#HeartBeat Corporation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starryhyuck · 1 year ago

Text

pairing: ex!jaehyun x afab!reader

words: 9.2k+

summary: you left with jaehyun’s son three years ago. an opportunity arises that may push you together for better or for worse.

genre: angst, fluff, smut

warnings: penetrative sex, rough sex, public sex, daddy kink, pussy eating, cum eating, creampies, breeding kink, spanking, possessiveness, some yandere vibes

“Got yourself all dressed for dad?”

Your five-year-old son hums happily, thumbs looped through his backpack straps like he’s afraid it’s going to run away from him. You smile and comb your hands through his hair, slightly frightened by how fast he’s growing.

The knock on the door takes you out of your head before you can dwindle on how your son is slipping away from you. You smile at Jaehyun behind the door, who offers a tight-lipped one in return.

You kneel down once more and tap on your cheek. “Give me a kiss before you leave, sprout.”

Your son giggles before planting a messy kiss on your cheek, wrapping his tiny arms around your neck.

“Bye, mom! I love you!” He practically hops away from you in excitement, running into his dad’s arms with pure joy.

You nod politely at your ex, who wraps his arms around your son and holds him to his chest.

“Hey, little bear. Missed you,” Jaehyun laughs, kissing your son’s forehead.

“I missed you too, dad!”

You clear your throat. “Do you want me to come pick him up on Sunday?”

Jaehyun’s eyes return to you, cold and distant like they have been for the past three years. “I could drop him off, it’s no issue. I canceled all my meetings on Sunday.” You wonder if he’s trying to imply something, as if the time taken off means anything to you.

You brush it off. “Sounds good. Be good to your dad,” you give a final warning to your son, who does nothing but wave his hand in return.

You’re about to close the door until Jaehyun quietly speaks up. “I needed to ask you something.”

You ignore the loud sound of your heartbeat in your ears. You simply nod, urging him to continue. He clears his throat, feeling a bit awkward as your son impatiently waits for his dad to take him to his other house. It’s rare for Jaehyun to linger around like this.

“My parents — they’re having that annual anniversary party again in Seoul. They asked me to invite you.”

You’re surprised, to say the least. You haven’t been invited to an anniversary party since you and Jaehyun separated. His family was extremely heartbroken when you left and as a result, you haven’t communicated with them since. The anniversary party, however, was a huge celebration in the Jeong family. It was a mark of success since Jeong Corporation opened almost twenty years ago, and the company has now founded themselves as one of the largest in Seoul.

“Um,” you stutter, unsure of what to say. You understood what the anniversary party implied — one whole weekend with your former second family and more importantly, Jaehyun.

“Don’t- You don’t have to make a decision now. You can tell me on Sunday if you’re ready.”

You nod reluctantly, and he sends you another tight-lipped smile before departing. You watch as he and your son drive away, leaving a hole in your heart as they go.

—

“No way. He wants to fuck you again!”

“Johnny!” You scold, feeling extremely embarrassed already. “He is not! He’s just trying to be a good son, you know how he is.”

Johnny laughs sarcastically. “Yeah fucking right. Dude, it’s the Jeong anniversary party. That shit is photographed like crazy. He knows what he’s doing when he’s inviting you to go with him.”

“He’s not inviting me to go with him,” you clarify for him, even though Johnny is throwing you a side eye as you hand him a cup of warm tea. “He’s just inviting me to attend.”

He rolls his eyes. “Please. He’s been waiting for this moment with you for so long. Especially after you left him like that.”

You swing at Johnny’s arm, causing him to clutch it dramatically and hold the end of your kitchen counter as if you just shot him. You glare at him. Even though it was still a sore subject, he found a way to bring it into conversation from time to time since he thought it was the worst decision you had ever made.

It was three years ago when you left Jaehyun, taking your son and finding a new place all to yourselves. Jaehyun was shocked to say the least, heartbroken that the love of his life took his child and ran. It obviously wasn’t your first choice, but you spent too long waiting for him to come home only to be disappointed continuously. Jaehyun was just starting to become a big name within the company, wanting to work up the ladder and prove himself to his father and to the public. As a result, he spent most nights sleeping in his office and growing farther apart from you and your son. You reached a point where you couldn’t handle being abandoned any longer, leaving him and giving him his first wake-up call.

Jaehyun, like everyone else, thought you were only playing a game with him at first. No one believed you would actually separate from each other, especially because you two were so in love. However, you decided you needed to do what was right for your son. You couldn’t handle the lonely nights when your son would ask when his dad was coming home.

The custody agreement was simple, and Jaehyun agreed to whatever terms you laid out for him. You allowed your son to see Jaehyun every other weekend, and Jaehyun made sure to take work off whenever he had him. He was really trying, which you could see, but it wasn’t enough.

You’re not sure if it’ll ever be enough again.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” you mumble to Johnny, already mentally rejecting the idea of attending the Jeong anniversary party. “I mean, you know us. Our feelings get carried away all the time.”

Johnny frowns. “Are you saying you still have feelings for him?”

You sigh. Johnny has been your number one support system since you left Jaehyun, and despite his help towards adjusting you to a life as a single mother, he always rooted for the two of you to get back together.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you say clearly, stirring around the small spoon in your cup. You refuse to look up, knowing he can read you like an open book. “I’m just saying that being together for that long can cause cloudy judgment, you know? Plus, I don’t want anything to become confusing for all parties included.”

He shrugs, knowing you’re mainly talking about your son’s inability to understand why his mom and dad are suddenly spending time together. “I think the little sprout would like to have a weekend with both of his parents. He hasn’t had that since two birthdays ago.”

You recall your son’s third birthday party, which was the first festivity after the split. You awkwardly invited Jaehyun to come since you felt obligated, but it only resulted in tension while cutting the cake and opening presents.

“I know,” you whisper, feeling down. Your son asks you from time to time why his dad doesn’t stay when Jaehyun drops him off after a weekend together, and it always breaks your heart when you have to gently explain that his dad has work to attend to. Seeing the dejected look on your son’s face reminds you why you decided to leave in the first place. “But don’t you think it’s weird? Why would his family even want to see me again? I thought they hated me for leaving Jaehyun.”

“Yeah right,” Johnny laughs. “You saw the headlines after you guys split. Jaehyun started fighting so often with his parents. You know they loved you to death.”

“That might have been true before. I’m still the bitch who stomped all over their son’s heart and took their grandson away.”

“Hey,” Johnny scolds, hating when you speak lowly of yourself. “Anyone with eyes could see he was treating you miserably. It was completely fair for you to have temporary space.”

You ignore the fact that he implies the separation is still temporary.

“I’m just not sure, John. I don’t think it’s a smart idea.”

“Well, I think it’s a great one,” he smiles, brushing off your heated glare. “Listen, you can’t keep ignoring him like he’s the plague. If you don’t want the little sprout to have daddy issues when he’s older, you need to start getting along with Jae better. Just act civil, that’s all anyone’s asking of you.”

You chew on your bottom lip. “Will you come get me if I text you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Your shoulders eventually slump in defeat, and Johnny throws his arms up in victory.

—

You’re extremely anxious when Sunday afternoon arrives, which is usually when Jaehyun comes by to bring your son back. You try to shake the nerves out and remind yourself to do what Johnny told you.

Just be civil. You can do that.

You nearly jump out of your socks when Jaehyun finally knocks on the door. You shakily open it, offering him a small smile as your son comes barging through. He attaches himself to your leg, grinning widely as he waves a new coloring book in his hand.

“Look what dad got me!”

“Wow,” you speak incredulously, kneeling down to give him a kiss. “That was very nice of him. Did you say thank you?”

“Yes!” He exclaims with glee. “Can I go color, please?”

You laugh. “Give your father a kiss goodbye first, sprout.”

Your son hurriedly kisses his father’s cheek when Jaehyun leans down, rushing off to his room afterwards.

You chuckle again. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.”

Jaehyun hums. “Of course. He really wanted it, and I wanted to do something special for him.”

You nod and the conversation settles into unbearable silence. You start gathering the courage to accept Jaehyun’s invitation before you wimp out but he talks before you can get the chance.

“Listen, about what I said on Friday, you can forget about it if it makes you uncomfortable. I didn’t want you to feel obligated, I just knew if I didn’t pass along the message, I would get hit on sight.”

You smile, thinking about how dangerous his mother could be when her son disobeys. “No, it’s completely fine. I mean, if it’s still okay with you, I would like to go.”

His eyes light up in surprise, and it’s the first time Jaehyun’s let his guard down with you in a while.

“Really? I didn’t think you’d want to.”

You shrug. “I think it would be nice. I’m sure the little sprout would enjoy a weekend with both of his parents too.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, smiling genuinely. You forgot how much you missed seeing him so happy, dimples peeking out. “I know he would. He was talking about how excited he was today, getting dressed in a little suit and everything.”

Your heart warms at the thought of your son dressed so handsomely. “He would be adorable. Center of the party, I’m sure.”

“Of course. You know my mother never misses a chance to show him off,” he chuckles.

“Well, I look forward to seeing what they’re going to try and pull off this year. I’m assuming your mother is making it as lavish as possible,” you joke, knowing how elated his mother was when the Jeong Corporation finally gained enough funding to throw a large-scale party.

“You know it,” he agrees, eyes sparkling in the way they used to. “I could, um, I could give you more details if you’d like.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling slightly flushed. “Sure, that sounds nice.” You open the door wider for him, stepping back so he can come inside.

It’s the first time you’ve really invited Jaehyun in. He came once for your son’s birthday party and a few other times because your son really wanted to show Jaehyun some toys from his room, but never once fully initiated by you.

“Can I heat up some coffee or tea for you?” You ask politely.

“Coffee would be wonderful, thank you,” he says, following you to the kitchen.

He takes a seat on one of the kitchen stools — the same spot where Johnny told you that Jaehyun clearly wanted to fuck you again. You clear your throat, tossing the memory aside.

“So, is there a dress code for the party? Do I need to go out and get anything?” You question, starting to brew Jaehyun’s favorite blend. The both of you choose to ignore the fact that you still remember how to make his coffee just the way he likes it.

“They were endorsing a blue and white theme this year, but you don’t have to follow those rules, of course,” he assures you.

You shake your head, turning back to him and smiling. “I will one hundred percent abide by that dress code. You know how picky those businesspeople are.”

He chuckles to himself, fiddling with his fingers nervously. You wonder if he’s just as anxious as you are.

“Right, forgot about that. So I’ll come pick up you and the little bear Friday night?”

You nod. “That would be nice. Thanks, Jaehyun.”

“Of course,” he replies, thanking you when you hand him his coffee. “The party shouldn’t last for more than two to three hours on Saturday, but you know how my father gets with the speeches.”

“He’s just proud, that’s all. It’s not everyday a company you built from the ground turns so successful.”

He nods. “Every company comes with its sacrifices though.”

You swallow at him alluding to your separation. Luckily, you’re saved by your son, who comes running into the kitchen.

“Dad!” He exclaims happily. “You’re still here!”

Jaehyun laughs. “Just having a conversation with your mom, little bear. Did you color something already?”

Your son nods, already eager to showcase his coloring skills. Jaehyun situates him on his lap, listening as your son details the process of what colors he chose and what the monkey is doing exactly in the picture.

You grow fond at the sight, not seeing Jaehyun with your son like this in so long. You never doubted that Jaehyun loved him with his entire heart, you just always wished he made more time for the both of you.

“And who did you color this for, little bear?” Jaehyun asks softly, kissing his son’s temple.

“Mom, of course!” Your son says with certainty, and Jaehyun helps him rip the picture out of the book so he can hand it to you.

“Thank you so much, sprout. I’ll cherish it forever,” you promise, clutching the paper to your chest.

Your son has an affinity for coloring and drawing, and as a result, most of your fridge and walls were covered in his artwork.

“I’ll make one for you too, dad,” your son swears, wiggling out of Jaehyun’s arms until he’s back on the floor. The both of you watch him zoom off, warning him not to run too fast.

Jaehyun smiles. “I should get him those coloring books for adults. I feel like he would love them.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah right. He only enjoys these because they have animals in them. Give him a crazy pattern and he’ll give up coloring forever.”

He laughs before agreeing with you. A part of you missed this — the happy laughter and talks of your son with someone who also wanted the best for him.

“My mother’s set up a private cabin for us for the weekend,” he shares, avoiding your stare. “But I can always have the driver take you and the little bear back here if that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Oh,” you say, briefly surprised by the fact that Jaehyun’s mother set all of you together. You would think she wants you as far away from her son as possible.

Jaehyun takes your response badly, face twisting into a grimace. “It’s no problem. I’ll tell Doyoung that you would prefer coming back here instead of staying the weekend.”

“No!” You exclaim, flushing by how loud your voice rose. “I mean, I was just shocked your mother did that for us. I thought she didn’t like me anymore.”

Jaehyun’s eyebrows shot up. “My mother? The same one that wanted to buy us an island when we told her about the pregnancy?”

You chuckle. “That was out of the kindness of her heart, Jaehyun.”

“Please,” he scoffs. He takes the coffee mug you hold out for him. “She loves you more than anything. Nothing between us would change that.”

You smile, ignoring the nerves slowly creeping up every inch of your body.

—

“Johnny, put that back!”

“Why? It’s sexy!”

You grab one of your throw pillows and chuck it at Johnny’s head. He dodges just in time, rolling his eyes and putting your lingerie back in your drawer.

“I’m just saying, you never know what’s going to happen. You’ll regret it later when you’re trying to fuck Jaehyun and you have nothing but granny panties.”

“I regret asking you to help me pack,” you sigh, trying your best to fit everything you need this weekend for you and your son in a small suitcase.

“I’m going to ignore that comment since I’m willingly giving up my Friday afternoon for you. When was the last time you went shopping?” He asks.

It actually takes you a minute to stop and think about your answer. Ever since your son was born, your wardrobe has mainly consisted of haphazard pajamas. The only time you really went out and purchased clothes is if you were attending one of Jaehyun’s fancy events.

“All of these clothes are way out of season! How have I not noticed this before?” Johnny complains, rifling through your drawers. “We need to go shopping.”

You groan. “It’s too late for that. Jaehyun is picking us up tonight!”

The doorbell rings and you sigh again, massaging your temples in an attempt to make the headache go away. Johnny takes pity on you and answers the front door himself. You hear hushed whispers before he comes back into your bedroom, a smile on his face as he carries a large box in his hands.

Your eyebrows furrow. “What’s that?”

“A special delivery from one Mr. Jeong Jaehyun,” Johnny replies, a smirk evident on his lips.

You’re still trying to recover from the shock of Jaehyun sending you anything before you realize Johnny’s ripping open the box. He looks like a kid on Christmas morning and you can’t help but lean over to see it too.

In the box is a beautiful, satin white dress that looks like a red wine lover’s worst nightmare. However, you can barely focus on the color when you can recognize exactly where this dress is from.

“Dude,” Johnny says in a small voice, sounding breathless. “It’s your wedding dress.”

And if this wasn’t your wedding dress — it sure as hell looked a lot like it. You remember the day you picked it out, insisting on going for a modern style instead of a princess ball gown. It was a simple, off-shoulder, stark white dress that you envisioned yourself wearing while walking down the aisle to Jaehyun.

And three years ago, you cried when you donated it to a local thrift store, refusing to continue to store memories of what could’ve been in the back of your closet.

You thought you would never see it again.

“He said the theme was blue and white, right?”

Johnny brings you out of your train of thought. You cough, avoiding his questioning gaze.

“Yeah.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

You narrow your eyes at his suggestive tone. He shrugs.

“I think you’re going to have an interesting trip.”

—

“Hi, dad!”

“Hi, little bear!”

Your heart melts at the sight of Jaehyun and your son together. Jaehyun’s all smiles while he straps your son into his carseat, dimples peeking out. Once he’s settled, he turns to you as he shuts the car door. You awkwardly step around each other as he helps you with your bags and you slip into the front seat.

The drive to the cabin you’ll be staying at for the weekend is about an hour from your place, which means you have two choices — you could pretend to sleep and avoid speaking to Jaehyun altogether, or you could bite the bullet and make as much small talk as you possibly can.

Jaehyun makes the decision for you.

“So how’s work?”

You muster a smile. “It’s alright. I think I’m going to get promoted soon.”

He laughs. “It’s about time. I’ve never seen anyone else at that company work harder than you.”

You stutter at the compliment. You always forget how charming Jaehyun is, and how easy it is for him to make you feel like a teenager all over again.

You can’t hold back your next question. “Where did you find it? The dress?”

His fingers tighten on the wheel.

“It’s just a dupe I found online.”

But the response sounds too rehearsed. Too practiced. It’s almost like he had been preparing himself for when you would inquire about it.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper, and he knows you can tell that he’s lying.

He sighs, looking through the rearview mirror to check if your son has already drifted off before proceeding. “When you donated it, Doyoung found out and I asked him to buy it back. I know it’s your dream dress, and it’s my fault you never got to wear it. I just wanted you to have a night where you could finally show it off.”

You don’t know why, but you feel tears welling up in your eyes. The idea that Jaehyun kept your dress for you all these years tugged at your heartstrings. If the dress was a reminder to you of your failed relationship, you can’t imagine what he felt when he came across it in his own home every single day.

You turn your head to look out the window so he wouldn’t see your crushed expression.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I did. You deserve at least that, and so much more. For now, unfortunately, this is all I can give you.”

The two of you remain silent for the rest of the trip and you’re relieved when he pulls into the cabin’s driveway. You both fall into a familiar pattern as you get out to grab your son and he heads to the trunk to take out your luggage. You’re careful to unbuckle your son from his carseat in fear of waking him, and you relax when he’s in your arms, still sound asleep.

Jaehyun opens the front door and you marvel at the beauty of the cabin once you’re inside. You’re not surprised in the slightest that Jaehyun’s mother hooked you up with an extremely lavish place for the weekend.

“Upstairs, first door to the right,” Jaehyun whispers, and you realize he’s telling you where your son will be sleeping.

After you’ve tucked him in and made sure he’s out for the night, you tiptoe back downstairs.

Jaehyun looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, fumbling around with the television remote, pacing in front of the entertainment dock.

“So, um, what room will I be in?”

“Oh yeah,” he says uncomfortably, quickly grabbing your luggage. “Let me show you.”

He leads you down a hallway off from the living room, opening one of the many doors and setting your stuff inside.

“Here’s your room. I, um, I’m just across the hall. There’s also another room upstairs if you want to sleep closer to the little bear but it’s a lot smaller and doesn’t have a connecting bathroom so I figured-“

“This is great, Jaehyun. Thank you.”

He clears his throat and nods, quickly shuffling out of the room. He pauses in the entryway as he’s closing the door, something clearly lingering on his mind.

“You don’t have to wear the dress tomorrow, it was inconsiderate of me to assume you would want to. I’ll have Doyoung pick up something different in the morning for you to wear.”

Before you could protest, the door shuts. You sigh and run your hands down your face.

This was going to be a long weekend.

—

You and Jaehyun barely exchange any words the next day.

As promised, a new, navy blue dress hangs outside your door when you wake up. You fail to confront Jaehyun about it since he spends most of the morning playing with your son at a nearby creek. In all honesty, you want to wear your wedding dress. On the outside, it wasn’t too flashy since you refused to add a train or any embellishments, and it was perfect for a formal event like the anniversary party. On the inside, everything Jaehyun said yesterday was correct — this was your dream dress, and you wanted to just have this one occasion to finally show it off.

You call Johnny before Jaehyun and your son return, and he happily picks up on the second ring.

“Got fucked yet?”

“You’re despicable.”

Johnny’s joyous laughter is grating to your ears.

“It’s so awkward, Johnny. We had this weird conversation about the dress so he had Doyoung get me a new one, but I actually really want to wear my wedding dress. Is that crazy?”

“Nope,” he replies, popping the last syllable for emphasis. “I think you’re just afraid of what wearing the dress means for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

He clicks his tongue, and you can picture him shaking his head at your alleged stupidity. “Think about it. The last time you wore this dress, you were engaged and about to marry the love of your life. Don’t you think wearing it again is going to spark up any old feelings?”

You ponder over the idea for a moment before shaking your head. Johnny was wrong — you just wanted to wear this dress because you liked it. You convince yourself there are no lingering feelings you should be worrying about.

“You’re full of shit.”

“Uh huh. We’ll see about that.”

However, later that night when you slip into the dress, you understand exactly what Johnny was talking about. You used to have vision boards of this dress plastered on your living room walls, picking what flowers and color scheme you wanted to compliment it. You remember Johnny even photoshopping you in this dress next to Jaehyun in his suit, the both of you standing in front of what was supposed to be your dream venue.

The memories come back to you like a tidal wave. Jaehyun planning the perfect dinner for the two of you when you were six months pregnant. Jaehyun proposing to you that night, tears in his eyes as he confessed how much he loved you. Welcoming your son into the world three months later. Trying on the dress again after his birth, worrying your body would look too different. Jaehyun getting the dress re-tailored for you when your insecurities started to affect your daily life. Your son crying night after night while his father stayed late working in his office. Postponing the wedding every year because Jaehyun was too busy. Shoving the dress in the back of your closet because you couldn’t stand to see it any longer. Finally getting the courage to pack up your things and leave, taking the dress with you. Giving it away when you felt like you needed to close this chapter of your life. The chapter where Jaehyun was supposed to be your eternal love.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until the door creaks open.

“Mom, why are you sad?”

You immediately straighten yourself and wipe away your tears, turning to see your son at the door with his head tilted in concern. You laugh when you see his suit is half buttoned.

“I’m not sad, little sprout,” you smile, walking over to him and scooping him in your arms. “I’m so excited for tonight! Look at my handsome boy!”

He giggles when you press kisses to his cheek.

“Mom,” he whines. “Help me!”

You keep your smile on as you help him fix his suit, and you hear the door creak open again when you’re on the last button.

If Jaehyun notices the redness in your eyes, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Little bear, why don’t you finish your dinner before we head out? Don’t want you getting hungry.”

Your son obediently follows Jaehyun’s orders once you’re finished buttoning his suit, running to the kitchen to eat his meal.

You walk back to the full length mirror in the corner of the room in an attempt to make yourself look as presentable as possible. You can feel his eyes on you, burning a hole in your back.

“You look beautiful.”

You falter, fingers shakily trying to put your earring on. “Thank you.”

“I thought you wanted to wear a different dress.”

“No, I actually want to wear this one.”

“Oh, okay.” A pause. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Jaehyun. Can you make sure Doyoung has coloring books and crayons in the car? In case the little sprout gets bored.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that,” he nods, and you lock eyes with him in the mirror.

He doesn’t say anything else but you know he’s worried about you. He purses his lips before closing the door, and you sigh in relief when you hear his footsteps fade away.

—

“Nice to see you again.”

You grin as you envelope Doyoung in a hug. The last time you saw Jaehyun’s assistant was almost three years ago at the last anniversary party you attended. Doyoung had always been a very loyal right-hand man to Jaehyun, and he used to be one of the constants in your life.

“You look gorgeous,” he compliments, his bunny teeth peeking out.

You thank him and he helps you and your son climb into the car, Jaehyun following after. Doyoung takes the driver’s seat and rolls up the partition so you can have some privacy. You wish he would do the opposite and make small talk with you, especially since you could cut the tension between you and Jaehyun with a knife.

Your son is seated between the two of you and he plays a helpful role in the awkward atmosphere. He starts asking Jaehyun questions about the party and who will be there, which Jaehyun answers patiently as your son bombards him with question after question.

You start fiddling with the fabric of your dress, the satin slipping between your fingers. When you look up, you see Jaehyun’s eyes locked on you, and it makes you wonder how differently this picture would have looked years ago.

This car would’ve been driving to your wedding venue with your son as the ring bearer. You would be leaning over to capture every moment of Jaehyun’s lips before you would have to kiss in front of hundreds of guests, a thought that always rattled you. You would have a bouquet of daisies bunched up in your hand, similar to the ones Jaehyun gave you on your first date. You would be scared of your veil tearing, trying your best to make sure your son didn’t accidentally rip it. All while Jaehyun stares at you like you hold the world in your hands, his fingers interlacing with yours to assure you everything would be okay.

You imagine he’s thinking the same as you if the longing in his eyes is anything to go by. But then the car hits a speed bump, forcing you to break eye contact. He returns to answering your son’s questions and you start playing with your dress again.

When you finally arrive at the Jeong Corporation building, you’re immediately greeted by your former mother-in-law.

She wraps you in her arms as soon as you step out of the car, and if you didn’t know any better, you would say she’s trying to strangle you by the sheer force of her strength.

“My favorite daughter!”

You flush at the greeting, remembering it was her favorite nickname for you. You catch Jaehyun carrying your son from the corner of your eye, his ears blooming red from embarrassment.

“Hi, Mrs. Jeong,” you reply, reciprocating her embrace.

She releases you to step back and take a look at your form. She looks exactly the same as she did three years ago, and you feel her manicured hand stroke your cheek.

“Look at you. Still so beautiful.”

You smile, slowly feeling your nerves dissipate. Maybe Johnny was right — maybe Jaehyun’s family didn’t actually hate you, they just missed you.

Her gaze flickers to her grandson, and she coos at him as she takes him from Jaehyun.

“And here’s my strong tiger! So handsome tonight!”

“Grandma!” Your son exclaims happily, chubby hands wrapping around her neck.

She gestures for you and Jaehyun to follow her inside the building as she begins walking. You share a glance with him before coming to a silent agreement, looping your arm through his in an attempt to show solidarity. You ignore the ache in your feet and the thumping of your heart, keeping your eyes trained on Jaehyun’s mom animatedly speaking to your son. She guides you to the conference room on the main floor, where the party is being held.

She turns to you once you’re at the entrance. “I’m going to take him to meet Yoojin, she’s been begging to meet my grandson. And don’t you two worry, I’ll take him back with us when the party’s over. He needs to spend some quality time with his grandparents! Have a fun night together!”

And before you can protest, she’s disappeared into the crowd, taking your son along for the ride.

Jaehyun curses. “I’m sorry. Let me catch her and let her know we want him to come back to the cabin with us.”

You stop him with a firm tug on his arm. He stares at you in confusion.

“It’s okay, let her take him. She’s right — he hasn’t had quality time with his grandparents for a while.”

He slowly nods and slips his arm back through yours. You both don’t know where to begin for the night now that your conversation helper is gone. The first stop you choose is the open bar while Jaehyun starts his formal thank you parade around the floor. You’re waiting for your drink when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

You turn to see Seulgi, who is practically beaming at you.

“I was wondering if it was you!” She giggles and hugs you tightly.

Seulgi worked as head of marketing for Jeong Corporation, and you used to chat with her quite a lot whenever you visited Jaehyun in the office.

“I can’t believe you’re here, I haven’t seen you in forever,” she hums, sitting on the barstool next to you. She tells the bartender her order before focusing back on you. “How have you been?”

“I’m good,” you chuckle, a little floored by her presence. You forgot that attending this party meant you would also be running into all of Jaehyun’s colleagues that you used to be friendly with. “How have you been?”

She huffs. “Swamped with work, but this party is always a nice change of pace. Did you come with Jaehyun?”

You also remember how Seulgi doesn’t beat around the bush.

“Yes, I came with him and our son.”

“Oh, I have to see him before I leave. I bet he’s all grown up now,” she murmurs. “So you’re all back together then?”

“No, no,” you deny, thanking the bartender when your drink arrives. “Jaehyun just invited me as a plus one this year. Or plus two, I guess.”

She hums noncommittally, throwing a mischievous side eye. Actually, in this moment, you realize how much she resembles Johnny.

You feel a hand graze your back. You look up to see Jaehyun, who’s throwing a timid smile in Seulgi’s direction.

“Sorry, can I steal her for a bit?”

Seulgi smirks knowingly. “You can have her for as long as you need, Mr. Jeong.”

His eyes narrow at her before he’s leading you away from the bar, his hand still sitting firmly on your lower back.

