#and he’s thinking for the sec time his life is over | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

frenchkisstheabyss · 2 months ago

Text

♡ Wondering ♡

♡ Pairings: frat boy!mingi x chubby!fem!librarian!reader

♡ Genre: angst/fluff/smut

♡ Summary: While working your job at the campus library you find that the most popular guy on campus has developed quite the crush on you. Thinking that it's some sort of prank, you dismiss him completely but Mingi has his heart set on making you his and isn't content to give up that easily.

♡ Word Count: 4.5k-ish

♡ Warnings: mingi really develops a thing for chubby girls, reader has body insecurities, body worship, kissing, male masturbation, porn, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, a lil hair pulling, a lil rough sex for a sec, technically cum marking, pet names (baby), but otherwise fluffy

♡ A/N: This is a fic I wrote for a super adorable anon and as always I'm super honored that you even asked me to write this my love. I truly hope that I did your idea some justice and you enjoy it. To all the chubby babes out there who may read this, you're a bad bitch, I swear to you, and if anyone tells you otherwise I'll swing on em. Kay, love you, bye - xoxo

Nothing. Mingi strokes his cock—his palm gliding up and down his length, his thumb circling the rim—and he feels absolutely nothing. Lying in the darkness of his bedroom, the warm glow of light emanating from his phone illuminates the frustration on his face. His gaze lazily dances across the screen where a woman lies naked, a sex toy vibrating between her thighs. She’s in his favorite position, making his favorite noises, but he can’t get off on it.

Giving up, he lets out a groan, throwing his head back on his pillow. It’s been weeks of this. He’s been too horny to function but when the time of action comes he can only get halfway hard and nothing feels the same as it used to. Maybe a different video will help. Bringing his phone in close to his face, he scrolls through the recommended videos. His cock still in his hand, he feels it soften into a sad, floppy thing the further down he scrolls.

Just as he’s about to call it a night, prepared to at last put himself out of his misery, something catches his eye. An image of a naked woman spread across a bed, her plush body fully exposed. She’s bigger than other girls he’s seen naked in porn, even in real life. She’s chubby and soft with shimmering gloss on her lips and stretch marks on her thighs. His breath hitches at the sensation of the blood rushing down his length as he takes her in.

His interest officially piqued, he clicks into the video and watches her in action. He’s hypnotized by the way she bounces and jiggles, every motion of her body too perfect to comprehend. The skin pulls tight around his cock, beads of arousal rolling down the tip as he quickens his movements. His bottom lip catches between his teeth, an attempt at choking back the low groans fighting their way up his throat at the sight of juices moistening the woman’s soft thighs.

Seeing her hits him with a rush of something unfamiliar. Something that has his stomach muscles contracting and his mouth watering. His mind goes wild with thoughts of what it’d be like to touch her, to feel her body trembling against his. What he wouldn’t give right now to grip a belly like that or drag his tongue across the plush of her ass. It’s exhilarating, unlike anything he’s ever felt before. His cock grows so sensitive that he’s twitching with every stroke.

Any care for if his roommates can hear him flies out of the window as a dizzying heat washes over him, the veins along his length throbbing as a waterfall of white shoots up onto his stomach. His phone drops onto the bed and he lets out a pitiful whimper, his eyes clung shut as he gives in to an orgasm so strong it makes his muscles weak. He’s so high from it that he fears he’ll never come down. Breathless, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, he sits up in bed and flicks the light on to see what a mess he’s made of himself.

His eyes drift back to his phone where a suggestion for a similar video calls him. He takes a deep breath, feeling his cock stiffening again so soon. Mingi picks his phone up, his thumb hovering over the Next button. It’s 3am and in a few hours Yunho will be banging on his door to go to football practice. He should get his shit together, clean himself off, and go to sleep. But that rush was so unexpected, so utterly delicious. He slips back down into bed, hitting the Next button. He needs more.

“Whoa, there’s so many books here” Mingi gasps, staring up at the tall cherry wood shelves of the sprawling library.

Mingi’s seen this place in pictures before—this marble palace with its sky high shelves and expertly crafted pillars—but in all his years on campus he’s never stepped foot in it. Nothing in this literary maze ever interested him enough to require a visit. His college career has always depended more on athletics and frat politics than it has books.

Most of his professors were more than content to give him a passing grade simply because of who he is. A stroke of luck that ran out the moment a new Women’s Studies professor stepped foot on campus. She’s set out to challenge him, to make him work for his grades if he actually wants them. A true tragedy if he’s ever been faced with one.

“Duh, it’s full of books. It’s literally a library” Yunho laughs, plopping a small stack of books into Mingi’s arms. “I grabbed everything you need except one. The Vagina Monologues. You’re gonna have to go ask one of the librarians for help.”

Mingi winces at the thought of the title leaving his lips and falling on a complete stranger’s ears, “Why’d it have to be called that?”

“Oh, stop being a child” Yunho huffs, catching a glimpse of a young woman pushing a cart of books past the aisle. “There! Go ask her!”

Mingi hesitates a moment but Yunho shoves him forward, “Off you go.”

Stumbling his way down the aisle, Mingi traces the sound of squeaky cart wheels a few rows over, stopping dead in his tracks when his gaze finds the woman pushing it. She wears a flowy, pear colored dress with white lilies printed all over it. It’s long enough not to scandalize the other library staff but short enough to get a glimpse of where her thighs begin to kiss. From behind Mingi can clearly make out her shape in it, the plushness of her figure bringing to mind things he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about in the library.

Humming along to a song in her head, she turns to place a book on one of the shelves and Mingi’s cheeks begin to burn. She’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He’s said that about a lot of girls and never meant it but with this one it’s different. She has eyes that twinkle like sunshine dancing on the surface of some gorgeous lake. The curve of her nose is nothing short of perfection and her lips look like they taste of the sweetest sugar.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask. The way he stares at you makes you feel more like an animal in some zoo than the object of his affection.

Mingi shakes himself out of his daze, lowering the stack of books down to cover the slight rise in his jeans. “Uh…I…yeah…um” he stutters.

“Uh, I, yeah, um?” you tease, grabbing another book and sliding it onto a nearby shelf, “I don’t think we have that one.”

“Who are you?” he spits out as if that’s a completely normal question to ask someone when you’re the one who approached them.

“That’s a really weird question to ask someone, Mingi.”

“Wait, you know me?”

You giggle at the absurdity of such a question, “Of course I know you. Everyone knows you.”

Mingi thinks about it for a second, the reality of his popularity setting back in. “I guess you’re right. I am pretty popular.”

The grin on his face makes you nauseous. Of course you know him. And of course he doesn’t know who you are. Mingi’s from a whole different world and you’re positive girls like you don’t exist where he comes from. Rolling your eyes, you grab back onto the handle of your cart, “If there’s nothing you need…”

“Vagina!” he says, leaving you both stunned to the core, “I mean, monologues. Vagina Monologues. It’s, like, a book or whatever. Fuck it, are you busy tonight?”

A whisper of laughter drifts down the aisle, giving away Yunho’s presence. He’s never seen his best friend crash and burn this hard. Keeping a straight face isn’t an option. Yunho’s laughter may not be meant for you but it feels like it is. The first time a guy like Mingi talks to you and of course it had to be a joke.

“Second floor, in the Plays section, under E for Ensler” you snap, turning your back before you die of embarrassment right before Mingi’s eyes.

“Wait, can I at least get your name?” Mingi calls out but you’re already pushing your cart down the aisle, disappearing around the next corner without another word.

Yunho slaps a hand on Mingi’s shoulder, shaking his head in disappointment, “Who’s your new friend?”

Mingi sighs longingly, his gaze still lingering where you once stood, “I don’t know but I plan to find out.”

Sometimes when you find yourself working nights at the library you feel like Cinderella. A slave to these old dusty books, forced to clean and organize them until your manicure begins to chip while other girls are out at bars or parties. Only there’s no fairy godmother to come wave her magic wand and turn your pumpkin into a carriage. There’s no glass slipper and certainly no Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet.

Still, you need the extra money so there’s nothing to be done about it. Taking a seat at the front desk you check the time, it’s almost time to close up shop and the last few stragglers are packing up their things to head out. Once they’re gone things should be peaceful. No questions, no interruptions, no one getting on your nerves.

“Have you been avoiding me?” Mingi asks, popping up in front of your desk.

“Oh my god!” you gasp, clutching your chest, “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Kill you? How could I ever hurt a girl as pretty as you?” he says in that cocky tone you’ve become accustomed to.

It’s been weeks since your first run in with Mingi and he’s been relentless ever since. He stops by every shift to ask you some silly question that somehow always turns into yet another attempt at flirting with you. You shoot him down every single time but he never seems offended or discouraged. He just keeps coming back all bright eyed and full of energy like a golden retriever. You’ve gone home every night wondering what his motivations are. Why’s he being so persistent?

Sometimes for the hell of it you let yourself play with the idea that he might actually be attracted to you. Mingi is drop dead gorgeous after all and, even though you refuse to laugh at any of his stupid jokes, you find him pretty charming. For all his cockiness, he’s sweet in a way that makes you wonder what it might be like to be truly adored by a guy like him. This little fantasy of yours is always disrupted by the vision of Yunho laughing at the two of you. It’s a joke, that’s all, a stupid joke that Mingi’s cruel for not knowing when to give up on.

“Aren’t you sick of coming here?” you ask, pretending to be busy on the laptop, “There must be something else you can entertain yourself with.”

Mingi smiles down at you, fawning over how your skin glows in the shreds of sunset that peek through the windows. “There is actually. I’m having a party tonight and I want you to come.”

Your eyes shoot open, an involuntary burst of joy hitting you. “A party?” you ask, sounding more excited than you intended to. Catching yourself, you reel back the excitement but it’s too late, Mingi’s already caught it.

“Yeah, a party” he says, reaching behind the desk to grab a pen and a sticky note. He scribbles down the address and sticks it to your laptop screen. “Tell me you’ll come.”

He sounds so genuine when he says that. It’s almost as if he’s truly desperate to have you around. You look up at his face and feel the butterflies in your stomach go into a frenzy. You’ve heard the way other girls talk about him, the way they swoon over him like he’s this magical thing. You don’t want to be one of them, just another girl pining after Song Mingi but here you are.

You clear your throat, snatching the blue sticky note from your screen, and putting it aside. “I don’t really know if I wanna spend my Friday night with a bunch of wasted pretty boys.”

“Ooh, so you do think I’m pretty” Mingi blushes, batting his eyelashes.

You pick up a stapler, threatening to throw it at him, “Leave now and maybe, just maybe I’ll consider coming to your little party.”

Mingi throws his hands up, carefully backing away from the desk, “Fair enough. I’m wearing all black by the way. In case you wanted to, ya know, match or something.”

You wind your arm back, placing it in perfect formation to hit him in the head with the stapler. Mingi gets the message and scurries out of the door, leaning his head back in for a split second to whisper, “See you later, beautiful.” He winks at you and you groan but he’s gone now and there’s no one left to take your anger out on.

As the last few visitors trickle out you find yourself sitting in the silence of the library, that blue sticky note calling your name. You pick it up, swearing you’ll toss it in the trash but you only stare at it, reading the address over and over again. Some stupid frat party with a bunch of stupid boys at some frat house on the edge of campus. Why would you ever waste your time going to something like that? And who does he think he is insinuating that you’d even want to match with him? Anyway, you only have one good black dress and you’re sure it doesn’t even fit anymore. It isn’t even worth trying…is it?

“I’m telling you, this girl’s gorgeous and she’s super smart too. She knows everything about books and stuff, like, you can ask her anything and she just knows” Mingi rambles, grabbing another beer from the fridge.

“Because it’s her job” Yunho teases, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Mingi pops the beer open, flicking the metal top into a nearby trash can, “And how did she get that job? Because she’s smart.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen him like this over a girl…ever” Jongho says, stealing Mingi’s beer for himself.

“Well I think it’s cute. Mingi’s got a girlfriend” Wooyoung sings, making cute little hearts with his fingers.

“She’d be his girlfriend if she didn’t hate his guts” Yunho mumbles half heartedly.

Mingi gasps, taking offense to that, “She doesn’t hate me, she just hasn’t fully warmed up to me yet but she will.”

He looks around the kitchen and his friends all eye him skeptically. Mingi didn’t say that with nearly enough confidence for them to believe him and the truth is that he barely believes himself but how does he tell his friends that? He’s the one who girls drool over. He’s never the one doing the drooling. He has a reputation at stake and here he is ruining it for a girl who probably won’t even show up tonight. But he can’t bring himself to give up on you yet.

That first night after he met you he couldn’t get you out of his head. He kept imagining that face, that body, under him, on top of him, next to him. Just the thought of you made him hard enough that touching himself was mandatory to ease his need for you. And the more he showed up to bug you the more fascinating he came to find you.

Yes, you were snippy but never enough to directly chase him away. You let him stick around long enough for glimmers of your true personality to show. You’d made the terrible mistake of showing him how sweet you could be, how funny of a girl you are, and it only made things worse for both of you. More than having sex with you he wants to kiss you and hold your hand. He wants to tell you how pretty you are and not have you threaten him with a blunt object for it.

“Not to be that guy but when did you start liking…ya know?” Jongho says, hoping that the others will know what he means without it coming off rude.

“Chubby girls?” Wooyoung asks, making Yunho almost choke on his beer.

“You can’t just say that” Yunho coughs, grabbing a paper towel to wipe the beer from his lips.

Mingi’s eyes narrow, the question not quite setting right with him, “What does it matter?”

“I mean, it…it doesn’t. I swear it doesn’t” Jongho stammers, looking anywhere but at Mingi.

Wooyoung shrugs, coming to Jongho’s rescue, “In his defense, we’ve never seen you with one. She’s not your usual type.”

“So, what? Just cause she’s not my ��type’ it has to be weird?” Mingi presses.

No one says anything, not a solitary word. They only stare at the doorway, their faces drained of any color. In the next room a party rages, in the kitchen an argument is ready to erupt, and there you stand in between the two hearing something you shouldn’t have at a time you shouldn’t have heard it.

“Hmm, well, thank you for that. I’m so happy everyone knows what I already did” you say, laughing to avoid tears, “Thank you for the invite, Mingi. Really.”

Something’s said, you’re sure it’s by Mingi, but you can’t hear it. You’ve gone numb to everything. Even the music blaring from the speakers a few feet from you feels like it’s playing from miles away. Desperate to outrun the tears stinging the corners of your eyes, you rush through the crowd of partiers in the living room and make your way outside.

The autumn air blows against your cheeks, cooling your tears as they begin to escape. You wipe them away, doing your best to look normal as you pass people headed into the party, but you can’t seem to stop them from falling. You feel so stupid for ever believing that Mingi’s feelings for you were anything but a joke he could laugh about with his friends. His words ring in your ears as you approach your car, frantically digging through your purse for your keys. Not his type? Well he isn’t yours either. You’ve never been too fond of assholes anyway.

“Shit” you hiss, the keys in your hand tumbling from your grasp the second you pull them out. You bend down to pick them up but someone snatches them away before you can. You spin around to find Mingi standing there, your keys jingling away as they twirl around his fingers.

“Give them back” you demand, grabbing for your keys but he holds them up high just out of your reach.

“You’re crying” he says and you can almost see his heart shatter, “Come back inside.”

“Why? So you and your friends can make fun of me to my face this time?” you ask, still fighting for your keys back but to no avail.

Mingi frowns, “Make fun of you? We weren’t making fun of you. I’d never let anyone do that to you.”

“So, what? Just cause she’s not my type it has to be weird?” you mock, feeling childish but justified considering the circumstances.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant that just because I’ve dated smaller girls that doesn’t mean I can’t like you and I do. I really, really like you” he swears, “I love your body. I think it’s beautiful. Everything about you…I’m just obsessed with and all I wanna do is show you how special you are but you won’t let me and I don’t understand why.”

Folding your arms across your chest, you stand on the sidewalk staring at Mingi like you hate him but it’s not him that you hate. It’s the fact that you believe him. The tears have slowed now but your cheeks are still wet, black streaks of mascara beginning to run down your face. You drop your head, embarrassed by your mini breakdown, and Mingi swoops in, giving you a chest to lay your head on. His long arms wrap around you, locking behind your back to keep you close. It’s your instinct to pull away but his embrace is too comforting and warm to abandon.

“If you want me to leave you alone forever I promise I will. I’ll let you go and you’ll never have to see me again” he whispers, “But if you stay I promise I’ll be good to you.”

Your stomach sinks at the thought of never seeing him again. Day after day all you’ve done is tell him to leave you alone but it never occurred to you how much it’d hurt if he actually did. “I don’t want you to leave me alone” you admit, your face emerging from the black abyss of his shirt, “That’s, like, the exact opposite of what I want you to do.”

Mingi cups your face, his thumb stroking the curve of your cheek, “Good because I wasn’t actually gonna leave you alone. How can I when you look like this? You’re even a pretty crier. How’s that possible?”

You’ve always managed not to blush when Mingi’s said things like this—at least not when he’s around—but you don’t stop yourself this time. You don’t even make the tiniest attempt at hiding how utterly giddy you are over his comments.

“Ooh, is that a smile I see?” he gasps, immediately making you regret it. You motion to hit him in the arm but he grabs you by the wrist, slipping his hand into yours as he leads you back towards the house. “Let’s go upstairs and I’ll clean you up then we can talk more, okay?”

Mingi looks back at you and you could swear that time stands still. This isn’t where you thought you’d be on a Friday night, walking through a frat party hand in hand with one of the most popular guys on campus—with Mingi. He’s guiding you up the stairs, looking at you like you’re the prettiest girl in the world and for the first time, somewhere deep down inside, you’re beginning to feel like it.

Before you left the house tonight you swore that you wouldn’t become some frat party cliche. Mingi’s hot, there’s no doubt about it, but there was no way you’d wind up bent over some bed with your panties around your ankles.

You were actually right about that. You’re not bent over some bed, you’re laying across it, and your panties aren’t around your ankles, they’re tossed off to the side of the bed, blending in with the pile of black clothing you collectively shed before you found every inch of Mingi’s cock stuffed inside of you. You came up here to talk, that was it, and in your defense you did talk. You were vulnerable with each other, you opened up about your feelings, and the next thing you knew your tongues were so far in each other’s mouths that you could feel it in your throats.

Mingi’s kiss is sweeter than you imagined. It’s the kind of kiss you could get lost in it. Even now, after he’s been kissing your lips raw for the last half hour, you find yourself wanting more. You’re so wrapped up in him, so completely consumed by the ecstasy of having him inside of you, that you aren’t even focused on the fact that you’re naked. You can’t begin to care if you look good or not when your body’s flush with heat, feeling the best it has in your entire life.

But you do look good. Nothing in Mingi’s wildest dreams could compare to how beautiful your body actually is. His hands explore your curves, discovering those spots he knows will come to be his favorites. That squishy belly of yours that pokes out just a bit more when he massages your sides. Those pillowy thighs that seem even thicker when he presses them to your chest. Those breasts that bounce softly against his face while he’s sucking at your bud.

“You’re so fucking amazing, baby” Mingi whispers, licking his way over the hills of your breasts to bring his lips to yours. “I do have a type. You know it’s you, right?”

“Is that so?” you tease, trembling at every stroke of his cock between the slickness of your walls. You run your fingers through his hair, your back arching against the mattress so much that you’re sure you’d float away if the weight of Mingi’s body weren’t pinning you down.

Mingi kisses you like a starved man whose hunger can only be satisfied by the taste of you. “Mmm, can’t you tell?” he hums between sloppy kisses, “Can’t you feel it?”

He snaps his hips into you and you let out a moan that makes you grateful for the loud music blaring downstairs. Keeping his lips locked to yours, one hand gripping your hip and the other cradling your face, he thrusts into you harder. Hard enough to make the bed creak. Hard enough to make your walls clench tighter. Hard enough to have you tugging his hair, moaning between his lips while your decadent juices drip down his length.

Mingi groans, holding you even tighter as the head of his cock rides the ridges of your sweet spot. Your insides are so spongy and wet, clenching around him just right. There’s no way he can go back to masturbating after this. The thought of you won’t be enough. Fantasies are absolutely nothing compared to what it’s like to truly feel you under him and around him.

“Mingi, mmm, gonna cum” you whimper, your eyes wide and glossy as you look up at him.

You sound so cute when you say it that he loses his sanity for a second, his hips stuttering before picking up the rhythm again. Mingi slips both hands behind your neck, deepening the kiss as he bottoms out completely. Heat pools behind your belly, spreading through your body until you’re sure flames are dancing at your fingertips. Your body tenses, a weak little moan falling from your lips before your vision goes blurry and your high washes over you.

“That’s it, good girl” Mingi coos, basking in the warmth enveloping him, “So pretty when you cum all over my cock. Always so pretty.”

Your walls are pulsing, fluttering wildly around his swollen cock. Your cum just pours down him, making every movement slippery wet. He can’t take it anymore. He couldn’t hold back even if he tried.

“Aah, fuck” he hisses, pulling out of you just in time to paint your inner thighs in white, leaving ropes of cum dripping dangerously close to your core.

Completely destroyed by your orgasm, you’re plastered to the bed and can only watch as Mingi catches his breath, immediately going to work planting kisses all over your body. He kisses the places you love and the places you hate. He worships them all with his lips because to him they’re perfect in every way.

You surrender yourself to the reality of that, letting the lingering adoration from each kiss sink into your skin. Mingi’s yours, he has been since he first laid eyes on you in that library, all you ever had to do was let yourself have him.

#ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez angst #song mingi x you #song mingi x reader #mingi smut #mingi angst #mingi fluff #mingi x reader #ateez x chubby reader #ateez x female reader #ateez x you #chubby reader #plus size reader

2K notes · View notes

starsenha · 2 months ago

Text

YAPPER / S.J

Pairing ◊ fem!reader x bf!jake

Genre ◊ fluff, established relationship

Warnings ◊ mention of low social battery, jake overthinks a lot in this, introverted!reader x extroverted!jake

Word count ◊ 1k

Summary ◊ you and jake just started living together, and he had to get used to having an introvertes s/o.

a/n: this is so cute i'll die

The apartment was quiet, a comfortable contrast to the usual hum of Jake’s chatter. You’d been living together for just a few weeks now, but it already felt like home. Jake's energy filled the space—warm, playful, constant—much like a puppy that couldn’t contain its excitement. His endless chatter was something you loved about him, the way he could talk for hours about anything, whether it was the latest indie band he discovered or his theories about the origins of the universe.

But today was different.

You sat at the kitchen table, your laptop in front of you, but your fingers hovered over the keys, unmoving. The day had drained you. You had been running on empty, your social battery flickering like a dying candle. It wasn’t anything that happened in particular. Just… people. The noise. The constant interactions. You craved silence in a way that felt almost physical, like you needed to wrap yourself in it to recharge.

Jake must have noticed.

He hadn’t been his usual self all day. His usual stream of conversation had trickled down to cautious comments, half-started stories that faded into silence when you didn’t respond the way you normally would. He gave you space, which was rare for him, but something you appreciated. You knew how much it took for him to quiet himself.

But as the hours passed, the air in the apartment grew heavier. You could feel it between you, like something unsaid, something tense. And you knew what it was. Jake was overthinking. You’d seen it before—he could mask it for a while, but eventually, it showed. The nervous fidgeting, the glances he thought you didn’t notice, the way he tapped his foot against the leg of the couch, an unconscious habit when he was deep in his thoughts.

You sighed, staring at your screen, knowing you should say something, anything, but the words felt stuck. You just needed a little more quiet. A little more time to recharge. But the silence was dragging on, and you knew Jake wouldn’t be able to take it much longer.

Eventually, as the sky outside began to darken and the city lights flickered on, you heard soft footsteps behind you. His approach was hesitant, unlike his usual bounding energy, and it made your chest tighten with guilt. You didn’t turn around, not right away, but you felt him hovering behind you.

“Hey, babe,” he said softly. His voice was gentle, tentative, as if he was afraid to disturb whatever fragile peace you had wrapped around yourself. “Can I, uh… Can I talk to you for a sec?”

You turned in your chair to look at him, and there he was—Jake, with his tousled brown hair that always seemed to be a little wild no matter how many times he ran his fingers through it, and those big, expressive eyes that were always so full of life. Except now, they looked… sad. His brows were knit together in concern, and there was this slight tremble in his bottom lip, like he was trying to keep it together.

“What’s up?” you asked, your voice coming out quieter than you intended.

“I just… I don’t know. Did I… did I do something wrong?” His voice wavered, and your heart clenched. “Like, I don’t know, you’ve been really quiet today, and I was thinking maybe I… I upset you somehow?” He took a step closer, his hand reaching out, hovering over your shoulder like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you. “If I did, I’m really sorry.”

You blinked, caught off guard. He was standing there with that look on his face—the one he always gave you when he thought he messed up, the one that made him look like a kicked puppy. His eyes were wide, his expression so heartbreakingly sincere.

“Jake,” you started, but he interrupted.

“No, seriously, if I said something or if I did something without thinking, I didn’t mean to. I’ve been trying to figure it out all day, but I can’t—” His voice cracked a little, and he looked away, biting his lip. “I just hate it when you’re upset, and I don’t know what I did.”

Your heart broke a little right then. He was always so in tune with your emotions, so careful with them. You reached out, gently grabbing his hand and pulling him closer. “Jake, you didn’t do anything wrong. I promise.”

He looked at you, his brows still furrowed, not entirely convinced. “Then… why? I mean, you’ve barely said anything all day. You’ve been… distant.”

You sighed, squeezing his hand. “It’s not you. It’s just… I’m drained. My social battery is completely dead, and I didn’t know how to say that without making you feel like I was upset or something. But it’s not you, okay? I just… needed some quiet.”

He blinked a few times, his expression softening, but there was still that little crease between his eyebrows. “Oh. Oh.” His shoulders relaxed a bit, and he looked down at your hands intertwined. “You could’ve told me that.”

“I know. I should have,” you said, guilt creeping in. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

He shook his head, finally smiling a little. “No, it’s okay. I just… you know how I get.” He laughed softly, though it was a little self-deprecating. “I overthink everything. I just didn’t want to make things worse by being my usual… talky self.”

You chuckled, giving his hand a squeeze. “I love your talky self. I really do. I just… today was a lot, you know?”

“I get it,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Next time, just… tell me. You don’t have to worry about me. If you need space, I can give you space. I’ll just… go babble to the plants or something.”

That made you laugh, and the tension in the room seemed to dissolve. “Babble to the plants, huh?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, a little more of his usual energy returning. “They don’t seem to mind. Plus, they grow better when I talk to them, so win-win.”

You smiled, feeling lighter than you had all day. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jake leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Just promise me you’ll tell me next time, okay? I’d rather know you’re just tired than sit around thinking I did something terrible.”

“I promise,” you whispered, leaning into his touch.

He smiled, pulling you into a warm embrace, and in that moment, you were reminded of why you loved him so much—his warmth, his patience, his understanding. Even when you were at your most exhausted, he knew how to bring you back.

"Good," he said softly, holding you close. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know," you murmured, resting your head against his chest. "I love you too."

And just like that, everything felt right again.

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enha x reader #enhypen jake #jake enhypen #jake sim imagines #jake sim x reader #jake sim #jake sim fluff #sim jake fluff #sim jaeyun fluff #sim jaeyun x reader #sim jaeyun x you #sim jaeyun #sim jaehyun x reader #sim jake

1K notes · View notes

lymtw · 6 months ago

Text

Thinking of Toji coming home to you after a rough day at work.

On a normal day he would call out to you the second he steps through the front door, but today he's not in the mood to be loud. He silently walks through the living room, into the hallway where he directs himself towards the bedroom, where he knows you are. He's dirty and sweaty and there's somebody's blood drying on the fabric of his shirt. Luckily, it's just a small area. You won't spot it on your own, and Toji won't be showing it off to you.

The door creaks open and you're there, lying on your stomach, in bed. You're distracted by your phone, too zoned into your own serene little world to notice that Toji was home. He can smell your shampoo and the lotion you used, in the air, the smell getting stronger as he makes his way towards the bed. His stealthiness is a threat, never to you, but the fact that you didn't turn around once really had him thinking about your safety.

He didn't waste another second just looming over you. Slowly, he crawled onto the bed and before you managed to shriek or say something about how he scared the crap out of you, he laid right on top of you, crushing you and revoking your ability to make any sounds but groans under his weight.

"Toji?" you call, once you get accustomed to the pressure your bear of a man added onto you. He doesn't respond, and instead buries his face into the crook of your neck, getting a deeper whiff of the scent that emanated off of you. "Toji?" You try again, turning your head slightly.

"You smell pretty. Could smell you the second I walked in the room," he hums, inhaling your clean scent.

"Yeah, I just showered. Don't you wanna go get cleaned up, too? Dinner's ready."

"Of course I do. Thanks, doll. Just let me have you like this for a sec."

You had no argument for that. You laid there, flat on the bed beneath him, and allowed him all the time necessary to relax. He was quiet, and his hold on you was a little tighter than usual. That wasn't what brought you to your conclusion, but it was clear that he wasn't his usual self.

Something about being able to wrap himself around your entire body was comforting to Toji. It made him feel like he was keeping you safe, like he was the soft blanket you cover yourself with at night, rather than a man who comes home with blood stains on his clothes.

You were the one thing he was positive he would come home to, and that was enough. You were more than enough for him. He always felt there was no way to pay back for every day you spent accepting him as he is. All those nights when you let him hold you, even after he made you cry. Those mornings when you woke up with a heavy heart, alone, only to find out through a text message that he had to leave for work early.

Undeserving was a small word to Toji. It was you still finding it in yourself to give him the warmest of welcomes every day—a greeting normally dedicated to heroes, that made him obsess over finding a word that was more fitting for him.

He loves you and he's serious about it. He knows the infinite range of his love for you and regardless of how small his heart seems compared to yours, you decorate every inch of space within it, and when it reaches its maximum capacity, you go to his head. The space is littered with images of you, like posters on a wall. The space is so crowded that some of them are hanging on to the walls of his mind for dear life. There are images of your guilty smile after you knock a glass of water over and it shatters, another of the look on your face as you try not to laugh when he tries on a shirt that clearly isn't his size, and memories of the times when you would pamper him when he wasn't feeling well, insisting on still sleeping next to him, incase he needs something in the middle of the night.

It all adds up to this clingy behavior he reserves for you. When the day treats him like trash being kicked around by everyone on a sidewalk, he comes home to appreciate the one who embraces him and unconditionally loves him.

He knows his weight on your back must be unbearable and he definitely doesn't smell as good as you, either, but he can't move. Not yet.

"I could stay like this forever, doll. Would you let me?" He smiles for the first time in a bit when he sees your shoulders shaking, paired with the sweet sound of your laugh.

"Of course, baby. I'd willingly stay like this for you."

And he groans. It's like a form of cuteness aggression, but it derives from the fact that he can't believe that you're with him, and that you're so saintly, and he can't for the life of him stop thinking of you. He kisses your jaw and strongly resists the urge to bite your cheek and squeeze you until you can't breathe at all.

His breathing quickens a little when he thinks of how detrimental it would be to his life if you walked away for good, one day. Things are so good, but he can't help but think that the next time they aren't, it'll be an enormous hit to everything he has with you. Maybe you're waiting for the next argument to drop everything. Maybe you secretly can't stand him. Maybe you don't need him. Maybe-

His overthinking is cut off by a low growl, followed by a nervous giggle that is muffled by the pillow you buried your face in.

"Sorry," you lift your head to say, fighting the laughter bubbling in your throat.

"You're hungry." There's a barely there crease between his brows. It's late and your stomach is growling. He doesn't want to think about you skipping meals.

"I wanted to wait for you," you chirp, turning your head the slightest bit to give him a beaming smile.

"Baby." The second he sees the corners of your lips begin to straighten out, he stifles the scolding he was about to hit you with. "I can't even be mad at you. Have you eaten anything at all today?"

Your silence was all he needed to understand that you were running on fumes. He sighs, mentally cursing you for being so careless with yourself for his sake.

"I'm gonna shower, and you're gonna meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes. Will you survive that long? I don't know, but you have to." He kisses your temple a couple times, rolling off of you and directing himself to his clothing drawers.

Your lungs expand and you feel so much lighter without his weight on you. You flip over onto your back, stretching for a moment before you turn over to watch Toji rummage through his drawers. His sixth sense kicks in and he can feel your gaze on the back of his head.

"I love you, doll." He stands still, waiting seconds too long for your response. He turns his head to the side, facing the blank wall of the room. His ear is turned in your direction as to not miss the sound of your voice.

You sit up, prepared to say it back with every fiber of your being. You can see his fingers tapping against the top of the dresser. You don't mean to bring unease to his mind, your intention is to do the exact opposite. "I love you so, sooo much, Toji."

He lets the clothes he picked out plop onto the dresser, and he turns around to head back to you. He holds your gaze until he reaches you. It's the first good look you've gotten at him since he got home. You can't help but smile at the familiar sight of those green eyes and that pretty nose, and those scarred lips. He never failed to make you swoon, even during times when there was a lack of words.

His hands cupped your jaw before he leaned down to kiss you. The duration of his kisses weren't thought out, let alone planned. What was supposed to be ten minutes until you met him in the kitchen, turned into double the amount of time, because he wouldn't let you go. You were just as guilty for the delay, feeling so much ease and comfort with the words he imbedded into his kisses. Eventually you started telling him to go, between kisses and laughter, reminding him that you would be there when he got out. He ignored you until your stomach growled again.

