the coffee table. crouched down in front of you.

“you’re not the only one who’s confused,” he said, voice softer now. “and yeah, maybe last night was messy. maybe we said shit we weren’t supposed to. but… you didn’t ruin anything.”

your breath hitched.

he leaned in, resting a hand gently on your knee.

“you’re not selfish for wanting something. and you’re not using me. i know you.” his voice dropped a bit, more intimate now. “maybe that’s why it’s so hard to pretend it didn’t affect me.”

you blinked. “…what?”

he looked up at you from where he knelt. “you said… kissing could help calm you down. remember?”

your eyes widened.

he tilted his head, a small, careful smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.

“so… if it helps…” he leaned closer, letting his hand trail up your thigh. “i could kiss you again.”

you stopped breathing.

your lips parted, unsure of what to say. but your body moved before your brain could catch up. you leaned in.

he met you halfway.

this kiss was different. slower. more controlled. still tasting faintly of mint and something warm, like cinnamon from the tea he’d made earlier. his hand cradled your cheek this time, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye.

it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t hungry.

but it burned.

and then he pulled back, just barely.

“but only when you’re sober,” he whispered against your lips, breath warm. “only when you really mean it.”

you nodded slowly, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

“okay,” you breathed. “okay.”

and for now — that was enough.

a few weeks passed.

you had finally gotten a replacement set of keys and returned to your apartment. that weekend was a blur of mundane things—scrubbing your bathroom floor until your arms ached, catching up on overdue sketches, finishing the last pages of an assignment you’d been dodging for weeks. you needed the quiet. the stillness. a chance to feel like yourself again.

but even in your own bed, the cold side of the sheets reminded you of that one night you hadn’t slept alone.

the kiss with haechan had, strangely, softened everything between you. the awkwardness melted away like snow on sunlit pavement. now, you were gentler with each other. your laughter came easier. your glances lingered longer. but the elephant—the weight of what that kiss meant—never left. it simply learned to sit quietly in the corner.

on tuesday afternoon, you were leaving the print room when you nearly ran into jaehyun.

"whoa, careful, pretty girl," he said, catching your elbow with a hand that felt way too steady, too confident.

“sorry,” you chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. jaehyun always looked like he belonged in some magazine spread—jaw carved from stone, lashes too long for someone that smug, silver rings glinting against his fingers like he knew where the light would hit.

“what brings you over here?” he asked, eyeing your sketch tube slung across your shoulder.

“professor cho. needed some stuff for his class. he’s on his power trip again.”

“classic,” he smirked. “listen… we’re having something this friday. low-key. not one of those packed, flyer-in-the-bathroom kind of things. just a curated crowd. people who get it.”

your brow arched. “curated?”

he laughed. “yeah. you know. people with taste.”

you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“you should come,” he added, stepping a little closer. “might help with that tension you’ve been carrying around.”

“what tension?” you teased.

he leaned in, eyes flicking down your face. “the kind that makes you think too much. sometimes you gotta stop overanalyzing and just feel it.”

“feel what?”

his smile was maddening. “depends who you end up with.”

you laughed it off, but your cheeks were already warm. maybe he was flirting. maybe he wasn’t. either way, the idea sat in your chest like a dare.

you thought about it all the way back to your place. and later that night, lying on your bed staring at the ceiling, you let yourself wonder what it’d be like to… try. to stop guessing what sex felt like and actually find out. you didn’t want to rush it. but you didn’t want to keep floating in uncertainty either.

and somewhere else on campus, haechan couldn’t stop thinking about you either.

he was standing in the backroom of the burger place, mirror fogged with steam, face damp and flushed from another rush. and there you were. again. in his head. like you’d carved a space he couldn’t seal shut.

he felt pathetic.

like some teenage boy discovering self-pleasure for the first time. except it wasn’t discovery—it was addiction. every night, without fail, his body woke him up with a pulse he couldn’t ignore. his hand would slide beneath the waistband of his sweats, his breath shallow, mind full of you. always you.

and god, those lips.

maybe he should’ve never kissed you.

but the second your mouth touched his, something inside him had snapped. like it had been waiting for that moment all along. you’d kissed him with a kind of messy urgency—too fast, too eager, bumping teeth before finding a rhythm. but then came the softness. the unspoken need. the trust. you had tasted like beer and breath mints and something far too intimate for a one-time thing.

now, he couldn’t un-feel it.

behind the counter, he’d zone out mid-shift, hands wet from dishes, and suddenly he’d remember the way you had moaned into his mouth. the way you had gripped his hoodie like you were holding on for dear life. the way your body had melted into his.

he couldn’t stop picturing you in that black dress, jacket slipping off your shoulder, legs crossed like a sin. or the way your lips had parted when you looked at him like you needed more. like you wanted him.

and at night—his room dark, quiet, too warm—he would close his eyes and imagine your thighs on either side of his hips. your voice whispering his name. your nails on his skin.

he used to admire you from a safe place. used to think of you as a friend, maybe even a muse. now? now he couldn’t look at you without imagining what it would be like to bury his face between your legs. to ruin you a little. just enough.

he hated how much he needed it.

he hated how much he missed the feel of your mouth on his.

he hated that he wanted more.

you were stepping out of your digital illustration class, bag slung over your shoulder, neck stiff from hunching over your campaign poster project. when you exited the building, you spotted him right away—haechan, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands tucked into his backpack straps like he’d been waiting a while.

you always found him there these days.

“hey,” you said, breathless from the stairs. “thanks for waiting. again.”

he gave a casual shrug. “you make it sound like i have a life.”

“do you?”

“…not really.”

you both smiled.

as you walked side by side, the sun cast long shadows behind you, painting the concrete in soft amber. you weren’t touching. but it felt like you were. something invisible had always linked you two. lately, though—it tugged harder.

“so,” you said, voice light, “i think i’m gonna go to that party. tomorrow”

he blinked. “jaehyun’s?”

you nodded. “he made it sound... exclusive.”

“and you’re going?”

you smirked at his tone. “might be an opportunity.”

he stiffened beside you. “opportunity for what?”

you gave him a look. “you know what.”

he stopped. “you’re really gonna sleep with him?”

your cheeks flared, heart skipping. “no. it’s not like that. i just… maybe it’s time to try. get some answers.”

you watched his face carefully. saw the way his jaw locked. the way his brows twitched.

“but,” you added softly, “if it happens… it happens.”

and then, bold as ever, you turned to him. “unless you still wanna help me.”

his breath caught.

“we already kissed,” you said, eyes steady on his. “feels like we’ve done half the homework. next part’s sex, right? that’s what comes after. and you—you’re the one who used to brag about how good you were at it.”

he looked like you’d cornered him. because you had.

“remember those nights you’d ramble about girls? ‘her tits are insane’, ‘i’d fold her in a second’—that was you, haechan. your words.”

he swallowed, hard. “i didn’t think you were listening.”

“i always listen to you,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “especially when you talk about what you like.”

and then, with a wicked grin: “and let’s be honest. guys lose their minds over tits and ass. that’s not complicated.”

his silence told you everything.

you took one step closer, slow and steady.

“so?” you asked again, quieter now. “are you still willing to help me?”

and he didn’t answer.

not with words.

but you saw it in his eyes—the panic, the desire, the war between instinct and restraint.

you had no idea how long he could keep resisting.

but you were getting closer to finding out.

the night felt quieter than usual when they arrived at your apartment. your didn’t speak. the walk there had been filled with those kinds of silences that don’t necessarily feel awkward, but make you too aware of your own thoughts. you walked a few steps ahead of haechan, and he found himself watching you — the way your fingers twisted nervously, the slight tension in your shoulders, the soft sway of your hair brushing your back. he could tell she was unsure. and if he was being honest, so was he.

he’d never seen you like this before. not really. not in this light. there’d always been this boundary between both of you, this invisible thread that kept everything just on the edge of becoming something else. but lately… it had changed. the way she looked at him lingered a little longer. the way he touched you — in small, passing moments — felt less like habit and more like gravity. and right now, standing in the dim glow of your apartment, he realized just how close you were to crossing that invisible line.

he stands close, but not touching, his gaze fixed on you with a kind of careful intensity that makes your skin warm.

you unlock the door without saying a word, your fingers fumbling slightly. you can feel his eyes on you, not judging, just watching. when you step inside, he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

inside, it’s quiet. you cross the room and sit on the edge of your bed, heart racing.

he doesn’t follow you immediately. Instead, he leans against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his expression unreadable. you feel his eyes on your back as you drop your keys onto the counter, your breath shaky, heart pacing with something you don’t quite understand but desperately want to. when you finally turn around to face him, he’s already watching you — not with that usual teasing smile, but with something heavier, deeper. something that feels like want.

you turned to face him, eyes uncertain, but there was something else behind them. something softer. something raw. “i want to do it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“still thinking about your plan?” he asks softly, voice calm, like he’s trying not to spook you.

you nod slowly. “i just… i want to be good for jaehyun.”

his jaw tightens just a little, barely noticeable. but his voice doesn’t change. “you’re trying to learn how to please someone else,” he says, stepping closer, “when you haven’t even taken the time to learn yourself.”

you blink, suddenly unsure. “i thought… that’s what you were going to help me with.”

he exhales gently, closing the space between you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his chest. “i will. but only if you let me take the lead. if you trust me completely. no pretending. no rushing. just… you. raw. honest.”

your breath catches in your throat. something about the way he says it, the quiet authority in his tone, the way he looks at you like he already knows your body better than you do — it makes you ache in places you’ve barely dared to explore on your own.

“okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “i’ll do whatever you say.”

his eyes soften. there’s something unspoken there — a tension that’s been building between you for longer than you realized. and now it’s finally unraveling.

“then take off your clothes,” he says, his voice low, steady. “lie back.”

your fingers feel clumsy, nerves fluttering in your chest as you undress. he doesn’t look away. his gaze follows every inch of skin you reveal like he’s memorizing you. but it never feels invasive. it feels… reverent. when you’re finally bare, you lie down, body exposed, unsure, vulnerable. he doesn’t move right away. he just watches, like he’s waiting for you to fully settle into the moment.

“you’re beautiful,” he says quietly. “but i’m not going to touch you until i see that you believe it, too.”

you want to believe it. you want to feel beautiful in your own skin, not just because someone else says it, but because something inside you says you deserve to be. but right now, all you feel is nervous. exposed. seen.

he kneels at the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “you’re safe,” he murmurs. “you’re in control. i’m just guiding you.”

his hand touches your thigh, light as air, and your breath stutters. the warmth of his palm spreads through you like liquid, grounding and electric all at once. he doesn’t rush. his fingers explore slowly, tracing the curve of your hip, the softness of your stomach, the inside of your thigh. each touch is a question, and your breath is the answer.

when his fingers finally find you, you gasp — not because it’s too much, but because it’s perfect. just enough. just right. he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand. he simply explores, watching every reaction, every shift of your hips, every shaky breath you take like it’s the only thing that matters.

his fingers finally reach where you need them, but he doesn’t go straight for it — no, he teases, tracing along the outer edge of your heat, making you gasp at the sudden jolt of electricity. your hips shift instinctively, seeking friction, but his free hand presses gently against your stomach, grounding you.

“easy,” he murmurs. “we’re not rushing. i want to feel every part of you fall apart.”

your head tips back against the pillow, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers finally slip between your folds — gentle at first, just enough pressure to make your toes curl. he exhales softly, as if the heat of you surprises even him.

“relax,” he whispers. “feel. don’t think about what’s next. just stay with me. here.”

his fingers stroke you with a patience you didn’t know could exist, learning your body like it’s a language only he can understand. you’re wet, embarrassingly so, and he seems to revel in it, the way your body responds to his touch. he circles your clit with slow, practiced motions, his thumb brushing over you with maddening precision. you’re moaning now, soft and quiet, not even realizing the sounds are yours.

“fuck,” he whispers. “you’re soaked.”

your cheeks flush, but any embarrassment is quickly replaced by want as he finds your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make your legs tremble.

you whimper his name, voice barely there, and his response is a low groan against your skin. “that’s it, baby. let me hear you.”

his mouth is everywhere now — at your neck, your chest, sucking marks into your skin like he wants to claim you, mark you, make you his. and god, part of you wants it too — wants to be wanted like this, worshipped like this.

his fingers move lower, one pressing gently at your entrance, testing. “you okay?” he asks, voice soft but thick with desire.

“yes,” you gasp, clutching at his wrist. “please.”

your hips begin to move on their own, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. the pressure is building, coiling deep inside your core, unfamiliar and terrifying and addictive. he slips a finger inside you, slow and gentle, curling just right, and you cry out, your body clenching around him without meaning to.

“h-hyuck...” you cried.

“you like that?” he asks, voice rough now, closer to a groan than a whisper. you nod frantically, unable to form words, your hands gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing.

he slides in slow, giving you time to adjust, watching your face the whole time. his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing in time with the slow push of his finger. your breath stutters, and he leans in to kiss you, stealing the sound from your lips.

you moan into his mouth, overwhelmed, undone, as he adds a second finger, the stretch just enough to make your back arch. he curls them just right, finding that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake.

“there it is,” he groans, his lips brushing yours. “fuck, you feel so good.”

you can’t answer. you can barely think. all you can do is feel — the heat building inside you, the pull of release so close you can taste it.

“don’t hold back,” he whispers against your neck. “i want to feel you fall apart for me.”

and when he starts moving faster — fingers pumping deep and sure, thumb pressing harder against your clit — it’s too much. the pressure breaks, crashing over you like a tidal wave. your body tenses, then shatters, crying out his name as you come harder than you ever have before.

he holds you through it, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips. his fingers slow but don’t leave you, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him, boneless and gasping.

“let go,” he murmurs again, lips brushing against your ear. “don’t hold back. i’ve got you.”

his thumb presses harder against your clit, his fingers moving faster, more deliberate, and the pressure explodes inside you, all at once — a wave crashing over your body with violent tenderness. you cry out, shaking, the world narrowing to nothing but heat and light and the sound of his voice grounding you as your orgasm rips through you.

he finally pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. his breath is ragged, his eyes full of something you don’t quite understand — but you feel it in your chest. raw. intense. real.

“you don’t know what you just did to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

your body arches, muscles tightening, breath gone, and everything — everything — goes quiet except for the echo of your release.

and when you open your eyes to meet his, you realize something terrifying and beautiful — you don’t think you’ll ever look at him the same again.

your back pressed against the sheets, your skin bare under the dim, golden light of your room, your breath already shaky as haechan settles beside you, fully clothed, fully in control. you should feel nervous, and maybe you do, but it’s buried under something stronger — something warmer. the way he’s looking at you now is enough to make you forget how to breathe.

haechan sits on the edge of your bed, staring at his hand—now clean—like he can’t believe what just happened. his breath is heavier than he wants to admit. his thoughts are scrambled, the feeling of touching you, of showing you something he never thought he’d share, overwhelms him. something inside him burns, something he doesn’t know if it’s frustration or desire, but he feels it with an intensity he can’t control.

when you step out of the shower, your skin still warm from the hot water, he stays there, still. you go through your skincare routine, but every movement seems to echo in him more than it should. the way your fingers brush against your face, the way you move... everything feels different now. he watches in silence, the space between you now thick with something unspoken.

“i didn’t think it would feel like that,” you say softly, breaking the silence. your voice has a tremor you can’t hide. “thank you... for helping me.”

the gesture feels sincere, but there’s something in your eyes that makes him feel exposed. he doesn’t quite understand it. he tells himself it’s fine, that he’s just helping you, that he’s just being there for you. but his body betrays him, his jaw tightens, and his fingers twitch at his side.

“you don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice quiet, almost too quiet. “you just needed to know yourself. that’s all.”

you pause, pressing moisturizer into your skin, still feeling that soft hum in your body, a low buzz you can’t seem to shake off. it’s from what happened, but you try to tell yourself it’s just the adrenaline, just nerves. nothing more.

“i think i can handle things now,” you reply, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. “maybe tomorrow at the party... i’ll kiss jaehyun, just see how it goes. no pressure. i don’t want to rush.”

the moment the words leave your mouth, you feel it—the way the air shifts between you two. you don’t mean to look at haechan when you say jaehyun’s name, but you do. and his eyes flicker for just a second, something hard behind them that he quickly hides. he doesn’t react out loud, but his shoulders stiffen, his mouth pressing into a tight line.

