#i need to print everything and get it organized in folders. is what i need to do....

[boleynqueenes]

Where do you write?

Is there anything else about your writing process your readers don’t know?

at the library, at my computer desk. pretty much just those two...in my bed if i'm writing on my phone. also idk why but after a shower i always have a scene ready to write in my head lol, it is so annoying, literally (bcus i will forget its shape if i don't get it down right away, so i never have time to dry/change)...typing it out with towel-dried fingers on my phone, with my ass wet.... there is something about a shower that unlocks your brain?? idk what it is?? rain simulation?? i've actually read that some writers have like waterproof/writeable curtains and markers or whiteboard inside their showers for this very reason...i need to look into that for when i win the lottery........

well. i guess nobody knew that. welcome to my ass <3

[imloyaltoscoups]

guinea pig | kim mingyu

You've recently turned one of the empty rooms in your apartment into a makeshift photography studio. It's become your haven, a place where creativity flows freely, but there's just one thing missing—a model.

With a sigh, you glance around the room, pondering your options. Suddenly, it hits you, your friends! They'd be perfect for the job. You grab your phone and open your group chat, typing out a message: "Helloo~ I need a guinea pig for a photo shoot. Any takers?"

You wait eagerly for their responses, but one by one, they all decline. Some are out of town, others too busy with work or other commitments. Feeling a tad disheartened, you're about to give up when a private message pops up from Mingyu.

"What do you mean by guinea pig???" he asks, his curiosity piqued.

You grin, relieved to have found at least one potential prey model. Quickly, you reply, "I mean someone to pose for some experimental shots I want to try out. Are you up for it?"

There was a pause before Mingyu's response came through, teasingly saying, "Ah, I see. You might want to change the term you're using though. Sounds a bit... scary."

"Sooo it's that a yes?" you type back.

"Yup, just give me a minute to prepare," Mingyu replies promptly.

Amused by Mingyu's willingness to participate, you shoot him another message, "Oki~ Btw bring a few different outfits if you can."

After a moment, his reply pops up, "Hmm, shouldn't you be the one worrying about outfits? I'm just the canvas, remember?"

Chuckling at his cheeky response, you type back, "True true. Haha. I'll make sure to have some clothes ready. Just get your ass here. ASAP!"

As you continue to organize your makeshift studio, another thought crosses your mind. Typing out a message to Mingyu, you suggest, "Gyu, since you're the model, can you bring some food? We might get hungry during the shoot!"

Mingyu's reply comes in swiftly, his cheekiness evident in his words, "Wow, now you want me to be the model and the caterer? What's next, am I also doing your hair and makeup?"

You chuckle at his response, appreciating his sense of humor. "Consider it a payment for your modeling services," you reply, adding a smiley face.

There's a brief pause before Mingyu responds, "The audacity. 🙄"

You can't help but laugh at his cheeky response, typing back, "Hey, a multi-talented model like you can surely handle it all, right?"

"Fine" he concedes, "I'll drive thru mcdo, anything you want?"

With a grin, you reassure him, "Anything will do, as long as it keeps us fueled for the shoot. Thanks, Handsome!"

As you place your phone down, you can't shake off the excitement bubbling inside you. Rushing over to your printer, you start browsing Pinterest for inspiration, printing out a mix of cute and seductive poses. You gather them into a folder, ready to guide your impromptu photoshoot.

Heading to your closet, you rummage through the clothes, searching for outfits that can accommodate Mingyu's towering height. After a bit of digging, you manage to find a few options that might work.

With a satisfied nod, you arrange the shirts, jackets, and skirts neatly on the rack, mentally crossing your fingers that Mingyu will show up in jeans to complete the look. It's a bit of a challenge styling someone taller than you, but you're determined to make it work.

Glancing around your makeshift studio, you double-check the lighting and adjust the backdrop slightly, ensuring everything is set for the photoshoot. you settle into a chair nearby as you wait for your muse to arrived.

Hearing the doorbell, you spring up from your chair, practically sprinting to the monitor to check who's there. Sure enough, it's him, standing at your front door with a grin on his face. "Open the door!" he calls out, his voice muffled through the speaker.

Swinging it open, you're greeted by Mingyu's amused expression. Before you can even exchange greetings, your hand instinctively reaches for the bag of food he's carrying.

But he is quick to react, pulling the bag out of your reach with a playful tsk. "Ah ah ah," he teases, holding the bag just out of your grasp. "Not so fast, photographer. You'll get your food after we're done shooting."

You can't help but pout, disappointment clear on your face. "Come on, just one fry!"

With a mock sigh, he relents, literally plucking a single fry from the bag and holding it out to you. "Fine, just one. Don't say I never did anything for you." you eagerly accept it, savoring the salty goodness.

But when you ask for more, he shakes his head, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Sorry, buddy. You're on your own for the rest. Gotta save some for the hungry model."

You let out a playful curse, feigning disappointment as he steps past you into the house, the tantalizing scent of fries lingering in the air. Well, at least you got a taste.

"Nice setup," Mingyu comments as he steps into the studio, his eyes scanning the room before landing on the clothing rack. He quirks an eyebrow as he examines the skirts hanging there. "A skirt? Really?"

You shrug with a sheepish grin, replying, "Hey, it's the best option considering my pants won't even fit you. But don't worry, it's part of the art."

Thanking him for wearing denim jeans, you dive into picking out some clothes for him. "Okay, let's see… How about this turtleneck?.. with this skirt." you suggest, holding it up for his approval.

As you hand him the clothes, you expect him to excuse himself to change, but to your surprise, he starts undressing right there in front of you. You pause for a moment, taken aback, but then you remember that you're both comfortable with each other, and it's all in the name of art.

Once he's dressed, you step back to admire the look, studying him intently. Despite the unconventional pairing, Mingyu somehow manages to pull it off effortlessly. You can't help but feel a pang of admiration, marveling at how effortlessly he can make any outfit look good. "Nice," you finally comment, unable to hide your admiration. "You could wear a garbage bag and still look hot."

He laughs at your comment, flashing you a grin. "Thanks, I think," he replies, striking a wink. "But let's stick with the turtleneck and skirt for now."

"Alright, Gyu, I need you right over here," you gesture towards a spot in front of the backdrop, indicating where you want him to stand.

"Stand tall, shoulders back, and give me a confident stance."

Mingyu follows your directions with ease, adopting a relaxed yet commanding posture that fills the frame with his presence. You adjust the lighting, capturing the play of shadows on his features as he effortlessly owns the space.

"Great, now let's try something a bit more dynamic," you continue, gesturing for him to shift his weight and strike a more playful pose. "How about a slight lean forward, like you're about to take a step? And maybe tilt your head to the side, just a bit."

With a subtle nod, he adjusts his position, adding a hint of movement to the shot while maintaining his composed demeanor. The camera clicks away, freezing the moment in time with striking precision.

As you review the shots on your camera screen, you can't help but be impressed by Mingyu's natural talent in front of the lens. "You're a natural, Gyu," you remark with a grin, feeling the excitement building with each successful shot.

"Let's switch things up a bit," you suggest, motioning for him to crouch down slightly. "Can you lower yourself down and rest one arm on your thigh?"

Mingyu nods, gracefully sinking into a crouch while maintaining his poise. He extends one arm, resting it casually on his thigh, the lines of his body creating a captivating silhouette against the backdrop. His expression takes on a thoughtful intensity as he gazes off into the distance, his features highlighted by the soft glow of the studio lights.

As you review the images on the camera screen, a playful idea strikes you. "Gyu, do you think you could put your finger on your lips and stretch them out a bit? Like you're shushing someone?"

Mingyu quirks an eyebrow at the request but doesn't hesitate to comply. Placing a finger to his lips, he stretches them out into a playful pout, his eyes sparkling with mischief. It's a simple gesture, but it adds a touch of whimsy to the shot, making it all the more captivating.

"Nice," you grin, snapping away as Mingyu holds the pose, his playful expression captured for eternity. "Stand up Gyu, let's switch up the look." you say, turning towards the clothing rack to pick out a new outfit.

As you start browsing through the options, you hear Mingyu's footsteps approaching. Before you can react, he's beside you, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he plucks the folder from the table.

You turn to him, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "Oh, found the inspiration folder, did you?"

Mingyu nods, flipping through the pages with a knowing smirk. "I see you've been doing some interesting research," he remarks teasingly, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You feel a flush creep into your cheeks, but you try to play it cool. "Just trying to get some ideas for poses, you know," you say nonchalantly, though your heart rate might have picked up a bit.

He smirk, as his gaze lingering on the images in the folder. "Hmm, some of these poses are... quite provocative," he comments, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

You clear your throat, feeling a bit flustered under his scrutiny. "Uh, yeah, I was just exploring different styles." you reply awkwardly, hoping to steer the conversation back on track.

But Mingyu doesn't seem deterred, his grin widening as he leans closer to you. "So, which one of these 'interesting' poses are we trying next?" he asks, his tone teasing yet daring.