"Fine," he grumbled, placing one more peck on your lips before he left you alone.

2K notes · View notes

starstruckmiraclekitty · 1 year ago

Text

“You’ve fallen for them, haven’t you?” Price asked, following Simon’s line of sight, his eyes landing on your figure.

Your laughter filled the air, causing a smile to form on both the men’s lips. They’d been watching you for the last few minutes, casually joking about with Soap.

Simon was quiet as his mind filled with thoughts of you. The way you always smiled at him, even in the worst of times. The way you laughed so care free, a laugh that could cure any ailment Simon could possibly have. The way you cared for him, more than he’d ever had someone care for him in his life.

Prices eyes drifted back toward Simon, a small smile dancing on his lips. “It warms an old man’s heart you know.”

Simon looked over at his captain, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s that?”

“I’ve known you for how many years, Simon?” Price rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he held Simon’s gaze. “Never once have I seen you smile the way you do around them. You deserve to be happy, son.”

Simon let Price’s words sink in, the prospect of being with you in that way was not entirely unwelcome for Simon. But he was scared. Simon was such a broken mess of a man that he truly believed nothing could piece him back together.

Price stood, drawing Simon’s attention back to him, and clasped Simon’s shoulder firmly. “Don’t let that thick skull of yours prevent you from being happy. Take it from someone who knows.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Simon found you again later that day, his palms sweaty from his nerves. “Hey, you got a sec?”

You looked up from the stack of paperwork in front of you, the warm smile lining your lips as you looked at Simon had his knees nearly buckling. “Of course.”

Any confidence Simon had walking in there, was now gone as he stared down at you. Your E/C eyes melting his insides as he struggled to formulate the words he’d just practiced earlier.

“I..” Damnit! What was wrong with him? He was Simon fucking Riley for god sakes. He was supposed to be fearless. Yet here he was rendered a stuttering mess in front of you. “Fuck.”

You let out a soft giggle, causing Simon’s insides to warm. “Is everything okay, Si?”

Your nickname for him always had Simons brain in a fog, and it certainly wasn’t helping his case in this moment. “Yeah, yeah I just uh..”

You patiently watched as Simon struggled to form the words, your smile never faltering as his eyes drifted toward your lips.

“Are you free later?” He finally asked, his words coming out rushed.

“Is there a training?” You pondered, your mind flicking through the upcoming training schedule. “I wasn’t made-.”

“No.” Simon interjected. “It’s uh.. it’d just be you and I. There’s this pub I like to go to by base.”

Simon didn’t think it possible, but your smile widened even more, taking up the entire lower half of your face. “Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Riley?”

His cheeks burned crimson as your teasing, his belly doing flip flops as he gave you a curt nod. “Affirmative.”

“I would love that.” You said, as you stood to your feet. “It’s about damn time you asked me.”

Simon smiled brighter and wider than he’d ever had in his life, his mind now swirling with thoughts of the perfect first date. For the first time in a long time, Simon Riley was excited.

Maybe something could piece together his broken self after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: please excuse my multiple Simon fluff pieces. Ya girl has to heal🥹

#simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod imagine #mw2 imagine #ghost x reader #ghost mw2

6K notes · View notes

jo-com · 7 months ago

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆➛ Baby Fever

Charles Leclerc x fem!reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux

Summary: The three of you raised a child together, and for two years you guys kept it a secret, but after thinking it through, you guys decided that it was finally time to show your daughter to the world.

Genre: Fluff, throuple, pregnancy, overall adorable

words: 890

TW: just some sweet rotting fluff, some grammatical error, not proofread, google translated french cause i can't speak french, sorry if i wrote it wrong.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ➛ My Masterlist

─────── ─ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ─ ───────

After finding out that the three of you were pregnant, both Charles and Alex were over the moon—excited to meet their unborn baby. The baby hasn't even come out yet, but she/he has already been loved by all three of the parents.

Time had gone by easily; the once small bump in your tummy was now growing like crazy, it was like the size of a watermelon. Your back hurts like hell whenever you stand up but lucky for you, you had the most thoughtful girlfriend ever; always helping you up when you need to. Of course charles was also helpful but he was away most of the time leaving you and alex at home-- you didn't mind though, it was his passion and he loves it plus that's what keeps food at the table so yeah.

And just like that, nine months have passed; it felt like you were just pregnant yesterday and are now ready to give birth to the growing baby in your belly.

For nine whole months, both of them were supportive and caring throughout the whole pregnancy, always being there and staying by your side whenever you needed them.

...

"Are you sure you're ready, mon amour?" Charles asked, softly caressing the roof of your daughters hair.

"I am 100% sure, cha. I am ready to show Béatrice to the world, I think we kept her a secret for a long time now."

"We agree with you, mon cœur, but we just want you to be certain. We can still hide her from the rest and live this perfect little life of ours, just the four of us," Alex said with a worried tone.

She grabbed your hand and intertwined it with hers, slowly brining it up her lips and softly kissing the top of your hand. "Nous nous inquiétons juste (we just worry).

You softened at her touch and smiled. "I know you guys are worried, but I just want to show the world the love of my life and that I am living my best life with the two most important people in the world."

Charles and Alex looked at you with awe. They too want to show others the perfect life you guys have; they just worry that some people won't agree with what the three of you have. But they love that you're always optimistic about things, seeing the bright side of even the worst situations.

...

The very next day, you guys decided to watch one of Charles's races, of course, bringing Béatrice along with you.

Charles was already in the paddock, doing practice laps, leaving you, Alex, and your daughter to get ready.

"Are you ready to go, ma belle?" Alex asked, peeking her head in the door frame.

"One sec, love, I am just tying her shoelaces," you replied, tying the knots of her shoes and styling them up like a little bow.

"And....done!" Alex smiled at your adorableness and walked towards to where you and béatrice sat.

Alex was now standing beside you, helping you to carefully stand up. "You look so gorgeous, mon amour," she said, resting her hands on both your waists and slowly leaning closer to give you a kiss.

You leaned in to the kiss, your hands travelling to rest on her shoulder.

"Maman, ouf (ew)," béatrice said, making you guys break the kiss and look at your daughter. Her tiny nose scrunched up to a frown. She was trying to look disgusted, but with her chubby cheeks, it was hard to tell; she looked like a bunny trying to twitch her nose. Alex only giggled and playfully rolled her eyes. "Tu es juste jaloux (you're just jealous)." "No!" your daughter argued, standing up and lightly smacking Alex's leg. Alex then picked her up and tickling her side making béatrice giggle out loud.

Y/n smiled contentedly, her heart feeling so full of love--there's nothing more heartwarming than the sight in front of her.

"Ok break it up you two, we have to go now"

Alex smiled and put their daughter down. "Yes, ma'am!."

...

The three of you walked hand in hand in the paddock, earning a few quite shocked faces and jaws dropping from the sudden pressence of your guys's daughter.

Charles spotted you guys and excused himself from the interviewer. He then quickly made his way to you guys.

"Ma vie, you made it" He said cheerfully; he smiled from ear to ear and just couldn't keep it on how happy he was that you guys were there.

"We didn't want to miss it, béatrice Je voulais soutenir son père (wanted to support her daddy)" you said, caressing his broad shoulder.

Charles couldn't contain his excitement and kissed the two of you on the cheek.

...

Throughout the day, you guys were bombarded with questions to which you politely replied.

All the cameras were pointed directly at your daughter; there were people who were supportive, and there were just some who weren't, and it was alright with you guys. The only thing that mattered was that your baby was the life of the paddock; everyone turned their heads whenever she passed by, earning a few aws and coos from around the pit.

"I am glad we did this," you said, intertwining Alex's hands with yours.

"Me too," she answered, resting her head on your shoulders.

...

Charles_Leclerc just posted!

Liked by y/nursername, AlexandraSaintMleux and 2,539,236 others.

Mon monde💗💋

Comments on this post have been turned off

…

Short fluff, idk hope this is good also😭😭, thanks for the love that you guys showed on my last post!! Really boosted my confidence in writing!!💋💋

1K notes · View notes

hyukascampfire · 24 days ago

Text

𝑯EART 𝑊ORM ⸺ hueningkai ℘˒´ˎ˗

⨾𓍢ִ໋ ˒˒ 𝚑𝔢art𝚠𝔬rm

[𝑛]. a relationship or friendship that you can't get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

〝﹙ 📼 ﹚“I was just... wondering,” you say, blood roaring. "Well, Yeonjun wants me to come over to his place this weekend, and... I’ve never...” Sucking in a quick breath, you just spit it out to get it over with, “Would you be my first kiss, Kai?” ˛ ､､

wc ➛ 17.9k

𝔭airings childhood bsf!kai x reader (lowkey soulmates?) ⤷ ft. asshole!yeonjun x reader

𝒢 ‎; smut ˒ angst ˒ some fantasy

𝔴arnings angst, family issues, fingering, jealousy (i’m sorry i just love ts), yeonjun really is an asshole, orgasm denial, thigh fucking, unprotected sex (they're stupid!), strength kink a lil bit, breeding kink, possessiveness, creampie, choking... i think that's all, lmk if i missed any

✎୭ ashlynn's note omg. this was such a fun palate cleanser to write. this wasn't supposed to be as big as it is, but it just kept getting bigger and bigger, and i got super into the story. this kai is SOOOO!! yeah. i’m so nervous posting this because i’ve only ever posted TSFAWC, but…. here you areee (^^;; this is not proofread, so if you see a mistake... give me a sec. i'll get to it. hehe

Though you fan your hand furiously over your face, the little breezes washing over your clammy skin are not enough. The air is thick and heavy with summer’s heat. So thick that you almost feel it each time you swallow. It’s better than just letting yourself melt away, though. The cushion at your back doesn’t help much. It holds your warmth and returns it to you the longer you sit slumped back into it. You suffer it though—you’ve gone too sluggish to move.

You let a leg dangle over the arm of a chair, watching a hopeful moth dance in the light of the buzzing porch light overhead. It flutters frantically in it, making a grand fight to reach that false moonlight, only to drop away when it realizes that it’s being burnt. You watch it rinse and repeat, relentless and sure, for who knows how long. It’s no special moth—no luna moth or the ones with the pretty pink wings—but the light falls down on it and colors it a pleasant stardust silver.

You delight in letting your conscious brain turn off to watch it. It lets you forget the sweltering under your skin, and also that Kai had drug you out here. His dad gives him shit when he plays inside, but it’s way too hot to be out here. Isn’t it supposed to cool off after the sun goes down? It doesn’t feel like it. The deep acoustics are drowned out each time a car whirrs by. Playing outside should be the best option, but you and Kai live right on a busy road.

When the roar of some car going ten miles over the speed limit doesn’t obscure his playing, though, you admire the intricacy of it. His fingers work up and down the neck, jumping frets that you imagine would be impossible to anybody without those long fingers of his. You had always been a loud supporter of his playing, even way back when the most he could play were simple chords, but you became especially so when a few years back he put a guitar in your hands and tried teaching you. Even with his fingers guiding yours, it was quick to learn that the effortlessness with which Kai handles the instrument is hard earned.

He practices on the acoustic guitar, but that’s not his domain. With houses just a dash across the street from each other, Kai had grown up at your home more than he had at his own. So vividly, you remember the stars in his eyes when he’d listen to your dad’s music. Metallica, The Smashing Pumpkins, Linkin Park, any of it. He had fallen in love with it a long time ago. Your whole life you knew that it was only a matter of time before he was in his own band, chasing his dreams with a boundless mind and an indelible vision of himself on stage. How had that time come so soon, though? You don’t know if the notebooks full of inky lyrics that live wherever he deems inspiration might hit him make you proud or nervous. He’s making good on his dazzling aspirations, and you?

You speak finally into the air, cutting through heat waves and his music and the night. “Isn’t it weird that we’re not going back to school after this summer?”

He doesn’t have to even stop playing to answer you. Playing comes to him as a second nature. “Kinda,” he answers, brown eyes flitting up to you. “But it’s not like you won’t be back to it in September. College is the same shit.”

The leg you’d been dangling and bouncing pauses. That’s right; you’re supposed to be going to that college you’d chosen because it was only a three-hour drive away from here. You pluck at the seat’s threadbare fabric, and the moth, still there, becomes oh-so-interesting once again. When his playing stops, you drop your head back with a cushioned thud and a groan that you wrangle in your throat.

“Why are you acting like that?” he says, voice gone sharp like accusation. He doesn’t even know the truth, but he’s known you too long.

Can’t you just keep secrets for yourself, sometimes?

Kai, arms clad in a well-loved hoodie even in this dreadful weather, lays the guitar down. You maintain your silence. “Seriously, what?”

Some secrets have timers, though. This one could only last you until about September, or even August when he realizes that you’re not preparing to return to school. A controlled sigh from your chest isn’t enough to soothe the nerves that sparks. “Nothing.”

“Secrets, huh?” Kai says. When you do finally look to him, black spikes of hair frame his eyes and the accusation in them.

It’s a simple poke, but it gets under your skin as sharp as any thorn might. It’s not like you don’t keep secrets from him, and you’re sure he keeps some from you too. But those are the little kinds, the inconsequential ones—like I ate already when asked why you’re not eating or like Yeah, I’m fine when it’s been a bad day. You don’t hide this kind of stuff from each other. Usually, you’d run over to his place to tell him whatever’s bothering you. Why not, when he’s known even the worst details of your life for almost the entirety of it? You’ve been holding this one close to your chest since somewhere around the end of senior year, though. The longer you let it fester, the worse your nervousness snowballs. “C’mon, Kai. Let’s not do this. Can you keep playing?”

He doesn’t like that, of course. But you watch recognition dawn over his chocolate brown eyes, helpless to stop it. “You’re not going,” he says. It’s not a question nor a suspicion, it’s a bone-dry fact.

Well. There that goes. You want to tear every hair on your head right out. Why had you even thought you’d keep him in the dark about it? When he’s not out in some garage making music, you two are together. The conversation was going to stroll by at some point; this was only inevitable. His disappointment radiates off him in waves and blisters you. He hasn’t even said anything yet, but you know exactly what he thinks of it. It’s why you kept it from him in the first place.

Your silence is enough confirmation for him. “Why?” he says. “I thought you were excited to move out.”

Wincing, you nod slowly. You were. Even went through the whole application process, along with most other kids your age. Ultimately, you never went through with declaring a college. You don’t exactly know why, but somewhere weaseled down in the shadowy recesses of your soul, you know. Taking those steps, the massive and terrifying ones from adolescence into adulthood, meant agreeing that this form of your life was over. It meant that at some point, you’d be moving away from here to where living your days away in Kai’s room would not be a choice. Everybody has to do it eventually, you know that. Kai’s music gig could take off any day, too. He’s going to make it happen. And then what? All this stalling and wishing on just a bit more time would mean nothing, he’d be off and chasing that dream. As excited as you are for it to finally become reality for him, there’s a nasty bitterness that’s budded in your chest, infecting your person.

Can’t things just stay like this?

“I was,” you say. It comes out of your mouth heavy.

“Then why aren’t you going?” he says. Crickets, never seen but always heard, sing their song into the night’s darkness. “You didn’t get rejected. You’re too smart for that.”

An ache sits heavily somewhere near the center of your chest, maybe over your heart. All those good grades, nights spent bent over a desk and AP paperwork—you’re wasting it. You shake your head. “No... just...” It’s an effort to dress your thoughts in a way that might appease him. A quiet moment stretches with your thinking before you continue, “I don’t know what I want to do.”

He doesn’t like that, the yellow wash of the overhead light dancing over his taut lips and hard eyes. “Don’t know what you want to do?” he says, bringing his legs up onto the seat to crisscross them. He wears his favorite jeans. They’re heel-bitten and baggy enough over his legs that he can wear them around the house without any bother. “You’ve wanted to be an artist your whole life. You know exactly what you want to do.”

Your chest only seems to ache harder. When the both of you were only young and hopeful, you both had big dreams. Kai was going to be the face of a metal band, and you were going to be an artist. A painter, potter, sculptor, even doing animation for those big companies like Dreamworks and Disney. You wanted any of it, just as long as you were doing art. You’d even promised him that you’d do the cover art for his albums with interlocked pinkies and flushed, hopeful cheeks. That passion and love wasn’t gone from you, it blazed strong in your veins. This blaze wasn’t the kind that kept you warm and excited to push forward into life, though. It had morphed into something that scalded you when you got too close or started imagining yourself pursuing its call. It’s a taunting silvery glow, no longer a guiding north star. Taunting words of family members stamped down on that hope hard. When you were little, it was said lighthearted and in passing. The older you got, though, the more serious their faces became. They wouldn’t say it outright perhaps, but you hear what they think well enough. Art is a dead-end career.

Shifting in your seat, you tell him, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?” Kai says. “There are good colleges for that.”

“I just... don’t know.”

Shaking his head, he tells you, “But you love it.”

You do. In its every form, you love creating. But loving it doesn’t mean that it’s right for you, or that you should trust your future in its hands. “I think I can do it in my own time,” you say, finally pushing yourself upright from the cushion. “Don’t wanna kill the passion by doing it for a living, you know?”

He thinks on that for a moment. “If you love it, you should do it,” he says.

An awful frustration bubbles in your chest. Kai has always had a clear life path, the steps ahead of him set in stone and waiting for him to follow in them. It’s hard for him to see why you might not want to do the same. There’s nothing that makes you as happy as the fact that he has it all figured out, that he knows just where he’s going and that he’s so incredible at it that he doesn’t have to worry about meeting the requirements, but your path seems obscured and untrodden. Punctuating a deep, resonant sigh, you say, “It’s not that easy, Kai.”

“If you’re not doing that, then what are you going to do? Are you just going to settle for a nine-to-five?” he says full of accusation, the tapping on his knees gone still.

A dry laugh, you say, “Maybe I’ll marry a super rich guy and just do my art for a living. No nine-to-five.”

His face flashes. He’d always been a bit reserved, especially around others, but he bared his emotions freely around you. You hold them dearly to your chest and made sure to do your best to make good on that trust. He says, “You’re more than some guy’s housewife.”

Cheeks radiating in the heat, you snort. “I know, dork. I’m a rockstar’s best friend. It’s my personal favorite achievement.”

His face sours when you reach out and pinch hard at his cheek, but he doesn’t pull away or brush you off. The skin there is warmed and clammy. Really, the two of you should go meet the cool AC inside before you suffer heat stroke. But this moment feels so nice—your shoulders feel tons lighter without something to hide. If you had it your way, things would stay like this forever. Just the two of you, sat here like you have so many times before, just taking for granted the time you’ve got together.

His mouth opens to banter, probably something about how he’s not a rockstar yet or to get you back for calling him a dork. Wingbeat and sterling dashes about your face send the image into a blur, though. You’re a quick mess of limbs and a whipping head, as if it’ll chase the thing away from you.

“Seriously?” Kai says. You’d climbed halfway over him, elbows digging into him and knee doing a number on his thigh. “It’s a moth. You’re not scared of moths.”

Lingering for a few moments later to ensure the flying thing was nowhere on you or around you, you hold back a laugh before you climb off him and fix your hair with undignified tucks behind your ears. “He was in my face,” you say around a laugh, because you know it was a bit too much. Nobody likes wings in their ears and spindly legs in their face, though, and you’re in no control of what you do when anything with six legs tries and get too friendly. Even moths.

“You just wanted me to protect you,” he says. A sarcastic, shit-eating smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh,” you scoff, batting your eyelashes and clasping your hands together all saccharine-sweet. “Yes, Romeo, won’t you kill that bug for me? This girl’s heart just can’t take it!”

Kai’s nose crinkles, and the playful light twists into a glare. “Nasty.”

“That’s how you sounded,” you say. “I only reacted accordingly.” Laughing, you kick your legs out over his lap and sprawl back out. He takes the guitar back into his hands.

As much as you want to escape the mugginess, you’ll survive it for just a little while longer—if only with the force of an indulgent heart. The eternal moments are those you allow to linger.

⚝⭒

Some things, you forget when you’re older. Maybe it’s time’s hand, eroding memories down and stuffing more in the longer you live to experience them. But also maybe because they’re the sort of things you can’t say in the adult world without a laugh in the face and a look from down their noses.

This memory is one of those forgotten things. It’s moth-bitten and dusty, something you one day folded up in a moving box and decided to never revisit.

You’d been down at the creek. Kai and you had spent so many summer days there. It wasn’t too far from home, just past the filbert trees and into the shallow neck of the backwoods, but there you were out of sight and free to get up to nothing good. It was a wonder your mom ever let you do it. Kai’s dad didn’t care too much where he went or what he did, but your mom dug her claws in deep. You like to think that she imagined you two would have each other, if anything ever happened.

Usually, you’d be there holding your jeans up from the stream and Kai would be letting his jeans go dark with it. The bite of water was nice as it washed over warm skin. Fun was a simple thing to find, then. You dug your fingers into the mudbanks and tossed stones way too big to be throwing at each other, just because you two remembered how much the adults hated it when you did. Then, you’d drag tired limbs home avoiding sweetgum tree spikes that had fallen to the ground and dug splinters out from your feet.

This day, you had been in the blackberry bushes. It was maybe late July or early August, and they’d gotten heavy on their branches. You’d waited until the smell of them, summer-warmed, was sweet and cloying in the air to pick them. With buckets in your hands, you plucked only the fattest berries from their bunches. Your fingers were stained a delightful purple and perhaps a bit thorn raw, but you didn’t mind much then. You plucked for hours, and it was dusk before you could catch it. Dinner was no doubt waiting for you back home.

“There’s a bunch over here,” Kai had said. He reached a long boyish arm, still awkward and lanky with puberty, up high for ripe bush. You finished off picking before climbing around thick branches sticking out to take a peek. A bunch, there was.

When you went to drop a handful of them into your bucket, Kai hissed. He’d been snagged by a vicious looking branch, those ones as thick as a finger with thorns to match and you’d warn each other tongue-in-cheek to watch out for that one. He’d worn those ridiculous shorts that day, the ones that looked half pants half shorts with how long and baggy they were, and the claws of the bush had jumped at the opportunity. At first the scrapes were white, but then red blood crawled out and down his leg.

“Kai,” you said, some parts chiding and some parts just wondering how he’d managed that. You surveyed his leg for a bit, and then determined that he should wash his leg off in the stream. He walked there strong, but of course you noticed the hobble beneath his acting. When you squatted down into the dry grass and cupped water to wash off his leg, you laughed.

“What?” he had said, holding the shorts up. You covered your laugh with a hand, but it erupted past your palm. You remember the glare on his face very well.

You still laughed. “You’re stupid,” you had told him.

“I didn’t see it,” he said. “I tripped over it because it was sticking out.”

That time when you brought your hands to catch some water, there was a twinkle in its surface. You didn’t notice it for a second. The creek moved fast and you could see a lot of things in its reflection. When it lingered, that’s when your brows furrowed. It seemed to twirl, dancing around like alive over the stones.

The sound of Kai’s voice remains with you. “Hey,” he had said, strong to call your attention but also wavered with uncertainty.

When you looked up, there was silver dust dancing around you.

It was fluffy and whorling, fine silver stardust. It’d moved weightless in the air, as though it barely existed. In the center of it were a few moths. They seemed to be made of sterling powder just as the dust was, and they glowed against dusk’s backdrop. If your memory serves you right, there had been a sweet hymn of coos from them. They beckoned you. Summer’s heat felt lighter, and so did your chest. You wondered where they had wanted you to go.

Almost afraid that if you spoke they might have fluttered away, you whispered soft and low to Kai. “What is that?” He was stood frozen there, pant leg still scrunched up in his fist. Stardust glowed soft in his brown eyes while he took it all in, you remember. It wasn’t a scared frozen. You weren’t scared, either—rather, it was as if that lightness had found its way into the core of your being and brushed over it with mending hands.

He whispered back, “I don’t know.” How could he have known? It was absurd.

Those whisps had beckoned you, flowing toward the deeper woods. The soft moths, their murmuring brushing up against your ears, seemed to wait for you to follow. You remember a pull, soft tendrils wrapping themselves around your heart and the yearning it planted there.

But there was also this reluctance, a bone-deep answering that had told you: No. You’re not ready.

“Kai, I wanna go,” you told him.

You didn’t even need to tell him twice. Berry buckets forgotten; the journey home was a stranger one. When your dad asked why you returned from berry picking emptier handed than you had left the house, Kai and you only shared a look. You pair kept that evening at the creek hidden so well that it became more forgotten than shared secret.

⚝⭒

Once, you had been the type of girl that loved being around family. Some of your favorite days of your life were spent in this living room, T.V. roaring over bouncing conversation. Some of those nights ended in rosy cheeks and laughs, and some ended with words thrown angry like fireworks. You never knew which you’d be getting, but you endured the fear of not knowing because it was a simple love—the basic kind built with biology into you the moment your infant skin touched your mother’s. You endured it because eventually, sleep washed away the bad taste left in your mouth and you forgave them quick, sometimes quicker than you ought to, and things would go on as if it hadn’t even happened. You endured it because you could handle its burden, if only to feel the warmth you feel when it’s a good day.

Kai was always there—his dad was hardly home, so he found family in yours. When you were younger, you’d been embarrassed he was there for caustic, spitted words and intimate fights. Now, you’re just grateful for his shoulder.

So, yes. Once, you had loved being around your family. But things feel tenser now, nights spent all together less frequent and when they do happen, they’re tainted by a strange air. You think that this strangeness is new, but an awful worry also makes you think that it’d always been there, that you only feel it now because you’ve grown into your adult mind. A hollow ache stakes its claim in your chest, declaring that it won’t leave until you find that youthful ignorance and joy once more. You think that it might stay there forever.

Bare feet bounding down the stairs, you make a rare appearance downstairs. The cupboard is only half open to make way for a snack raid before your mom’s voice cuts through the air. You know quickly just by the look on her face that you should’ve stayed upstairs.

“Hey,” she says, gathering laundry into a basket. “You’ve been applying to jobs?”

With an anxious belly, you tell her, “Yeah. A few. They’re not really, like, ideal, but I sent applications.” You don’t remember when it got hard to look into your mother’s eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to do so now.

“Not ideal?” she says. “It’s not like you can be picky. Mcdonalds or wherever, I don’t care, you’re going to need to get a job if you’re staying here.”

“I know. I applied,” you reiterate around a mumble. You close the cabinets, not so interested in a snack anymore. “I just... I don’t know, ma. I don’t want to do that for a living, going between those sorts of jobs.”

Face hard and abrasive against the truth you bare, she does that awful taunting smile that makes you feel small. Stupid. “You’re not going to college, so that’s what it’s gonna be. You can’t sit up there and draw for a living. You’ve gotta get into the real world, get some real experience.”

There’s a burst of hurt in your chest, dazzling and gnawing. She’s getting closer to saying how she really feels about your dreams out loud every day. Your face burns and so do your eyes, knot thick in your throat. “Yeah, okay. Got it,” you say, nodding. You’re at the front door before you even know it, slipping on shoes and fighting the greatest internal battle to will back tears. She’d use those against you, no doubt about it. “I’m going to Kai’s,” you throw over your shoulder.

Whatever she barks back at you, you’re glad you don’t hear. Bells on some old Christmas decoration hung on the door that had yet to be taken down, even into summer, jingle and wash it away for you.

Kai’s brows shoot up when he opens the door to your face crumpling. You’d done so well at damming it up, but the wall cracks and the water crashes through once you see him. If it were anybody else, you’d feel icky and attention seeking, but you’d held Kai to your chest through gut-wrenching sobs as much as he’s done it for you. Without question, he takes you into his arms, warm hand running up and down your back. The warm soothing is so familiar. You melt right into it.

He keeps you there for a long moment. Then, his chest rumbles as he tells you, “Come on.” The walk through the AC to his bedroom is nice. Having a house like Kai’s to come to where it can just be you is nice, too. You step around the mess of clothes and scattered belongings on his floor like you have a muscle-memory roadmap of his room. Boxsprings creak and hard mattress welcome you back home. His room is dark as always, a night-dweller you call him. The array of peeling band posters plastered over walls you two had painted blue some years ago, when it’d been his favorite color, don’t help to lighten it up. He keeps a low lamplight on.

“She never listens to me,” you say, crying gone to occasional sniffles from your chest. You rest your cheek on your bent knee.

“I know,” he says. “But at least she cares about you. Pays attention to you.” His voice is soft and deep and right next to you. Always right next to you, there for you even when you might not appreciate it as you should.

His dad cares too little what he does, and yours care too much. The grass is always greener on the other side, you know it. Still, you hold a fantasy where you’re able to do teenager stuff. Where you’d allow yourself to do bad things, because you weren’t so intent on painting yourself with their will. You two hold eyes for a long moment, your twinkling ones caught in that steady brown. “I just want to get away. Be my own person.” Your words are muffled in the softness of your skin.

“You had the chance to do it,” Kai says, hand playing with your fingers. “But you didn’t.”

Holding your legs closer, you lick your lips. What do you say to that? Would it ever be the time to tell him that you did it because you think that your soul is pathetically intertwined with his, and that it might snuff your lifeforce out to even try pursuing life without him? Without this? How do you tell him that you’re so frozen and unwilling to pursue any sort of future because it means accepting that this chapter is over? You clutch childhood to your chest like a wild animal guarding scarce food; you refuse. You refuse to acknowledge its end.

“Kai,” is all you say, trembled and thick. It’s not just your mother’s words that dig at you and tear to shreds the last bits of what dreaming you had left in you, but so many other reality checks too. This isn’t the first time you’ve heard those sorts of words, urging you forward. You can only dig your heel into the ground for so long before you’re swept away in time’s ruthless, endless moving.

He understands. Lifting your face with warm fingers against your cheeks, he says, “Hey. How about we go get ice cream, or something?”

Ice cream does sound nice. “Dairy Queen?”

Smirk tugged over his mouth, he says, “Yes, Dairy Queen. A blizzard. C’mon, let’s go.” Sliding off the bed, he offers you an urging hand up.

But you falter. “I don’t know if we can. She’s mad at me. I don’t think she’ll let me go.”

“Let you go?” he says, eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t have to let you go. You’re an adult now, you go if you want to.” He offers his hand to you again.

It’s so him, freely going wherever he ordain it. The bullheadedness is very him, as well. Always the devil on your shoulder, he was the root of any rebellious thing you’ve ever done. He could never understand your apprehension, or why getting in trouble was such an awful thing to you. “I have to ask to get money.”

Brows pinching, he says, “You think I’m not gonna pay for you? You don’t need them to give you money, I’ll pay. I’ll take care of it.” He drags you up from the bed this time. “Live a little. Do you want to go?”

It was never the punishments or the getting in trouble that you were scared of, though. Disappointment was a scarier word than grounded. Sneaking out and those sorts of things, it’s not like you had angel wings at your back and never considered them. It’s that you are deeply, utterly terrified of changing how they look at you. You begin to tell him, “I do, but—”

He cuts you off, adamant. “Then do it. Let’s go. If you want to go, then go,” he says. “At some point, your life needs to become your own. It’s not sneaking out when you’re graduated and eighteen years old, it’s going wherever the hell you want. You’ve... You’re gonna end up stuck here, in this town, forever. You don’t deserve that.”

That sounds like both the best and the worst thing you’ve ever heard. You take his hand.

⚝⭒

Your frozen fingers nurse your ice cream. The cup itself is cold, but the Dairy Queen on your side of town is always thirty degrees below what it should be. It’d always been that way. Even way back when you two couldn’t drive, you’d get dropped off here to escape the melting weather and get a frozen treat with a handful of dollars. Each time, you’d start off sagging with the relief of summer’s weight off your shoulders and left the place shivering and sugar-mouthed.

It’s really only you two in here. You crinkle your nose when he takes a spoonful. “Out of all the flavors...”

Unbothered and no doubt expecting you to say it, he offers you a flat, “You get your flavor, I get mine.” He makes a point of taking an extra-long bite. His lips linger around the red plastic of the spoon and his brows rest high in silent challenge.

The corners of your lips twitch up. “Hmm. Well. I just have a hard time believing that Oreo... or, like, brownie fudge, is right there, and you actually want M&M. I don’t get how M&M your favorite.” A familiar banter falls over your tongues. Your heart buzzes and your cheeks radiate. This is the first you’ve done this all summer, and it’ll be weaning off into fall soon. Any other summer, you would’ve been here on all the hottest days. You hate that Kai’s been so busy with his music; you hate that you can hear the resounding ticks of the clock counting down your time. You also hate that the stubborn depths of you still believe that if you freeze yourself here in stasis that the world will relent and stop along with you.

You look over the sharp lines of Kai’s jawline as it feathers with his chewing, and the broadness of his shoulders where his jacket stretches around it, and the starkness of his collarbones against his chest and the bobbing of his adam’s apple when he swallows. No, time doesn’t stop. Some of him remains the same, though. In it, you see the boy that had love creeping up on you so long ago, with all its aching and all its hope. That freckle on the column of his neck, the bump in his nose leading down to the button tip that beckons your lips to steal a quick kiss.

And, those lips. They’re as soft as ever around the discontented grimace he pulls. “M&M isn’t my favorite.”

With a pursed mouth and patronizing brows arched over your eyes, you say, “Oh, huh. That’s funny, because if my memory serves me right, it’s the only flavor you’ve ordered for the past... six years.”