“Sorry to interrupt your conversation,” he apologizes in your ear, sending shivers down your spine at the proximity. “I need you to be my shield for these terribly boring conversations or I’ll melt into a puddle on the floor.”

You giggle. “So you’re throwing me into the dumpster fire?”

“More like I’m having you join me in the flames.”

The rest of the night eases your nerves more and more, and it gets to the point where you’re falling back into your old harmony with Jaehyun. You’re exchanging raised eyebrows when people aren’t looking, sharing your portion of small talk with the guests who approach you, and whispering in each other’s ears when a funny joke pops up. Jaehyun’s mom even swings by with your son a couple of times, giving you and Jaehyun the opportunity to spend some time with him together. You even manage to skirt around the straining questions if you two are back together, telling people you’re just here as friendly co-parents.

Despite that, for the first time in a long time, you felt like a family again.

By the end of the night, you’re climbing back into the car with Jaehyun while his parents wave you off, holding your son in their arms and assuring they’ll take good care of him.

Once they disappear out of view, you sink back and relax. Jaehyun laughs at you.

“Long night, huh?”

“My feet are killing me,” you complain, undoing the straps of your heels and tossing them aside.

His hand instantly comes to your neck, slowly massaging the tense muscles. You remember how he used to do that after every socially draining event you attended, and you lean into his touch.

“Thank you.”

The car runs into another speed bump and the movement causes you to grip onto Jaehyun’s arm, pushing your body into his. You gasp and he grabs your waist to steady you.

His hand feels like someone took a searing hot iron to your skin, and you grip his palm out of instinct. Your eyes glance over at him and you find he’s already looking at you, his other hand still resting steady against your pulse.

You don’t know who moves first.

The next sequence of events passes in a flurry, lips smashing together sloppily, hands flying around. You moan into his mouth and he unbuckles both of your seatbelts so you can climb onto his lap.

“Jae,” you groan, feeling his hands lift up your dress, sneaking up your thighs.

“I fucking missed you,” he says, sucking at your neck.

“Please, Jae,” you whimper, hands curled on the collar of his suit.

His hand firmly cups your clothed cunt and you whine loudly. You missed this — missed how rough he would get with you, how he would take you in front of anyone and everyone just to prove you were his. It’s why you got pregnant way before you planned to, and how you uncovered his desire to fill you raw.

“So fucking wet. This pussy’s all wet for me, isn’t that right?” He hisses in your ear, his deep voice causing you to soak your panties even more.

“Just for you, only for you,” you promise.

He captures your lips again as he pushes your underwear to the side, thumb circling your clit. You cry, hips starting to move on their own accord.

You admit, it’s been a long time since you were intimate with anyone, and it’s made you quite sensitive as a result.

“Want to feel it, baby,” his tongue traces your lower lip. You can start to feel drool pooling out of the corners of your mouth, but you know Jaehyun doesn’t care. If anything, he loves it when you’re sloppy like this. “Want to feel you cum around my fingers. Can you do that for me?”

It’s almost as if his words trigger something deep inside of you, because as soon as two fingers slip in, you’re already reaching your climax. He lets you ride out your high, hips moving back and forth on his fingers as if he was just a toy for your pleasure.

“God, you’re so fucking hot. Want to breed you so badly, baby.”

You gasp at the thought, pulling him into another searing kiss.

And that’s how Doyoung finds you, straddling Jaehyun’s lap with remnants of your orgasm leaking onto his trousers, lips desperately connected for more.

“Um, we’re back.”

You almost scream and Jaehyun pulls you closer to protect you. In your lustful haze, you failed to realize the car had come to a complete stop and Doyoung had opened the door to help you get out.

You’re incredibly embarrassed but Doyoung used to catch you in way more compromising positions before — one time, he had to uncomfortably barge in on Jaehyun fucking you over his desk because one of his shareholders was about to come in for an important meeting. So the fact that you’re still clothed lessens your shame.

You and Jaehyun waste no time, scrambling out of the car and quickly thanking Doyoung before sprinting into the cabin.

As soon as the door’s closed, Jaehyun’s on his knees, pushing up your dress and dragging your hips until you’re perfectly seated on his face. You hear the rip of your underwear but you don’t even care, fingers flying to grip his hair.

“Pretty girl,” he mumbles, tongue darting out to lick at your folds. His hands grasp your thighs, hard enough to leave bruises. “Ride my face, baby. Like you used to in those stuffy restaurant bathrooms, remember?”

Of course you remember. Every time Jaehyun brought you along to a boring business dinner, you always ended up riding his face in the bathroom just to make the night more interesting.

You channel that feeling you used to get, pushing your cunt on his tongue until you start to feel your wetness dripping down your thighs. You can hear the squelch of your pussy riding Jaehyun’s tongue, and it makes your hips move even faster to chase your release.

“S-So fucking g-good, Daddy,” you whine, your climax building in your stomach. “Gonna cum for you.”

You feel him push away in favor of sucking on your clit, three fingers prodding at your entrance. You cry at the intrusion.

“Too much, Daddy!”

“Gotta get you prepped, baby. You remember how hard it is for you to take my cock?”

You couldn’t forget. Jaehyun had to have the perfect body, almost like he was sculpted by the gods. This meant that he was extremely well endowed and most nights, it usually took a lot of prep for him to even fit halfway into your pussy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you hiss when his fingers curl. “Gonna cum, gonna cum.”

You have never felt more grateful to Jaehyun’s mom until that moment, because the sound of your loud moans would normally be leading towards a noise complaint from the neighbors, but since the cabin was the only house for miles, you could be as loud as you want.

Jaehyun coaxes you through your high, abusing your clit until you beg him to stop, pushing him away from the overstimulation.

When he rises up on his feet, it’s like you two are teenagers again. He’s scrambling to take off your dress without damaging it and you’re clumsily pulling at his belt buckle until it gives. Once your dress has fallen to the ground, he throws his suit jacket somewhere and steps out of his slacks.

“No bra?” He groans, mouth immediately latching onto your nipple.

“Doesn’t- fuck, I can’t wear it with the dress. The straps will show.”

He picks you up like a ragdoll, and you find yourself being thrown over the coffee table, breaking at least three mugs along the way.

“Jae, be careful,” you try to scold him.

He doesn’t give a single fuck, taking his cock out and giving himself a few strokes.

“Raw, baby?”

You whimper, spreading your thighs apart in anticipation. “Yes, please, Daddy!”

The stretch of taking him is not unfamiliar, but it definitely fucking hurts.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so fucking big,” you wail, hands gripping his shoulders.

“Have you fucked anyone else? Let anyone else inside what belongs to me?” He asks you, his gaze growing more intense.

There’s that possessiveness you remember. You recall every time anyone would try to flirt with you, Jaehyun would drag you home and fuck you until you cried just to show no one else could make you feel like he does. There was even one instance where he fingered you in front of some poor guy at a club, forcing him to watch as you screamed Jaehyun’s name.

“Just one guy,” you hastily confess. “Johnny set us up but he wasn’t good. He wasn’t anything like you, Daddy.”

He nearly growls at the mention of another man being intimate with you, hands pushing your thighs closer to your chest so he can sink deeper into you.

“I’ll kill him,” he whispers harshly down at you. You open your mouth and he’s fast to spit into it, watching you swallow. “I’ll fucking kill anyone who touches what’s mine.”

You groan, pulling him down so you can kiss him. He starts to thrust into you and it’s like you can feel yourself being split in half.

“Don’t act so innocent,” you breathe into his lips. “I’m sure you did the same.”

“Haven’t fucked anyone since you left,” he admits, bottoming out. You mewl and bring him closer. “I watch those movies we used to make and cum into my hand, wishing it was yours. Isn’t that pathetic?”

Early in your relationship, you and Jaehyun used to make a collection of home movies for your eyes only. It ranged from fucking in your old childhood bed to getting railed on a balcony in Paris. It used to be something for you two to look at when you missed each other, but you haven’t seen one in years. Knowing that he still gets off to them makes you even more wet.

“Fuck, you just got so tight, baby,” he groans. “You like knowing that I can only cum to the thought of you? That I picture filling you up every night, imagining you begging for my cock? Does that turn you on, baby?”

You curse loudly, body feeling like it’s on fire. His fingers trail down to pinch your clit and that sends you over the edge, crying and whimpering as you reach your third orgasm of the night.

Your limbs feel like jelly, but you know Jaehyun’s not even halfway done. He made you orgasm six times in one night before, and ever since then, he’s been trying to beat his record.

You feel him lift you up, still attached to his cock.

“I-I can’t, Jae,” you plead, but you know it’s no use anyways.

He places you down in front of the hallway mirror, where a long table stands beneath it, filled with small trinkets and ornaments. He’s quick to push them off, and you wince when you hear glass breaking.

“Jae-“

“Don’t give a fuck, baby. I’ll replace it later. Hands on the table, eyes on the mirror.”

He turns you around so your ass is facing him, and you whine when he gives it a hard slap. You obey his instructions, placing your palms on the wood and focusing on his predatory look in the mirror.

As he pushes back into you, his hand snakes around your middle, pulling you back onto his cock.

“Tell me,” he taunts in your ear. “Tell me how much you missed me.”

“S-So much,” you sniffle. “I fuck myself with that toy you bought me and I pretend it’s you.”

“Yeah?” He snickers, offering another slap to your ass. “What else?”

“I miss you all the time. Miss how I could go to your office and ride you before your next meeting. Miss sucking your cock dry before you left for work. Miss you filling me up until it was dripping out of my pussy.”

He groans, pressing his face into your shoulder and biting down.

“Tell me,” you whisper, starting to feel vulnerable. “Tell me how much you missed me.”

“You know how much I missed you, baby,” he replies, eyes locked on yours through the mirror. “You know and you never need to ask.”

And there’s no other words that need to be said, because you understand exactly what he means. You almost begin to cry at the thought of him coming home to an empty house, searching through every room for you and your son and finding nothing but empty drawers and naked bed sheets.

“Don’t be sad, baby,” he murmurs, gently thrusting into you. “You know I deserved it.”

“I missed you,” you choke out. “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you.”

He tilts the side of your face and pulls you into a kiss, railing you deeper and deeper until your toes scrape the floor.

“Please cum in me, Jae. Please, I need it,” you beg.

“Are you back on birth control, baby?”

You shake your head. “No, but it’s okay. Cum in me raw, it’s okay.”

“Fuck, baby, you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do, and I want it,” you whisper to him, interlacing your fingers. “It’s okay, Jae. Fill up my pussy, baby.”

He curses loudly before releasing inside of you, filling you until his cum starts to drip down your thighs.

He’s quick to drop back down to his knees, pulling you to his mouth again so he can send you to another orgasm. You tell him you don’t need another one but he doesn’t listen, fervently eating his cum out of your pussy like it’s his last meal.

You reach your high just like that, with his tongue deep inside you and your hands still gripping the hallway table.

When you come down, he lifts you bridal style and carries you to your bathroom.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, baby.”

—

You wake up to the sound of birds chirping and a large heater pressed against your back. Except the large heater is actually your ex-fiancé, who’s snoring loudly in your ear.

You smile fondly, thinking about the previous night. You reach to check your phone on the nightstand, and roll your eyes at your unread text messages.

[johnnyjsuh]: so what happened? did he fuck you?

[johnnyjsuh]: oh he FOR SURE fucked you, you’re not even reading my texts rn

[johnnyjsuh]: just confirmed with doyoung

[johnnyjsuh]: have fun whore

You feel Jaehyun stir behind you and you place your phone down. He kisses your temple.

“Mm, good morning, baby. Breakfast in bed?”

You smile at the thought and nod, watching him get up and pull on his boxers. However, there’s a lingering voice in the back of your head and you wish you could stop it before it grows, but it’s impossible.

“Jae?” You question before he’s out the door, and he pauses to look at you. “Why did you never get mad?”

He blinks a few times, processing your question. He walks over and sits at the edge of the bed, and you sit up to look at him properly.

“Why would I get mad? You were doing what was best for you and the little bear.”

“But I never told you. I just-“ you place your head in your hands, guilt washing over you. “I just left you.”

You feel him taking your hands away from your face and he tilts your chin up so he can look at you.

“It was a bad situation, and I caused it. You were right — I never came home, I was overworking myself to prove something to the public, and I lost everything because of it. I needed that wake-up call from you. And I should’ve fought for you, I should’ve begged you to come back, but I couldn’t make myself do it. I convinced myself that you were better off without me, and that the little bear deserved a father who was always present. It’s all my fault and I never want to see you blame yourself for my wrongs.”

You frown, taking your hands in his and staring into his eyes.

“Do you really believe that? That all of the blame should’ve fallen on you?”

He nods meekly, suddenly too embarrassed to meet your stare, looking down at the sheets.

“Jae,” you sigh. “You know our relationship held equal weight on both sides. Did I wish you were more present for us? Of course. But it’s also my fault for never communicating to you how frustrated I was. I just didn’t know how, and it resulted in me running away from the problem instead of working through it. I think about that day all the time — what would’ve happened if I just waited for you to come home? What would’ve happened if I told you how I was feeling? It was too difficult for me to process and as much as I was confident in my decision, a part of me wishes I would’ve stayed and talked through it.”

“But you should’ve never been in that position in the first place,” he replies, looking more heartbroken than you’ve ever seen him. “I knew I was working way too hard for something that might not even be achievable. I was so desperate to be accepted that I forgot about my family. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

Your eyes well with tears and you wonder how long he’s carried this guilt with him. You lean over and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” you whisper, hands still desperately clutching his. “If you promise me that this time will be different, I want us to be together again. To try and be a family again.”

His eyes sparkle with hope and he kisses you again.

“I promise. I promise I’m here for our family. I’m going to be a better partner and a better father. Thank you.”

“And?” You raise an eyebrow and he laughs, nuzzling his head into your neck playfully.

“And I love you. More than anything in this world.”

His lips chase you until your head hits the pillow. You whine when his hand roughly clutches your waist.

“We-“ he starts to say, kissing down your neck. “We have to go pick up the little bear.”

“In a minute,” you respond, wanting to savor this moment with him. “Let me suck you off first.”

He groans. “Fuck, don’t say shit like that, baby. If we’re on limited time, you know I’m making sure I get you pregnant before you walk out that door.”

You moan. “I’m pretty sure you already did that last night.”

“You never know until a couple of tries later, right?”

He moves to drop his boxers but then he suddenly remembers something, looking bashful as he glances down at you.

“What? What is it?”

“I was a little too rough last night and well, I think your dress got the receiving end of most of it.”

“Jaehyun!”

“I’m sorry, I tried my best not to damage it!”

You roll your eyes and turn over, pushing yourself on your hands and knees.

“Put a baby in me and I’ll forgive you.”

“I fucking love you.”

#nct smut #jaehyun #jaehyun smut

5K notes · View notes

ghoulphile · 1 year ago

Text

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears.

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood.

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog.

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #cooper howard #the ghoul #the ghoul smut

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calolily · 4 months ago

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“Astarion’s breath caught in his throat as he heard the door latch shut. He tried to utter a soft “hello,” but his greeting was quickly stifled into the fabric that clung to Gale’s chest as he was pulled into a warm embrace.

For a moment, Astarion stood perfectly still. He felt the heat of his short breaths against the cotton of Gale’s clothing, bewildered and paralyzed by indecision. He was no stranger to hugs, rare as they were. He wasn’t unfamiliar with Gale’s hugs, either. But there was something about being held by Gale at that very moment that felt alien and strange to him. It felt like the first hug he’d ever received in his lifetime.

Astarion decided that maybe the world wouldn’t end if he allowed himself to rest his chin on his damp shoulder. The sun wouldn’t fall out of the sky, even if he did slowly wrap his arms around his body. His fingers clung to the edges of his hoodie, feeling the smooth, plush skin of his lower back gently graze his knuckles. The stars wouldn’t burn out if he focused on the sound of his heartbeat and compared it to his.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

A familiar intrusive thought crossed Astarion’s mind, louder than it had ever dared to speak before:

Gods, I wish you would kiss me.

Shame and regret pooled in the pit of his stomach, rising up to his chest.

Would you even want that?

With little warning, the story of Orfeo and Proserpina that had been vividly carved into the proscenium archway from his nightmares barreled its way to the forefront of his mind. He pondered her death. His descent into the Hells to find her, lute in hand. The botched rescue.

He pictured the tangible anguish immortalized in his face as he watched her vanish into the ether.

Astarion felt his raw, red eyelids squeeze shut almost instinctively. He was both enamored and terror-struck by the safety he felt in Gale’s arms. He drew in the scent of sandalwood that mingled with the fresh notes of petrichor on his neck. He could feel the cold, wet, wavy strands of his hair clinging to his cheek. He felt so damn real. And he was real. Corporeal—not the immaterial figment of his imagination, the shade of stardust that seeped into his every dream. If he gave himself permission to look upon his face, just for a moment—if only to verify that he was more than a phantasmagorical apparition come to torment him with sweet, meaningless nothings in his darkest moment—would he vanish, too?

Dire as the mythological consequences sounded, Astarion dared to tempt fate—the chances he was dreaming were slim. Defiance was the one way he could think of to prove his theory to be true.

He opened his eyes.

To his relief, his feet were still firmly planted on the ground. His fists were still balled up in cotton fabric. He was still in Gale’s arms.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Neither of them were.”

#bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #bloodweave #seen fic #bg3 fan art #bg3 companions #bg3 art #bg3 gale #bg3 fanart #gale bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction

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skelly-words · 1 year ago

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Hey! If cool I was wondering if you could write tentacle smut. I’m not too sure on the plot but wanted reader to be very much in some sort of public setting with loads of people just watching as she gets railed by a tentacle. The kinks I wanted to ask if they could be in there is Voyourism (public sex), public nudity, squirting and/ watersports and overstimulation.

If not that is totally okay! I just wanted to ask :) and am exited to see what you come up with if your comfortable with writing this

okay cool so....

Not proofread, tags in the ask + spit a lil bit, ass eating, idk futa shenanigans, ahhhh milk (i kinda scared myself w/ this at the end)

My brain immediately went to big networking conventions that businesses have where the important people from the different corporate branches come together to drink, schmooze, and brag about sales numbers to each other.

Your boss asks you to come with her to help with the demonstration. The travel expenses and hotel costs are all covered, so you agree to spend the weekend on Wall Street with her.

I hate this, but there's the slightest bit of lore, so i ECOURAGE you to read the other parts first -> masterlist

MINORS DNI, stay away 18+ only

The presentation room of the hotel caters to corporate mixers like this. Circular dinner tables decorated with charcuterie fill out the hall. Your knee bounces nervously as people begin to file in. Saturday had been boring, spent bumming around the all-inclusive spa while your boss attended other company presentations not too dissimilar from this one.

"Relax." Your boss whispers. She sits in the squeaky folding chair beside you. Her hand lands comfortably on your thigh, stilling your knee with her warm touch. "All you have to do is bend over the podium."

You nod and try to emulate her flippant attitude. The bounce returns to your knee anyway because nerves are impossible to hide. The minutes slip by as people settle into their seats. The dimming lights act as a cue to hush the small talk and side conversations.

“Ready?” She gives your thigh a heady squeeze.

“Yea, ‘m ready,” you mumble.

Her gait is steady and comfortable up to the front of the room, and you trail behind in the shelter of her shadow. You smiled unsteadily at the sea of unfamiliar faces. Your boss tapped her knuckles on the podium, clearing her throat to get the rooms attention.

“Thank you all for coming,” she begins. “My branch is testing a few new methods of increasing productivity today. It’s all based on the same principle, ‘a happy mind is profitable one.’

“Of course, we’ll begin with the demonstration, just to prove how much it’ll help you focus on the rest of the presentation.”

An interested hum sweeps through the crowd as she leads you around the front of the podium. You aren’t wearing panties, only a skirt, which immediately becomes apparent as she lifts your waist up to the podium. The sturdy wooden surface slopes slightly up toward the room, propped up for dozens of eyes ogle your bare skin.

The position makes blood rush to your head, almost dizzy from the heavy heartbeat in your ears. Your skin feels hot and sensitive. The skirt tickles, sliding down the gentle slope of your back. You wonder if they can see how wet you are, cunt aching from all the attention.

The speech sounds so far away, like all your senses are dulling to make way for the electricity running beneath your skin. From the corner of your eye, you see a couple workers wheel three tanks up to the front of the podium.

The terrariums are large and damp, too fogged up from humidity to see anything through the glass. They're pushed into a neat line, starting at your side and progressing to the front of the stage in single file. The tank closest to you is the smallest. It's the only one you can properly look into because the creatures have suctioned themselves to the wet panes. Their round bodies flatten into mounds on the glass, little mouths busily opening and closing. You watch them, mindlessly observing them inch in little circles, around and round, maybe spirals if you spent enough time staring. You shiver, imagining the pattern it could suck into your skin. From your position now, you wonder if you look anything like that mouth on the glass to that polite crowd of people.

You feel a warm hand skim over your ass, inviting your neatly pleated skirt to drape over your back completely. The gauzy brown fabric went well with your blouse, and you remember packing it for this conference a week in advance. It feels silly now, to think what you're wearing matters when it's really the demonstration that's important.

The first tank slides open with a squeak, and your boss pulls a writhing blue tentacle out with a cloud of steam following it. You can barely see what's happening in your peripheral vision and only when you turn your head to the side. She wastes no time at all, taking the companies limited resources into account, the conference room was only reserved for an hour. Her other hand traces up and down your back, nails first, to scratch gently through the layers of fabric.

"You're doing great, hun." She whispers the reassurance into your ear, low and husky so only you can hear it. In one motion, she presses the end of the tentacle into your butt. It's bigger than what you had at home, which is what you prepped for. Her hand flattens to soothing circles when the pain comes through in your groans. You quiet to a whimper as the thing flails, twisting to orient itself inside you. It still hurt, but you were adjusting quickly to the pressure in your ass as it slithers down to find your pussy.

Now, no matter how you turn, you can't see what's going on. The suckers drag against you, that much is easy to discern from the sense of touch. The rest of your senses besides that have gone totally useless, so you watch the hypnotic pattern that the specimens in the last tank trace in the condensation.

The blue tentacle pushes into you. It's fat, thick and showy so the people in the back can see. Your eyes might be crossing from the way it slowly stretches you out. A shiny blue slime drips from every pore, sucker, and gland on the thing, making you squish obscenely from every movement. In. Out. In. Out. And your boss is still talking, you can even see the slides she flicks through when your eyes roll back, but it all sounds like white noise as the monstrous size shoves into your cunt, slipping out to momentarily attach an oozing sucker to your clit. Then it squirms right back into your hole, so slick that it runs down the inside of your thighs.

It's hopeless to imagine paying attention to anything else.

"But that's when we ran into the issue of hygiene. Clearly, this doesn't fit corporate dress-code."

That cuts through your thoughts, followed by light chuckles. The second tank slides open with a thunk, and you don't have to crane as much to see the pink tentacle calmy wrap around her arm.

"Oh, f-fuck," you finally make a sound audible over the disgusting squelch of that blue monster. She's trying to press the thick bulb at the end of the pink one into you, leaning real close, almost cheek to cheek as she forces it further past your rim. A glob of spit falls from her lips, you groan as she smears it around with her tongue.

"Just relax for me." And you're not even sure she's talking to you in that raspy tone. The hand on your back has inched lower to keep you pinned in place, and it's making you sore from how the podium’s edge digs into your hips.

Your sounds fall freely now, turning to whines as she licks you to ease the stretch. The hand on your back lightens up as the fat plug slides into place alongside the blue one. An affectionate smack lands on your ass, rubbing her warm palm over the spot as she watches the pink tentacle unfurl and flatten.

You can't see it, only whine as the weight shifts and adjusts inside you. The blue tentacle stops moving as if to behave and play nice with a friend. The gummy feelers attach as the pink tentacle latches on. It cups your swollen pussy, cleaning up the appearance quite nicely to the audience's disappointment. But your moans grow louder, echoing to let you know the sound made it to the back of the room. The little fingerlings lining the pink tentacles interior are so active. They pinch at your clit, making it slip between the soft jelly limbs while the others started playing with the rest of you.

"...And when properly stimulated, this specimen can be prompted to release its reproductive material on command." That faint comment reminds you of the eggs.

Your gasp is mixed between startled and concerned when her hand begins to brush the tentacle wrapped around your crotch. Being stuffed with the twitching blue tentacle makes you wonder where all the slimy eggs will go.

At her light brushes, the tendrils start to pull you apart. They slip inside you, just barely, enough to make your legs start to shake. You can feel them start to pour in as her thumb pushes down, squeezing out the soft spawn like horrific toothpaste as she slides the digit up from the base.

The blue tentacle comes back to life now, helping push the pink jelly into your poor pussy. You can feel the tiny limbs scoop and blue suckers fuck the eggs up against your sore cervix. And still, nobody can see. Your boss stands over you. Her hand trails between your thighs, tapping in the drying slick that's become tacky. She tugs at the tip of the tentacle, pinching firmly at the pink appendage and peeling it back.

Not all the eggs made it inside, rolling down your thighs as the mess is exposed. She's slow with her reveal, trailing her fingers through the juices to try the combination. You've gotten quieter, trying to keep your whimpers silent now that it's easier to hear. She starts to pull at the plug, and you have to bite your lip to keep it down. It doesn't wanna come out of your ass, still pulsing from so recently releasing eggs. Still, she tugs, making you squirm and clench your cunt. You've been on the edge for so long, and feeling the stretch to your rim makes your thighs squeeze together. They can barely shut to rub around your throbbing clit.

"I might as well introduce the last one then." She gives up on freeing the pink tentacle with a frustrated sigh and finally steps behind the podium to reach the tank in your eyeline. "They fit perfectly under your bra, so we'll both be demonstrating."

Your eyes follow her hand, from the lid, to inside the tank, to the buttons on her shirt. You strain to look up at her because she's standing so close, watching with jealousy as that thing sucks on her nipple. Her breasts look bigger too, spilling from her bra when she tries to squish them back into her shirt. A glance back down makes you blush. A bulge starts to bubble from her pencil skirt. It wouldn't be very noticeable if it wasn't a few inches from your nose.

"My turn?" You look up at her from between watery lashes, bending to smiling crescents when she nods. She lifts your chest just enough from the podium to let the green lump latch onto you. It doesn't seem to mind being squashed against the wood when she lowers you back down. They feel good, sucking at your breasts in a perfectly alternating rhythm. You start to feel weird, hotter as your tits get sore. The mouths pinch a little, not enough to hurt, barely more than a warning bite. You groan, the throbbing in your ruined pussy is getting worse. It makes you imagine what your boss is feeling. The pre dripping into her underwear. You probably could take her cock too if she asked you. She's still giving a presentation, talking through a slide as the buttons on her dress shirt strain. Her hand slips back to your butt, where it was yanking the bigger plug out of you.

She braces the opposite hand on your asscheek, rocking the pink tentacle back and forth to coax it out. You can barely hold sound back, dissolving into pitchy breaths when the fat blue fucker decides to start up again. It starts slow, but that pace doesn't last. After packing you with eggs, it's eager to let its cum out. Every loud thrust makes the eggs probe deeper. You can feel it in your tummy, pressed flat to the uncomfortably hard podium.

Your sensitive nipples pulse in time with the relentless suckers. You can't even care to be surprised as they spurt milk, moaning instead from the toy twisting in your ass.

The pink tentacle finally slips out of you, put back in its tank where it belongs. But you're sore, hole left gaping for the blue one to fill in as it swells. It gets bigger in your pussy too, larger with each beat. Even as she talks, her fingers can't stop playing with you, either pinching at your skin or dragging a digit through your slit. Her microphone is ther only thing keeping her intelligible over your cries, strung out from the pleasure.

Her fingers swirl around your clit, so sensitive. The touch isn't any more than light nibbles on your chest, but it makes you gasp and jump against her hand. You start to cum when she twists harder. The moans inside you spill out in one cry as you squirt. The pinch to your clit makes you spurt all over the front of her clothes.