You clear your throat, trying to regain your focus as you hand Mingyu the leather jacket. "Yep, just the jacket and pants for this one," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady despite the heat rising in your cheeks.

Mingyu raises an eyebrow playfully, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Just the jacket and pants? Sounds like my kind of outfit," he teases, his eyes dancing with amusement.

You chuckle nervously, trying to keep your composure as he strips off his previous clothes and slips into his pants. Your breath catches in your throat as he casually drapes the jacket over his shoulder, the fabric falling in elegant folds.

Gulping down the sudden surge of nerves, you muster up the courage to give him instructions for the next pose. "Next, let's try something a bit more... dramatic," you say, your voice coming out a little shaky.

Mingyu quirks an eyebrow, his gaze flicking towards you with a hint of curiosity. "Dramatic, huh? I like the sound of that," he remarks, his smirk widening as he waits for your next move.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your trembling hands as you instruct him to pose. "I want you to stand with your back against the backdrop, one hand resting on your hip and the other holding the jacket open slightly," you explain, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu nods in understanding, a playful glint in his eyes as he strikes the pose with practiced ease. As you prepare your camera, he can't resist teasing you one last time. "Why not give me some more specific instructions? After all, you've already seen the folder," he teases, his voice laced with playful mischief.

You swallow nervously, acutely aware of the charged atmosphere between you. "I think you already know what I want," you reply, trying to sound nonchalant despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. As you continue to snap away with the camera.

He chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Sureee" he concedes.

Rolling your eyes at Mingyu's teasing, you instructed him to wear the jacket. "Just put on the jacket now, please," you say firmly, trying to ignore the playful smirk on his face.

He laugh quietly, but he complies, slipping into the jacket with a casual grace. As he starts to zip it up, he pauses and shoots you a mischievous grin. "You sure you don't want to show off my abs?" he teases, his tone laced with amusement.

You shoot him a glare in response, your patience wearing thin. "Just follow the instructions, Kim Mingyu," you say, your voice tinged with exasperation.

Mingyu's smirk fades slightly at your tone, and he nods, zipping up the jacket until it reaches his chest. He then looks at you expectantly, waiting for further instructions.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you gesture towards his pants. "Now, unbutton your pants," you instruct, trying to keep your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't protest. Instead, he reaches down and unbuttons his pants, revealing the waistband of his boxers underneath. He looks back at you, a playful glint in his eyes as he waits for your next command.

"Now, let's try something a bit more candid," you suggest, adjusting your camera settings. "Take out your phone and look at it, as if you're checking a message or something. And keep one hand resting on your jean."

Mingyu nods, slipping his hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone. As he does so, he shoots you a playful grin. "Sure thing, boss," he replies, his tone laced with humor. With his phone in hand, Mingyu adopts the pose you described, his gaze fixed on the screen as his other hand rests casually on his jean.

"Perfect," you reply, framing the shot and adjusting the focus. "Just hold that pose for a moment."

As you snap the photo, Mingyu's eyes meet yours briefly, a playful twinkle dancing in them. "Got it," you say, lowering the camera and giving him a nod of approval. "That was great."

Mingyu grins, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Thanks. Anything else you want to try?" he asks, his tone casual but curious.

"Can you lower the zipper of your jacket just a bit?" you ask, trying to maintain your professional demeanor.

Mingyu's grin widens as he teasingly responds, "Oh, now you want to see my abs, huh?"

You shoot him a glare, but he only laughs in response. "I was just kidding," he adds quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "But seriously, I can't adjust it."

Letting out a resigned sigh, you reluctantly make your way towards him. As you reach for the zipper, Mingyu takes the opportunity to grab your camera, holding it up to give you a better view.

But as you struggle with the stubborn zipper, you can't help but feel Mingyu's gaze burning into you. His eyes are fixed on your face, his expression unreadable yet strangely intense.

Feeling a flush creeping up your cheeks, you try to ignore the distraction and concentrate on the zipper. With a final tug, the zipper finally gives way, sliding down smoothly to reveal the hint of Mingyu's toned chest beneath.

With the zipper finally adjusted, you reclaim your camera from Mingyu's grasp, grateful to resume the shoot. You quickly refocus your attention, determined to capture the perfect shot.

"Alright, Gyu, let's try something a little more intense," you say, your voice slightly husky as you gesture for him to follow your lead.

He nods, his expression serious as he waits for your instructions. "Place your thumb on your lower lip," you continue, your voice barely above a whisper as you watch him carefully.

Mingyu follows your directions without hesitation, his thumb brushing lightly against his lower lip as he fixes his gaze on the camera. There's a raw intensity in his eyes, a simmering passion that sends a shiver down your spine.

As you snap away with your camera, you can't help but feel the sexual tension crackling between you. Each pose becomes more daring, more provocative.

"That's a wrap," you declare with a satisfied smile, reviewing the pictures you've taken with Mingyu. The images are stunning, each one capturing a different facet of his charm and charisma.

Mingyu nods in agreement, a satisfied grin on his face as he removes the jacket, leaving him with just the unbuttoned pants. "Great job, Y/N," he says, giving you a playful wink. "Now, how about we switch roles? You be the model, and I'll be the photographer."

You consider his suggestion for a moment before nodding. "Why not?" you reply with a grin, handing him the camera. "Let's see what you can do behind the lens."

Mingyu accepts the camera with a grin, already brimming with ideas for poses and compositions. "Alright, but first, I think you need to change," he says, gesturing towards your denim shorts. "How about switching into some jeans?"

You nod in agreement, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of being on the other side of the camera. "Sounds good," you reply, making your way to your bedroom to change. As you slip into a pair of jeans, you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation building inside you.

You return to the room, a sense of suspense coursing through you as Mingyu holds out a denim jacket. His next request catches you off guard. "Um, remove my shirt and bra and just wear the jacket?" you repeat, your voice slightly shaky with surprise.

Mingyu nods, a determined look in his eyes as he hands you a picture from the folder. "Yeah, I saw this pose and thought it would look great on you," he explains, his tone confident.

You take a deep breath, feeling a surge of nerves and excitement as you strip off your shirt and bra, leaving you with just the jacket. Clutching the picture in your hand, you mimic the pose, trying to channel the same confidence and allure as the model in the photo.

As you hold the pose, he snaps away with the camera, capturing the moment from every angle. "Perfect," he murmurs, a hint of admiration in his voice as he reviews the shots.

Suddenly, Mingyu's voice breaks the silence, pulling you out of your reverie. "Now, how about we try something a little more daring?" he suggests, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his suggestion. "Oh? That would be?" you ask, your curiosity piqued.

Mingyu hands you another picture from the folder, his gaze intense as he meets your eyes. "I want you to remove the jacket and just cover your chest," he says, his voice low and husky with desire.

You swallow nervously, feeling a rush of heat flood through you at his words. With trembling hands, you remove the jacket, leaving your chest exposed as you cover yourself with your arms.

Mingyu watches you intently, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he captures the moment with his camera. "Beautiful," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he continues to snap away.

But he's not done yet. "Turn around," he instructs, his voice firm but gentle. "Place your hands behind your back, in your pockets."

You obey his command, feeling a thrill run through you as you follow his instructions. The cool breeze brushes against your exposed breasts, sending a shiver down your spine as your nipples harden in response.

Mingyu continues to photograph you, you can't help but feel a sense of exhilaration coursing through you. This photoshoot has taken an unexpected turn, but you find yourself embracing the moment, eager to see where it leads.

As you stand there, feeling a mix of exhilaration and uncertainty, you hear Mingyu's voice behind you. "You look really stunning," he murmurs, his words sending a thrill down your spine.

You turn to face him, a faint blush tinting your cheeks as he moves closer, reaching out to adjust your hair with gentle fingers. His touch sends a shiver of anticipation racing through you.

Mingyu then leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Why don't we go all out?" he whispers, his voice low and husky. "Why don't you take off all your remaining clothes? We can recreate the birth of Venus. You already look perfect, so let's give it a go."

You meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest as you consider his proposal. His eyes are dark with desire, burning with a hunger that mirrors your own.

In that moment, you feel a surge of courage coursing through you. With a nod, you take a deep breath and begin to remove your remaining clothes, baring yourself to him completely.

You stand there, vulnerable and exposed, you can't help but feel a sense of liberation washing over you. Mingyu's eyes drink in every inch of your naked form, his admiration evident in the way he looks at you.

As the last click of the camera signals the end of the shoot, Mingyu's words bring you back to reality. "It's done," he declares, his voice filled with satisfaction as he sets the camera down on the table.

With a sense of relief, you start to gather your clothes, eager to cover yourself and return to some semblance of normalcy.

But before you can fully clothe yourself, Mingyu's voice stops you in your tracks. "Wait," he says, his tone commanding yet gentle.