Kai husks a laugh at that. “That’s because they haven’t had my favorite for years,” he tells you, scooping up the final bit and then pushing it off to the side. “It was a blizzard of the month that they discontinued. The blackberry cheesecake one. I made peace with it, though. It lives on in my heart.” He grins, arms crossed over his chest and his back settled into the booth seat to let you finish your cup.

“Blackberry cheesecake,” you say, voice made taunting. Your nod is slow and taunting, too. “Well, forget M&Ms. Why would blackberry cheesecake be your favorite? Ever?”

His face falters, a moment where something flows over his eyes as if reliving a memory in a few short seconds. Then, he shrugs. “It just is.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever,” you laugh. “Maybe my palate is unrefined.” Imagining the tarte fruit in purple swirls of ice cream, you’re taken back to a humid July day and the scent of churned mud.

The strange memory unfolds itself quick. As if it were waiting for you to find wherever it’d hidden itself away. With a sharp gasp, you say, “Oh my god, Kai. Do you remember that one day? That weird stuff we saw down at the creek?”

He nods. “Yeah. I was just thinking of that the other day, actually...”

Less interested in finishing your cup now, you let the spoon rest. “What?” you say, the word peaking in the middle. That day hadn’t crossed your mind once since it’d happened. “How weird is that?”

Scoffing a laugh, he says, “Weird, yeah. Just as strange as two kids high on fermented berries.”

That draws a breathy laugh from you. “Is that what you think it was?” you ask him with knitted brows. The berries had been fresh, and you two had popped plenty into your mouth. But no doubt, you’d have spat them right back out if they were that ripe. “I mean, we saw the same thing.”

“It happens to animals all the time. Squirrells, and stuff.” He lends you a gallic shrug. “We just freaked ourselves out. Like that one time you said you saw the shape of something in the dark and we freaked out. And it was clothes.”

Well, hallucinating, in tandem, a glowing mist because you two by chance ate fermented berries is a very long shot. However nonchalant he acts about it, he seems to have thought long and hard about it. Enough to reason it away with some far cry explanation. Would you have even been able to get drunk off a handful of fermented berries? And, god, you’re really sure that you’d have noticed. That taste isn’t really one you just don’t notice.

Whatever. Maybe you were just drunk idiots. That’s a lot easier to swallow, anyway.

“Okay, but you saw that. Did it not look sinister?” you say. With your spoon back in your hand, you punctuate the sentence pointing it at him. “You freaked out with me, too.”

An unsatisfied scowl on his lips, he steals a spoonful of your dessert. You don’t even swat him away—your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Catching sight of who’s calling, you share a long look with Kai. It’s funny, how fast those three white letters scramble you up. When you hesitate to answer, Kai tells you, “Answer.”

You hope she can’t tell you’re not at Kai’s by the refrigerators’ dull buzzing. It’s an effort to tussle that invasive worry back. You’re at Dairy Queen. Getting ice cream with the boy she’s known since childhood. She should clutch her hands and thank the sky that you’re here, not out in some nasty frat house like you could be. You thumb the green button.

Her voice comes through the speaker crackled and asking you to run over to do a quick dish load. For a heartbeat you consider telling her that you will and then start rushing home. Instead, you fork out the truth through resistant lips.

The hangup tone sits heavy on the air between you and Kai. Having listened to the whole thing on speaker, he says, “What was so hard about that? The world didn’t end, did it?”

The plush of your lip takes a hard gnawing. No, it hadn’t. “I know she’s not going to get mad at me for just going here,” you say as you rest your elbows onto the table. “It’s that they’re supporting me right now. I still live under their roof. The more I go around and insist I can do whatever I want, they’ll start reminding me of it.”

His face drawn, he lets his mouth twitch to one side. “Yeah,” he muses. “I never thought yours would be the type to kick you out.”

Kai’s dad had started threating him with getting kicked out years ago, when he first started telling him that he wanted to do music. How many times had he let reluctant tears flow into your shoulder over it? Because music wasn’t a real job? Back then, you’d whispered in his ears that he’d become everything he’d dreamed of and more as your fingers carded through shaggy locks of hair.

“I don’t know,” you say, humming it out noncommittally. “Is your dad still... y’know?”

Nodding slowly, his eyes tell. “Yeah. Always.”

“Because you’re taking the band seriously, now?” you ask.

“Probably. I don’t give a shit what he thinks about it. If I’m just his goddamn problem, I’ll give him what he wants soon enough.” His eyes blaze with promise of it.

It takes a bit out of you to not wince. Kai living anywhere but in the house across from yours is wrong. “I don’t think he necessarily wants that, Kai...” You take his hand in your icy ones, the urge to reach out to him thinly veiled under the guise of searching out warmth. He’d always run warmer than you—your personal heater. “It’s probably because he can see that you’re doing it for real. Not just saying it anymore.”

“Yeah, well,” he spits, “I can’t fucking wait to see what he’ll say to me when I make it. That piece of shit, though, he wouldn’t even care. It’s not like he ever gave a shit about me enough for it to matter.”

But, it matters to you, you want to tell him. You understand his need to throw it all in his face, though. “Is that one label going to sign you? The one you were talking about?”

His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “They haven’t yet. I don’t know. But I don’t need that money to get out of here, I’ve been working on it.”

“They will,” you say. “But, where would you go? Not too far?” You try and keep it light and playful, even as your heart aches.

“Come with me,” he says. It’s painfully blunt, as if it were that simple. “Let’s go get and apartment; you and me.”

“Kai...” you say. “You don’t have to drag me along because you feel bad.”

The idea doesn’t sound half bad, though.

“What?” His face tightens, as if somewhere under the surface your words had scraped somewhere tender. “You don’t have to stay here forever. Please. I want... I want you to come with me. You wouldn’t have to even tell them; just bring all your stuff and go together. We could do it together. Like we said we would.”

“We were like, five. Everybody tries to pretend running away at five,” you deadpan. It’s a washy attempt at lightening things back up.

Living with him, moving out together, should feel like everything you’ve ever wanted. And, maybe it is. But, he’s not asking you to live with him the way you want him to. Not in the way that your aching heart wishes he would.

Kai doesn’t share the laugh you give him. “Yeah, okay,” he says, leaning into the table.

Perhaps you should consider the potent disappointment he’s terribly masking with a face of indifference, though.

⚝⭒

Slowly, the knots in your belly have worked themselves out. When Kai had dropped you off, they’d been so awful that you felt borderline sick. You sat the whole ride there in his old beat-up truck picking at your nails and rambling to him. He listened to you the whole time. And then when it was time to walk in, it had least felt a little easier to do so with his eyes on you, watching to make sure you made it in safely.

You’d gotten a job. It’s not too bad, folding clothes out on display. It would be nice if they kept the lights a bit brighter, but you’ll get used it eventually, you hope.

Most of your coworkers are around your age, but the one showing you the ropes... your heart had fluttered.

“You’ll get it,” Yeonjun says. The smile you find on his lips once he straightens up from placing product on a display is smooth and smug. Sleek strands of black hair fall over his eyes. You fluster under his gaze.

With arms crossed over your chest you say, “Yeah, probably.” You reach into the cardboard box for stock to practice on.

“Where’d you work before this?” he asks, leaning back into a wall to watch you. Suddenly, you make sloppier work of your folding. “Your first retail job?”

Some obnoxious pop song falls down from the speakers over the store. Nobody’s in here yet, thankfully; you’ve got some time to try and get a handle on everything. “No, this is my first job. I was so nervous walking in.”

Interest catches in his eyes. It encourages that smooth smile on his lips further. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll show you the reins.”

Your mind stalls. The suggestive, sly flicker to it—are you looking too much into it? Maybe that’s just how guys like Yeonjun act. It’s hard to pretend that you don’t see how he’s looking at you, though. It has your belly twisted up in fluttery knots. It’s not like you hadn’t had your share of his type. But, for some reason you’d rather not address, he’s got your heart thumping in your chest.

He laughs at your fifth attempt to fold up the shirt. When he takes it from you to help, he smells of musk and vetiver. “You going to college near here?” he continues.

“Nah, just doing this, I guess,” you answer, watching him fold it up to try and soak it up.

“Really? Why not?” he hums, crossing his arms about his chest. “You seem like a smart girl.”

Buffering, your blood buzzes in your veins and your cheeks burn. “Dunno. Not really sure what to do. Are you in college?”

“Nah. I’m trying to figure things out, too.”

The both of you pop your heads up when the bell rings to announce the arrival of a customer.

“Yeah,” you say, eyeing him. He’s a few years older than you, no doubt, and yet his life hasn’t fallen apart because he’s not done anything grand yet.

Time’s hand around your neck loosens. Just a little bit.

⚝⭒

You sit crisscrossed on top of Kai’s bedsheets. He’d thrown the windows open because the AC died, but it’s no help. The hot air wafting about the room sits heavy on your skin. You’d dressed in as little material as possible to let it breathe, bare thighs clad in a pair of loose shorts and a thin tank top, but it’s still miserable.

Perhaps you two should be going over to yours, but you haven’t had time alone with him for a few weeks now. You hate this busier life, where you struggle to make room for this.

Your new job isn’t so awful, though. Especially with Yeonjun there. A bout of nerves flows up through your stomach. That reminds you.

Sitting up a bit straighter, you consider not doing it. In fact, you really shouldn’t. But your mouth moves before you can put a stopper on it.

“Hey, Kai,” you say. The thickness in your throat makes you believe that your heart’s jumped up into it, caught. God, what are you doing? The unsure waver in your words has you regretting.

His eyes flicker up to yours. He hums out a, “Huh?”

No, this is wrong. You mess with the thin cotton strap of your tank top where it’d slipped down. “Never mind,” you tell him, trying to shrug it off.

That piques his interest. “No, what?” His brow pinches.

You lick your lips and shake your head. “Nothing, never mind. Really.”

His eyes search you from where he sits up against the wall. “Tell me,” he demands.

Really, you shouldn’t have said it in the first place. It was a ridiculous idea. But now you know he’s not going to let it go. And, ridiculously, you say it. “I was just... wondering,” you say, blood roaring. "Well, Yeonjun wants me to come over to his place this weekend, and... I’ve never...” Sucking in a quick breath, you just spit it out to get it over with, “Would you be my first kiss, Kai?”

Insects buzz outside as he looks at you, frozen in spot. You reject the urge to dart away or throw up. You’re honestly just as shaken as him. But really, who else could you trust with something like that? You don’t want Yeonjun to be disappointed if he kisses you, or to seem inexperienced to him.

And, perhaps, the hopelessly in love part of you hopes to at least feel his lips on yours at least once. If you’re going to be alone forever in your longing, you just wish that you can have this.

“What?” Kai says. He looks rattled.

Of course, he’s shocked. You shift. “Forget I said that,” you tell him, unable to meet his gaze.

String-roughened fingers wrap around your upper arm. “I didn’t say anything,” he says, voice strained and face less shock-fallen and more darkened. “But... I mean, you want me to teach you to kiss for some other guy.” He spits out the last bit as if bitter in his mouth.

“You don’t have to do it,” you say. “I just... thought that I might ask you to do it. I don’t know, I’m sorry I said it. I’ll just wing it or something.” His room’s grown ten degrees hotter, if that was possible. Especially where you feel his eyes on your face.

Almost imperceptibly, his hand tightens around you. He swallows hard. “You want to learn how to kiss?” he says. “Fine. I’ll teach you.”

In a heart-stopping moment, your eyes snap to his. Brown and familiar, they hold you with an intensity that turns your limbs into jelly. The air is stifling. “What... do I do?” you ask when the silence becomes too heavy.

A muscle feathers in his jaw, reflected in the low light of his room. It’s quick and so easy to miss, but it tells you everything you need to know about how this is making him feel. How much disbelief he’s in. “Come here,” he says, stilted around the absolute absurdity of it. He pats on his lap.

You make a hesitant crawl across the bed toward him. It seems as though your elbows might buckle beneath your weight, but you make it despite the odds. A fog settles over your brain when you rest your hands on his shoulders and bring your legs to straddle his lap.

But you shove it back; you want to live and breathe every last second of this. No matter how unbelievable or blistering it is.

Breaths fan out over your face. It’s seizing your mind like undiluted liquor. “Where do I put my hands?” you ask him. It’s breathless, the air stolen right from your lungs though your mouths haven’t even touched.

“There is fine,” he says. His words sound breathless, too. The weight of his touch on you as he runs his own up to support your back is unsure. “And then...” he says. It falls out on your mouth slowly, and then he’s taking your lips onto his.

The walls melt away, sound does too. All that is real is the taste of his lips and how they move against you. Your lips start tentative, but you try his mouth movements yourself. It feels like a timid dance—it feels like deep, deep down, finally everything is right. That mist, thick and blinding, falls back over you.

Something changes. Something in it, where you two meet, changes. He becomes hungry. Softly locked lips turn biting and nipping, shaky breaths exhaled slow through your nose. His hands on your back become surer, and one even ventures off to grab your chin. The other holds you to his chest, melded together despite the intense smoke and flame rolling off your bodies. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating a mess there.

Reluctance paints you both when you pull back. You’re panting deep drinks of air. It’s hard to think; your mind’s run off and sits just out of reach. Licking your messy lips, stained with illicitness, you can only manage to brush your fingers against it to form words. “How... was that?” you say, searching his eyes. You find his pupils blown so wide that they consume the warm brown. You’re ready to jump out of your skin with that look pointed at you.

Kai doesn’t answer, though. He slams your mouths back together as if starved by just the brief moment you’d parted for air. Nips on your bottom lip and emboldened hands—he moves like roaring water through a dam. A dam that he’d worked hard to fortify, and yet, at a crack it’s all falling down. Fingertips digging through the fabric of your shorts down to your soft hips, his chest rumbles. You feel it reflected in your core, electricity charging there and shooting up your spine and down your thighs.

You kiss him for all the times you wish you would’ve, but didn’t. The slight rolls of your hips down onto him come easy. You love how it has him making a sound into your mouth and taking the fat beneath his fingers harder into his hands. He helps you.

He drops his head into your neck. Your head swims for air and he has you shuddering with just the brushing of his nose against the column of your neck. The walls of his room spin around you. “Kai,” you whine, every bit of friction his jeans provide, even clothed as you are, just enough to rile you but not to give you what you need.

“God,” he growls, thumbs hooking under your waistband. “You always fucking run around dressed in nothing,” he says, letting his fingers linger like a suggestion of undressing you. “Did you do it on purpose? Expect to make me crazy, knowing I couldn’t touch you?”

And, in those words, it seems that he steals every last bit of breath from you. How often had you gone braless or worn something like this around him? Laid here, in his bed, like that?

Grown tired of your fruitless grinding, he brings a hand down to support your lower back and says, “Turn around.”

Though you explode with the prospect of what he might be intending to do or what’s next, if you’re really going to do this, you do so in a flash of eager limbs. His chest is solid against your back, you melt against the feeling of it. He’d become such a man lately, filled out, and you watched it happen. It was hard for your eyes not to catch on muscle-corded forearms while he picked at strings or to not appreciate the timbred rumble of his voice when you’d feel it come from his chest. How could it not do things to you? Now, he’s dragging your shorts down your legs and you’re in disbelief.

“Fuck,” he breaths out. His fingers find your panties soaked through. “So, you’re the type to get dripping wet.”

An embarrassed blush decorates your cheeks. Kai drags his index finger in circles around your clit through the fabric as if enamored with how much of a mess you’d made of it. Your hips twitch every time he rolls right over it. It’s strange how he’s got your body acting on its own volition with his touches. Even stranger that it’s your best friend doing it. “Sorry,” you tell him, wavering.

He continues those terribly slow circles. “Sorry?” he says, chin on your shoulder. He’s got you wrapped up in him, with nowhere to go but to melt back into him and let his fingers work. Free hand on one of your inner thighs digging divots into the plushness there to hold it still, he tells you, “It’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s hot as fuck. You’re so excited for me to touch you, huh?”

The words wreak havoc on you, feeding the flame that has your belly twisted up tight and the ignition point between your thighs pounding. To hear them coming from him, reserved Kai, has you digging your fingers into his forearm to prove that it’s real. You’d never have imagined him being so... filthy. You imagine him behind falsely nonchalant eyes, devouring you with a perverted mind all the times you’d spent innocently sitting together in this room.

Your cheeks squish beneath his fingers as he takes your face and turns it to him. He wants to make sure you’re look at him as he asks you, “Do you want me to finger you?”

Like a record, your brain skips. Between the blunt, lewd question and his hand on you, it’s in overload. How could he ask something like that so simply? Stunned as you are, of course you want him to. You want him to do anything to you. You nod.

Every last nerve and neuron in your system, just below the skin, cry out when his fingers slow down to nothing. “Hmm?” he says, ignoring the chasing of your hips and the opening of your thighs to invite him into paying your poor pussy the attention he’d ripped from it. He wants to hear you say it.

About ten minutes ago, you lost your mind. It does not return to you now. “I want you to,” you say, chest beating in tandem with your cunt.

“You want me to, right? Not some dumbass you met a week ago, huh?” he says. “Because you know that this is what it’s meant to be. Me, doing these things to you. Not some twenty-five-year-old piece of shit. He doesn’t deserve you, baby. Understand?”

His fingers slider under your panties. Dumb brained and cognition gone muddled, you nod. All you can really think about is the moment his fingers slide over you. Fire licks up your lower belly and your insides as he brushes calloused finger tips finally right against your clit.

Puffed breaths of a scoff raise goosebumps over your skin. “Teach you to kiss so that you can go over there and get his hands on you,” he says, middle two fingertips prodding at your entrance. “As if you were ever anybody’s but mine. You’d come crawling back to me, baby, because it was always meant to be us. He could never satisfy you.”

His words might alarm you or have you asking questions if he hadn’t pushed his fingers into you and begun curling them with strong, pointed presses, pulling soft mewls and hums from you until he finds a spot that twists up your insides. Even through the palm you press over your mouth, your moans come out more like wavering grunts and croaks. Your thighs quiver and twitch, threatening to snap closed against your own will with each. Only your feet stay planted to the mattress. Like a cone of soft serve under the sun’s blistering attention, you melt down him. Just his frame keeps you upright.

“Right there, huh?” he says. The smirk on his mouth filters his words into something taunting. “That’s where you like it.” It’s like he’s learning your body step by step, fulfilling all the questions he’d been forced to only guess at before this.

“Uh-huh.” It comes out whiny and cracks in the middle, but you can’t find even an ounce of you to care right now. If this moment had been a long spiral, a fall from grace, down into a dark pit of forgotten inhibitions, you’ve just hit the bottom. Cheeks blazing cherry blossom pink and with your fingers curling into his pant leg, you don’t doubt that you are a picturesque mess. The kind of mess that’s beautiful because it’s dirty. Your teeth are not gentle on your plush bottom lip. It stings, tugged back and bitten and still a bit swollen with kisses. Perhaps you taste the tang of metal on it, but you pay it no mind.

Kai redoubles his efforts. Now that he knows exactly how to play you, he’s fucking you on his fingers without mercy. The sounds coming from your cunt were wet, but now they’re different— nasty squelching. The only noises coupling with your pathetic keening. Forget anchoring yourself on his thigh, forget muffling your sounds. Instead, your hands fly to encircle his flexing forearm. Under your nails, angry red crescents dig into the muscle there. What had been a languid, building pleasure suddenly becomes everything. Your breaths run away from you, and you chase them frantically. Deep down in your core, the muscles spasm and rage against his fingers. “H—oh god,” you groan. Even the muscles in your thighs and tummy tighten up.

“So whiny...” Kai mumbles, voice taut with the effort of eroding you down into pure, blinding-white pleasure.

And then, in a swoop of mercy, your belly tightens. You hover here, on the precipice of something so consuming and voracious that your muscles and bones reject it, and yet your heart sings. Your eyes and cheeks and lungs and belly burn, the flame charring the edges of you in a beckon. You answer its call. Kai doesn’t mind the snapping of your legs shut around his arm, nor does your bucking or shaking deter him. He just holds you through it, arm like a metal bar around your waist. He’s everywhere, in this moment—the smell of him, leather and utterly familiar, his mouth dusting hot kisses over your skin, his fingers guiding you through orgasm. Where you’d gone silent in the initial crash of it, you devolve into mewls and grunts as you come down.

He holds you even as you slump against him boneless. Afterglow simmers in your veins and has your brain all lethargic and lazy. Neither of you speak for a while, your pulse thumping a rhythm. His breaths rise and fall against you; it grounds you in this moment where you feel all spacey and gone. You become aware again of how disgustingly sweltering it is in his room, your skin sheened.

That brainless bliss only lasts you for so long, though. When rational mind returns to you, no matter how you wish it wouldn’t, you’re hit in the chest with regret so hard it knocks the wind out of you.

How will anything ever be the same after what you’d just done? Stricken still by the thought, you barely register him pulling his fingers out of you. After all your worrying about making sure no wedge comes between you two, look what you’ve gone and done. No; nothing ever will be the same again.

⚝⭒

A couple of weeks ago, you ruined the one friendship you were supposed to have forever. It presses down heavy one you while you sit sprawled out on Yeonjun’s couch, his arm around your shoulder. His phone casts a glow over his features with all the lights out.

It doesn’t smell like home. He, pressed against your side, doesn’t smell like home.

Some stupid movie that he’d picked out, yet somehow you’ve ended up the only one still watching it, weaves a hum into the quiet of his apartment. Tangy hurt wells up in your throat. Even the moments when you and Kai would sit in mutual silence on your phones never felt like this. This is different.

You haven’t seen Kai since that night. He’s been busy getting ready to move out, and you’ve been here most days. How fast all of it had changed. You wish you’d feel whiplashed, left empty, by the drifting that you’d been so terrified of. But you don’t. It’s just been you, locked on land, watching him being taken away by the ocean’s tide with no way to change its course. You tried and screamed to call him back, but now your voice has gone hoarse.

And instead of watching him go, you choose to look elsewhere. It’s all you can do to protect yourself from the hurt.

“Hey,” Yeonjun says, finally addressing you rather than whoever’s he’s got in his phone. “Did you bring anything to change into?”

“I brought stuff to sleep in,” you say, eyeing him. You know that’s not why he’s asking. If it came down to it, you could just steal something from him and pull it on. He means going out clothes. Your jaw tightens. “But nothing nice. Why?”

He stretches his arms behind his head in a flaunt of long arms and tanned muscle. Hours spent at the gym lent him those; you appreciate the look of it with a watering mouth. Kai had earned his build by hours spent outside with your dad, because his own could care less, helping him fix up cars and vehicles of all ridiculous sorts. You remember when Kai had first gotten his truck—junk on wheels, honestly—he’d spent so much of summer out there getting it running. And, well... the sun-kissed bronze of his skin and frame that came with it, you had no qualms with.

But those memories only sit heavy in your chest as you’re sat here beside Yeonjun. You banish them elsewhere; you need to let him drift off. If you can’t have each other, and your feelings won’t permit just being friends, then you have to. You want him to do amazing things, and you fear that it’s your presence in his life that will interrupt that. As much as your feelings are real, they are selfish. You, your unsure direction and all your dead weight, should let him go. Because you love him.

“The guys want to come over,” he tells you, pushing off from the couch. “You should probably into change into something less showy.”

Less showy. Your mouth drops into a scoff of disbelief, looking down. A pair of shorts and a shirt, showy? You have to laugh, or else you’ll succumb to the strange embarrassment crawling at the back of your skull. What’s he trying to say? Is that what he thinks of you? “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say, face tilted up to him in a twist of distaste. “I’m wearing something comfy.”

He shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his black sweats. “Don’t want to give them the wrong idea about you, that’s all, baby. They’re guys; I just want to protect you.”

“No,” you say, the word falling out in a barked laugh. “Why would you even be bringing over dudes that you think will look at me like that? Why are you even friends with people that you think are gonna make moves on your girlfriend?” He holds a hand out to you, but your hands stay right where they are: crossed solidly over your chest.

Throwing that hand up in audacious exasperation, he gives you a look that makes you feel small and petulant—like you’re throwing an overblown fit. And, maybe you are. You should probably just do it; him seeing you as some overbearing or high maintenance girl has that embarrassment flaring like wildfire that’s found dry brush. “C’mon, baby,” he says, a lazy smile on his mouth that gets under your skin. “Let’s just have an easy night. Don’t make it a big deal.”

Let’s just have an easy night. As if you’re the one ruining the night. Something snarky tries to seize your tongue, but you hold it down. “I thought it would be just us. We wanted to watch the movie together, Yeonjun. Can’t you wait to hang out with your friends? Let’s enjoy our time together; you’ve got your shift tomorrow.”

“My fucking god,” he groans, running a hand through his hair furiously. “You’re needy, you know that? The neediest I’ve ever had to put up with. I don’t put up with needy, baby. Can’t you just chill out a little? My last didn’t mind when I’d have friends over.”

Your eyes burn. Your cheeks burn. He’d been with plenty of other girls before you; that, you’re well aware of. It’s been a corrosive source of self-doubt for you. You don’t want that title: the neediest he’s ever had. Don’t want him to think of you as some prude that won’t let him have fun. Just... hearing him bring up the other girls he’d been with before you stings and leaves welts no different from a slap in the face. Feelings of inadequacy shackle you and have you saying, “Fine. I’m gonna borrow some of your clothes.”

Heavy resentment blooms on your skin where he bends down and presses kisses to your cheek, and then mouth, and then down your neck. “Thank you, baby.”

And, where those ugly, wilted flowers of it bloom, you hear echoes of something. Something that tells you that Kai wouldn’t treat you like this. But you’ve made your bed, decided to do it yourself, and now you’ve got to lay on it.

⚝⭒

The frat parties are the worst kind of social outing that Yeonjun insists upon. The smaller kinds, more intimate gathering with just his closer friends, you tolerate much easier. You’re not fond of the circles he chooses. Breathing in thick, smoked-out air surrounded by alcohol-coated breaths is not your type of fun night. Somehow, you end up doing that more than date nights. But that’s better than being here. The base rumbles up through your feet and makes your stomach sick, and it reeks of grinding bodies and body odor, and condensation coats your fingers from the red solo cup as full as when you’d first gotten it.

But, still, you come along. Not every time, but when you don’t, you lay in his bed sickening yourself with images of what he might be doing here. How pathetic is it to attend parties with your boyfriend because you fear that otherwise, he might stick his tongue down the throats of other girls?

You’re looking for him right now, awkward and left alone. He’d promised to stick around; you had begged him to. That was pathetic, too. You know that you put up with too much. If he loved you, or honestly even liked you, you two would be in the thick of the throngs dancing or off somewhere talking with others. Together. The frantic skimming and weeding of your eyes through the blur of faces is not right. That’s not how he should make you feel. It’s not how Kai would make you feel.

Well, Kai would never have you here in the first place.

Venturing out from your little corner, you sift between the bodies of people have a hell of a lot better time than you. Drunken, some you bounce off of like bumper carts. You press your palm over the round face of your cup to spare the floor from spillage threatening to pour over the lip. It’s not like a splash from yours would matter much, though. The linoleum has already been made a fetor mess of dirt off shoes and the sticky sugar of liquor. Your shoes peel from it as you walk. God, what would your parents think of you being here?

You peek around corners and eye big groups. He’s not in the kitchen when you look there, either. Your stomach feels sick in a knowing way—a gut feeling that doesn’t justify anger or tears just yet, but you know. Right in the center of your chest, you know.

It’s in some room that you find him. Sat on the floor along with a few faces you don’t know, he pulls from his bottle. And on his shoulder, he lets a girl with shining curls and pink cheeks rest her head. At your busting in on the intimate gathering, Yeonjun’s eyes slide to you. Recognition flashes over them and wars with bleary drunkenness.

“Hey, baby,” he says. Their gazes all fall on you, but you can hardly see them through blurry eyes.

The girl lifts her head from his shoulder. She’d caught the memo.

“I think I’m gonna go.” You make it sound resigned, try to not let them see your shame, but your voice betrays you and crackles. Maybe it’s better to pretend it doesn’t feel like you’ve just been kicked in the stomach and left to reel against the force, but you can’t. You’re nowhere near shocked, nowhere near blindsided, but still you hurt.

He follows you down the hall. “What’s your problem?” he says, the few, plain words mending and waving into a slurring.

You’ve got one goal: get to the front door, away from the shitty music and him. His words, sharpened, fall off your skin despite his efforts. What good would fighting do you, anyway? It was always going to end up this way. This is just who he is, and he doesn’t give two shits enough about you to want to change that.

“Baby, seriously? That made you this mad? I didn’t even fucking do anything. Stop being insecure,” he says. At the gritting of your teeth, he sees an opportunity and pounces on it. “You don’t need to be jealous. I don’t do jealous shit. We can dance, or something. Shit, I don’t know what you want! Just stop throwing a fit.”

Didn’t do anything? You have to laugh. Maybe you didn’t walk in on him fucking someone else, but that’s not what this is about. Not even a little bit. You’ve checked out, and the fact that he thinks he can make you believe that it’s your fault this time only drives the killing stake in harder.

Maybe you’re bitter. It claws at your insides—turns your face hot and screams in your face that you’ve been used. But beside it sits a sadness. Not the slow kind, but the quick sadness of hurt. Why hadn’t you been good enough for him to love you? To like you? You’d left behind Kai and rested your new life on Yeonjun’s shoulders. You’d wanted so badly for his approval, or for him to want you. You did your best to try and make this work out because you needed it to. You needed so desperately proof that you could fall in love with somebody else. But your best was not what Yeonjun was interested in.

Pins and needles prick your skin as you step outside, like jumping into an ice bath. It shocks you out of dizziness. Words surge up and out in a flash flood like hard reality. You spin on him. “Jealous?” you say, choking out a scathing laugh. “The last thing I’d ever let myself suffer over you is jealousy. Get over yourself. I’m going, stay here if you want. I don’t care.”

“How are you gonna do that, huh?” he says. The flickering yellow of the porchlight paints his features. The shadow of something fluttering around it cuts dark spots in the light, and then a small little moth comes down and jumps around in his face. He waves it off. “Gonna have bitch boy come pick you up? You can’t leech off him forever; he’s gonna get sick of picking up another man’s girlfriend.” It seems like you walking in on that had sobered him up, but his breath still curls out onto your face with the reek of alcohol. “It’s not a big deal. You’re making this a bigger deal than it has to be. Do you not trust me?”

“You are such a piece of shit,” you grit out. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Ever. I don’t know how I let this go on for so long.” You don’t like him having Kai in his mouth, don’t like him trying to act like you’re conflating things, and especially don’t like that face he’s making. As if you’re acting crazy and overblown. “No, I don’t trust you. You didn’t fuck her, but come on, Yeonjun. Seriously? You think I’m stupid, and I’m sick of it. You thought this would be easy because I didn’t have the experience you have, but I’m sorry. I don’t like being walked over.”

“If you’re gonna be so goddamn jealous, then maybe we aren’t gonna work,” he says.

That moth, floating light in the air, is right back in his face. Yeonjun takes two hands and smashes it between a clap of his hands. He shakes its flattened, broken body off his hand. Looking down at it laying there on top of dirt-caked concrete, you get this... feeling. A tickling around your person.

“See if I care,” you snap, throat aching against the onslaught of emotion and held back tears.

⚝⭒

Rivulets of raindrops dilute the tears on your cheeks. Your hair plasters to your face and your clothes to your body.

For a week, you’d went about it all as if it hadn’t happened. And then you came here.

It’d not been this rainy when you first got down to the creek—just a gentle trickle, really. You hadn’t been crying then, either. But, watching the water work at babbling over stone, you let yourself feel it. Here, where you’d had so many good memories. You’ve gone and tainted it, now. But for whatever reason, you’d just wanted to be here. Arms curled around yourself and fingers digging into drenched sleeves, you don’t wipe away the tears or cover the sounds of your crying. You let the stream hear it; it’ll sweep it right up and down the way. Somewhere far off, where you don’t have to feel it anymore.

You realize that, usually, you’d be over at Kai’s right now. The fact that his room was not the first place you thought you could go to anymore is a punch to the gut. You drop your face into your hands and cry harder. Really, you’ve got to stop doing that to yourself. Thinking of sad things—putting your hurt under the microscope to see it closer. It’d be easier to just fold it up and tell yourself that it’ll pass, and that relationships end all the time.

It’s not him that you cry over. Well, maybe some of it is. Rather, it’s that you have absolutely no idea where you’re going. Where you are. Finally, you’d built yourself a raft to get off the shore and go out to sea, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and it’s breaking apart right beneath you. And, stranded and alone in the water, you’ve got no way to get back to shore to build yourself another raft. You’re stranded, and the scariest bit is that you’re doing it all alone. You weren’t supposed to do this alone. You two made promises back then.

You suppose that a promise is one of those things you were supposed to leave faith in back on shore.

The raindrops are heavy over you. The fall of it roars against the ground, a torrent downpour. It’s not coupled with whipping wind or flashes of lightning—just straight, still falling. It’s a somber feeling no different from the gnawing in your chest.

Like chimes, there’s a distant, gentle sound. Maybe water falling over creek rock, but it’s more like suggestion. A sweet sound that you shouldn’t even be able to hear over the rest of it, it’s as if it’s right in your ear. A whisper.

You fix your blurry eyes with a wet sleeve. Rain falls right back into its place, but you see it: a silvery, whimsy haze. And the moths. They jump and call you, this time. Their glow bounces off the rainy mist against the grey of night’s arrival. Then, all you can hear is the whispering. Where you stand frozen, your feet beg to move. To follow them.