“yeah,” he says, his voice controlled, but you can hear the tightness underneath. “sounds like a good idea. you deserve to figure out what you want.”

you smile, trying to lighten the mood, but something in you catches as you look at him. you feel like you’ve said the wrong thing, but you’re not sure why. haechan doesn’t look at you anymore. he stares at the floor, his jaw working like he’s holding something back.

he doesn’t let himself show it. he can’t. you’re his best friend, and he promised to help you, to guide you, not to get caught up in his own feelings. but with every word you speak, with every step you take toward jaehyun, something deep inside him twists.

he’s tasted something he shouldn’t want. and now, the thought of you with someone else—even someone you love—is unbearable.

still, he says nothing. he can’t. because he promised to help you discover yourself, not to confuse you more.

even if every part of him wants to be the only one who gets to touch you like that again.

friday came faster than expected, slipping through the cracks of your week like it had been waiting for you. unlike the other days, this one was bitterly cold—the kind of cold that crept into your sleeves and curled around your spine. haechan had texted you earlier, his usual playful tone dulled by exhaustion. "today i actually have to close, so i’ll be stuck at work late," he wrote, followed by a yawning emoji and a tired little heart. you stared at the message longer than you should’ve, feeling something heavy settle in your chest.

the cold winter air bites at your legs as you step out of the cab, your breath fogging in front of you in soft clouds. the house isn’t just any house—it’s one of the old fraternity houses on the edge of campus, the kind that looks more like a mansion than a place college boys live in. warm light glows from the tall windows, and the low hum of music leaks out from behind the heavy wooden door before it swings open.

jaehyun is already waiting, leaning casually against the doorframe. he looks unfairly good—his hair slightly tousled, a dark turtleneck hugging his figure under a sleek wool coat. he gives you that smile, the one that always makes your stomach twist in ways you’ve never really understood.

“you made it,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.

you settled on a black leather jacket, cropped just above the waist, its silver zippers catching the light every time you moved. underneath, you wore a satin navy blouse, soft and loose, with a deep neckline that hinted without revealing too much. your high-waisted dark jeans hugged your figure just right, paired with heeled ankle boots that clicked confidently against the pavement. a silk scarf, deep burgundy, wrapped around your neck—not just for warmth, but as a finishing touch. your hair was pulled back loosely, tendrils framing your face, and your makeup was soft but sharp—dark liner, flushed cheeks, and a deep berry gloss that caught the chill in the air.

you notice jaehyun’s gaze drop, lingering for a beat too long before he leads you inside.

the party isn’t crowded—maybe twenty people, maybe less. it’s quiet in that expensive kind of way: muted music, low lighting, golden liquor sloshing in crystal glasses. there’s laughter and whispers, but nothing too wild. you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow it feels more intimate than you’d prepared for.

after your second drink, the room gets a little warmer. the vodka-orange is stronger than you thought, but it burns in a good way. you’re not drunk, not like that night, but the edges of your thoughts are softer, looser.

the music is barely audible now, just a low pulse behind your ribs as jaehyun leans in. it happens the way you always imagined it would—with the warmth of alcohol in your veins, the subtle tension in the air, his breath fanning softly against your cheek as his lips finally meet yours.

at first, it’s cinematic.

his hand is at your waist, careful but firm. his lips, smooth and slow, move against yours like he’s done this a thousand times. his cologne is rich—something expensive and clean, like bergamot and wood.

“you look incredible tonight,” he murmurs, voice low. It’s not the first time he’s flirted with you, but tonight it feels more focused.

you laugh lightly, sipping again. “you say that to every girl you invite to one of these,” you tease.

he smirks. “i don’t. just the ones i hope will stay after everyone else leaves.”

that catches you off guard. there’s a pause, the kind that’s heavy with implication. you don’t answer right away. instead, you tilt your head, watching him through the haze of dim lights and liquor.

more intentional. you close your eyes, willing your heart to speed up, your stomach to twist, your knees to weaken.

but none of it happens.

instead, there’s a slow, creeping emptiness that settles over your skin. you taste the sharp tang of beer on his tongue—bitter and stale—and it dulls the moment like a film of dust on something once shiny. it’s not that he’s doing anything wrong. in fact, he’s doing everything right. and maybe that’s the problem. it’s all too perfect. too rehearsed. too... lifeless.

you keep your lips against his a second longer, maybe two, hoping that if you just try, the magic will follow.

but it doesn’t.

what started as something dreamlike begins to dissolve, unraveling into something flat. weightless. forgettable. like kissing a statue—beautiful, yes, but cold. you feel your body slowly disconnect, like your mind is pulling away, shrinking back into itself. you’re kissing jaehyun. jaehyun. tall, broad-shouldered, silver-tongued. the guy every girl fantasizes about.

and yet... nothing.

when you pull away, you do it gently, trying not to show the disappointment pressing against your chest like a bruise. he looks at you with those deep, unreadable eyes, but you can’t meet them for long. something in you already knows: this isn’t what you wanted. maybe it never was.

and then, like clockwork, your thoughts betray you.

because in the silence that follows, in that stretch of breathless stillness, a name rises uninvited in your mind.

haechan.

you blink, shaken by the immediacy of it. why him, of all people? but it doesn’t stop. your mind floods with him, with everything he is and isn’t. jaehyun is all sharp lines and polished edges. he’s winter: sleek and cold, dressed in cashmere and shadows. and haechan...

haechan is sun-warmed skin and mischievous smiles. he’s a burst of color in a black-and-white room. his skin is golden, kissed by sun even in december. you remember the first time he wore glasses in class—how suddenly he looked different. not in a new way, but like you were finally seeing something that had been there all along. it had startled you. he looked good. really good. and you’d stared a little longer than you meant to.

you think about how he always cradles that old gaming console on his lap during breaks, fingers dancing over buttons like it's second nature. how he talks about characters and plots with the same intensity people reserve for politics or love. how he orders black coffee like it's a religion, never anything sweet. how he complains about the cold like it's a personal offense—bundling up in layers and still shivering, nose pink, eyes watery, grumbling but cute.

and you remember something else.

the way his eyes light up when he talks about music. not just any music—he’s always been drawn to layered melodies, harmonies that build slowly, that sneak up on you. you’d caught him once, eyes closed, headphones in, mouthing the words to a song you didn’t recognize. something soft and slow. when you asked what it was, he smiled, kind of shy, and said, “it’s this track i found—it builds so gently, but when it hits, it hits. it makes you feel everything, you know?”

you didn’t then. but now, maybe you do.

because that’s what haechan is like. he builds slowly. gently. he makes you feel everything without trying. without asking. just by being.

you think back to his kiss—that moment in the quiet of his room, when the world felt too small and too loud all at once. his lips weren’t smooth or calculated. they were warm. real. tasting faintly of coffee and breath mints, of nervousness and care. his hands weren’t firm—they trembled just a little. like he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to be. and that kiss? it burned. it lingered. it left something behind in your chest, something heavy and aching.

jaehyun’s kiss, in comparison, feels like water evaporating before it ever touches your skin.

“i need some air,” you say, barely loud enough to hear over the music.

you step away from the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly—not from cold, but from clarity. it’s unsettling, how fast something can shift. how a fantasy can collapse in on itself the moment reality arrives.

you walk toward the front door, ignoring jaehyun’s curious glance. and as the winter air hits your cheeks again, sharp and sobering, you realize the only thing you want right now is warmth.

and the only person who’s ever made you feel it... is haechan.

you step outside, the cold air biting at your cheeks like reality trying to sober you up. it’s quiet out here, except for the faint music pulsing through the windows behind you and the distant sound of traffic. your lips still taste faintly of beer and disappointment, and you try not to let it show on your face—even if there’s no one around to see.

you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly. not just from the cold, but from the feeling growing in your chest. a hollow ache that started the moment jaehyun pulled away and left you with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of something that should’ve felt magical. it was supposed to mean something. you’d wanted it to. for weeks—months even—you thought that maybe this was what you needed. something new. something exciting.

but standing there in the dark, with the wind tugging gently at your coat, all you can think about is how wrong it felt.

how empty.

you sigh and glance down at your phone. 11:45 p.m. haechan probably just got home not long ago—he said he’d be working late tonight, and you remember the slight frown he gave you when you mentioned the party. not because he disapproved. but because he wouldn’t be there.

you hesitate, thumb hovering over his contact. calling him now would make you look ridiculous, wouldn’t it? but god… you need someone. someone who knows you, who doesn’t expect you to be dazzling or mysterious or anything other than exactly who you are.

before you can overthink it again, your thumb presses “call.”

the line barely rings twice before his voice comes through, groggy but alert, like he hadn’t really been asleep yet.

"y/n?" his voice is a little breathless, alarmed. "are you okay?"

you don’t answer right away. the sound of his voice cracks something open inside you. your throat tightens, and your eyes sting, a rush of heat behind your lashes. the words won’t come, caught somewhere between your tongue and your heart.

"hey, talk to me. what happened?"

his concern hits you like a wave. not because of what he’s saying, but how he’s saying it. gently. urgently. like nothing else in the world matters except you right now. like your silence is enough to make his chest hurt.

you swallow thickly, finally managing to breathe, “i… i didn’t know who else to call.”

he exhales slowly, like he’s relieved to hear your voice, even if it’s shaky. “i’m glad you called me.”

and it’s so stupid—so fucking stupid—but that’s when the tears come. silently at first, then all at once. and still, haechan says nothing. just waits, gives you space to fall apart without asking for an explanation.

he always does that. always shows up, always makes you feel like you’re not too much, even when you’re too much for yourself.

and suddenly you realize something—not like a lightning bolt, but like a quiet click, something that was always there, waiting to be noticed. it was never about jaehyun. not really. it was the idea of him. and now, with that illusion shattered, you’re left with the one person who’s been real all along.

the one who always answers the phone. the one who remembers how you take your coffee. the one who listens when you talk about your art for hours and never pretends to be bored.

“can you…” your voice is small, choked, “can you come get me?”

“already on my way,” he says without hesitation.

and just like that, you feel less alone. maybe not okay, not yet—but safe.

safe in the way only he ever made you feel.

you step back into the warmth of the house, wiping your cheeks and pretending the cold air is the only reason your eyes are red. inside, the party hasn’t changed at all—music still pulsing, people still dancing, someone already passed out on a couch. it feels like you left the chaos and walked right back into it, except now it doesn't swallow you whole. now, you’re just… drifting.

you spot jaehyun near the kitchen, leaning against the counter, lazily scrolling through his phone. he doesn’t look up at first, but when he does, his eyes land on you immediately. he straightens, sliding the phone into his back pocket before making his way toward you.

your stomach knots—not because you're afraid, but because you’re not sure what you're supposed to say to the guy you just kissed and then immediately ran away from.

before he even opens his mouth, you raise a hand slightly, your words tumbling out faster than you can stop them.

“i—i’m sorry. i just… i think i was really into the idea of you. like, really into it. but tonight i realized maybe… i don’t know…”

you trail off, eyes dropping to the floor, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on your boots.

jaehyun quirks a brow, and for a second, it’s awkwardly silent—but then he lets out a soft laugh. it’s not cruel, not mocking. just… amused.

“you know,” he says, arms crossing over his chest, “when we first started talking, i thought you and that guy donghyuck?—were together. like, definitely together.”

you blink, lifting your head. “what?”

“yeah,” he shrugs. “you’d always come to class with him. always laughing, always close. and the way he looked at you? i figured i didn’t stand a chance. but then i saw you alone for a few days, and thought maybe you broke up or something, so…” he gestures vaguely. “i shot my shot.”

you feel your cheeks heat up instantly. “we’re not… he’s not my boyfriend. we never dated.”

jaehyun smirks like he doesn’t believe you, but also like he knows better than to argue. “sure. maybe not technically. but come on.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “you really think there’s nothing going on there?”

you start to protest, but then stop. because he’s not wrong, and you’re too tired to lie—to him or to yourself.

“it’s complicated,” you mutter.

he smiles again, this time softer, more genuine. “well, if it helps… i’m not offended. not at all. i mean, you’re sweet, and you kiss okay—”

“okay?” you gasp, half-laughing, half-horrified.

“hey,” he chuckles, holding up his hands, “it was a mutual ‘meh,’ right?”

you both burst out laughing, the tension finally breaking like a balloon popped with a pin. for the first time that night, you feel lighter.

“i really thought i liked you,” you admit.

“you probably did,” he shrugs. “or… the idea of me.”

“yeah.”

jaehyun gives you a wink. “for what it’s worth, i think you and haechan are cute as hell. even if you don’t know it yet.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. a real, unforced smile.

“thanks,” you say quietly.

“anytime,” he replies, already turning toward the kitchen again. “just… don’t let that one go, alright?”

and as you watch him disappear into the crowd, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

on my way. almost there.

you press your lips together, the ghost of a smile still there.

maybe you didn’t come to this party to kiss jaehyun after all. maybe you came to realize who you should’ve been calling all along.

the cold bites harder now. you’re standing outside again, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves, your phone clutched tight in your hand. every passing second feels like it’s stretching eternity, but then—you spot him. haechan walks up the sidewalk.

haechan was wearing sweatpants, mismatched socks stuffed into crocs, and a hoodie that’s too big even for him. his hair is a mess, fluffed and wild like he just rolled out of bed—and he probably did. you freeze, heart caught in your throat, as he blinks at you sleepily, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his palm.

you stare at him—at the boy who still showed up, in the dead of night, after a long shift, just because you needed him. and something inside you swells so big, so full, it spills over before you can contain it.

you don’t think—you run.

you crash into him with a force that makes him stumble half a step back, arms instantly wrapping around you, warm and steady. he doesn’t say anything. he just holds you, one hand coming up to stroke your hair gently, his breath warm against your temple.

you press your face into his neck, breathing him in—coffee, fabric softener, something so haechan. your chest heaves, and your eyes sting again.

when he pulls you into his embrace, it feels like the weight of the world finally lifts from your chest. his touch is soft, his fingers brushing against your skin in the most familiar way, like he’s always been there, always meant to be there.

he sighs softly, tugging you closer like he’s scared you’ll slip away. “seriously… what’s wrong with you lately?” he murmurs, voice groggy, laced with concern. “why are you acting like such a crybaby, huh?”

you lift your head, blinking up at him through the tears that won’t stop pooling. your eyes meet his—those deep, sleepy eyes that always seem to see too much—and your lips part as if to answer, but no words come.

so instead, you kiss him.

you pull him down by the collar of his hoodie and press your mouth to his with all the confusion, all the ache, all the longing you’ve buried for far too long. his lips are warm, soft, and as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he kisses you back.

and then, when you press your lips to his, it’s like every other kiss you’ve had fades away into nothingness. the world around you dissolves, and all that remains is the sensation of him. it’s pure, it’s grounding—everything that jaehyun’s kiss wasn’t.

he doesn’t ask questions. he doesn’t stop you. he just holds you tighter, like he’s afraid this moment might shatter.

his hand cradles your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing under your eye, and the kiss deepens—not rushed, not clumsy, just real. like he’s trying to tell you all the things neither of you ever dared to say.

your fingers curl into his hoodie as you pour everything into the kiss—your gratitude, your fear, your guilt, your truth.

it feels like you're being purified, as if every trace of doubt, of confusion, of disappointment, is being washed away by the intensity of haechan’s presence. there’s no bitterness, no strange aftertaste—only him, only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as you lose yourself in him. with each second, you realize just how much you’ve longed for this, how much you’ve needed him, even when you didn’t know it. this, this is what real intimacy feels like, and it’s everything you never knew you were missing.

the walk to haechan’s apartment felt different. the night air was biting, and the cold seemed to press against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to cool the heat that was bubbling in your chest. you didn’t want to be here, not tonight, not after everything that had just happened. but here you were, once again, losing yourself in the warmth of his presence.

“lost your keys again?” haechan asked, his voice playful but with a hint of concern in his eyes as he stepped aside to let you into his apartment. you gave him a sheepish smile, pretending to fumble with your bag and looking down, avoiding his gaze.

“yeah, I’m such a mess,” you murmured, but your words felt hollow, like they were slipping through your fingers as quickly as the night’s events.

he didn’t say anything more, but the slight furrow of his brow told you he was paying attention. it was a game, a little lie that you used to keep yourself near him just a little longer, but tonight, it felt like more. it felt like you were hiding something from him.

inside his apartment, the quiet enveloped you like a blanket, and for a moment, it felt like everything was still. you sat on the couch next to him, the tension between you thickening by the second. it was always easy to talk to him, but tonight, the words felt like they were stuck in your throat. and you knew why—because the taste of jaehyun’s kiss was still fresh on your lips, and it made you sick to your stomach.

“what happened?” haechan’s voice cut through the silence, and you could see it in his eyes: that flicker of concern. he knew something was wrong, and you could feel his gaze on you, waiting for the truth.

you let out a breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “jaehyun... I kissed him.”

he stiffened beside you, his body tensing. you didn’t have to look at him to know the change in his expression. it was there in the way his muscles locked up, in the way he barely moved, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the words.

"what? you kissed him?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "good for you, I guess..."

the final sentence hit you like a punch to the gut, but you couldn’t stop now. it was too late to take it back, and the confession felt like it was clawing its way out.