Confused, you turn to look at him, your hands still clutching your clothes to your chest. His eyes are filled with lust as he walks towards you, a hunger burning within him that sends a thrill through your veins.

You swallow nervously as he cups your face in his hands, his touch sending electric sparks dancing across your skin. Closing your eyes, you lean into his touch, anticipation building in the air as you wait for his next move.

And then it happens. Mingyu leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle caress. It's a slow, languid kiss, filled with passion and thirst as you melt into each other's embrace.

Feeling emboldened by the intensity of the moment, you drop your clothes, wrapping your arms around Mingyu to deepen the kiss. His response is immediate, his hands roaming eagerly over your body as he pulls you closer, his desire evident in every touch.

With a soft gasp, you feel Mingyu's hand on his pants, lowering them along with his boxers to let his cock free. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel him aligning it along your entrance, the anticipation sending a shiver of excitement coursing through you.

As Mingyu slides his length inside you, you let out a soft moan, the sensation of him filling you completely overwhelming your senses. His hands wrap around your butt, lifting you effortlessly off the ground, and you instinctively wrap your legs around him, clinging to him tightly as he begins to move.

With each thrust, he sets a rhythm that sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You find yourself moving in sync with him, using your arms to pull yourself up and down on him, your legs squeezing his waist to grip him tighter.

His lips find yours in a passionate kiss, adding an extra layer of intensity to the already electric atmosphere. You lose yourself in the moment, the world fading away as you focus solely on the feeling of Mingyu inside you, the rhythm of your bodies moving in perfect harmony.

As you reach your climax together, the pleasure crashes over you in a tidal wave, your bodies trembling with the force of your release. Pressing your foreheads together, you lock eyes with Mingyu, sharing a moment of pure connection as you cum together inside you.

Still clinging to him, he squeeze your ass, the sensation sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine. Mingyu's words break the silence, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and satisfaction. "If this is what you meant for being a guinea pig," he says, his tone teasing yet sincere, "then count me in for every experiment."

Laughing at his playful remark, you reluctantly unwrap your legs from around him as he gently sets you back down on the ground. Despite the lingering warmth of your connection, you know there are practical matters to attend to.

"Shower sounds amazing right now," you say with a grin, feeling a sudden pang of hunger as you remember the food Mingyu brought. "And food too, definitely food."

Mingyu nods in agreement, a smile playing on his lips as he reaches for your hand. "Lead the way," he says, his voice soft and reassuring as he follows you towards the bathroom.

As you step into the shower together, the warm water cascading over your bodies, you can't help but feel a sense of intimacy and closeness with Mingyu. The simple act of washing each other's skin becomes a tender gesture of care and affection, deepening the bond between you.

After the shower, you wrap yourselves in towels and make your way to the kitchen, where you find the food Mingyu brought earlier waiting for you. Sitting down at the table together, you share a meal.

You then started to set up your laptop to export the pictures from the photoshoot, eager to see the results of your collaboration. As you browse through the images, you can't help but feel a sense of pride at the work you've created together.

With a satisfied smile, you lean back in your chair, feeling grateful for the day you've shared with Mingyu. As you look at him, a sense of warmth fills your heart, knowing that you've found someone who's willing to go on this journey with you, one photoshoot at a time.

....... ≿━━━━༺MINGYU༻━━━━≾ .......

[honeytonedhottie]

honey's guide to spring⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🪷

i've been preparing this post for a while bcuz i LOVE spring and for this spring i just wanna embody feminine, fairy, dream-like beauty in my day-to-day this spring, and just enjoy it fully.

THE MOOD FOR SPRING : planting new seeds, fresh fruit, and bouquets of flowers. tea parties and floral prints and perfumes. green grapes, hibiscus tea and waking up early to see the sunrise.

PREPARATION FOR SPRING : stock up on your favorite fruits and teas. if u want fruits that are in season, the fruits in season during spring include strawberries, cherries, blueberries, kiwis, bananas and nectarines. my favorite spring time tea is hibiscus and i love a good matcha during all seasons but especially spring, and lastly a good citrus tea is always something that i enjoy.

if ur someone who experiences rly bad allergies during the spring make sure that u go to ur doctors for a check up, and make sure that u have everything that you'll need to combat allergies.

THE PLAYLIST : a good playlist is always essential so my spring playlist consists of : eternal sunshine - jhene aiko. はるなつあきふゆ - ichiko aoba. afterglow - luna li. pisces - yerin baek. fairy of shampoo - TXT. scenery - red velvet. hydrangea love - TXT. cool with you - newjeans. salad days - iiso. pov - ariana grande. lyricist - heize.

REFRESH : time for spring cleaning both mentally and physically. analyze what habits are nourishing u and which habits are drying you out. analyze ur space and do a deep cleaning, that way u can feel lighter both mentally and physically.

wash ur sheets, maybe even buy fresh sheets (floral printed sheets for spring ofc)

go thru ur closet and put the winter and autumn clothes towards the back and bring the spring clothes where they're more accessible and visible

deep clean ur room and clean ur house -> get onto clean-tok for some cleaning motivation cuz watching videos of people cleaning and organizing always motivates me to do so too

create new pinterest boards and delete ones that u dont use, or if u want to, create a completely new pinterest account. i've grown attached to my pinterest account so i won't delete it, but i've made lots of other accounts on separate devices

oftentimes we forget to clean what we use the most, and that buildup can cause our tools to be counterproductive, and just carry a lot of unnecessary germs so here are some things not to forget to clean and organize ;

behind ur ears

ur earbuds or headphones

ur skincare tools and devices (gua shas, face rollers)

ur phone screen

ur folders, binders, and folders

CULTIVATING CREATIVITY :

create something - do some painting, start a sketchbook, start dabbling in some poetry, maybe write a short story, cultivate an elite playlist etc etc

connecting with nature - go and get some fresh air, wake up earlier than usual to watch and enjoy the sunrise. drink different teas that you've never tried before, go to a local crystal shop if ur into that, make urself an elaborate platter of ur favorite fruits. go for a walk in the park, pick flowers and speaking of flowers, go and buy urself a pretty bouquet.

create a spring-time mood board

TENDING THE GARDEN OF THE MIND :

ofc i MUST talk about the mind in any of my posts bcuz its just so incredible. but what you think matters!! what u think manifests! the thoughts that u continue to water and entertain are what you will experience. therefore when u change ur thoughts and water the seeds of the new thought, you'll get a new flower.

its like gardening. your thought is the seed, and ur mind is the soil. when u entertain ur thoughts ur watering the seed, and you'll get a new flower, the flower is the new experience. so this spring, plant new thoughts and entertain those thoughts ✨

FUN SPRING-LIKE THINGS :

picking flowers -> buying yourself a bouquet

have a tea party by yourself or with friends (reference my tea party post if u need some inspo)

make a bracelet or anklet out of flowers

take a bath and infuse the bath with things like rose petals, rose scented bath milks etc

crystal shopping (last year i added amethyst to my crystal collection, this year i'd love to add selenite into my collection)

watch a 90's anime (i've watched sailor moon about a MILLION times and im gonna rewatch it again this year bcuz its just the girliest, best anime i've watched and is one of my favorites)

so i hope that this post sparked some ideas on ways that u can enjoy your spring girlies ✨

[taeyongers]

Between the Hammer and Anvil (M)

pairing: mafia boss/ceo taeyong x spy reader

genre: childhood friends to lovers, mob au, ceo au

word count: 33.6k

summary: you are a member of yuta's mob sent to spy on a rival mob's boss taeyong who unfortunately happens to be your childhood love that you haven't seen in a decade. when you realize he's still in love with you, and you with him, you grapple with the reality of your mission. (also includes best friend jungwoo and brief Johnny appearance)

warnings: blood, guns, gunfights, illicit activities, minor to medium injuries, physical violence, kidnapping, mentions of death, explicit sexual content, subyong and domyong and everything in between, oral (m. and f. receiving), slight hair pulling and breathplay, semi public (office) smut. healthy relationship though (besides the spying), accidental pregnancy. minors dni.

“The Scorpion?” You echo. The name is big, feared, and known throughout the criminal world, but never you thought you’d take him on.

“Yes. We need to infiltrate his base.” Your boss, Yuta, speaks busily while sifting through folders on his desk.

“That’s a bold move. He’s the most powerful mob boss in the city.”

“We have no choice. They’ve slowly been taking over our territories. I know we are big in the city as well, second only to him, but he’s too powerful to fight head on. We need to turn the tide against him before we’re nearly wiped out, and we do that by infiltrating his base.” He glances at you. “We need to get intel from there directly so we can figure out how to sabotage his operations, eliminate his members, and hit him where it hurts. Then, with the most powerful organization crumbling, we can take over.” 

You mull the idea over in your mind. It’s a good idea in theory but you can’t imagine how you can possibly put it into action. “Do you know where his base is?” He shakes his head. You snort. “No offense, Yuta, but for all your wittiness, this plan is foolhardy. Not to mention risky. How do you intend on infiltrating him? He’s smart, powerful, and hides in the shadows. No one knows who or where he is.”