So you do.

Their entourage of moondust trails them where they go, wrapping you up and weaving between raindrop and space. You don’t worry where they’ll take you, or even try to wrap your head around this happening again. You just follow, mind glossed over and entranced with how beautiful it is. When you’d seen them before, it’d made you uneasy. Mostly because it looked so unearthly and unbelievable. But this time you just follow.

A far-off voice, one oh-so-familiar, peaks through the haze. It’s not enough to stop you, but then you hear it again, louder and closer.

You blink a few times. Once to break away the fog, and then twice to focus your eyes on Kai stood in front of you. His hair lays in wet spikes over his eyes and beads of rain trace the planes of his face. He’s as soaked as you.

“Kai?” you say. Looking around you, you’ve ended up somewhere in the field between your houses and the creek. But you’ve got no recollection of walking here. Whatever that mist is, sentient or not, had swept you here.

His voice is strained, but you appreciate hearing it. “Break up with him,” he tells you.

In his eyes, as you search them, there’s stardust glowing like reflection. Your face twists up. “What?” you say, breath a puff of smoke ahead of you. Summer had come and gotten away from you so fast, and now it’s gone all cold again.

“Break up with him,” he echos, face solemn. He looks ruffled.

“Why?” you ask, “And why are you out here?”

“Because I’m moving out today, and I think I deserve to at least see you before I go.” His eyes look over you. “And... your dad said you went down to the creek.”

He’s moving out today, and you had no idea. And really, it’s your fault. You’d driven that wedge between the two of you. “I did break up with him.”

Downpour fills his quiet for a few moments, his face swirling with emotion like the clouds above you. He nods. “Good.”

There are a few more long minutes between you; just you two searching each other's faces, antsy to say so much that it bunches up in your chests and stalls. It’s what a summer of longing does to you. Even with Yeonjun, even trying to slowly chip away the stitching that had connected the two of you at the hip, you were helpless to stop the gnawing of the love you bear for him. Even just seeing him now, you feel those threads mending back up. God, why does it have to be so hard?

He just looks at you. For a few beats, he just looks at you. There are so many questions in his eyes. They flit across and turn over, but all he settles on is, “Why?”

There’s so much you want to tell him. Words pile up to the top, some threatening to spill over. But you know that if you tell him some of it, just to make up for all the time you’d missed out on together, it’ll all come crashing out. And you don’t think you want him to know just how much you accepted, the way you let yourself get treated. So, you shake your head and say, “It doesn’t matter.”

Kai looks like he wants to push that issue, but whatever look he finds on your face deters him. “Come with me,” he pleads. “I want you to come with me.”

Your throat tightens. Curling your arms around yourself harder, the rain only coming down on you harder, you say, “Kai, I want to. I want to. I just... I don’t want to freeload off you, because you’re doing great things, and I’m just...” Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, but they’re already as soaked as the rest of you. “I’m just going nowhere. And I don’t want to be a burden, or ever be the reason that you can’t do what you dream of. If staying here means that you become everything that you’re destined to do, then I’m happy with that, Kai. I am.”

He shakes his head, stumbling toward you. “No, no you don’t get it,” he says, frantically taking your shoulders into big hands. Under his touch, every taut muscle goes slack. You melt. “You don’t get it. You are the music. Every single song is about you. Every single fucking song is about you. I want you to come with me, please. I love you, I have always loved you, and I will always love you, and I thought you’d loved me too, and I don’t want to do this alone. I can’t do it alone.”

He loves you. Kai loves you. The enormity of it rumbles the ground where you stand on legs you fear might just give in. You flex your fingers to combat the tears pricking your eyes. It doesn’t work; they brim and well up, spilling down over your cheeks. “What?” you say, voice softly breaking. “Kai, I didn’t...”

“And just when I thought I finally had you, you left me,” he says, throwing a hand up beside him in a big gesture. “You left me! I woke up thinking you’d be there, and that maybe you loved me too, and you had left me. And then you threw me away for some piece of shit, and you stopped coming around.” His chest heaves for breaths.

Your face contorts. That night, the one where you two had slipped up, you’d fallen asleep curled up against his chest on undiluted contentment. When you woke up, you had panicked. You thought he’d wake up and pretend it hadn’t happened, or he’d be uncomfortable, or even be disgusted and regretting. You couldn’t handle that, so you slipped out before he woke up. It’d been an attempt to protect your tender heart, but looking at the twitching of his lip now, you begin to think it’s the most selfish thing you’ve ever done. He thinks you used him and left him. Your stomach twists. Voice thick, you say, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you, Kai. I thought you didn’t... I thought you didn’t see me that way. I was scared. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Brows knitted together, he says, “Thought I didn’t love you?” His hand cups your cheek, warm against the soft frozen skin he finds there. “I’ve... I’ve dreamed of you almost every night of my life. In my sleep, I see you, and you’re happy and glowing, and that damn... mist is all around you. I couldn’t get away from you even in my sleep.”

Darting between his eyes, soft and reflecting your face back to you, it’s hard to breathe. Kai’s dreamt of you; he’s as sickly in love with you as you are him. Thunder claps, and the ground shakes, and the heavens open up above you, the trumpets belt, and you two are in love. Somewhere deep in your center, you feel it—your soul nodding yes.

The mist. You know exactly what he’s talking about. “I saw it. That stuff, those moths. The stuff we saw back then.”

“I did too,” he says, wet spikes of hair bouncing with a nod. “Not that long ago. It was the first time I saw it out of a dream since that day.”

Back then, you two had only budding, innocent love for each other. Things hadn’t become mangled and lost to confused hearts or expectations. When they’d appeared to you, you hadn’t needed it. This time, you’d followed it. And it had led you here—somehow had led you right to the very spot you needed to so that every last piece might fall into place. For this moment to happen. You know why it did.

“I’ll go with you, Kai. I’ll go wherever you go; I love you. I’ve loved you since forever,” you say, each and every word massive and lovely on your tongue. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier.”

So unlike the last times your mouth had met, he brings his mouth to yours with a dazzling clarity. No longer is it confused kisses; he locks his lips against yours with the urgency of so many years being unable to. Kai’s hands cradle your wet cheeks, hold you so tenderly into his kiss. His touch grounds you, makes the moment real. You melt into him—your fingers curled into his shirt as if holding him there so that he won’t disappear like something of an incorporeal dream. He sighs through his nose, kissing you harder. Even if it all were fake and this was nothing more than a feverish figment of your imagination, you think you could die happy just knowing this once.

But it is utterly real, and utterly yours. You kiss him harder, too.

When your lungs start to burn and plead for breath, you two pull away from each other. Your eyes flutter open to capture his. Warm and brown and the same ones you’ve stared into so many times before, but not like this, you sink into them. He runs his thumb over your cheek as he sinks into yours. His tongue darts out to lick lips painted with you. In the inches between you, space no longer feels heavy or charged with grievances. Every last unsaid thing had been answered.

“I have my stuff up in the truck,” he says, breaths soft. Brown eyes dart around your face. “I’ll help you add your stuff to it.”

You shudder out a breath. Add your stuff to it. A nervous energy settles down over you, but it doesn’t seem so bad if you’re doing it with him. Together.

“Okay,” you whisper, a balmy secret just like the ones you used to share in small, giggly voices so many years ago. “Okay.”

⚝⭒

Shivers seize you like jittering bones, all wrapped up in a blanket. The velour cushion seats beneath you have soaked up water and become damp, but Kai’s got the heater blasting. You wind around back roads, headlights illuminating the way ahead of you. Stray droplets whip in them, but nothing much. Isn’t it funny how the rain had just stopped like that? That’s just how the weather is, out here. You wonder how the weather might act wherever you’re headed.

Your teeth chatter as if your jaw had its own will. The two of you had the windows down thinking that the wind might dry you off, but all it’s done is lap at your bitten cheeks. You reach down for the handle to crank it up. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you—either you’ll eventually dry off, or you can pull off at a rest area to change in a bathroom. The wet clothes are really not helping.

With an arm up on the steering wheel, Kai turns his attention on you. You know that smile. “Cold?” he asks, eyes darting between your face and the road. With the hand he’s not got working the steering wheel, he runs fingers over your thigh. Soft, gentle massages, yes. The number it does on your core is absurd. Each mindless digging into your thighs and brush of his thumb, sparks sputter there. You’ve sat here, right in his passenger seat, so many times before. Day trips up to the lake, the one he’d joined your family camping at for so many summers, all the times he’d driven you to school in this truck, and even just a quick run down to a convenience store for a late-night snack. You’d deemed it your seat. But never once had you sat in it like this. Your heart does a flip. All those times you’d wish he’d reach over and do just this—a small gesture that would’ve been so big then. And it’s your reality, now.

“Freezing,” you say. A brush of his fingers nearer the apex of your thighs sends you pressing them together and shifting in your seat. “But not everybody runs as hot as you, though, so.”

His eyes catch the movement in just the split second he looked over to you. “Huh,” he says. He turns to look at you, his gaze flickering with something anew. Something that you’d only ever seen once before. “Is that it?”

It’s hard to swallow. His fingers brush higher, and higher, feather-dustings of calloused fingertips that sends tingles shooting up your spine at the slightest suggestion of where he’s headed. “Yes,” you say, feigning indignance to cover the shiver that threatens to overtake you. When his fingertips dance at the waistband of your bottoms, it does so anyway. “Kai,” you say, blood hot in your veins. “You’re...driving.”

His eyebrows pinch into a taunting furrow. “I am,” he says, nodding. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I’ve got us.”

And he does; fingers slipping under the band of both your bottoms and your panties, he doesn’t even tear his eyes off the road. He’d driven these roads so much, you think he might be able to do it asleep. Even drawing a mewl from you with a brush over your clit, he doesn’t look away more than a quick glimpse at your pinkened cheeks.

Two fingers dragging up your folds, right over the source of the mess. “You get excited so easily, huh?” he hums. “You like it when I play with you.”

When he presses those fingers at your entrance, you can’t help but be taken back to that night. It echoes and reverberates through you. Long fingers, strong and punctual brushes against the sweet spot—he was criminally good with his fingers. Playing guitar did more for him than just music. He seemed to know exactly how to utilize those roughened fingers and trained flicks. Your muscles flicker as he abandons your hole for more brushes at your bud.

Those teasing, sly touches turn to something more serious. His fingers roll over your clit, slow but enough to have you sighing and rolling your hips against the seat belt. But last time had gone just like this, him touching you and receiving nothing. He should feel good, too. “Shouldn’t you pull over?” you sigh, muscles taut. Your breaths come out shuddering and half-controlled, interrupted by the tightness that each delicious swirl provokes. The door takes the brunt of your grip, white-knuckling the interior.

He laughs, a husky sound that is tinder to fire. He knows what you mean. “Maybe,” he says. “But I think I’m enjoying this plenty. I think I want to see you cum on my fingers again.”

Fingers pinching and flicking faster, you grow breathy and whiny, hips rolling against the seatbelt and back into the seat. Your muscles, all the way down your thighs and deep in your belly, jump and twitch each time his fingers run over your clit in just the right spot—that tender spot that’s so good that it teeters on overwhelming. The kind that makes you hiss and then want more. “Shit, Kai,” you whine. “Right—there, keep going."

He doesn’t answer with any teasing words. No, he just doubles down right at that angle and pressure, leaned back into his seat and driving as if he wasn’t fingers-deep in your panties right now. His sculpted profile at total ease—it does something for you. A delicious tightness curls its fingers over your center, promising a sugary ecstasy that you can’t help but chase. Bucking into his hands as best you can, you go quiet. Right there—right there, you feel it. The cusp. Your fingers brush over it, clenching around nothing and squeezing your thighs tight around him. Every last drop of blood in your body reaches for it, singing and dancing through your veins and making you dizzy.

And then he stops. Your mouth drops open, whiplashed and helpless to its slipping away from you. You whittle your gaze into something sharp and turn to him. “What—why?” you complain. The tide slips further and further and further back, but you still taste sea salt on your tongue. Frustration sets in its place as you feel it go. Seriously, you’d been right there. “You’re so mean.”

He slows and then with the clicking of the turn signal, he’s off the road and pulling the truck into park on a little secluded side road. Where the headlights pierce the pitch black, nothing but gravel and field surrounds you. He doesn’t kill the engine, instead pulling his hand free from you.

Your heart, still stuttering with your lost orgasm, kicks back to life as he smears your slick over your mouth, dragging it over your lips and then taking his thumb to run it right over the plush of your mouth. “Am I?” he says, fingers taking your chin to meet your eyes with his. Endless hunger, pupils so blown that his eyes look black, pins you. “I don’t think you’ve seen mean yet, baby.”

Darting your tongue out to clean your lips, you look at him through your eyelashes. “Show it to me, then.”

Something dark passes over his face. It has your skeleton jumping out of your body. Then, he says, “Is that what you want? You want mean?”

Brain gone to mush that can only really think about him touching you, a slow nod is all you can manage.

The engine’s hum prevails for some long, thick seconds. And then, he tilts his head in a gesture. “Get in the back.”

Holy shit. You want to sit there frozen in an overwhelming sort of excitement, but his seatbelt clicks undone and you’re set into motion. In a flurry of giggles and clumsy limbs, you climb up over the center console and into the backseat. He slips out of the front seat, not bothering to even kill the engine.

The door beside you opens in a swirl of cold wind. In nothing more than a blink, a strong hand has both your wrists pinned to the cushions and your back flush against it. Nose-to-nose, his breath hot over your face. “I’ve got plenty of ideas as to how I can warm you up.”

You appreciate each other’s faces for a beat more, you looking up at him big-eyed and waiting. Kai breaks the moment to attack your neck in a procession of bites and kisses. Your mouth falls into a silent sound.

“You know,” he says, free hand working your pants off. His eyes are trained on you, though. “I thought about doing this to you all summer. Touching you again.” He moves on to your top, pushing the fabric up until your chest is freed, clad in soft cotton. He eats the sight up. You want to reach down and cup the back of his head or feel his hair between your fingers as he presses his mouth against the soft beginning of your cleavage, but he’s got your wrists firmly planted. So much so, that you wonder exactly how he’s got you so secure with just one hand. Kai is strong, but maybe you hadn’t seen just how strong. Your skin aches under the purple bites he decorates you in. The sight of him—face in your chest and marking you up so lazily—has your teeth abusing your bottom lip. Whatever sounds you might make otherwise would be embarrassing. Kai lifts his eyes to you. “And I think you thought of me, too. Didn’t you?”

“Oh, god, yes,” you say, writhing beneath him. He’s going so slow. You want him all over you. “So much.”

He likes that. He takes your pebbled nipple into his mouth through the fabric. Soft grazes of teeth and sucks, you’re burning all over. When he pulls back, he’s left you dark wet patches when the bra had only just dried against your body heat. “Good,” he rasps, taking his big hands demanding and hungry over your torso. They swallow your frame up, soothing skin but lighting it aflame all the same. “Good girl.”

You never thought just words could unravel you, but those did the job. Not a gasp, nor a sucking in of breath—no, you go silent and brainless, fumbling for rational thought.

The dropping of your jaw has Kai delighted. “You’re so pretty,” he says. In a swift and powerful hoist, he’s tugging you down the cushions toward him with greedy fingers. He’s got your thighs pressed up to your chest. You’re bent right in half.

Out of breath, you huff out, “You too.”

A quick laugh falls from his mouth, lips pulled into a smug tilt. He nips at your calf up by his face. “So sweet, it almost makes me feel bad for what I’m about to do to you.” Reaching down for your panties, he pulls back on the suffocating press for only enough time to drag them up your legs. Those get discarded somewhere on the floor. Who cares about that right now, though? All you can register is the metallic clinking of his belt being undone. It’s got your nervous system twisting up.

And, those words. Electricity shoots bolts of pure, sizzling revery into your core. What I’m about to do to you. You imagine a great deal of things that he might mean, but still, you think that none could hold a candle against the promise his voice held in saying it.

Kai presses his body to your thighs and hooks your calves over his shoulders, and it all becomes real. The press of his heavy cock to your folds, the digging of his fingers into your outer thighs, his pretty eyes sparkling with something feral. As real as it gets—more real than anything you’ve ever felt in the entirety of your life. Your hands find perch flattened to his broad chest.

The position leaving you two no option but to look right into each other, he holds your gaze and begins slow drags of his hot length up and down your slit. Tantalizing, awful, awful drags. When his tip nudges your eager clit, you jolt. And then he does it again. And again.

“Kai,” you mewl. A press against your hole has you hopeful, and he lingers there for a moment, but doesn’t give it to you. Can’t he just fuck you? You’ve never been more pitifully in need of something in your life.

“Shh.” His ruts get more daring, smearing your slick up onto your belly. “Take it.”

You wiggle your toes in the air and make passes at arching yourself into him in search of better friction. He’s got you pressed so suffocatingly into the seat that it does absolutely nothing for you. In fact, he holds your harder and changes tack so that your thighs press together. At the very apex of them, his weeping cock slips through the seam.

Pressing his cheek into your calf, he watches you. Every gasp and shaky inhale, he watches. It spurs his rutting on, sticky sounds and pants eating up the air. Your nails claw at his hands as, finally, a knot tightens in your core.

“Yes, please,” you breathe. He fucks your thighs harder. Faster. Every nudge at your clit and hole becomes euphoric. “Kai, baby—I’m gonna—”

Just as furiously easy as last time, he rips it all away from you. The rushing away of the buzzing and promise of shaking thighs—he takes it from you again. It brings prickling tears to your eyes. “Kai?” you hiss. “Again?”

His eyes aren’t playful. He pulls your calves back over his shoulders, handling your hips into a better position to press his cock right at your entrance as if you weigh nothing. Face utterly straight, he says, “I don’t think you deserve it, do you? Not after what you did with Yeonjun.”

A swallow goes down your throat hard. He presses himself just a bit harder into you. Not in yet, but right there.

When he does begin sliding in, the stretch of it... You cling to him and squirm between him and the warm cushions behind you. Each inch is a heady feeling, all the way up to the hilt of him. He shudders a controlled breath. “You’re so fucking tight, though,” he grits out. “Did he not fuck you right?”

Slaps of skin bounce off the car interior and between your bodies. He starts off at a brutal pace; you know it’s meant to make your brain go foggy. Squeezing your eyes closed, you manage, “I... didn’t fuck him.” It comes out strangled, voice bouncing as he fucks you into the car seat.

Thumb tugging your bottom lip down and then dipping into your mouth, he watches the show of your ecstasy down to every last detail. “Yeah?” he says, voice shaking and almost desperate. “Always thinking of me, huh? Such a good little princess. You know exactly where your heart belongs.”

You want to answer him, even just with a whine or moan. You try to. But with his thumb pressing down on your tongue, enough to pin it to the floor of your mouth, it’s not gonna happen. He tastes salty in your mouth.

His truck consists of his grunts and whines, and your taut groans for some moments that seem to stretch forever. The planes of his groin grind against your clit when he delivers occasional pointed rolls, but mostly it’s just an animalistic, feverish dancing of your two sweaty bodies, holds growing more frantic the closer you get.

Thumb wet with saliva; he frees your mouth. The hand trails slowly down your face and your chin, brushing feather touches, until he finds your neck.

Your eyes fly open, wide. He pressed his fingers into your neck—no real pressure yet, he looks at you through damp strands of dangling hair and says, “Want my fingers around your neck?” His thumb brushes over the buzzing pulse point there.

“Yes,” you grit out, body bouncing and back raw with friction against the coarse cushion’s surface. Your breath stutters, your mind stutters. Even your blinks stutter, eyelids too lazy to keep up. “Please.”

The pressure of his fingers there—it frightens you and has you tightening around him at the same time. But you would trust nobody more with your life than Kai.

He presses his cheek to your calf to indulge in the sight of you like this: underneath him, folded in two, nowhere to go but to take his pistoning hips, cheeks blazing, and his fingers pressed into your windpipe. If the way he becomes sloppier and more desperate in his tempo has anything to say for it, it does something for him.

“Gonna be my pretty little girlfriend, huh?” he says. His voice is tight—so is your belly. You’re both so close. Hopefully, this time he’ll let you cum. “Take you to every show; show you off to everybody. Fuck.”

Brain like static and swimming with a pinched flow of oxygen, you slur your words. “You’re—hah—gonna have other girls all over you.”

The taunting, split-second raise of his brows flips your belly. You tighten around him again. If he keeps hitting that spot, tip ramming into the soft spot deep inside you that he’d taken such delicate care of finding last time, you’re going to burst into sparkling flame and firework. He growls, “Well, I’ll just have to knock you up so that they know I’m yours, huh?”

Holy shit. You like the sound of that. Your nails dig into his wrist around your neck, but you cry out a pitchy, “Yes!”

“Oh, you like that?” Kai releases your throat to take both your hips. You gulp for air, finding nothing but the thick air of sex and humid breaths, at the opportunity. He’s ramming into you like he’s found a purpose. “Isn’t this the perfect position to do it? Get you pregnant?”

With every last bit of brain power you’ve got, teetering on the edge excruciatingly close to salvation, you groan a long, hoarse sound. “Fuck, yes! Please, Kai, inside—” A hot trail of tears roll down your temples.

It’s all he’s got to hear to still inside you. His growl rumbles deep in his chest, holding you in place and filling you with his hot cum deep in your cunt. That feeling, coupled with his short grinds against your clit as he fucks his seed deeper, takes your soul by sinful claws and crumbles it down into nothing. You burst into a shaking, whimpering peak, sucking your lips into your mouth to bare through the sheer twisting of your insides and the flame that consumes up your thighs and cunt.

He falls on you heavy, face in your neck. Warm kisses against your clammy skin meld with your slow floating down, the two of you a beautiful, nasty picture of fucked out. He stays right inside you—the absolute stillness of him, you think he has no plans of pulling out any time soon. His long fingers card through your sweaty locks of hair.

Finally, he presses himself off you. You get a glimpse of the window behind him—fogged up and filthy with your affairs. Anybody to see the truck from the outside would know exactly what went on inside, but right now, you don’t care. Not one bit. Your panted breaths drag in nothing but musk and thick, hot air. The drumbeat in your chest tells you that, despite how you feel ripped straight from your body, you are very much still alive. More alive than ever.

“Warm?” he says, pushing sticky hair off his forehead. He’s a mess, too. His hair is ruffled with your touch, his clothes rumpled the same, beads of sweat rolling down the planes of his cheeks and neck, and his eyes a lazy smolder. As much as he looks like sex personified, a soft smile twitches at his lips.

You snort. You can’t help but feel giddy, here with him. You’re with him. Nothing has ever felt more right. Unplugged when he pulls out of you, your mess trickles down onto the seat below you. “Yeah,” you say. “Very.”

Warm is not enough to begin to describe how you feel. In your ears, you hear whisperings. Soft and gentle. Perhaps it was divine intervention, or the fates lending you their word, or maybe just rational thought. It says:

Home. You are home.

✎୭ ashlynn's note how do we feel about this pair? i really didn't mean for this to get so long, but i ended up RLLY liking their chemistry. i had to do their story justice. also, i finished this with kai as a guitarist and then his drummer performance came out... hmm.

﹙🏷️ ﹚@lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

627 notes · View notes

wonderjanga · 18 days ago

Text

Magic Alzheimer’s

Billy confuses the details of his life with the past champions lives. It can be small things,

Flash and Marvel: *chatting*

Marvel: *gets a notification in his comm* “Ah, one sec Arit.” *looks at his comm*

Flash: “Arit…?”

Marvel: “Huh?” *looks back at Flash*

Flash: “Arit. What’s that?”

Marvel: *stares for a solid second* “Uh… A friend? From a long time ago.” *looks back at his comm and taps some buttons*

Flash: “Oooooh. What, do I remind you of him?”

Marvel: *doesn’t really know if he should be sharing these details, and clearly sounds hesitant* “A little I guess? You’re both speedsters.”

Flash: “Wait, really?? How long ago was this??”

Marvel: “Like… six thousand years ago.”

Flash: “Aw dang.” *disappointed because he wanted to be friends with another speedster*

Flash later had a slight mental breakdown wondering if Marvel was only friends with him because he reminded him of this Arit guy.

There’s also sort of the big things.

Flash: “Dude, he’s been at this for like twenty minutes.”

GL: “Really?”

Marvel: *sitting at a table having a full blown conversation with himself*

GL: “Should we go stop him?”

Flash: “Yeah, we should. Every time I see his arm move, I keep thinking he’s going to knock over the glass of water I forgot to drink.”

There is in fact, a glass of water near Marvel’s arm.

GL: “Hasn’t that been there like for a week?”

Flash: “I think so.”

GL and Flash: *stare at Marvel*

Flash: “Okay, yeah, let’s go stop him.”

GL and Flash: *just about to go approach Marvel*

Marvel: *finally accidentally knocks over the glass which literally stops him dead, mid convo as he slowly looks over to it in confusion*

As for the sudden confusion from Billy? See, in his point of view, he wasn’t even him, he was a previous Champion who was chatting with a friend. He was literally reliving the memory. He could feel the heat in the air, and how the wind would blow sand every now and then. When he knocked the glass over, that literally shattered the illusion that he was there with the friend. In the end, he just ended up shaking his head and getting up from where he was sat.

GL and Flash: *watch him leave*

Flash: “I guess he didn’t need our help after all?” *still sounds a little concerned*

Soon after, Flash, GL, and the rest of the Justice League noticed things like this happening more and more frequently. So, they all huddled together one day in a meeting room.

Flash: “Dude, I think Cap is getting Alzheimer’s or something.”

Supes: “What?”

Flash: “I mean, think about! Think about all the stuff we’ve seen recently.”

Supes: *actually thinks and starts to look horrified* “Oh my God.”

WW: *sounds rightfully upset* “He could have it. Although it’s unlikely.”

Batman: “Even if it’s unlikely, it’s still a possibility. Captain Marvel seems to predate Mesopotamia.”

GL: “Mesopotamia?!”

Batman: “Yes. So, unfortunately, this could mean be his age catching up to him.”

All of them were heartbroken.

Also, the previous Champions have also gotten the Alzheimerness too. This includes the Wizard, Adam, Aman, and literally everyone but the first, second, and third Champion because it started showing after the third Champ.

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics

524 notes · View notes

smileysuh · 10 months ago

Text

Love Plug

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”

tw/cw. weed/drug use, shotgunning (kissing after John's taken a hit from a joint), reader likes wine, alcohol, plug!Johnny, unprotected sex, oral (f/m receiving) face riding, big dick john, 69-ing, size kink, grinding, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, ass groping, hand job, creampie/filling kink, cumming together, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.9k

🍭 aus. plug/drug dealer!Johnny, semi-strangers to lovers, Valentine's Day, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know this is slightly late, as it's Valentine's Day themed, but I hope ya'll like it anyway! big thank you to @sehunniepotwrites, my beta reader, my fellow John lover, my bestie- Love you girlie, thank you for helping me edit this to get it posted on time 💕

Being alone on Valentine’s Day is never fun. It would be one thing if you were with your girlfriends, but today, you’ll truly be alone. Everyone is busy, people are working, or with significant others- you feel like you’re the only person without plans, and it’s driving you completely insane.

Your apartment is spotless, you’d gone on a cleaning bender to distract yourself from today’s date, but as three o'clock rolls in, you find yourself sitting on your couch and staring at the ceiling.

There’d been a time in your life when boredom would make way for addictive traits. Dopamine-filled hobbies that you’ve since done your best to squash. But as three becomes four and you have nothing to satiate yourself - not even the pink bottle of wine in your fridge has been able to drown your loneliness - you begin to consider more drastic measures.

You’d never been a stoner, per se, but you’d gone with your cousin a few times to pick up from her run-of-the-mill dealer. If anything can help you relax and watch a movie, you think it might be some Grade A Indica.

Unknown number: Hi John, are you out today?

John: define out. Who is this

Unknown number: shit

Unknown number: my cousin gave me your number, I’ve picked up from you a few times

Unknown number: You probably don’t remember me but my name is y/n

John: I remember you

John: how much do you need?

Unknown number: I’m thinking $100 worth?

John: I’ll bring my shit. Text me your address and I can be over within the hour

Usually, when your cousin has gotten in contact with John, he comes to her apartment and the two of you go outside, filing into his truck. He has a duffle with jars full of weed, shatter, and the like. You give him money and he helps you decide what your night is going to look like.

When John calls you half an hour after you’ve texted him, you’re already almost at your door. “I’ll be down in a sec,” you tell him, searching for your keys.

“How about you buzz me up instead?” he suggests. “I’m outside the front door.”

You freeze for a moment. As far as you know, John’s never come up to your cousin’s apartment, and the idea of inviting the sexy local plug up into your one bedroom is sketchy… but at the same time, you’re feeling kind of desperate.

“Okay, type my apartment number into the keypad and I’ll let you in. The elevator will take you to my floor.”

You hang up, and a moment later your phone rings again. You press the buzz-up key and hold your breath.

You’re not sure if you’re scared of being alone with John because he’s a drug dealer or if you’re frightened of your own lack of self-control. John’s one of the sexiest men you’ve ever seen and this is Valentine’s Day. You’d been planning on maybe getting a little high, pulling out your vibrator, and having a good time with yourself… but if you could have a good time with him…

You give your head a shake, reaching for your bottle of wine. You pour the last bit of it into a cup, lifting it to your lips while you wait for the local plug to arrive at your door.

When he knocks, you practically jump, heart lurching in your chest. You scurry to your door, not wanting to make him wait- not wanting any of your neighbors to see the tall, sexy, tattooed man standing outside your home.

John greets you with a grin. “Special delivery,” he jokes, stepping past you and into the apartment and looking around. “You’ve got a nice place.”

“Thank you.”

You watch him head into the living space. He walks as if he’s been here before, as if he belongs here. The duffle makes a thumping sound when he nonchalantly sets it onto your small dining table, but John doesn’t immediately open it to show you the product like he does when you’ve bought from him before.

“Is it just me, or does it feel kind of sad in here?” John asks, turning to look at you.

“Hmm?”

“I just mean…” he gestures around, “spotless house, a pretty girl alone on Valentine’s Day… you haven’t bought from me in a while, sweet thing, I kind of thought you’d quit.”

“I did quit-” you stutter, “I mean… I was never a huge stoner or anything, so I wouldn’t say I quit-”

John grins while watching you search for an explanation. He leans back, palms flat on the dining table. The black v-neck he’s wearing shows off some of his chest piece and the tattoos on his neck are definitely a distraction as you try to formulate words.

“Look, all I’m saying is… I’d hate for you to lose your sobriety streak because you’re feeling lonely on Valentine’s Day.”

“I’m not exactly sober,” you scoff, reaching for your glass of wine.

“Is that a rosé?”

You look down at the liquid. “It’s a pink strawberry sparkling wine.”

“Sounds nice. Give me a taste.” He holds out a hand, and it’s clear that it’s more of a demand than a request, so with a sigh, you hand your cup to the local plug.

John swirls the glass, then he lifts it to his lips. He doesn’t sip, doesn’t take his time, he simply tilts his head back and downs the wine in two large gulps. When he’s done, he wipes his hand across his mouth, grinning mischievously. “Yummy.”

“That was the last of it,” you groan. “Now I have to hit the liquor store too.”

“Is it usual for you to get crossed, sweet thing? Weed and wine? You must really be feeling some type of way today.”

“So says the drug dealer working on Valentine’s Day.” You roll your eyes, annoyed that he’d downed your whole glass and isn’t cutting to the chase of your transaction.

“Ouch,” John laughs. “When did you get such a mouth on you?”

“Since you just drank an entire cup of wine in two seconds and started talking about my sobriety streak- are you going to sell me some weed or not?”

“For a girl with nowhere to be, you sound like you’re in a rush,” John muses. “You want to get me out of your home that badly, huh?”

“I mean, I would have preferred meeting you at your car,” you admit.

John simply shrugs. “And I wanted to see how dire your situation was. Clearly, it’s pretty fucked. Listen, we can still go down to my car if you want.”

“Will you sell me the weed if I go with you?”

“Nah, but I can take you out for a drink instead.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and your mind does mental gymnastics to make sense of the suggestion.

Is he asking you out?

Finally, you ask, “Aren’t you working?”

“The good thing about being your own boss is you can always say fuck it, I wanna go to a bar,” John points out. “So are you going to come with me and let me distract you better than weed would? Or are you going to mope around here with no wine, no weed, and no sexy plug to make you feel better?”

You definitely have a sexy plug or two hidden away under your bed that could make your day better- but you don’t tell John that. Instead, you let out a sigh. “I guess I have nothing better to do.”

“That’s the spirit, sweet thing, now let’s go on an adventure.”

The place he takes you to is a complete dive. It’s a dark ambiance, and as you settle onto a bar stool, you notice the stickiness of the counter in front of you. John, however, seems completely at home here. He doesn’t mind the alcohol-stained wood, leaning over it to speak to the bartender over the loud rock music that plays through the establishment. “Two shots of the regular,” he announces.

“You got it, Johnny,” she laughs, turning to grab a bottle of whiskey from one of the higher shelves.

“So I guess I don’t have to ask if you come here often,” you breathe.

“And I don’t have to ask if you’ve been here before. You stick out like a sore thumb, sweet thing. Relax a little.”

You let out a sigh. “Are we really going to do whiskey shooters?”

“I’m buying so I’m choosing,” John insists. “But if you want a cocktail or something, you can get that too, on me.”