She gasps in disgust and yanks you off the podium. The flooring is carpet, soft enough for your sore ass when you slump against the sturdy wood.

Your boss brushes off the interruption like nothing, simply indicating the conclusion of the demonstration as the slides flick to a new segment. She steps carefully between your legs when walking back to her place behind the podium.

The front of your blouse is halfway unbuttoned, however much was needed to get those creatures on, and now you notice how swollen they made your tits. You whine as the blue thing keeps moving between your thighs. There's more leverage at this angle and you don't know if you should moan or cry. In a few stunted thrusts, cum starts to fill you up, thick ropes of it that still somehow leak out from between all the eggs and the fat tentacle.

The pretty blue sheen coats your inner-thighs and the conference room floor. Something’s still wrong though. The ache between your legs isn't gone, not completely no matter how much your sore body begs to stop. It's the milk, or the hormones that come with it asking for just a little more. The demonstration portion is over. You're done, everyone's supposed to be focused on the woman speaking.

You slip a hand to your clit, circling the bud with shaking fingers. Just one more, and you'll be fine. Your boss doesn't even notice the room's eyes drifting lower. The blue tentacle indulges you, lazily moving in your cunny along with a few pumps of its warm seed. You can look at the lump it makes in your stomach from this angle.

This time, the orgasm builds fast and you have to muffle soft pants against your hand as you cum. Your poor pussy hurts, but you still need another and the tight circles on your clit don't let up.

There can't be that much more time before the hour is up and she has to get these things off you. Yet, your wrist is getting sore and weak dribbles of piss leak out of you at each peak. You notice people in the crowd hiding their arousal, and that somehow makes your crazy mind even hornier. Your abused clitty gives a heartbeat to your thumb each time someone palms their crotch or crosses their legs, still trying to be politely discreet.

The lights brighten as the presentation ends and a few odd bursts of scattered applause break out at a few tables. You still don't have the decency to leave your needy cunt alone, finally closing your legs around the blue tendril still curled up inside you as the people leave the room to pick a brochure up.

I had another anon ask abt going to find a new tentacle with the coworker from pt.2, but I kinda decided they were aliens (pink and blue both would normally use a host for mating and the suckers kinda do the same thing but for food, ig they're all just parasites sorry if that's gross), so i added a new variety into this one for you <3

A/N- how'd she do that? i would've gone ngh~ *squish* IMMEDIATLY, sry can you tell idk anything about an office job? oh well, stfu and enjoy the smut then (this is way over the top 😭) Also why did i give myself the displeasure of two (2) unnamed characters, give me names for Ms. boss or i'll start adding y/n (a threat)

#skel replies sometimes #skel writes tentacles #tentacle smut #tentacular #nsft tentacles #tentacles #monster fucker #terato #teratophillia

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mr-cha-n · 2 months ago

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Merger & Acquisition (Of My Heart)

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x gn!reader

Genres: Angst, fluff, crack, office romance AU

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, sexual insinuations, bad decision making

Word Count: 17.2k

Summary: Jeonghan thought navigating corporate mergers was hard—turns out, navigating corporate mergers with his ex is harder.

A/N: Missing Jeonghan hours

For more office romance, please check out Glass Towers!

"Jeonghan, just trust me! It's gonna be perfect!"

You're grinning, and it’s that grin. The one that made Jeonghan's heart do that ridiculous, fluttering thing the first time you flashed it his way. The one that’s practically a cheat code for his soul. Your eyes are sparkling like you just cracked the secret to world peace—or maybe just how to make him melt like a popsicle in the sun.

You’re gesturing to something behind him, but honestly, he’s not even looking. To take his eyes off you? Not in this lifetime, buddy.

"I’m serious!" you press, eyes wide with wild excitement. "We should get matching sweaters!"

He stares, blinking slowly like maybe he’s hearing things. You look so absurdly excited, like you've proposed something truly genius. And, for a second, just for a second, he almost gets it. Matching sweaters... Huh. He squints.

"I swear to God," he mutters, almost in awe of your audacity. "You've got a one-track mind, you know that?"

But you're already dragging him inside the store, ugging him toward a rack of sweaters in shades so painfully pastel, they might be illegal. You’re holding up two—one a disturbingly washed-out pink and the other an equally offensive lavender - and beam at him, radiating enough joy to power a small city.

Jeonghan narrows his eyes at the monstrosities in your hands. "Are you trying to publicly obliterate my dignity?" he asks, deadpan. "Because I’m pretty sure this is some kind of crime."

Your laugh—sweet and impossibly bright—bounces off the walls. It’s so loud, it feels like the store itself is laughing with you. And for a split second, he doesn’t even care that you’re suggesting he wears an offence to fashion. All he hears is your laughter. And, okay, it is contagious. He can’t help but chuckle, his chest warming even as he contemplates his future in pastel hell.

"I’ll wear it if you wear it," you challenge, a wicked glint in your eyes, practically daring him to back out.

And you know Jeonghan can't resist a dare.

He crosses his arms, a perfect picture of exaggerated seriousness, mirroring how seriously you’re taking this whole thing. "Fine," he sighs dramatically. "But only because I’m too exhausted to argue with you."

Before he can even finish his thought, you're already wrapping your arms around his neck, giggling into his ear like it’s the most precious sound on earth. And just like that, any resentment he might have had about wearing a sweater straight out of a fashion crime scene? Gone. The swell of his heart forgives you, even as he silently prepares to suffer through the world’s most embarrassing outfit.

"I love you sooo much," you murmur, squeezing him a little tighter.

And, just before he can say it back, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Distracted, he fumbles for it like it’s the most urgent thing in the world—because, hey, maybe it’s a work thing or, God forbid, a text from his mom about dinner plans. When he looks up, you’re gone. The matching sweaters are gone. The street is just a blur again, and the store, with its obnoxious neon lights, has disappeared completely.

For a heartbeat, Jeonghan’s standing there, staring at the space where you were, feeling like he’s just been dropped into some weird alternate universe. The air feels thick, heavy, and for a split second, everything just feels—wrong. Empty. Off.

And in that moment, he realizes with a gut-punch of clarity: it’s all slipped away, like sand through his fingers. He’s standing in the middle of a street that doesn’t make sense, holding onto an empty promise he can’t possibly keep, his hand still tingling where you once touched him. And all he can hear now is the echo of your laugh, so bright, so full of life, fading into nothing.

And just as quickly, before he even has time to breathe, the dream shatters. Gone. Like it was never there at all.

Jeonghan wakes up with a jolt, his chest tight like a too-small sweater, heart thumping like it’s trying to escape his ribcage. The sheets are tangled around him like he'd been wrestling them all night, and he blinks at the daylight streaming through the window, a little too bright, a little too real. For a second, he’s not sure if he’s still stuck in the dream, his body caught in some weird limbo between sleep and being awake.

That laugh. That stupid, infectious laugh. It hangs in the air, teasing him like a ghost that refuses to leave. Jeonghan’s hand brushes absently over his chest, like he’s trying to wipe the sound away, like it hasn’t completely lodged itself in his mind.

“Stupid,” he mutters, shaking his head and tossing the sheets off himself, hoping to shake off whatever weird spell the dream’s put on him.

By the time he’s staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, his mind is a chaotic mess of swirling thoughts. Mostly, he’s thinking about the dream and how ridiculous it is that it’s still making his heart beat a little too fast. And then, of course, there’s the thing he can’t shake—the stupid, pastel sweaters.

He scoffs at his reflection, splashing water on his face like it’ll somehow help him wake up properly. Matching sweaters, he thinks bitterly. Really

Getting dressed feels like a chore, like he's moving through molasses. His eyes drift over his usual black jeans and plain tees, but then—something catches his eye. A flash of pink, hidden at the back of his closet like some kind of forbidden treasure, tucked behind other, more respectable pieces.

Jeonghan hesitates.

His fingers brush over it, and for a moment, he feels as though he's standing back in that ridiculous store, the weight of that challenge still hanging in the air. He almost laughs at himself. You can’t be serious, he thinks. But before he can stop himself, his hands are already pulling it out.

“I’m not doing this,” he mutters to himself, but even he can tell his voice is a little too uncertain, like he’s trying to convince someone else.

A few minutes later, Jeonghan stands in front of the mirror again, the soft, unreasonably pastel pink sweater clinging to his frame. He tilts his head to the side, frowning at his reflection. Then, he looks back at the sweater.

It's ... fine. Actually, it's kind of comfortable. And, okay, it’s not nearly as terrible as he thought it would be. The color is soft, gentle—more like a whisper than an explosion of pastel horror, and the fabric feels a bit like a soft cloud.

Of course, none of that changes the fact that it’s ridiculous that he’s wearing it.

“What’s wrong with me?” he laughs, shaking his head at himself, unable to stop the sound from spilling out.

And then your laugh—that bright, carefree, spark-of-light laugh—flashes through his mind again. It’s like the room is a little less dark when he thinks about it, and, for just a second, he lets himself imagine that maybe... maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad to go along with it. The matching sweaters, the ridiculous plans, that kind of carefree joy only you could make him feel.

But he's alone now. And the sweater is just that. A sweater.

He shakes his head, adjusting it one more time, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest as he thinks about you—your voice, your touch, your laugh—and focus on just getting out the door. He grabs his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder like he’s trying to shake off the last remnants of the dream.

“Fine,” he mutters to himself. “It’s stupid. But I’m wearing it.”

And if anyone dares to comment on it, he’s donating it to the first charity store he passes on his way home.

Jeonghan's brain feels like a blender on full speed as he pushes through the glass doors of the office building, his shoes clicking against the marble floor. He steps into the start-up chaos, where the morning energy is already off-the-charts: people darting between desks, having phone conversations that are somehow both urgent and completely pointless, and juggling coffee cups that are half-full of caffeine and stress. And there’s something else hanging in the air, something that makes him feel like he’s forgotten something super important, but of course, he has no idea what that is.

He shrugs it off and marches to his desk, where Joshua's already sitting, a fresh cup of coffee in hand and laptop open in front of him. He looks like he's already been up for hours - effortlessly composed, a picture of fcous while Jeonghan has barely kept it together this morning.

He drops his bag on the desk with a dramatic thud, letting out a long sigh.

Joshua glances at him, then at his sweater, then back up at Jeonghan’s face like he’s trying to piece together some kind of puzzle.

"I thought you didn't do pastels?"

“I don’t,” Jeonghan responds immediately, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to untangle his thoughts. “But… it’s a long story, actually. Not one I’m getting into right now.”

Joshua’s lips twitch, clearly not buying it. "Uh-huh. And I'm sure it has nothing to do with a certain someone who shall remain nameless waltzing back into your life?"

Jeonghan freezes, his whole body going cold like he's just been caught in a lie. How in the hell did Joshua figure that out?

He forces a laugh, but it’s way too high-pitched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, his voice cracking like a bad sitcom.

But Joshua isn’t letting it slide. “Sure. And I’m definitely not looking at someone who’s still wearing a sweater that belongs to their emotional turmoil.”

Jeonghan snorts. "Oh, please, the only thing emotional about this is how much I regret wearing it." He waves his hand dismissively, but can’t hide the way he checks the sweater like he's trying to make sure it’s still presentable. “Anyway, what’s going on today? Please tell me we're not having another one of those ‘I-just-want-to-innovate-the-industry’ creative meetings. I’m not sure I can sit through another round of ‘brainstorming’ where I’m expected to solve all our problems with a Pinterest board.”

Joshua’s face glitches as he shuts his laptop with a dramatic click. “Tell me you’re joking?”

Jeonghan blinks.

Joshua sighs, long and slow.

"The merger? I know you remember that the merger is happening today, right?"

"Merger? Oh. That merger." Jeonghan’s brain starts scrambling for clarity, trying to sort out the chaos of thoughts. They’ve been talking about this merger for weeks now—a rival company with a reputation for being way more corporate and buttoned-up than their own start-up chaos. Jeonghan hadn’t really paid attention. Too busy juggling project deadlines, chasing creative briefs, and making sure everyone’s sushi orders were on point.

But now, with Joshua’s reminder, the weight of reality hits him. Today’s the day. The day they officially merge with the enemy—and, if we’re being honest, it’s a little more corporate than he ever thought he’d get. Also, probably the reason for those stress dreams last night.

Jeonghan grimaces. "Right. The merger." He sighs, slumping in his chair. “I think I just blocked it out of my mind for the past week because I’m not sure I can handle becoming corporate Jeonghan.”

Joshua chuckles, setting his coffee down. "That’s the point of today. They’re bringing in their big bosses to meet with us—this afternoon, right after the all-hands meeting. It’s officially happening. The big, serious meeting where we all sit around and pretend to care about ‘synergy’ and ‘optimisation.’” He does air quotes with his fingers, rolling his eyes. "But, don't worry - you won't be corporate Jeonghan. You'll be corporate Mr Yoon."

Jeonghan groans, leaning back in his chair dramatically. “‘Synergy,’ optimisation...” he repeats, doing an exaggerated version of Joshua’s air quotes. “Honestly, I think I’d rather go back to bed and wake up in a parallel universe where I’m not wearing this sweater and we’re not merging. Could we please pretend we’re still a bunch of creative geniuses who just want to make awesome things? Is that too much to ask?”

Joshua smirks, clearly enjoying Jeonghan’s theatrics. “It’s the price of progress, my friend. Besides, I’m sure you’ll do just great. Just remember: don’t look too enthusiastic about the merger. We’ve got to keep some of that ‘creative chaos’ spirit alive, right?”

“Right,” Jeonghan mutters, still adjusting his sweater. “Creative chaos—that’s what we’ll call it. But, seriously, I’m really hoping they don’t ask me to do the whole ‘powerpoint presentation’ thing today. I’m already two cups of coffee in, and the only thing I can think of is whether this sweater’s a crime against fashion or a step toward self-expression.”

“Why not both?” Joshua grins, clearly enjoying the chaos of it all. “Maybe your sweater will be the key to saving us from corporate hell. You never know.”

Jeonghan shoots him a look. “If this sweater saves us from anything, I’ll personally make sure we keep it as a company mascot.”

“Deal,” Joshua says, grinning wider as he takes a sip of his coffee.

The conference room looks like a page out of Jeonghan's worst nightmares: sleek, polished, and cold enough to make an ice cube look like it’s on vacation. A long, minimalist table stretches down the middle, surrounded by chairs so expensive they probably cost more than the rest of the startup's furniture.

Jeonghan slides into the room with Joshua just behind him, trying his best to look like he belongs in a room where every person looks like they could run a Fortune 500 company. He adjusts the collar of his pastal pink sweater, wondering for the hundredth time if he's made a grave mistake. But, well, it's too late to back out now.

Joshua, in the seat beside him, has immediately begun typing away on his laptop, not a hint of nervousness in his posture. Jeonghan, on the other hand, is doing everything he can to stop himself from fidgeting. He's been in plenty of meetings before, but this one feels different. It's like everyone is playing on a higher level - every handshake more formal, every "good afternoon" more stiff.

He slouches further into his chair, doing his best to hide behind the carefully natural expressions of the other startup team members—everyone’s pretending they’re not deeply unprepared for this meeting (Jeonghan knows they are).

Just as the final few stragglers file in, Jeonghan hears it again.

The laugh.

It’s quiet, almost imperceptible, but it’s unmistakable. That laugh. The one that makes his stomach do that ridiculous fluttering thing. Jeonghan freezes, his hands stiff at his sides like he’s a statue trying to pretend it’s not about to crumble. His pulse quickens, and he does his best to shake the thought out of his brain. I'm hearing things, he tells himself. It’s probably just my brain playing tricks after that stupid dream

But no. It’s there again—soft, bubbling, infectious laughter, drifting from somewhere off to the side. Jeonghan blinks, his head snapping towards the sound like it’s the answer to a riddle he didn’t know he was solving.

And then he sees you.

There you are, standing at the front of the room, radiating effortless confidence in a sharply tailored suit, like you belong in the boardroom as much as Jeonghan belongs in a hoodie.

His heart stops.

It can't be.

He blinks. And blinks again. But you're still there. You’re still smiling, your grin as radiant as it ever was, as you exchange pleasantries with the higher-ups from the startup. The same grin that used to make Jeonghan question his entire life philosophy, every single time you flashed it his way.

What the hell?

There's no way. You can't possibly be the one running things on this side of the merger. This has to be a joke, right? His head spins, his thoughts running in frantic circles as the realisation dawns on him.

You are here. In the flesh.

A hundred questions rushes though his brain all at once - how, why, when? But most of all: Why didn't I know about this?

And then it hits him. The absurdity of the situation. The dream. The sweater. The weird sense of unfinished business he'd woken up with this morning. It all seems to click in a way that makes his brain ache with the sudden weight of it all.

Jeonghan slouches even further into his chair, if that's even possible. His stomach is in knots, and his palms are starting to get a little too clammy for comfort.

Maybe if he just... quietly gets up and leaves. Maybe if he just—

“Are you okay?” Joshua leans toward him, his voice low.

Jeonghan swallows hard, trying to keep his cool. “I—I think my ex is in charge of the merger.”

Joshua’s eyebrows furrow, confusion flashing across his face. "Yeah, I know."

Jeonghan blinks, his brain trying to process this new layer of nonsense. "You—what?"

“I thought you knew.” Joshua leans back, looking unbothered, like Jeonghan just missed a memo. “I literally brought it up this morning.”

Huh?

Oh.

That makes more sense than Joshua knowing about the dream.

Jeonghan’s brain is running full speed ahead, trying to piece together the puzzle of his existence in real-time, but nothing’s clicking. Joshua’s voice is just a dull hum in the background as his eyes are locked on you. There you are, standing at the front of the room, looking like you’ve just walked out of a business magazine. His mind keeps bouncing between the memory of you in those casual clothes, laughing over pizza, and the version of you now, all polished and corporate, like you’ve somehow always belonged here. It’s dizzying. How the hell did this happen

He forces himself to breathe and look away for a second, trying to center himself, but just as he’s about to look down at his hands—those traitors who are clammy and betraying him—he hears the sound of a microphone clicking on.

Your voice.

“Good afternoon, everyone.”

And just like that, the room falls silent, hanging on every word. Your voice is smooth—confident—but there’s this little edge of warmth that makes Jeonghan’s chest tighten in a way that’s definitely not professional. He’s trying so hard not to look at you, not to let his eyes wander back to where you stand—hands moving gracefully, voice flowing effortlessly. You’re the same you he knew, but also not. Somehow both.

“Today marks an exciting new chapter for both our teams,” you continue, “and I’m thrilled to be standing here with all of you as we embark on this new journey together. As many of you know, this merger is the culmination of months of careful planning and preparation. We’re combining our strengths to create something that will redefine the industry. And we’re all here today to ensure that we’re setting the right course.”

The words are professional, perfectly crafted, and so very corporate—but it’s the way you speak them that gets to Jeonghan. It’s the way you still carry that spark, that undeniable energy, as though nothing’s changed. As though you’ve just slid seamlessly from one world to another.

Jeonghan rubs his forehead, wishing his brain would just catch up with reality. But no. Instead, it’s like everything around him is shifting, the room suddenly way too big and his sweater way too bright for comfort.

You continue with the presentation, talking about key figures from both companies, introducing executives and senior members—those faceless people Jeonghan will never need to remember—but then… you pause. Your gaze sweeps over the room, and then it locks with his.

Jeonghan freezes. Time slows, or maybe it speeds up. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, thumping against his ribcage as if it’s trying to break out.

You don’t look away.

For a split second, Jeonghan wonders if he imagined it. Maybe his mind is just playing tricks on him, but no—no, there’s a shift in your expression. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

Then—oh, God—your gaze drops to his sweater.

You stop mid-sentence.

The room goes quiet, all eyes on you, but Jeonghan knows it’s him you’re looking at. His sweater. Specifically, that sweater.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the podium as you glance at his sweater—that damn sweater. He watches, horrified, as the corners of your mouth twitch—not with amusement—but something else. Something close to annoyance.

He can’t breathe. His hand twitches around his collar like he might rip the damn thing off and flee the building entirely.

Then, mercifully, you clear your throat. The sound snaps through the silence like a rubber band, and for a moment, it feels like the tension might break. But still, that look—that look on your face—it doesn’t go away.

"Uh..." You stop. A beat of awkwardness. You glance at him again, brow furrowing just the tiniest bit. "I’m—I’m sorry, I just... I'm a little distracted. Let me start that again.” You take a breath, visibly steadying yourself before you continue with the presentation, but Jeonghan can hear that slight crack in your voice.

He tries to make himself invisible in his chair, sinking lower, his hands buried in his lap like he could somehow physically shrink into the chair itself. The way your lips tighten as you force yourself to focus on the presentation makes Jeonghan want to disappear.

“Oh, my God,” Jeonghan mutters under his breath, doing his best to keep his voice just quiet enough so only Joshua can hear.

Joshua just gives him a deadpan stare. “What happened? Is this because of the sweater?”

“Don’t. Please.” Jeonghan’s voice cracks, and he’s pretty sure he’s never felt more exposed in his life.

Jeonghan’s heart is still trying to hammer its way out of his chest when the meeting finally breaks. The tension in the room has been almost unbearable, and now, as everyone starts shifting in their seats, the low murmur of conversation rising, Jeonghan begins to think maybe—just maybe—he can make a quick exit. Maybe sneak out of the room and pretend this never happened.

But before he can even attempt a graceful getaway, he feels a sharp pressure on his arm, and a voice—your voice—cuts through the noise like a knife.

“Jeonghan. Now.”

There’s no mistaking the authority in your tone, the same tone you’ve always used when you were determined to get something done, to make sure things went your way. He doesn't even need to look up to know that your eyes are narrowed with a familiar intensity.

He’s being dragged down the hall, his feet barely keeping up with the determined pace you set as you pull him into a small, secluded room just off the main conference area. The door shuts with a definitive thud behind them, and it’s as if the air in the room thickens, suffocating him.

You whirl around, closing the distance between you with a look of pure exasperation on your face. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Your voice is low, but it still carries the bite of someone who’s been wronged. “Wearing that ridiculous sweater—here—of all places. You knew I’d be in charge today. You knew I’d be in this room. So why? Why would you do that?”

Jeonghan, on the other hand, is trying to appear unbothered—but inside, his mind is spinning. He's suddenly very aware of how small this room feels, how close you are, how everything about you is pulling him into a vortex of confusion he does not want to be in. But outwardly, he’s just... smirking. Of course. Because what else can he do but pretend this whole thing is no big deal?

"Why would I wear a sweater to throw you off?" His voice is as nonchallent as he can muster, the words coming out cockier than he intends. With a shrug, he adds, "With or without it, you always said I was hard to ignore, didn't you?"

He sees your face twitch, your eyes narrowing further, and something about the way you stare at him makes his breath catch. Shit.

He's panicking. He's trying to hold it together, trying to keep that sharp edge in his voice, but the truth is, looking at you right now - it's like nothing's changed. It's like he's still that idiot who'd fall for you in a heartbeat. The way your gaze locks with his, the way your presence fills up the room, makes his insides twist.

It makes his chest ache.

But you don't get to know that, not anymore.

So, instead, he leans back against the door with his arms crossed, letting the smirk stretch wider on his lips. “I mean, really. Look at you.” He gestures to your perfectly tailored suit. “You’re the one who seems all riled up. Could it be that you're the one trying to throw me off? Hmm?"

You open your mouth, about to fire back some scathing retort, but Jeonghan watches your shoulders stiffen instead. You exhale a slow breath, something like frustration flickering behind your eyes.

“Jeonghan,” you begin, voice dangerously calm now, but still carrying that edge, “I’m serious. You are not making this easy. I’m just trying to do my job, and you’re in here, wearing... that. I swear to God, are you doing this on purpose?”

“Would it even matter if I was?” Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, his tone light, casual, as if he doesn't feel like he’s one stupid comment away from completely combusting. “It’s not like I care what you think about my sweater. It's a free country, and I like a little colour in my life, alright?” He shrugs again, even though inside he's a mess. A nervous wreck. A miserable wreck. “You don’t get to dictate my wardrobe.”

But God, every word he says feels like it's coming out of his mouth without his permission. He watches you, sees the flicker of something that’s almost like frustration—and he can't stand it. He really can’t stand the way you're looking at him right now. He’s never been good at being calm when it comes to you.

You shake your head, running a hand through your hair in that way that’s more exasperated than anything else. “I don’t know why you do this. Why do you always make everything so complicated?”

And that’s it. Jeonghan’s breath catches, and something cracks in his chest.

He doesn’t even know why he’s here, trying to push you away with all these stupid jokes and sarcastic comments. You’re still the one who holds all the strings in this game. Even now, even after everything, he’s still just as tangled up in you as he was back then.

“I don’t know,” he mutters, his voice finally losing its bravado. His arms uncross, and he takes a slow step toward you, his gaze falling to the ground for just a moment before he looks up again. “I guess I just can’t help myself.”

You blink, visibly taken aback, and for just a second—just a second—there’s a softening in your expression. A flicker of something.

He’s about to say something—anything—to regain his composure, but then the door swings open, and a voice from the hallway shatters the fragile moment.

“Hey, is everything alright in here?”

Jeonghan’s chest tightens again, and he forces himself to turn, pulling away from you with a rueful glance. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he says, the sarcasm back in full force. “Just having a lovely chat about fashion choices."

As you move past him toward the door, your eyes lock for just a split second, and Jeonghan can’t help but wonder if this is where everything starts unravelling again.

The door closes behind you with a quiet click, leaving Jeonghan alone in the empty room, the weight of his own confusion pressing down on him like a suffocating cloud.

He breathes out a shaky laugh. What the hell is he even doing?

Jeonghan's never been good at avoiding things - especially you. But he's trying. Really trying.

The second he steps into the office, he practically sprints to his desk, eyes darting across the room like he’s in a spy movie and not just trying to avoid his ex at his place of employment.

It’s a solid plan. A foolproof plan.

Except, of course, the universe hates him.

“Hey, Jeonghan, did you see that email from accounting?”

He freezes.

His heart does that stupid, traitorous thing again—racing a little too fast, a little too obvious. He forces a smile, carefully ignoring the fact that you just happened to walk by at that exact moment.

And, of course, he hears you before he sees you.

The sound of your heels clicking against the floor—the same precise rhythm only you have—cuts through the noise like some cruel reminder that he’s fighting a battle he’s already lost.

“No, I didn’t,” he replies, voice too tight, too controlled. He stares at his screen, ignoring how your gaze flickers toward him for just a split second. His palms are sweating again, but he’s good at pretending.

He doesn’t even glance up at you.

Not yet.

By some miracle, Jeonghan makes it through the rest of the week relatively unscathed. He’s been ducking behind desks, taking suspiciously long coffee breaks, and strategically avoiding eye contact like it’s an Olympic sport.

But, of course, his luck has limits.

And today, at the all-hands meeting, he knows he’s finally reached the end of the track.

Everyone from both companies is gathered in the conference hall, waiting for the latest updates on the merger, and Jeonghan?

He is mentally checked out.

Completely.

He’s sitting at the very back of the room, scrolling through his phone, barely registering the corporate bullshit being discussed at the front. He’s safe. He’s comfortable.

Until—

"Jeonghan, would you mind coming up to give an update on the latest project?”

Joshua’s voice cuts through the room like a gunshot.

Jeonghan’s entire soul leaves his body.

His head snaps up, panic settling in his bones.

And then—oh, no.

Because there you are.

Sitting right in the front row.

And you’re looking directly at him.

Your eyes flick over to him, slow, deliberate, the way a cat might look at a bird right before it destroys it for sport.

Then, just to make it worse, you raise an eyebrow.

And smirk.

Not now.

Jeonghan stands up, legs way too stiff, shoulders squared like he’s heading into battle. He’s trying to look professional, trying to appear composed, but all he can think about is you.