Yuta smiles. “Nobody did. But I do.” He rummages through his files. 

You blink. “You managed to uncover his real identity?”

“Yes.. with a great deal of tracking and tracing through member interactions, we’re about ninety percent sure of his identity.” He seems to find the file he was looking for and pulls up a paper for view. “And I need you to go in, pose as a new recruit, monitor them for a while and then come back and report to me.”

Now, you laugh. “What makes you think they’d just let me in willy nilly?”

Yuta grins behind the paper. “Because the Scorpion knows you.” You freeze. He puts the paper on top of a deck of documents in a folder and slides the case file across the table towards you. The thick stack of papers come into view haphazardly, but the printed photo on top slides stops your heart. Familiar eyes, face, all from your memories. “His name is Taeyong.”

Your mind swirls in flashbacks. Taeyong. A childhood friend. A friend whose father was a mob boss. Your father worked directly under him and you were Taeyong’s age, so naturally, you grew up together, from elementary into high school years. It was always expected that he was to take over his father’s position. His father’s organization was far reaching, well established, and successful. Yet no one would’ve ever believed Taeyong was a mob boss’ heir. He was always kind, funny, full of life, and soft. You’d watch him fall from the jungle gym and cry, thinking he’s soft, much too soft. You wondered how he could possibly be related to his ruthless father while wiping his tears and putting a bandaid on his wound, secretly hoping his softness never went away. 

But around high school, he’d suddenly grown shy, avoiding eye contact, avoiding everything, avoiding you completely. It hurt at first and then frustrated you to no end. You’d cornered him between the shelves of the library, watching his face painted full pink, flusteredly asking you what you were doing but all you could say was you’re my best friend, please don't leave me with tears in your eyes. He’d looked shocked, then relaxed, then apologized, finally, promising he wouldn’t. Painfully, painfully ironic because the next day was the last time you saw him.The police had managed to pin your father with evidence. Your dad suddenly made you pack and leave the state before he got caught. You recall crying in the car as you drove away from your home, your friends, from Taeyong. You’ve missed him every day since, even until now. Sometimes, the inexplicable aching emptiness threatens to swallow you whole.

Since moving here to a place outside police jurisdiction, your father began working directly under another mob boss. Twelve years later, it fell to his son Yuta’s leadership, while you followed your father’s footsteps after his early passing and joined to work directly under him. 

Yuta was reasonable but strict. And when he was ruthless, he was terrifying. Fitting for what was needed in a kingpin. He used you as his weapon for many missions and was usually successful. But this.. this is beyond what you had bargained for.

“Y/n?” Yuta’s voice shakes you out of your stupor. “Do you recognize him?” You blink rapidly, eyes tracing over the very grown features of the once lanky, shy boy you saw last. The Scorpion. So, it seems that Taeyong did take over his father’s position after all. 

“Yes,” you force out, voice shaky for some indiscernible reason.

“Great,” he sighs in relief. “I heard you grew up with him. We can use this to our advantage. If you try to join their organization, hopefully high up in the ranks. He might let you in easily. Then, you can infiltrate and we’ll have our victory on our hands.” Infiltrate. Let you in. You’ll have to see him again..

“No.” The word falls from your mouth before you can stop it. “I… I can’t do it.”

Yuta’s eyes narrow. “You’ve never refused a mission before. Why not?”

“We have uh..” your throat burns. “..history” 

He raises a brow, understanding seeping into his features. “A lover?”

Your cheeks burn, and you look away. “No.. just friends.”

Yuta looks skeptical. “How long ago?”

“Twelve years.” 

“Good. That's enough time to be over him, or for him to be over you.” He continues rummaging through papers. You realize he’s going to continue with this plan. Your eyes flit back to the photograph, of Taeyong staring up at you, of memory flashes of soft, sweet smiles and blushing and butterflies. The thought of seeing him again, of betraying him…

“Yuta.” He hums in question. “I can't do it. Find someone else.”

He glares at you before scoffing. “You’re being dramatic. Just get in there, infiltrate, and get out. Find his weak points, things we can take advantage of.” Yuta drops the other papers onto the table. “I can’t find someone else to do it. You’re the only one he won't suspect since he knows you.” You hesitate. He leans forward. “You’re telling me that you’d betray us, after a decade, for a boy you had a crush on in childhood?”

“Of course not!” You say, but uncertainty flares in your chest. You are fiercely loyal to Yuta. You can’t imagine betraying him for anyone else.. but this is different territory.

“Good. All you have to do is remember your allegiance and get intel and come back in a month.”

A month.. you will have to interact with taeyong for a month. “And how will I join them if I don’t know where their base is?”

“Easy. You talk to their recruiter.” He says, filing all the papers back into the folder. “I had one of our guys spread the word around about a daughter of a former mob member who has great skills for illegal activities. It’s only a matter of time before they call you.”

You snort. “Wow, you even gave them my phone number?”

“I don’t need to. They’ll trace you on their own.” He answers distractedly, gathering the files. “Why don’t you take the next week off? I don’t want you here when they trace your number and location. Maybe hang around in a coffee shop or something?”

You watch him, nerves creeping up. “You’ve really planned this out, huh? What if I had said no?”

He glances at you. “Remember, this is our only chance to take down the Scorpion and ensure our success for years. I’m not going to waste it. Besides,” he smiles, plopping the files into a near pile on the table. “You never had a choice anyway.”

...

You begrudgingly visit coffee shops, parks and other public places the next week and stay away from Yuta’s base. Sure enough, you get a call from a private number.The man on the other end identifies himself as a recruiter for an illicit organization. The recruiter’s voice was rich and sweet, like molasses or honey. You find yourself enjoying listening to it. He calls himself Jungwoo and says that he heard about you through his connections, that he knew your father worked for this group a long while ago, and that they’d love for you to work with them. You try to sound interested and accept, feeling your stomach churn all the while. You are that much closer to seeing Taeyong after over a decade. He tells you to go to a specific location in the city from where he will pick you up. You follow his directions and within an hour, you’re climbing into a sleek black van with a young, handsome man and driving down the highway.

“We know about your father. He was a well respected man. It’s a shame what happened,” he recounts.

“Yeah, a shame.” You reply distantly, your mind only on the idea of seeing Taeyong after all these years and spy and subsequently betray him. Your stomach churns more.

“Were you okay after that? Did you go into hiding?” 

“Uh.. yeah. The police never managed to catch my dad once we left this area.” You are careful to leave out the part where you got involved with another mob, unknowingly the rival of Taeyong’s.

“That’s good. It’s nice that you can return here now.” He smiles at you. You inspect him. Is everyone working under Taeyong going to be this nice? 

“When I join.. do you know what position I’ll be or… or who I’ll work under?”

He hums in thought. “Well, since you’re a fresh recruit, you’ll be at the bottom of the hierarchy. Give it a few years and you’ll work your way up. You may even work directly under the boss.”

A few years? You will never get valuable intel for Yuta while working as a simple recruit. You need to be higher up than that to get valuable information. The gears in your mind turn until you play the only card you have. “Is there a Taeyong there?”

Jungwoo freezes, eyes flitting to you suspiciously. Nobody is supposed to know who the boss is, so you’re hoping to play it off like a coincidence “Taeyong? How do you know him?” He asks guardedly. 

“We were friends when my father worked directly under his father. I was wondering if he was still here.” Jungwoo’s brows furrow, and you explain further. “Yes, we grew up together.”

Jungwoo gives you a once over before carefully acquiescing. “Yes.. there might be someone like that there. I’ll have to double check our members’ list when we get inside. We’re almost here anyway.” He pulls the car into the lot of a large building that looks like a typical financial office building. Jungwoo parks his car and takes you through the doors, past reception and towards the elevators. The lobby is filled with people who look like office workers, dressed in formal wear and carrying briefcases and files. You figure it’s a nice camouflage for the real happenings of this building. Yuta’s group is mainly hidden underground in the slums and didn’t need this much of a cover. Once in the elevators, you both go to the highest floor. Upon stepping out, you catch sight of the floor to ceiling windows in the hallway. You can see the entire city’s skyline from here. Jungwoo leads you to an empty office room with some chairs and tables. “Please wait here. I’ll uh… check if Taeyong is here and knows you.”

“Okay,” you say, watching him leave. The moment the door shuts closed, your heart begins pounding. You’ve rarely been nervous before, not even during missions or shootouts. But this is different, so wildly different, you don’t know how to behave. You settle for focusing on the stunning view outside the window in order to ground yourself. Not even five minutes later, the door swings open abruptly. You whirl around to see two figures standing in the doorway, making no effort to come inside the room.