"it wasn’t what I expected," you whispered, avoiding his gaze as your stomach twisted. "it was... bad. it didn’t feel right. at all."

haechan’s hand clenched into a fist, his face hardening, but there was something more in his eyes now—something you hadn’t expected. jealousy. confusion. it was almost as if he wanted to say something but was holding it back. you felt the heat rise in your chest, your own guilt gnawing at you.

"wait—what?" haechan leaned forward, his voice suddenly sharp, though his face was tight with barely-contained emotion. "it was... bad? after all that?"

you nodded slowly, your throat tight as you continued, “yeah. it wasn’t what I thought it would be. there was no passion, no spark. the taste of beer... it was all I could focus on, and I hated it. I... I just couldn’t feel anything.”

the silence that followed felt thick, suffocating. you could see the storm brewing in his eyes. he wasn’t angry—at least, not completely—but he was something else. hurt, maybe? or disappointment? you couldn’t tell.

"so, that’s it then?" his voice was quieter now, the sharpness fading into something softer, more contemplative. “your feelings for him are... gone?”

"yeah," you admitted, finally meeting his gaze, feeling the truth weigh on your shoulders. "they’re gone. I don’t want him anymore. I don’t even want to kiss him again."

the words hung in the air, and you waited for him to respond, your heart racing, unsure of what he would say. when he finally spoke, it wasn’t what you expected.

“you know,” he started, his voice light, almost teasing, “i never liked the idea of you with him. not even for a second.”

you blinked, surprised at his admission. “you didn’t?”

“no,” he said, the edge of his smile almost teasing, though there was something else behind it. “I always thought you deserved someone who wasn’t... like him.”

you frowned, still processing what he was saying, but before you could respond, he continued.

“but now i get it. i see why you would be disappointed. he’s not... him,” haechan said, his voice lowering, the underlying sadness creeping in. "i guess i’m just glad you’re realizing it now. even if it took you kissing him to see it."

a chill ran down your spine as you looked at him, unsure of what he meant. your heart tightened with a strange mix of relief and something else—something more complicated that you couldn’t name yet.

“you’re not... mad?” you asked quietly.

“mad?” he repeated, laughing softly, though there was no real humor in it. “no. why would I be mad? I’m just... relieved. you deserve better.”

“so... what now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

haechan didn’t answer immediately. his eyes lingered on you—soaked in the way your makeup had smudged slightly, how your lips were still a little swollen from that kiss with jaehyun, how your dress had ridden up your thighs from the car ride. he swallowed hard, jaw clenched like he was fighting the urge to say something reckless.

then he said it anyway.

“now i take care of you.”

your breath hitched.

he stepped closer. slowly. deliberately. the kind of approach that made your knees weak. the kind of approach that said he knew exactly what you needed before you did. his hand reached for your waist, pulling you gently toward him, until your bodies were flush against each other.

“unless you don’t want that,” he murmured against your ear, his lips grazing your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. “you tell me to stop, and i will. no questions, no pressure.”

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. Instead, you tilted your head and captured his lips in a kiss—needy, messy, full of everything you hadn’t said for weeks.

he groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your hips, grounding you. but he didn’t rush. he kissed you like he had time. like he was savoring the moment he’d waited for far too long.

“haechan…” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

he looked at you, eyes burning.

“yeah, baby?”

your cheeks flushed. “i… want to go further. i trust you.”

he blinked, just once, and something softened in his expression.

“are you sure?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher, but laced with concern. “i need to hear you say it.”

you nodded, fingers brushing his jaw. “i’m sure.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, like a promise. then he scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, carrying you to his bed, the same way he always carried you emotionally—careful, steady, never letting you fall.

he laid you down like you were precious, and then crawled over you, caging you in with his body, forehead pressed to yours.

“tell me if anything feels too much,” he whispered.

you nodded. he reached over to the nightstand, rummaging for a condom, giving you a look that made your stomach flip.

“Prepared?” you teased softly.

he smirked. “baby, i’ve been in love with you since you spilled coffee on my camera. i’ve always been prepared.”

your laugh faded into a gasp as his hands slipped beneath your dress, touching you with reverence, praise pouring from his mouth like it was second nature.

“so fucking perfect,” he murmured, kissing down your neck. “every part of you. mine to take care of. mine to love.”

his fingers teased you through your panties until you were arching, needy and aching, the room filled with the soft, wet sounds of your arousal.

“you’re already this wet for me? fuck—baby, you're killing me.”

you squirmed, overwhelmed by the sensation, but craving more. then you heard the foil tear, and your heart pounded louder.

the moment he entered you was slow, intense, a stretch that bordered on pain and pleasure, but he was right there—kissing your forehead, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how proud he was of you.

“you’re doing so good,” he groaned. “so fucking tight. you were made for me, weren’t you?”

you nodded desperately, clinging to him.

he moved slow, deep, rolling his hips so you felt every inch of him. his name fell from your lips like a prayer.

one condom turned into two. then three. you couldn’t stop. neither could he.

sweat clung to your skin, tangled sheets beneath you. he had you on top of him at one point, his hands on your hips as you moved, his eyes never leaving your face.

“that’s it, baby. take what you need. fuck—ride me just like that.”

another position had him behind you, one hand gripping your waist, the other slipping between your legs to make you scream his name as your body fell apart.

by the time the fourth wrapper crumpled beside the bed, you were both panting, dazed and desperate.

you rolled onto your back, breathless. “we’re out.”

you reached for your phone, already sitting up. “I can run down to the 7-eleven—”

he stopped you instantly, pressing a hand to your stomach.

“no, baby,” he said, voice firm. “i’ll go. you stay here. let me take care of it.”

the way he said it—so naturally, so possessively—sent a wave of heat straight through you. you bit your lip, something wicked curling inside you.

“or…” you said, voice dripping with mischief. “we could just… try without one.”

he froze. eyes dark. jaw tight.

“don’t tempt me,” he growled.

you crawled into his lap, pressing your lips to his neck.

“what if i want to?” you whispered. “what if i want all of you?”

he exhaled sharply, head falling back. “fuck… you’re dangerous.”

still, he hesitated—until you ground down on him and whispered, “i trust you, haechan.”

that was all it took.

he didn’t say a word for a moment. just stared at you like you’d set him on fire.

then he kissed you—hard. not rushed, but full of hunger, like you’d just pulled the leash off something he’d been holding back for far too long.

you could feel him against you, throbbing and hot, even without anything between you now. your body tingled in anticipation, in fear, in want. you were bare in every way—and he saw you, accepted you, craved you.

he guided you down onto the bed again, positioning himself between your thighs, his hands cupping your face gently.

“if i do this…” he said, voice low and trembling with restraint, “you need to tell me if anything feels wrong. anything at all, baby.”

“it won’t,” you whispered. “i want you. just like this.”

he lined himself up, one hand steadying your hip, the other brushing hair from your face. when he pushed in—slow, careful, deep—your whole body tensed, wrapped around him like he was the first breath after drowning.

it hurt. just a little. enough to make your lips part with a gasp. but he stopped instantly, not moving, just whispering against your cheek.

“breathe for me, sweetheart. you’re doing so fucking good.”

you nodded, clinging to his shoulders, letting yourself relax little by little until your body opened for him.

he began to move—not fast, but deep and fluid, his voice rasping against your ear with every thrust.

“you feel unreal,” he groaned. “so tight. so fucking warm. shit—you're making me lose my mind.”

your nails dug into his back. you couldn’t think. could barely breathe. all you knew was him—his scent, his voice, his body fitting against yours like you were made for this moment.

“does it feel good, baby?” he asked, barely holding it together.

“yes,” you moaned. “it feels so good, haechan.”

he reached between you, his fingers finding that perfect spot again, circling gently as his hips rolled deeper.

“i want you to cum for me,” he whispered, eyes flicking up to the mirror across the room.

and that’s when you saw it too—the reflection.

the sight of yourself, spread out beneath him, his body covering yours, the way his hips rolled into you, slow but relentless, the way your mouth fell open in pleasure.

you locked eyes with him through the mirror.

“look at you,” he said. “so fucking pretty. you should see what i see. you should see what you do to me.”

you whimpered, already close. the feeling of him inside you, the way he praised you, the reflection showing you everything you felt but couldn’t describe—it pushed you right to the edge.

“you’re mine,” he growled, thrusting deeper. “say it.”

“i’m yours,” you gasped, back arching.

“again.”

“i’m yours, haechan—fuck—i’m—”

the orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave. your whole body trembled as you clung to him, moaning his name like a confession.

he followed with a deep, broken moan, hips grinding into you as he came, his entire body tensing above yours, the sound of your names and curses filling the air as he spilled inside you, raw and unfiltered.

afterward, he collapsed next to you, pulling you into his chest, kissing your forehead with trembling lips.

“i’ve never felt anything like that,” he whispered.

you couldn’t answer. your body was still shaking, your mind a mess of stars and heat.

he held you close, running his fingers up and down your spine.

and for a long time, neither of you spoke.

because nothing needed to be said.

haechan stood by the door, shirtless, hair messy, pulling on his sweatpants with a crooked grin on his face.

“be right back,” he said, grabbing his keys. “we are out of condoms.”

your heart jumped at how casually he said it. like he already knew you weren’t done. like he couldn’t wait to get his hands back on you.

“don’t be long,” you said, your voice a little hoarse, a little needy.

“i’ll run,” he smirked, and you believed him.

the moment the door closed behind him, your body buzzed with anticipation. you felt sore, satisfied… and yet completely empty without him there.

a little while later, you were curled up on his couch wearing nothing but his oversized hoodie, legs tucked under you, sipping water with your thighs still trembling from everything he just made you feel.

your mind ran wild imagining all the things he’d do when he got back.

and oh—he did.

he came back ten minutes later, breathless and grinning, holding a bag with the corner of a box peeking out.

“miss me?” he teased.

“shut up,” you mumbled, biting your lip as he approached you on the couch.

but he didn’t give you time to banter. his mouth was on yours again, hungry and hot, hands already sliding under the hoodie like he’d been starving the whole way back.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he growled into your ear, lips dragging down your neck. “every fucking step i ran, i was thinking about how wet you were. how tight. how you said my name when you came.”

you whimpered, legs parting automatically as he knelt between them on the couch.

but this time—he was different. rougher. more commanding. his eyes darker.

“get up,” he whispered, pulling you to your feet.

“where are we—?”

“shower,” he said. “now.”

you didn’t argue.

the water hit your skin like a shock, but his body was hotter. he pressed you up against the cool tile wall, mouth devouring yours as his hands slid down to your ass, lifting you up, making you wrap your legs around him.

“you’re mine tonight,” he growled against your lips. “no stopping now. you started this—now i’m gonna finish it. again and again.”

your back hit the wall as he slid into you, wet and desperate. the sounds of skin against skin, water splashing, your moans echoing in the steam—filthy and perfect.

you lost count of how many times he made you come.

after the shower, he didn’t even let you dry off.

he carried you—carried—naked and dripping, to the living room, laying you over the back of the couch. your knees barely held as he bent you forward, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding between your legs.

“still so wet?” he teased, running his fingers through your folds. “what did i do to you, baby?”

“you ruined me,” you gasped, pushing back against his hand.

“good,” he hissed. “you’re gonna take me again. right here.”

and you did.

he fucked you from behind on the couch, your moans muffled in the cushion, your fingers clawing at the leather. he didn’t let up—he used you, praised you, told you how fucking hot you looked taking him like that.

then the kitchen.

you barely made it there.

he bent you over the counter, spreading your legs with a low groan.

“you trust me?” he asked, voice low and rough.

“yes,” you breathed.

“good,” he said, sliding in again, slow and deep. “because i'm not holding back anymore.”

he fucked you while gripping your hips, your body slamming gently into the counter with each thrust, your breath fogging the cold surface.

“so fucking perfect,” he groaned. “you were made for me.”

then came the dining table.

you ended up on it—legs open, arms thrown over your head, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra. he kissed every inch of your body, left love bites on your thighs, praised every moan and whimper you gave him.

you didn’t even remember how many condoms you went through until—

“fuck,” he muttered, breathless, sweaty. “last one’s gone.”

the apartment was thick with heat and the smell of sex. your bodies glistened with sweat, tangled over the polished wood of the dining table. haechan’s chest was pressed to your back, his arms wrapped tightly around you as both of you struggled to catch your breath.

it wasn’t until the digital clock on the microwave blinked 4:02 AM that either of you realized how much time had passed.

“shit,” you whispered with a soft laugh, still breathless.

“yeah…” haechan’s voice was husky, worn out, but content. he pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “we’ve been at this for hours. you okay?”

you nodded, eyes half-lidded, still processing everything. your body felt sore, used in the best possible way, and your heart was floating somewhere between exhaustion and complete peace.

he helped you off the table, careful and gentle now, holding you by the waist as you stumbled a little, your legs wobbly. you both laughed quietly at that, and he gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

“come on,” he murmured. “let’s clean up and go to bed before the sun comes up.”

the warmth of his bed was a balm against your tender skin. after a quick rinse in the bathroom and slipping into one of his worn shirts, you curled up against him under the covers. his fingers traced light circles on your back as you lay there, your leg thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around you like you were something fragile and precious.

“you okay?” he asked again, softer this time. there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice—like he was afraid this had been too much.

you nodded into his chest.

“i’m more than okay,” you whispered. “i feel… safe. and really, really good.”

he exhaled a little laugh of relief and kissed the top of your head. the silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was peaceful. comforting. like your bodies had said everything your mouths didn’t need to.

soon enough, your breaths synced. his hand stayed on your waist as you both drifted off to sleep.

the next morning came slowly.

soft rays of sunlight filtered in through the curtains, painting lazy golden streaks across the sheets. you blinked awake first, still pressed against his warm body. his hand was splayed over your stomach, holding you close, and his legs were tangled with yours beneath the covers.

you didn’t want to move.

there was a quiet hum in your chest, that afterglow still lingering like a dream. you turned slightly to look at him—his hair was messy, lips parted, eyelashes resting gently on his cheeks. peaceful. beautiful.

you shifted a little, and he stirred, eyes barely opening.

“mmm,” he murmured. “you’re still here.”

“where else would i be?” you whispered.

he smiled, still half-asleep, and pulled you closer.

“good,” he said, voice low and raspy. “i want you right here. just like this.”

you melted into him, your heart full, your body still tingling in places, and thought maybe—just maybe—waking up like this with haechan could become your favorite part of any day.

haechan made breakfast in nothing but his boxers, hair still messy from sleep, humming some old song as you sat on the counter, wearing only his oversized t-shirt and the glow he’d left on your skin.

there was laughter. soft jokes. syrup on your lips that he licked off with a grin.

and when you finally curled back into the couch, your head on his shoulder, legs tangled under a shared blanket, it didn’t feel strange.

it didn’t feel like you’d crossed a line.

it felt like you’d stepped into something deeper.

he looked at you then, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, and whispered:

“you know… i think we’re still us.”

you smiled, heart fluttering.

because he was right.

maybe in the end, sex doesn’t ruin the friendship— it transforms it.

2K notes · View notes

thedensworld · 4 months ago

Text

A New Vendetta| J. Ww

Pairing: Wonwoo x Mafia's daughter reader

Genre: arranged marriage au!, mafia au!

Type: angst, fluff, smut (mdni!)

Word count: 18k

Summary: Raised in an abusive family, you were thrown into an arranged marriage that overwhelmed you. Can you survive all of these?

Once you got into the cab and felt a hand cover your mouth with a cloth, a wave of dread swept over you. This was it, you thought. This was the end of your miserable life. You fought with every ounce of strength left in you, but as the world began to fade, your mind drifted to regrets you’d been holding on to. You could’ve accepted Mr. Seo’s offer for a date. You could’ve been kinder to your colleagues—especially Mrs. Chae. You could’ve treated your students with more warmth, if only you had known this was how it would end. Your end.

But then, somehow, you woke up.

You blinked against the dim light, disoriented, and slowly took in your surroundings. The posters, the bookshelves, the scent of lavender… You were in your old bedroom, the one you’d left behind four years ago. This was your parents' house.

You shot up from the bed, a dozen questions firing off in your mind. Hadn’t you been kidnapped? How were you here, of all places? You struggled to process, but then realization hit. This had to be your parents' or your brother's doing. They had found you...and forced you back.

"Welcome home," a low, familiar voice drawled.

You turned sharply to see Seungcheol standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an infuriatingly smug look on his face. So, it was him—your brother. It had been his doing all along.

A dry scoff escaped your lips. "Real classy," you muttered, rolling your eyes. Kidnapping you? A dramatic, underhanded stunt. But of course, it was nothing new—your family always preferred control over conversation.

Seungcheol’s eyes glinted as he strolled toward you, a self-satisfied smirk curving his lips. "Four years away from home, and look at that attitude." He reached out and roughly cupped your chin, lifting it so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Don’t touch me!" you snapped, wrenching yourself free from his grasp. Seungcheol simply chuckled, an arrogance radiating off him that only made you bristle more. That glint in his eye was something darker, something that reminded you just how ruthless he could be.