So instead of taking your money today, he’s spending his money on you.

John is an enigma, and the confusion you feel has you more curious than ever.

“So how’d a guy like you get into your line of work?” you ask.

“He’s eighteen, gets stupid tattoos on his neck and hands, is rejected from other lines of work, and then discovers he has a talent for growing the best weed in town,” John responds. “Although, between you and me, I’m pretty good at growing orchids too.”

You had not pegged him as a plant guy. He’s always seemed so one-dimensional, and you realize now that your stereotype of him had been wrong. You’d never have thought John was the one actually growing the product he sells, and the idea of him nursing an orchid - a famously difficult flower - has your heart softening.

The bartender returns, setting two shots in front of you and John. “How’s your day going, Hyuna?” John asks, picking up a conversation with her.

“It’s going,” she sighs.

“Ouch, that doesn’t sound good,” John muses, pushing one of the shooters in front of you. “I thought you were seeing that new guy- the finance bro. Figured you’d be with him today.”

“I’m not sure he’s the commitment type.” Hyuna brushes her long dark hair over a shoulder, looking between you and John. “Besides, someone has to run this lonely hearts club here. You’re ruining the single vibe by bringing a date.”

“My bad for not introducing her, by the way,” John grins. His arm comes around the back of your chair, and he pulls you closer. “This is sweet thing, I’m saving her from making bad decisions today.”

“Yeah? And how are you doing that?” Hyuna laughs.

“By substituting one drug for another.” John picks up his shooter, turning to you. “To bad decisions.”

With a sigh, you grab your own shot, lifting it to clink against John’s. “To bad decisions,” you echo.

The whiskey is like fire as you shoot it, and you have to do your best not to sputter from how bad it tastes. You feel your face scrunch up involuntarily, and it earns laughs from Hyuna and John.

“I think we can all agree Johnny’s taste in alcohol is a bad decision,” Hyuna muses. “What can I get you, sweet thing?”

You order your drink of choice. John asks for three more shooters. When Hyuna sets them all down in front of you, John holds one out to her. “This one’s for you. I’m sorry it’s not working out with finance bro.”

Hyuna assesses the shot, then, with a groan, she grabs it. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“No one’s gonna care,” John insists. “And we both know your manager is in love with you. Just take the shot, babes.”

Hyuna rolls her eyes and downs the drink. She sets the glass down, her perfectly manicured black nails dragging along it momentarily. “You and your annoying tastes.”

“You’ll learn to love this,” John assures her. “You learned to love me, right?”

“After I got over how annoying you are.”

John only laughs. He downs another shot, bringing his total to three. Then he stands up abruptly. “Vape break,” he announces. “You girls better not have too much fun without me.”

You watch him leave, sipping on your cocktail.

“So how did you two meet?” Hyuna asks, half turning to remove some glasses from the washer so she can polish them while you chat.

You lean forward, whispering, “He’s literally my plug.”

“John’s everyone’s plug,” Hyuna laughs.

“How about you? He’s a regular?”

“Yeah, but I also dated his sister once upon a time,” Hyuna explains. “He was her annoying kid brother. I did my best to be nice to him but things didn’t end so well with her- then three years later he came in here, all tattooed and wreaking of weed- He recognized me right away, and he’s been coming in here ever since. Tips good too.”

You’d been wondering about the specificities of their relationship. Hyuna’s gorgeous, like- one of the prettiest bartenders you’ve ever seen. Her lean arms are covered in intricate tattoos, her nails are filed to points, her hair is perfect, her cheekbones are prominent and her lips are puffy like pillows-

Who wouldn’t have a crush on her?

“He’s an interesting guy,” you muse finally.

“Don’t let his tattoos fool you,” Hyuna says, meeting your eye. “He’s a sweetheart. He just likes to look all tough because of his job.”

You consider what she’s just said.

“So…” your throat feels a little dry. “Does he often come in here with girls?”

“Never. And especially not on Valentine’s Day.” Hyuna sets a cup down, leaning over the bar top to get a good look at you. “So tell me, sweet thing, what’s the end goal here?”

“Hmm?”

“Johnny might be an annoying plug, but like I said, he’s a good guy. I’m not dating his sister anymore, but he’s still like a kid brother to me. I don’t want to see him get hurt.” There’s a beat of silence. “He’s giving you heart eyes, and he let you choose your own drink. John doesn’t even let me choose my own drink once in a blue moon when we go out. He’s also never cared about what drugs I do, so why does he care so much about you? What makes you so special?”

“I…” you set your cocktail down. “I really can’t answer that.”

Hyuna cocks her head, pursing her lips. “Girl to girl, don’t be a bitch to him. I’m the one he’s going to come crying to if you reject him really hard. Let him down softly, if you have to.”

“Honestly, girl to girl, I don’t even know if he’s into me that way.”

“Sweet thing,” Hyun scoffs, “you must be blind as a bat. Don’t you see the way he’s looking at you?”

“I sort of thought he was just horny for Valentine’s Day.”

The bartender lets out a barking laugh. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”

Your lips part to respond, but the door to the bar opens and John comes back inside. He lumbers over with a grin, taking the seat next to you. His arm slides around the back of your chair and he leans forward, looking between you and Hyuna. “So what did I miss?”

“Nothing important,” Hyuna lies.

“In that case, I think I’m going to order a-”

“You’re aware that at some point I’ll have to take your keys away, right?” Hyuna raises a brow at John. “I just gave you three shots, you have one sitting in front of you still-”

“We both know I’m a heavyweight,” John insists.

“Sure you are,” Hyuna rolls her eyes, “and your skin is naturally pink.”

You assess John. Hyuna must have good vision, because in the shitty lighting of the bar, you can hardly tell that John has definitely flushed from the alcohol. His cheeks are a rosy hue, and he looks as boyish as ever, a stark contradiction to the neck tattoos that are also beginning to blossom with color.

“How about this… two more shots,” John bargains, holding up three fingers.

Hyuna scoffs loudly.

“How about… two more shots,” John continues to hold three fingers, “And I’ll buy dessert so my body doesn’t turn into a complete whiskey barrel.”

“Two desserts and you have a deal,” Hyuna sighs.

“Two desserts it is.” John sits back in his chair. “What are you thinking, sweet thing? This place has a really good brownie, although, there's no weed in it.”

“We’ve also got apple pie with ice cream, tiramisu from the Italian place next door-” Hyuna does her best to be helpful, and you’re beginning to appreciate the tough love elder sister act thing she has going on.

You order the dessert that sounds most to your liking, and as you wait, John begins to ask about your cousin. “She’s a trooper,” he muses. “I sold her this massive thing of mushrooms last week and she texted me like two days ago asking for more.”

“She’s a heavy hitter for sure,” you agree.

“She told me once that she only does things like weed and shrooms because they come from the Earth,” John continues. “Never asks for links to cocaine or MDMA or anything- just the Earthy shit. She told me it’s cuz she’s a Taurus.”

You laugh. “That’s my cousin.”

“It was interesting meeting you for the first time,” John continues. “Your cousin gets into the car, knows exactly what strains of weed she wanted- pretty sure she was buying shatter. And there you are, asking for a blunt. Didn’t know if you wanted indica or sativa or a hybrid…” John shakes his head, as if it was the most baffling experience in the world. “In the end, I gave you some indica. Could tell you had a lot of anxiety and shit. I was kind of happy when you stopped buying, I’d hoped you’d found some other outlets or something.”

“I picked up wine,” you say, only half joking.

“Look, on our way back to your place to drop you off, I’ll stop and pick up a bottle for you to make up for what I drank earlier, deal?”

“Deal.”

John grins, and then you see his hand dipping down into his pocket. “Vape break.”

You watch John lumber outside again, and you release a deep sigh, meeting Hyuna’s eye. “Boys and their vapes.”

Dessert had helped mellow John out somewhat, and he’d actually been pretty law abiding while driving to the liquor store after. The two of you are now walking around the aisles, with John asking you all sorts of questions about your preferences when it comes to booze.

It feels shockingly domestic, especially when people go to move past you and John’s hand finds the small of your back, gently prompting you in front of him to make way for others to go by.

“What if I get us two bottles, and you let me come up for a movie,” John suggests as you reach for a replacement wine from earlier.

“What sort of movie?” you ask.

“Anything you want.”

“Are you sure I’m the only lonely one today?” you tease. “You’re being pretty clingy, John.”

“Anxious girls love a man that clings,” the plug insists. “Here, I’ll sweeten the pot for my sweet thing. Three bottles of wine, on me, and I’ll hand roll a blunt that will blow your socks off.”

“What happened to not wanting me to lose my no-weed streak?”

“I never said I’d let you smoke it, I just said I’d hand roll it and you’d be super impressed by my skills.”

You let out a laugh. It’s shocking how much your opinion of him has changed in a few short hours. You can’t believe how comfortable he’s making you feel.

“Fine. Three bottles,” you agree.

John grabs two more to join the one in your hand, and you head to the checkout. As you’re waiting in line, his phone rings, and he brings it to his ear.

“Hey, Mark…” John’s eyes meet yours. “I mean, I’m kind of busy… You really need it huh? Okay, give me a sec.” The plug presses his phone to his chest. “I’ve got a buddy who wants to link up. He lives pretty close by. It would take like… ten or fifteen minutes max. You good with that?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds okay.”

John lifts his phone back to his ear. “Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes. You better be waiting outside though, I told you I’m busy.”

A short while later, you’re sitting in the front passenger’s seat of John’s truck as he pulls up in front of an apartment building. A man in a hoodie and baseball cap is standing there, and he quickly gets into the back, giving you an odd look.

“Mark, this is sweet thing. Sweet thing, this is Mark,” John says smoothly.

“Dude. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

John ignores the comment. “How much are you spending today?”

“Five hundred.” Mark pulls a wad of bills out of his pocket.

“The usual?” John asks, reaching down for the duffle by your feet.

“Half shrooms, quarter indica flower, quarter butter or shatter, whatever you think is best today.”

“You got it.” John sets the duffle gently on your lap, rifling through it. He begins to pull things out, like a jar full of weed. As John sections it off into bags, Mark leans forward to get a better look at you.

“Sorry for interrupting your plans,” he says sheepishly.

“That’s okay,” you assure him.

“You guys up to anything fun?”

“Movie night,” John answers, tossing a baggie of weed back at his friend.

“Nice.” Mark nods to himself, waiting patiently.

Soon, John’s fulfilled the order. Mark hands the cash to the plug, and with one final nod and half smile, he gets out of the car.

“So…” John’s hand returns to the wheel. “Movie night?”

You’re two glasses of wine into the movie when John begins to roll a joint. He’s seated next to you on the couch, his thigh just touching yours as he bends over the coffee table. For a guy with such large hands, he’s more adept than you would have thought he’d be at the fine-tuned movements needed to make the perfect joint.

You’re more enthralled by him than the movie at this point, and you can’t help the way your body reacts when he lifts up his nearly finished product to swipe his tongue across the paper. He seals the joint masterfully before turning to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna pop onto your deck for a moment to smoke this.”

“I’ll join you,” you tell him immediately, pausing the movie to stand up.

You follow him outside, momentarily taken aback by how cold it’s gotten.

John pulls a lighter out of his pocket, and after one sharp flick, he begins to smoke the joint.

You like the way his jaw looks in the shadows of light from the deck lamp. He’s so handsome and regal-

The cloud of smoke he exhales is bigger than anything you’d ever be able to do yourself, and even that is sexy in some odd way.

“You’re really not going to give me a hit?” you ask.

“Nope.” John looks at you with a lazy expression and a half smile. “You’re the good girl, and I’m the bad guy, remember.”

“Bad guy,” you scoff.

“Why are you laughing, sweet thing? I’m a plug with tattoos. I’m bad.”

“You’re a softie.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Says who?”

“Says me,” you insist.

“Yeah? And how do you figure?”

You think about it for a moment before responding. “You’ve taken care of me today… even though you didn’t have to.”

“Well, I wanted to.” John takes another puff, blowing it in your face. “It was pretty self-serving actually.”

You roll your eyes, waving away the smoke. “Sure it was, John.”

“Johnny,” he says quietly. “Call me Johnny.”

You stare at him, taking in his pretty face, the way his perfect lips wrap around the joint when he takes a puff. “Johnny… be for real. Why are you here?”

He lets out a laugh, but there’s little humor in it. “Isn’t it obvious?”

You shake your head, holding your breath while you wait for him to elaborate.

Johnny sighs. “Look. I’ve always liked you. I liked having you come around, needing an explanation about weed, and joints versus blunts, and indica versus sativa- it was like… it was like having a little bit of sunshine every once in a while. Then you stopped buying, and I was happy about that, but I also wasn’t. Hadn’t heard from you in months, didn’t have your number, couldn’t ask your cousin about you- you texted, and it’s Valentine’s Day, and I came up and saw you were alone- and… I don’t know… I just hate missed opportunities, and I couldn’t let this one pass me by.”

You’re really not sure what to say. His demeanor is usually kind of joking, he’s the type to always have a smile- but right now, he’s not smiling, not joking- he’s being dead serious.

“I’m happy I messaged you.” You feel stupid as the words leave your lips, but they bring back Johnny’s boyish grin.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” you step closer, looking up at the tall plug. “Thanks for taking me out for drinks.”

“It would have been a crime to leave a sweet thing like you alone on Valentine’s Day, and trust me, I know all about crime.”

God, he’s such a goof. Why is he so endearing?

“Do you know about shotgunning?” you ask.

Johnny’s brows furrow for a second. “I’m shocked you know about shotgunning.”

“Do you wanna try it?”

The plug looks you up and down. “Is this a ploy to get at my joint?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head.

Johnny leans forward, meeting your eyes as his lips almost brush past your own. “Liar.”

He pulls away, slotting the joint in his mouth. He watches you while taking a long drag. Then he’s removing the joint and bending down again, meeting your gaze.

You lean forward, reaching to gently grab at his shoulders. Your heart is racing a million miles a minute in your chest, and you do your best to exhale, although it comes out shaky.

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

Johnny doesn’t have to be told twice, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours in an open-mouthed kiss. He exhales the smoke into your lungs and you do your best to breathe it in, but Johnny’s so much bigger than you, and you have to pull away before he’s completely finished his breath.

You sputter a little, feeling tears in your eyes. There’s a rush through your body, and you feel a little wobbly, but your grip on Johnny keeps you standing.

“John-” As soon as you’ve recovered, he’s kissing you again, but this time, it’s not for the purpose of shotgunning.

This time, he’s kissing you like he means it.

Like he needs it.

His large hand cups your cheek, and he releases a soft groan when you kiss him back, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders to pull him closer.

He tastes like weed and wine, and oddly enough it’s not a bad combination. As his tongue swipes past your lip and you open your mouth for him, you find yourself releasing a groan of pleasure.

Johnny returns the sound. In the periphery, you’re aware of him flicking the joint to the ground in favour of grabbing you with both hands. First, he cups your hips, pulling you flush against him, but after a moment, he reaches down to squeeze your ass too.

You go for a breather, and he takes the opportunity to kiss your throat, teasing his tongue against your skin and making you shiver in the cold evening air.

“You know…” you thread your fingers through his hair, “if you won’t give me drugs to use for happy chemicals, the least you could do is give me an orgasm.”

Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look at you with eyes that somehow sparkle. “I thought that was a given, sweet thing.”

“It better be,” you tease, cupping the back of his neck to bring his lips to yours again.

This time, when the kiss deepens and Johnny bends down to cup your ass, he lifts you off the ground, prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips. He pushes the door open behind you, taking you back inside.

You’re so lost in his lips you almost don’t realize he’s moved past your couch, and then he’s gently laying you onto your bed. “So how do you like it?” he asks, pulling away so he can tear his hoodie and shirt off, revealing a toned chest, and all the tattoos you’ve been itching to see.

“I like it any way you want to give it to me. Dealers choice.”

Johnny lets out a laugh. “You’re cute.”

“You’re cute,” you retort, hooking your fingers in his belt to draw him closer again.

Johnny presses a hand to the bed by your head, bending over you so he can kiss you. Your thighs wrap around him, pulling him fully on top of you while you’re locked in the hottest tongue battle of your life.

He’s just so big and sexy- the weight of him is enough to have you gasping, even though he’s still holding himself up with his elbow now propped into the bed.

His free hand finds your hip, slipping under your shirt to trace your skin. Each brush of his fingers builds the fire in the pit of your stomach, and as he slowly moves to grasp your breast, you find yourself almost dying with need for him.

You whimper lewdly against his lips, pushing your chest up toward his palm. With a bra in the way, you can’t get the proper stimulus against your nipple, and within moments of him massaging your tits, you begin to tear your shirt off, needing more.

Johnny helps you remove the fabric, tossing it to the side so his mouth can find your throat. “You’re so pretty,” he muses, reaching under you to undo the clasp of your bra. “Can I take this off?”

“Yeah, fuck- let's get naked.”

Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look down at you. “You sure you didn’t drink too much wine, sweet thing?”

“I’m mostly sober.”

“And that shotgunning didn’t make you needy?”

“You make me needy,” you insist, cupping his face. “You know how you said you were into me months ago? When we first met, I swear I thought you were the sexiest plug I’d ever seen.”

“Probably the only plug you’d ever seen,” Johnny points out with a grin.

“John,” you meet his gaze, “earlier, when you first got here, I wasn’t even sure if I should invite you up. I was worried I’d lose my self-control and jump you or something- trust me, the physical attraction has always been there, but… getting to know you today, I like who you are inside too… so, just fuck me, yeah?”

“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day to us lonely hearts, huh?”

Instead of answering, you kiss him again, tangling your fingers in his hair. Johnny groans when you tug gently, and he grinds his hips down against your own. You can feel the bulge of his cock as it drags against your core, and you’re pretty sure your panties are going to be ruined after this.

You can’t help yourself, you trace your hand down from his shoulders to his chest, then his abdomen- then you cup his cock, applying pressure that has him moaning again, thrusting against your hand for friction.

“I think I kind of want you in my mouth,” you admit breathlessly.

“That’s funny, I want you in mine.”

You think about it for a moment. “Sixty-nine?”

“Fuck, you’re a girl after my own heart, aren’t you, sweet thing?”

You can only grin, heart thundering in your chest as you push at Johnny’s shoulders, prompting him to roll onto his back.

“You take off your pants, and I’ll take off mine,” you suggest, getting off of him so you can work on your jeans.

Johnny doesn’t need to be told twice, and you watch the way his muscles ripple under his skin as he hurries to get naked.

He’d never actually taken off your bra, so you do that yourself. In moments, you’re both completely nude.

You stare at Johnny, taking in his cock.

He’s rock-hard and huge. It makes you excited, but you’re also not sure how well you’ll be able to take him. He must be at least seven or eight inches, and thick too, with a pretty mushroom tip that’s already leaking precum.

He grins at your reaction. “Think you can handle this, sweet thing?”

“Something tells me you’ll make it fit.”

“You got that right,” he laughs. “Now come sit on my face, wanna taste that pretty pussy.”

There’s something so suave about half-baked Johnny. He speaks with an almost melodic tone, it’s deep and sensual, and your pussy throbs just from the words coming out of his mouth.

As you crawl onto the bed, getting into position, his hands are careful against your form, helping you settle as you swing a thigh over his head, hovering your core over his mouth. Instead of waiting for you to sit down, Johnny lifts himself up a little, burying his face in your pussy before you can even touch his cock.

“Fuck-” you whimper, grabbing the base of his length as he pushes his tongue deep inside of you, licking the length of your slit.

You would love nothing more than to enjoy his mouth on you for hours- but you have your own job to do, and you’re already drooling. You bring his mushroom tip to your lips, gently licking at him.

Johnny’s large hands find your ass, and he squeezes you gently. “No teasing,” he mumbles, and the vibration against your clit has you squirming down on his face.

You take him into your mouth, sucking on the tip and twirling your tongue. Johnny immediately releases a groan before diving back into your pussy. He grabs your hips pulling you down tighter against his face.

It’s hard to know what to focus on. He feels so good with his mouth worshiping your pussy, but at the same time, you’re kind of obsessed with sucking his cock. He’s so huge, and you want to see how much you can take. You sink further onto his length, feeling your lips stretch at the intrusion-

God, he’s going to absolutely wreck your pussy. You can’t even fit half of him in your mouth before he’s hitting the back of your throat, and as you constrict around him, he releases lewd sounds of pleasure that have your core practically throbbing with need.

You pull off of him, if only to collect your saliva as lube so you can stroke what your mouth can’t reach. Taking a breath and steadying yourself, you grind gently against his tongue, moaning loudly. Then you take him past your lips again, getting lost in the act of simultaneous giving and receiving.

You’re lost in him, so lost that you don’t even know how long you’ve been in this position- but you can feel an orgasm bubbling in the pit of your stomach every time Johnny focuses on your clit.

You find yourself grinding harder against his face, and as the feeling builds, you can’t help but pull off of his cock, gasping and moaning. “Fuck, Johnny, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me,” he groans, squeezing your ass as he kitten licks your clit. “Don’t hold back. Cum on my face, sweet thing, give me everything.”

You’re stroking his cock mindlessly, your muscles tensing as Johnny takes your clit into his mouth, sucking and licking-

“Oh my God-” you whimper, toes curling-

Your orgasm washes over you like a wave. It tingles through every inch of your being, throbbing out from your core. You and Johnny both release groans of satisfaction, and the knowledge that he’s enjoying having you cum on his face only makes your pussy clench tighter.

You’re practically riding his tongue now, chasing the last inklings of your high until you’re absolutely breathless.

Johnny presses one last kiss to your clit, and then he’s tapping your ass gently. “Gonna roll onto your back and let me fuck you like the good girl you are?”

“God, yes,” you groan. Your legs are shaky but you get off of Johnny’s face, collapsing next to him.

“Damn, sweet thing, that was a good one, huh?” Johnny laughs, sitting up and stroking your thigh.

“So good,” you whimper, still feeling the aftershocks.

Johnny gets between your legs, elbow pressing into the bed next to your head as he dips close to kiss your neck. “The way you were grinding against my face was so fucking hot.”

“Johnny-” You wrap your legs around him, feeling absolutely desperate for his cock.

“You’ll have to be a little patient for me, sweet thing,” Johnny sighs, one large hand cupping your breast and teasing past your nipple. “I’ve gotta stretch you out before you can take me.”

“What if I want you now?”

“Like I said,” his breath is hot against your throat, “you’ll have to be patient.”

“What if I want you to wreck me?”

Johnny laughs, pulling away to look at you. “You’re not as innocent as you look, are you, angel?”

You trace your fingers along the fine line, black and white, Japanese Oni mask tattoo that sits on his chest between his defined pectoral muscles. “Not when it comes to you.”

The plug simply grins at your words, his hand trailing down until it reaches your core. Two thick fingers prod at your opening, and you spread your legs even wider to accommodate him. He teasingly dips the first digit inside of you and you release a moan at how good it feels, but he’s quick to pull it out and circle your clit.

“You know what you said earlier?”

He lets out a humming sound.

“About not teasing?” you correct. “If you’re making me wait for you to prep me, you better not take your sweet time with it.”

“You’ll have to let me take my time with you next time then.”

“Next time?” You cock a brow.

“Yeah,” Johnny ghosts his lips over your own. “Next time.”

“Deal, now finger fuck me open then give me your cock.”

“Jesus, I love it when you talk dirty,” Johnny groans, dipping his finger into your core again. “Tell me more.”

“You just feel so fucking good,” you groan, swiveling your hips. “Even one finger- you’re just so big- Johnny, how are you so big?”

“You haven’t really experienced the Big yet,” John points out, adding a second digit that he scissors inside of you, stretching you out for him.

In response, you reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, pumping him gently. “I’m gonna feel you inside me for days after this.”

“Especially if you let me fuck you tomorrow, and the day after- you could feel me forever if you wanted to.”

“Forever, huh?” You let out a whimper as his digits work harder inside of you, crooking up to stroke your g spot with shocking precision.

“I’m still a little high, it’s making me… too honest.”

“I like honest,” you admit, cupping his face with your free hand, drawing his lips to yours. “I like you.”

“I like you too,” he whispers, kissing you deeper as he finger fucks you faster. “Okay, sweet thing, I think you’re just about ready for me- dripping all over my hand.”

“I’m ready,” you assure him, staring into those beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.

“Should I grab a condom?”

“Are you clean?”

“Yeah. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t fuck around that often. I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy.”

You giggle. “I’ve sort of noticed that.”

He kisses you again. “I can still grab a condom though.”

“No, I’m on birth control. I want you to fill me up with cock and cum until it’s all I can think about.”

“I can do that.” Johnny pulls his fingers out of your pussy, and before he can lick them clean, you grab his wrist and guide them to your own mouth. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot, angel.”

You groan around his digits, sucking them clean. When you’re done, Johnny grabs your jaw, drawing your lips to his so he can taste you, his tongue gliding against your own.

You’ve still got his cock in your hand, and you pump him gently, adjusting against the blanket to get closer to him so you can guide his tip toward your core.

Johnny takes the hint, and he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. His gaze dips to where your bodies meet, and he allows you most of the control as you drag his cock through your folds. “You really want this?”

“Just fuck me, John. Please don’t make me beg.”

He pushes forward, the tip of his cock sheathing in your tight core. “Holy shit,” Johnny groans.

“More.”

Johnny can only laugh, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours as he thrusts deeper into you. The two of you hold your breath as inch after inch stretches you open. You’re so wet, and it makes the process easier, but you can still feel Johnny everywhere.

You’re a wriggling, moaning mess by the time he’s fully inside of you.

Johnny’s breath is hot against your skin, and his chest is rising and falling with effort, his bicep bulging next to your head. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly.

“Can I-”

“Rail me. Break my back. Murder my pussy.”

Johnny laughs, pressing his lips to yours to shut you up as he begins to move his hips, pulling out only to thrust back in. You can feel your insides practically quivering with each drag of his length against your walls. He’s so big, and you’re stretched to the brink- the vein along the underside of his cock is an added stimulus that has your toes curling already.

You’ll never be the same after this.

No one’s cock is ever going to compare and you just know it.

Johnny’s lips can’t muffle the sounds of pleasure still escaping you, and you grab at his broad shoulders, tracing your nails against his skin.

It’s so easy to get lost in Johnny. He makes you feel safe, and the pleasure he’s giving you has time flying by like nothing else. Johnny’s mouth goes to your throat, teasing the spot that has you moaning even louder.

“Can I flip you over? Wanna see that ass.”

“Do anything you want with me,” you tell him, and you mean it.

With one last kiss, Johnny pulls out of you. His large hands find your hips. He manhandles you over, pulling your ass back and up so he can push into you again.

“Fuck,” you groan, grabbing at the bed sheets. “You’re even deeper like this-”

Each time his front meets your ass, the slapping sound turns you on even more. He’s practically rearranging your guts like this, and you don’t mind it one bit.

“Do you wanna rub your clit for me, sweet thing?” Johnny asks. “You’re so fucking tight around me, and I’m so sensitive when I smoke- not sure I’ll be able to last long, and I want you to cum with me. Wanna feel this pretty pussy all clenched and dripping-”

Every word has your body tingling, and you bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick circles.

“Johnny-” you whimper.

“That’s it, angel. You feel so fucking good- so fucking good for me.” He grabs fistfuls of your ass, squeezing in a way that has you crying out. “Who’s my good girl?”

“Me!”

“Who’s taking this cock so fucking good?”

“Me!”

“Fuck-” Johnny lets go of your ass, wrapping a hand around your throat. He helps lift you up until your back is curved, shoulders pressed to his chest. His lips find your neck, hand dipping down to grasp your breast roughly, pinching your nipple.

“I’m gonna-”

“I know, sweet thing, me too-” He’s fucking into you like a god damned fuck machine, and each circle of your fingers on your clit has you closer and closer to the edge- “Fuck, okay, I’m there- shit, yeah, I’m there- you’re gonna cum with me, right? Gonna cum on my cock and let me fill you up?”

All you can do is whimper, your body fulfilling his ask before your brain can even fully process it. Your core clamps down hard on his cock, and Johnny releases a deep groan in your ear. He holds you close, squeezing you as his thrusts get erratic.

You can feel him cumming deep inside of you, and you’ve never felt this cock drunk in your life.

Nothing matters except Johnny and his huge cock filling you up to the brink. His lips are hot on your throat, and he fucks you through your highs, your pussy fluttering around him as wave upon wave of pleasure rocks through you.

As you both finish, he pushes himself fully inside of you. You can feel his cock throbbing, and his groans are music to your ears.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispers, letting out a soft laugh as he nuzzles against your cheek.

“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day,” you giggle, grabbing the hand on your breast and lifting it to your lips so you can kiss his palm.

He holds you for a few more moments, then he gently lowers you to the bed, cock still inside of you. “I’m gonna pull out,” he says, smoothing a hand over your ass. “You don’t mind if I watch it drip out of you for a second, right?”

“I’m just laying here,” you smile against the quilt.

Even so, it feels like a loss as he takes his cock out of your aching pussy. His hands are on your ass and he spreads your cheeks. “Fuck, sweet thing. This is the prettiest view in the whole fucking world.”

When you’d texted Johnny earlier for a link-up, you’d never expected this. Never expected to see this softer side of him.

You’re so fucking happy you reached out- he provided more than what you’d asked for.

“I busted a fat load in you, angel,” Johnny laughs, his thumb moving to rub your clit, causing you to whine and push back against him. “How about we go for a shower. I can wash you up, eat you out some more-”

“Damn, Johnny, are you pussy drunk?”

“Uh huh.” He leans over you, kissing up your spine and to your shoulder. “Valentine’s Day isn’t over yet, we should make the most out of it, right?”

You get the sneaking suspicion that you’re going to be making the most out of it with Johnny for many days to come, Valentine’s Day be damned. God. Your cousin is going to have a freak when she hears about this.

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! I know it's late by three days but this John still has me in the Valentine's Day spirit

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!

🔮 preview. “You’ll like this. You always like this. You love cumming on my cock. But you don’t get my cum unless I get yours, that’s the deal, right?”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, grinding on his thigh, hand job, oral (m receiving) blow job, he spits in y/n’s mouth, spit as lube, masturbation, y/n touches herself while blowing Johnny, fingering masturbation, y/n rides his cock, multiple reader orgasms, praise, gentle degradation, dirty talk, breast worship/tit sucking, etc… I petnames. (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.6k I teaser wc. 250

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

You’ve gotten accustomed to your plug boyfriend. You’d only been dating for a month when he’d officially asked you to be his, but you know the two of you were exclusive to each other since that very first night you’d fucked.

Being with John is pretty easy- but his odd work schedule can be a bit of a pain. He never knows how busy he’s going to be, so you can plan date nights, but sometimes he has to push it back a few hours to do unexpected late-night deliveries.

If you’d been cock drunk for him after the first time he’d fucked you, you’re even more dependent on him now.

No drug in the world could fill you up and give you the pleasure that Johnny’s cock does, and you’ve become a little impatient when you have to wait for him to complete deliveries… although, you’d never bring it up with him

You know being a plug is his job. It’s what pays the bills and allows him to dote on you in ways you’d scarcely been able to imagine before meeting him.

Even so, you can feel your skin crawling, pussy practically aching with anticipation as he completes the last handful of orders for the night. He’d initially wanted to be over at your place by seven, but it’s nearly ten now, and you’re three hours behind on the fuck marathon you’d planned.

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.6k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or check out what else is on my patreon here

🔮if nothing strikes your fancy, check out my m.list

general taglist

@gotshinct - @subhyuck - @fraechan - @learnthisfeeling

@runahways - @d-abin - @milkteade - @woogyuhae

@anothershorthuman - @nihxxy - @vantxx95 - @bangshii

@poutypoutybin - @notbeforelong - @creepybakeoven

@ninetechculture - @yungiland - @suhsfam - @binchangf

@chogiwapadada - @librarian-stacks - @meowniee

@learnthisfeeling - @gigilame - @cumtrov3rsy

@mocha000 - @darthlunaa - @just-here-to-read-01 - @shiningnono

@lovelyhan - @grilledbananas - @aaniag

✘ nct taglist

@milkyway-vxm - @nctsawrus - @shiningdery - @freezerandfame

@fairieblog - @fairybr3ad - @peachyjaemin - @chemaistry

@sehunniepot

#johnny suh #johnny suh smut #nct #nct smut #nct johnny #johnny nct #nct johnny smut #johnny nct smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #johnny suh x reader

2K notes · View notes

cocobeanncteez · 4 months ago

Text

Ateez Choi San — Safe Habor

Genre: SMUT (mdni / 18+), angst, fluff, strangers to lovers au

Pairing: Attorney! San x CEO! Reader (fem)

Word Count: 22.5k

Warnings/content: divorce topics, reader is framed for drug possession and distribution, domestic violence by reader's ex (very brief scene), mentions of a failing marriage, lack of support from parents, please note that the reader's ex husband in this story is a random name I made up and so are other names in his story other than ateez, court battles, restraining order, reader gets arrested, driving under strong emotion, making out, breast play, dry humping, hand job, oral sec (f receiving) / cunnilingus, fingering, clit play, vaginal penetration, protected sex (pill), multiple orgasms, praising, pet names (sweetheart, baby), sorry if I missed anything else!

You stand in front of the large windows of your penthouse, gazing out at the city skyline. The lights from the buildings in the distance flicker like stars, but tonight they bring you no comfort like they usually did.