One is unmistakably Taeyong, dressed in a suit and hair carefully combed back from his face. His face, that he grew into after all these years, makes your heart come to a stop. His eyes are the same, big and wide and wonderful, even wider now with the shocked expression he wears, along with his parted mouth. His hand is still clamped around the door knob as if it's an anchor to reality. He stands there motionless, eyes running over you in disbelief. Jungwoo stands behind him, slightly bewildered at his reaction. “Y/n?”

Similar shock and disbelief well up inside you. Your churning stomach turns into a butterfly garden. “Taeyong…”

Junwoo watches the exchange before stepping back into the hallway. “Okay.. I.. think I’ll just stand outside.” He disappears from behind Taeyong who dazedly steps into the room. He looks so grown and handsome, with the same eyes you’ve always known.

“Jungwoo asked me… if I knew a Y/n…” he says, his voice so familiar even after a decade. “All I did was just run over here…” He steps forward carefully towards you until he’s standing in front of you. With him so close, your stomach turns into a bursting mush of butterflies and tingles. With his dark eyes drinking in every feature of your face, you barely recall where you are and why you came here in the first place.

“I… It’s been a while,” you manage out.

He blinks, as if registering your voice. “Yes. You’re... grown up,” he flushes. “You’re beautiful.” Your face burns, and burns again when his lips fall into a fond smile, eyes running over your features.“I missed you,” he breathes out. You find yourself  sucking in a breath. “Can I hug you?”

You pull him into you without a word, arms wrapping tightly around him. He melts immediately, hands pressing you closer against his chest. You sigh in the embrace, head resting on his shoulder. “I missed you too,” you say, voice cracking a bit this time. The daily, inexplicable longing you’ve felt for a decade has all been washed away in this moment. He squeezes you tighter, nosing your hair, so warm and safe in your arms that you never ever want to leave. It's a minute or two before he reluctantly lets go with a warm smile. He still looks so soft, just as in childhood, and it’s hard to believe you’re hugging a kingpin of a criminal empire.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He touches your face again, gently. “Were you just recruited?” You nod, pressing your cheek into his hand. “Ah,” he blinks. “Jungwoo?” He calls. The man steps through the open door, eyes taking in the close distance between you two. “She’ll be working directly under me. Give her clearance to everything.”

Your brain grinds to a halt while Jungwoo looks skeptical. “Will she go through the initiation?”

“Not needed.” Taeyong turns back to you, eyes softening. “Her father worked with us for many years. No doubt she’ll be just as loyal as him.”

Jungwoo furrows his brows and looks as if he’s about to say something. Then, he stops himself, says “yes, Boss” and walks out the door, closing it behind him. Taeyong doesn’t pay any mind. He’s still gazing at you, smiling.

“So.. Boss huh?” 

He smiles, shrugging. “It took some getting used to.”

“For a kingpin called the Scorpion, you still look like the soft boy crying on the playground.”

He grins playfully. “Do I?” You nod, chuckling. “I’m glad you still remember.”

“Of course I remember. I remember everything about you.”

A light pink settles on his cheeks and you know you’re right; take out the title and he’s still the same boy you knew. “Listen, we actually have a meeting right now with my staff. I want you to join.”

And suddenly you remember why you’re here, how this is a supposed golden opportunity as Taeyong’s mob’s rival, and your heart bleeds in pain. “Ah.. is it really okay for me to join without an initiation?”

“Of course,” he answers easily, trusting, always too trusting. He hesitates and seems to gather courage to raise his hand and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Your stomach bursts into a mess of butterflies once again and you hold your breath, not daring to move. His eyes are soft and you find yourself mesmerized. “You’re already part of this family, just as your father was.”

You grow unbearably soft, forgetting even the guilt as you gaze silently back at him. He does the same, and the air shifts in the silence. He looks like he’s about to say something before someone knocks on the door. “Boss, the meeting is starting,” Jungwoo’s muffled voice sounds through the door.

Taeyong blinks himself back to the present and smiles warmly at you. At that moment, you know more than anything that you don't deserve him. “Come on, let’s go.”

...

The meeting is held in a large room at the end of a hallway that is covered in crystal clear, floor to ceiling windows. You marvel at just how much money this organization must be bringing in compared to Yuta’s. No wonder he wants to take down this group so badly. As soon as you enter, all eyes are on you. A dozen men and women are dressed in suits and formal wear, as if this were no different than a business conference. You have to admit, they play their front well. Taeyong enters behind you and closes the door before standing in front of the room. “Everyone, this is our new member.” He gestures to you and introduces your name. 

You feel self conscious as skeptical eyes burn into you from around the room. Given your experience with mobs and their initiation process, no new member should be joining the ranks so high up in the hierarchy, let alone be introduced directly by the boss himself to the inner circle. None of these people should know you yet. You should even be here in this room. And from their questioning glances at Taeyong, they know this too. Taeyong is either oblivious or ignores them by the time he’s done introducing you. You smile and bow slightly before awkwardly shuffling into the back of the room, out of sight, with everyone’s eyes following you all the way. 

Taeyong seems to ignore the confused glares and questioning glances and starts the meeting. He outlines high level happenings of the organization, just as a CEO would for a corporation. You watch him confidently explain plans, ask questions to different people, and instruct them on what to do. It’s a marvel, and so different from who you knew in childhood. You take in his frame, dressed in his blazer and black button down and with matching trousers. A kingpin indeed. After giving instructions specific to each person on how to execute the phases of their next operation, he dismisses the group and everyone shuffles out. Soon, he stands alone at the front of the room, peering at the laptop screen sitting open on the table.

You saunter over to him. “You didn’t give me any orders, Boss.”

He looks up suddenly, a little startled, then seems to register your words. You catch the slightest glimpse of a blush before he looks down and rubs his hand across his mouth, obscuring his cheeks. “We uh… may need help identifying possible locations of a big shipment dropoff. You can work with Jungwoo on that. He’ll let you know what to do.”

You notice how he avoids your eyes. “Is that an order?” His eyes stay trained on the laptop, hands moving up from his mouth to scratch the back of his neck.

“Uh huh.” He suddenly catches you trying to hold back a laugh and sighs, ducking his head. “This feels strange. I don’t like giving you orders.”

“I’m just like everyone else.”

He looks at you like he’s about to protest but looks down again. “You aren’t,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

And if that didn’t make your chest hurt with an absurd amount of heart flutters, you would be lying. You watch him silently, not knowing what else to say. “I’ll get right on it, Boss.”His cheeks seem to tint that much more as you leave the room.

...

You’re supposed to be collecting intel, not helping them, you try to remind yourself as you find Jungwoo’s desk out on the main floor of cubicles. He greets you and pulls up a chair beside him in front of his computer monitor.“So, how was your first day?” He smiles as you settle in.

“Not so bad. I think the skeptical looks will take some getting used to.”

“They’ll warm up. Your situation is unusual, after all,” Jungwoo comments. “I’m surprised how quickly you’ve adjusted without skipping a beat. Almost as if you’ve been working for another organization all along,” he jokes. You laugh nervously. “Speaking of unusual, Taeyong seems to .. like you.” He eyes you inquisitively.

“Yeah. I’ve known him for a while. We didnt get to have a proper goodbye the last time we saw each other.”

“I see,” Jungwoo nods. “So were you together? Back before…”

“Oh no, we weren’t,” you shake your head. “Just friends.”

He squints, smiling. “Really? Because you two seem awfully close. I’ve actually never seen him like this before. I’ve been working closely with him for a while now and he has a tendency towards being on the softer side but he is never not strict and can be ruthless when needed. That’s how we become so successful. But with you, all that seems to melt away.”

You can’t imagine Taeyong being ruthless. Ever since childhood, and even until now, he’s been nothing but sweet and kind in everything that he does. “I think he’s just sentimental,” you wave it off. “It’s been twelve years, after all.”

Jungwoo doesn’t seem to buy it. “Whatever it is, it’s only a matter of time before he starts showing favoritism towards you and everyone will take notice. Actually, he already has shown favoritism, and everyone has taken notice.”

Your cheeks burn. You were supposed to not draw attention to yourself. “If you’re talking about letting me in without going through initiation, I think that was just a one time thing. I’m sure from now on, I’ll be treated just like everyone else. No special attention here.” 

Jungwoo is about to say something before a woman approaches his desk, calling your name. “Boss wants to see you in his office.”

Jungwoo gives you an insufferably knowing look. You ignore him and follow the lady. She guides you down the main floor of cubicles and towards the end of the hallway with large wooden double doors. It’s clearly the room of someone important. She drags open one heavy door by the long vertical handle and ushers you inside. You step tentatively through and balk at the scene before you. Taeyong’s office is massive - as big as a house. The ceilings are two stories tall. On the left wall, there is a main desk area in front of three bookshelves and various art decor. An armchair sits behind the large desk made of some fancy high caliber wood. On the right, there is a seating area with leather couches and chairs upon an expensive looking, misshapen- shaped rug. Of course, there’s a marble fireplace on the right wall to top it off.