But it was his next words that made the room go cold. "Don’t worry," he sneered, “you won’t be here longer than a week. We’ve got everything arranged."

You frowned, trying to make sense of his cryptic statement. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, forgive me for breaking the news so bluntly.” His voice was laced with mockery. “You’re going to marry into the Jeon family."

The words echoed in your mind, each one twisting like a knife. Marry into the Jeon family? Arranged…by them?

You barely managed to whisper, "The Jeons…?"

Seungcheol nodded, and before you could pull away, he patted your head with a mockery that felt almost sinister. "That’s right. Finally found you a purpose in this family." He dropped his hand, then suddenly grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking your head back so you were forced to look him in the eyes.

“And don’t think for a second you have a choice, Choi Y/n. Run as far as you want, but we’ll find you. Just like today."

A bitter chill settled over you as his words sank in.

This was how it would end, after all.

Weeks later, you sat at the dining table the night before your wedding, feeling like a ghost in your own life. Your father, mother, and brother sat around you, talking about the wedding, the Jeons, and your future—as if you weren’t sitting right there with them. Your father steered the conversation with a business-like precision, his words detached and clinical, while your brother chimed in with cold, calculated suggestions on how you should conduct yourself once you were officially part of the Jeon family. His every word seemed to emphasize your role as nothing more than a tool to cement a family alliance. And your mother? She just sat there in silence, powerless, not even a whisper of comfort to ease your loneliness.

You longed to go back—to your apartment, your sanctuary. The one place where you’d fought so hard for your independence, the place that held all your dreams of a life free from the shadows of your family’s influence. All the effort you’d put in—studying relentlessly through high school, earning a place at a prestigious university, fighting tooth and nail to live on your own, even moving to Busan to work like an ordinary person—all of it felt wasted. You would never be “normal” as long as you bore the Choi name, as long as Choi blood flowed through your veins.

The family’s construction company, the empire your father had built, was struggling. Business had slowed in recent years, and not even Seungcheol, with all his skills and clever maneuvers as a director, could salvage it alone. So, they played their last card: you. A political marriage, sealing your fate to secure the future of the family. It was nothing new in the Choi lineage—almost every member had been born into a marriage of convenience, a bond made for power, not love. It explained a lot. No one here was truly happy. Not even your parents.

“Make sure she doesn’t make a scene tomorrow,” your father said coldly, his words like a verdict. “Station guards around her room tonight. I don’t want her pulling any stunts. Ensure there’s no way she can run.”

With that, he rose from the table, his final words echoing in the air, suffocating you with their weight.

You let out a sigh, barely audible, a silent plea. Couldn’t they just leave you alone, even for a single moment?

The first time you saw your groom’s face was at the altar. You knew almost nothing about this underground world your father and brother had dragged the family into, this illegal network where alliances and debts seemed to rule over any shred of morality. But one thing was clear: the Jeon family was no better than yours. They were villains in this twisted world, and your husband could be just as dangerous.

Now, you stood in front of him, heart racing, every nerve on edge. His face was sharp, his jawline defined, and his expression unwavering. His brows conveyed a strong-willed intensity, and his eyes held a kind of passion that only unsettled you further. You hated it—they were far too similar to your father’s eyes, filled with ambition and control. Something was off, you could feel it.

Would he treat you the way your father treated your mother?

Would he hit you? Swears?

Would he belittle you, try to break you down until you were nothing?

You took a shaky, nervous breath before placing your hand in his, the cold weight of inevitability settling on your chest. Your head spun, each breath feeling more difficult than the last. Was this real? Were you seriously about to be married today?

You premised your students that you’d grade their tests by the weekend!

A sudden, firm grip tightened around your hand, yanking you from your thoughts. Jeon Wonwoo—his name, all you knew of him—stared down at you with an intensity that bordered on piercing, his gaze unwavering as if he could see right through you.

You’d never imagined yourself in a situation like this. You had vowed you’d never end up in a marriage of convenience like your parents, trapped by arrangements you didn’t control. You’d sooner die, you’d thought, than ever agree to be a pawn in their twisted game.

As the ceremony unfolded, his grip never loosening, your mind wandered to a single thought, dark and sharp like a knife’s edge.

How to escape this. Even if it meant finding your own way out—even if it cost your own life.

Wonwoo watched you intently during the dinner that followed the wedding. This was the first time the Jeon and Choi families had gathered together for a meal, but the tension in the room was thick and unrelenting. This marriage was a business deal, nothing more, a simple contract that would benefit both families as long as it remained intact. Divorce was out of the question. Everyone involved had too much at stake—including him.

He was grateful that the proposal had been accepted by your family; it meant he could finally begin building his own empire, a chance to distance himself from the family business that never suited him. But it was clear you didn’t share the sentiment. From the moment he laid eyes on you today, he could see it in the slump of your shoulders, the hollow look in your eyes. You were more than just unhappy—you looked utterly defeated.

He couldn’t exactly say he enjoyed the day either. Playing the perfect son for his father’s business associates, mingling with your family—well-known figures in the construction underworld—was draining. Thinking of it as a business transaction helped him get through it, masking the discomfort with a polished facade.

He had done his research before today, reading through the sparse details in your profile. The only daughter of the Choi family, you were an interesting puzzle. What intrigued him most was that you’d run off to Busan after returning from studying abroad, quietly taking a job at a university there, far from your family’s influence. That move was one he hadn’t expected.

Why did you leave?

His gaze shifted to your mother across the table. She looked as stoic as you, her face giving nothing away. Perhaps it was a family trait, this quiet, expressionless mask. Or maybe it was something else, a grief frozen in time—he recalled reading about your brother’s drowning a decade ago, a tragedy that seemed to cast a shadow over the Choi family even now. Whatever the reason, she, like you, appeared detached, locked away behind a wall of silence.

Wonwoo considered if he liked the idea of a “submissive” wife—someone like your mother, who seemed to blend into the background, supporting her husband’s dominance without question. Was that what he had expected of you? But there was a fire in your eyes, even buried beneath the sadness, that told him you weren’t going to be as easy to control.

“Honey, isn’t it time for Wonwoo and Y/n to go?” his mother asked, looking over at her husband and reminding everyone of your planned departure for Jeju Island. The Jeon owned a private villa there—a family vacation spot that had been chosen for the three-day honeymoon trip.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, glancing over at you. When your eyes finally met his, he was struck by the deep brown depths beneath your lashes. He wondered if they would ever show him anything other than wariness, whether he’d ever see any warmth or trust there.

He rose from his seat, his voice steady as he addressed the table. “I think it’s time we head out. Thank you all for today.”

He reached for your hand, feeling the cold sweat of your palm. Bowing to both families, he caught your brother Seungcheol’s pointed remark about being a “good wife.” You didn’t even flinch, giving him no reaction, no indication that you’d heard him at all.

It only made Wonwoo more curious. Just how close—or how distant—were you from this family that claimed to control you?

Wonwoo spent the day subtly observing, trying to piece together what kind of person you were. During the flight, he’d tested the waters—asking if you were cold, offering his jacket, holding your hand during a patch of turbulence just to see if you would react. But you remained composed, barely acknowledging him. Fewer than five words had escaped your lips the entire time, as though you were carefully crafted to reveal nothing.

As the two of you disembarked from the Jeon family’s private jet, Wonwoo kept hold of your hand, guiding you toward the grand villa where you’d be staying. The sight brought back memories—he’d spent countless childhood vacations here, running around with his cousins, exploring every corner. But those days were long gone, buried beneath responsibilities and the family business. He never thought he’d return under these circumstances, with a wife by his side. It struck him how fast time had passed.

“Are you tired?” he asked as you sank into a plush couch in the villa’s main room, exhaustion clear on your face. “You can head to bed first. I’ll join you after I make a call—”

“Can we have separate bedrooms?” You cut him off, your voice quiet but firm. He turned, eyebrows raised in surprise. So, you could speak, he thought, intrigued.

“Why?” he asked, genuinely curious. He hadn’t expected such a direct request—especially on your wedding night.

You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “It’s just… I have trouble sleeping when there’s someone else in the same room.”

He tilted his head, an amused smile tugging at his lips. This was the first real conversation the two of you had, and it was about where you’d sleep. “But we’re married. Aren’t we supposed to share a bed, even if we’re… not exactly on good terms?”

“But this is a business marriage,” you replied, voice steady yet distant. “I don’t think we need to sleep in the same room.”

So that’s what you’ve been thinking, Wonwoo mused. You saw this marriage as nothing more than a transaction, as if intimacy were just another formality you could avoid. He studied you for a moment, then nodded.

“Alright.” His agreement came quickly, almost to his own surprise. He was tired, too tired to debate it further.

“You can take the master bedroom,” he said, gesturing to the hall. “I’ll take the room next to yours.”

Without waiting for a reply, he walked out onto the balcony, pulling his phone from his pocket. There was a call he had to make, business that couldn’t wait—if he wanted even a chance at resting tonight.

As he stepped outside, he glanced back, catching a glimpse of you alone on the couch, your expression unreadable. The distance between you two felt vast, yet something about your quiet defiance intrigued him.

“Happy wedding, man,” a familiar voice greeted Wonwoo as his call connected.

Wonwoo scoffed, “How’d you know? I didn’t tell you.”

The other person chuckled. “I have my sources everywhere. So, is that why you were asking about a house in Busan? Are you moving?”

“Yeah, I am,” Wonwoo replied, glancing at the villa. “My people are stationed there, and it’ll be easier to manage things from that side.”

“Got it. I’ll send over some listings. Just let me know if you have any specific requests,” the voice on the line replied smoothly. “And by the way, enjoy your wedding night,” he added with a teasing tone.

Wonwoo let out a laugh as he ended the call, quickly opening his email to find the property listings his friend Mingyu had just sent. As he scrolled through the catalog, he couldn’t help but think it was a lucky coincidence that you were already working in Busan.

Perhaps, for once, things were aligning in his favor.

You opened your email first thing in the morning, only to find it oddly filled with congratulatory messages from your colleagues and students. What’s going on?

Just then, a text came in from Mr. Seo, offering his own congratulations on your marriage. He even apologized for asking you out a few times without realizing you were already taken. He thanked you for the parcel—something you hadn’t sent but were sure was Seungcheol’s doing. At least he was responsible enough to help cover the work you’d had to leave behind on such short notice.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. It was Wonwoo, his head peeking in, a faint smile appearing when he saw you were awake.

“Breakfast is ready. Come join me,” he said warmly.

You left the bedroom and made your way to the dining area, where a spread of food awaited. Wonwoo sat with his coffee, his other hand scrolling through something on his tablet.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, glancing up from his screen as he sipped his coffee.

“Great,” you lied, forcing a small smile.

The truth was, you hadn’t slept at all. The image of Wonwoo walking off to the balcony last night lingered in your mind. Was he mad? Would he get angry if you made another request like that? Would he—like everyone else in your family—end up getting tired of you?

“I asked if you wanted coffee or milk,” Wonwoo said, bringing you back to the present. You blinked, realizing you’d been lost in thought.

“Oh, coffee, please. Thank you,” you muttered, feeling a little embarrassed. You caught a glimpse of a quiet laugh on his face as he poured coffee into your glass.

Wonwoo set down his tablet, his attention now fully on you. “Did you see the closet yet?” he asked, and you shook your head.

“My mom picked out a few things for the honeymoon. I hope you’ll like them,” he said, taking another sip.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, nodding politely.

As you watched Wonwoo during breakfast, he seemed calm and collected—so different from your brother, who always wore a smug, confrontational expression, or your father, whose look always seemed to say everyone owed him something.

It was a relief, but it frightened you, too. You couldn’t read him, couldn’t guess his next move. He was smiling as he spoke to the maid now, but could that change in a flash? Would he end up yelling or even hurting you the way your father had with your mother?

A chill ran down your spine at the thought. It had been years since you’d witnessed that kind of violence, at least until you’d been pulled back to your family’s house three weeks before the wedding. You remembered your brother grabbing you by the hair, your father screaming at your mother. You knew about Seungcheol’s revolving door of relationships—a habit he’d probably picked up from your father’s infidelities.

Would that be your life, too?

You better come up with some plans.

The calm and collected, the submissive and innocent—those were the labels Wonwoo had instinctively assigned to you when he first met you. Yet, who could have predicted your next move? Running away, just a day after your honeymoon ended.

Wonwoo was at work—his first day back after a four-day absence—engrossed in an important meeting when his right-hand man, Lee Seokmin, discreetly approached him. Leaning down, Seokmin whispered, “Your wife ran away.”

Wonwoo’s fingers drummed against his lap as he processed the words, a wave of irritation rolling over him. Now, seated in his car, he was on his way to Busan. Good thing he’d asked Seokmin to plant a tracker in your wedding ring; otherwise, finding you would have been far more complicated. He glanced at his phone, tracking your movements. You were at work—of course.

“You didn’t tell her you were moving to Busan next week?” Seokmin asked, his tone laced with mild amusement. Wonwoo sighed tiredly, rubbing his temple.

“No, I didn’t,” Wonwoo muttered, exasperated. “I didn’t think I needed to. This whole situation is ridiculous.”

Seokmin glanced at his boss but wisely chose to remain silent. He had witnessed Wonwoo’s growing frustration during the honeymoon. Despite the picturesque Jeju scenery, the trip had been far from enjoyable for either of you. Wonwoo had spent most of his time working, glued to his phone or laptop, even forcing Seokmin to turn on airplane mode during moments when Wonwoo couldn’t resist calling him. The honeymoon wasn’t just a disappointment—it was a disaster.

Wonwoo barely saw you during those four days. You had breakfast long after him, skipped lunch entirely, and dined early, ensuring your paths rarely crossed. It was clear you were actively avoiding him, and it grated on his nerves more than he cared to admit.

This marriage isn’t just inconvenient for you, he thought bitterly as he watched the road ahead. I’m stuck in this mess too.

And now, you’d decided to make things worse by running away from his house to Busan just to get back to work. All of this could’ve been avoided if he’d simply told you about the plan to move next week. The thought irritated him further.

“This entire situation could have been avoided if you’d just communicated better,” Seokmin remarked, half-joking. Wonwoo shot him a sharp look.

Seokmin raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, a simple conversation will save you both the trouble.”

Wonwoo didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as the car sped down the highway. One thing was clear—he needed to get you back, not just physically but emotionally. Because while this marriage had started as a business arrangement, the chaos you brought into his life was beginning to feel far too personal.

"Why are you here? How the hell did you open my door?!"

You stood in front of him, your voice sharp with fury, yet it was nothing compared to the storm brewing in Wonwoo’s dark eyes. He had been waiting for nearly four hours, watching every move you made—from university to a café, to a restaurant, and everywhere but home. Each passing hour had only fueled his frustration.

He had his men tail you, making sure nothing happened, but every moment you were out of his sight left his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He could already picture the wrath of your father and brother, their faces etched with rage if something had gone wrong.

"Took you long enough to get home," Wonwoo drawled, leaning back on the couch. His tone was calm, but the anger simmering beneath was unmistakable. He glanced at his watch—23:44.

"I asked you, how did you get inside?!" you snapped, your frustration growing as you saw him lounging on your couch like he owned the place.

Wonwoo didn’t bother answering. Instead, he casually propped his legs on your coffee table, ignoring your glare.

"Why are you here?" you repeated, this time with more control, though your patience was wearing thin.

Wonwoo let out a low scoff, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "Why are you here?" he shot back, his voice carrying a challenge.

Your brows knitted in confusion. "What are you talking about? I was working. You're not the only one who has a job."

His expression darkened at your response, his jaw tightening as his irritation reached a boiling point. "You could’ve told me. There was no need to run away and make me chase you here."

You crossed your arms defiantly, tilting your chin up. "I didn’t ask you to chase me."

Wonwoo’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, dropping his legs to the floor. The air between you grew heavy with tension. "Oh, but you did," he said, his tone dangerously calm. "The moment you stepped out of my house without a guard, you asked for this. You're my wife. Remember that."

Your laugh was humorless, bitter. "So what are you going to do now? Run crying to my father? Or are you going to beat the shit out of me because I can’t be your perfect little wife?"

Wonwoo stilled, caught off guard by your words. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any hint of sarcasm, but instead, he found something that made his chest tighten—a raw, painful truth hiding behind your defiance.

"What are you even talking about?" he asked, his voice lower now, laced with confusion.

You exhaled shakily, dropping your bag to the floor. Your shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world had finally broken you. "What are you waiting for, then? Slap me. Swear at me. Call me useless. I’m used to it all by now."

The tears that slipped down your cheeks caught him off guard more than your words. Something twisted in his chest, a deep ache he couldn’t quite name. How could you say that? What kind of life had you been living before this?

Wonwoo looked away, unable to meet your eyes as guilt crept up on him. Midnight struck. The sharp chime of the clock broke the silence, but it did little to ease the tension in the room.