You, sitting there with your arms crossed, wearing the exact same expression you always used to give him whenever he was desperately trying to impress you.

And the worst part?

It almost works.

Almost.

Standing at the podium, Jeonghan realizes immediately that he has made a mistake.

A huge mistake.

Because he cannot focus.

His brain is full of static noise.

The slides? No idea. The project? What even is a project? His own name? Questionable.

He starts talking—kind of. Words are coming out, but he’s not sure they mean anything.

Somewhere, in the distance, Joshua looks like he’s re-evaluating their entire friendship.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan’s mind keeps veering off track.

Because you’re there.

Right there.

Arms still crossed, head tilted, eyes locked onto him with that look. The look that says impress me. The look that used to make him try harder. The look that used to make his entire day.

And it is so distracting.

He stumbles through the rest of the presentation, barely making sense, barely keeping himself together, barely resisting the urge to die on the spot.

By the time he finally scurries back to his seat, he hears it—

The faintest whisper of laughter.

From you.

And it’s all he can do not to scream.

The Friday team dinner is supposed to be a casual affair. Just a bunch of coworkers, bonding over overpriced appetizers and painfully forced small talk. No stakes. No tension. Chill.

Except, Jeonghan has this suspicion—no, this certainty—that the universe has personally taken offense to his existence and is now actively trying to ruin him.

He walks into the restaurant and immediately spots you. Of course, you're sitting at the head of the table like you own the place. Everyone else has already sat down, their conversation filling the air with a hum of disinterested chatter. Jeonghan spots the seat that was “reserved” for him—right next to you.

“Hey, Jeonghan, come join us!” Joshua waves him over cheerfully, all but pushing him to the only empty seat at the table.

The thought of sitting next to you—of having to endure hours of the same damn tension—makes his stomach churn. But what can he do? He can’t just ... stand there and look like an idiot.

So, with a carefully hidden sigh, Jeonghan accepts his fate.

His steps are slow and deliberate as he slides into the chair, forcing a perfectly polite smile as he does. He keeps his gaze fixed ahead, not looking at you, not acknowledging the fact that you are literally right there.

But he doesn’t have to look—he feels you turn toward him. He knows you’re watching.

And then—

“Fancy seeing you here.”

The words are light, playful—too casual. But the way you say it? The way you pause just long enough to make sure he knows you’re enjoying this?

Jeonghan opens his mouth to say something snappy, something clever to deflect the growing weight between them, but instead, he just smiles—tiredly, like he’s given up trying to fight the inevitable.

“Yeah. Guess we’re stuck together again.”

He flicks a glance around the table, where everyone is too absorbed in their own conversations to notice the invisible battlefield currently forming between the two of you. But Jeonghan notices. He notices everything.

And worse, so do you.

You hum, tilting your head slightly. “I didn’t think you were the type to shy away from good company.”

There’s a bite to it. A slight challenge. A reminder of the way you two used to talk before—when the teasing was easy, when the tension was intentional.

Jeonghan exhales through his nose, willing himself to stay composed.

“Depends on the company,” he mutters, aiming for casual, but it doesn’t quite land. Not when his pulse is pounding in his ears, not when his fingers are gripping the edge of the table a little too tightly.

For a moment, there’s silence—just the lingering weight of his words.

Then, instead of responding, you just smirk and turn back to the person beside you, amusement flickering in your eyes like a silent victory.

Jeonghan barely makes it through the rest of the meal.

The conversation around him blurs into meaningless chatter, and the food tastes like cardboard because how the hell is he supposed to focus on anything when you’re right there—close enough that if he so much as shifts, his knee might brush against yours, close enough that he can still smell your perfume, close enough that every time you laugh, something in his chest tightens stupidly, unfairly, uncontrollably.

He tries so hard to focus on his plate, on anything other than you.

But his mind keeps slipping—back to old memories, back to the way you used to look at him, back to the way things were before he ruined it.

And it hits him, all at once.

How much he’s still invested in this ridiculous, unspoken battle.

How much he’s still hoping for something that’s already gone.

How impossible it is to pretend like you’re just another coworker at a casual Friday dinner when the truth is—

You’re still the only person in the room that matters.

Things take a turn for the worse.

It starts innocently enough—a vague email from his superior that’s equal parts informative and infuriating, letting him know that he’s going to be working with you on a new project. A crucial one. Something about "collaboration being key to success."

Jeonghan can feel his blood pressure spike just reading it.

For a moment, he considers drafting a quick email to HR—maybe something professional, like:

Subject: Urgent Request Regarding Project Assignment Body: Please, for the sake of workplace productivity (and my personal sanity), put a clause in the merger agreement ensuring that Y/n and I never have to be in the same room again. Ever. Thanks.

But of course, that would be unprofessional.

So instead, Jeonghan settles for the next best thing: avoidance.

He doesn’t look at you in the office. Keeps his distance like you’re a literal bomb ticking in the corner.

But there’s no avoiding it now.

He shows up to the morning meeting, already bracing himself for the collision of chaos that’s about to unfold.

“Jeonghan, you and Y/n will handle the creative direction,” Joshua announces, voice bright and cheerful like he isn’t actively ruining Jeonghan’s life.

Jeonghan forces a smile, the kind that could probably be classified as a threat in some countries. “Great. Thrilled.”

When he finally dares to glance your way, he catches it—

The look.

Just the briefest flicker of amusement in your eyes, like you know exactly how much this is going to drive him insane.

“Just like old times, huh?” you muse, sipping your coffee, your voice smooth—too smooth.

Yeah. He hates how his stomach flips at that.

The first meeting to discuss the project is, to put it mildly, a disaster.

“Let’s start by deciding on the key themes,” you say, flipping open your laptop and pulling up a presentation.

Your eyes flicker toward him, expectant.

He shrugs it off, trying to stay neutral, focusing on the screen. “Yeah, sure.” He types quickly, trying to keep his fingers from betraying him.

Your hands brush ever-so-slightly as you both reach for the same document on the table, and for a brief second, Jeonghan feels that electric connection between you. The old chemistry that used to make every second with you feel like he was walking on fire. The kind of chemistry that used to make his pulse race. And now? He feels it all over again, like it’s been reawakened.

You pull your hand back fast, but the moment hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable. No words. But Jeonghan can see it in your eyes—annoyance.

Of course, you’re annoyed.

Because this? This thing between you? It’s still there. It’s always been there.

And neither of you know what the hell to do about it.

The project moves forward, takes shape, but so does the tension between you two.

“I think we should go with a more minimalist aesthetic,” Jeonghan suggests, his voice casual, but he knows the words are loaded.

You look at him over the rim of your coffee cup, eyes narrowing slightly. “Minimalist?” you repeat, incredulous. “Jeonghan, that’s your go-to for everything.”

“And?” he replies smoothly. “It works.”

“It’s predictable,” you shoot back, leaning forward. “You’ve been stuck in that box for ages. It’s time to try something different.” There’s the challenge. There’s the dig. Jeonghan can feel his temper flare, bubbling under the surface.

“You think you know better?” He’s a little too sharp, but it’s impossible to hold back.

And there it is again.

That look.

The one that always made his chest tighten. The challenge. The fire. The heat. It makes his heart beat too fast, and for a split second, he’s there again, back in that night.

It’s late. The air is thick with everything you’ve both avoided saying for God knows how long. The tiny apartment is a disaster: takeout boxes strewn across the counter, half-finished projects littering the floor like ghosts of attempts never fully made.

“You never talk about what’s going on with you, Jeonghan!” You’re on your feet, pacing now, voice rising with frustration. “It’s like you’re a wall! A goddamn wall I can’t break down!”

“I’m fine,” he mutters, but even he can hear how empty it sounds. His jaw’s clenched, eyes hard as stone. “Everything’s fine.”

“No, it’s not!” You slam your hands down on the table with a force that rattles everything in the room. Anger, frustration, everything spilling out like a dam that’s finally cracked. “You shut me out every time, Jeonghan. Every time! And I’m so damn tired of it! I feel like I'm the only one holding this together."

A breathy, almost humourless chuckle escapes him, but his voice stays flat, defensive. "That's not fair."

"No?" You glare at him, hurt flashing across your face like a strike of lightning. "Then tell me, when was the last time you actually tried, Jeonghan? To show up - to be here, with me, instead of just ... floating through this like it's some casual thing?"

His jaw tightens. "That's not-"

You cut him off, standing up straight now, fire in your eyes. “I tell you things, and I don’t even know if you’re listening half the time. You joke when I’m being serious. You shut down the second anything real comes up. And I—” You stop yourself, voice cracking, barely holding it together.

His fingers curl into the hem of his shirt—the same way they always do when he’s trying to keep something inside. But still, he stays silent.

And maybe that silence hurts more than anything.

"Just say something," you whisper, your voice barely there, exhaustion bleeding into every word. "Anything."

Jeonghan exhales sharply, shaking his head like he’s already decided he doesn’t know how to fix this. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything—I want you to mean it.”

That hits him. Hard. He knows it’s true—he’s been so closed off for so long, pretending everything’s fine, and maybe it never was.

“I don’t need you to fix me,” he says, his voice colder than it should be, every word sharp like glass. “I just need you to stop pushing.”

You let out a dry, humourless laugh, nodding to yourself like you’ve heard it a thousand times. "Okay," you whisper, voice barely a breath. "Got it."

You stand, grabbing your coat, your bag—anything to keep your hands busy, your mind elsewhere. Jeonghan stays sitting, motionless, like maybe if he doesn’t move, none of this will be real.

And that only makes it worse.

His voice finally breaks the silence, quiet but cutting. "So that's it?"

You freeze for half a second, then shake your head, slow. "No, Jeonghan. You ended this way before I ever did."

His breath hitches, just slightly, just enough for you to notice - but it's not enough. He doesn't stop you.

Doesn't ask you to stay.

Doesn't fight for it.

So you walk away, closing the door softly behind you.

Jeonghan blinks, pushing the memory back as quickly as it came. The sting is still there, lingering under his skin, burning.

"Maybe you're right," he mutters, forcing his focus back on the task at hand, pretending it’s not tearing him up inside. "I'll rethink the design."

You meet his gaze for a beat, something flickering in your eyes—satisfaction, maybe—but you don’t say a word.

The office is quiet.

Late-night quiet. The kind of quiet that settles in your bones, heavy and unmoving. The kind that makes you feel like if you breathe too loudly, you might disturb something fragile—something that’s been stretched too thin, waiting to break.

Most of the team has already left, abandoning their desks for the promise of sleep, leaving behind the low hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic click of Jeonghan’s fingers against the keyboard.

The project drags on, never-ending, details shifting like sand. But Jeonghan isn’t really focused on any of that anymore.

His mind keeps wandering.

His eyes keep drifting to you, sitting across from him, scribbling furiously on a notepad, the stack of papers in front of you growing steadily higher.

You’ve barely spoken since the argument earlier that afternoon—sharp words and stubborn silences widening the already vast distance between you. And Jeonghan is starting to wonder if this… whatever fragile truce exists between you, is about to snap.

Still, he can’t help but watch you.

The way your brow furrows in concentration. The way you bite the edge of your pen, like it’s the only thing tethering you to the room.

You look up suddenly. Your gaze meets his, and for a second, everything in the room goes still. His stomach flips.

His fingers still over the keyboard, his breath catching just enough for him to feel pathetic about it.

“Jeonghan,” you say, your voice quiet, almost tentative. “You ever think about how we used to joke about working these ridiculous hours and still getting paid like it’s a 9-to-5?”

The words catch him off guard.

Like a memory materializing out of nowhere—late nights spent in this very same office, takeout boxes stacked on the desk, laughter echoing between you as you made fun of the corporate grind, passing time with inside jokes and shared exhaustion.

His lips twitch before he can stop them. Without thinking, he mutters, “Yeah, we used to joke that if we worked this much overtime, we’d need to start paying rent here.”

You grin—a small, genuine smile. One that shouldn’t affect him as much as it does.

And just like that, for a second, it’s like no time has passed at all.

You sigh, leaning back in your chair, and Jeonghan catches the way your eyes soften just a bit. “I miss that,” you say, voice distant, almost melancholic. “I really miss that.”

The words are quiet. Honest.

They land between you with the kind of weight Jeonghan doesn’t know what to do with.

His heart skips, hope flaring in his chest before it’s immediately smothered by the cold, logical certainty that he’s taught himself to live with.

You miss that.

The late nights. The way things used to be. The version of you that existed before everything fell apart.

You don’t mean him.

And still—still, Jeonghan is stupid enough to want to believe it, even for a second.

You exhale, shaking your head slightly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up.” You hesitate, fingers absentmindedly tapping against the table again. “I just… I don’t know.”

You pause, and when you speak again, your voice is quieter, more uncertain.

“The merger, everything… it’s been a lot to handle. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. If I’m really where I’m supposed to be.”

Jeonghan freezes, his thoughts swirling. Your voice is quiet, almost vulnerable in a way that he hasn’t heard in a long time. He hasn't heard this from you in a long time—not this version of you, the one with the mask cracked, revealing something deeper, something real.

Before he can think too much about it, the words leave his mouth.

“I think you’re doing just fine.”

Your gaze flicks up to meet his, startled.

His voice is steady, but his heart isn’t. He leans forward slightly—like he wants to get closer, but knows better.

“You’re good at what you do,” he says, softer now.

You shake your head, a humourless laugh escaping your lips. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just faking it. I thought I had it all figured out, but...” You hesitate, glancing down at your hands, clasped tightly in front of you. “But I don’t. Not anymore.”

And God.

The way your voice cracks. The way your words linger. The way you sound so tired, so uncertain, so—

So much like him.

Something twists in Jeonghan’s chest, sharp and unforgiving.

He wants to fix it. He wants to reach across the table, to close the distance between you, to say something—anything—to make it better.

But he knows he can’t.

He knows he shouldn’t.

So instead, he just says—quieter than before—

“I think… I think you’ve always known exactly what you’re doing. Even when you doubt yourself.”

Your gaze softens, and for the first time in a long while, you smile—a small, bittersweet thing.

A smile that isn’t just for him—it’s for everything that came before.

For the memories.

For the version of you that once existed together.

For something that will never fully fade.

The realization creeps in slowly, settling into his bones like a weight he can’t shake.

Jeonghan is still in love with you.

Deeply, hopelessly, impossibly in love with you.

And maybe—maybe—he never stopped.

Maybe all this time, he’s been pretending. Trying to convince himself that the past is over. That whatever was between you is gone.

But now?

Now he knows the truth.

The past isn’t gone. Not for him.

And you?

You’ve moved on. You’ve found your place. Built a life without him in it.

You’ve figured it out. And maybe—maybe—that’s something Jeonghan can’t do.

Not without you.

He exhales shakily, the weight of the truth pressing on his chest.

He doesn’t say anything.

He can’t.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

He looks at you one last time. His gaze lingers, and he knows.

Deep down, he knows.

You’re not his anymore.

On paper, the company retreat probably sounded like a good idea—team bonding, trust-building exercises, maybe even a temporary escape from the soul-crushing chaos of the merger.

In practice?

Jeonghan is one minor inconvenience away from throwing himself into the nearest ravine.

First, Joshua confiscated the small tumbler of gin he’d carefully smuggled in ("It’s literally a wellness retreat, Jeonghan." / "And alcohol would greatly improve my well-being, Joshua.").

Then, he tripped over a cursed log in the middle of the path, landing straight into a muddy ditch and missing out on all the good barbecue meat while he scrambled for a change of clothes.

And now he’s been paired with you for a “group hiking activity”, which is apparently supposed to teach teamwork.

The others have already split into their little groups, laughing, chatting, pretending like they’re not all secretly praying for a sudden earthquake to whisk them away from this corporate nightmare.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan is silently suffering, trailing behind you, doing his absolute best to not notice how good you look in your hiking gear.

He isn't sure it can get much worse, until the storm hits.

At first, it’s just a slight drizzle—barely worth acknowledging, but still enough to dampen his already miserable spirits.

Then, as the group ventures deeper into the woods, the rain turns into a full-on downpour—the kind that drowns out everything else, hammering against the trail, soaking through his clothes in seconds.

"Oh, shit, let’s find shelter!" you call ahead.

Before Jeonghan can even process what’s happening, you grab his arm—your fingers wrapping around his wrist, firm and unthinking—and pull him toward the only visible structure in sight: a small, semi-constructed shed at the edge of the clearing.

The storm is coming down so hard now that it’s impossible to hear anything over the roar of the rain.

By the time you both stumble inside, dripping and breathless, Jeonghan already knows—

This?

This is about to be a problem.

The shed is even smaller than it looked from the outside.

It’s barely holding itself together—nothing but a few sharp-looking tools hanging on the walls, broken pots stacked in precarious piles, and a couple of empty barrels.

Oh.

And you.

Standing so close that Jeonghan can feel the heat radiating off your body, the storm trapping you way too close for way too long.

He doesn’t mean to stare, but—

Your clothes are soaked, clinging to your skin. Your breathing is steady but deep, the rhythm oddly calming, almost hypnotic.

Jeonghan swallows.

This is fine.

It’s totally fine.

Just a normal work retreat. Normal rain. Normal amount of completely ignoring the fact that every single nerve in his body is currently hyper-aware of how close you are.

Your chest brushes against his, the warmth of your body a gentle pressure as you close the space between you. His breath hitches at the proximity, your exhale a soft whisper against his skin. Your arm extends, reaching for something Jeonghan doesn’t even register anymore; all he can focus on is the heat radiating from you, the way you glance at him with that look, that steady, determined gaze that’s always made his heart flutter.

"You should know," you murmur, your voice barely more than a breath, the words hanging between you with an intensity that makes his pulse quicken. Your eyes flicker to his lips for a moment, before meeting his gaze once more, unwavering and focused. "I'm very determined when it comes to getting what's mine."

His heart stutters, caught somewhere in his chest as your words settle into the space between you. His breath is stolen by the closeness, the silent weight of the moment. His hand instinctively lowers, his fingers brushing against yours in a fleeting touch. The briefest of touches. Barely a graze.

You notice the shift, the slight tremor in his fingers, and your breath catches too, your eyes darkening with something he can’t quite name. And in the next heartbeat, you pull your book free from his grasp with a soft, triumphant laugh, a sound that echoes in his chest as you take a step back, dancing with victory. Jeonghan stands frozen for a moment, watching you with a quiet, stunned smile playing on his lips. The adventure, the chase—none of it compares to this. Watching you, in this small, victorious moment, he’s certain he’s never seen anything quite as beautiful.

Jeonghan shifts uncomfortably, scanning the shed like maybe, if he glares at it long enough, it will magically expand and offer him a dignified escape.

It does not.

The only space available is the narrowest possible gap between a stack of old crates and a wall of wood, and it is still far too close for comfort.

Fantastic.

“Great,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze like it might set off another chain reaction of unwanted nostalgia. “What now?”

You let out a small laugh, clearly too entertained by his suffering. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Jeonghan dares a glance at you—just a quick one—but you’re already busy adjusting the collar of your soaked jacket, trying to make yourself a little less miserable.

He exhales slowly, forcibly fixing his focus on the floor.

It’s not that he can’t handle being near you.

He can.

Or at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself for weeks.

But what really messes with him is how his heart picks up speed every time you’re close. How his chest tightens, like it’s about to implode under the weight of everything unsaid.

And then he says it. Because he's an idiot.

“Why is it always you?”

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. A little too sharp. A little too bitter.

But he doesn’t take them back.

Because, seriously—every single time something goes wrong, somehow, you are there. As if the universe gets some kind of sick joy out of watching him suffer.

You look at him then, the same sharp expression flickering in your eyes. “You think I want to be stuck in here with you?” you shoot back. “I didn’t exactly sign up for this either, you know.”

And, well. Fair point.

Still—

uJeonghan can’t help but laugh, low and humorless. “You’re right. I did miss this,” he drawls, sarcasm thick enough to choke on. “The chemistry. The—” he waves a hand between you, his smirk lazy, “—tension. It’s great.”

You roll your eyes, unimpressed. "Is this really how we're going to do this? Right now? You just can't help yourself, can you?"

He stiffens, a retort biting at his tongue, but he holds it back. The old banter—the biting sarcasm—is supposed to be a defense mechanism. A way to keep the walls up. But there’s no denying it now. The walls are crumbling, and so is he.

You speak again, your voice softer this time. “Jeonghan…” The way you say his name, it feels different than before, less confrontational, more—careful.

He doesn’t want to acknowledge how much that does to him.

“Maybe we should talk about it,” you continue, your voice steady but gentler now. “Before it blows up in the middle of a meeting.”

Jeonghan’s breath catches.

It’s too much, too fast. The walls he’s been desperately keeping up are crumbling, and he knows that once they’re gone—really gone—there’s no putting them back up.

His pulse jumps, the back of his neck heating, a cold sweat creeping in.

A conversation like this—the one he’s been avoiding forever—feels like something he should run from.

And now that it’s here, he doesn’t know how to approach it.

He opens his mouth.

Then closes it.

Because he’s not sure if he’s afraid of the past being dragged back into the light—

Or if he’s terrified of what it will mean to finally face the truth.

The truth about what happened between you, about how it ended, how he ended it.

“You think it’s really a good idea to talk about this now?” he manages to say, his voice quieter than usual. He’s trying to keep his cool, but the tremor in his voice betrays him.

His hands tighten at his sides—a futile attempt to hold himself together.

You stand still, your gaze never wavering from his. "Is there ever a good time, Jeonghan?"you ask, voice firm but achingly soft. "It’s been months. We’ve been walking around like we’re strangers, and yet here we are, stuck in this damn shed, acting like the last time we spoke didn’t mean anything.”

The words hit him like a punch to the chest. He’s been pretending, hasn’t he? Pretending the silence between you didn’t matter, that the weight of your absence wasn’t suffocating him. That the ache in his chest wasn’t still yours.

But it was.

It is.

And as much as he hates it, he knows that now. He knows it because of the way his heart clenches at the sound of your voice, the way his breath catches when your eyes meet his.

There’s no pretending anymore.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Jeonghan admits, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know how to handle it. Everything was changing so fast, and I just… I shut down. I pushed you away when you needed me most.”

You don’t respond right away.

For a long moment, it feels like time stops, like the storm outside has swallowed up everything but this—this moment, this space, this thing between you that refuses to die.

Then—finally, softly—

“You didn’t push me away, Jeonghan.”

The way you say it—it’s not angry. Not sharp. Just tired.

“You just… withdrew,” you continue, your voice carrying the weight of something unspoken. “You closed off in a way I couldn’t reach you anymore. I tried—God, I tried so hard. But you were so distant, so quiet.”

Your eyes meet his again, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let your guard down.

“I never understood why,” you murmur. “Why you couldn’t just talk to me. Why you couldn’t let me in.”

Jeonghan swallows hard.

Because how does he explain it?

He wants to say something, to explain, but the words feel inadequate, like a poor substitute for everything that’s been left unsaid. How could he explain that he was terrified? Terrified of how much you meant to him, terrified of what it would mean to feel everything he’d been holding back.

And in the end, he’d chosen the only defense mechanism he knew: silence.

“I’m sorry.”

The words barely escape his lips, a whisper, a confession, a wound reopening.

He takes a step closer before he can second-guess himself, his voice trembling.

“I was scared,” he admits, the truth cracking through his composure. “I didn’t know how to open up. I thought if I let myself feel too much… I’d lose everything.”

His voice is hoarse, stripped bare in a way he never allows. The floodgates have opened now, and the words won’t stop coming.

"You were always the one, you know," he continues, voice uneven. "I spent so long convincing myself that losing you was better than hurting you. But I never asked what you wanted."

He exhales, a bitter laugh catching in his throat. “I never stopped to think that maybe not fighting for us was the thing that hurt you the most.”

The words settle between you like an exhale—heavy and fragile all at once.

Jeonghan can barely believe he’s saying it.

But he’s made the mistake of staying silent once before.

He won’t make it again.

His heart is pounding so loudly now, drowning out the storm outside, the rush of blood in his ears making it impossible to think about anything except this.

His hand twitches at his side, caught between reaching for you and knowing he has no right to.

But then—

Your fingers brush against his.

It’s barely anything. Just the smallest, hesitant press of warmth against his skin. But it wrecks him.

His breath shallows, chest tightening, lips parting slightly as his body leans in, as if drawn by some unseen force. He's not thinking about anything else. Just you. Just this.

And then, you move closer, just an inch, and his pulse spikes, his lips parting slightly, the ache to close the distance between you almost too much to bear.

"Tell me to move," he murmurs, voice so quiet it barely exists between you. "Tell me to stop, and I swear I’ll never do this again."

A pause.

A heartbeat.

A lifetime.

"But if you don’t…" His voice drops lower, barely a whisper. "I don’t think I can pretend anymore."

Your eyes flicker from his to his lips.

And Jeonghan knows this moment. He’s felt this moment before—the slow, aching pull, the gravity between you, the kind of anticipation that makes his head spin.

Maybe this time.

Maybe this time, you’ll—

Your breath catches.

Something shifts behind your eyes.

Hesitation. Uncertainty. Regret.

And then—you take half a step back. Just enough to break the spell. Just enough to make Jeonghan’s chest hollow out.

Your fingers slip from his, as if the moment had never happened.

"I can’t," you murmur, voice barely steady. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, grounding yourself. “Jeonghan… I’m not ready to go back there. Not yet.”

The words are quiet, but they land like a blow.

Not cruel. Not harsh.

But final.

Jeonghan doesn’t say anything, not at first.

He lets the silence fill the space instead.

Because he gets it. The weight of the past is too much. Too much to dive back into. Too soon.

You search his face for something—answers, reassurance, something neither of you know how to give.

He forces himself to swallow past the tightness in his throat.

"I understand." His voice is softer now, tinged with something dangerously close to heartbreak.

“I didn’t expect you to be.” He exhales slowly, carefully. “I just… I needed you to know. I never stopped thinking about you.”

The storm rages on outside, but inside this moment, it’s quieter than it has been in months.

And as Jeonghan watches you turn away, watches your fingers curl slightly, like you’re fighting the urge to reach for him—

His own fingers curl at his sides.

The ghost of your touch still lingering.

Jeonghan can tell you're wasted the second he hears the knock at his door.

It's an uneven, erratic tap—like you’re struggling to find the rhythm of it, like the way you’re standing is fighting against whatever balance you thought you had. It’s nothing like the usual grace you carry, the poised, deliberate way you do everything.

His first instinct? Don’t answer.

Maybe if he ignores it, you’ll turn on your heel and trudge back to your room, drunk enough to collapse into bed and forget whatever reckless idea brought you here in the first place.

Maybe that would be the best option—save both of you from whatever petty revenge you’ve decided he deserves.

His fingers hover over the door handle.

He can hear you on the other side—your breath, shallow and unsteady, like you’re bracing yourself.

He knows he should stay inside. Let you figure it out on your own.

But of course, he doesn’t do that.

He’s never been good at resisting you.

With a soft sigh, he opens the door, half-expecting a drunken rant about how terrible he is, how he's probably ruined your life, again. You've always had a sharp tongue when you were upset, and he's sure that alcohol is only going to fuel it more.

But when the door swings open, the sight that greets him is nothing like he expected.

You’re swaying slightly, cheeks flushed from alcohol, eyes hazy but burning with something Jeonghan can’t quite place.

And then, there’s the smile—mischievous, reckless.

The kind of smile that makes his pulse spike for all the wrong reasons.

"You know," you slur, voice low and playful, "I've been thinking about you all evening."

Jeonghan freezes, the words hanging between you like a strange, insistent pull. He was expecting anger. Accusations. Anything but this.

He clears his throat, tries to steady himself. "Uh—you're really drunk right now." His voice is careful, measured. "Maybe you should go back to your room."

You don’t listen.

Instead, you take a slow step forward, swaying just enough for Jeonghan to notice how unsteady you are, how the world is just a little too much for you to handle right now.

Your fingers brush the front of his shirt, then slide up to his collar, curling lightly around the fabric.