“Oh my god,” you whisper as you step in. Yuta would be fuming with jealousy if he saw this.

You hear a chuckle. You didn’t even notice Taeyong standing by the back end of the room, given that the size of his office completely dwarfs him. He walks towards you with a wine bottle in hand. “Do you like it?” He smiles. “It’s my favorite room in the whole building.”

You step further into the room, taking in even more details you didn’t see at first glance. The leather of the armchair, the carved ivy detailing on the fireplace, the nameplate on his desk that looks suspiciously like it’s made of gold. “Yeah, I can see why.”

He grins again, motioning to his wine glass. “I was thinking we can catch up over wine. We barely had a chance to talk today. And we have twelve years to cover.”

You smile slowly and nod. “Sounds like a great idea.”

Within twenty minutes, you two are laughing over sloshing wine glasses and reminiscing excitedly over old memories. “I could not believe you,” he laughs, filling your glass again.

“I just wanted to know what riding on a bus felt like!” You protest, lifting the glass just as he was done pouring to take another sip.

“But you got on the bus with no ticket at eight years old?” He gazes at you, wide eyed.

“I was curious what a bus would be like! I’m pretty sure the bus driver thought I was one of the other passenger’s kids when I came on so he didn’t bother with the ticket.”

He struggles, laughing between breaths. “How long did it travel before you started freaking out?”

“Like ten minutes.” He laughs louder, hitting his hand on the desk you both are leaning against. “I demanded to be let off. I realized I didn’t know any of those people or where I was going. It was a good thing the bus stopped near your house.”

“I remember you rang the door crying,” he giggles, sipping his glass. “I figure being so rich really does inspire curiosity in such everyday things.”

“Yeah, with all that untaxed money our fathers made from illegal activities, we missed out on a lot of everyday things, so I was completely justified.” You emphasize, watching him laugh again. You smile giddily, feeling energized and oddly proud you can make him laugh so much. 

“Of course you were,” he acquiesces easily. 

“Our fathers were always busy but do you remember how they’d just drop us off at one of our houses or the other when they needed to go to work?”

“Oh yeah, those playdates were fun.” He smiles, eyes distant. “You were genuinely my only friend back then.”

You protest with a noise before you even finish drinking from the glass. “That’s not true! Remember your ninth birthday party with all our classmates?”

He scoffs before taking another sip, his smile fading. “Yeah, classmates, not friends. Remember that one kid blew out my birthday cake candles before I could? And I just broke down in tears?”

“Oh no, I do remember.” You recount your sadness while watching your friend crying and then the burning anger your nine-year-old self felt afterwards. “Oh and then I-“

“Then you took a chunk of the cake and shoved into that kid’s face,” Taeyong laughs brightly. “You got in so much trouble. And you ruined the cake, but that made my day.” You giggle, remembering the lecturing by multiple parents and the annoying kid crying into his mother’s skirt with pieces of cake still smeared on his face. All that mattered to you though was that Taeyong was smiling through the entire aftermath.

“I didn’t like that kid anyway. He teased me on the playground every day, yet my mom invited him.”

You frown. “I hated him for that.”

He looks at you fondly. “I know.”

You flush a little bit under his gaze, then straighten up and blame it on the alcohol. “Remember middle school and high school and how awkward we got?”

Yong suddenly grows shy and scratches his neck. “Ah yeah… I regret those days.”

“Puberty does wonders,” you roll your eyes before looking at him pointedly. “And our peers not minding their own business while being extremely heteronormative and interrogating any co-ed friendship throughout the entire school,” you point your glass at him. “Which ultimately led you to completing ghosting me freshman year.”

Yong waves his wine glass in apology, approaching you. “I’m sorry! People wouldn’t leave me alone! Besides.. you were ah..” he trails off, looking to the side as he always does when he's embarrassed. You mentally note again how difficult it is to believe he’s a mob boss. 

“I was what?” You press lightly.

“You were becoming really pretty and.. uh.. I.. was a toad,” he sighs.

You laugh out loud, reaching out to hold his hand in comfort. “You were not!” 

“I was! Do you even know what fifteen year old boys look like?” He shakes his head as he comes to stand before you. “All the wrong proportions.”

You shake your head, smiling giddily at the wine flowing through your system. You set your glass down onto his desk and tug him closer by the shoulders. “You were perfect,” you say purposefully, but don't miss the way a flush rises to his cheeks. Whether it's from the wine or your words or both, you can't tell. “Remember when I cornered you in the library sophomore year?”

His eyes widen. “Yes! I couldn’t tell if you were going to punch me or kiss me.”

You laugh again. “But instead I cried and said I missed you and asked you to talk to me again.”

Taeyong chuckles, eyes growing sober. “Yeah. And I promised to. But the next day..”

“Yeah, the next day.. I left.” Silence fills the room. The muscles of your face are slightly tired from all the smiling. You realize you’ve barely registered how close Taeyong has come to stand in the midst of talking. Your hands are still on his shoulders. His smile fades away until now there's an intense look in his eyes.

“I missed you, Y/n.”

Your chest aches. “Me too. I missed you too.” His eyes dart between yours, and find yourself falling into them. They are the same sparkling, wondrous, soulful eyes you've always known, which have always looked at you like this. It's when these eyes dart to your lips that your mind stops working. A burning, fluttering sensation erupts in your stomach like it did when you were back in middle school, being questioned by your friends on if you were in love with Lee Taeyong. You register him leaning a bit closer. His nose nudges yours, hands slide around your waist, and his hot breath fans your mouth. You subconsciously tighten your grip on his shoulders, your heart rate speeding up, your stomach twisting into knots. All you have to do is angle your head up…. 

Your lips barely brush his before a loud knock erupts from the double doors. Both of you freeze and are ripped back into reality. “Boss? Something just came up. We need you in the meeting room.” A muffled voice sounds through the door. 

Your hands retract from Taeyong’s shoulders with heat crawling across your face. His hands slip from your waist in return, his head falling forward in disappointment before calling out, “I’ll be right there.”

You clear your throat, cheeks burning. “I should go. Unless you need me for whatever that is.“

He shakes his head, rubbing his hand over his mouth like he does to hide his blush. “No no, you go on home. I don’t want you to be overworked on your first day.”

You gaze at him. He looks a bit put out and avoids all eye contact, frowning. You briefly wonder if he even enjoys being a mob boss. You lean up and kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He brightens up considerably, a smile blooming back onto his lips, eyes sparkling once more. “Yeah.. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

...

You return home in the evening, mentally replaying every single moment of that day. You swear your heart feels lighter than it has in years, as if the answers to all your life questions have been found. The world around you even seems to be a bit more colorful and you find yourself enjoying the walk from the parking lot to your apartment. You lightly smack your head. “Oh god, what am I doing? I’m a member of the mafia, not a giddy high school girl in love.”

Were you in love? Your cheeks burn, remembering how you shamefully melted at every single thing Taeyong did and said today. You even threw all caution to the wind and almost kissed him. You force yourself back to reality with a pounding heart. You really don’t want to know the answer to your question. You spot something in front of your doorstep and find a small cardboard package addressed to you from an unknown address. You step inside your apartment and rip open the cardboard flaps, revealing a brand new cell phone with a note. It reads: Activate this. Don’t take this anywhere outside your house. So, Yuta sent you a separate untraceable phone with which you can contact him to provide intel. You loathe how smart that man is. Groaning, you plop onto the couch and activate the phone.  As soon as it’s set up, you receive a call. “Hello?”

“Missed me?” Yuta’s voice sounds from the other end.

You rub your forehead. “You tracked my location to figure out when I came home so you could call me?” 

“Yes but mainly so I could find out where the Scorpion’s base was,” you hear him smiling on the other end. “And now I do, thanks to you.”

“Great,” you say sarcastically. Now Yuta knows where the headquarters are. You’re not sure if that’s good. 

“So?” He prods. “Tell me everything.” You hesitate and then relay to him how you were accepted without initiation and are working directly under Taeyong. You feel dirty while doing it, knowing you’re nothing but a weapon to Yuta for selling out a man who completely trusts you. “Good. Very good. Keep doing this until you collect enough information that we can use to really hurt them.”

“…Alright,” you say tiredly. There’s a glaring silence from the other end. You sigh and adjust your tone.  “Yes, Boss, I’ll get right on it.”

“Good,” he says before hanging up. You toss the phone across the cushion, feeling disgusted. What are you doing? How can you do this to Taeyong? You bury your head in your hands, mulling over your reality. At the same time, Yuta and his father helped you and your family when you had no one. You feel guilty if you don't do as he says, as if you were caught between two impossible choices.

You don't sleep well that night. 

...

You return to the office the next day. Jungwoo texted beforehand asking if you needed a ride to the office but you figured you could take your own car. Once you’re inside the building, it amazes you again just how much like a typical financial office space the entire place looks. People are busy with files and documents, rushing this way and that in their business clothes, meetings are held in conference rooms, and telephones ring throughout the floor. What a mask for the sheer amount of illegal activities happening here. You find Jungwoo seated at his desk, working away already. He greets you with a smile and a pat to the chair next to his. You vaguely remember you’re supposed to be helping him pick locations for some shipment dropoff. 