He stood abruptly, his movements controlled but deliberate, and walked toward the balcony. Before stepping outside, he paused, speaking over his shoulder. "Prepare a bed for me. I’m staying here tonight. The house will be ready tomorrow. Sleep well."

With that, he slid the door shut behind him, letting out a heavy sigh as he leaned against the railing. His fingers reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette. The faint flicker of the lighter illuminated his face for a moment, revealing an uncharacteristic weariness in his expression.

The first drag of smoke filled his lungs, and for a second, he let the tension in his body dissipate. He’d thank Seokmin later for slipping a pack into his suit—it wasn’t often he needed one, but tonight was different. Tonight, everything felt heavier.

As the city lights stretched before him, Wonwoo stared into the distance, the bitter taste of nicotine lingering on his tongue. Your tears haunted him, replaying in his mind. He had thought he understood you, but now he realized he hadn’t even scratched the surface.

What the hell happened to you? he wondered, the smoke curling around him like a ghost of unanswered questions.

You woke up in bed. The soft mattress beneath you was a surprise; you were certain you’d left it for Wonwoo last night and made yourself comfortable on the couch. Had your husband moved you here? Husband. The word felt foreign and heavy in your mind, like trying on a coat two sizes too big.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you sat up and glanced at the clock. Two hours before your first class—plenty of time to get ready. You swung your legs off the bed and stretched, pushing away the lingering haze of confusion.

Freshly dressed, you stepped out of your room, planning to grab a quick breakfast. A slice of bread and some milk might hold you over until lunch. But as you walked into the living area, you froze.

Wonwoo sat at the dining table, arms crossed, his posture as commanding as ever. Across from him stood Lee Seokmin, his ever-efficient assistant, carefully plating food from plastic containers onto dishes that looked too fancy for your humble kitchen.

"Good morning, ma’am," Seokmin greeted you warmly. "Please have some breakfast before heading out."

Your eyes wandered to the table, laden with an array of nutrient-packed dishes. It was an impressive spread for such an early hour. Your gaze flicked to the couch, where the pillow and blanket you’d used were already folded neatly. Of course, he’d tidied up. Your husband was nothing if not meticulous.

"I’ll have the house ready by this afternoon. You can start moving your things tonight," Wonwoo said, breaking your thoughts as you hesitantly joined him at the table.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "What house?"

"Our house," he replied simply, sipping his coffee like it was the most natural thing in the world. "We were supposed to move next week, but I pushed them to finish it earlier."

Your confusion turned to irritation as you stared at him. "You’re moving here?"

Wonwoo nodded, his tone calm but firm. "My business was originally centered here. I used to travel back and forth between Seoul and here frequently. Now it’s easier for me to stay permanently."

You sighed, frustration bubbling in your chest. All your carefully laid plans to create some distance between the two of you—gone. "Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?"

He scoffed, a hint of amusement in his otherwise serious expression. "Do you think I had the chance to tell you?"

His sharp gaze locked onto yours, a subtle reminder of the days you spent in your room during the honeymoon, avoiding him entirely while binging dramas. The pointedness of his words stung more than you cared to admit.

Seokmin cleared his throat, cutting through the tension. "Please eat before it gets cold," he said politely, excusing himself soon after.

As he reached the door, Wonwoo added, "Tell Jun to get the car ready. Y/n will be driven by him today."

Seokmin nodded and left, leaving you to frown at Wonwoo. "I can go to work by myself," you argued, your voice firm.

"I know," he said nonchalantly, picking a piece of meat from one of the dishes and placing it on your rice bowl. "But I’ve assigned Jun to drive you. He’s excellent at martial arts."

You sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing further. Wonwoo always seemed two steps ahead, and resisting him felt like fighting the tide. You reluctantly picked up your spoon and began eating.

The silence that followed wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, though your mind was still racing. He had tracked you down, shown up at your apartment like he belonged there, and even had a home ready for the two of you. He had already begun dismantling the semblance of independence you’d clung to, piece by piece.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. Did he also handle your apartment lease? You dreaded the possibility. He's crazy if he did.

As if reading your mind, Wonwoo spoke, his tone neutral but direct. "I’ll talk to your building owner about the lease after breakfast. Don’t worry."

You stared at him, caught between disbelief and reluctant gratitude. At least he wasn’t entirely crazy. Your husband, as infuriating as he was, wasn’t heartless.

You didn’t remember asking him to pick you up from work.

As you walked out of the building with your colleagues, the lively chatter surrounded you. Among them was Mr. Seo, Seo Myungho, who had asked you out a few times in the past. He strolled beside you, quietly attentive as the others babbled about your sudden wedding.

You had already explained to them, in the simplest terms possible, that it was an introduction followed by a quick marriage. Yet, their curiosity remained insatiable, likely fueled by the unexpected month-long leave you'd taken—something orchestrated by Seungcheol. At least he'd sent gifts that bolstered your professional reputation, though it didn’t make the constant questions any less exhausting.

"I do understand why the Dean approved her leave for almost a month," Mrs. Chae remarked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "She’s her favorite, after all."

The comment hung in the air, and you chuckled softly to yourself, resisting the urge to fire back. Wasting energy on Mrs. Chae's barely veiled resentment wasn’t worth it.

"She’s been doing excellent work on her research projects this year," Myungho interjected kindly, his tone steady and polite. He smiled at you briefly before addressing Mrs. Chae. "I think she’s more than earned her time off."

You felt a small wave of gratitude toward Myungho. His support didn’t go unnoticed, and it seemed to shift the mood slightly, with the others murmuring their agreement. Everyone, except Mrs. Chae, of course—her disdain was as predictable as ever. You were younger, more competent, and rising through the ranks faster than she could handle, and she hated every second of it.

Then, you saw him.

Wonwoo.

Your husband stood tall, casually leaning against his sleek car. He was a striking figure, dressed impeccably, yet looking oddly out of place in front of your university building. The sight of him felt surreal. Wonwoo didn’t seem like the type to wait outside for anyone, let alone you. It was baffling—and slightly annoying.

"Who’s that guy?" one of your colleagues asked, their curiosity piqued.

You barely heard them as you quickly turned to bid everyone goodbye. "I’ll see you all tomorrow!" you said hastily before jogging over to Wonwoo.

When you reached him, you glared up at him. "Who asked you to come here? Let’s go!"

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your urgency. Before he could respond, you grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the car. He moved with you, a bemused expression on his face as you opened the door and pushed him inside.

You quickly slipped into the passenger seat, taking a deep breath. Turning back to your colleagues, who were still watching, you forced a polite smile and waved. They waved back, but their curiosity had undoubtedly turned to outright speculation.

Your marriage had already become the hottest topic of gossip among your peers. Now, seeing you leave with a man as striking as Wonwoo—and in a car as luxurious as his—would only pour fuel on the fire.

You sighed heavily, sinking into the seat as the car pulled away. "This is exactly what I was trying to avoid," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Wonwoo glanced at you, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks. "You're welcome," he said dryly, eyes flicking back to the road ahead.

You scowled at him, but there was no denying the slight flutter in your chest. For better or worse, your life was now entangled with his—and there was no turning back.

You glanced at Wonwoo as the car smoothly merged into traffic, the tension between you two lingering like an uninvited guest. You finally broke the silence, your voice low but sharp. "Where are we going?"

Wonwoo didn’t take his eyes off the road as he replied calmly. "To our new house."

You frowned. "Why? I thought we weren't moving until next week."

"I wanted to make sure everything you need is settled before you move in," he explained, his tone as matter-of-fact as if he were discussing the weather. "I’ve also arranged for a moving agency to pack and transfer your belongings tonight. It’s all scheduled."

You blinked at him, stunned by his efficiency—and, admittedly, a little irritated. "You scheduled my move without asking me?"

He finally looked at you, his dark eyes steady. "I didn’t think you’d agree if I asked. And whether it’s now or later, you’ll have to move in anyway. So why delay it?"

You sighed deeply, leaning back against the seat and closing your eyes. He wasn’t wrong. Now or later, this situation wasn’t going to change. Fighting him on it felt pointless, and you were already drained from the day.

"Fine," you muttered, surrendering to the inevitable. "But don’t expect me to be excited about it."

Wonwoo smirked faintly, his focus returning to the road. "Noted."

As the car wove through the streets, you gazed out the window, trying to calm the swirling thoughts in your mind. The idea of living with him, under the same roof, felt surreal. You weren’t ready to call this man your husband—let alone share a home with him.

But what choice did you have?

The car eventually pulled into a gated neighborhood, the homes large and modern, with sprawling lawns and tall hedges. You glanced at Wonwoo as he parked in front of a sleek, minimalist house.

"This is it?" you asked hesitantly.

"Yes," he said, stepping out and opening the door for you. "Come on. I’ll show you around."

You followed him reluctantly, stepping into the house. The interior was just as polished as the exterior—clean lines, neutral colors, and high-end finishes. It felt luxurious but cold, like a place designed for appearances rather than comfort.

Wonwoo gestured toward the open kitchen. "I’ve made sure it’s stocked with everything you might need. If anything’s missing, just tell me."

You nodded silently, your eyes scanning the space. It was beautiful, but it didn’t feel like yours.

He led you to the living room, then upstairs to the master bedroom. "This will be your room," he said, pushing the door open.

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "My room?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "You need your own space. I’ll take the guest room."

His unexpected consideration threw you off. You nodded slowly, unsure how to respond. "Okay."

Wonwoo checked his watch. "The movers should arrive in an hour. I’ll stay here to supervise."

You sighed again, the weight of it all settling in. This was your new reality. No matter how hard you tried to run, you couldn’t escape the situation you were in—or the man standing in front of you.

"Fine," you said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I’ll unpack when they’re done."

Wonwoo studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You sat on the edge of the bed, trying to make sense of everything when Wonwoo walked back into the room, his expression calm but purposeful.

"By the way," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "I changed my mind about the room."

Your head snapped up. "What do you mean?"

Wonwoo crossed his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "There’s only one master bedroom in this house, and it’s ours. We’re married, Y/n. It’s only right that we share it."

You stared at him, your mouth falling open slightly. "You’ve got to be kidding me. There are other rooms here. You could easily take one of them."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I could. But I won’t. I want us to share this space."

The way he said it, calm yet unyielding, made it clear this wasn’t up for debate. Frustration bubbled up inside you. "What about what I want? Did you even think about that?"

Wonwoo’s eyes softened slightly, though his resolve didn’t waver. "I did. That’s why I set up an office for you."

You blinked. "An office?"

He nodded, gesturing for you to follow him. Reluctantly, you got up and trailed behind him as he led you down the hall to a smaller room. Inside, you found a neatly arranged workspace with a sleek desk, bookshelves, and a comfortable chair. The shelves were already filled with reference books and stationary supplies, and a corner was decorated with a small potted plant.

You took a hesitant step inside, running your fingers along the edge of the desk. "You set this up for me?"

"Of course," Wonwoo said, standing by the doorway with his hands in his pockets. "You’re a lecturer, and I know you need a space to work. This room is yours to use however you want."

Despite your frustration over the bedroom situation, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of gratitude. The office was thoughtful—more thoughtful than you’d expected from him.

Still, you turned back to him, narrowing your eyes. "That doesn’t make up for the fact that I don’t get my own bedroom."

Wonwoo tilted his head, his smirk returning. "You can decorate the office however you want. Think of it as a trade-off."

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "This isn’t a negotiation, Wonwoo."

"It’s not," he agreed, his tone maddeningly calm. "It’s a compromise."

You sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. Living with him was going to be impossible.

"Fine," you muttered. "But if you snore, I’m moving to the couch."

Wonwoo chuckled softly, his gaze following you as you stepped past him to head back to the master bedroom. "I don’t snore. But you’ll have to deal with my early mornings."

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. "And you’ll have to deal with me slamming doors if you wake me up too early."

His laughter followed you down the hall, light and warm, making your heart twist unexpectedly. As much as he infuriated you, there was something undeniably disarming about the way he carried himself.

But you weren’t ready to admit that. Not yet.

Wonwoo sat at his desk, scanning the report he had asked Seokmin to gather. As he read through the details, something shifted inside him. Your words from yesterday echoed in his mind.

"Slap me, swear at me. I'm used to that."

The sheer pain in your voice as you said those words—how could anyone ask to be treated like that? And the worst part was, you cried. Tears had slipped down your cheeks, and he stood there, frozen, unable to comfort you. The helplessness stung, and for a moment, he questioned his own worth.

His mother had taught him better than that. She hadn’t raised him to be passive, to stand idly by when someone needed help. Yet, in that moment, he had failed you.

Determined to understand the depths of your suffering, Wonwoo had asked Seokmin to dig into your past—specifically, your family. He needed to understand how you had come to be the person you were, how you had been shaped by the world around you. What kind of upbringing had led to someone like you being so broken, so wary of affection?

He already knew about your father. Reckless, cold-hearted, a man who did business as though he owned the world. His methods weren’t just questionable; they were downright illegal. Everything about him was transactional, and it was no surprise that he had built his empire on those very practices.

But it wasn’t just your father. Your brother, too, was no better. Wonwoo had heard the rumors—how your brother had a reputation not only as a businessman but as a lover, a man who seemed incapable of loyalty. Infidelity ran deep in your family, and it had left its mark. Wonwoo recalled the look on your mother’s face during your wedding—distressed, distant, like she knew more than she was willing to let on. It made sense now.

The report mentioned something else that struck him deeply. "Her brother was drowned in the Han River."

It clicked. The pieces fell into place. He had suspected there was something more to your past, something you hadn't fully confronted, and now he understood.

The report also mentioned the PTSD you had suffered, a trauma so deep it had robbed you of the memory of the incident. Your brother’s death had happened right in front of you. It was no wonder you struggled to cope with intimacy, with trust. That level of violence, loss, and betrayal—how could anyone emerge unscathed?

Wonwoo let out a heavy sigh. Now he understood. This was why you had built walls around yourself. Why you flinched at kindness, why you kept everyone at arm’s length. You hadn’t just been shaped by your family’s actions; you had been destroyed by them.

But the weight of that realization didn’t make him resent you—it made him want to protect you more fiercely. His heart ached for you, for the girl who had been forced to grow up in such brutality. He wanted to be the one to help you heal, to show you that not all men were like the ones who had scarred you.

And though it was clear that your past had shaped you in ways he hadn’t fully realized, he was more determined than ever to be the man you deserved—one who wouldn’t walk away when it got hard, one who wouldn’t stand by and do nothing.

He closed the report with a soft exhale, a sense of resolve settling in his chest. Now that he understood, now that he knew the truth, there was no turning back. This knowledge would shape his actions moving forward, guiding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

Just as he leaned back in his chair, his phone rang. It was his mother.

"I heard you're in Busan. Have you moved already?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of concern.

"Yes, mother. My wife had to attend to her work immediately, so we moved earlier than expected," Wonwoo replied, trying to keep his tone casual.

He heard a faint hum from the other side of the line, a sign that his mother was deep in thought. "How's life as a husband? I’m worried you won’t be able to treat her right."

Wonwoo chuckled softly, a warm but tired sound. "We're both fine, really."

There was a long sigh from his mother, the kind that spoke volumes. "I’m sorry, Wonwoo. I knew this marriage wouldn’t be easy. I should have known better than to pitch a marriage to the Choi family. I’ve heard so much about them. But your father insisted."

Wonwoo smiled, a wry but understanding expression crossing his face. "Mother, I told you it was okay. I accepted this, and here I am."

"I know, I know," his mother said, her voice thick with regret. "You couldn’t refuse. But I just... I feel guilty for you, and for Y/n, of course."

Her words made his chest tighten a little, the weight of everything settling on him once again. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself, but he said, "It’s not as bad as you think. We’ll figure things out."

There was a brief pause before his mother spoke again, her voice softening. "Just... say hi to her for me, okay? Tell her I’m thinking of her."

Wonwoo’s smile grew a little more genuine as he replied, "I will, mother. Take care."

Wonwoo had started the project with small gestures: a kiss on your temple every morning at breakfast. The first time he did it, you gave him a surprised, almost startled glance, like it was an unfamiliar gesture. But Wonwoo simply smiled, brushing aside your reaction as if it were nothing. Sometimes, his hand would gently brush your hair while you shared a meal, and you'd look at him like he was out of place, unsure of how to react. Still, it gradually became a part of your routine, and everything began to run smoothly.

But then your brother, Seungcheol, came to visit. He stayed for dinner, and immediately, the tension in the air thickened.

"You should leave after dinner," you told him flatly, already anticipating the clash.

"Why would I? It’ll be more comfortable for me to stay here than in some hotel," Seungcheol replied, shooting a glance at Wonwoo.

Now, Wonwoo found himself caught between two siblings, each offering their own persuasive arguments as to why he should stay or leave. Every word from either of them felt like a debate, and Wonwoo couldn’t bring himself to find the right words to settle it. Could he just vanish into thin air?