The weight on your shoulders has been growing heavier with each passing day, pressing down on you until it's nearly suffocating.

The argument you had with your husband, Baek Jaeyoon, echoed in your mind— his awful words were sharp, cutting, and so very dismissive. He’d once made you believe in the possibility of a partnership, a marriage of equals, but now you see it was an illusion, one carefully crafted by him and your family.

You never wanted to marry so early in the relationship, especially not for convenience, for business. But your family’s expectations were clear: Jaeyoon was the right choice, the only choice, a perfect match simply because his family was as wealthy as yours.

Sure, you liked him. You even dated him for a couple of months before your family said it’s time to get married. Yet, the more time passed, the more you realized you were just another asset in a long line of acquisitions for him. The love you once tried to cultivate has wilted away, leaving behind a barren landscape of resentment and pain.

Tonight, you finally admit it to yourself—after a year of being his wife, this marriage is over.

Your heart clenches with the thought, but there’s a quiet strength within you. The decision is terrifying, yes, but also liberating. You’re not just doing this for yourself; you’re doing it to reclaim the life you’ve lost in the process.

You’re Y/N— the CEO of one of the biggest furniture companies in the nation, Saturn & Co. — a woman who has built her career and reputation on her own terms. You’ve faced hostile takeovers and boardroom battle. Surely, you can handle this.

But you know you’ll need help, someone who can guide you through the legal labyrinth that awaits. You first think of Hongjoong, your longtime friend, a friend you've known all your life.

Hongjoong comes from a lawyer family that has been in this field for generations. His father was a very reputed attorney, now retired, who helped many wealthy clients win their legal battles. His father became friends with your father during their college days and are still very close to this day, so it's no surprise that you and Hongjoong became great friends too. He’s always been there when you needed him, and now, more than ever, you need his expertise.

With a deep breath, you turn away from the window and reach for your phone, dialing his number.

After three rings, he answers your call. "It's almost eleven. Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Well, hello to you too, Joong," you chuckle, "Why are you still up?"

"Ah, I'm just going over some documents for a high profile case," he explains, "What's up? All okay? You never call this late."

You take a deep breath. "I... this might sound crazy or stupid, but I want to get a divorce."

There was silence on the other end for a brief moment before he said, "It's not crazy or stupid. Have you thought this through completely?"

"I have," you answer with a sigh, "You know how my parents are. They will throw a huge tantrum and threaten to disown me as usual." Hongjoong hums at that. "But Joong, I just can't live with Jaeyoon anymore. He's not the same person. We're always fighting, and he's always saying the most hurtful, disrespectful things to me."

Truthfully, Hongjoong never liked your husband. He always thought Jaeyoon seemed too short-tempered and controlling. However, you seemed to be happy initially, or at least that's what you showed the outside world, so Hongjoong never commented on it, especially since it wasn't his place to do so. But he did hint at it once or twice. Once your parents got involved, he knew what the outcome would be, and he only hoped you would fight back and make the right decision.

"Have you considered couple's therapy?" Hongjoong asked.

"I did, and I brought it up to him. He got extremely upset, said there's nothing wrong with him, that I'm the problem and I need therapy, and I should be grateful that he even chose to marry me."

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. "That stuck up asshole. He thinks quite highly of himself."

The rest of the conversation with Hongjoong is brief but comforting. He listens to your concerns without any judgment, his voice steady and reassuring while he gives his legal input.

“Divorce isn't my area of specialty, you know that. But my friend, a fellow attorney in my firm, Choi San, is one of the greatest attorneys I've ever seen. He’s worked on many cases similar to yours and has a great record,” Hongjoong says, “He’ll make sure you’re taken care of, Y/N. You have nothing to worry about.”

But worry is exactly what you feel. Not about the process, but about what comes after. The unknown stretches before you, vast and intimidating. Still, you’ve made your choice. And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re the one in control.

The next day, you find yourself walking into Hongjoong’s law firm, a sleek, modern building with glass walls and minimalist decor. The receptionist greets you with a warm smile, and soon you’re being escorted to a private conference room. You wished Hongjoong was here, but he was in an important meeting with one of his clients.

As you wait, blankly staring at a painting in the room, your mind races with questions. What will San be like? Will he understand the complexity of your situation, the nuances that come with being in a marriage like yours? What if he's an old man who thinks people should push through a dead marriage like your parents? It was so common for society to frown upon a divorced woman.

The door opens, and your thoughts scatter as a man steps inside. Is this an attorney or a model?

He’s quite tall, broad shoulders, siren eyes, dressed sharply in a black tailored suit, with an air of confidence that is immediately reassuring.

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you’re struck by the calm intensity in them. There’s a softness there, too, something that puts you at ease despite the circumstances.

But God, is he the most stunning man you've ever seen.

“Mrs. Baek,” he says, extending a hand. His voice is smooth, professional, but there’s a warmth in his tone that surprises you. “I’m Attorney Choi San, but please call me San. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You shake his hand, feeling the strength in his grip. “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice, San. Please, call me Y/N, I'm trying to get rid of the 'Mrs. Baek' title," you joke, though it was true.

San chuckles and nods. “Of course, Y/N. Hongjoong spoke very highly of you.” He gestures to the chair across from you, and you both sit down.

"I understand you’re looking to proceed with a divorce," he says, taking a laptop out of his bag and setting in on the table before opening it. "Don't mind me, I just need to take notes of what you say so I can better understand how I can help you."

You nod, the words feeling heavy in your throat. “Yes. I… I want to make sure everything is handled properly. There’s a lot at stake, and I can’t afford any mistakes.”

San gives you a reassuring smile, and you notice he has dimples. You couldn't help but think that he was extremely charming. "Don't worry, Y/N. You're in safe hands," he says, "Now, how about you start by telling me about your marriage and what prompted you to seek divorce?"

You take a deep breath and look at him directly. “I never wanted to get married so early in the relationship. It wasn’t about love—it was about business, aligning our families. And I… I tried, but Jaeyoon… he’s not the man I thought he was. We dated for a couple of months, and he was genuinely really nice. But soon after we got married, he suddenly doesn’t respect me, and lately, it feels like he’s more interested in controlling me than being my partner.” San listens intently as you explained your situation. The more you talk, the more you notice the way he focuses on you, his attention unwavering even while he's typing on his laptop.

San nods when you finish speaking, his expression serious but understanding. “It sounds like you’ve been carrying this weight for a long time.”

“I have,” you admit, your voice softer. “I’ve always put my family and my company first, but I can’t keep doing that at the expense of my own happiness and mental peace. I want out, but I don’t want this to become a spectacle. My family… they’ll try to push back, and Jaeyoon’s family will make things difficult too.”

You continue to tell him more about your life, and he asks the right questions, probing gently but thoroughly, and it becomes clear that he understands the complexities of your life—the family expectations, the business implications, the emotional toll.

San leans forward slightly, his gaze steady on yours. “The first step is to file a petition for divorce. Since both of you are public figures, we can request that the details remain confidential to avoid any unnecessary media attention. We’ll also need to consider how any joint assets will be divided, as well as any potential claims from Jaeyoon regarding spousal support.”

As the meeting progresses, you feel a sense of relief washing over you. San’s approach is meticulous, but there’s also a kindness to him that you hadn’t expected. He’s not just treating this as another case; he’s treating you like a person, like someone who deserves to be heard and supported.

“What kind of timeline are we looking at?” you ask, a hint of anxiety creeping into your voice.

“It depends on a few factors,” San replies, his tone calm and reassuring. “If Jaeyoon agrees to the divorce and we can reach a settlement outside of court, it could be finalized in as little as six months. However, if he contests it, especially regarding asset division or other terms, it could take longer—potentially a year or more.” You frown, the thought of this dragging on for so long unsettling.

“And if it does go to court?”

“If it goes to court, we’ll be prepared,” San assures you with confidence. “I’ll work to ensure that your interests are protected. That means gathering all the necessary financial documents, assessing the value of shared assets, and if needed, preparing for depositions and hearings. I’ll handle the legal strategy, but I’ll also make sure you’re fully informed every step of the way.”

“What about my company? Saturn & Co. is my life’s work. I can’t afford for it to be affected by this.”

San’s expression softens slightly as he considers your concern. “We’ll make protecting your company a priority. Given that Saturn & Co. was established long before your marriage, we’ll argue that it should remain entirely under your control. But we’ll need to be thorough in documenting that your company assets and finances are distinct from any shared marital property.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank you, San. This is all so overwhelming.”

He gives you a small, encouraging smile. “That’s what I’m here for, Y/N. I’ll guide you through this process, and we’ll take it one step at a time. You’re not alone in this.”

By the time you leave the law firm, you’re still apprehensive about the future, but for the first time, you feel like you’re not facing it alone. And as you think back to the way San’s eyes softened when you spoke, you realize that maybe, just maybe, this won’t be as lonely as you feared.

2 months later

The familiar scent of Jaeyoon’s cologne hits you as soon as you step into the penthouse and hang your coat in the closet after a long day at work. The air is thick with tension, and you can feel the weight of the divorce papers in your bag like a lead anchor.

You mentally thanked San for being so quick to give you the documents. Since you had no kids with Jaeyoon, and your pre-nup was very straightforward about how any joint assets should be divided, San said your case wasn't very complicated.

In the 2 months of working with San, you have grown to take a liking towards him. He was kind and gentle towards you, and he always gave you his full attention when you spoke. When you went to Hongjoong's birthday party a month ago, you were delighted to see San there as well; that's when you got to know him in a non-professional way, and you genuinely thought he was the sweetest, most understanding man you had ever met.

Now, standing in your penthouse with the divorce papers in hand, you felt extremely anxious. You had rehearsed this moment countless times in your mind, but now that you’re here, every word you planned feels inadequate.

Jaeyoon is seated in the living room, scrolling through his phone, but he looks up as you enter. There’s an expectant look on his face, like he knows something’s coming. He's certainly no stranger to the way you’ve been acting these past two months, and he was often very angry when you refused to be intimate with him.

You steel yourself, trying to gather the courage you need. “Jaeyoon... We need to talk,” you say, your voice steady, though your heart is racing.

His brow furrows as he puts down his phone. “What’s this about, honey?” he asks, and you mentally cringe at the pet name.

You reach into your Dior tote bag and pull out the divorce papers, holding them out to him. For a moment, Jaeyoon just stares at them, as if he doesn’t understand. But then, slowly, he takes them from your hand.

He skims through the content of the top page. “What the hell is this?” His voice is low, almost calm, but you can hear the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

“It’s what I should have done a long time ago,” you reply, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “I want a divorce, Jaeyoon. This marriage… it isn’t working.”

He flips through the papers, his expression darkening with each passing second. “You can’t be serious,” he finally says, his voice rising. “Do you have any idea what this will do? To us? To our families? To the business?”

“I’ve thought about it,” you say, standing your ground. “This is the only way forward for me. I can’t live like this anymore.”

Jaeyoon’s face twists with rage. “You ungrateful fucking—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he slams the papers onto the coffee table, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”

“You didn’t do anything for me, Jaeyoon,” you say, your voice breaking. “You did it for yourself. For control. I’m not your possession. I tried to fix this marriage for months, but you refused to make any attempts to realize how horribly you’ve been treating me.”

Before you can react, he’s on his feet, his hand striking you across the face with a force that sends you reeling. The sting is sharp, but the shock is even sharper. You stumble back, your hand instinctively reaching for your cheek.

“Jaeyoon!” you cry out, but he’s already moving.

"I'll fucking kill you!" His eyes are wild, fury taking over as he grabs a nearby vase and hurls it at you. You barely have time to duck, and the vase smashes into the wall behind you, hitting your shoulder in the process before shattering into pieces on the floor. A sharp pain shoots through your shoulder, but you force yourself to stay on your feet.

Your breath comes in short, panicked gasps as you stare at the broken remains of the vase, the reality of what just happened crashing down on you. This is no longer just about a failed marriage—this is about your safety, your life.

Without another word, you turn and run out of the penthouse, the door slamming behind you. You don’t stop until you’re in the elevator hastily pressing the button for the parking garage, your body shaking uncontrollably. You were glad your bag was still with you and had all the stuff you needed— your phone, wallet, and keys.

As soon as you reach the parking garage, you make your way to your car. You unlock it with your keys and quickly lock yourself in. You realized you ran out in your house slippers when it's freezing outside, but that was the least of your concerns right now.

You needed to get out of here.

You switched your car engine on and put your seat belt on, ignoring the pain in your shoulder. Tears blur your vision as you fumble for your phone, and before you know it, you’ve dialed San’s number. While his phone rang, you moved the gear selector in your car to drive, and you wasted no time in pressing on the accelerator, leaving the garage and the gates of the apartment building.

Your phone was connected to your car, and San's soft voice was heard. "Hello?"

"San…" Your voice is barely a whisper, choked with sobs. "Sannie, I..."

“Y/N? What happened?” His voice is immediately alert, concerned. The sound of your car's indicator alerted him further. “Where are you? Are you in a car?”

“I… I’m driving. I can’t… I don’t know what to do…” Your words tumble out in a rush, your mind spinning.

"Y/N, tell me where you are. It's not safe for you to drive under strong emotion. Please pull over, I'll come get you."

"He... he hit me," you cried, ignoring San's words. "I left... I'm driving and I don't... I don't know where I'm going, but—"

"Sweetheart, please," San begs, and the sudden nickname makes your heart burst, and you find yourself calming down a bit. "Please pull over. It's not safe. Please."

And you finally listen to him. "Okay," you murmur, taking a deep breath. You make a turn into what seems to be the parking lot of a hospital. You parked in the first slot you could find. "I... I stopped."

"Okay, what do you see around you?" San asks, and you can hear some muffling in his background.

"A hospital," you say, glancing around from your car for the name of it. "Geumgang Asan hospital."

San lets out a breath in relief. "You're actually right by my apartment," he says, and you hear a door close in his background.

"Which apartment?" You ask, voice still shaky.

"Raemian Caelitus," he answers, "Stay right there. I’m coming to get you. Don’t move, okay? I’ll be there in a few minutes. Which car are you in?"

You don't respond to San. Instead, you put your car in drive and head for his apartment complex, doing the complete opposite of what he told you to do.

"Y/N?"

"I'm almost there," you say to him.

San groans. "Y/N... It's—"

"I know, I know," you chuckle, "but it takes less than two minutes by car. Besides, I'm already here." You pull up to the apartment gates, rolling your window down to speak to the security. He took down your name and number before opening the gates for you.

You drove to the guest parking lot and parked there, waiting for San to get to you. You slump against the car seat, your tears falling freely now. The numbness starts to set in, and you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold the pieces of yourself together.

It feels like an eternity, but in reality, it’s only a minute or two before there's a knock on your car window. You grab your bag and keys, getting out of your car. The cold night air feels chilly against your tear-streaked face. You’re still trembling; the shock of what happened earlier was refusing to release its grip on you.

San doesn’t say a word—he just pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from everything that just happened.

You break down completely, sobbing into his chest, and he just holds you, his hand gently stroking your hair. “It’s okay,” he murmurs softly. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

When you started shivering, San noticed that you weren't wearing a coat, and your feet were only covered with your house slippers. He immediately takes his coat off and wraps it around you before picking you up bridal-style, wasting no time in making his way back to his apartment.

Once you reach the warmth of San's apartment, he sets you down on his couch. His actions made you sob more as you were touched by the way he treated you. He continued to hold you in his arms, trying to control the anger he felt at seeing the faint handprint mark on your cheek.

After a while, when your sobs start to quiet, San gently tilts your chin up to look at him. His eyes are filled with worry, but there’s also a fierce determination there. “We’re going to make sure he never hurts you again,” he says firmly.

You nod, unable to find the words, but the way San looks at you—so protective, so caring—gives you some strength. You feel like you’re moving toward something better, something that’s just for you.

The two of you sit in silence for a while. You tried to gather your thoughts, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions.

Eventually, he speaks, his voice gentle but serious. "Y/N... do you want to talk about it?"

You take a deep breath. "I gave him the divorce papers... he didn't take it well. Everything happened so fast. He slapped me, and then he threw a vase at me."

He cupped your face with one hand, gently stroking your cheek, a look of worry in his eyes. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

You knew your shoulder was definitely bruised, and you could still feel the dull ache. But you didn't want to tell San that.

"No... I'm okay," you lied. "Jaeyoon said he would kill me when he threw the vase. I left right after that." You noticed the way San's jaw clenched.

“Y/N, what that dickhead did tonight is beyond unacceptable. We need to take steps to make sure you’re safe. I think we should file for a restraining order against him.”

You glance at him, fear creeping back into your mind. “But… there’s no proof. It’s just my word against his.”

San nods, understanding the concern. “I know it feels like an uphill battle, but your testimony is important. The court can issue a restraining order if it believes there’s a credible threat, even without physical evidence. Your account of what happened, combined with the details of your marriage and the pattern of controlling behavior, can be enough to convince the judge.”

You hesitate, the thought of facing Jaeyoon in court, of reliving the nightmare, filling you with dread. “What if they don’t believe me? What if… what if this makes everything worse?”

San reaches over, gently squeezing your hand. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, Y/N. Not just as your lawyer, but as someone you can trust, someone you can count on," he says, and you felt butterflies in your stomach. "We’ll present your case as clearly and thoroughly as possible. We can also gather any supporting evidence like records of past arguments, any messages or emails that show his controlling behavior. Even if we don’t have a video or physical proof, your word carries weight, Y/N.”

His reassurance steadies you somewhat, and you nod slowly, deep in thought while blankly staring at the numerous law books on his bookshelf.

And then it hit you.

Video proof.

You turn to San with a hopeful look in your eyes. "I just realized, we have cameras in the living room. And this whole thing happened there, too. The footage should be on the app on my phone."

San's eyes widened, and a huge smile spread across his face. "This is perfect, Y/N! This would be more than enough to get the restraining order, as well as settle the divorce without having to go to court. Once we show him that we have evidence of his violence, there's no way he would fight back cause the court will most likely rule in your favor!"

You reach for your phone and unlock it, immediately opening the app. The footage gets saved in 30-minute intervals, and you were glad to see that it was still there and Jaeyoon had not deleted it yet. You downloaded the footage to have a copy of it on your phone. San requested that you send the footage to him as well so he could adjust the documents he wrote accordingly.

"Thank you, San," you say with a smile. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

He only smiled and stroked the back of your head. "Did you have dinner?" he asks, and you nod.

"Mhmm, I ate at work."

His face grew slightly serious when he noticed it was one hour to midnight. "Y/N, do you... want to stay the night here? I have a guest room. But if you're uncomfortable and you prefer a hotel or somewhere else, I can drive you. Whatever's most comfortable for you."

"I want to be here with you," you say in a soft tone, your words sending San's heart into a frenzy.

He nods and gets up. "Make yourself at home. Let me prepare the guest room a little bit first, okay? If you want to drink or eat something, the kitchen is all yours."

"Thanks, Sannie."

While San was busy setting up the guest room, you looked around the living room of his apartment. The decor was so simple and beautiful, and you noticed many pieces of furniture were actually made by your company. You loved how clean his apartment was, not even a pillow out of place. You noticed he had a giant boba tea plushie in the corner of the room, and you couldn't help but think San was so adorable.

"It's ready," he says, and you enter the guest room. You noticed there was a hoodie and a t-shirt neatly folded on the bed. San noticed you glancing at it. "I realized you don't have any clothes to sleep in. I didn't know if you preferred warm clothes or something more airy, so I got both. In the bathroom, there's a pack of spare toothbrushes in the cabinet. If you want to take a shower, I kept a smaller bathrobe for you and a towel."

You hug him tightly. "Seriously, thank you, Sannie."

"You don't have to thank me, Y/N," he murmurs, "Get some rest, hmm? I'll be in my room if you need me."

He turns to leave, but you grab his arm. "Wait..." you hesitate, "I... um..."

"Hmm?"

"Can you... can you perhaps... stay here with me, please?" You ask in a quiet tone, feeling your cheeks heat up.

"Oh, um, I can if you want me to," he answers, his own cheeks turning pink. "Let me get ready for bed first, and then I'll join you, okay?"

You nod and he leaves the room to give you some privacy. You head into the bathroom to change out of your clothes and take a quick shower. You brushed your teeth and put some lip balm on. You chose to wear his t-shirt, which served as an oversized t-shirt for you. Taking a whiff of the t-shirt, you lightly hummed in delight, his scent of him making you feel some type of way.

When you exited the bathroom, San was already under the covers of the bed. He shyly pats the space beside him, and you slid under the covers with him.

San kept a bit of distance from you to not make you feel uncomfortable. You really appreciated that, but you wanted him to be closer.

Knowing the gentleman San is, you knew you had to speak up first.

"Can you... come closer?" You squeak out, slightly embarrassed. San chuckles and does as you say.

"Anything else?" he teases. You turn on your side so you're facing him, and the faint light from the nightlamp makes his skin glow somehow. San was so beautiful inside out. You were utterly mesmerized by him.

"Closer," you whisper. San moved closer to you, his head now on your pillow. You could feel his breath on your face and the warmth radiating from his body.

"Closer," you say again, looking between his eyes and his plump lips that were slightly parted. You reached for his arm and put it over your waist.

San understood what you wanted, but he restrained himself from giving in. "Y/N... what are you doing?" he murmurs, his hand placed softly on your back. His eyes were staring intensely into yours as if to see if you felt the same way as him in this moment.

"I want you to kiss me," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

San gulps, unsure of what to do. He wanted to kiss you, but he wasn't sure if you were really in the best mental state for that after what happened just a few hours ago.

You look at him, an expectant look on your face. You wouldn't have asked him to kiss you if you weren't confident that he felt something for you. You were not ignorant to the way he looked at you, the way he spoke to you, the way his eyes subtly roamed your body when you were in his office, the way he took a sharp inhale of your scent in a crowded elevator... but then you started to overthink.

What if he didn't want to kiss you?

What if all those signs weren't as deep as you think they are?

"I'm sorry," you say to him, and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. "I didn't realize I was being too straightforward with this, and I understand if you don't want to kiss me. I should have—"

San placed his lips on you, shutting you up instantly. "There's nothing I want more than to kiss you," he mumbles against your lips, pulling you closer to him. "I just... don't want to put any pressure on you when you're in a vulnerable state."

You smiled against his lips, feeling touched by how considerate San was towards you.

And then you kissed him. His lips were so soft and warm while it molded with yours, and you couldn't help but feel relaxed while he kissed you back in such a soft manner, as if you were extremely delicate. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him even closer, a small whimper leaving his lips when he feels your body flush against his.

You pull away first to catch your breath. You watch as San's eyes slowly open to look at you. There was a kind look in his eyes, one that screamed of adoration.

San lets out a little giggle when it hits him that the two of you really just kissed. He kisses your forehead and holds you in his arms while he tells you all the little things you did that made his heart flutter.

Eventually, sleep finds its way to both of you, the night ending in a warm embrace.

Two days later, you and San head to the courthouse, where he helps you file for the restraining order. The process is grueling, forcing you to recount the events of the night two days before, but San is there with you, guiding you through every step. His presence is a lifeline, his calm professionalism giving you the strength to face what lies ahead.

When the judge finally reviews your petition, you feel a knot in your stomach. But as San presents your case, emphasizing the danger you’re in and the need for protection, you see the judge’s expression soften.

After what feels like an eternity, the judge grants the temporary restraining order. It’s not permanent yet—there will need to be a hearing for that—but it’s a critical first step. For now, Jaeyoon is legally required to stay away from you, and any violation of that order could lead to serious consequences for him.

When you leave the courthouse, you feel a mixture of relief and lingering anxiety. But you also feel a small spark of hope—hope that, with San’s help, you might finally be able to take control of your life again.

You and San part ways to head to your respective workplaces, but he promises to see you after.

When you reach your office building, you're surprised to find your secretary waiting outside the doors of your office.

"Ms. Y/N," she starts, "Your parents are here, inside your office. I told them to wait outside, but they refused. They seemed to have found out about..."

You nod at her. "That's okay, Yena. Thanks for the heads up."

"You have a meeting in about ten minutes with the design team for the summer patio collection. I can postpone the meeting for you if you'd like."

"That won't be necessary," you say, "I'll be done in five minutes, hopefully. My parents... I know what to expect from them." Yena nods and wishes you luck.

You enter your office, shutting the doors behind you. You aren't surprised to see the rage on your parents face.

"Filing for divorce behind my back and getting a restraining order against your husband? What are you thinking?" Your mother says, a look of disappointment clear on her face.

You sigh. "Tell me, mom and dad, had I told you about it beforehand, would you have let me?" You say in a calm tone. "And that man is not my husband anymore."

"Y/N, you can not get a divorce. I forbid it," your father says in a strong tone. "You will bring utter shame to our family. I will not hesitate to take your name off my will."

You chuckle. "I don't care about your money, dad. I have my own company that I built on my own," you say, crossing your arms over your chest. "I will not live with a man that treats me like I'm inferior to him, a man that hits me and throws stuff at me."

"Jaeyoon was angry," your mother defends. "You betrayed him. He had every right to—"

"Every right to abuse me? Do you hear yourself right now?" you gave her an incredulous look. "Is your daughter's happiness and safety not more important to you than your image and connections?" You turn to look at your father. "You said I'll bring utter shame to our family, but tell me how? I'm not the one who abused him and treated him like shit for months!"

"Enough, Y/N!" your father raises his voice. "You will do as I say. You better withdraw your case. I will talk to your lawyer. I don't want to hear you talk of divorce again. I better see you in the penthouse tonight."

"My apologies, father, but I'm done listening to you," you firmly stand your ground.

"Don't make me disown you, Y/N. You married into a very good family, someone who matches your background and status in society."

"By all means, please do," you say with a scoff. "I'm not making sacrifices for your sake anymore. I have a meeting to attend, so please leave."

You turn away from your parents and walk to your desk. You sit down on your chair, and face away from your parents.

"You're an ungrateful brat," your mother spits before walking out of your office, your father grumpily following behind.

You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding as you slump down in your chair.

You loved your parents deeply, but you wished for once they would not care about money, power, and status, and start caring about the well-being of their child.

San sits at his desk, meticulously reviewing a file when the door to his office opens. He looks up to see your father standing in the doorway, his eyes hard and calculating. There’s no polite knock, no greeting—just an imposing presence.

San got up from his seat and bowed politely. “Mr. L/N, I wasn’t expecting you. What can I help you with today?”

Your father steps into the office, the door closing behind him with a quiet click. He doesn’t sit down, instead choosing to stand, towering over San’s desk.

"I came to discuss my daughter's case. This whole divorce nonsense. It’s a mistake, and it needs to be stopped," your father explains. His voice is firm, commanding.

San doesn’t flinch, meeting his gaze calmly while he took his seat. “With all due respect, Mr. L/N, that’s not something I can do. I represent your daughter’s best interests, and she’s made it clear she wants to proceed with the divorce.”

Your father narrows his eyes, leaning forward slightly, the temperature in the room seemingly dropping. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me, Mr. Choi. I said the divorce needs to be stopped. I’m here to make sure it doesn’t go any further.”

San remains seated, unbothered by the thinly veiled threat in the older man’s voice. He folds his hands on the desk, his expression composed. “Your daughter has the right to make her own choices, Mr. L/N. I’m here to ensure that her voice is heard and her rights are protected. I’m afraid I won’t be withdrawing from the case.”

The older man’s lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes a step back and places a briefcase on San’s desk. With a casual flick of his wrist, he opens it, revealing stacks of neatly arranged cash.

“125 million won. More than enough to make it worth your while to reconsider.”

San’s eyes briefly flicker to the briefcase before returning to the man in front of him. His expression doesn’t change. He slowly rises from his chair, closing the briefcase with a firm click.

“I’m not interested in your money, Mr. L/N. My commitment is to my client, your daughter, not to the highest bidder,” San says in a steady tone.

Your father’s eyes darken. He straightens, crossing his arms over his chest. “You might want to reconsider, Mr. Choi. You know who I am. I have powerful connections, and it wouldn’t take much to have you fired. You’re nothing more than an associate at this firm. Hongjoong and I go way back. One call from me, and you’ll be out of a job.”

San’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his cool. He steps around the desk, standing toe to toe with your father. “You’re free to make that call, Mr. L/N. But I’ll tell you right now that it won’t change anything. My integrity and my client’s well-being come first. I won’t be bullied into backing down.”

For a moment, the two men stand in silence, the tension thick between them. Then your father lets out a low chuckle, though it’s devoid of warmth. “You’re a fool, Mr. Choi. But I’ll leave you with this warning. Cross me, and you’ll regret it. You’ll wish you’d taken the money.”

The door shuts behind him with a heavy thud. San stands in the now-silent office, his eyes lingering on the closed door for a moment. He exhales slowly, tension easing from his shoulders as he returns to his desk.

San’s thoughts drift briefly to you and the storm that might be heading your way. But he steels himself, ready for whatever comes next. His loyalty to you and his belief in doing what’s right will not be shaken. Besides, he had enough trust in Hongjoong to know his friend would never listen to your father either.

Hongjoong sits at his desk, engrossed in reviewing a case, when the door to his office swings open with a heavy push. He looks up to see your father striding in without so much as a knock. His face is a mask of anger, but there’s something more—disappointment, perhaps, or even hurt.

Hongjoong straightens up immediately, his surprise giving way to a faint smile of recognition. “Uncle, I wasn’t expecting you to stop by.”

Your father's jaw tightens at the familiar greeting, and he waves off the formality with a sharp motion. He stands in the middle of the room, eyes piercing as he regards Hongjoong with a mixture of affection and frustration.

Your father starts, “Hongjoong, what is this mess with Y/N?”

Hongjoong sighs inwardly but keeps his composure. He gestures to the chair across from his desk. “Please, sit down. Let’s talk.”

Your father shakes his head. “I’m not here to chat. I’m here because of this nonsense with your associate, Choi San. You’re letting him destroy my family. You’ve known Y/N since she was born, Joong. How can you allow this to happen?”

The use of his childhood name stirs something in Hongjoong—a reminder that this man was more than just a powerful businessman. He had watched Hongjoong grow up, had been at family dinners, birthdays, celebrations. But Hongjoong keeps his professional mask on, aware that this conversation would require careful navigation.

Hongjoong softly says, “Uncle, you know I care about Y/N. I’ve always looked out for her, and I’m doing that now.”

“By letting her divorce her husband? By letting her throw away everything we’ve built? This will ruin her—and us!” your father says, his voice rising.

Hongjoong’s face hardens slightly. He motions again to the chair. “Please, Uncle. Let’s sit down and talk about this.”

Reluctantly, your father takes the offered seat, but not without a huff of frustration. He looks at Hongjoong, his gaze heavy with expectation. “You need to fire that attorney of yours. He’s putting ideas in Y/N’s head—encouraging her to throw away a good marriage. You can’t let this happen.”

Hongjoong takes a deep breath, knowing this was coming. His voice remains calm, though his loyalty to both San and you runs deep. “I won’t do that, Uncle. San is a brilliant attorney and one of my closest friends. More than that, he’s doing exactly what Y/N needs. He’s protecting her.”

Your father leans forward, his tone sharp, “Protecting her? From what? Jaeyoon’s a good man. He’s just been under stress! Y/N’s exaggerating the situation.”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrow slightly, a rare flash of anger crossing his usually composed face. “This isn’t an exaggeration, Uncle. Jaeyoon’s hurt her—physically, emotionally. I’ve seen the bruises myself from when he threw a vase at her. And he’s threatened her life too.”

Your father’s expression falters for just a moment, but he quickly covers it with a shake of his head. “Y/N’s always been dramatic. She’s too sensitive. Jaeyoon would never do that.”

“This isn’t drama, Uncle. This is abuse. You’ve known me my entire life, so you know I wouldn’t say this lightly. If you don’t believe me, ask Y/N yourself. Or better yet, spend one minute in a room with her and see the fear in her eyes.”

There’s a long pause as your father processes Hongjoong’s words. He looks down, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. For the first time, doubt flickers across his face, but his pride keeps him from showing it openly. “She’s my daughter, Hongjoong. I’m doing what’s best for her.”

Hongjoong softens slightly, his tone more compassionate, “I know you love her, Uncle. But what’s best for her isn’t keeping her in a marriage that’s tearing her apart. You want to protect her? Then let her go. Let her break free from Jaeyoon and start fresh. She deserves that much.”

The room falls silent again. Your father looks away, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation has taken. He’s used to being in control, used to getting his way, and now he’s faced with a situation that no amount of power or money can fix.

“I don’t like this, Hongjoong. Not one bit,” your father says in a quiet tone.

Hongjoong nods. “I understand. But forcing her to stay will only make things worse.”

Your father finally looks up, his voice filled with resignation, “I’ll think about what you’ve said. But don’t think I’ll just sit by and let this happen.”

Hongjoong watches as the older man slowly rises from the chair, his movements less confident than when he first entered the room. As he walks to the door, he hesitates, turning back to look at Hongjoong with a mixture of frustration and something almost like vulnerability. “You’ve grown up well, Hongjoong. I’ve always been proud of you. But I hope you’re not making a mistake.”

“Thank you, Uncle. But I believe in what I’m doing. I believe in protecting Y/N.”

With a final nod, your father turns and leaves the office, the door closing quietly behind him. Hongjoong sits back down at his desk, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. He exhales slowly, his thoughts turning to you, hoping that your father will see reason before it’s too late.