"Don’t you miss me?" Your voice softens, the playful edge gone, replaced by something rawer. "Don’t you ever think about what we could've had? I know I do."

Jeonghan’s stomach lurches, and a sudden wave of panic sweeps through him.

His first instinct is to back away. Create space. Put distance between you and this mess of a moment.

But he looks at you again, really looks at you, and what he sees wrecks him. Because behind the alcohol, behind the reckless smirk, behind the dangerously soft voice—

There’s desperation.

The same raw, aching need he’s spent months forcing himself to suppress.

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head, his voice more strained than he intends. “You’re drunk. This isn’t—this isn’t the right time for this.”

You laugh, but it’s not light. It’s not amused.

You laugh, but it’s not a light laugh. It’s heavy with something else, something he can’t quite decipher. “So you’re saying I don’t know what I want? Or maybe you don’t know what you want?”

The words sting more than they should. It’s like you’ve taken all the walls he’s spent so long building around himself and torn them down in one shot. The thought of you, standing here and waiting for him, the weight of your gaze—he can't ignore it. But it's not right to give in, either. Not like this.

He takes a step back, his hands instinctively raising to create space between the two of you. “You don’t mean this. You’re not thinking straight right now.”

You reach for him again, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him a little closer than he’s comfortable with.

He can feel your breath on his skin, warm and uneven, and the tension in the air is suffocating. Every instinct in him is telling him to kiss you, to lean into the dangerous edge between the two of you and let it all unravel.

Your voice is heavy, thick with something undeniable, something Jeonghan wants so badly it hurts.

“I’ve missed you,” you murmur, fingers tightening against his chest. “I need you.”

Jeonghan’s heart is pounding in his chest, but he knows—

If he gives in now, this moment won’t be what he wants it to be.

It won’t be real.

Not in the way it should be.

“No."

The word comes out raw, heavier than he expected.

Your face falls, disappointment flashing across your features before the alcohol muddles your expression again.

But Jeonghan holds his ground, even as his heart aches in his chest. You deserved more than this, more than a careless, drunken mistake.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he continues, his voice quieter now. “I care about you too much for that.”

For a long moment, you don’t say anything. Just stand there, swaying a little, staring at him. Jeonghan watches you, heart pounding in his chest, waiting for something to give. But it doesn’t.

And then, in a quiet voice, you say, "You don’t care about me."

The words are so fragile, barely holding together as they slip past your lips.

Jeonghan flinches.

Because it’s not true. It’s never been true.

"Of course, I care-"

You don't let him finish, the door closing with a slam behind you. The sharp click of the lock echoes through the room, final and unforgiving.

Jeonghan stands there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, his chest too tight to breathe properly.

Then—slowly—he leans against it, closing his eyes, exhaling sharply.

You won’t remember much of this tomorrow.

You won’t remember the way you looked at him, the way your voice trembled when you said you missed him. You won’t remember the way his heart nearly gave out when you touched him.

And Jeonghan—

Jeonghan prays that when the fog of alcohol lifts, you won’t resent him for this.

Jeonghan had spent the weekend stewing in his own thoughts.

The retreat, the storm, the alcohol, the way your fingers curled into his shirt like you needed him—and most of all, the quiet rejection that followed.

It’s all settled into him in ways he doesn’t want to admit.

But one thing is clear through the mess of it all:

You deserved better.

Better than a rain-soaked half-confession. Better than an almost-kiss in the dim light of a cramped shed. Better than standing outside his door, drunk and vulnerable, only to be turned away.

You deserved something real.

So Jeonghan spends the better part of Sunday evening preparing himself.

He rehearses what he’ll say, how he’ll say it, what kind of apology might be enough to make things right. He tells himself that this time, he’s going to be open, that he’s going to stop hiding behind his usual emotional armour.

That he’s not the same man you left behind.

Jeonghan isn't exactly a grand gesture kind of guy, but he figures that flowers might be a good place to start.

So he picks up a small, simple bouquet—a mix of pale pink roses and white lilies. It feels right. Not over-the-top, not desperate. Just… gentle. Sincere.

Something to tell you that he’s serious about this. About you.

About fixing what he broke.

Monday morning. A bouquet. A plan.

Jeonghan walks into the office, bouquet in hand, the familiar weight of anticipation pressing down on his chest.

He hasn’t seen you yet, but he knows you’re here—probably sorting out someone else’s mess, busy fixing problems that aren’t yours to fix.

And besides, the lingering tension between you still hasn’t been resolved. There’s still too much left unsaid.

He weaves through the office, eyes scanning each cubicle, looking for a glimpse of you. Your desk. Your chair. The little personal touches you leave behind.

But when he walks past your workspace, he barely slows down. Because, of course, you wouldn’t be there yet. You’re probably in a meeting or grabbing coffee—

Right?

Jeonghan stops by the coffee machine, hovering near a group of junior associates, waiting for the right moment.

He’s still running through his speech in his head when one of them—clipboard in hand—pauses beside him, eyes flicking to the bouquet with mild curiosity.

"Those are nice," she comments. "Are you bringing them to Y/n?"

Jeonghan blinks.

He’s pretty sure no one saw you leaving his room that night, but maybe word spreads faster than he thought.

"Uh, yeah, I was just—" His voice falters, uncertainty creeping in. "Wait, what do you mean? Are they—?"

The associate raises an eyebrow. “Oh. Didn’t you hear?”

And then, with the casualness of someone delivering a weather report—

"Y/n put in their resignation over the weekend. They’re leaving the company."

The words hit Jeonghan like a punch to the stomach. He feels the air leave his lungs, his body momentarily forgetting how to function. What?

His mind races. No. It can’t be true. You—you wouldn’t just leave. Not without saying something, without—

He forces himself to reply. "When? Why?"

The associate looks a little sheepish, as though she's not sure if she should be saying anything. "I don't know the details. Something about another job, though. It's pretty sudden - just packed up this morning, said goodbye, and - yeah."

This morning.

Jeonghan’s thoughts go numb.

His eyes dart back to the desk he had walked past minutes ago—

The empty desk.

The chair is still there, but everything else is gone. No personal belongings. No little notebooks. No coffee cup. No lingering signs that you’d ever been there at all. Just an empty space. Cold. Unfamiliar.

The associate says something else, but Jeonghan doesn’t hear her.

He barely registers her walking away.

Without thinking, Jeonghan walks swiftly towards your office, although it feels like his legs are moving on their own, his mind detached from his body. He knows he shouldn't chase after you. He has no right. But this - this is different. You're leaving.

When he reaches your office, he knocks once.

Then, before he can talk himself out of it, he pushes the door open.

And what he finds is—

Nothing.

The space is just as empty as your desk had been.

The table is stripped bare. The computer monitor is gone. The air still carries the faintest trace of your perfume, but even that is fading.

Jeonghan just stands there, clutching the flowers in his hand like they're the only thing keeping him tethered to this reality.

And then, the quiet voice he’s been trying so hard to ignore finally makes itself heard: You're too late, again.

Jeonghan slumps into his chair, staring blankly at the computer screen like it might somehow offer him answers.

It doesn’t.

It just sits there—cold, unhelpful—mirroring the hollow ache in his chest.

The bouquet on the corner of his desk is dying a slow, miserable death. The once-vibrant petals are already wilting, drooping under the weight of their own existence, looking just as pathetic as he feels.

He doesn’t realize how much time has passed—how long he’s been sitting there, stuck in the endless spiral of what-ifs—until a voice yanks him back to reality with all the grace of a toddler on a sugar high.

"Jeonghan."

He blinks up, sluggish, seeing Joshua standing over him like some sort of judgmental yet well-meaning ghost, arms crossed and face set in that deeply irritating, all-knowing expression that screams I know exactly what’s going on, and I’m about to make it worse.

Joshua’s eyes flick to the flowers.

Then back to Jeonghan.

Then, like he physically cannot help himself, he smirks.

“Are those for Y/n?”

The words are light, teasing—too casual. But the look in Joshua’s eyes is something else entirely—a mix of sympathy and secondhand embarrassment, the kind that makes Jeonghan want to sink into the floor and never be perceived again.

He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. "Uh, yeah…"

His fingers skim over the petals, careful—like touching them too much might make them fall apart completely. "I was going to give them today. I mean, I did. I wanted to, but…"

His voice trails off, disappearing into the abyss of 'things that aren't going to happen'.

Joshua doesn’t say anything at first.

Instead, he just leans against the desk, watching Jeonghan with the kind of quiet scrutiny that makes his skin itch.

"I told you, man,” Joshua finally sighs, shaking his head. “You have to start reading your emails.”

Jeonghan’s mouth opens—ready to argue, ready to say something, anything—

But nothing comes out.

He’s just so tired.

And so unbelievably stupid.

"I was going to fix it," Jeonghan mutters. The words taste bitter, hollow in his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say them aloud, but there they are. Out in the open. "I was going to apologise. I was going to... to make it right."

Joshua just watches Jeonghan—arms crossed, gaze unreadable—like he’s waiting to see if there’s anything left to say.

When he does speak, his voice is softer. Gentler. Like he’s stepping carefully around fragile ground.

“You know, Jeonghan… Sometimes you can’t wait around for the right moment. Sometimes, you have to make that moment yourself. No one’s gonna do it for you.” He pauses. “And it’s okay to feel bad about it. Hell, I’d be a mess too if I were you.”

Jeonghan lets out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Congrats, Shua. You are me. This is your life now."

Joshua hums thoughtfully. “That’s unfortunate. I’d like a refund.”

Jeonghan huffs out something that almost sounds like amusement—but it dies quickly, sinking beneath the weight pressing against his ribs.

His shoulders sag. His head tilts forward, gaze locked onto the wilting flowers.

"I thought I had time," he murmurs.

Joshua stays quiet. Listening.

"I thought they’d still be there," Jeonghan continues, voice barely above a whisper. "Waiting for me to get my act together."

Silence.

Thick and heavy.

And then—finally—

“I don’t even know if they’ll want to talk to me again.”

Joshua doesn’t hesitate this time.

He just smiles—small, knowing.

“Well,” he says simply, “you won’t know unless you try.”

Jeonghan doesn't get drunk on purpose. He just ... allows the alcohol to win.

Besides, it's the first step in his extremely well-thought-out, definitely-not-drunken plan to win you back. (alternatively titled: The worst idea he's ever had, and that's saying something).

Step One: Drown Your Sorrows Like a Man

One drink? Fine. Two drinks? Even better. Five drinks? You know what? Life is short, and so is his ability to keep a functional relationship. Might as well commit.

By the time he's properly marinated in alcohol and self-pity, Joshua has started looking at him with that face—half pity, half “I should have left you at the bar and gone home.” But it’s fine. Everything’s fine.

“You know what,” Jeonghan slurs, pointing an accusatory finger at his best friend. “I think I gotta— I gotta do something. Something big.”

Joshua sighs. “No, you don’t.”

“I do, actually,” Jeonghan says, deadly serious. “I need Y/n to know I’m a changed man, Joshua.”

Joshua takes a sip of his beer, unbothered. “You are quite literally drunk in a bar, thinking of doing something stupid. So, no, you’re actually the same man.”

Jeonghan glares. “Wow. Negative energy. Get out.”

“This is my apartment.”

“Okay but, like. Metaphorically.”

Joshua shakes his head. “What’s the plan, then? You gonna text her?”

Jeonghan gasps, scandalised. “No. That’s pathetic.”

Joshua sighs in relief.

“No, I’m gonna send a voice message.”

Joshua physically lunges for the phone.

Step Two: Send a Message That Will Definitely Solve Everything

Jeonghan fumbles with his phone, blinking until his vision stabilises enough to find your contact. He hits the audio message button and clears his throat, ready to deliver the most heartfelt, sincere message of his life.

"Heyyyy," he starts. Good start. "I was just thinking. About us. About how we had, like, something special, y'know? And then I was like. Wow. I'm dumb. Like, really dumb. Like, 'couldn't pass a third-grade math test' dumb. But you knew that."

Joshua groans from the kitchen.

"But you liked me anyway. Which is crazy. And so nice of you, actually. You're so nice. The nicest." He hiccups. "And I was thinking. You always used to say that I never fight for anything - which, rude, because I am literally fighting for my life every morning when I wake up. But like, emotionally, you were right. So I'm fighting now. Right now. At this moment."

Pause. Hiccup. Thoughtful silence.

"... Okay, technically, I'm sitting on Joshua's couch. But I mean it. I am spiritually standing up for this relationship."

There's a loud thunk as Jeonghan's knees hit the coffee table from the sheer force he throws his body up with.

Joshua looks up from his phone. "DId you just break my table?"

"Shhhh," Jeonghan waves him off. "Important matters are happening." He brings the phone back to his mouth.

"Anway. Listen. I was bad at the whole relationship thing. But I'm a changed man now. I mean, not right now because I'm drunk, but like, in general, I will be. Probably. Statistically. So like. Call me. Or text. Or send, like, a pigeon, I don't care. But let's talk."

"Wow. That was awful. Are you gonna send it?"

Jeonghan grins. "Oh, it's already gone."

Joshua looks like he wants to throw himself off the balcony.

Step Three: Online Shopping

Jeonghan, still drunk and now high on the confidence of his definitely good voice message, decides he needs a gift. Something thoughtful. Something sentimental. Something way better than those shitty flowers he's glad you never had to lay eyes on.

And then it hits him. The perfect idea.

"Joshua," he says, tone dead serious. "I need a taxidermy frog."

Joshua looks at him, horrified. "You what?"

"A frog," Jeonghan's fingers are already moving at lightning speed, typing the words into a very shady-looking website. "Y/n loved that stupid frog we saw in that antique shop. Remember? Y/n said it had 'big personality'. They respected that frog."

Joshua looks like he’s physically in pain. “Jeonghan, no—”

“Too late. It’s ordered.”

Joshua stares in disbelief. "You seriously just spent—" He looks at the screen, jaw dropping. "FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS?! ON A DEAD FROG?!"

Jeonghan nods, looking very proud of himself. "Only the best for my love."

"You don't even know if she wants that!"

Jeonghan scoffs. "Joshua. It's a frog. Everyone wants a frog."

Joshua puts his head in his hands. "This is literally why you're single."

Step Four: Pass Out and Let Tomorrow-You Suffer the Consequences

The last thing Jeonghan remembers is a very smug sense of accomplishment.

He has done it. He has made his move. He has sent a heartfelt message. He has made a grand gesture. He is fighting.

He is unstoppable.

…He is also face-down on Joshua’s couch, snoring so loudly the neighbours might call animal control.

The phone, still clutched in his hand, lights up with an incoming notification.

A text.

From you.

Three words.

"Are you serious?"

Jeonghan wakes up feeling like death.

His head is pounding, his mouth drier than the Sahara, and his soul feels like it has been forcibly removed from his body and drop-kicked into the sun. He groans, rolling over onto his side, only to come face-to-face with Joshua, who is standing over him with the look of a man who has seen things.

“…Morning,” Jeonghan croaks, voice wrecked from what he can only assume was a night of tragic decision-making.

Joshua crosses his arms. “Do you remember what you did last night?”

Jeonghan thinks. He remembers alcohol. He remembers emotion. He remembers… Oh God.

His eyes fly open. “I bought a—”

“A $400 taxidermy frog? Yes. Yes, you did.” Joshua gestures to the corner of the room, where, sure enough, a very dead, very wide-eyed frog sits in an equally dead, equally wide-eyed glass case.

Jeonghan stares at it in horror, clutching his blanket like it might protect him from reality. “Oh my God.”

Joshua sighs and pulls out Jeonghan’s phone. “And you sent this,” he says, pressing play on The Message.

Jeonghan has never known true fear until now.

“Heyyyyy…” comes his own very drunk voice, echoing through the apartment like a ghost of his worst mistakes. “Soooooo. I was just thinking. About us. About how we had, like, something special, y'know? And then I was like. Wow. I'm dumb. Like, really dumb. Like—”

Jeonghan slaps the phone out of Joshua’s hand so fast, it skids across the floor. “OKAY. Got it. Yep. Thank you.”

Joshua levels him with a stare. “Oh, you’re welcome. Also, she replied.”

Jeonghan freezes. “She what?”

Joshua pulls up the message, holding it out for him to read.

Are you serious?

He stares. That’s it? No "never speak to me again"? No "please lose my number and also possibly yourself"?

Joshua claps his hands together. “And now, you’re gonna go over."

“What? No, I—” Jeonghan gestures wildly at himself. “I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can,” Joshua interrupts. “You were literally crying over this last night—”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“You sobbed into my hoodie and called me ‘a real one,’ so actually, yes, you were.”

Jeonghan glares. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Oh, so much,” Joshua agrees. Then he gestures to the taxidermy frog still sitting ominously on the table. “Also, you’re bringing that.”

Jeonghan sits up so fast his brain almost leaves his skull. “What?! No! I’m not—this was a drunken mistake!”

Joshua gives him a look. “Yeah? So was letting her walk away the first time. And the second time. And whatever number time we’re on now.”

Jeonghan glares. “I hate you.”

Joshua pats his shoulder. “I know. Now take the frog and go.”

Jeonghan stands in front of your door, frog in hand, deeply regretting everything that has led him to this moment.

There are a lot of ways to win back an ex. A heartfelt apology. A romantic gesture. Literally any option that does not involve showing up at her doorstep, hungover, holding a dead frog in a display case like some kind of unhinged antique salesman.

But here he is.

He exhales, steadying himself. He has to do this. He has to explain everything—how he didn’t know you were working for the merging company, how the pastel sweater was not some dramatic power move, how he’s an idiot (but, like, a reformed idiot now).

Most importantly, he has to fix whatever mess he made last night.

With a deep breath, he knocks.

The door swings open a few seconds later, and there you are—standing there in sweats and an oversized hoodie, looking at him like you knew this day was coming but are still deeply unprepared for it.

Your gaze flickers to the frog. Then back to him. Then back to the frog.

“…No,” you say immediately, trying to shut the door.

Jeonghan wedges his foot in before you can. “Wait, wait, wait,” he pleads, balancing the frog case in his other hand. “Just hear me out.”

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “Are you seriously standing outside my apartment at—” You check the time. “Nine-thirty in the morning holding a stuffed frog?”

Jeonghan shifts awkwardly. “Technically, it’s taxidermy.”

Your expression remains unchanged. “You’re insane.”

“Passionate,” he corrects, trying to smile. “Look, I just… I wanted to talk. Properly. No drunk messages. No misunderstandings. Just—can we?” He gestures vaguely, still holding the frog case like it’s part of the conversation.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Fine. But the frog stays outside.”

Jeonghan pouts. “It has big personality.”

You slam the door in his face.

Five seconds later, you open it again. “Get in.”

Walking into your apartment is surreal.

Mostly because it looks different. Like you took every single thing that might’ve even slightly reminded you of him and threw it into a bonfire. Jeonghan half-expects to see a sage stick burning in the corner, cleansing the air of his scent.

You sit across from him at the kitchen table, arms still crossed, watching him like he's about to unleash another round of chaos. Which is fair.

Jeonghan clears his throat, hands clasped together, like he's in a business meeting and not a shambles of a man trying to win back the love of his life.

Before he can even begin, you cut in.

“I heard you brought me flowers.”

Joshua, that absolute rat—

"Julie from legal told me."

Ah. That makes more sense.

“Well,” he starts, thrown completely off track. “I figured you might be feeling bad. I just… didn’t think you’d quit before I could even apologise.”

"Yeah, well, I guess it all got a little too much for me."

Jeonghan squints. “So you did quit because of me?”

You level him with a deadpan expression. “Jeonghan. I got a bit tipsy and practically begged you to take my clothes off.”

He blinks. “A bit tipsy seems like an understatement—”

"That doesn't mean much coming from you."

Okay. Fair.

You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “Come on, Jeonghan. You felt it too. How could I stay there when every moment, I was bracing myself in case I heard your voice? If every time someone passed, I’d look around to check if it was you?” You shake your head. “That’s not a productive way to work, and it’s definitely not healthy. I mean, I was thrown off the second I saw you, and I don’t think I ever really recovered from that.”

Jeonghan licks his lips, hesitating. “About the sweater—”

Your eyebrows shoot up.

"I didn't know you were leading the merger when I wore it," he says quickly, desperate to clear at least one crime off his record. "I swear to God, I didn't."

You narrow your eyes. "So you just ... casually decided to wear a pastel pink sweater to the most important corporate meeting of your career?"

Jeonghan hesitates. “Uh. Yes?”

You stare at him.

He sits up straighter, suddenly feeling defensive. “I had a moment that morning, okay? I had a dream about the day we went to get them, and I thought, Hey, maybe if I wear this, then I'll feel one sliver of the same joy I did that day.” He waves his hands. “I didn’t realize that it would lead to—” another vague, exasperated gesture “—this. Besides, you know I don’t check my emails, Y/n. I didn’t even know you were going to be there.”

You blink. "You wore it because of a dream?"

" ... Technically, yes."

A pause. Then, to his absolute horror, you start laughing.

Not a mocking laugh. Not a wow-you’re-an-idiot laugh. Just… pure, unfiltered amusement, like you cannot believe this is what started all of this.

Jeonghan watches as you shake your head, covering your mouth with your hand.

"Shit," you gasp between chuckles. "I spent an entire week planning what I was going to wear, what I'd say to you when I saw you, how I'd prove to you that I'd moved on and was better without you before that meeting. And you saw right through it, without even realising."

Jeonghan is stunned and, frankly, a little offended.

“You think this is funny?” he grumbles, watching as you wipe at your eyes, still giggling.

“Oh, I know it’s funny,” you say, shaking your head. “All that effort on my part and you just—obliterated it. By accident. With a sweater.”

Jeonghan huffs, crossing his arms. “Well, excuse me for having a sentimental moment.”

“Oh, so now you’re sentimental?”

He hesitates. “...I mean. A little.”

Your laughter fades then, softening into something quieter, something a little too knowing. “I guess that’s what last night was, too?”

Jeonghan stiffens immediately.

The message.

Oh. Right.

The actual reason he's here.

His fingers drum anxiously against the table. “I… don’t suppose you ignored that?”

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head. “I listened. Multiple times, actually. Almost sent it to HR for psychological damage.”

Jeonghan groans, burying his face in his hands. “I knew it was bad.”

You tilt your head, considering. “Honestly, it started fine. You sounded, like, half composed. Then you hit the ‘I am literally fighting for my life every morning’ part and, well…” You gesture vaguely. “It kind of fell apart.”

He peeks at you through his fingers. “Just a little?”

“Oh, no. It was a complete disaster.”

Fantastic. Love that for him.

Sighing, Jeonghan lets his hands drop, his fingers still fidgeting. “Look, I—” He hesitates, pressing his lips together before forcing himself to just say it. “I meant what I said.”

Your expression shifts, just slightly, just enough for him to notice.

His voice is quieter now, steadier. “I know I sounded ridiculous, but I wasn’t just talking out of my ass. I—” He swallows. “I really do regret how things ended. I should’ve fought for you. I should’ve at least tried. But I didn’t, and I lost you. And now…” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Now I don’t even know if I have the right to be sitting here.”

You don’t answer right away.

Instead, you watch him carefully, as if you’re still trying to figure out if this is real, if it’s safe to trust what he’s saying.

Then, finally—

“You know, you could’ve said all of this before I left.”

Jeonghan winces. “I know.”

“I mean, instead of waiting until you were drunk out of your mind and making Frogbert the most cursed apology gift of all time.”

His face burns. “We don’t have to talk about Frogbert.”

“Oh, we absolutely do.”

“Y/n—”

You smile, shaking your head, but there’s something softer in your eyes now. Something that makes Jeonghan feel like maybe—maybe—he hasn’t completely lost his chance.

You sigh, leaning forward slightly, resting your elbows on the table. “Look, Jeonghan. It wasn’t just you. I didn’t exactly handle things perfectly either.”

He blinks, startled. “You didn’t?”

You shoot him a look. “Wow. Try not to sound so surprised.”

“No, I just—” He rubs the back of his neck, struggling to process this information. “I kind of assumed you had everything figured out. That you were, y’know, thriving without me.”

You shrug. “I tried to be.”

The weight of that sits between you for a moment.

Jeonghan wets his lips, his hands still twitching slightly against his knees. “So… what now?”

You tilt your head, considering. “I don’t know.” There’s something guarded in the way you say it, like you’re waiting for him to give you a reason. A reason to walk away, or a reason to stay.

And Jeonghan—Jeonghan is so tired of giving you reasons to walk away.

So he leans forward just slightly, his voice lower, steadier than it’s been all week. “I’d rather spend the rest of my life proving that I love you than waste another second pretending I don’t.”

Your breath catches.

And for a moment, everything stills.

Jeonghan can see it—the flicker of emotion behind your eyes, the way your fingers tighten just slightly around the edge of the table. He’s spent so much time trying to read you, but this? This is the closest he’s felt to understanding you in a long, long time.

Your lips part, but no words come. He watches as you swallow, watches as you fight the instinct to look away.

“…That’s a really unfair thing to say,” you murmur finally, voice quiet.

Jeonghan exhales a soft laugh. “Yeah. It is.” He tilts his head slightly, a small, wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But it’s true.”

You shake your head, eyes narrowing, but there’s no real bite behind it. “God, you are so annoying.”

“Infuriating, actually,” he corrects. “But, y’know. At least I’m consistent.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now—just a little, just enough for him to notice. And Jeonghan thinks that maybe he’s finally done something right.

A beat of silence passes between you. Not tense, not uncomfortable—just quiet. Just… yours.

Then, softly: “Do you mean it?”

Jeonghan meets your gaze, unwavering. “Yeah,” he says simply. “I do.”

You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. “You literally sent me a voice message saying you were spiritually standing up for this relationship.”

Jeonghan groans, slumping forward dramatically. “I knew you’d bring that up.”

“Oh, I’m never letting that go.”

Another pause.

Then, finally—

“…I don’t know how this is supposed to work,” you admit, quieter now. “I don’t know if it can.”

Jeonghan nods, understanding. “Me neither.” He swallows. “But I think—I think if I lost you again without at least trying this time, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.”

You stare at him, searching.

Then, after a moment, you let out a slow breath, sitting back in your chair. “Okay,” you murmur. “Then try.”

And Jeonghan, for the first time in forever, feels like he can finally breathe again.

Planning a romantic date is, unfortunately, not Jeonghan’s strong suit.

Oh, he can be thoughtful when he wants to be. But romantic? That requires effort. That requires vulnerability. That requires not making everything a joke to avoid feeling things. And frankly, Jeonghan has built his entire personality around not doing any of that.

But here he is.

Planning a real date. A meaningful one. A Hey-I’m-Actually-a-Decent-Boyfriend-This-Time-I-Swear kind of date.

Which is why Joshua, who is watching this entire thing unfold from the couch, looks horrified.

“I need you to be honest with me,” Jeonghan says, standing in front of a fully crafted itinerary. “Is this too much?”

Joshua, staring at a literal printed schedule, does not even blink. “Yes.”

Jeonghan sighs dramatically. “I knew you’d say that.”

“You wrote out timed activities, Jeonghan.”

“It’s called being prepared.”

“It’s called being insane.”

Jeonghan waves him off. “Okay, but listen. I messed up. And this—” He gestures grandly to the schedule. “This is how I fix it.”

Joshua pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why do I have a feeling this ends with something deeply embarrassing?”

Jeonghan does not answer.

Which means Joshua is right.

Jeonghan picks you up at exactly 5:00 PM (because he planned this), and the first thing he notices is that you’re suspicious.

"Okay," you say, arms crossed, giving him that look. "What’s the catch?"

Jeonghan gasps. "Wow. Zero faith in me."

You raise an eyebrow.

“…Okay, fine. A little faith in me.”

You hum. “We’ll see.”

And that is so unfair, actually, because Jeonghan is really trying here. So instead of arguing, he just grins and takes your hand, pulling you toward the car.

"You trust me, right?"