Before he could respond, a sigh escaped his lips, and he glanced at you, his voice rising to ease the tension. "How about we all stay in a hotel? It’s been a month since our honeymoon. I think my wife deserves a bit of a rest."

Wonwoo immediately regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He cursed himself mentally for the slip-up.

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. "Whatever, I’m not gonna stay here," he said nonchalantly. "You satisfied?" He turned his gaze to you, and you wiped your mouth with a napkin, stoic as ever.

"Your house is beautiful, with a beach view," Seungcheol continued, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. "It’s only a 10-minute walk to the beach?"

Wonwoo nodded, trying to ignore the tension building in the room. "Yes, hyung. Only five minutes by car, but the waves are pretty strong at this hour."

Seungcheol chuckled lightly. "Guess I shouldn’t go near the water, then. Your wife might just drown me."

That’s when you froze mid-motion. Your hand, which had been holding your utensil, suddenly dropped it with a loud clatter onto the plate. You stood abruptly from your chair, your eyes hardening.

"It’s just a joke," Seungcheol quickly added, watching you intently.

You didn’t even flinch. "You better go after your meal," you said in a cold, steady tone. "I don’t want to see your face in my house again."

Seungcheol smirked, unfazed by your words. "You’ve got some nerve after joining the Jeon family, Y/n. Don’t forget I’m your older brother."

Your steps paused mid-stride as you turned back to face him, your expression hardening. "Don’t forget I killed my own brother 20 years ago. Older brother."

The room fell silent.

Wonwoo’s heart raced. His hair stood on end at the chilling words that hung in the air. He wasn’t sure if the coldness in your voice was from the past, or if you were daring Seungcheol to test your limits now. Either way, he realized he had stepped into something far more complex than he had anticipated.

It was just you and Jisoo sitting on the deck when it happened. The details were blurry, fragments lost in the haze of suppressed memories. They said you pushed him, that you shoved him off the vessel, causing him to fall into the water and drown. That’s what everyone believed. And because they believed it, so did your 12-year-old self.

You didn’t remember anything from that day. No arguments, no screams, no malicious intent. But their words were louder than your own doubts. "You killed him," they said. The accusation clung to you like a heavy chain, dragging you into a guilt you couldn’t escape.

It changed everything. You stopped attending school, retreating into the isolation of homeschooling, where whispers and judgment couldn’t reach you. But even home was suffocating. The weight of the incident lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, a ghost haunting every corner of your life.

When you decided to enroll in a university abroad, it wasn’t just for education. It was an escape. An escape from the house that felt like a prison, from the suffocating presence of your family. Especially your mother.

She never said much about the incident. No accusations, no consolations. Just silence. But in her silence, you saw her resentment. She didn’t need to say the words for you to know. She hated you. You could see it in her cold stares, in the way she avoided your presence.

Every time your father or Seungcheol raised their hands against you, she stayed silent. She didn’t flinch, didn’t intervene. She just watched, her indifference cutting deeper than any bruise. And what other reason could there be for her silence, besides hate?

You told yourself leaving was for the best. Putting distance between you and them was the only way to breathe, to survive. But even thousands of miles away, the shadows of your past followed you, whispering the same accusation: You killed him.

"I hate Father so much, Y/n. I wish I could have been born into a different family."

"NO!"

Your voice echoed in your ears as you jolted awake, your breath hitching and your chest heaving. The remnants of the dream clung to you, vivid and suffocating. Your heart pounded wildly, its rhythm frantic and uneven as you tried to steady your breathing. Slowly, you sat up, pressing a hand to your chest in an attempt to calm yourself.

The faint sound of movement brought your attention to Wonwoo, who had just stepped out of the walk-in closet, already dressed for work. His hair was still slightly damp, the crisp lines of his suit adding to his composed appearance. He offered you a small smile at first, but it quickly faded when he noticed the tension in your expression.

"Hey," he called softly, his voice laced with concern as he walked toward you. "What’s wrong?"

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze, and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. There was still an hour before you had to leave for work.

Wonwoo crouched beside you, his eyes scanning your face for answers. But you avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the sunlight beginning to seep through the curtains. After a moment of silence, he stood and spoke gently. "I’ll drive you to work today."

Before you could protest, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. The simple gesture carried more warmth than you expected, easing the tension knotted in your chest.

And then he was gone, his footsteps retreating down the hall as he left the master bedroom.

You exhaled shakily, the earlier panic slowly fading. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, the touch of his lips on your skin and the sound of his voice had calmed the storm within you.

When Wonwoo said he would drive you to work, you assumed Jun or Seokmin would accompany him. But as you approached the sleek car parked outside, you were surprised to find him alone, sitting calmly in the driver’s seat, waiting for you.

He rolled down the window and smiled at you. “Ready?”

Sliding into the passenger seat, you greeted him quietly as he started the engine. He asked about your sleep, and you gave him a vague response, deliberately skipping over the part about the strange nightmare that had jolted you awake.

He also mentioned your brother. “Seungcheol left early this morning to Seoul. ”

You muttered a soft, “Good,” relieved that you wouldn’t have to deal with him any longer.

As the car glided smoothly down the road, Wonwoo suddenly glanced at you. “Can I hold your hand?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “But… you’re driving.”

A soft smile spread across his face. “I can manage. I just want to hold your hand, even if it’s just for a minute.”

You hesitated, your gaze shifting between his outstretched left hand and his calm expression. “Is this part of the ‘training’ to get comfortable in public later?”

He nodded, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road. “It is. So… can I?”

After a moment of hesitation, you slowly lifted your right hand and placed it over his. His hand was warm and steady as he gripped yours gently, holding it securely even as he maneuvered the car.

“It’s nice,” he murmured, his voice soft but sincere.

When the car came to a stop in front of your campus building, he reluctantly let go. “See you at dinner?”

You nodded, stepping out of the car, and walked away without looking back.

“Good morning, Ms. Choi,” a few students greeted you as you made your way through the halls to the lecturers’ room. You offered them polite smiles, your thoughts still lingering on the warmth of Wonwoo’s hand.

Your first class of the day was about Ship Security and Regulations. Standing at the front of the classroom, you scanned the faces of your students as they settled in.

Since you were young, you had known that the world of business wasn’t for you—especially the kind your father conducted. You had always loved the sea: the gentle breeze, the endless horizon, and the calming rhythm of the waves. But that dream of becoming a seafarer had been buried long ago when you realized you had developed a paralyzing fear of water.

As the class progressed, one of your students raised a hand with a cheeky grin. “What if there’s a passenger who wants to jump overboard?”

Laughter rippled through the room at the seemingly absurd question. You sighed, trying to maintain your professionalism. “Is that even possible?”

Another student chimed in, still grinning. “It could happen, Ms. Choi, if someone wanted to end their life.”

You shook your head firmly, your tone growing serious. “Let’s not entertain that idea. There won’t be any cases like that. Focus on preventing real risks, not hypothetical ones.”

The class nodded, the humor subsiding, but you couldn’t shake the unease their words stirred.

As the session ended and the students filtered out, you found yourself staring out the window at the distant ocean. Despite your best efforts, their question lingered in your mind, unsettling thoughts creeping in like waves crashing against the shore.

Days later, Wonwoo learned that his wife had registered for a psychiatric consultation. He had known about the abusive environment you grew up in, but he hadn’t realized it had reached a point where professional help was necessary. The news unsettled him, lingering in his mind until dinner that evening, where he cautiously brought it up.

“You visited a psychiatrist, I heard,” he said, carefully watching your reaction.

You nodded casually, as though it wasn’t a big deal. But to him, it was.

“Why?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with concern.

“I’m trying to face my phobia of water,” you replied, your tone neutral. “It’s for one of my research projects.”

Wonwoo didn’t press further, but a knot tightened in his chest. He suspected it wasn’t as simple as you made it seem. A fear of water? Yet, you had graduated in Maritime studies and built a career in the same field. The contradiction puzzled him.

The following month, Wonwoo received word that your parents were hosting their anniversary party on a cruise ship. That explained it. Was this why you were trying to cope with your phobia? He couldn’t help but wonder.

The drive from Busan to Seoul was quiet. Jun handled the wheel while Seokmin sat in the front passenger seat, briefing Wonwoo on the event’s details. You sat beside Wonwoo in the back, your eyes fixed on the window, your hand intertwined with his.

“Anyone I should keep an eye on?” Wonwoo asked, his voice calm but measured.

Seokmin shook his head. “It’s just an anniversary event. Nothing serious is expected.”

Wonwoo glanced at you, leaning in slightly to whisper. “Are you okay?”

Your gaze shifted to him, startled for a moment before you nodded with a soft sigh.

“You know I’m always here for you,” he murmured. “You don’t have to worry.”

You gave him a small, grateful nod before turning your attention back to the passing scenery.

When you arrived at the cruise ship, Wonwoo followed Seokmin’s briefing, greeting everyone with effortless charm. He introduced you to the guests with a protective arm around your waist, keeping you close by his side.

“This is my wife, Choi Y/n,” he said warmly, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries.

“I’m Jeon Wonwoo,” he added, offering his business card to a few attendees.

As the ship set sail, everyone gathered on the deck for a brief speech from your father. Wonwoo noticed the way your gaze hardened, a glare fixed on the man speaking so highly of your mother. The words seemed hollow, a facade masking the truth you both knew—of abuse, violence, pressure, and threats. Yet, like your mother, you remained silent.

Wonwoo’s grip on your waist tightened subtly as your father shifted the focus to you and him, the newlyweds. Smiling for the crowd, he leaned closer to you, whispering, “Do you want to rest?”

Before you could answer, your father’s voice carried over the murmuring crowd.

“And to my second child, Jisoo… He left us too soon, but we will always remember him. Rest in peace, my son.”

Wonwoo felt your body tense beside him, your breathing growing heavier. He could hear the whispers that began to ripple through the crowd.

“His sister killed him.”

“She was only 12.”

“Is that the sister?”

“Poor kid.”

He leaned in again, his voice firm yet gentle. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

As he began to guide you away from the deck, the ship suddenly lurched, causing a man standing near the edge to lose his footing. Gasps and screams filled the air as the man slipped and fell overboard, the security team springing into action.

Wonwoo felt your grip tighten on his arm, your nails digging into his sleeve as your body went slack. He steadied you immediately, shielding you from the chaos.

“Hold onto me,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing. “Let’s get you to your room.”

Without waiting for a response, he wrapped an arm securely around you and led you through the crowd, his protective instincts taking over.

What you had witnessed brought back the haunting memory of Jisoo falling from the vessel, a memory tied to the very same cruise ship you were now aboard. You were only 12, and he was 15. It had been a family vacation—a week on a private cruise ship arranged by your father. On the final night, you remembered noticing something different about Jisoo. He hadn’t smiled once that day. Troubled by his mood, you gathered the courage to visit his cabin late that night.

"You look sad," you had said softly, standing in the dim light of his room.

Jisoo turned to you, a faint smirk on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. "Wanna go outside?" he asked, his voice low and conspiratorial.

“Going to the deck past 9 p.m. is prohibited,” you replied, hesitating. “Father will get mad at us.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said with a glimmer of rebellion, gesturing for you to follow him.

The memory felt so vivid that it sent shivers down your spine, yet there was a fog of uncertainty around it. Was it real, or was it just a false memory conjured by your fractured mind?

Wonwoo’s voice pulled you back into the present. He had guided you to the edge of the bed, his eyes filled with worry as he crouched before you. “Hey, you’re okay,” he whispered, his hands steady on your arms as if anchoring you to reality.

But you weren’t sure you were okay. Your mind replayed the image of Jisoo falling into the dark, endless water, his body disappearing into the calm yet terrifying abyss. That night had marked the beginning of your fear of water—its deceptive stillness, its unrelenting strength. And Jisoo had never come back.

Tears escaped your eyes, and it was only when Wonwoo gently cupped your cheeks that you realized you were crying. His thumbs brushed away the wet trails, his touch grounding yet unbearably tender.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos in your heart. “That’s okay… You’re fine. I’m here.”

You looked at him, the warmth of his gaze pulling you out of the suffocating hold of the past. For a moment, you weren’t a scared 12-year-old on a dark deck—you were here, in the present, with someone who cared.

The weight of years of bottled-up emotions surged forward—anger, sadness, guilt, disappointment. It was overwhelming, and all you wanted was to let it out, to empty the well of pain you had carried for so long.

“Can I hug you?” you asked in a quiet, trembling voice, your vulnerability bare.

Wonwoo didn’t hesitate. He climbed onto the bed beside you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. His embrace was strong, protective, and warm—everything you hadn’t realized you needed.

“I’m here, Y/n,” he said softly, his voice steady in the dim light of the room. “I’m here.”

And for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to cry without restraint. Your makeup smudged, your breaths hitched, but it didn’t matter. In Wonwoo’s arms, you felt a strange sense of safety amidst the storm inside you. You clung to him as the emotions poured out, the weight of them finally starting to lift.

In his embrace, you found solace, a quiet assurance that you weren’t alone. And even though the past still haunted you, for this moment, you could let it go, piece by piece, in the arms of someone who refused to let you face it alone.

Breakfast with your family was as tense as ever. Wonwoo had joined late after handling an emergency call from his father, leaving you to endure the table’s strained atmosphere without him for a while. Your father, mother, and Seungcheol sat together as the cruise ship quietly sailed back to Seoul, the polite murmurs of other guests filling the air.

“You went to your room early last night,” your father said, his voice breaking through the quiet as you chewed your food.

“She was unwell,” Wonwoo replied smoothly as he settled into his seat. His hand found your shoulder, a protective gesture. “I should have informed you earlier.”

“Unwell, or?” Seungcheol interjected with a smirk, his tone dripping with mockery. His pointed glance at you made your stomach twist. The tension between you and Seungcheol hadn’t eased since the last altercation Wonwoo had witnessed.

To divert the conversation, Wonwoo placed a bottle of expensive, aged wine on the table. “Congratulations on your anniversary. I didn’t get a chance to say it last night, but I brought this as a gift.”

Your father’s expression softened momentarily. “You didn’t need to, son-in-law. Taking care of my daughter is gift enough for us.”

Then, as if on cue, he added with a smirk of his own, “Though it would be even more amazing if you gave us a grandchild.”

Wonwoo faltered, momentarily caught off guard by the statement. But before he could respond, you calmly put down your utensils, your tone icy and resolute. “We won’t have a child.”

The air seemed to freeze. Wonwoo turned to you in surprise, but your expression was unreadable, your demeanor cool and composed. In that moment, he was reminded that your marriage was a business arrangement—and you, perhaps more than him, treated it as such.

Your father’s jaw tightened, his attempt to suppress his anger painfully evident. He glanced at the nearby guests, clearly aware that this was no place for a scene. “You should have a child if you want this marriage to last,” he said, his voice low but firm.

You met his gaze without hesitation, your words cutting through the air like ice. “So you can hit them? So you can scream at them? Threaten them like you did to me?”

The tension at the table became unbearable. Wonwoo could feel the weight of your father’s fury, his grip tightening on the tableware before setting it down a bit too forcefully. Other guests turned their heads, sensing the disturbance.

Your mother looked at you, her wide eyes betraying shock. It was as if she couldn’t believe the words you had just spoken, the defiance in your tone so unlike the quiet obedience she had come to expect from you.

“I’m going,” you said sharply, pushing back your chair and standing without another glance at your father.

Wonwoo quickly rose from his seat, offering a hasty apology. “I’m sorry. She’s been under a lot of stress from work. I’ll go check on her.”

As you disappeared toward your cabin, Wonwoo began to follow, but he stopped when a hand gently caught his arm. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with your mother.

“Mother-in-law,” Wonwoo greeted, bowing slightly out of respect, though her unexpected presence caught him off guard.

“Y/n…” she began, her voice soft but unsteady. “Is she alright?”

Wonwoo nodded, his tone calm as he tried to reassure her. “She’s fine. She was just a bit tired last night. You don’t need to worry.”

But your mother shook her head, her eyes glistening with something that looked like guilt. “I mean after last night. Was she alright? She hasn’t set foot on a ship for years. Not since…” She trailed off, her words hanging heavy in the air.

So, she knows, Wonwoo realized.

“She was nervous,” he admitted, his voice careful. “But she handled it well. She’s stronger than you think.”

Your mother looked away, her expression clouded with emotions she seemed reluctant to voice. After a moment, she took his hand in hers, her grip trembling. “My husband… he can be harsh. Especially toward Y/n. Please…” Her voice cracked slightly. “Take care of her, for me.”

Wonwoo stared at her, taken aback by the vulnerability in her words. For the first time, he saw beyond her composed exterior, glimpsing a mother who, despite her silence, harbored regrets and perhaps even a desire to protect you in her own way.