“Shall we pick up where we left off yesterday? You know, before the Boss whisks you away again?” He grins, teasingly. “By the way, I saw you leaving the office yesterday looking very flushed.”

Yesterday's memories flash through your mind, of the laughing and flushed cheeks and that almost kiss. You clear your throat abruptly. “We were just drinking wine and catching up.”

He grins into his coffee mug, swinging his chair a little to face his computer screen, not believing you for one second. You sigh and begin your work, asking plenty of questions when you need to. Jungwoo is kind and explains everything, their operations, clients, alliances, even the hierarchy of the organization itself. It’s a wealth of intel and you loathe it. You loathe having to know and learn things from people who trust you. You dread having to report it to Yuta. Your resolve in this “mission” falters by the day and you’re not sure your loyalty can last this week.  

You barely see Taeyong today. You only catch a glimpse of him talking to a subordinate in the hallway before disappearing into his office. Whatever came up yesterday must have made him very busy. You try not to deflate. Once the day ends, you bid Jungwoo goodbye, give one last glance at the hallway to Taeyong’s office and head home. You don’t get a call from Yuta that night. After all, he made it clear that you are expected to call him and report any new intel you receive, but you don't have it in you today, or for any day for that matter. The evening passes by uneventfully and you fall asleep in your bed. 

...

Like a dutiful employee, you return to the office the next day and the next, slowly getting used to the daily routine of the organization. You even begin to enjoy it. You are given the easiest tasks and are often paired up with Jungwoo, who you already know and who readily helps you understand things. You wonder how many new initiates were afforded the same privilege upon joining. Taeyong even invites you to his office again a few times this week for more wine and story time sessions. You’re happy to see him, but this time, you’re careful to keep a distance and not drink too much lest you repeat what almost happened the other night. Kissing him would make things… complicated, even more than they are now. You're not sure you’ll go back to Yuta if you do, no matter how much you want to kiss him. Taeyong seems to notice your distance and keeps a respectful space. You try not to feel disappointed that he does.

From the outside, it becomes evident that everyone else views you differently. They either avoid you completely or are overly respectful and almost treat you as their boss. You ponder Jungwoo’s words earlier, that everyone will take notice of Taeyong’s favoritism of you. The regularly scheduled rendezvous office sessions with their Boss probably aren't helping. You wonder if your preferential treatment will invite resentment from anyone. So far, everyone has been respectful to you, but by the end of the week, you get your answer.

You get your answer to two things, actually. One, your preferential treatment definitely does invite someone’s resentment. Two, you couldn't imagine Taeyong being ruthless. You said that before today. On the way to Taeyong’s office one day for another meet up, one of the male employees lingers behind you, the same one you’ve seen around with a perpetual stink eye and a bad attitude. You don’t recall exactly what happens, only that he’s spitting insults at you as he follows that steadily grow to shouting. 

“Outsider!” He shouts. “You didn’t even go through the initiation and you’re on more classified projects than I am!? Hell, you’re probably making more money than me.” You shoot him a glare without a word. You’re almost to Taeyong’s office. The brute will leave you alone then.

“Doesn’t even have the decency to turn around,” he growls. “Fucking bitch.” Then, his hand is in your hair, yanking you backwards sharply against his chest. The pain is like needles shooting throughout your scalp, stars and tears bursting from your eyes. Despite the shock, your training kicks in immediately, and you elbow him in the ribs so that he keels over. He lets go of your hair, giving you the chance to turn around and go for a kick to the chest.

You don’t have a chance to do anything else before someone is throwing him off of you. He’s knocked into the wall of the hallway before he falls down. Taeyong is bent over him, clutching the man’s jacket until his knuckles turn white to lift him partly off the ground. He is absolutely furious, something you have never ever seen before, yelling something that you don't register. Then, he punches him in the face. Other people are shouting and running down the hall towards you three. Taeyong’s eyes are hard, jaw clenched, his fist cocked and pulled back as if to punch the man again. You step forward, hands finding his shoulders and stepping him away from the man groaning on the floor. Taeyong’s eyes are cold and glaring.

“I want him out!” He shouts, uncharacteristic, pointing past your shoulder. “I want him stripped of everything, all clearances, documents, his name on everything. I want him out of here and dropped at a police station! He can rot in jail for all I care!” People rush to do his bidding, restraining the groaning man and lifting him off the ground. An ugly bruise is already forming on his cheek where Taeyong punched him. You tug him into his office and shut the large door closed. The commotion and noise from outside is muffled here in the silence of his room. Taeyong however is still restless. His chest is heaving in anger, jaw clenching as he paces back and forth. He’s clutching his one fist, which seems slightly swollen. 

“That fucking pig.” He growls, taking you back. You’ve never even heard him curse before today. “What the hell was he thinking!? Putting his hands on…” he focuses on you, softening. “Did he touch you? Did he hurt you? Of course he hurt you, I saw him-“ his voice wavers before becoming harsh again. “I swear to God I will-“

“Taeyong, hey, look at me,” you reach for his arms to stop him from pacing. He stops moving and closes his eyes to take a deep breath. In the next moment, he exhales and opens his eyes to gaze at you, his stunning eyes that you’ve loved for years. Your heart softens. You don’t want him to be in such pain. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not usually like this,” he mumbles.

“Well, he got what he deserved. You just beat me to the punch.” 

“It’s not that. I’m not this jittery or restless. I’ve dealt with worse than these kind of people before. I would’ve instructed someone else to restrain him but when I saw that it was you, I…” he trails off, eyes growing unfocused.

“Are you okay?” You cup his bruised hand.

His eyes flit back to you. “You’re asking me?” He releases another breath, thinks for a moment and shakes his head. “No I’m not,” his voice wavers.

You push forward and hug him gently. You wonder if it’s been a long time since he’s lost his composure. “I’m okay. I'm here and I'm okay.” You can feel him trembling against you and slowly relax, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you tightly against him. Then he gives in, inhaling your scent and burying his face in your neck. 

“You’re okay,” he repeats, a bit shakily. You’re taken aback about how absolutely undone he is, how worried, how much he cares for you. It might even be a trauma response from you disappearing from his life all those years ago without a word.

A lump forms in your throat. “I’m sorry,” you mumble into his shoulder. He pulls away in confusion, his wonderful eyes roaming your face in question. “Not for this. I’m sorry I left. I.. must have put you through so much pain.”

His eyelids flutter, arms around you squeezing tighter. It’s ridiculously comforting. “That wasn’t your fault.” You stay silent, tucking your chin back onto his shoulder, heart feeling heavy. “I’m sorry for what that pig did to you.” His voice is harsh, and you can feel his jaw clenching against your shoulder. “He was always a shady guy, harassing other members.” 

You pull away slightly. “It's okay, it's not my first time.” He looks at you with such disturbed anguish you feel bad for saying anything. “But I'm okay. I'm alright.” 

He sighs and gives you a thin smile. Then, he blinks and remembers to let you go. Your arms detangle from each other and you stand there, gazing silently, before he speaks. “I’m sure you could have taken him,” he smiles.

“Yes, I could have,” you grin. 

He smiles a bit proudly, then looks to the door. “I should.. take care of the commotion outside.”

You nod. “Sure.. and thank you.”

He looks confused then looks away, scratching his neck “You don't have to thank me. It was… well I didn’t even process what I was doing when I did it.”

You smile. “Still, I got to see another side of you.”

He flushes, looking away. “And you… you like it?”

You shrug. “I finally know why you're a mob boss.”

He smiles, his expression almost relieved, before he chuckles and takes his leave. When he disappears into the hallway outside, you feel an ache from the empty feeling of missing his arms around you. When you get home and Yuta calls, there's no information you want to give him. “What did you learn this week?”

“Nothing.”

Silence fills the room for a moment. “Are you serious? You’ve been there for a week now and there's no new info?” 

“What do you want to know, Yuta?” You snap. The deceptiveness of this mission has finally taken its toll on you. Seeing Taeyong drop everything to defend you today is enough to make you not want to help Yuta again. 

“I don’t know! Key operations? Shipment drop-offs? Members' names? Where can we hurt them the most, Y/n!?”

You groan internally, wishing you can just hang up. You remember finishing your task with Jungwoo in picking a drop off location for a shipment. You figure this is relatively harmless information to keep Yuta off your back. “They’re dropping off some important shipment for some high profile clients, probably government officials, tomorrow at eleven at the hotel on twelfth street. Maybe if you intercept them you can get that shipment and hurt Taeyong’s operations.”

“Taeyong? You’re not calling him the Scorpion anymore?”

You curse mentally. “Scorpion, sorry.”