You hesitate for a second too long.

Jeonghan squints.

"Okay," you say finally, sighing. "I trust you. For now." (Jeonghan will absolutely be holding onto that for life.)

The first stop is that little bookshop café you always used to drag him to, the one where you’d spend hours getting lost in shelves while Jeonghan sat in a corner, half-asleep, pretending to be deeply interested in a book he never actually read.

You blink when you realize where you are. “You remembered this place?”

Jeonghan scoffs, feigning offense. “Excuse me. I was a very supportive boyfriend.”

“You literally fell asleep on the couch last time we were here.”

“…I was a tired boyfriend.”

But you’re smiling now, eyes soft with something that makes Jeonghan’s chest ache.

"Come on," he says, nudging you toward the door. "I owe you a coffee. And maybe a book. Or five. Whatever shuts you up about my alleged napping problem."

Somewhere between coffee and Jeonghan deeply regretting letting you pick out a book for him ("This is 800 pages. Have you met me?"), he takes you to the park.

It’s nothing fancy—just a quiet place to walk, somewhere just yours, somewhere he can talk to you without the weight of everything pressing down too hard.

"You're still here," he says eventually, his fingers brushing against yours as you walk.

You smirk. "Yeah, well. I haven't decided if I'm staying."

Jeonghan groans. "Oh my God."

You laugh, nudging his shoulder playfully. But then, softer—“I’m glad you’re trying.”

And that—that is all Jeonghan needs.

Jeonghan was not planning on this part.

The night is winding down, and everything is going well, and he should just call it there before he does something stupid.

But then—

Then, as you’re walking past a store, you freeze.

Jeonghan follows your gaze—

And, oh.

Oh no.

Matching sweaters.

The pastel monstrosities. The ones that started everything. The ones he swore he would never wear again.

And you—you are grinning.

Jeonghan is so in love with you, it’s disgusting.

You turn to him, eyes gleaming. "One last time?"

Jeonghan exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re the actual worst.”

You tilt your head, completely unbothered. “So that’s a yes?”

Jeonghan looks at you, at your stupid smile, at the way your fingers are already reaching for the sweaters—

And, well.

What else is he supposed to do?

Sighing dramatically, he grabs the second sweater and pulls it on.

You beam at him, absolutely delighted.

"God," he groans, looking at his reflection. "This is so much worse than I remember."

"You love it."

Jeonghan turns, catching the way you’re looking at him—soft, affectionate, the way you used to, before everything got messy. Before he ruined things.

Before he got you back.

And—okay. Maybe the sweater isn’t that bad.

Jeonghan exhales, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he admits, pulling you closer. “I really, really do.”

The thing about kissing you again is that it should be easy.

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it—a lot—in the most pathetic, pining, staring-at-the-ceiling-at-2AM kind of way. It’s not like he hasn’t memorised the shape of your lips, the way you used to kiss him like you weren’t even thinking about it, like it was just natural for you to be that close.

But now, when you’re standing right in front of him, beaming at him in that stupid, unfairly charming sweater, it feels like the first time all over again.

You tilt your head slightly, as if daring him. “Are you gonna stare at me all night, or—”

Jeonghan kisses you before you can finish the sentence.

It’s not careful. It’s not calculated. It’s not like any of the times before, when he thought he had all the time in the world to figure this out.

It’s just him, leaning in like it’s the most obvious thing to do, his hands sliding against your waist like muscle memory, like they belong there. You gasp against his lips, surprised, but it melts away in an instant—your fingers curling into the fabric of his ridiculous sweater, pulling him closer, like you don’t even want him to second-guess it.

And Jeonghan—God, he could die like this.

It’s slow, and warm, and so achingly familiar that it makes his chest tighten, makes him want to grab onto you and never let go. He tilts his head, deepening it just enough to make sure you feel it, to make sure you understand—

That this isn’t just a kiss.

That this is a promise.

When you finally pull away, your breath is uneven, your lips way too tempting, and Jeonghan has never been good at restraint, so he almost kisses you again.

But then you blink up at him, slightly dazed, and—

“You taste like regret and poor life choices,” you murmur.

Jeonghan snorts, pressing his forehead against yours. “That’s your fault. You’re the one who made me wear this sweater.”

You laugh, quiet and breathless, and he feels it against his skin, and suddenly, everything is worth it.

Because you’re here.

And so is he.

And this time, Jeonghan isn’t letting you go.

Divider Credit: enchanthings

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fioredeciliego · 4 months ago

Text

Softly, Sweetly - Winter x Fem!Reader

12.5k words

The morning air in the office was crisp with the scent of fresh coffee and lingering hints of printer toner. Minjeong adjusted her blazer, her sharp eyes scanning the rows of desks as she walked through the bustling corporate floor. It was her first week as the new manager—a title she’d worked tirelessly to earn. Being an alpha in a field where appearances were everything, she’d perfected the art of self-control. Her instincts had no place here.

“Good morning, Manager Kim,” a cheerful voice greeted her. Minjeong nodded with a polite smile, not breaking stride. She kept her expression neutral, her shoulders squared. No one needed to know how tightly wound she felt beneath the surface.

The breakroom door was ajar, and as Minjeong pushed it open, something in the air shifted. Her breath hitched. A scent, warm and delicate, wrapped around her like a comforting embrace. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was unmistakable: vanilla, butter, and the faintest hint of lavender. Her instincts stirred before she could stop them, her wolf perking up like it had just found something—someone—important.

Minjeong froze mid-step, her eyes scanning the room. A tray of cookies sat on the counter, golden and fresh, a few crumbs scattered around it. She frowned slightly, glancing at the lone figure sitting at the small table in the corner.

You.

Your head was bent over a book, a steaming cup of tea beside you. You looked so at ease, oblivious to the chaos of the office just outside the door. The moment felt oddly intimate, as though Minjeong had stepped into a scene she wasn’t meant to disturb. Her wolf growled softly in approval, a low hum of recognition.

She shook her head, forcing herself to move. Minjeong was here to grab a coffee, not to—…whatever this was.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice even. You looked up, startled, your eyes meeting hers. For a moment, Minjeong forgot how to breathe.

“Oh, good morning,” you replied, offering a shy smile. “You must be the new manager. Minjeong, right?”

Hearing her name in your voice made something in her chest tighten. She gave a curt nod. “That’s right. And you are?”

“Y/N,” you said, setting your book down. “I work in marketing. I, um, bake cookies for the team on Fridays. I hope that’s okay?”

Minjeong blinked. You thought she might disapprove? She glanced at the tray again, her fingers twitching with the urge to grab one. “It’s… nice. I’m sure the team appreciates it.”

Your smile widened slightly, and Minjeong felt her heartbeat quicken. She hated how her composure wavered under your gaze, like you could see right through the layers she’d carefully built around herself.

“Would you like one?” you offered, gesturing to the cookies.

Minjeong hesitated. Something about the idea of taking one felt too personal, but the way your eyes sparkled with anticipation made it impossible to refuse.

“Sure,” she said, stepping closer. She picked one up, the warm cookie soft against her fingertips. She bit into it, and the taste was as comforting as the scent that lingered in the room.

“It’s good,” she said after a moment, keeping her tone neutral.

“Thank you,” you said softly. There was a flicker of something in your expression, something almost… hopeful. Minjeong quickly looked away, busying herself with pouring a cup of coffee.

“Do you bake often?” she asked, more to fill the silence than out of genuine curiosity.

“Pretty often,” you said, shrugging lightly. “It’s kind of my way of relaxing. Helps me feel grounded, you know?”

Minjeong wouldn’t know. Relaxation wasn’t something she indulged in. But she nodded anyway, sipping her coffee. The warmth didn’t quite reach the tightness in her chest.

She lingered longer than she intended, watching as you returned to your book, completely at ease. The contrast between your serenity and her constant self-discipline was almost jarring. But it was the scent that stayed with her long after she left the breakroom, weaving itself into her thoughts and refusing to let go.

By the end of the day, Minjeong was mentally exhausted. Meetings, presentations, and the constant effort to keep her instincts in check had drained her more than usual. As she gathered her things, her thoughts drifted back to you. To the way your scent had wrapped around her like a protective cocoon.

It wasn’t just pleasant. It was calming in a way that nothing else had been in years. She hated how much she craved it already, how the memory of it lingered on the edge of her consciousness. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t professional.

“Manager Kim?” a voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see one of her coworkers standing hesitantly by her desk.

“Yes?” she asked, straightening up.

“Just wanted to say thanks for joining us today. I know it’s been a busy week for you,” they said.

Minjeong gave a polite smile. “Thank you. Have a good evening.”

As the office emptied out, she found herself standing alone, staring at the breakroom door. The faintest hint of your scent still lingered, teasing her senses. She shook her head, forcing herself to leave.

At home, Minjeong dropped her bag by the door and sank onto the couch. She stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. She’d worked so hard to suppress her instincts, to present herself as an alpha who could be trusted in any situation. But you… you had cracked something open in her with just a smile and a tray of cookies.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her thoughts. It was a text from her assistant, reminding her about a team lunch next week.

She sighed, tossing her phone onto the coffee table. As much as she wanted to deny it, she knew one thing for certain: this wasn’t the last time you’d be on her mind.

Minjeong prided herself on her ability to remain composed in any situation. Meetings, deadlines, and even high-stakes negotiations barely fazed her. But now, as she sat in a mid-morning conference room, facing a dozen employees, her calm exterior was slipping.

She stole a glance toward you, seated across the table. You were scribbling notes in your planner, a small smile tugging at your lips. That scent—a warm mix of vanilla and sugar—was still faint in the air, and Minjeong was losing her grip on rational thought. It wasn’t overpowering, but it lingered in the corners of her mind, making her restless in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

“Minjeong, what do you think?” someone asked, snapping her back to the present.

She blinked, realizing that everyone was staring at her, waiting for a response. “I, uh… Yes. Of course.” She cleared her throat and straightened in her seat. “Could you repeat the question?”

There was a murmur of suppressed laughter around the table. Minjeong’s second-in-command smirked but repeated the inquiry about projected timelines. She nodded briskly, giving an efficient, if generic, response that seemed to satisfy the room. When the meeting resumed, she glanced at you again. You were grinning now, but it was subtle, almost hidden behind the tilt of your notebook. Did you know you were driving her to distraction?

By the time the meeting wrapped up, Minjeong was on edge. Everyone filed out, but she lingered, pretending to tidy her papers. Her heart sank when she realized you were still at the table, reorganizing your planner. Alone with you, she felt the tension in her chest tighten.

She couldn’t just sit in silence. Say something—anything, she told herself.

“The cookies,” she blurted out, louder than intended.

You looked up, startled. “Pardon?”

“Your cookies. I mean, the ones you bring every Friday,” Minjeong stammered, feeling her cheeks heat. “They’re really… nice.”

You blinked, and then—to her simultaneous relief and mortification—you burst into laughter. It wasn’t mocking, though; it was light and genuinely amused. “Nice?”

“What I meant,” Minjeong said, quickly backpedaling, “is that they’re good. Great, actually. Really great. Everyone likes them.”

You tilted your head, your laughter fading into a warm smile. “Thank you, Minjeong. I’m glad you like them.”

“I…” she hesitated, unsure of how to salvage the moment, “I’m not just saying that because of the… cookies.”

Now it was your turn to look confused. “You’re not?”

“I mean, I am saying it because of the cookies, but also because you…” She trailed off, realizing she had no idea where she was going with this. Her internal monologue was screaming for her to stop talking.

“Because I what?” you prompted, resting your chin on your hand, clearly enjoying her awkwardness.

“Because you… seem to put so much care into them,” she finished lamely.

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. Instead, you closed your planner and stood, your warm scent enveloping her as you passed by. “Thank you, Minjeong. That means a lot.”

She watched you leave, feeling both relieved and utterly defeated. Great job, Minjeong, she thought bitterly. You’ve officially forgotten how to talk like a normal person.

The rest of the day didn’t go any better. Minjeong found herself distracted during her afternoon meetings, her mind replaying your smile and the way you’d looked at her in the conference room. By the time her last meeting ended, she was ready to call it a day. She was gathering her things when she heard a soft knock on her office door.

“Come in,” she called, forcing herself to sound professional.

The door creaked open, and there you were again, holding a small container. Her heart rate spiked.

“Hey,” you said, stepping inside. “I had some extra cookies left over. Thought you might want some.”

Minjeong blinked at you, momentarily stunned. “Oh. Uh, thank you.” She stepped forward to take the container from your hands, careful not to let your fingers touch.

“Don’t worry,” you teased, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m not bribing you for a promotion or anything.”

She managed a chuckle, relaxing slightly. “Good to know. I’m not sure my integrity could survive that kind of scandal.”

You grinned and glanced at your watch. “Well, I should get going. Have a good evening, Minjeong.”

“You too,” she replied automatically, watching as you disappeared down the hall.

When she opened the container, the scent hit her like a tidal wave—comforting and intoxicating all at once. The cookies were still warm, their edges golden and crisp. She picked one up, taking a bite. Perfect, of course.

Later that night, Minjeong sat in her apartment, the empty container resting on her coffee table. She’d polished off the cookies in record time and now found herself staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment she’d spent with you that day.

“You’re losing it,” she muttered to herself, rubbing her temples. But despite her frustration, she couldn’t help but smile. Maybe she’d been awkward today, but it didn’t seem to matter. For the first time in years, she felt something other than restraint.

Minjeong dropped her bag on the floor and shrugged off her blazer, letting out a heavy sigh. The day had been relentless—back-to-back meetings, demanding deadlines, and an inbox that seemed to multiply the moment she glanced away. Her head throbbed, and her shoulders ached from the tension she’d been carrying all day.

She moved toward the couch, loosening her tie and unbuttoning the top of her blouse. As she sat down, something soft and familiar brushed against her fingers. Her scarf. She frowned slightly, picking it up from where it had been draped over her bag. She hadn’t even realized she’d brought it home; she usually left it in her office during warmer months.

Bringing it closer, she froze. That scent. Subtle yet unmistakable—a warm blend of vanilla and sugar. It wasn’t just the fabric softener or any lingering fragrance from her office. No, this was your scent, the one that always lingered faintly when you walked by her or leaned just a little too close while passing her papers in a meeting.

Minjeong’s grip on the scarf tightened as she inhaled again, slower this time. The tension in her body seemed to ease, her mind quieting in a way it hadn’t all day. The calming effect was almost immediate, as if the stress that had piled up over the hours was being gently swept away.

She leaned back against the cushions, holding the scarf against her chest. It wasn’t intentional at first, just a subconscious reaction to the comfort it provided. Her thoughts drifted to you—the way your laughter lit up the office, the delicate smile you gave her whenever she passed by your desk. And, of course, the cookies. Those damn cookies.

The realization hit her like a jolt: she was craving this. Craving you. Not just your scent, but the sense of peace you brought with it. It wasn’t something she’d consciously acknowledged before, but now that she’d felt it, there was no denying it. You had somehow become her haven in the chaos of her daily life.

She closed her eyes, letting herself bask in the quiet moment. Her alpha instincts stirred faintly, a protective warmth blooming in her chest at the thought of you. It wasn’t overwhelming, not the way she’d been taught to fear growing up. Instead, it was grounding, like a steady pulse reminding her of something she hadn’t realized she was missing.

Minutes turned into an hour as she stayed there, holding the scarf. Her apartment, usually too quiet after a long day, felt less lonely now. But with that comfort came another emotion: guilt. She shouldn’t be clinging to this scarf like some lovesick teenager. You deserved better than to be the object of someone’s selfish yearning, especially when she hadn’t even mustered the courage to tell you how she felt.

Minjeong’s eyes fluttered open, and she set the scarf down gently on the couch beside her. She needed to get a grip. This wasn’t fair to you or to herself. Still, as she stood and moved to the kitchen to prepare a late dinner, she couldn’t help but glance back at the scarf.

That night, as she lay in bed, the memory of your scent lingered. Minjeong’s mind wandered to what it might be like to have you close, not just in the abstract sense but here, in her space. She imagined you sitting on her couch, sharing a laugh about something trivial. She imagined brushing flour off your cheek after a baking session, your laughter soft and sweet as she teased you for being messy. The thought brought a warmth to her chest that she hadn’t felt in years.

Her hand drifted to her phone on the nightstand. For a brief moment, she considered messaging you. Something casual, something that wouldn’t betray the flurry of emotions she was feeling. But what would she even say? “Hey, your cookies are great, and your scent calms my overworked alpha instincts”? Yeah, no. That wasn’t happening.

Instead, she sighed and placed the phone back down. Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow she’d find the courage to say something—anything—to let you know how much you meant to her. For now, she closed her eyes and let the memory of your scent lull her to sleep.

The next morning, as Minjeong got ready for work, she hesitated before leaving her apartment. Her eyes fell on the scarf, still draped over the couch where she’d left it. She debated bringing it back with her, but something held her back. It felt too personal now, too intimate to casually return to the office.

With a small sigh, she grabbed her bag and headed out the door. The scent might not have been with her anymore, but the sense of calm it had given her lingered, a quiet reminder of the comfort she’d found—and the feelings she couldn’t ignore any longer.

The office was unusually quiet that evening, the hum of fluorescent lights the only sound accompanying Minjeong as she reviewed a spreadsheet in her dimly lit office. Most employees had left hours ago, leaving the building in an almost eerie state of calm. She liked it this way—no distractions, no small talk, just the numbers and her thoughts.

But as she stepped out of her office to grab a file from the printer, she caught sight of a light still on in the breakroom. Her brow furrowed. The breakroom was supposed to be locked after hours. Curiosity got the better of her, and she made her way over, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

Pushing the door open, Minjeong froze. There you were, sitting cross-legged at one of the round tables with a laptop open in front of you. Your brow was furrowed in concentration, a pen twirling absently between your fingers. Beside you sat a small plate of cookies—of course—and an empty mug with faint coffee stains.

“Y/N?” Minjeong’s voice came out softer than she intended, but it still startled you. You looked up, eyes wide for a moment before a smile spread across your face.

“Oh, hi, Minjeong. Didn’t expect anyone else to be here this late.”

She stepped inside, her curiosity piqued. “I could say the same about you. What are you working on?”

You gestured to your laptop. “The quarterly report for the marketing department. I wanted to get a head start since things are going to get hectic next week.”

Minjeong nodded, impressed but not surprised. You’d always struck her as someone who went the extra mile, though she couldn’t help but notice the faint circles under your eyes. “You could’ve done this tomorrow. Staying late isn’t mandatory, you know.”

You shrugged, your smile turning sheepish. “I know. But I work better when it’s quiet. Plus, it’s… nice to have some time to myself.”

There was a weight to your words that Minjeong couldn’t quite place, but she decided not to push. Instead, she glanced at the plate of cookies. “Did you make those here?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, I brought them from home. Baking’s kind of my thing. Want one?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”

You slid the plate toward her, and she picked up one of the cookies. It was warm and soft, melting on her tongue with a burst of buttery sweetness. She couldn’t suppress the small sound of approval that escaped her.

You grinned. “Good?”

“Better than good,” Minjeong admitted, setting the half-eaten cookie down. “I think these are your best yet.”

“High praise from the boss,” you teased, leaning back in your chair. “But yeah, baking helps me unwind. Keeps my hands busy and my mind clear.”

Minjeong leaned against the counter, intrigued. “So it’s more than just a hobby?”

You nodded, your expression turning thoughtful. “Yeah. Living in the city can be overwhelming sometimes, especially for an omega. Baking’s like… my way of staying grounded. The scents, the textures, the routine of it—it’s comforting. Familiar.”

Her heart softened at your candidness. She’d never really thought about how challenging it might be for you, navigating a high-stakes corporate environment while balancing your instincts. “That makes sense. It’s important to have something like that. A safe space.”

“What about you?” you asked suddenly, tilting your head. “What keeps you grounded?”

Minjeong blinked, caught off guard. No one had ever asked her that before. She crossed her arms, considering the question. “Honestly? I… don’t know. I’ve always just focused on work. It’s what I’m good at.”

You frowned slightly. “That sounds… exhausting.”

She shrugged, trying to play it off. “It has its moments. But it’s not so bad. I’ve gotten used to it.”

Your frown deepened, but you didn’t press the issue. Instead, you reached for another cookie, breaking it in half and offering her a piece. “Well, maybe you need to find something that makes you happy outside of work. Everyone needs a little sweetness in their life, right?”

Minjeong took the offered cookie, her lips twitching into a small smile. “Maybe you’re right.”

For a while, the two of you sat in companionable silence, the tension of the day melting away. Minjeong found herself relaxing in your presence, the usual weight of her responsibilities feeling just a little lighter. She didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you stretched and yawned, glancing at the clock.

“Wow, it’s already past ten,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “I should probably head home.”

Minjeong stood, her protective instincts kicking in. “Let me walk you to your car. It’s late.”

You looked surprised but didn’t argue. “Alright. Thanks, Minjeong.”

As the two of you made your way to the parking lot, the cool night air hit your faces, refreshing after the stuffiness of the office. Minjeong stayed close, her sharp senses on alert for any potential danger. When you reached your car, you turned to her with a grateful smile.

“Thanks for keeping me company tonight. It was… nice to talk.”

“It was,” Minjeong agreed, her voice soft. “Drive safe, Y/N.”

You gave her a small wave before getting into your car and driving off, leaving her standing there under the dim glow of the parking lot lights. As she watched your taillights disappear into the distance, she felt a strange warmth in her chest—a flicker of something she couldn’t quite name.

Maybe, she thought as she made her way back inside, it was time she found her own version of sweetness. And maybe, just maybe, it was closer than she’d realized.

The hum of the office carried on as usual, phones ringing intermittently, keyboards clacking away, and the soft murmur of conversations filling the air. Minjeong sat at her desk, head bent over a report she had been reviewing for the past half hour. Her concentration was only half-hearted, though. Every so often, her eyes drifted toward the far side of the room where you sat, completely engrossed in your work.

It wasn’t unusual for Minjeong to find herself distracted by you these days. Your presence had a way of grounding her yet simultaneously throwing her off balance. It wasn’t just your calming scent—though that was a major factor—it was the way you carried yourself, your quiet confidence, and the little smiles you shared with everyone. She knew she needed to get a grip, but you made it incredibly difficult.

“Minjeong…” a voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to find her second-in-command, Jihoon, standing by her desk with a knowing smirk. “Staring at Y/N again?” he teased, just loud enough for a few nearby coworkers to hear.

Minjeong’s eyes widened, and she immediately straightened in her chair. “I was not staring,” she replied defensively, her tone sharp enough to make Jihoon chuckle.

“Sure, boss. Whatever you say.” He leaned on the edge of her desk, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “But you know, if you keep looking at her like that, people are going to start talking.”

“They’re not already?” another coworker, Soojin, piped up from a nearby cubicle. She swiveled her chair to face them, her grin mischievous. “Minjeong practically turns red every time Y/N’s around.”

Minjeong’s ears burned as she glared at Soojin. “I do not. And for the record, can we focus on work instead of pointless gossip?”

Jihoon raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “It’s not gossip if it’s true.”

Minjeong groaned, running a hand through her hair. “This is completely unprofessional.”

“Oh, come on,” Soojin said, rolling her eyes. “We’re just teasing you, Minjeong. Lighten up. Besides, Y/N’s sweet. If I were you, I wouldn’t deny it so hard.”

“There’s nothing to deny,” Minjeong insisted, but her words lacked conviction. Her traitorous cheeks were already giving her away, flushing a faint pink that made Jihoon and Soojin exchange amused glances.

From across the room, you glanced up, sensing the commotion. Your gaze landed on Minjeong, and for a split second, your eyes met. The moment stretched longer than it should have, and Minjeong felt her pulse quicken. You smiled softly, tilting your head in curiosity at the group gathered near her desk. Then, you went back to your work, leaving Minjeong to deal with the aftermath of her coworkers’ relentless teasing.

“See?” Soojin said triumphantly. “She’s got you flustered already.”

“I’m not flustered,” Minjeong hissed, though the way she avoided their eyes told a different story.

“Alright, alright,” Jihoon said, holding up his hands in surrender. “We’ll drop it… for now.”

Minjeong shot him a glare before turning back to her report, determined to ignore the growing heat in her cheeks. But even as she tried to focus, she couldn’t shake the memory of your smile or the way her heart had stuttered when your eyes met.

By lunchtime, the teasing hadn’t entirely subsided. Minjeong was walking to the break room when she overheard a pair of interns whispering near the coffee machine.

“Do you think Minjeong likes Y/N?” one of them asked, not bothering to lower their voice much.

“Oh, definitely,” the other replied. “She’s always looking at her during meetings. It’s so obvious.”

Minjeong cleared her throat loudly, and the interns jumped, spinning around to face her with wide eyes.

“Ladies,” she said coolly, “I suggest you find something productive to do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they chorused before scurrying out of the break room.

Minjeong sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. This was getting out of hand. She grabbed a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, taking a moment to collect herself. The break room door swung open, and she tensed, expecting another nosy coworker. Instead, it was you.

“Hey, Minjeong,” you greeted, your smile as warm as ever. “Taking a breather?”

She nodded stiffly. “Something like that.”

You moved to the coffee machine, humming softly as you prepared your drink. Minjeong watched out of the corner of her eye, silently berating herself for not saying something. Anything.

“So,” you said casually, breaking the silence. “What’s everyone talking about today? I feel like I missed something.”

Minjeong’s heart skipped a beat. “Nothing important,” she said quickly, perhaps too quickly.

You glanced at her, amused. “Are you sure? You’ve been looking a little… distracted.”

“I’m not distracted,” she insisted, though the defensive edge in her voice probably undermined her claim.

You chuckled softly, stirring your coffee. “If you say so.”

She opened her mouth to respond but closed it again, realizing she’d only dig herself deeper. Instead, she focused on sipping her own coffee, hoping the heat from the drink would explain the flush in her cheeks.

“Well,” you said, turning to leave, “if you ever want to talk about whatever’s distracting you, I’m a pretty good listener.”

Minjeong nodded mutely, watching as you walked away, your scent lingering in the air long after you’d gone. She set her coffee down and leaned against the counter, letting out a long, exasperated sigh.

Maybe… just maybe… her coworkers had a point.

The office buzzed with its usual energy as the day wound down, employees shuffling papers and exchanging pleasantries on their way out. Minjeong leaned against the doorway of her office, watching the scene unfold. Her sharp gaze scanned the room until it landed on you. You were at your desk, head tilted as you listened politely to one of the marketing associates—a man who was leaning in a little too close for comfort.

Minjeong frowned, her instincts prickling at the sight. She told herself to stay calm, that there was no reason to interfere, but the feeling gnawed at her as the moments dragged on.

“You’re always so cheerful,” the man’s voice carried across the open floor. “How do you manage it? Must be all those cookies you bake for us.”

You chuckled politely but shifted back in your chair, creating a subtle distance. “I just enjoy baking. It’s a good way to unwind.”

“Well, maybe you can bake something just for me sometime,” he pressed, his tone too familiar. The insinuation in his voice made Minjeong’s jaw tighten.

She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the simmering protectiveness rising in her chest. It wasn’t her place to intervene. You were capable of handling yourself, and she didn’t want to overstep. But when he moved even closer, leaning over your desk with a hand braced on the edge, her restraint snapped.

“Come on,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “It’s not like it’s a big deal.”

You hesitated, your polite smile faltering. “I… really don’t think—”

“Y/N, can I borrow you for a moment?” Minjeong’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. Her steps were deliberate, her posture calm but radiating authority as she approached.

Your head whipped toward her, relief flashing across your face. “Of course.”

The man straightened, clearly annoyed. “Oh, we were just chatting. No rush.”

“Actually, it’s time-sensitive,” Minjeong said, her tone polite but firm. Her eyes locked onto his, unwavering. “If you’ll excuse us.”

Her presence left no room for argument. The man hesitated, his jaw tightening, but he eventually stepped back. You gathered your things quickly, and Minjeong’s hand lightly brushed your elbow as she guided you toward her office. Once the door clicked shut behind you, you let out a shaky breath.