“I will,” Wonwoo promised, his voice steady. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Your mother released Wonwoo’s hand, her eyes lingering on him for a moment before she stepped away. The silent plea in her gaze lingered in his mind as he made his way back to your shared cabin. But his thoughts were soon interrupted by a call from his father earlier that morning, asking if the two of you could visit their home since you were already in Seoul. Wonwoo suspected there was more to the request—his parents had missed the cruise’s anniversary celebration, and now this sudden urgency hinted at something serious.

When you both arrived at their home, Wonwoo’s suspicions were confirmed. His mother was unwell, lying in bed looking pale and fatigued. Neither his father nor the house staff had told him what was wrong, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. A sense of dread settled in his chest. Was it something serious? Something incurable?

You sat quietly by his mother’s bedside, holding her hand and offering her comforting words. Wonwoo stood to the side, his eyes darting between his mother and father, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Finally, when he couldn’t take the silence anymore, he followed his father to the living room.

“What’s going on?” Wonwoo demanded, his voice sharper than he intended. “What’s wrong with her? Why hasn’t anyone told me?”

His father sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t be mad at me,” he started, his tone hesitant. “She doesn’t want anyone to know.”

Wonwoo’s patience wore thin as he watched his father’s lips tighten, clearly debating whether or not to reveal the truth.

“She…” His father hesitated again, and Wonwoo’s heart raced.

“She’s dehydrated because of diarrhea,” his father finally admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Wonwoo blinked, stunned. “What?”

“She ate something bad, and that’s what happened. She doesn’t want anyone to know—not even you or Y/n. Says it’s not ‘fashionable.’”

Wonwoo exhaled heavily, running a hand down his face in exasperation. “I thought it was something chronic! For goodness’ sake, I was preparing myself for the worst!”

His father shrugged nonchalantly. “If it were serious, she’d be in the hospital. She’s just embarrassed.”

Wonwoo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I’m her son. I should know these things, whether they’re ‘fashionable’ or not.”

His father offered a faint smirk, leaning back into his chair. “There are a lot of things children don’t need to know about their parents, kid.”

Wonwoo stared at his father, incredulous. “This isn’t about need-to-know; it’s about being family! I’ve been worried sick, thinking it was something life-threatening.”

His father patted his shoulder lightly, as if to dismiss the tension. “She’ll be fine in a day or two. Just don’t bring it up, or she’ll never forgive me for telling you.”

Wonwoo sighed deeply, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, heading back toward the bedroom where you were still sitting with his mother.

When he returned, you glanced up at him, your expression concerned. “Is everything alright?” you asked softly.

Wonwoo gave you a tired smile, sitting down beside you and gently taking his mother’s other hand. “She’ll be fine,” he said, his voice calm now. “Just a little dehydration.”

His mother’s weak smile told him she knew exactly what had happened in the living room. “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo chuckled lightly, the tension easing from his shoulders. “I won’t. But only because you asked nicely.”

The two of you decided to stay an extra day in Seoul as Wonwoo had a business matter to attend to. That evening, as you settled into bed, Wonwoo joined you with a book in hand. He leaned against the headboard, his focus on the pages, while you lay beside him, staring at his profile. You wanted to speak, the words swirling in your mind, but hesitation kept them locked inside. Sensing your unease, Wonwoo spoke without looking up.

"Speak," he said simply, his voice calm and inviting.

You shifted your position, sitting up slightly to face him. "Is your mother okay? She looked really unwell today," you said, your voice tinged with concern.

Wonwoo closed his book and set it on the nightstand. His gaze softened as he turned to you. "Why? Are you worried about her?"

"Of course, I am. She's my mother-in-law," you replied earnestly, your words earning a faint smile from him.

"She mentioned something earlier, and I’ve been feeling conflicted about it ever since," you admitted, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

Wonwoo’s brow furrowed slightly, curiosity piqued. "What did she say? Did she ask you for something ridiculous? You know you don’t have to take it seriously if—"

"What do you think about having a child?" you blurted out, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Wonwoo froze, the words hanging in the air between you. He blinked at you, his expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable. "Sorry? What did you just say?"

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Everyone has been talking about us having children. It’s only been three months, but people are already questioning if we’re serious or if this is just another typical business marriage."

Wonwoo tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eye. "You said it yourself this morning—you don’t want a child," he reminded you, his tone lighthearted.

You sighed, your fingers now twisting the hem of your pajama top. "I know. But seeing your mother today... and hearing what she said, it made me think again. What if it’s something we should consider?"

Wonwoo leaned back, studying your face carefully. "What exactly did she say to you?"

"She didn’t explicitly ask for anything, but she hinted that a grandchild would make her happy. And I—I don’t know, it felt serious," you admitted, your voice faltering slightly.

Wonwoo chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You’re overthinking. My mother will be fine with or without a grandchild. She just enjoys the idea, like most parents do."

"But wouldn’t having a child make this marriage... I don’t know, feel more stable? Last longer?" you asked hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow. "You think a child will stabilize a business marriage?" His tone was skeptical but gentle.

"I don’t know," you muttered, feeling suddenly foolish. "It’s just... everyone seems to expect it. Your family, my family. It’s like they see it as the ultimate proof that this marriage isn’t just a facade."

Wonwoo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look," he said softly, "if you’re reconsidering this because it’s something you want, then we can have a serious conversation about it. But if it’s just because of external pressure—what they expect from us—then I don’t think it’s a good enough reason."

His words hung in the air, grounding you. You nodded slowly, his reasoning settling over you like a balm.

"You don’t have to decide anything now," Wonwoo continued, his voice steady. "We’re still figuring this out, you and me. Let’s take it one step at a time."

You exhaled, feeling the weight of your thoughts ease slightly. Wonwoo reached over, placing his hand gently on yours. "For what it’s worth," he added with a small smile, "you’re doing great. You don’t have to carry everyone’s expectations on your shoulders."

His reassurance brought a faint smile to your lips, and you nodded. "Thanks, Wonwoo."

"Anytime," he replied, picking up his book again. But before he reopened it, he glanced at you. "And if you ever want to talk about this again, just let me know. No rush."

His understanding made your chest ache in a way that felt unfamiliar but comforting. "Okay," you whispered, settling back into bed beside him.

The moment you received word that your mother was in Busan, everything else faded into the background. Dropping your work immediately, you rushed to your house. The news was jarring—your mother had signed the divorce papers and was now in your house.

"She did what?" you whispered in disbelief, your hands trembling slightly as you clutched your phone.

Jun, who was driving you, glanced at you briefly in the rearview mirror. "Mr. Jeon is on his way as well," he informed you calmly.

When you arrived, you found your mother sitting on the couch, sipping tea with a composed air. Across from her sat Wonwoo, his demeanor calm and understanding, as if he were holding the room steady with his presence. In stark contrast, you felt like a storm raging inside.

You didn’t speak right away. Instead, you walked to the couch and sat beside Wonwoo, your eyes fixed on your mother, who looked more at ease than you ever remembered.

Sensing your need for privacy, Wonwoo leaned over, his hand briefly brushing your arm. "I’ll excuse myself," he murmured before standing and stepping out of the room.

The silence that followed his departure was thick, heavy with unspoken words.

"I signed the divorce papers," your mother finally said, setting her teacup down on the table with deliberate care. "I’m sorry it took me so long."

"Why are you apologizing?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. Your eyes were locked on her hands as they fidgeted in her lap.

"It’s just..." she hesitated, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "you’ve wished for this for a long time."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "I wished for this?" you repeated, your voice incredulous. "I don’t understand."

She bit her lip, her gaze flickering to the floor. "You might not remember," she began hesitantly. "After Jisoo... after he left us, you tried to explain what happened. That he fell off the vessel. But no one believed you—not your father, not Seungcheol. No one."

The memory stirred faintly in your mind, like a forgotten dream just out of reach.

"And in your frustration, in your pain, you told me you wished I’d leave him." Her voice cracked slightly, the weight of the revelation pressing down on both of you.

You leaned forward, stunned. "Why would I say that?"

She let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she clasped them tightly. "Because you believed I was the only one who truly trusted you. And you were right. I knew—I knew—you would never harm Jisoo. He was your best friend. Your brother. You loved him more than anything."

A heavy silence hung between you, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Her belief in you, her unwavering trust, hit you like a tidal wave.

"I didn’t leave back then," she continued, her voice thick with emotion. "Because I had no power. The only thing I could do was try to give you strength. To help you build a life where you’d never have to depend on anyone else."

Her words struck a chord deep within you. "You helped me get my job," you said, realization dawning.

She nodded. "The dean is an old friend of mine. She told me you were impeccable, that you’d make an excellent lecturer. I used every connection I had to make sure you had opportunities I never did."

"Why?" you asked, your voice trembling with the weight of so many unanswered questions. "Why did you do all that for me?"

Her gaze softened, tears welling in her eyes. "Because I wanted you to have your own power. I wanted you to be free, to stand on your own two feet, so no one could ever control you the way your father did to me."

You swallowed hard, her words sinking in like stones in water. You wanted to ask if this was why you had chosen to marry Wonwoo, but the question felt too raw, too invasive.

Did I fail her? The thought struck you like a sharp pang in your chest. She had believed in you when no one else did, but had you done the same for her? Or had you been so consumed with your own pain that you hadn’t noticed hers?

You bit your lip, your vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes. "I don’t even remember saying that to you," you admitted, your voice cracking.

Her gaze softened, and she reached out to place her hand over yours. "You were just a child," she said gently. "You didn’t mean it the way you think you did. But those words... they stayed with me. They reminded me that someone saw me, even when I didn’t see myself."

The conflict within you deepened. You didn’t know whether to feel grateful or guilty, proud or ashamed. All you knew was that your mother had spent years trapped in a cage she hadn’t built alone, and you had unknowingly become the key she needed to escape.

Her next words shattered what little resolve you had left. "When I saw you stand up to your father on the cruise, I realized that it’s never too late to find my own power. You showed me that."

Her tears spilled over then, and for the first time in years, you saw her cry. Not from fear or despair, but from a release—a shedding of years of silent suffering.

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached for her hand, gripping it tightly as if to anchor both of you in this moment of raw, unfiltered truth.

"Is she alright?" Wonwoo asked as you entered the room. You nodded, exhaustion clear on your face as you walked toward him. Without hesitation, he opened his arms, silently inviting you into his embrace. You stepped closer, sinking into his chest, letting his warmth surround you.

"She’ll be fine with us," Wonwoo murmured, his voice steady and reassuring as he tightened his hold around you. The weight of the night seemed lighter, though your heart still carried the storm brewing within.

"My father..." you began, your voice trailing off before the bitterness returned. "He’s such a menace. I just hope he doesn’t find Mom here."

Wonwoo nodded, his chin brushing the top of your head as he whispered, "I’ll tell Seokmin to add more guards around the property. You don’t have to worry. We’ll handle this, and we’ll find a way to keep her safe."

His words gave you a fragile sense of peace, enough to let you rest your head against him, trusting in the certainty of his promise.

The next day, Wonwoo left for Seoul to have a word with his father. The situation with your mother’s divorce wasn’t just a family matter—it had the potential to create ripples in the business world. Ji Construction, your father’s company, was already in a delicate position, and any negative press could trigger a chain reaction. As a major supporter of Choi Construction, the Jeon Group couldn’t afford to ignore the fallout.

Wonwoo sat in the polished meeting room, tension thick in the air. His father’s trusted advisor, Mr. Park, laid out the details of the situation. "If news of the divorce goes public, it will undoubtedly impact the market. Choi Construction’s stocks could plummet, and given their illegal dealings, there’s a risk of further exposure."

"That’s a problem for Seungcheol to fix," Wonwoo’s father interjected, his expression impassive as he leaned back in his chair. "He’ll have to make a move immediately."

Wonwoo scoffed, unable to hide his disdain. "Seungcheol isn’t capable of handling this. He’s nothing more than a copycat of his father—arrogant and reckless."

"Which is precisely why we need to prepare," Mr. Park said, clearing his throat. "Jeon Group holds the largest share in Choi Construction at the moment. If the Choi family crumbles, we’ll need to decide who will take the reins and stabilize the situation."

His father turned to him, a calculating look in his eyes. "What about Y/n? Does she have any interest in the business?"

Wonwoo shook his head firmly. "No. She’s focused on her career, and I won’t let her be dragged into this mess."

There was a moment of silence before Mr. Park spoke again, his tone measured. "The best step forward is to begin preparing a new leader—someone who can step in if the Choi family fails to recover."

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, the weight of responsibility pressing against him. He wasn’t just thinking about the company or the market. He was thinking about you—how you had suffered enough under your father’s shadow, and how your mother was finally free. This was his burden to carry now, and he would ensure you wouldn’t have to bear it.

"We’ll prepare," Wonwoo said, his voice firm. "But I’m not letting Y/n or her mother get dragged into this chaos. We’ll find a way to stabilize things without jeopardizing them."

The next day, chaos erupted at the Jeon residence. Wonwoo was in the middle of an important meeting when he received your frantic call. Your father and brother, Seungcheol, had shown up unannounced, demanding to see your mother. Sensing danger, Wonwoo didn’t hesitate to cancel everything and rush home.

The scene he walked into was worse than he imagined. Standing at the front door, you were blocking the way, arms spread protectively in front of your mother. Seungcheol’s face was contorted with rage as he swung his hand toward you, ready to strike. Wonwoo’s heart stopped for a second, but his body reacted instinctively. He intercepted Seungcheol’s hand mid-air, gripping it tightly.

You stood frozen, the shock and fear rendering you speechless. Wonwoo’s jaw tightened as he threw Seungcheol’s hand away with a forceful movement. He stepped in front of you, shielding you with his own body as he turned to face your father and brother.

"No one is allowed to harm my wife," Wonwoo said, his voice calm but dangerously firm as his eyes locked on Seungcheol. "That includes you."

"Get out of our way! This is a family matter. It’s none of your business, Jeon," Seungcheol spat, trying to push Wonwoo aside. But Wonwoo didn’t budge.

Your father, with an air of cold authority, interjected, "Let me speak to my wife, son-in-law."

Wonwoo’s expression didn’t falter as he shook his head. "I’m sorry, but when my mother-in-law sought protection under my roof, it became my business too. She’s safe here, and I suggest you go home before things escalate further."

A smirk twisted your father’s lips, but his eyes burned with malice as he stepped closer to Wonwoo. "Are you doing this because you know what will happen?"

Before Wonwoo could respond, you stepped forward, your voice trembling but determined. "Enough, Father. This is our home, and you need to respect its owner. Isn’t that the lesson you’ve always preached to everyone else?"

Your father’s gaze snapped to you, his expression darkening. What happened next stunned everyone. Without warning, your father grabbed your arm and pulled you toward him, his hand tightening around your neck. You gasped for air, your hands clawing at his grip as your brother, Seungcheol, stared in shock, clearly not expecting things to escalate this far.

"Father, stop!" Seungcheol’s voice broke through the chaos, but his words did little to deter the enraged man.

Wonwoo’s blood ran cold as he lunged forward, shouting your name. "Let her go!" He fought to pry your father’s hands off you, his panic turning into fury. Seokmin and the guards rushed in to assist, finally managing to wrest you free from your father’s grasp.

Your body went limp, collapsing to the floor. Wonwoo dropped to his knees, scooping you into his arms with a shaky breath. "Y/n," he whispered, his voice thick with worry. "Stay with me."

Turning to Seokmin, Wonwoo barked orders. "Call the police! Get all the CCTV footage as evidence."

Seungcheol tried to calm your father, whose anger hadn’t abated, but it was clear the situation was spiraling out of control. As your father continued to shout about his wife, Wonwoo carried you inside, his arms tightening protectively around you. His mind raced with thoughts of your safety, but one thing was clear—he wouldn’t let anyone hurt you again, no matter who they were.

You woke up in the hospital to the sound of quiet sobs. Your eyes fluttered open, and you turned your head to see your mother sitting beside you, tears streaming down her face. The moment she noticed you were awake, she gasped softly, clutching your hand tightly.

"You're awake," she whispered, her voice thick with relief.

You blinked, disoriented. The sterile white of the hospital room was unfamiliar, and a dull ache in your neck brought back fragments of what had happened. "How...how did I get here?" you asked, your voice hoarse and shaky.

Your mother wiped her tears and took a deep breath before answering. "We got you checked. You fainted after...after what happened. The doctors said you’ll be fine with some rest." Her voice trembled as she continued, "We’re going to file charges against your father. He tried to kill you, Y/n."

The weight of her words hit you like a ton of bricks. Your breath hitched as your hand instinctively reached for your neck. The memory was vivid, and you could still feel the ghost of his grip—the warmth of his hand, twisted with the terrifying force that had robbed you of air.

"Wonwoo..." you whispered, panic creeping into your tone. "Is he okay? Did he get hurt?"

Your mother shook her head quickly, trying to reassure you. "He’s fine, sweetheart. He’s outside talking to the police. Do you want me to call him for you?"