3 weeks later

You sit at the head of the long glass table, eyes focused as one of your top designers presents the new luxury patio collection. The conference room buzzes with the energy of innovation—your team is passionate, and it shows in the careful detailing of the furniture designs displayed on the digital screens along the walls. Teak wood, sleek metal accents, and eco-friendly materials come together in sophisticated harmony.

“We’ve incorporated the latest trends in sustainable materials, aiming to appeal to clients who prioritize both style and environmental responsibility. The durability will be a key selling point for the summer collection,” the chief designer explains.

You nod, your fingers drumming lightly on the surface of your notebook. Despite being from a wealthy family, you’ve built Saturn & Co. from the ground up, and you’ve learned to balance creativity with practicality. Your mind is already analyzing the numbers—thinking about production costs, price points, and the narrative you want to craft around this collection.

“I like the direction, but we need to ensure the pricing reflects the exclusivity. This is a luxury line, and our clientele expects something unique. Let’s look at limited editions to build that exclusivity,” you voice your opinion.

Your team exchanges glances, taking notes as you speak. You look at the marketing head next. “We need to start the marketing campaign as soon as possible. I want a narrative that ties back to our brand’s legacy, something that shows we’re not just following trends but leading them.”

As you discuss the campaign, the atmosphere in the room is abruptly shattered by the sound of raised voices outside the glass doors. Your brow furrows in confusion as you glance toward the commotion. Before you can react, the doors swing open, and several uniformed officers from the Korean National Police barge into the conference room.

The room goes still, everyone frozen in place.

The officer in charge looks directly at you. “Ms. L/N, you are under arrest for illegal possession and distribution of narcotics. Please stand and come with us.”

You feel the words hit you like a physical blow. The room spins for a moment, and your breath catches in your throat. You blink, trying to comprehend what’s happening. Your colleagues stare at you in shocked silence, their faces a mixture of confusion and concern.

“There must be a mistake,” you say, absolutely stunned at the accusation. Your voice feels distant, barely your own. The officer takes a step closer, his expression hard and unyielding. Two other officers flank you, moving into position as if expecting resistance.

“We have a warrant for your arrest. You have the right to remain silent.”

Everything feels surreal, as though you’ve been dropped into someone else’s life. This can’t be happening. You’ve never been involved with drugs—this is absurd. You shake your head, your voice stronger now. “I’m innocent. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

The officers ignore your protests as they take you by the arms, pulling you to your feet. You glance around the table, your team frozen in disbelief. Your head of security moves toward you but is stopped by the officers, who block his path.

As you’re led out of the conference room, your heart pounds in your chest. Fear mixes with disbelief, but you force yourself to stay calm. You don’t know how this happened, but you’re determined to fight it.

The walk through the Saturn & Co. building feels endless. Employees stop in their tracks, staring as you pass by, whispers rising in your wake. Your cheeks burn with the humiliation of it all, but you lift your chin and keep your expression calm, refusing to show any weakness.

Outside the building, a crowd has already gathered, cameras flashing in your face. You can barely hear the shouting reporters over the thrum of your own thoughts. As you’re escorted into the waiting police car, you can’t help but wonder—who could have done this? And why?

Your first thought was your ex-husband. Well, you still weren't legally divorced yet. But you had a gut feeling that it was him.

The door slams shut behind you, and as the car pulls away from the building, the reality of the situation begins to sink in. Your life is about to be turned upside down, and you know exactly who you need to call: San. He’ll help you. He has to. Right?

Its been a while since you saw San as he was busy handling back-to-back cases and traveling to meet clients and witnesses. You also bought a new apartment and were busy moving and unpacking your stuff, so you didn't have much time to meet up with him either.

Once you reached the station, you were thrown into an interrogation room. The cold, sterile room is a stark contrast to the familiar warmth of your office. The walls are bare, the fluorescent lights overhead casting a harsh, clinical glow. You sit at a metal table, your hands resting in front of you. Despite the fear bubbling up inside you, you keep your back straight, refusing to show the panic you feel beneath the surface.

You’ve been here for hours now. The officers had taken your personal belongings, leaving you feeling exposed and disconnected from the outside world. The initial booking process was a blur of fingerprinting, photographs, and paperwork. Now, it’s just you and the suffocating silence of the interrogation room.

The door creaks open, and two officers step inside. One of them, a senior detective, takes the seat across from you while the other leans against the wall, arms crossed. You can feel their eyes on you, studying your every move, waiting for any sign of weakness.

“Mrs. Baek... or should I say, Ms. L/N? The public may not know everything, but we certainly do. Now, do you know why you’re here?”

You look at him, your heartbeat thudding in your ears. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m innocent. I don’t know why I’ve been brought here. This has to be a mistake.”

The detective leans back in his chair, pulling out a manila folder and flipping it open. He slides a few photographs across the table toward you. You glance down at them—images of plastic bags filled with pills and powder, some stashed in a high-end handbag that looks disturbingly similar to one you own. “These drugs were found in your possession. We have evidence linking you to a drug-selling operation. Do you care to explain?”

Your stomach drops, and your hands instinctively clench into fists in your lap. You shake your head, staring at the images as though they might change if you blink hard enough.

“That’s not mine. I don’t know how those drugs got there. I’ve never been involved in anything like this. I swear,” you say.

The detective raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your denial. He taps one of the photos with his finger. “This was found in your car, Ms. L/N. Are you telling me someone planted these drugs without your knowledge?”

Your mind races. You remember parking your car that morning—everything was normal. But nothing makes sense now. You feel trapped, caught in a nightmare where you don’t know the rules.

“I don’t know how it got there. I’ve never seen those drugs before in my life, neither do I do drugs. I can do a drug test to prove that.”

The detective exchanges a glance with the other officer, who remains silent but watches you carefully. He leans forward, as if to intimidate you. “Ms. L/N, the evidence is stacked against you. Your fingerprints were found on the packaging of the bag. We were secretly searching for those involved in drug distribution of this very drug, a drug that can only fall in the hands of someone with a lot of money and influence.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your fingerprints? You struggle to breathe evenly, trying to understand how this could be happening. “That’s impossible. I’m not involved in any of this. Someone has set me up.”

The detective doesn’t blink. He looks at you as though you’re a puzzle he’s trying to solve, but you can tell he doesn’t believe you. “This is your chance to come clean, Ms. L/N. The sooner you cooperate, the better this will go for you. Tell us who you’ve been working with, and maybe we can work something out.”

You shake your head, frustration and fear mixing into a potent cocktail in your chest. Your voice rises slightly, despite your efforts to stay calm. “I’m not involved in any drug operation. I don’t know who’s behind this, but it’s not me.”

The detective leans back, his expression hardening. He closes the folder and taps it lightly against the table before standing up. “I’ve heard it all before. You’re looking at serious charges here, Ms. L/N. You might want to think about your next steps carefully.”

As he leaves the room, the door shuts with a heavy click, leaving you alone once again. You drop your head into your hands, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest.

How did this happen? Who could possibly want to destroy you like this? The questions whirl through your mind, but there are no answers. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself of what you know to be true. You’ve done nothing wrong. You just need to hold on, stay strong, and prove your innocence.

A knock sounds at the door, and it opens again. This time, it’s a different officer—one who escorts you back to a holding cell. They’ve told you a lawyer is on the way, and that thought alone keeps you from unraveling completely.

You pray that it’s San. He’ll know what to do. He’ll fight for you. But even as you cling to that hope, the uncertainty gnaws at you. You’ve never felt so powerless in your life.

San steps out of the courtroom, the echo of his client’s relieved voice still ringing in his ears. He had just secured another victory—an ironclad defense that left the opposition scrambling. His confidence is high as he buttons his suit jacket, his mind already shifting to the next case on his docket.

Just as he’s about to push through the heavy glass doors of the courthouse, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Glancing down, he sees Hongjoong’s name flashing on the screen. He frowns slightly, knowing Hongjoong was out of the city at the moment, but he swipes to answer.

"Hongjoong hyung," San answers in a cheerful tone, "You’re catching me right after a big win. What’s up?"

There’s a brief pause on the other end, and when Hongjoong speaks, his voice is tight, serious. “San, we’ve got a really fucked up situation. It’s about Y/N.”

San’s heart skips a beat at the mention of your name. His hand tightens around his phone, and the world around him seems to blur for a moment.

“What happened? Is she okay?” San asks, concern evident in his voice.

"No. She’s not. She was arrested earlier today," Hongjoong says grimly. "I just spoke to her father. Her parents aren't going to see her until this mess is sorted out. She has basically no one to support her now other than us."

San stops dead in his tracks, his stomach plummeting. People brush past him in the courthouse lobby, but he’s completely still, his mind racing. “Arrested? For what?”

“Drug possession and distribution. The police found drugs in her car, but it’s clear she’s been framed. It’s all over the news now—photos, headlines, everything. I’m in Gwangju meeting with some clients now as you know, and I can’t get back to Seoul until tomorrow morning. I need you to handle this for me. I thought of representing her myself, but she needs an attorney as soon as possible. Please represent her.”

San’s chest tightens with a mix of disbelief and anger. He can already see how this might play out—the media will have a field day, and your reputation will be dragged through the mud. “Of course, I’ll handle it. I’ll go to the station right away.”

There’s another pause, this time longer. San can almost hear Hongjoong’s hesitation through the phone. “I trust you with this, San. I know you’ll fight for her like I would… maybe more.”

San’s breath catches. He stares at the floor for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. “What are you getting at, hyung?”

Hongjoong’s tone shifts, a little lighter despite the gravity of the situation. “I know how you feel about her, she's like a sister to me. I’ve known for a while now, Sannie. You care about her, and not just as her attorney.”

San’s mind reels. He’s always kept his feelings for you carefully hidden, even from Hongjoong. But it’s clear now that his friend has seen through him “It’s not something I planned, hyung.”

"I didn’t say you did," he says gently, "but maybe this is a chance to show her how much you care. Not as an attorney, but as someone who’s willing to stand by her through the worst of it."

San runs a hand through his hair, conflicted. His stronger feelings for you have always lingered just beneath the surface, a quiet undercurrent to the professional relationship you’ve shared during your divorce proceedings. But now, as you’re facing this crisis, he knows those feelings are about to come to the forefront, whether he’s ready or not.

It's not like you don't know of his feelings after sharing a steamy kiss on his bed. You just didn't know that his feelings for you were stronger than what he showed.

“Right now, I’m her attorney. That’s what matters. I’ll get her out of this mess first,” San says in a firm tone.

Hongjoong chuckles softly, “You’re a good man, San. I’m glad she has you in her corner. I’ll be back tomorrow to help however I can, but for now, please take care of her. And be careful—the media’s already circling like vultures.”

San nods, even though Hongjoong can’t see him. His mind is already spinning with what needs to be done: pulling strings, calling in favors, and working to get you released as soon as possible. But beneath all that, a deeper urgency thrums inside him—an overwhelming need to protect you, to be there for you, not just as an attorney but as someone who deeply cares about you.

“Don’t worry, Hongjoong hyung. I won’t let her down.”

Hongjoong hums. “I know you won’t. Keep me updated, and I’ll be there first thing tomorrow.”

The call ends, and San slips his phone back into his pocket. He stands there for a moment, staring blankly at the glass doors in front of him. His pulse quickens, and he shakes off the lingering shock. You need him now more than ever, and there’s no time to waste.

He steps outside into the late afternoon sun, his mind already focused on his next move. As much as this case will test him professionally, San knows it will also test him personally. And for you, he’s willing to face whatever comes next.

With determination in his step, San gets into his car, heading straight for the police station. There’s no way he’ll let you go through this alone.

You sit on a hard bench in the holding area, your hands clasped tightly together, the events of the last few hours playing over and over in your mind like a bad dream. You still can’t wrap your head around it. Arrested. Framed. And now, sitting here, waiting for something—anything—that will prove your innocence.

The door to the holding area swings open, and you look up instinctively, hope sparking in your chest.

And then you see him— Choi San.

His maroon suit jacket is slightly wrinkled from his hurried movements, his face a mix of worry and determination as he strides toward you.

For a moment, you can’t move, your breath catching in your throat. Relief floods through you as he approaches, his eyes softening as they meet yours.

San frowns, yet his expression was gentle. “Y/N…”

He kneels down in front of you, his presence grounding you in this moment, even though your world feels like it’s spinning out of control. His voice is low, calm, and it soothes the chaotic mess of your thoughts.

"San… I didn’t do this. I swear," you say in a trembling voice. "I don’t know how—"

He holds up a hand, his expression steady and resolute. “I know. I believe you, sweetheart.”

The simple statement, spoken with such certainty, nearly undoes you. You’ve been holding yourself together, refusing to cry, refusing to break—but the sheer relief of having someone believe you shakes you to your core. You take a deep breath, blinking back the tears that have been threatening to spill over.

“I don’t understand how this happened. Who would do this to me?” you mumble.

San glances around the room, ensuring no one else is too close, before leaning in slightly, his voice quieter but still firm. “That’s what we’re going to find out. But first, I’m getting you out of here. I’ve already spoken with the officers. There’s not enough evidence to support holding you overnight. You’ll be out soon, and we’ll start working on clearing your name.”

His confidence eases the tight knot of fear that has been sitting in your chest since the moment you were arrested. You nod slowly, feeling a flicker of hope. San has always been calm under pressure, and now, in the face of this disaster, his calm feels like a lifeline.

“Thank you, San. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

San smiles a little, his eyes never leaving yours. For a moment, something unreadable flickers in his gaze—something deeper than just professional obligation. He stands, offering you his hand to help you up. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Y/N. I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you up from the bench. For a moment, you just stand there, the weight of the day pressing down on you, but San’s hand in yours keeps you steady.

Just as he promised, within the next hour, he navigates the process with the officers, and the paperwork is completed. You’re released, but the gravity of the situation still hangs over you like a storm cloud.

As you step out into the cold evening air, San walks beside you, his hand hovering near your back, a silent but steady presence. The flashing lights of a few reporters’ cameras catch your eye, and your stomach churns with dread. The story is already out there, and now it’s not just the legal system you have to worry about—it’s the court of public opinion.

San leans in to whisper in your ear, “Ignore them. They don’t matter right now.”

You nod, swallowing the rising anxiety as you step toward San’s car, slipping into the passenger seat. Once you’re both inside, the weight of the day crashes down on you all at once.

San glances over at you as he starts the car, his voice gentle. “We’ll figure this out, Y/N. I promise.”

His words are meant to comfort, but you can hear the determination behind them. You trust him—more than anyone right now—and that trust is the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

"Can we... go to your place, please?" you say, voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course we can," San answers with a smile, his dimples showing.

The car pulls away from the station, the city lights blurring by outside the window. You don’t know what comes next, but with San by your side, you feel like maybe—just maybe—you’ll be able to get through this.

The exhaustion catches up to you and you fall asleep in San's car.

Once San parks in his designated spot, he's quick to put a face mask on you to ensure no one recognizes you while he takes you to his place. You were still deep asleep with a frown on your face, so San resorted to carrying you bridal-style to his apartment.

He tried to be very slow while placing you down on the bed in the guestroom, but the movement stirred you awake. When you open your eyes, San's face is just inches away from yours.

You sit up straight and hug him, the teers falling freely now. He warmly embraces you, telling you words of encouragement and how he'll be with you through it all.

While your sobs quieted down, San pulls away to look at you. "I'll make us some dinner, hmm? I'll take about half an hour. Is that okay?" he asks sweetly, his thumbs reaching to brush your tears away.

"Can I... be in the kitchen with you? I don't want to be alone," you murmur.

San leans in to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Of course, sweetheart. You don't even have to ask." You smile lightly, your heart racing in a good way this time.

"Let's go now, hmm? I plan to make your favorite side-dishes!"

The courthouse is bustling with activity as people file in and out of courtrooms, their footsteps echoing off the marble floors. You sit beside San on a wooden bench outside the courtroom, waiting for your case to be called. You’re dressed professionally, trying to project the calm confidence that comes naturally to you in the boardroom, though inside you’re anything but calm.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you feel the weight of every glance thrown your way by people passing by. The gravity of the situation is suffocating, but San’s steady presence beside you keeps you grounded. He hasn’t left your side since this nightmare began, and for that, you’re grateful.

San leans closer, his voice low and reassuring, “Remember, this is just the arraignment. They’ll present the charges, and I’ll enter a plea on your behalf. After that, we’ll have time to prepare for the real battle. Stay calm, and let me do the talking.”

You nod, drawing a deep breath and trying to steady your nerves. San gives you a small, encouraging smile before standing as your case is called.

“The People versus Y/N L/N.” The bailiff calls out.

The words send a jolt through you, but you rise to your feet, following San into the courtroom. As you walk down the aisle, you catch sight of a few reporters lurking in the back rows, their cameras trained on you. It takes everything in you to keep your head high and your expression neutral as you approach the defense table.

The judge, a stern older woman with sharp eyes, sits at the bench, looking down over the courtroom. The prosecutor stands across from you, a tall man with a stack of folders in front of him, looking all too confident.

The judge glances at the paperwork in front of her. “This is the arraignment for Y/N L/N. Let’s proceed.”

The prosecutor steps forward first, clearing his throat. “Your Honor, the defendant has been charged with illegal possession of narcotics and distribution of a controlled substance. Given the amount found and the nature of the charges, the prosecution believes there is sufficient evidence to proceed with the case.”

The words hang in the air like a death sentence, but you stay quiet, your hands clasped tightly in your lap. You glance at San, who remains calm and collected, his focus razor-sharp. He rises to address the court, his voice steady.

"Your Honor," San starts, voice firm, "my client pleads not guilty to all charges."

The judge nods, making notes as San continues, his tone professional but determined. "We would also like to request that Ms. L/N remain free on bail while we prepare our defense. My client has fully cooperated with the investigation thus far and has strong ties to the community. She is not a flight risk, nor is she a danger to the public."

The prosecutor steps forward again, shaking his head. “Your Honor, given the severity of the charges, we believe that bail should be revoked. The defendant was found in possession of a substantial quantity of illegal narcotics. In fact, the police were in search of individuals tied to the distribution of this very drug. We consider her a significant flight risk, particularly given her financial resources.”

You swallow hard, anxiety tightening in your chest as the prosecutor speaks. You’ve never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. San’s hand brushes yours under the table, a small but comforting gesture, and you glance at him. His expression is calm, though his eyes flash with determination.

San stands up again. “Your Honor, my client is a respected CEO, one that is dearly loved by her employees, and has no prior criminal record. She has been falsely accused and fully intends to clear her name. She has no intention of fleeing and will cooperate with any conditions the court deems appropriate.”

The judge taps her pen against her desk thoughtfully before looking up. “Given the circumstances and the defendant’s lack of prior offenses, I will allow Ms. L/N to remain free on bail, provided she adheres to strict conditions. She will surrender her passport and be subject to regular check-ins with law enforcement. Any violation of these conditions will result in immediate incarceration.”

Relief washes over you, though it’s tempered by the reality that this is just the beginning. San nods respectfully to the judge, and you follow suit, standing as the judge dismisses the court.

As you turn to leave, you feel the weight of the reporters’ eyes on you once again. The camera flashes, the whispers—it all threatens to swallow you whole. But San places a reassuring hand on the small of your back as you walk out of the courtroom together, his presence steady and unwavering.

Outside, the fresh air hits you like a lifeline, and you take a deep breath, feeling some of the tension leave your body.

“You did great in there,” San says.

You give him a weak smile, though the anxiety still churns inside you. The legal battle is just beginning, and the road ahead looks long and treacherous.

“Thank you, San. For everything.”

He glances down at you, something soft and unspoken in his eyes, before giving you a nod.

“We’ll get through this. I promise,” he assures you.

With those words, you both walk toward his car, the future uncertain but no longer quite as overwhelming. You trust him, and for now, that’s enough.

2 days later

The rich, dark wood of Hongjoong’s office and the soft leather chairs normally evoke a sense of calm professionalism, but today the air is thick with tension.

You sit at the large table in the corner of his office, San beside you, his expression serious and focused. Across from you is Hongjoong, his brow furrowed in concentration, and to his right is Yeosang, a lawyer specialized in criminal law whom Hongjoong had brought in to help navigate this tangled mess.

Yeosang leans forward, flipping through the files spread out on the table, his sharp eyes scanning the details of your case with practiced ease. He seemed to be in deep thought. “We’re dealing with someone who knows what they’re doing. The drugs were placed in a high-traffic area—your car—and, more importantly, they had your fingerprints on them. It was deliberate for sure.”

You lean back in your chair, frustration and disbelief bubbling beneath your surface composure. “But how? How did they even get my fingerprints on the bags? I’ve never touched drugs in my life.”

Yeosang looks up at you, his expression calm and reassuring, though his mind is clearly racing through possibilities. “It’s not impossible to get your fingerprints on something without your knowledge. It could’ve been as simple as someone using an item of yours—a glass, a piece of paper, even a surface you touched—and transferring the prints to the bags. It’s not common, but it’s doable with the right resources.”

San’s hand tightens slightly on the table beside you, his jaw clenched. His eyes are sharp, focused on the bigger picture. “This wasn’t some random setup. Someone orchestrated this carefully. They knew exactly what they were doing. The question is—who benefits from framing Y/N?”

A heavy silence settles over the room as everyone exchanges glances. The answer hovers in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

“It has to be Jaeyoon,” Hongjoong voices out grimly.

You nod, the name sitting like a stone in your gut. The thought had crossed your mind more than once since this all started—your soon-to-be legally ex-husband, vindictive and controlling, would have the motive and the resources to pull something like this off. But even knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

“He’s been desperate to stop the divorce, but I refused to back down. He knows he’s losing his grip on me, and his family’s connections… they’d give him access to people who could do this.”

Hongjoong nods, his expression hardening with a protective edge. He’s known you and Jaeyoon long enough to have seen the warning signs, even if it took time for you to accept them yourself. “If Jaeyoon’s behind this, he’s playing a dangerous game. But we need proof. Right now, it’s all speculation.”

Yeosang taps his fingers lightly against the folder in front of him, deep in thought. “We’ll need to dig into Jaeyoon’s connections, his finances, and any third-party contacts he may have used. If we can find a trail—payments to people who could’ve planted the drugs, any suspicious transactions—we can start to build a case. Of course, we can't do that without a court order, so we would somehow have to bring him up to the court to be able to access his finances.”

San sits up straighter, his focus laser-sharp. “Speaking of finances, we went over Y/N’s financial records. They’re clean—no suspicious activity, no unexplained deposits or withdrawals. Whoever’s doing this wants to make it look like she’s running the operation without leaving any financial trail.”

Yeosang nods, impressed but not surprised. “That’s important. It gives us a baseline to work from—if there were any dirty money moving through your accounts, it would be much harder to prove your innocence.”

You feel a small sense of relief at that. At least that part of your life is still intact. But then the anxiety returns as the enormity of the situation sinks in. “So… what now? How do we prove that it wasn’t me?”

Yeosang leans forward again, his tone reassuring. “We focus on the weak points in their setup. The planted drugs, the lack of a financial trail, and the circumstantial nature of the evidence. We need to show the court that there’s reasonable doubt—and if we can link it back to Jaeyoon, we’ll turn this whole thing around.”

Hongjoong looks at you, his eyes softening slightly. “We’ll figure this out, Y/N. We just need to be smart about it. We’ll start looking into Jaeyoon’s connections and anything we can do legally without a court order. There has to be something—someone who can tie this back to him.”

San speaks up, his voice resolute. “I’ll coordinate with investigators and see what we can find. But we also need to be prepared for whatever Jaeyoon throws our way. He’s not going to back down easily if we were to bring him to court.”

You nod, your mind spinning with everything that’s been said. The pieces are slowly starting to come together, but there’s still so much uncertainty—so much at stake. You’ve always prided yourself on being strong, on keeping control of your life and your business, but now you feel like you’re navigating a minefield where every step could lead to disaster.

San looks at you, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You won’t be fighting alone. We’ve got your back.” You nod at him, a smile playing on your lips.

The room falls silent again, but this time there’s a sense of unity—of resolve. You’re facing an uphill battle, but you know you’re not facing it alone.

The door opened, and Jongho— an intern under San— stepped in, followed by your secretary, Yena. Their expressions were serious, and you immediately sensed that they had uncovered something important. Your pulse quickened as you turned to face them.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Jongho began, his voice careful and respectful, "but we found something that might be really important."

Yena stood next to him, her eyes flicking to yours. “We were reviewing the security footage from the office building, particularly your office since I'm the only one that has access besides you. We were checking to see if there was anything unusual that could explain how this whole situation began. And… well, something stood out.”

Jongho pulled out a tablet from the folder he was carrying and moved toward the table. Everyone in the room leaned in, curiosity and hope sparking through the air. San's focus sharpened as Jongho tapped the screen, pulling up the relevant footage.

“We found this clip,” Jongho explained, “It was taken the day before the police discovered the drugs. It shows an employee bringing two cream-colored bags to your office—bags with wood samples inside.”

You leaned closer to the screen, watching the semi-grainy security footage play out. There you were, sitting at your desk, while one of the employees approached, two nondescript bags in hand. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. You accepted the bag, placed it on the desk, and resumed your work.

But then your eyes caught something unusual.

“He’s wearing gloves,” you muttered, the realization hitting you like a punch to the gut.

"Exactly," Jongho replied, his voice low but confident. "That’s what caught our attention. Wearing sterile gloves to deliver wood samples? That’s not standard."

Yeosang leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he focused on the details of the footage. "It’s certainly not typical. Most people don’t wear gloves unless they’re handling something delicate, hazardous, or… they don’t want their fingerprints on it."

San clenched his jaw beside you, his hand resting on the table as he processed the implications. "Who is this employee?" he asked Jongho and Yena, though his gaze stayed fixed on the screen.

Yena stepped forward. "I’ve seen him before—he works in logistics, occasionally helping with deliveries. I believe his name is Jang Yohan. But I’ve never seen him wear gloves like that. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now… it feels off."

"It wasn’t just wood samples in that bag, was it?" you asked quietly, almost to yourself. The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth. "That’s how they did it. Whoever set me up had him plant the drugs in that bag—wearing gloves to avoid leaving his prints. My fingerprints are the only ones that would be found on it."

Yeosang leaned back in his chair, his mind clearly running through the possibilities. "It makes sense. They were careful—calculated. The gloves are the giveaway. It’s likely whoever hired him instructed him to use them for this exact reason."

San handed the tablet back to Jongho, a grim determination settling over his face. "This is exactly what we need to create doubt in the prosecution’s case," he said, his voice strong. "It doesn’t clear Y/N yet, but it raises serious questions about how the drugs ended up in her possession."

Hongjoong, who had been pacing while the video played, finally stopped to look at you. His eyes were intense but filled with that familiar protective instinct. "We need to trace this back to whoever orchestrated it," he said firmly. "If it’s Jaeyoon, we need proof. We need to dig into his finances, find out if he paid anyone off, and see who this employee is connected to. It’s the only way we’ll be able to prove that Y/N was framed."

You nodded, your heart hammering in your chest. A glimmer of hope began to break through the fog of anxiety. "Thank you," you said quietly to Jongho and Yena. "This could be the key we’ve been looking for."

Jongho offered a small, reassuring smile. "We’ll keep digging. There has to be more."

As they exited the room, the weight of the situation seemed a little lighter. You glanced at San, who was already gathering his thoughts for the next steps.

"This changes everything," he said softly, though there was an edge of fire in his voice. "We’re going to prove your innocence, Y/N. Whoever’s behind this isn’t going to get away with it."

For the first time in days, you felt a small measure of hope. It was far from over, but now you had something to fight with—a direction to move in.

The video footage had given you something solid—something that could cast doubt on the charges against you. Yet, the deeper question still gnawed at you: who was behind it all? Jaeyoon?

Hongjoong was already pacing again, his mind clearly racing, when he stopped abruptly and turned to you, San, and Yeosang.

“Y/N,” Hongjoong said, his voice sharper with a sudden realization. “That employee—the one who handed you the bag with the wood samples. What exactly did he say when he gave it to you?”

You frowned, trying to recall the details of that day. "He said he would come back later to collect the bag after I’d reviewed the samples. I didn’t think much of it at the time—just normal procedure."

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “And did he ever come back to get it?”

You nod your head. “Yes, I had it sitting on my desk to review it later as there was ample time before the deadline to approve it. He took it while I wasn't there. If I remember correctly, he told Yena that he mixed up the samples.”

San’s gaze snapped toward Hongjoong, who looked deep in thought. Slowly, Hongjoong walked back to his desk, picking up a photo that had been part of the evidence submitted by the prosecution. It was a picture of the drugs found in your car—specifically, the bags they had been placed in.

He stared at the picture for a long moment before grabbing a pen from his desk. Without a word, he drew a line across the image, right above a very noticeable purple mark on the bag. Then, he turned back to you.

“When you received the bag of wood samples,” Hongjoong began slowly, “did you notice anything unusual about it?”

Your mind raced back to that moment. It had been a normal day, and you were preoccupied with your work. But now, with the intensity of everything, you tried to remember.

“There was… a mark on one of the bags,” you said, furrowing your brow as the memory came into focus. “A black or purple ink mark.”

Hongjoong nodded, lifting the photograph up to eye level. "Look closely at this picture—the one of the drugs found in your car."

You leaned in, your eyes scanning the photo until they settled on the same purple mark that you’d just remembered. Your breath caught in your throat as the pieces began to fall into place.

“It’s the same bag,” San said, his voice tight with realization. “The exact same bag we see in the footage.”

Hongjoong nodded, his expression grim. “That employee came back for the bag because he wanted to switch out the wood samples for the drugs. The purple mark connects the bag found in your car with the one you were given in the office.”

Yeosang leaned forward, his fingers drumming against the table as his sharp mind began piecing it together. “This means whoever set this up planned it meticulously. They planted the drugs in the same bag that you’d innocently handled with the wood samples, ensuring your fingerprints were on it. When the police found it, there’d be no question—it would appear like you’d been in possession of it the entire time.”

You sank back in your chair, a mix of anger and disbelief coursing through you. “This was all calculated,” you murmured. “They knew exactly what they were doing.”

San’s face hardened, a new determination sparking in his eyes. "We have a direct link now. This bag connects the planted drugs to the employee who handed it to you. It’s evidence that can start to unravel their case against you."

Hongjoong crossed his arms, the gears of his mind turning. “If we can find out who this employee is connected to, we’ll have the leverage we need. I’m willing to bet everything that Jaeyoon is involved. We just need to follow the trail.”

Yeosang nodded in agreement. “The bag, the gloves, the purple mark... it’s all pointing toward a deliberate setup. We just need to dig deeper into the employee’s background, see who’s pulling the strings.”

San turned to you, his expression softer now but no less serious. "We’re getting closer, Y/N. This is the break we needed."

You met his gaze, feeling a flicker of hope return. It wasn’t over yet—not by a long shot—but with this new piece of evidence, you were finally beginning to see a way through the darkness.

-×-×-×-

2 weeks later

The courtroom was quieter this time, but the tension was even more palpable than before. You sat beside San at the defense table, your fingers gripping the edge of the chair. Across the aisle, the prosecutor shuffled through his papers, confident as ever. The employee—the one who had handed you the bags. Jang Yohan—was sitting at the witness stand, his eyes darting nervously around the room.

San was focused, calm, but you could feel the intensity radiating from him as he prepared to question the witness. Hongjoong sat a few rows behind you, his presence reassuring as always, while Yeosang was absent, working on other elements of the case. This was a critical moment, and everyone knew it.

The judge entered, and the room stood in unison. After the usual formalities, the hearing began. The prosecutor wasted no time presenting the case, confidently restating that the evidence was clear: you had been found in possession of illegal narcotics, your fingerprints were on the bags, and the prosecution would show that you were guilty of the charges.

Then it was time for San to present your defense. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate as he approached the judge.

"Your Honor," San began, his voice steady and commanding, "new evidence has come to light since our last hearing, which I believe will cast significant doubt on the charges against my client. We have footage that shows my client receiving the bags containing the drugs, but there’s more to it than that."

You couldn't help but find San extremely attractive. The way he carries himself, the way he speaks... focus, Y/N.

The judge’s eyes sharpened with interest. "Proceed, Mr. Choi."

San gestured toward the screen where the footage would be displayed. As the security video played, the room grew silent. You could see yourself sitting at your desk, accepting the bag from the employee. Everyone watched intently as the employee, conspicuously wearing sterile gloves, handed the bags over with care.

After the footage ended, San spoke again. "As you can see, the employee, Mr. Jang here, who delivered the bag at that time was wearing gloves. We found this suspicious, and upon further investigation, we discovered that the bag in question—both the one delivered in my client’s office and the one found in her car—has a unique identifying mark."

San held up a printed image of the bag, with the purple ink mark circled clearly in the photograph. "This very evident purple mark is present on both the bag from the footage and the one seized by the police. My client’s fingerprints were found on the bag because she handled it while inspecting wood samples," San explained. "We believe that Mr. Jang, under instruction, delivered the bag intentionally so that Ms. L/N's fingerprints would easily be all over it. We also have the footage of Mr. Jang coming back to Ms. L/N's office to get the bags hours later, wearing sterile gloves yet again. Additionally, a large chunk of footage was deleted from multiple viewpoints around the office building the same day Ms. L/N received the wood samples. The footage from Ms. L/N's office can only be accessed by Ms. L/N herself and her secretary."