“Thank you,” you said, turning to face her. “I… didn’t know how to get out of that conversation.”

Minjeong leaned against her desk, crossing her arms. “He’s always like that?”

“Not always,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “But he can be… persistent. I try to brush it off.”

Her eyes narrowed, and the protective instinct she’d been holding back flared again. “You shouldn’t have to. If he ever makes you uncomfortable, let me know.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Are you… protecting me, Manager Kim?”

Minjeong stiffened, realizing how her words might have sounded. She cleared her throat, straightening her posture. “I’m just ensuring a safe and professional work environment,” she replied, though the faint pink tinge on her ears betrayed her.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at her attempt to maintain professionalism. “Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Good,” Minjeong said, trying to recover her composure. She glanced at the clock on her desk. “It’s late. You should head home.”

You hesitated. “Are you staying late?”

“Just finishing some reports,” she said, brushing off the question.

You tilted your head, studying her for a moment. “Don’t overwork yourself. Even managers need rest.”

Her lips quirked into a small smile. “Noted.”

Satisfied, you gave her a cheerful wave and headed out, leaving her alone in the quiet office. Minjeong sighed, running a hand through her hair. The lingering trace of your scent in the room calmed her, even as her thoughts raced.

The next day, whispers rippled through the office. Minjeong’s intervention hadn’t gone unnoticed, and it didn’t take long for the gossip to reach your ears.

“Did you see how Manager Kim handled that guy yesterday?” one coworker said, leaning over the partition of a cubicle.

“She’s so cool,” another agreed. “Didn’t even raise her voice, but he backed off so fast.”

You tried to focus on your work, but the murmurs made you smile. Minjeong’s actions had been subtle yet effective—a balance of authority and care that you couldn’t help but admire.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself standing outside her office with a small box of cookies in hand. You knocked lightly on the doorframe, peeking inside. Minjeong looked up from her desk, her expression softening when she saw you.

“Hi,” you said, stepping inside. “I wanted to say thank you again for yesterday.”

“No need to thank me,” she replied, setting down her pen. “I just did what anyone would do.”

“Not everyone would have stepped in so gracefully,” you said, placing the box on her desk. “I made these for you. As a thank you.”

Her eyes widened slightly as she opened the box, the familiar scent of your baking filling the room. “You didn’t have to do this,” she said, though the small smile on her lips betrayed her gratitude.

“Consider it a token of appreciation,” you said, your tone teasing.

Minjeong chuckled, picking up a cookie and taking a bite. As the sweet flavor melted on her tongue, she looked up at you, her gaze warm. “You know, these might be your best batch yet.”

You grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As you turned to leave, she found herself wondering how long she could keep her feelings in check—and if she even wanted to.

When the door closed behind you, she leaned back in her chair, the taste of your cookies and the sound of your laughter staying with her long after you were gone.

The soft hum of music filled your cozy kitchen as the late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow over the countertop. Minjeong stood at the edge of the counter, eyeing the array of baking ingredients with a look that could only be described as apprehensive.

“So, this is where the magic happens,” Minjeong said, her hands resting awkwardly on her hips. Her confidence, so steady in the corporate world, seemed to falter in the face of flour and sugar.

“Magic might be a stretch,” you teased, tying an apron around your waist. “But baking is supposed to be fun. Relaxing, even. So don’t overthink it.”

“Relaxing,” Minjeong repeated, as though testing the word on her tongue. She picked up a measuring cup and examined it like it was a foreign object. “Right. Relaxing.”

The idea for the lesson had come up earlier that week. Minjeong had been unusually tense during a meeting, her alpha instincts likely strained by the pressures of the job. Hoping to lighten the mood, you’d casually mentioned your baking hobby.

“If you ever want to relax, you should join me sometime,” you’d said. “Baking cookies works wonders.”

She’d looked at you, her expression skeptical but intrigued. “You think I’d be good at baking?”

“Not at first,” you admitted with a grin, “but it’s about the journey, not perfection. Besides, it’s fun to try something new.”

To your surprise, she’d taken you up on the offer, showing up at your apartment that evening with an apron she’d clearly borrowed from someone else. It was light pink with frilly edges, entirely at odds with her usual serious demeanor.

“You’re really committed to this, huh?” you teased when you saw her at the door.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she’d muttered, her cheeks tinged with color as she stepped inside.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re going to be fine. Just follow my lead.”

Minjeong exhaled, rolling up her sleeves with dramatic determination. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

“First step,” you began, pointing to the flour, “measure out two cups of flour and sift it into the bowl.”

She nodded seriously, grabbing the bag of flour. With one strong motion, she tipped it over the measuring cup. A white cloud puffed up instantly, coating her hands and the counter in a fine layer of flour. Minjeong froze, her eyes wide.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” you said, biting back a laugh as you grabbed a dishcloth to clean up the excess.

“Why does it get everywhere?” she muttered, glaring at the flour as though it had personally wronged her.

“It’s part of the process,” you said, smiling. “Baking is messy, but that’s what makes it fun.”

Minjeong didn’t look convinced, but she carefully measured out the flour again, this time with exaggerated precision. You handed her the sifter, and she hesitated before shaking it over the bowl. When a fine, snowy stream of flour fell neatly into place, she brightened visibly.

“See? You’re a natural,” you said encouragingly.

She gave you a skeptical look but allowed a small smile to tug at her lips. “What’s next?”

“Next, we add the baking powder and salt.” You gestured to the small bowls of pre-measured ingredients. “Just toss them in.”

This part went smoothly, and Minjeong seemed to regain a bit of confidence. That is, until you handed her the mixing spoon.

“Okay, now we cream the butter and sugar together,” you instructed. “It’s all about getting the texture just right.”

Minjeong eyed the bowl of softened butter suspiciously. “This doesn’t look right to me already.”

“It’ll look better when you mix it,” you assured her.

She dipped the spoon into the bowl and began stirring with what could only be described as excessive enthusiasm. Butter and sugar flew out of the bowl, splattering onto the counter and her shirt. You couldn’t hold back your laughter any longer.

“Minjeong, stop! You’re going to redecorate my kitchen at this rate,” you said, clutching your stomach.

She paused, her face a mixture of embarrassment and determination. “I thought you said baking was relaxing!”

“It is,” you said, wiping a tear from your eye. “For people who aren’t trying to stir like they’re fighting for their lives.”

Minjeong groaned but started laughing along with you. “I’m hopeless, aren’t I?”

“Not hopeless,” you said, moving closer to take the spoon from her. “Just… enthusiastic. Here, let me show you.”

Your hands brushed against hers as you guided the spoon, and Minjeong’s breath hitched slightly. The moment lingered just a second too long before she cleared her throat and stepped back, letting you take over. Her ears were tinted pink, but she tried to focus on your demonstration.

“See? Gentle but consistent,” you said, glancing at her with a smile. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

Minjeong watched you work, her gaze softening. There was something about the way you moved—so at ease in this environment—that made her chest tighten. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so freely, or felt this at peace.

“Your turn,” you said, handing the spoon back to her.

This time, Minjeong took her time, carefully folding the ingredients together. The butter and sugar began to blend into a creamy mixture, and she shot you a triumphant look.

“I did it!” she said, grinning.

“See? I told you you’d be fine,” you said, nudging her playfully.

The rest of the process went more smoothly, though there were still a few hiccups—like when Minjeong accidentally cracked an egg too hard and had to fish out the shell, or when she forgot to set the timer for the cookies and nearly burned the first batch. But each mistake was met with laughter, and by the end of the evening, the kitchen smelled like warm vanilla and chocolate.

As the two of you sat at the table, sharing the fruits of your labor, you noticed how Minjeong’s shoulders seemed more relaxed, her usual corporate stiffness replaced by a quiet contentment.

“You know,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence, “I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in years.”

“That’s the power of baking,” you said with a smile. “And maybe the company helped a little, too.”

Minjeong’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world outside your small kitchen seemed to fade away. She reached for another cookie, but her hand brushed yours instead, making both of you freeze.

“Sorry,” she murmured, pulling back quickly.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, your cheeks warm. The air between you felt charged, but neither of you dared to break the spell.

Eventually, Minjeong cleared her throat and stood, gathering the plates. “I should probably get going. It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” you said, standing as well. “Thanks for… you know, being a good sport about all this.”

She chuckled, brushing flour off her shirt. “Thanks for not giving up on me after the… butter incident.”

As she walked to the door, she hesitated, turning back to look at you. “I… I had a really good time tonight. Thank you.”

“Me too,” you said, your smile genuine. “Maybe next time we’ll try something easier. Like cupcakes.”

Minjeong laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You sighed as you stood at the office entrance, peering out at the relentless downpour. Of course, today of all days, your car was in the shop for maintenance.

“Looks like you’re stuck,” a familiar voice said behind you. Turning, you saw Minjeong, dressed impeccably in her usual business attire, holding a large black umbrella in one hand and her bag in the other. Her sharp eyes softened as they landed on your slightly disheveled figure.

“Yeah,” you said, laughing awkwardly. “Guess I didn’t plan for this.”

Minjeong tilted her head, her lips curving into a small smile. “Your car’s still at the shop, right?”

You nodded, surprised she remembered. “Yeah, it’s been a pain this week.”

“Come on,” she said, already reaching into her bag for her keys. “I’ll drive you home. No sense in getting drenched.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, no, you don’t have to—”

“I insist,” she interrupted gently. “It’s not out of my way. Besides, you’ll owe me one.”

You hesitated, glancing back out at the rain. It was falling harder now, and you really didn’t want to ruin your clothes—or catch a cold. With a sigh of resignation, you nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Minjeong.”

She smiled, leading you to her sleek black car parked nearby. The rain intensified as you reached it, and she quickly opened the passenger door for you before darting around to the driver’s side. Once inside, the warmth of the car was a welcome contrast to the chilly storm outside.

Minjeong started the engine, the soft purr filling the enclosed space as she adjusted the heater. “Comfortable?” she asked, glancing at you.

“Yeah, thanks,” you said, buckling your seatbelt. “This is really nice of you.”

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Consider it part of my duties as your manager.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I didn’t realize driving employees home was in your job description.”

“Only for special cases,” she teased, pulling out onto the rain-slicked streets.

The streets were quieter than usual, most people having already sought shelter from the rain. The rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers and the soft hum of the car’s engine filled the silence between you. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though; there was something peaceful about sitting beside Minjeong, the world outside muted by the storm.

“It’s rare to see rain like this in the city,” you commented after a while, your voice breaking the stillness.

Minjeong glanced at you, her eyes warm. “It is. But I don’t mind it. There’s something calming about it, don’t you think?”

You smiled. “I guess so. As long as I’m not caught in it without a ride.”

She chuckled softly, her laughter low and melodic. “Fair enough.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence again, the rain forming a soothing backdrop. Then Minjeong’s voice broke through, quieter this time. “You know, it’s… nice. Spending time like this.”

You glanced at her, surprised by the vulnerability in her tone. “Yeah, it is,” you agreed softly. “I guess we’ve both been so busy that it’s hard to just… slow down.”

She nodded, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. “That’s the city for you. Everyone’s always moving, always rushing to the next thing. Sometimes I feel like I’m running just to keep up.”

Her words struck a chord, and you found yourself nodding. “I know what you mean. It’s easy to get lost in the chaos.”

Minjeong’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, her knuckles paling. “It’s harder when you’re… different.”

You turned to look at her, noticing the tension in her jaw. “Different how?”

She hesitated for a moment before exhaling slowly, her breath visible in the cool air. “Being an alpha in a place like this… it’s not easy. There’s so much expectation, so much pressure to… control everything. To suppress instincts, to fit into this mold of what’s ‘acceptable.’”

Her confession caught you off guard. Minjeong always seemed so composed, so in control. Hearing her admit to struggling with her alpha nature made her feel more… human.

“I’ve always wondered about that,” you admitted. “How you manage to stay so calm and professional all the time.”

Minjeong gave a small, rueful laugh. “It’s a balancing act. Most people don’t realize how much energy it takes. How much I… how much I’ve had to suppress to keep that image.”

Your heart ached at her words. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” she said quietly. “But it’s what’s expected. Alphas are supposed to be strong, reliable, in control. There’s no room for mistakes, no room to… just be.”

The vulnerability in her voice was striking, and you felt a sudden surge of protectiveness. “You know, Minjeong,” you said gently, “you don’t always have to be perfect. It’s okay to let yourself feel things. To let yourself… be human.”

She looked at you then, her eyes searching yours. The rain blurred the edges of the world outside, leaving only the two of you in focus. “It’s hard,” she admitted. “Especially when…” She trailed off, biting her lip as though debating whether to continue.

“When what?” you prompted gently.

Minjeong hesitated before speaking, her voice barely audible over the rain. “Especially when someone’s scent makes it harder to keep everything in check.”

Your breath caught, the meaning behind her words sinking in. “Minjeong…”

She looked away, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “Sorry. That was… probably too much.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, it’s okay. I just didn’t realize…”

“That you affect me?” she finished for you, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her eyes.

You nodded, your heart pounding. “Yeah.”

Minjeong smiled faintly, her expression softening. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. If anything, it’s… grounding. Comforting, even.”

Her words sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the heater. You didn’t know what to say, so you settled for a small smile. “I’m glad.”

The rest of the drive was quieter, but the silence between you felt different now—charged with unspoken emotions. By the time Minjeong pulled up to your apartment building, the rain had eased to a gentle drizzle, the sky still heavy with clouds.

“Thank you for the ride,” you said as you unbuckled your seatbelt, your voice softer than before.

Minjeong nodded, her gaze lingering on you. "Anytime," she said. "Really."

You hesitated for a moment, the warmth of the conversation still wrapping around you. Finally, you gave her a small smile. "Goodnight, Minjeong."

"Goodnight, Y/N," she replied, her voice carrying an unfamiliar softness.

As you stepped out of the car and into the drizzle, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted. Minjeong waited until you were safely inside before driving off, her car disappearing into the rain-soaked night. Inside your apartment, you leaned against the door, your heart still racing.

The office was bustling as usual, a midweek rush that had everyone scrambling to meet deadlines. You were no exception, rushing from one end of the office to the other, juggling an armful of documents and a coffee mug you had precariously balanced on top of the stack.

“Y/N, do you need a hand with that?” someone called, but you waved them off with a distracted smile.

“No, I’m good!” you replied, already halfway to your desk.

Minjeong, seated at her desk across the room, glanced up from her laptop at the sound of your voice. Her sharp eyes tracked your movements, a hint of amusement on her face as she watched you maneuver through the sea of desks like a busy bee.

She had been keeping an eye on you more often lately, though she wasn’t sure if it was her alpha instincts or something else entirely. Either way, she couldn’t help but smile softly when you finally made it to your desk, setting the pile down with a triumphant huff.

But just as you turned to head toward the breakroom, chaos unfolded in the blink of an eye.

One of the office assistants, rushing by with a loaded cart of supplies, misjudged the narrow space near the staircase. The cart clipped the corner of your desk, sending its contents tumbling. You instinctively stepped back to avoid the spill, but the assistant, flustered and off-balance, accidentally bumped into you.

The world seemed to tilt as you stumbled backward, the edge of the staircase suddenly far too close. Your heart leapt into your throat as your heel missed the step, and you felt yourself start to fall.

“Y/N!”

Before you could process what was happening, strong arms wrapped around you, yanking you back from the brink. The momentum sent both of you tumbling onto the floor, but Minjeong’s body cushioned your fall.

The office fell into stunned silence. Everyone froze, eyes wide as they processed what had just happened.

“Are you okay?” Minjeong’s voice was low and urgent, her breath warm against your ear. Her arms remained firmly around you, as if afraid to let go.

You nodded shakily, your hands clutching at her blazer for support. “Y-Yeah. I think so.”

Her eyes scanned you, sharp and precise, searching for any sign of injury. When she was satisfied that you were unharmed, her gaze shifted, hardening as it landed on the assistant who had caused the commotion.

“What were you thinking?” she snapped, her tone cutting through the room like a blade.

The assistant stammered, their face pale. “I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

A low growl rumbled in Minjeong’s chest, primal and protective, sending a chill through the room. The sound was quiet but unmistakable, and it made everyone within earshot tense. Even the assistant, who had been scrambling to pick up the spilled supplies, froze in place.

“Minjeong,” you whispered, your voice gentle but firm. “I’m okay. It’s fine.”

Her growl subsided at the sound of your voice, her grip on you loosening slightly. She exhaled deeply, the tension in her shoulders easing as she looked down at you.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her tone softening but still tinged with concern.

You nodded, offering her a reassuring smile. “I promise. Thank you for catching me.”

Minjeong blinked, as though coming back to herself. She realized then that she was still holding you, her arms wrapped securely around your waist. Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly helped you to your feet, clearing her throat.

“I…sorry,” she muttered, avoiding your gaze.

“It’s okay,” you said, your smile turning playful. “You kind of saved my life, you know.”

Her lips twitched, the ghost of a smile forming despite her embarrassment. “Just doing my job.”

As the tension in the room began to dissipate, your coworkers slowly returned to their tasks, though not without casting curious glances in your direction. The assistant apologized profusely before hurriedly cleaning up the mess, clearly eager to avoid Minjeong’s wrath.

You crouched down to help pick up the scattered papers, but Minjeong stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm.

“Let them handle it,” she said firmly. “You should sit down and rest.”

“Minjeong, I’m fine,” you insisted, but the look in her eyes told you there was no arguing with her.

“Please,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost pleading.

The softness in her tone caught you off guard, and you relented with a small nod. She guided you back to your desk, her hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment before she stepped away to check on the situation.

For the rest of the day, Minjeong stayed close, her presence a constant source of reassurance. Whenever you caught her glancing in your direction, her eyes filled with concern, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of warmth in your chest.

And though you didn’t say it out loud, a part of you felt safer knowing she was there.

The days had grown longer and more vibrant since Minjeong and Y/N’s near accident on the stairs. Minjeong had become more protective than ever, though she masked it with her usual calm demeanor. But something had shifted between them. The air felt heavier when they were together, charged with an unspoken tension that neither of them was ready to address fully—until today.

Minjeong stood by her office window, staring out at the city skyline. She had been rehearsing her words all morning, a coffee mug clutched tightly in her hand. Her assistant had noticed the alpha’s uncharacteristic hesitation and wisely decided not to interrupt her.

“You’ve got this,” Minjeong muttered to herself. She took a deep breath, set her mug down, and strode confidently out of her office. But as soon as she approached Y/N’s desk, her composure wavered. The omega was typing away, her brow furrowed in concentration, and Minjeong couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Y/N?” Minjeong’s voice came out softer than she intended. Y/N looked up, her expression brightening immediately.

“Oh, hey, Minjeong. What’s up?”

The alpha shifted on her feet, suddenly hyper-aware of how many people were around. She cleared her throat. “Can we talk? Privately?”

Y/N’s brows furrowed slightly, but she nodded. “Sure. Just let me finish this email.”

A few moments later, they were tucked away in an empty conference room. Minjeong closed the door behind them, her heart pounding.

“Is everything okay?” Y/N asked, her voice tinged with concern.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” Minjeong said quickly, then winced at how abrupt she sounded. She took another deep breath, willing herself to calm down. “Actually, I… I wanted to ask you something.”

Y/N tilted her head, curiosity replacing her concern. “Okay?”

“Would you… would you like to go out for coffee with me?” Minjeong’s words came out in a rush, her cheeks tinging pink. “I mean, just the two of us. Not as coworkers. Just as… us.”

Y/N blinked, her lips parting in surprise. For a moment, Minjeong feared she had misread everything. But then, a slow smile spread across Y/N’s face, and she nodded.

“I’d like that,” Y/N said softly.

Relief flooded through Minjeong, and she couldn’t stop the grin that broke across her face. “Great. How about tonight?”

Y/N’s smile widened. “Tonight sounds perfect.”

The coffee shop Minjeong chose was cozy and tucked away in a quieter part of the city. It was the kind of place where people came to unwind, with warm lighting, soft jazz music playing in the background, and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Minjeong had arrived early, her nerves getting the better of her.

She had just finished checking her reflection in her phone screen for the tenth time when Y/N walked in. The sight of her took Minjeong’s breath away. Y/N wasn’t dressed in her usual office attire but in a casual sweater and jeans that somehow made her look even more stunning.

“Hey,” Y/N said, smiling as she approached the table.

“Hey,” Minjeong replied, standing awkwardly before motioning for Y/N to sit. “You look… great.”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, her cheeks flushing slightly. “You do too.”

They ordered their drinks, and for a while, the conversation was light and easy. They talked about work, the rainstorm earlier in the week, and the latest office gossip. But as the evening wore on, the conversation turned more personal.

“I’ve always loved coffee shops like this,” Y/N said, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. “They remind me of home.”

“Home?” Minjeong asked, leaning forward.

Y/N nodded. “I grew up in a small town. There was this little café where everyone would gather. It’s where I first started baking, actually. The owner let me use the kitchen after hours to experiment with recipes.”

Minjeong smiled, picturing a younger Y/N covered in flour and determinedly mixing batter. “That sounds… nice. Peaceful.”

“It was,” Y/N said wistfully. “But I wanted more than a small-town life. So, I moved here. It’s been good, but sometimes I miss how simple things were back then.”

Minjeong nodded, her gaze thoughtful. “I get that. The city can be overwhelming, especially when you feel like you have to constantly prove yourself.”

Y/N looked at her, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “Is that how you feel?”

Minjeong hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. Being an alpha in a corporate world like ours… it’s complicated. People expect you to be strong, assertive, always in control. But sometimes, I just want to… not have to be any of those things.”

Y/N’s gaze softened. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” Minjeong admitted. “But then there are moments that make it worth it. Moments like this.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly, her cheeks flushing. “Minjeong…”

The alpha shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Sorry, that probably sounded cheesy.”

“No,” Y/N said quickly, her voice earnest. “It didn’t. I… I’m glad you asked me out tonight.”

Minjeong’s smile widened. “Me too.”

They spent the rest of the evening talking, the hours slipping away unnoticed. By the time they left the café, the city was quiet, the streets glistening under the soft glow of streetlights. Minjeong insisted on driving Y/N home again, and this time, the car ride was filled with comfortable silence and shared smiles.

When they reached Y/N’s apartment building, Minjeong walked her to the door.

“Thanks for tonight,” Y/N said, her voice soft.

“Thank you,” Minjeong replied. “I… really enjoyed it.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. “Me too.”

For a moment, they stood there, the world around them fading away. Then Y/N leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Minjeong’s cheek. “Goodnight, Minjeong.”

The alpha’s heart raced as she watched Y/N disappear into the building, her hand unconsciously brushing the spot where Y/N’s lips had touched her skin. She stood there for a moment longer, a smile spreading across her face.

Tonight had been perfect.

The day began like any other—files to review, meetings to attend, and the faint aroma of coffee and paper wafting through the office. Y/N was unusually quiet that morning, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a subtle tenseness that Minjeong couldn’t ignore. Though Y/N smiled politely when spoken to, her eyes seemed distant, her body language subdued.

Minjeong noticed immediately. She always did.

From her office, she watched Y/N shuffle through her tasks with uncharacteristic sluggishness. Something was wrong, and the faint prickling of her alpha instincts told her it was more than just a bad day. She tried to focus on her own work, but her gaze kept drifting to Y/N’s desk. It wasn’t until the omega abruptly stood, gripping the edge of her desk for support, that Minjeong’s concern sharpened into alarm.

Y/N’s scent shifted—a faint, sweet warmth that drifted into the air, growing stronger by the second. Minjeong stiffened, her instincts roaring to attention as she recognized the telltale signs of an omega entering an unexpected heat. Around the office, other alphas subtly straightened, their noses twitching as they picked up on the scent. Minjeong’s jaw clenched.

She was out of her office in seconds, crossing the floor to Y/N’s desk. “Y/N,” she said softly, her voice low enough to avoid drawing attention but firm enough to cut through Y/N’s haze.

Y/N turned to her, her eyes glassy and unfocused. “I… I think…” Her voice wavered, and she swayed slightly on her feet.

“Come with me,” Minjeong said, stepping closer. She gently placed a hand on Y/N’s arm, steadying her. The touch seemed to ground the omega, and she nodded, leaning into Minjeong’s support. Minjeong’s heart twisted at the vulnerability in Y/N’s expression, but she pushed it aside. Right now, Y/N needed her.

The other employees were starting to notice, their whispers and curious glances only heightening Minjeong’s urgency. Without a word, she guided Y/N toward the elevators, shielding her from prying eyes with her own body. When a junior alpha from accounting started to approach, Minjeong shot them a warning glare, a low growl rumbling in her chest. The other alpha froze, then wisely retreated.

Once inside the elevator, Minjeong pressed the button for the top floor. The building had a few unused executive suites that were kept locked and private. It was the safest place she could think of.

Y/N’s breathing was shallow, her face flushed as she leaned heavily against the elevator wall. Minjeong stayed close but kept her hands to herself, knowing how overwhelming physical contact could be during a heat.

“We’re almost there,” she murmured, her voice steady and calming. Y/N’s eyes flickered to hers, and for a moment, Minjeong thought she saw a flicker of gratitude.

The elevator dinged, and Minjeong led Y/N down the empty hallway to one of the locked suites. She used her master keycard to unlock the door, ushering Y/N inside before closing it firmly behind them. The room was quiet and spacious, with a plush couch and large windows overlooking the city.

“Sit,” Minjeong said gently, gesturing to the couch. Y/N obeyed, sinking into the cushions with a soft sigh. Her scent was stronger now, filling the room with a warmth that made Minjeong’s pulse quicken. She forced herself to focus, setting her bag down and taking a step back to give Y/N space.

“Do you need anything?” Minjeong asked, keeping her voice soft. “Water? A blanket?”

Y/N shook her head, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped the edge of the couch. “I… I didn’t think it would happen here,” she said, her voice thick with embarrassment. “It’s never been so sudden before.”

“It’s okay,” Minjeong said firmly. “You’re safe. Just focus on breathing, alright?”

Y/N nodded, closing her eyes as she tried to steady herself. Minjeong watched her carefully, her own instincts warring within her. The protective urge to stay close was almost overwhelming, but she knew better than to act on it. Y/N needed comfort, not pressure.

After a few moments, Y/N’s breathing evened out slightly, though her flushed cheeks and the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead betrayed the intensity of her heat. “I… I’m sorry for causing a scene,” she said quietly, not meeting Minjeong’s eyes.

“Don’t apologize,” Minjeong said immediately. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Y/N’s lips quirked into a weak smile. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

Minjeong’s expression softened. “Not always. But I mean it. You don’t have to feel bad for something you can’t control.”

For a while, the two of them sat in silence, the tension in the room slowly easing. Minjeong stayed by the door, her arms crossed as she kept a careful eye on Y/N. Despite the situation, there was something oddly comforting about being here with her, away from the chaos of the office. It felt… intimate, in a way that Minjeong hadn’t expected.

“Minjeong?” Y/N’s voice broke the quiet.

“Yeah?”

Y/N hesitated, her eyes darting to the floor. “Thank you. For helping me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if… if you weren’t there.”

Minjeong’s chest tightened, a warm ache spreading through her. “You don’t have to thank me,” she said softly. “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

Y/N looked up at her then, her eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion. For a moment, the room felt impossibly small, the air between them charged with something neither of them dared to name. Then Y/N’s lips curved into a faint smile, and the tension eased, replaced by a quiet understanding.

“You should get some rest,” Minjeong said, clearing her throat. “I’ll stay out here and keep an eye on things.”

Y/N nodded, leaning back against the couch with a tired sigh. As her eyes fluttered shut, Minjeong settled into a chair by the door, her posture relaxed but alert. She knew the next few hours would be long, but she didn’t mind. Protecting Y/N, keeping her safe—it felt right. Natural.