Before she could leave, the door opened, and Wonwoo stepped into the room. His eyes immediately found yours, and a wave of relief washed over his face as he crossed the room in a few swift strides.

"Y/n," he murmured, his voice soft but full of emotion as he leaned down and pulled you into his arms.

The strength of his embrace brought you an immediate sense of safety, and you buried your face against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His hand gently brushed through your hair, his voice a comforting whisper against your ear. "You’re safe with me now. You’re going to be okay. I promise."

Tears welled up in your eyes as the reality of the moment sank in. For so long, you had felt powerless—trapped in the shadow of your father’s control, just like your mother. But now, something had shifted.

You thought back to the confrontation. Despite the fear, you had stood up to your father and brother. You had protected your mother. And when it all became too much, Wonwoo had been there, steadfast and unyielding, shielding you from harm.

The realization hit you like a spark igniting a flame. It wasn’t just that Wonwoo had given you strength—it was that he had shown you the strength you already had within yourself. His unwavering support had become the foundation for your courage, and in standing up for yourself, you had also empowered your mother to take a stand for her own freedom.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at Wonwoo. His gaze was filled with concern, but also with pride, as if he could see the shift within you.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice steady despite the tears.

Wonwoo cupped your cheek, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. "You don’t have to thank me. We’re in this together, always."

In that moment, you felt a profound sense of clarity. You weren’t powerless anymore. With Wonwoo by your side, you had the strength to face whatever came next—for yourself, for your mother, and for the future you were determined to build.

With help from Mingyu, a friend who worked in property, Wonwoo unearthed substantial evidence of your father’s corrupt dealings. As he collaborated with the police to ensure your father faced justice, he simultaneously engaged in discussions with Seungcheol regarding the future of Choi Construction.

“My father hates her because she’s a girl. That’s it,” Seungcheol admitted bluntly, providing the answer to Wonwoo’s lingering question about your mistreatment within the household.

Wonwoo’s patience had long worn thin, and any remaining respect he might have held for your family was gone. To him, your father and brother were just men he had to deal with, not figures deserving of courtesy. As he sat across from Seungcheol, his tone was firm, devoid of negotiation.

“I’ll hand over the rights to the Singapore branch. But in return, you and your family will leave my wife and her mother alone. Permanently.”

Seungcheol stared at the table, his head bowed. “You’re right. I’ve always been too insecure to run the company properly,” he confessed, his voice carrying the weight of years spent under his father’s oppressive shadow. The realization of his inadequacies seemed to dawn on him, leaving him vulnerable and exposed.

“Were you close to Jisoo?” Wonwoo asked, breaking the heavy silence.

Seungcheol shrugged, his face devoid of emotion. “I wasn’t close to anyone, not even my mother. My father was too focused on molding me into the perfect businessman. I’ve always been just a puppet.”

Wonwoo let out a deep sigh. “Your family is a wreck,” he said bluntly, his frustration barely concealed.

Seungcheol gave a bitter chuckle. “Tell me something I don’t know. Could you say that to my sister, though?”

Wonwoo glanced at him, his expression softening slightly. He shook his head, unwilling to voice such harsh words about you.

“You love her,” Seungcheol muttered, nodding as if confirming it to himself.

The court’s decision was finally made—your father was sentenced to 25 years in prison for engaging in illegal business practices and attempting to murder both you and your mother.

With Choi Construction left without a leader, Wonwoo was appointed as its new director, while his younger brother took over his former position in their father's company. Wonwoo wasted no time making sweeping changes, rebranding the company as Jeon Construction and reshaping its operations from the ground up. As months passed, he found himself buried in work, barely able to make time for you.

Realizing the imbalance, Wonwoo finally texted you, deciding to pick you up from your mother's house, where she had recently moved to Busan. But before he could leave, Lee Seokmin, his assistant, delivered a very pointed lecture on the importance of "dating your wife properly."

"Bring flowers," Seokmin had added, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

So now, here he was, standing outside his car, waiting for you with a bouquet in his hands. When you stepped out, he felt the corners of his lips lift involuntarily.

"Where are we going?" you asked, eyeing the flowers before taking them with a soft smile.

Seokmin had already booked a restaurant—a fine dining spot that happened to be one of your favorites. Wonwoo wasn’t sure how Seokmin knew that, but he’d figure it out later. Tonight, he wasn’t going to waste a single thought on anything but you.

Over a candlelit dinner, you savored every bite of your meal while Wonwoo enjoyed watching you unwind. As the evening progressed, he raised his glass slightly and asked, "How’s the food?"

You exhaled, setting your fork down with a satisfied smile. "Perfect… actually, amazing. I had a tough day today, and this just made everything better. Thank you."

Wonwoo’s lips curled into a rare, genuine smile. He lifted his glass towards yours, eyes locked on you.

"A toast?" he asked.

You clinked your glass against his, and for the first time in a long while, the two of you enjoyed a quiet moment—just the two of you, no business, no burdens, just the warmth of each other’s presence.

As you took a sip of your wine, the warmth of the moment settled in. The quiet hum of the restaurant, the dim glow of the candles, and the way Wonwoo’s eyes never strayed far from you made the evening feel almost surreal—like a small pocket of peace after the storm.

He set his glass down, fingers tapping lightly against the stem before he finally spoke. "How are you feeling… after everything?" His voice was calm, but there was something deeper in his tone—concern, curiosity, maybe even guilt for not asking sooner.

You placed your glass down and thought for a moment. The past few months had been a whirlwind. Your father’s sentencing had been all over the news—a powerful businessman brought down by his own crimes. Twenty-five years behind bars, stripped of everything he once controlled. But despite everything, a part of you still felt unsettled.

"I don’t know," you admitted, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. "Some days, I feel relieved. Other days… it still feels unreal." You exhaled, meeting his gaze. "He’s still alive, still out there somewhere. Even if he’s locked up, it’s like he still has a grip on me."

Wonwoo nodded slowly, his expression unreadable, but his eyes held a quiet understanding. "He took too much from you for you to just move on overnight," he said simply.

You swallowed, nodding. "Maybe." A pause. "But I don’t want to keep living in that shadow. I want to move forward. I want to build something new for myself… for my mom."

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, observing you. "And for us?"

Your breath hitched slightly at his words, your eyes flickering to his.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I didn’t go through all this trouble to protect you just to watch you walk away."

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. "I didn’t say I was going anywhere."

His smirk faded into something softer. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours. "Good," he murmured. "Because I need you here."

The weight of his words settled between you, heavier than the wine in your glass, more intoxicating than anything you had tasted tonight.

"Then I guess we’re staying," you whispered.

And for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t seem so uncertain.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Wonwoo backed you against it, his hands settling on your hips as he leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss. Yourur tongues tangled eagerly, the flavors of wine and dessert mingling as your mouths moved in perfect sync.

As your lips parted, Wonwoo's breath tickled your ear as he whispered sultry nothings, his warm words sending shivers down your spine. "God, I want you," he rasped, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down the column of your throat. Each nip and lick sent sparks of pleasure through your veins, making you arch into his touch.

As Wonwoo's lips trailed reverently along your skin, his whispers grew softer, sweeter. "You have no idea how much I crave you." His fingertips danced across your chest, tracing patterns that left goosebumps in their wake. "You're all mine," he breathed, punctuating his words with a gentle kiss to the hollow of your throat.

As Wonwoo laid you down on the soft cushions of the sofa, a soft moan escaped your lips at the feel of the cool leather beneath you. Your senses were heightened, attuned to every brush of fabric against your skin and the heat emanating from the man towering over you. You could feel the rigid outline of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh, a tangible reminder of his desire.

"Please, Wonwoo," You whimpered, reaching up to cradle his face in your palms. "Kiss me again, taste me...touch me everywhere," You begged, your voice thick with need. Your hips lifted off the couch, seeking friction against the solid length prodding your leg. "Make love to me, right here, right now," You pleaded, your eyes locked onto his, filled with lust and adoration.

Wonwoo's fingers found the dampened lace at the apex of your thighs, teasing the sensitive flesh through the thin barrier. A gasp slipped past your lips at the intimate caress, your hips canting up involuntarily to press closer to his touch. "Mmm, so wet for me already," he purred, rubbing the pad of his thumb over your clit through the soaked material. The sensation shot straight to your core, leaving you trembling and desperate for more.

"Please, Wonwoo," You whimpered, spreading your legs wider in invitation as his fingers resumed their playful exploration of your most sensitive area. He obliged without hesitation, slipping a digit beneath the drenched lace to stroke through your slick folds, gathering the evidence of my arousal on his fingertip before circling your entrance teasingly. You arched off the couch, a needy moan spilling from your lips at the delicious pressure building inside you.

Wonwoo's husky whisper sent shivers down your spine. "You're breathtaking, my love. Just as I imagined, dreamed of, a thousand times." His hand stilled for a moment, letting you relish in the praise before resuming his tender touch. Slow, deliberate strokes coaxed out more of your essence, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. "Let go for me," he urged, his breath hot against your ear.

As Wonwoo's fingers continued their maddening tempo, the coil of tension inside you snapped. You cried out his name, back arching off the couch as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Pleasure pulsed through your veins like liquid fire, your inner walls clenching around nothing as the orgasm ripped through you. Distantly, you heard Wonwoo's approving groans, felt his body tense above you as he watched you come undone in his skilled hands.

He picked your naked body to the bedroom effortlessly as laid you down softly. Wonwoo's nimble fingers worked their magic, effortlessly shedding the barriers between you, you gazed at him in awe. The soft lighting of the bedroom illuminated his chiseled features and the moonbeams danced across his skin, making him look like a deity descended from the heavens.

He stood before you, glorious, as you ran your hands reverently over the contours of his torso. His body hovered yours. As your lips met, the world around you melted away, leaving only the intoxicating sensations of the kiss and the warmth of each other's bodies.

Wonwoo's mouth slanted over yours, demanding and possessive, claiming you with every brush of his tongue against you. You melted into the embrace, returning his ardor with equal fervor, your moans mingling in the stillness of the room as you lost yourselves in the passionate dance of desire.

Wonwoo's hands roamed the curves your body as he kissed a path along your neck, his touch igniting sparks wherever he touched. He cupped your breast, thumb grazing the pebbled nipple through the thin fabric of your bra, sending jolts of pleasure straight to the core. "So soft, so perfect," he murmured against your skin, nipping and sucking gently as he explored the sensitive terrain of your throat.

"Once I get a taste of you, I may not be able to let you go," he admitted hoarsely, his voice trembling with need. The vulnerability in his words only heightened your excitement, your body arching instinctively to draw him closer.

With a gentle yet insistent pressure, Wonwoo guided himself into your waiting depths. A soft gasp escaped your lips as he filled you inch by exquisite inch, stretching and accommodating his impressive girth. Once he was buried to the hilt, he paused, allowing you to adjust to the incredible fullness before beginning to move within you. Each deliberate thrust sparked a cascade of pleasure, the sound of skin meeting skin and your ragged breaths filling the air.

"You're so big.."

Wonwoo's smug grin only added to the erotic charge between you as he drew back and pushed in again, his thick length stroking deep inside you. "Big enough to satisfy this greedy little pussy, isn't it?" he purred, his voice a low, husky rasp. He set a steady, pounding rhythm, each powerful thrust driving him impossibly deeper.

Wonwoo's praise was a velvet caress against you ears, heightening the euphoria coursing through your veins. "Fuck, you feel amazing wrapped around me," he growled, punctuating each word with a deep, forceful stroke. "Like you were made for me, custom-fit just to take my cock and beg for more."

Wonwoo's fingers found your throbbing clit with ease, applying just the right amount of pressure to send shockwaves of pleasure surging through you. Each stroke harmonized with his relentless pace, the dual sensations threatening to unravel you completely. You clenched tighter around him, the snug, velvety grip of your walls milking his thickness with every thrust.

Wonwoo groaned deeply as he felt the telltale fluttering of yout inner muscles, signaling your impending climax. "That's it, baby, let go for me," he urged, his voice roughened with lust. He rubbed your clit in swift, targeted circles, pushing you precariously close to the edge. With one final, searing plunge, he triggered your orgasm, the waves of ecstasy crashing over you in intense, overwhelming bursts.

With a guttural moan, Wonwoo plunged deep, his hips jerking as he spilled his hot seed inside you. You elt each pulsing wave of his release, his thick cock throbbing and twitching as he emptied himself within your clenching depths. The sensation was decadently intimate, making you shudder with pleasure as you rode out the aftershocks of your own climax. Your bodies moved in tandem, lost in the primal dance of sex and satisfaction.

As you collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, panting and sated, Wonwoo pressed his lips to yours in a tender, lingering kiss. "I've waited so long for this moment," he breathed against your mouth, his words muffled but heartfelt. "Half a year of longing, of craving your touch... and now it's finally real." He nuzzled you temple, his warm breath fanning across your skin.

"I love you."

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. The air was still, heavy with the remnants of last night—shared breaths, whispered confessions, the quiet surrender to something neither of you had spoken aloud but had felt for so long.

You stirred slightly, the cool sheets contrasting against the warmth of the body next to you. Wonwoo’s arm was draped over your waist, his breathing slow and even. His grip was loose, but even in sleep, he held onto you like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Your mind was quiet for the first time in a long while. No thoughts of your father, no weight of the past pressing down on your chest. Just this—just him.

As if sensing your thoughts, Wonwoo shifted, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against your skin. He hummed lowly, his voice still thick with sleep. “You’re awake?”

You turned slightly to face him, your lips curving into a soft smile. “Mmm.”

His eyes cracked open, hazy and laced with something unreadable. He studied you for a moment before exhaling, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

The question made your chest tighten, but in a good way. He wasn’t just asking about last night—he was asking about everything.

You nodded, shifting closer until your forehead rested against his. “Yeah… I think I am.”

His fingers slid up your arm, his touch grounding. “Good.”

Silence settled between you, comfortable and warm. Then, a small smirk tugged at his lips. “Seokmin’s going to give me hell when he finds out.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “You mean he hasn’t already?”

Wonwoo groaned, rolling onto his back. “He probably sent me twenty messages by now. That guy’s too invested in my love life.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him with amusement. “Maybe he just wants to make sure you’re treating me right.”

He turned his head to meet your gaze, something softer in his eyes now. “I don’t need Seokmin to remind me to do that.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but before you could respond, he pulled you back into his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Five more minutes,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. “Then I’ll deal with whatever disaster Seokmin has planned for me today.”

You smiled, closing your eyes as you let yourself sink into the warmth of him. “Five more minutes,” you echoed.

You traced small patterns on his bare chest, enjoying the way his skin tensed under your touch. “So… last night,” you murmured, your voice teasing.

Wonwoo cracked one eye open, his lips twitching. “What about it?”

You tilted your head, pretending to be deep in thought. “You talk a lot when you’re in the moment.”

His brows furrowed slightly before realization dawned on him, and for the first time in a while, you saw a hint of red creeping up his ears. “I—” He cleared his throat. “That’s just—”

You smirked, leaning closer. “No, no, I liked it.” You let your fingers dance over his collarbone, your voice dropping slightly. “Didn’t know you had a thing for dirty talk, though.”

Wonwoo groaned, covering his face with his hand. “You’re really going to bring that up first thing in the morning?”

You laughed, enjoying how flustered he got despite everything. “I mean, I just think it’s cute,” you teased, nudging his side. “You’re usually so composed, but last night—”

He suddenly rolled on top of you, pinning you beneath him in one swift movement. His expression had shifted, his teasing smirk returning. “If you keep talking, I’ll have to remind you exactly how much I like talking.”

Your breath hitched as he dipped his head closer, lips ghosting over your jawline. The way his voice dropped sent a familiar shiver down your spine.

Wonwoo rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm as he held you close. The night had unraveled things between you—vulnerability, passion, and something deeper that neither of you had dared to name until now. His fingers traced soft patterns on your back, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth and unspoken words.

Then, he spoke.

“I love you.” His voice was steady, unwavering, but you could hear the slight nervous edge in it. Like he had been holding onto those words for a while, waiting for the right moment. “I don’t think I realized how much until I almost lost you.”

Your heart clenched, remembering everything you had been through. The fights, the fear, the way he stood by your side through it all. Your hand found his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin as you took in the sincerity in his gaze.

“I love you too,” you whispered, watching the way his eyes softened, his lips parting slightly as if surprised despite everything. “And… thank you, Wonwoo.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “For what?”

“For staying. For fighting for me. For always making sure I’m safe.” Your voice trembled slightly, emotions catching up with you. “For giving me a reason to feel strong.”

Wonwoo exhaled slowly, his grip on you tightening as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. “You were always strong,” he murmured. “I just reminded you of it.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “Well, either way, I still want to thank you.”

He pulled back slightly, his lips curving into that rare, genuine smile you loved. “Then let me thank you too,” he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your lips.

And in that moment, you knew—this wasn’t just a marriage of convenience anymore. This was real.

3K notes · View notes