The judge leaned forward, her eyes on the witness stand where the employee sat, clearly uncomfortable. "So you’re suggesting this employee, Mr. Jang, was complicit in planting the drugs, Mr. Choi?"

San nodded. "Yes, Your Honor. And we intend to prove it."

The judge turned her attention to the prosecutor, who frowned but nodded for the employee to be questioned.

San approached the witness stand, his gaze locking onto Mr. Jang, who was already shifting nervously in his seat. He started with a calm but pointed question. "Can you explain why you were wearing gloves when delivering the bag?"

Mr. Jang hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the prosecutor for support before returning to San. "I—I don’t really remember," he stammered. "It was a normal delivery."

San didn’t let up. "Is it normal for you to wear hospital-grade sterile gloves when handling wood samples that are already placed in a bag?"

Mr. Jang’s face flushed. "Not usually, no."

"Yet, on this particular occasion, you chose to wear gloves?" San pressed.

Jang Yohan fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "I guess I—uh, I wasn’t thinking."

San’s expression remained cool as he continued. "Or were you instructed to wear them? Were you told to ensure your fingerprints weren’t left on the bag?"

His eyes widened, and you could see the panic starting to set in. "No, I wasn’t instructed—"

"Then how do you explain the purple mark on the bag?" San cut him off smoothly, pulling out another image of the bag found in your car, the mark clearly visible in both photos. "This is the same bag you delivered to my client, isn’t it?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. He glanced at the prosecutor again, but this time the prosecutor remained silent. His hesitation only deepened the growing suspicion in the room. "I don’t know," he muttered, avoiding eye contact.

San stepped closer, his tone still measured but carrying a steely edge. "You don’t know? Or you don’t want to say? Who instructed you to plant those drugs in Ms. L/N’s possession?"

The room was dead silent as everyone waited for his answer. The employee’s hands fidgeted in his lap, beads of sweat forming on his brow. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "No one… no one told me to plant anything." You inwardly sigh in utter frustration.

San took a step back, giving the employee a moment to breathe, but his eyes never left the man’s face. "You realize perjury is a serious crime, don’t you?"

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did. "Yes… yes, I know."

San nodded once, satisfied for now. He turned back to the judge. "Your Honor, this man’s refusal to provide a clear explanation, combined with the evidence of the identical bags and the suspicious nature of his actions, strongly suggests that someone instructed him to plant the drugs in Ms. L/N’s possession. We will continue to investigate this matter, but we believe this evidence raises significant doubt about my client’s involvement."

The judge glanced from San to the employee, her expression unreadable. "Mr. Choi, I agree that the evidence raises questions. We will continue to allow further investigation into this matter, but for now, we will adjourn until the next scheduled hearing. The court is dismissed."

You felt a small wave of relief wash over you as you heard the sound of the gavel. The case wasn’t over, not by a long shot, but you could see that San had managed to shift the momentum in your favor. As the courtroom slowly emptied, you turned to San, gratitude and hope mixing in your chest.

"Thank you," you whispered, knowing full well that without him, the situation would have looked far bleaker.

San gave you a small, reassuring smile. "We’re getting there, Y/N. Step by step."

-×-×-×-

2 days later

The café was quiet, the low hum of conversation and the clinking of coffee cups providing a subtle background noise. San and his bestfriend Wooyoung, a corporate lawyer, sat at a corner table, their eyes scanning the room as they waited.

Wooyoung adjusted his jacket casually, the tiny recording device hidden within the fabric. He leaned back in his chair, his expression calm and collected, while San checked the time on his phone.

A few minutes later, the café door swung open, and the employee, Mr. Jang Yohan—nervous, disheveled, and clearly rattled from the last court hearing—stepped inside. His eyes darted around anxiously before they landed on San and Wooyoung. With a deep breath, he approached the table, his steps hesitant.

"Mr. Choi," he greeted San with a shaky voice, "you wanted to speak with me?"

San nodded, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Yes, have a seat."

Jang Yohan glanced around once more before sitting down, his hands fidgeting on the table. Wooyoung remained silent, observing the man carefully, his expression unreadable.

San wasted no time. He leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but firm. "We know you’re involved in framing Y/N, but what we need now is the full story. Who ordered you to plant the drugs in her car?"

The employee swallowed hard, clearly nervous. His gaze shifted to Wooyoung, who gave him a polite but unreadable smile. The pressure was mounting, and it was clear that the employee was caught between fear and guilt.

"I—I've told you, no one ordered me to do anything," he stammered, his voice trembling.

Wooyoung, sensing the employee’s hesitation, leaned forward, his tone friendly but sharp. "Look, we’re not here to ruin your life. But if you don’t come clean, this is going to end badly for you. You don’t want to be the fall guy in this mess, do you?"

Jang Yohan blinked, his hands shaking slightly as he looked down at the table. His shoulders slumped under the weight of the situation.

"I… I was just following orders," he whispered finally, his voice barely audible.

San exchanged a quick glance with Wooyoung, sensing that they were finally breaking through.

"Whose orders?" San asked, his tone measured, giving the man space to speak without pressure.

He hesitated, his fingers tapping nervously on the table. He glanced around again, clearly afraid of being overheard. Wooyoung remained calm, his hand resting casually on the table, the recording device capturing every word.

"It was… Ms. L/N's mother-in-law," the employee said, his voice shaking. "She… she approached me. She told me to place the drugs in Y/N’s car. She said it was the only way to stop the divorce and protect their family. She said she would have my kids expelled from their schools if I didn't listen. She also paid me off, and I—I didn’t know what else to do... I worked very hard to put my two children in a decent school, and one of them in guitar lessons."

The air around the table seemed to freeze as the words hung there. San’s expression didn’t change, but inside, a surge of anger and determination flared. This was the confirmation they needed.

"Jaeyoon’s mother, Mrs. Baek," San repeated, his voice carefully controlled. "She orchestrated all of this?"

Jang Yohan nodded quickly, looking down at his lap as if ashamed of his role. "Yes. She said her son told her there were no security camera's in Ms. L/N's office so there was no way I would get caught. They told me to delete the other footage of me moving about the building. I never wanted to do this."

Wooyoung leaned back slightly, giving the employee a sympathetic look. "And now, here you are, being dragged into a legal mess that could ruin your life."

He nodded, his face pale. "I didn’t know it would go this far. I just… I just did what she asked. I was scared of my kids' lives getting ruined."

San leaned back as well, keeping his expression neutral. "Well, you’ve just confessed to a crime. But here’s the thing—we’re willing to help you. If you cooperate with us, we can protect you and get you out of this. Your kids will not be affected in any way. But you’ll need to testify in court. You’ll need to tell the truth."

Jang Yohan looked up, his eyes wide with fear but also relief. "You’ll… you’ll help me?"

Wooyoung nodded, offering a small smile. "We’ll make sure you’re protected. But you have to stick to the truth, no matter what happens."

He nodded quickly, looking like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "I’ll do it. I’ll tell the truth. I don’t want any more trouble. I just want a good life for my kids."

San and Wooyoung stood up, the deal made. As they left the café, Wooyoung adjusted his jacket again, the recording safely stored. The confession was all there, captured and ready to be used in court.

As they walked toward the car, San turned to Wooyoung, his expression relieved but still serious. "That was risky, but it worked."

Wooyoung grinned, patting his jacket lightly. "Sometimes a little pressure does wonders."

San nodded, his mind already moving to the next steps. This was the turning point they needed. The truth was finally coming to light, and now, with the employee’s confession and the evidence in hand, they could start dismantling the case against you.

-×-×-×-

1 week later

The courtroom buzzed with anticipation as people filled the seats, journalists whispering to one another and spectators craning their necks to get a better view of the proceedings.

You sat beside San, your pulse racing as you watched the judge take her seat. This was it—the moment where everything could finally come to light. San had been relentless, and now the confession that could clear your name was about to be delivered.

The employee who had played such a pivotal role in your framing sat nervously at the witness stand, fidgeting as the prosecutor paced in front of him. Across the room, you could see the prosecutor’s frustration—this wasn’t going to go the way they had hoped. San, calm and composed as ever, sat back in his chair, waiting for his moment.

After the preliminary questions from the prosecution, it was San’s turn. He stood up, buttoning his jacket before walking toward the witness stand, his presence commanding the room. Jang Yohan avoided eye contact, clearly uneasy but ready to confess what he had done.

San didn’t waste any time. He stopped directly in front of the witness stand and addressed the employee with a calm, measured voice. "You’ve already testified that you were the one who delivered the bag to Ms. L/N. Now, I want you to tell this court exactly what you told me. Who ordered you to place the drugs in her car?"

The courtroom fell silent, every eye on the employee. He glanced nervously toward the prosecutor before finally speaking.

"It was Mrs. Baek, Ms. L/N's mother-in-law," the employee admitted, his voice trembling. "She told me to do it. She… she said it was to stop the divorce, that if I didn’t help, her family would be ruined. She threatened to have my kids expelled from their school, and she paid me a lot of money, too."

Gasps rippled through the courtroom, and the judge raised a brow in interest. San continued, his expression neutral but firm.

"So, Ms. L/N's soon-to-be ex-husband's mother orchestrated the entire plan to frame Ms. L/N for drug possession and distribution?" San asked, his voice steady.

The employee nodded, his face pale. "Yes. She paid me to plant the drugs in Ms. L/N's car. I didn’t want to, but she… she said I had no choice. She promised I wouldn’t get in trouble if I helped her."

San turned to the judge, his tone shifting to one of firm conviction. "Your Honor, this confession clearly establishes that my client has been framed by her ex-in-law's family. This entire case against Ms. L/N has been a deliberate attempt to discredit her and force her into submission."

The judge’s gaze moved from San to the prosecutor, who looked visibly shaken by the turn of events. The entire courtroom felt the weight of what had just been revealed.

"I request," San continued, his voice growing stronger, "that the court issue a subpoena for the financial records of Mr. Baek Jaeyoon’s family. If this court examines their transactions, I am confident we will find evidence of payments made to individuals—perhaps even this very employee—proving that this was a calculated scheme to frame my client."

The judge looked thoughtful, leaning back in her chair. She glanced at the prosecutor, who was still recovering from the bombshell of the confession.

The prosecutor rose, clearly scrambling for control. "Your Honor, while the testimony is damning, we must be cautious about making broad accusations without hard evidence. There is no direct proof connecting the Baek family finances to any payments made in relation to this case."

San didn’t miss a beat. "That is precisely why I’m requesting access to their financial records. We have the employee’s confession, and now we need to follow the money trail. If Baek Jaeyoon’s mother orchestrated this, the payments will be there. This court needs to see the full picture before passing any judgment on my client."

The judge tapped her fingers lightly on the bench, her eyes shifting between the prosecutor and San. After a long moment, she spoke.

"Mr. Choi’s argument is compelling. Given the testimony we’ve just heard, I am inclined to allow the request for a financial investigation into the Baek family. The court will issue a subpoena for the necessary records, and a thorough examination will be conducted."

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The tension in the room eased slightly, but the stakes remained high. The judge nodded toward San, signaling that he had the floor.

"I also request, Your Honor," San added, "that the charges against Ms. L/N be dropped while pending the results of this investigation. With this new testimony, there is significant doubt about her involvement, and keeping her under suspicion serves no purpose."

The judge paused again, thinking it over, then turned back to the prosecutor. "Does the prosecution wish to oppose this request?"

The prosecutor, still reeling from the confession, reluctantly shook his head. "No, Your Honor. We will await the results of the investigation."

With a sharp rap of the gavel, the judge made her decision. "The court grants the request for a financial investigation into the Baek family and suspends the charges against Ms. L/N pending the outcome. This hearing is adjourned."

The courtroom buzzed with murmurs of excitement and shock as the judge exited. You let out a long breath, feeling lighter for the first time in what felt like forever. San turned to you, his expression softening as he met your eyes.

"We’re not done yet," he said quietly, "but we’re closer than we’ve ever been."

You nodded, relief and gratitude flooding through you. The truth was finally starting to emerge, and now, with the financial investigation underway, it was only a matter of time before the entire web of lies unraveled.

-×-×-×-

1 week later

The atmosphere in the courtroom was electric with anticipation. Journalists lined the back rows, cameras flashing as they caught glimpses of the key figures entering.

Jaeyoon and his family sat on one side of the room, their expressions tense and cold. Across from them, you sat with San, your heart pounding as the final pieces of the puzzle came together. This was the moment you had been waiting for—the culmination of everything you’d fought so hard for.

Your family, finally here to support you, sat behind you, their presence a welcome comfort in this fraught situation. They had never believed you before and hadn't supported you at all, but you couldn’t help but not care today. You felt good today.

The judge took her seat at the bench, her sharp eyes scanning the room as she called the court to order. The tension was palpable as the final hearing began. This time, Jaeyoon and his family were the ones on trial, and you could feel the shift in the room—the power dynamic was no longer against you.

San stood up, his movements calm and measured as he approached the bench. He held a folder in his hand, the evidence that would finally expose Jaeyoon and his family for their crimes.

"Your Honor," San began, his voice steady and commanding, "the financial records that were subpoenaed have revealed a deeply concerning pattern of illegal transactions made by Mr. Baek Jaeyoon and his family. Over the past several months, large sums of money have been wired from Mr. Baek Jaeyoon’s personal account to an influential politician, Yoon Daechul. These funds were used to facilitate the procurement of illegal narcotics, which were then planted in Ms. L/N’s possession as part of a scheme orchestrated by Mr. Baek’s mother."

A murmur rippled through the courtroom as San presented the financial records, each one showing the repeated wire transfers. The judge’s expression remained neutral, but there was a spark of interest in her eyes as she leaned forward to examine the documents.

San continued, his voice unwavering. "The money trail is clear—each payment corresponds with a significant political favor or action, all of which led to the acquisition and placement of the drugs. This politician acted as a middleman, using his connections to secure the narcotics that were used to frame my client. The Baek family attempted to cover their tracks, but the records don’t lie."

The judge turned her attention to the prosecutor, who looked visibly rattled by the developments. "Does the prosecution have anything to say regarding these findings?"

The prosecutor stood, his expression stiff as he shook his head. "No, Your Honor. The evidence speaks for itself."

The judge nodded, then turned her gaze to Jaeyoon and his family. "Mr. Baek, your financial records clearly show that you and your family engaged in illegal transactions with a known politician in exchange for narcotics. This court will not tolerate such blatant disregard for the law, nor will it allow innocent individuals to be wrongfully accused as a result of your actions."

Jaeyoon’s mother shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her once imperious demeanor now replaced by visible anxiety. Jaeyoon himself remained stoic, but there was no mistaking the tension in his clenched jaw and stiff shoulders.

San took a breath before continuing. "Your Honor, I also want to address the broader context of this case. Ms. L/N and Mr. Baek Jaeyoon were once married, but their relationship took a dark turn. Ms. L/N sought a divorce after enduring emotional and physical harm at the hands of Mr. Baek. The situation escalated to such a degree that Ms. L/N was forced to file for a restraining order to protect herself."

He held up the restraining order for the court to see, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "This was not a simple marital dispute. Mr. Baek inflicted harm on Ms. L/N, both physically and emotionally. She had no choice but to separate from him and take legal measures to ensure her own safety."

San’s eyes flicked toward you for a moment, offering a reassuring glance before he turned back to the judge. "This conspiracy is an extension of Mr. Baek’s attempts to control and manipulate Ms. L/N. His actions have gone beyond personal harm and escalated into a criminal scheme designed to ruin her reputation and destroy her life."

Jaeyoon’s face reddened with anger. He shot up from his seat, glaring at San. "That’s a lie!" he shouted, his voice shaking with fury. "I never laid a hand on her—she’s exaggerating everything to make herself look like the victim!"

The judge raised an eyebrow, her gaze hardening. "Mr. Baek, you will refrain from speaking unless addressed directly by the court."

Jaeyoon’s mother, unable to remain silent any longer, stood as well, her voice sharp and indignant. "Your Honor, this is nothing more than a slanderous attack on my family! That woman—" she pointed accusingly at you—"has been trying to ruin my son from the beginning! She never belonged in our family, and she couldn’t handle the pressure of being part of something bigger than herself. This restraining order is just her way of making herself look innocent!"

The judge’s gaze was ice-cold as she replied. "Mrs. Baek, the restraining order was granted based on documented evidence of harm and harassment. This court will not dismiss it as a fabrication."

Jaeyoon, sensing the growing tension between himself and his mother, suddenly snapped. "You know what? Fine! Yes, the money was wired. Yes, the drugs were planted, but it wasn’t my idea!" He turned to his mother, his expression hardening. "This whole thing started because of her. She couldn’t stand the idea of losing control, and she dragged me into this mess."

His mother gasped audibly. "Jaeyoon! How dare you—"

"It’s the truth, Mother!" Jaeyoon snapped, his voice filled with anger and bitterness. "You said we had to get rid of Y/N no matter what if she went through with the divorce, that she was a threat to our reputation. You were the one who wanted to frame her! I went along with it, yes, but you were the mastermind!"

The courtroom buzzed with whispers and murmurs as Jaeyoon threw his mother under the bus. His mother, for the first time, looked truly rattled, her confident demeanor cracking. She opened her mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words.

The judge raised her hand, silencing the courtroom. "Regardless of who initiated the scheme, it is clear that both of you participated in an illegal conspiracy to harm Ms. L/N. The court is not interested in your blame-shifting; we are here to ensure justice is served. You will both be held accountable."

The judge turned back to you. "Ms. L/N, given the overwhelming evidence presented in this case, I hereby dismiss all charges against you. The court recognizes that you were the victim of an elaborate and malicious scheme. You are free to go."

Relief washed over you, your heart soaring as the weight of the past few months lifted from your shoulders. San’s hand brushed against yours beneath the table, a quiet gesture of support and reassurance. Behind you, your family let out sighs of relief, your mother placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

But the judge wasn’t finished. Her gaze returned to Jaeyoon and his mother, her voice now firm. "Baek Jaeyoon, your mother, and any individuals involved in this conspiracy will now face charges of fraud, bribery, and conspiracy to commit a crime. This court will see to it that justice is served. You are hereby ordered to remain in custody pending further investigation."

The gavel struck the bench, and the courtroom erupted into a flurry of activity. Reporters scrambled to document the fallout as Jaeyoon and his family were escorted from the courtroom in disgrace, their faces pale and drawn.

You stood slowly, still processing the magnitude of what had just happened. San was beside you in an instant, his hand resting gently on your back. "It’s over," he said quietly, his voice filled with quiet triumph. "You’re free."

You turned to face him, tears welling in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of relief and gratitude. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. "I couldn’t have done this without you."

San smiled softly, his eyes warm. "You didn’t have to. We were always in this together."

As you left the courtroom, surrounded by your family and the people who had fought beside you, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t known in a long time.

Justice had been served, and for the first time in months, you could breathe freely, knowing that the truth had finally prevailed.

-×-×-×-

The morning sun cast a warm glow over the city as you drove toward Saturn & Co., your heart lighter than it had been in months. The events of the trial were still fresh in your mind—the relief of being exonerated, the weight of the accusations finally lifting off your shoulders.

Today, you were returning to the company you had built, ready to step back into your role as CEO with renewed purpose after weeks of suffering.

As your car approached the building, you noticed something different. A large crowd of employees stood gathered outside the front entrance, their faces lit with excitement. You slowed the car, your curiosity piqued, and as you pulled into your parking spot, the realization hit you—they were all waiting for you.

The moment you stepped out of the car, the sound of cheering erupted from the crowd. It caught you off guard, the sheer volume of their support overwhelming. Your heart swelled with emotion as you took in the scene in front of you.

"Welcome back, Ms. L/N!" someone shouted from the crowd, and soon, the voices of your employees echoed the sentiment, their cheers blending together in a wave of affection and celebration.

Your eyes landed on a large banner strung up across the front of the building. In bold, colorful letters, it read:

"Welcome Back to Our Beloved CEO! We’re So Proud of You!"

Tears pricked at your eyes as you stood there, momentarily stunned by the outpouring of love. These were the people who had stood by you throughout everything—who had never lost faith in you even when the world seemed determined to tear you down. They had believed in your innocence, and now, they were here to celebrate your return.

A soft hand rested on your shoulder, and you turned to see Yena standing beside you, her face glowing with pride. "We wanted to do something special for you," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "You’ve been through so much, and we’re just so happy to have you back where you belong."

You smiled at her, your heart full of gratitude. "Thank you, Yena," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "This means more than I can put into words."

You took a deep breath and began walking toward the entrance, the crowd parting to let you through. Your employees clapped and cheered as you made your way up the steps, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of peace and belonging.

As you reached the front door, you paused for a moment, turning back to the crowd. "Thank you," you said, your voice carrying over the noise. "I’m so grateful for all of you. Saturn & Co. isn’t just a company—it’s a family. And I’m proud to be your CEO."

The applause grew louder, and you smiled, feeling the warmth of their support wrap around you like a protective shield. With renewed energy, you stepped into the building, ready to lead once more.

Inside, the familiar sights and sounds of the office greeted you—people bustling about, the hum of conversation, the scent of freshly brewed coffee. It felt like home, and after everything you had been through, you realized just how much this place—and these people—meant to you.

As you walked toward your office, you passed by employees who smiled at you, offering words of encouragement and congratulations. By the time you reached your desk, you felt lighter, more hopeful than you had in months.

Sitting down, you looked out over the city through the large windows, a smile playing on your lips. The battle had been long and hard, but you had emerged on the other side stronger than ever.

A knock was heard at your door before Yena stepped in, a bright smile on her face that caused one to form on yours too. "Ms. L/N... the surprises aren't done yet!"

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really?"

"Mhmm, you have a dinner reservation with Attorney Choi San at the Signiel Hotel tonight," she says with a smirk, well aware of the feelings you had for San. "I also booked a suite for the two of you at the hotel."

You blushed, a small chuckle escaping your lips. "Yena... you're too much."

"I know!" she beamed. "I know you get off only at six thirty today, so I already packed a little bag for you. I also chose your outfit for tonight as well and I'll do your hair and makeup too!"

-×-×-×-

When you arrived at the restaurant in the hotel, your heart raced when you noticed San seated at a booth in the corner, looking at the Seoul skyline, the sun setting in the distance. He was wearing beige pants and a navy blue shirt with a couple of buttons undone. You were also wearing navy blue, and knowing Yena, you knew she purposely got you this dress to match with San.

As you moved closer to San, the sound of your heels caught his attention, and he turned to look at you.

He stands up, taking your hand in his. He brought your hand up to his lips, placing a delicate kiss at the back of it. "Y/N..." he greets, "you look gorgeous tonight."

You blush. "Thank you, so do you, Sannie."

San giggles. "Shall we?"

You take a seat across San, and he pours a glass of wine for you. "How was work? Yena told me your employees surprised you today." You nod your head, taking a sip of the sweet wine while you made conversation about the events of your day. San listened to you so attentively, his eyes full of adoration.

The waitress brought the food and you noticed it had some of your favorite dishes; ones that you told San you loved weeks ago. You felt really touched that he remembered your likes and dislikes.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence, occasionally talking about the food or an old memory while you both watched the sun set and the light from the buildings around became more bright.

After dinner, the two of you went to your suite at the hotel, putting on a romcom movie and sipping on some more wine. Throughout the movie, you were cuddled up to San's side, your arms wrapped around his muscular arm. You felt very at peace. You felt so safe with San.

Once the movie ended, you stretched your arms, getting up on your feet. You walk towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, placing a hand on the glass while you looked at the beautiful night view of Seoul.

San made his way towards you, pausing right behind you. "It's so pretty," you say in awe, turning around to look at him. The strap of your dress was nearly falling off your shoulder, catching San's attention.

San thought you were glowing. You looked so beautiful.

He took two slow steps towards you, towering over your smaller form. His eyes roamed all over your face. It seemed like he wanted to say something but was hesitant to.

"What's wrong, Sannie?" you ask, hand reaching up to cup his face. He placed a hand over yours while leaning into your touch. He was looking intensely in your eyes like as if he was looking for some signs.

"Can I kiss you?" San asks in the softest tone he could muster.

You smiled, feeling your cheeks heat up. "I'd like that."

San brought his free hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, making you lean into his touch.

He leans down closer to you, brushing his lips against yours before gently kissing you. It felt just like how he kissed you at his place — soft, warm, and pure.

Your arms moved to wrap around his neck, pulling him even closer to you. You caught his bottom lip in between your teeth, giving it a light bite. San let out a faint moan at your actions, pressing his body against yours.

When San pulled away to breathe, you took the opportunity to kiss his neck, gently sucking and licking at his skin, making sure to leave a mark on him Your other hand traced the expanse of his shoulder before moving down his chest until you reached the button of his shirt that wasn't undone. You place your hand flat on his chest, and you could feel his heart beating fast.

You pulled away to look at him. "Can I?" you ask, eyes moving between his and the buttons of his shirt.

"Yes, please," he responds, and you slowly move your fingers to unbutton his shirt, his muscular chest and abs coming into view.

San swiftly swept you off your feet, carrying you bridal-style to the loveseat in the very corner of the living room. As soon as he sat down with you in his arms, you moved to straddle his lap. You gently push the navy blue shirt off his body, exposing his bare upper body to you.

Oh. My. Goodness. Holy. Fuck.

Now, this was a view you could never get enough of: San, half naked, looking up at you with hooded eyes, with the Seoul skyline in the background.

San smirked, extending his muscular arms along the top of the backrest of the loveseat. "Impressed?" He asks, titling his head slightly, a smug look on his face while he watched your eyes take in the sight of his body that he worked very hard on despite his hectic attorney schedule.

You leaned in to place a lingering kiss on his lips before you let yourself sit down completely on his lap, feeling his hard dick beneath you, the only barrier being the material of your panties and his pants.

You mimicked his smirk, straightening your body, reaching for the hem of your dress, taking it off right in front of his eyes, letting it pool on the ground, leaving you in just your lacey panties.

San's jaw dropped.

He shamelessly checked you out, eyes noticing the muscles on your thighs, his mind imagining his face getting squeezed by them.

If you thought San was hard enough beneath you before, he was even harder now.

"Impressed?" You ask, repeating his words, your hands running through his soft black hair before resting on his shoulders. You leaned in to kiss him again, grinding down on his hard clothed dick.

San was about to lose his mind. "Very," he practically growls.

You noticed he hadn't touched you in any way yet. You reach for his hands, bringing them up to your chest so he could grab your tits. When he looked at you, you nodded at him, giving him consent to touch you.

San brought your lips back to his in a hungry kiss while you continued to grind on his clothed dick. His hands played with your boobs, giving them a light massage, rolling your hard nipples between his fingers. You let out a moan in his mouth, and you could feel your panties sticking to your wet folds.

You slightly pulled away, resting your forehead against his. "San..." You say his name breathlessly. Your head spinning from the intensity of the kiss. Your clit was throbbing, begging to be touched in any way. "San, please."

"Please what, baby?" San murmurs, his hands moving up and down your thighs. The pet name from his lips caused a chill to run down your spine.

"I want you right now," you say, pressing your core down harder on his clothed dick.

"Want me how?" He knew the answer, but he wanted to tease you.

You lean down to kiss his neck, dragging kisses up to his earlobe, placing a soft kiss beneath his ear. "Attorney Choi... Choi San..." you whisper in his ear in a low tone. "I want you to fuck me right now."

San's hands moved up your thigh to your heated core. He touched you over the fabric of your panties, smirking at the wet patch he could feel. "So needy for me, hmm?"

He looked you straight in the eye when his hands moved to one side of your hip, ripping that side of your panties, repeating the same thing on the other side. You gasped at his actions, and he tossed the scraps onto your dress on the floor.

"I really liked those panties," you say with a light chuckle, moving your body up to make yourself more comfortable, but San stopped you midway; your tits were right in front of his face.

"I'll get you a whole pack of them later," he murmurs in a low tone. "But could you stay like this for me, hmm?"

He took your nipple in his mouth while his finger swiped your slit to collect the wetness there. He rubbed your slick onto your clit, using it as lube to better rub your clit.

"San, fuckkk," you moaned when his finger moved faster on your clit. Without any warning, he pushed two fingers inside your wet pussy, wasting no time in pumping his fingers in and out while his thumb rubbed your clit in circular motions.

San pulled his fingers out, and you whimpered at the loss of contact. He sucked his fingers clean before picking you up and taking you to the bedroom of the suite. He dropped you onto the bottom of the bed so that your legs were dangling off the edge.

San unbuckled his belt, tossing it aside, his pants and briefs off following shortly after. You marveled at the sight of him nude in front of you, your hips bucked up involuntarily at the mere sight of him. He dropped to his knees, his hands moving your legs to rest over his shoulder. He wasted no time in licking your slit, moaning at your sweet taste. He attached his mouth to your clit, licking and sucking the nub while he slowly introduced two fingers in again.

Your thighs were squeezing his head, just like he imagined, and your loud moans prompted him to pump his fingers even faster. You were so lost in your pleasure until your orgasm came crashing, and you came all over San's fingers.

You took a minute to compose yourself before you sat up straight, wrapping your hand around his hard cock. You pumped his length, your thumb rubbing circles on his slit. San moaned you name out before taking your lips in his, his tongue brushing across your lower lip. You opened your mouth slightly to give him more access, but he pulled away and stopped your hand from jerking him off further. "You're making me feel too good, sweetheart... I might just bust right now."

"Let me ride you then," you say to him.

San nods, moving to lie down in the middle of the bed. You hovered over his cock, leaning down to kiss him. "I'm on the pill," you let him know before sinking down onto his length.

You started moving down on his dick at a slow pace, wanting to take the time to familiarize yourself with the way his cock felt in you. You sunk down even more until you bottomed out. You gave yourself some time to adjust to his size before you increased the pace, bouncing on his dick.

His hands moved to cup your ass, helping you slam harder on him. "God, Y/N, I-I swear... you're so fucking hot taking my dick like that," he growls.

The room was filled with your combined moans and the sound of skin clapping, and you watched San's eyebrows furrow while his tongue darted out to wet his laps, his upper teeth sinking into his bottom lip while he moaned.

San loved the way your tits bounced and the way you threw your head back, but he wanted to take control now. Placing his hands on your hips, he stopped you from moving and quickly flipped you onto your back.

"Let me take care of you, yeah?" He slammed his cock in and out of you in a rapid pace, his hands interlocking with yours while he fucked you. He was repeatedly hitting your spot, and you felt the coil of pleasure tighten in your stomach. You tried to move your hands to touch him, but his hands held yours down with a little force, the gesture causing your clit to throb yet again.

"San... I... It's... I'm gonna..." you struggle to say. Your body felt like it was on fire.

"Let it go, baby, cum for me," San encourages, hand reaching down to rub your sensitive clit. Few more thrusts and an intense orgasm washes over your body, causing your body to shake while you chanted out his name.

"Hold on, baby, I'm almost there," San lets you know. He quickened his pace even more before coming to a stop, his dick pulsating in you when he reached his climax.

San slowly pulled out before collapsing next to you. He reached for your sticky, sweaty body, pulling you to his chest while you both tried to calm your breathing.

He kisses your forehead. "Are you okay?"

"Mhmm," you mumble, "It was so good." San chuckles, holding you close to him. "Hey, San?"

"Hmm?"

"You know I have feelings for you, right?" you confess.

"Oh really? I didn't know that!" he teases, and you lightly smack his chest. "Of course, I think everyone knows that now. But Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"You know I have feelings for you too, right?" he admits, and the butterflies in your stomach flutter around wildly.

"I... I wasn't too sure," you murmur honestly, "I felt like there was so much going on and... I don't know, I thought that you might like me, but I've been... too much lately, these past few months."

San strokes the back of your head. "And? If anything, these past few months where you were so vulnerable and yet so brave, so strong, has made me admire you even more. My feelings for you have only kept growing since the first time you stepped into my office. I want to be with you, Y/N. I want to show you the life you deserve."

"You do?" you ask in a soft tone, your heart racing at his confession.

"Yes, sweetheart," he chuckles lightly. "But I don't want to rush into anything. I know these past few months have been hard for you. I want you to take as much time you want or need before you decide that I'm the one you want."

You hum, thinking about his words, appreciating how considerate he's always been. "I only want you, San," you turn to look at him, "I'll always only want you. I want to take things slow," you mentally laugh, because you literally just had sex with him, "but I want to do it all with you."

San's smile widens, his dimples deepening as warmth fills his eyes. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering like a promise. "You have no idea how much that means to me," he whispers, voice hushed with emotion. "I never thought I'd find someone who sees me like you do."

Your heart swells, and you pull him into a sweet kiss, one where you both can't stop smiling. The way his lips move against yours feels like a silent vow, like this moment is the beginning of something more—something real.

When you break apart, you giggle softly, your foreheads resting together. "Let's take a shower together and then cuddle to sleep, hmm?"

San chuckles, his breath brushing your skin. "You sure you're not trying to tempt me again?" His eyes twinkle with playful mischief.

You pretend to think about it, biting your lip. "Maybe… or maybe I just want to hold you close and feel safe in your arms."

San’s grin softens into something more intimate, his gaze steady on yours. "Then let me take care of you, the way you deserve. Always."

As you both make your way to the shower, hand in hand, the future doesn’t feel so uncertain anymore. For the first time in a long while, you're no longer weighed down by the past or the fear of what might happen next. All that matters is this—San, you, and the love that's beginning to blossom between you.

And as the warm water cascades over you both, washing away all the worries of the day, you know deep down, you're exactly where you belong.

877 notes · View notes