Minjeong found herself anxiously smoothing down her blazer for what felt like the hundredth time. She stood outside a cozy café nestled in the quieter part of the city, a place Y/N had chosen for their second date. Their first official outing had gone better than Minjeong could have hoped. But today felt different. She could feel the weight of words she’d been holding back pressing heavily on her chest.

“Minjeong!” Y/N’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. Turning, Minjeong saw her walking up the cobblestone path, a soft smile playing on her lips. She wore a light sweater that made her look impossibly warm and approachable. Minjeong’s heart did a somersault, the kind that left her both exhilarated and terrified.

“Y/N,” Minjeong greeted, her voice softer than she intended. She held the door open, and they stepped inside together.

The café was a charming little nook, its walls lined with bookshelves and fairy lights. The gentle hum of conversation filled the air, mingling with the rich scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries. They found a quiet corner, and as they settled into their seats, Minjeong couldn’t help but notice how Y/N’s eyes sparkled when she looked around.

“This place is lovely,” Y/N said, her hands wrapping around the warm cup of tea the barista had just placed in front of her. “I can’t believe I haven’t been here before.”

Minjeong nodded, watching her as she spoke. She loved how Y/N’s voice carried a gentle lilt, how her presence seemed to soften even the sharpest edges of Minjeong’s restless mind.

“You’re the one who suggested it,” Minjeong said, a teasing glint in her eyes. “But I agree. It’s... cozy.”

Y/N chuckled softly, and for a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, sipping their drinks. Minjeong felt the tension in her shoulders ease, but the words she needed to say lingered at the back of her throat, refusing to come out. It wasn’t until Y/N leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand and looking at her with those impossibly kind eyes, that Minjeong realized she couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Y/N,” she began, her voice hesitant. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Oh? What is it?”

Minjeong hesitated, her fingers tightening around her coffee cup. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “I... I like you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “A lot. More than I think I even realized at first.”

Y/N’s smile grew, and she leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable for a moment. Minjeong’s heart pounded in the silence that followed, her mind racing with every worst-case scenario.

“You’re really bad at hiding it, you know,” Y/N finally said, her tone playful. “I’ve known for a while.”

Minjeong blinked, stunned. “You... knew?”

“Of course I did.” Y/N laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly. “You’re not exactly subtle, Minjeong. The lingering stares, the way you always find excuses to be near me... It’s kind of adorable, actually.”

Minjeong felt her face heat up, and she ducked her head slightly. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I was waiting for you to,” Y/N admitted, her voice softening. “I didn’t want to rush you. Besides, I liked seeing you figure it out on your own. It made it feel... genuine.”

Minjeong looked up, her eyes meeting Y/N’s. There was no teasing in her gaze now, only warmth and sincerity. Something inside Minjeong eased, and for the first time, she allowed herself to smile fully.

“I don’t know why I was so scared,” Minjeong said, her voice barely audible. “I just... didn’t want to ruin what we have. You’re important to me.”

Y/N reached across the table, her hand resting lightly on Minjeong’s. “And you’re important to me, too. More than you probably realize.”

The gentle weight of Y/N’s hand against hers sent a wave of warmth through Minjeong, and she squeezed it lightly. For a moment, the world outside the café faded away, leaving only the two of them in their little corner of peace.

As they left the café, the cool evening air greeted them. They walked side by side, the city’s lights casting a soft glow around them. When they reached Y/N’s building, she turned to Minjeong, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

“Thank you for tonight,” Y/N said. “I had a really good time.”

“Me too,” Minjeong replied, her voice gentle. She hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. “Y/N... can I—?”

Y/N didn’t let her finish. Smiling, she closed the small distance between them, standing on her toes to press a soft, lingering kiss to Minjeong’s lips. It was tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but when Minjeong responded, cupping Y/N’s face with trembling hands, it deepened into something that felt like a promise.

When they finally pulled away, Y/N’s eyes were bright, and Minjeong felt like she could conquer the world. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Y/N said softly, her voice laced with something Minjeong couldn’t quite place but knew she never wanted to lose.

Minjeong nodded, unable to keep the smile off her face. “Tomorrow.”

As she walked away, Minjeong felt lighter than she had in years. She didn’t just feel like an alpha or a manager or a woman trying to navigate the complexities of life in the city. She felt like someone who had finally found home.

The soft hum of the oven filled Minjeong’s cozy apartment, mingling with the warm aroma of freshly baked cookies. It was a stark contrast to the quiet professionalism that usually defined their weekdays at the office. Here, away from deadlines and meetings, the world felt smaller, simpler—just the two of them, and a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

Y/N stood at the counter, hands dusted with flour as she worked dough into perfectly round shapes. Her laugh was light as she glanced over at Minjeong, who was struggling with her own misshapen attempts.

“How do you make it look so easy?” Minjeong grumbled, holding up a lumpy ball of dough that barely resembled a circle. Her lips were slightly pursed in concentration, but her cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“Years of practice,” Y/N teased, leaning closer to inspect Minjeong’s work. “But hey, this one’s not bad.” She picked up the lopsided creation and held it between her fingers. “See? Almost perfect.”

“Almost?” Minjeong raised a playful eyebrow. “Harsh.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes sparkling as she turned back to her tray. “You’ll get there. Eventually.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face. She set down her latest attempt and stepped closer to Y/N, brushing her hands on her apron. “You’re just showing off now.”

“And?” Y/N smirked, her tone light and teasing.

The playful banter filled the room, a rhythm they had fallen into so naturally that it felt like second nature. It was hard to believe that just months ago, Minjeong had been too nervous to even compliment Y/N’s cookies at work. Now, she was elbow-deep in cookie dough, laughing at her own failures with someone who had become the most important part of her life.

Minjeong reached over and stole a small pinch of dough from Y/N’s tray. Before Y/N could protest, Minjeong popped it into her mouth with a smug look.

“Minjeong!” Y/N gasped, her hands on her hips. “You’re going to throw off the balance!”

“I’ll risk it,” Minjeong said, her voice muffled by the dough. She grinned and leaned on the counter, watching as Y/N shook her head, half-exasperated and half-amused.

“You’re impossible,” Y/N said, but her tone lacked any real heat.

Minjeong’s gaze softened as she watched Y/N’s smile linger, even as she pretended to scold. This was the kind of happiness Minjeong had never thought she’d find—effortless, genuine, and entirely tied to the person standing in front of her.

The oven timer beeped, pulling Minjeong from her thoughts. Y/N moved to grab a mitt and carefully pulled out the tray, setting it on the counter. The cookies were golden brown, their edges crisp and centers soft. Minjeong leaned closer, inhaling deeply.

“Smells amazing,” she murmured.

“Of course it does,” Y/N replied, feigning pride. “It’s my recipe, after all.”

Minjeong chuckled and grabbed two mugs from a cabinet. “Milk or tea?” she asked, holding them up.

“Milk,” Y/N said, her tone definitive. “Cookies without milk are just sad.”

Minjeong nodded in agreement and poured two glasses of milk, setting them down on the small table in the living room. She returned to the kitchen and began transferring cookies onto a plate, doing her best to avoid the ones she’d shaped—those would stay hidden for now.

Y/N noticed and nudged her. “They all go on the plate, Minjeong. Even the… unique ones.”

“Fine,” Minjeong sighed, but she couldn’t stop smiling as she added the misshapen cookies to the plate.

Once the cookies were ready, they settled on the couch together, the plate balanced between them. Rain pattered softly against the windows, and the warm glow of a single lamp bathed the room in a cozy light. It felt like a scene out of a movie—a peaceful, domestic moment that neither of them wanted to end.

“I never thought I’d be here,” Minjeong admitted after a long stretch of comfortable silence. She glanced at Y/N, her expression thoughtful. “With someone who makes me feel so… grounded.”

Y/N looked at her, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in Minjeong’s voice. She set down her cookie and turned to face her fully. “You mean that?”

Minjeong nodded, her gaze steady. “I’ve spent so much time trying to keep my instincts in check, trying to be the kind of alpha who doesn’t make people uncomfortable. But with you…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “I don’t feel like I have to hide anything.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she smiled softly. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, Minjeong. I like you just the way you are.”

The sincerity in her voice made Minjeong’s heart ache in the best way. She reached out, hesitating for a moment before taking Y/N’s hand in hers. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Y/N squeezed her hand gently, her eyes shining with warmth. “For what?”

“For being you,” Minjeong replied. “For making me feel like I’ve finally found where I belong.”

The moment stretched between them, filled with unspoken emotions that didn’t need words. Minjeong leaned closer, her eyes flicking to Y/N’s lips for just a second before she pulled back, her cheeks pink.

Y/N chuckled, reaching for another cookie. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?”

Minjeong groaned, covering her face with her free hand. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” Y/N teased, biting into her cookie.

Despite her embarrassment, Minjeong couldn’t help but smile. She leaned back against the couch, her hand still intertwined with Y/N’s. The scent of cookies lingered in the air, mixing with the faintest trace of Y/N’s calming scent. a/n: sigh, i kinda gave up on this one halfway through😭😭 the burnout is real you guys.

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sunlighthroughthe-ashes · 8 months ago

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langston hughes once wrote, in the poem 'harlem'— "what happens to a dream deferred? / does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? or fester like a sore, and then run? /"

this episode is all about dreams — seok-ryu's dreams, unrealized and unthought of. seung-hyo's dreams — given up on, and formed anew. how, from past to present — from dreams broken and built again: they're still at each other's side.

love next door captures with such beautiful fragility the reticent hope tinting our adult lives — crushed by the corporate grind, the endless race from job to job to stultifying job: can we truly rise above the numbness, the wasteland of our everyday, walking home on wistful feet — and blow the dust off of our dreams? touch the stained gold of our longings, still buried beneath the bone-deep weariness? do we not owe it to our younger selves, still glistening with the dew of possibility — to at least try?

what does freedom mean to you? what does the ability to dream mean to you? this is what love next door asks of its characters, and of us — with so much empathy. so much warmth.

i can't stop thinking about how seung-hyo put his hand in the pool water with such infinite gentleness — as if the current could carry him back to the past where anything was possible. the water a conduit to wonder — to youth.

water in any form is rebirth, redemption — and the fact that seok-ryu jumped into it for seung-hyo, that he held her in his arms, suspended in the pool: indicating that they will reaffirm their dreams together. rebuild them side by side.

this is what i love about k-dramas: they make the mundane sacred. they infuse so much intimacy into the most ordinary of things — and love next door is such a fine example of it. the parallels to lovely runner were so precious to me — swimmers headed to the olympics, thwarted by unforeseen circumstance — hopelessly in love with their neighbors.

while lovely runner was for the hopeless romantics, the purest of souls for whom love is as concrete as their own heartbeat — love next door is for the burnt-out gifted children, the disillusioned daughters: bitter but still carrying a burgeoning hope that something might change. that love might be lingering where it's least expected.

#love next door #kdrama #love next door edit #kdrama lover #tvn drama #tvn #rom com kdrama #jung jung couple #jung so min #jung hae in #lovely runner #tvn lovely runner #tvn love next door

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lostcherise · 5 months ago

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Know Your Place

pairing: ben/soldier boy x f!reader

summary: Ben isn't quite happy you get to boss him around, so he takes it upon himself to truly show you who's in charge.

tags/warnings: set in the 80s, just pure smut zero plot, soldier boy being a prick (a hot prick tho), dub con at first, dom!ben, rough sex, hair pulling, gagging, face fucking, choking, sir kink, creampie

word count: 3,741

a/n: you know the drill, not proofread yet but i'll get to it eventually. any feedback is welcome, i hope you enjoy reading as much as i did writing this.

The rhythmic clacking of your heels echoed throught the empty hallways of Vought Tower. Not a soul was around at that time of night, it was very well past 10P.M, the only remaining employees in the building being the night shift security guards and you.

Young and ambitious, you strived to fight your way to the top in the harsh cruel world of a male dominated corporation, and well, field in general. To say you hadn't been over the moon the moment you had gotten promoted to being Stan Edgar's right hand, his replacement when needed in supervising Payback, would have been an understatement.

However, the excitement soon fizzled out once you got an insight of how things truly operated within the corporation and the Payback team. Especially Soldier Boy. That man although downright handsome, he was just as much of a prick. It was fine being a simple assistant, your interactions were kept minimal, but along with the promotion came more time spent with the members of Payback.

With a deep sigh, you braced yourself before your fist made contact with the wooden door in a firm knock. You rolled your shoulders back, as if to seem more confident, when in reality anxiety was eating you up from the inside. The door forcefully swung open, causing a startled gasp to slip out of you.

"Well, sweetheart, I knew you'd come around eventually." Soldier Boy drawled. He stood tall and confident, his large frame towering over you, scandalously dressed in just a deep green silk robe - same shade as his suit.

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to quip back, but that was not the reason you were there. "I'm here to talk business." you gave him a pointed look.

To your surprise, he silently stepped to the side motioning for you to come in and you did not miss the way his eyes traveled up and down as he took you in. As much as your mind fought to maintain control, your heart betrayed you and took over, heartbeat increasing. Heat rushed to your cheeks because you just knew he had heard that.

"I'm all ears, doll." you could hear the smug smirk on his voice.

"Listen, Soldier Boy-"

"Ben."

Your body whipped back to look at him. "What?"

"Call me Ben when we're alone." he commanded.

"Soldier- Ben." you corrected yourself immediately. "It's about your upcoming movie."

Immediately you were met with a groan, and Ben scowled at you as he made his way to his mini bar. "I've told that fucker Edgar millions of times, and I'm telling you this too." he pointed at your direction, a crystal tumbler in hand. "I'm not sharing the spotlight with that cum guzzler, Noir."

"It will improve your ratings, it's good for diversity."

Instead you were met with a condescending scoff. "Sweetheart, I don't need any of that," he inched closer to you, the ice clinking against the crystal walls of his glass with each step closer to you. "I'm fuckin' Soldier Boy."

"Why don't you get off your high horse and just do the fucking movie?" you snapped, shocking both him and you. Usually, you remained poised and collected, but the increasing stresses of the job were catching up to you.

"Excuse me?" he asked, looking up at you with a raised brow from the rim of his glass.

"As your boss-"

"No woman is the boss of me." he cut you off, before gulping down the rest of his drink.

That comment should have angered you more than it truly had, but over the years your skin had thickened this much you were practically immune to such words. Instead, it just riled you on even more. Call it stubborness, pride; you didn't care it just drove you to show that whatever men could do, you did it better.

"And yet, here I am." this time it was your turn to smirk smugly.

Ben inched closer to you, so close his spicy ambery scent engulfed you entirely. Once again, your heart betrayed you beating so hard as if it was fighting to burst out of your chest.

"And yet, too powerless to make me change my mind." Ben spoke in a low rumbling hum.

His body heat was pulling you in, itching to be engulfed by him. And although you knew better than to get linked with him in such way, your body ached to feel him; lust and curiosity were killing you.

Ben inched closer, an action that had you leaning in closer to him involuntarily, he was pulling you in like a magnet. "The answer's no sweetheart, give it up." he pulled back abruptly, his tone turning clipped in just a matter of seconds. With a pivot, he made his way over to the mini bar once more for a refill.

Frozen, you stood there for a few seconds before you snapped back to reality and marched off to where he stood.

"I've risked a lot to be in this position and I'm not going to allow a manchild like you jeopardize my job. So, accept the offer." your chest was heaving. Frankly, you didn't know where that sudden burst of bravery came from, but one thing you were sure of was that it was reckless; given the fact that Soldier Boy was a literal walking ticking time bomb.

The bottom of his glass clanked loudly against the marble counter top and it was only a matter of seconds before you found yourself pinned between him and the counter. While one hand gripped the edge of the counter, the other had your jaw in a tight hold.

His mossy green eyes were ablaze, glaring down on you. "Go on and act boss on those sack jugglers, but that attitude won't work on me."

The way his body was pressed against you, your thigh somewhat between his - as much as your pencil skirt could allow you - his rough hands on you, should have ignited a sense of fear in you. Oddly, it had the opposite effect and your skin sizzled beneath his calloused fingers, your imagination jumping wildly at pictures you were painting in your head of what those very same fingers were capable of doing to you.

Involutarily, your legs spread just a little wider, which of course did not go unnoticed by Ben. Cocky and full of himself, he chuckled at your state, it was so easy to get you were he wanted and he hadn't even tried.

"What is it sweetheart? You want a taste, hm?" his hand traveled further down, enclosing around your throat, constricting your airway ever so slightly.

Forming a coherent answer seemed like a foreign concept, your mind screaming at you to say that this was wrong on so many levels, yet all you could muster to let out were weak whimpers.

Of course, to Ben that seemed enough of an affirmative answer and wasted no time in jumping into action. If it was even possible, he harshly pulled you closer, and you could feel all of him against you, hard all over.

"The things I keep thinking of doing to you every time I see the way you sway that sweet piece of ass in that tight skirt of yours," he grumbled in your ear and grabbed a handful of your left ass cheek in a tight squeeze. "Drives me mad, doll." he finished his sentence with an echoing slap on your ass that had you jumping with a yelp.

The same hand then moved up to grab a fistful of your hair, his fingers curling at the roots. "On your knees." he commanded, ushering you down by giving your hair a firm tug.

Right there and then was a perfect opportunity to get up and leave, yet your knees made contact with the cold marble floor beneath you, all the while your gaze never left his. You were pretty sure you looked like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide and somewhat scared; scared of what was to come next, and yet that also riled you on even more.

Yes, you were aware of the hushed whispers shared amongst your female coworkers about him; of his skills in pleasuring women. Now it was your turn to see for yourself. Either you were going to hate this, or love this too much that no other man after him could compare.

"Be a good girl and use that mouth of yours for something good this time, hm?" Ben curled his top lip, pulling at your hair and forcing your head backwards to look at him.

Unable to speak, you simply nodded to which you earned a cocky smirk in response. Not bothering to strip completely, Ben simply pushed his robe aside, revealing his hardened length.

Of course that slut was naked under his robe, you thought to yourself, but your train of thought was cut short when you felt your head being pushed towards his cock. As if with a mind on its own, your mouth enclosed around his shaft, already halfway in, his angry tip hitting the back of your throat.

A guttural sound slipped past parted lips and Ben thrusted himself further down your throat, causing you to gag around him. He pulled you back by your hair and you coughed out and gasped for air. A few seconds passed before you found yourself in the same position, this time slackening your jaw to take in his girth better, his firm hold on the back of your head steadily keeping you in place.

His hips snapped in short, rhythmic thrusts as he fucked himself down your throat. "You take me so well, better than any other broad." Although the compliment was backhanded, it still managed to light up a fire within you, making your chest swell with a newfound wave of confidence.

You tried matching his frantic rhythim, bobbing your head along his length, pulling your head back whenever he pulled back his hips, meeting him again when he pushed deep in you, your nose burying in the short tuft of hair around the base of his cock.

A few more seconds passed and your eyes started brimming with tears as you struggled for breath, while also fighting back the feeling of the dull throbbing in your throat. You were definitely going to wake up with a sore throat in the morning.

Ben, seemingly lost in the throes of his pleasure, kept fucking into you, unaware of your struggle. Your hand found purchase on his strong thigh, giving it a series of firm squeezes to get his attention back to you.

He took one good look at you, at the state he had you in, all disheveled and teary eyed before he pulled out. He smiled pridefully and the sight of you like that made his cock twitch for more. "Up." he commanded, to which you immediately jumped up on your feet. A little dizzy, you braced yourself with your hands on his chest.

Ben's strong forearm wrapped beneath your bottom, lifting you up as if you were light as a feather. You held his gaze, all the while he carried you to his room.

In a swift motion, he threw you on the large Alaskan king bed adorning his large bedroom, and you fell lying on your side. You lifted yourself up on your knees, shaky fingers fumbling with the tie of his robe. "How do you want me?" you asked quietly, looking at him through your lashes.

"Oh, sweetheart," Ben cooed, bending down to grab your chin, the pad of his thumb toying with your bottom lip, then pushing inside your mouth to press against your tongue. "I'll have you any way I want."

At his words, your lips wrapped around his digit the same way they had wrapped around his cock. You pulled back, "Please." you let out a wanton whimper.

"Aren't you an eager one?" he chuckled, his hand moving down to grip around your throat, and pushing you down on the mattress in one swift motion. He followed suit, hovering over you and sizing you up as if he was a predator and you were his prey; he had you cornered right where he wanted you to be.

Immediately, your face flushed red, because yes you were being incredibly eager for him. You clearly weren't thinking straight, but that would be an issue to deal with for when you were no longer so horny.

"I need you inside me. Please, sir."

"Say that again." Ben's voice was so low it almost came out as a growl, his tone also full of lust.

"Please, sir, fuck me." you begged once more, your hands coming up to hold on to his strong forearm.

"Only because you asked so nicely."

He quickly removed his hand from your throat and forcefully ripping your shirt open, sending the buttons flying everywhere. His eyes were transfixed on the frantic up and down of your chest, watching the swells of your breasts moving with each sharp intake.

He mouthed at each one through the thin satin fabric of your bralette, feeling your nipples harden against his mouth. Albeit disappointed he didn't pay enough attention to your breasts, it was all lost on you the moment his hand slid up your skirt, between your thighs. His fingers wrapped around the fabric of your panties, bunching them at the center of your core, pulling them against you and causing much needed friction against your clit.

"Shit." you gasped out at the foreign sensation. No one had played with your clit like that. With each passing second, the fabric glided in between your folds with much ease as it was getting soaked with your slick.

"Gonna fucking wreck you." he groaned against your stomach, his teeth grazing your bare skin. "Think you can take it?"

"Yes. Yes, sir!" At this point you were panting like a bitch in heat. Your hands found their way in his sandy brown locks, tugging softly.

Ben remained silent, but his actions spoke louder than any words that could've been said. With one flick of his wrist, your panties were torn, leaving you in just your bra and skirt. His hand moved to do the same to your skirt, but in a tiny moment of clarity, your hand came over his. "Please don't rip this one, too."

Ben chuckled breathlessly, "You're no fun sweetheart." he chided, but complied nonetheless. In no mood for teasing, he quickly pulled the zipper down and slid your skirt down your thighs and past your ankles. His fingers then found their way on your cunt, sliding two fingers across your folds to gather up your slick, before plunging them deep inside you with no warning.

"Oh, shit." you moaned breathlessly; the pace of his fingers quickening inside you with every pulse of your muscles around them. Your whines raised in volume as he curled his fingertips, hitting the back of your pelvic bone.

His assault on your pussy went on for a few more seconds, until your slick was dripping down his knuckles, your pussy all prepped and ready to take him. With a lewd sound, he removed his fingers and moved them towards you, toying with your lips. Eagerly, you lapped up at his long digits, tasting yourself on him.

"Gonna fuckin' wreck you." Ben grunted heavily above you, lifting your left leg up and positioned your ankle on his strong shoulder, while you wrapped your right one around his waist.

With a shy smile, your hands reached to toy with the tie of his robe again, only this time your forefinger looped around the knot, undoing it in one swift motion. A shaky breath was caught in your throat the moment you finally took him in, in all his glory. He was so big and strong all over, it made your core ache for him in a way that had you questioning your sanity.

"I can take it, please."

You held your gaze with his, noticing the change in his eyes; how they darkened with desire. His plump lips curled into a smirk, he remained silent all the while he grabbed himself by the base, moving the tip of his length to align with your slit.

Your jaw slacked the moment his head pushed in. Ben moved deliberately slow, sheathing himself inside you inch by inch, until he bottomed out. You both groaned at the feeling, of how he was stretching you so perfectly, of how your pussy clamped up around him, engulfing and sucking him in.

His hand gripped around your thigh tight enough to bruise, bracing himself as he pulled out almost entirely, and pushing back in in one hard thrust. His movements repeated, growing more frequent with each thrust, yet the force remained the same.

After about five or six thrusts, Ben had set a steady pace that had you moaning beneath him; although at first the stretch of his cock hurt you a bit, it all melted down to pure pleasure.

Ben's free hand moved to pull your bra cups down, just enough so he could admire the way your breasts spilled out and bounced rhythmically with his every thrust. He delivered a couple of firm slaps on each one, your nipples tingled in pained bliss upon contact.

"Do it again."

"Ask nicely." Ben's hand gripped your jaw and keeping your head in place, forcing you to focus on him. Despite that, your eyes still rolled in the back of your head as Ben kept on fucking into you relentlessly, his pace never once faltering.

"Please, sir."

As much as Ben would love to keep you on the edge and beg for it more, he loved hearing the way you moaned and clenched around his cock more, so he gave in. He only stopped his assault on your breasts until they were red and sore to the touch and you kept begging for him to stop.

He grabbed your ankle off his shoulder, throwing it to the side so you were now flipped on your stomach and face first with the mattress. "Ass up, doll." he commanded, landing a firm slap to your ass. Silently, you obeyed, shimmying your hips further up, and arched your back in a perfect angle.

Ben's hands toyed with the fatness of your cheeks, massaging them and digging his fingers into the supple skin, and he spread them apart exposing yourself to him. He admired the way your pussy glistened in the dimly lit room and he pulled your cheeks just a bit further, transfixed by the way your walls clenched around nothing.

The tip of his cock rubbed against your folds, teasing your entrance before moving a bit further down to play with your hardened clit. He guided his cock back up to align with your entrance, plunging himself deep with ease. He was on one knee - the only time Ben ever saw himself on that position - having better leverage that way, being able to fuck into you much deeper.

He grunted behind you, loving the way you so eagerly bounced back on his cock, your hips meeting him halfway. You were a whining mess beneath him and he loved every second of it. Feeling very gracious, he moved one hand down between your legs, his middle finger finding its way to your clit expertly. His pace on your nub matched that of his hips and it was what drove you over the edge.

Your hands gripped the bed covers, and you buried your head deeper into the mattress to muffle the screams of pleasure that ripped through you. Tingles coursed through your body, all the way to your toes as that hot familiar feeling built up inside you. It was only seconds after when your back arched even deeper, and your pussy clamped up around Ben's thickness as your orgasm hit you in waves. His finger never once halted, only prolonging that warm blissful feeling that had your toes curling and your entire body shivering.

"Such a good girl, doin' so good f'me. Taking my cock so well." Ben praised you, only now he sounded the tiniest out of breath, indicating that he must be close to his own climax as well.

A few seconds later, your body began to relax as the aftershocks of your orgasm began to die down. His hand moved up to press your head roughly into the mattress, his hips snapping frantically into your needy cunt as he chased his own orgasm. The bed creaked beneath as Ben was fucking into you with such force, you were surprised you were able to take it, given his superhuman strength.

"Gonna fill you up so good." he moaned above you.

"God, yes. Yes!" you screamed, his balls were slapping against your overstimulated clit, driving you into your second orgasm. It came over you like the first one times 10, your entire body quaking as it pusled through you.

Ben's fingers curled around the roots of your hair, his grip on your head tightening and pushed you even deeper into the mattress. His hips slapped sloppily against yours for a few more thrusts, until they halted. His cock twitched and spilled his hot seed inside you, coating your walls white. He came hard and loud, his chest rumbling whilst he let out a deep guttural moan.

He pulled out with a groan, and admired the way his cum dripped out of your swollen pussy and onto the covers; truly a sight he'd never get tired of. He slumped back on he bed, resting against the headboard, only after grabbing a much needed blunt from his nightstand.

You hadn't moved much, only now you were sat up on your knees and eyed him, the way his hair fell over his eyes, the way his pecs shone with a light sheen of sweat. Ben caught your gaze, smirking at you as he blew a thin cloud of smoke, he studied how there was a sense of reluctancy written in your eyes.

With an outstretched hand, he offered you the blunt with a doubtful look in his eyes. Silently, you accepted without any second thoughts which only surprised Ben even more. Your eyes held a silent conversation with his, a new kind of tension loomed above the two of you.

Work was going to be interesting the next morning.

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy smut #soldier boy #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #the boys #the boys fanfic #jensen ackles

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