There’s silence from the other line. “This information is barely useful but I’ll take it.” He pauses. “Do you remember where your loyalty lies?”

You roll your eyes. “Of course.”

“Good. Because the minute it changes, I’ll have you extracted from there.” He hangs up abruptly. It’s a threat. He knows your allegiance has changed. Although, it’s not as if you tried very hard to conceal that fact.

...

You decide to go in late the next day after lunch, mainly because you were tossing and turning awake all night. But the minute you walk into the office, the air is different. Everyone is tense and nervously mumbling. You approach Jungwoo at his desk who also looks more nervous than usual. You take in his bouncing leg and him peering at the computer monitor, reading an email intently. He barely notices when you slide into the chair next to him. “What’s wrong with everybody today?” Jungwoo startles at your voice, but instead of greeting you with a warm smile as he usually does, he looks at you sympathetically. You gaze at him, your smile fading. “Jungwoo, what is it?”

“Taeyong was shot.”

“What!?” you stand up so fast, the chair tips over and clatters to the floor behind you. He stands up with you, hands up in a placating gesture.

“Listen, he’s fine! He was meeting with some government officials today during our dropoff location and somehow, someone seemed to know he was there and that he was the Scorpion. They tried to take him out.” You are paralyzed, a wave of nauseas guilt hitting you all at once. “I’m not sure what followed. There was a scuffle of some kind, maybe he fought the gunman after being shot.. the details were unclear. It was a bullet graze to his shoulder and a few other injuries from the scuffle. He got checked at the hospital and they bandaged him up. He’s resting at home now. But he’s kind of depressed and won’t let anyone in, he said, though I think he’ll make an exception for you.”

Your heart flips. “Can I see him?” He nods and both of you hurriedly take your leave and get into Jungwoo’s car to drive to Taeyong’s home. His “home” turns out to be a ridiculously sized penthouse in a ridiculously sized high rise luxury apartment. “I guess the salary is good,” you mumble, peering up at the building from your window.

Jungwoo snorts. “You have no idea.” You enter the equally ridiculously luxurious lobby and Jungwoo escorts you to a special elevator that seems off limits to everyone else. “This will take you directly to his apartment.” He says, ushering you inside the elevator and pulling out a card from his wallet. “Just text me to let me know when you want me to take you home.”

You watch him scan the card against a pad and step back out of the elevator. “Thank you, Jungwoo,” you say sincerely.

He gives a nod. “Just make sure he’s alright.”

Then, the doors close, cutting off your view of him, before you’re taken directly to the top floor. With a ding, the doors open, revealing polished marble floor and ceiling. You step through hesitantly. His penthouse is much like his office, oversized and luxurious. It’s two stories tall with marble walls and floor, and a floor to ceiling window view of the city skyline in the living room that stops your breath. You wonder if he lives in this entire place alone, as you wander through the space. Somehow, you find your way to his bedroom and knock on the door. You hear a groan from the other end. “I said go away, Jungwoo, I don’t want-“

“It’s me.” Silence answers from the other side before you hear a small “come in.”Your heart leaps into your throat when you spot him lying on the bed with a bloody bandage wrapped around his shoulder. Other cuts and bruises litter his arms and face, and probably his torso which are obscured by his shirt. Tears sting your eyes. You see people injured everyday as part of your job but this is not bearable. Even worse, this is all your fault, all because you told Yuta that intel about the drop off. Now Taeyong’s injured, and nearly died because of you. You’ve never felt so disgusted with yourself. “Oh.. oh no,” you hold back a sob as you approach his bed. 

Taeyong gazes up at you, no doubt able to see your stress. He even offers a small smile as you sit down gently at the edge of the bed, your stomach churning at the bloodied bandage on his shoulder. “I’m guessing I’ve looked better?” He smiles, though his eyes are tired. You blink back your tears, not even processing his humor. Your hand comes up to hover over his cheek. He gazes up at you with what looks like hope. You banish all doubts and gently cup his cheek, finger stroking his slightly bruised skin. His eyes flutter closed and he nuzzles your hand immediately. Your heart squeezes in pain and affection.

“Taeyong, I…” you swallow a heavy breath. What can you say? You’re sorry? Sorry for not protecting him? Sorry this is all your fault? Sorry, you were sent here as a spy to gather intel and you’ve been lying to his face this entire time? Guilt stabs at you ruthlessly, as you gaze down at this sweet boy meant for a softer life than this. Instead of speaking, you take clean cloth nearby and gently wipe a dirt smudge from his cheek. He watches you silently, his eyes like the starry night sky that you fight not to focus on. You spot a deep bruise on his wrist, and take another clean bandage to wrap around it. His hand is light in yours, his eyes watching you carefully. Once you’re done, you can't help but raise his hand to your lips and kiss his wrist reverently. His chest stutters in breath. Cuts on his fingers and the back of his hand catch your eye this time. You take another bandage and clean each one, kissing them too, one by one. His eyes turn soft, always soft when they’re on you.

“Does it hurt?” You ask softly when you’re done.

“Not anymore.” 

You flush, turning back to his fingers, stroking them gently with your own. ‘Remember how I used to put bandaids on you when you fell on the playground?”

He smiles and the butterflies take flight in your stomach. “Of course. You’d grumble that it’s not that bad while putting it on and looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like… like I’m the most precious thing in the world,” he says softly, “Like you love me. Like how you’re doing right now.”

You fall completely silent, the breaths halting in your chest. Wordless gazes are exchanged. Then, he reaches up with his good hand, tangles his fingers in your hair, and pulls you down to kiss him. You don’t resist and melt so fast against his lips it's almost embarrassing, but he could never make you feel embarrassed. His kiss is soft, reverent, and gentle. You sigh into his lips as he strokes your hair gently. Warmth blooms and spreads to every inch inside of you until he pulls away with soft lidded eyes. Your forehead rests on his. Both your eyes are closed with breaths mingling as you both savor the moment after so many years of waiting. Then, he kisses your forehead and your heart twists again, with guilt and love and pain and all. 

“Taeyong I…” you struggle and he notices. His newly bandaged hand comes up to stroke your cheek in comfort as he nuzzles your nose. “I’m so sorry.”

He takes it as you being sorry for his injuries, because he doesn't know. Doesn’t know you’re a traitor. “Don’t be. I was careless.”

You can’t even object and explain that he never did anything wrong. Frustration wells up inside you. “After all these years I just want to be with you.” 

It’s a careless slip, a frustrated wish voiced aloud when it was meant to be kept buried in your thoughts. But it’s too late. A light kindles in Taeyong’s eyes that replaces all the tiredness they held before. His lips lift into a beautiful smile that makes your heart flutter in all ways and you realize you are doomed. You never had a chance against him.

“Then be with me.”

...

After more bandages and kisses, you don’t want to leave Taeyong, but know he needs rest. When you let him know as much, he pouts and asks you to stay. You give him a final kiss to the forehead in response and tell him you’ll be back tomorrow. He lets you go after that. Literally. He was holding onto your wrist to prevent you from leaving. 

With your heart thumping and affection running high, you give Jungwoo a call and ask him to pick you up and drop you back at your place. You thank him profusely for doing it so late in the night. When you step through the door, you spot the secret cell phone that Yuta gave you lying on the table, and feel anger rip through your body. It was Yuta. He took your intel about the drop off and sent men there to steal or sabotage it or who knows what else. When they saw Taeyong, they couldn’t pass up the opportunity to kill the boss. It’s a miracle Taeyong even made it out alive. You grit your teeth and pick up the phone. A notification pops up with 3 missed calls from Yuta. Without another thought, you call him back. It goes straight to voicemail. You figure. It’s late in the night so you decide to leave a message. As soon as you hear the beep, you growl into the phone. “The deal’s off. I can't do it and I’m not coming back.”

You hang up and pull out your own personal phone, holding the two cells side by side in your hands. Yuta’s tracking both of them. You make up your mind to have both destroyed and dumped tomorrow.

... 

You feel much freer going to work after that voicemail for Yuta and destroying both your phones. You let Jungwoo know you need a new phone and it takes no effort for him to get you one. Besides this, it takes a few weeks for Taeyong’s shoulder to heal. He misses work the entire time and rests at home. You visit him after work each day and take your own car so as to not bother Jungwoo. Most of the evenings and nights are spent changing his bandages, talking and sharing sweet kisses.

“It's nice to be taken care of,” he comments, sitting on the edge of the bed. He has a tank top and you try not to fixate on the muscles of his arms as you remove his shoulder gauze. 

“No one’s ever taken care of you while injured?” You ask, putting some ointment on his shoulder wounds. He winces a little and you give him an apologetic look.

“Well, I live mostly by myself. And I've never been this injured before. Jungwoo does have access in case of an emergency and he needs to get me. But other than that, no one knows I live here.”

You lift his arm slightly to wrap the gauze over and around his shoulder. His eyes roam your face, watching your concentrated features. “But this giant penthouse and no one ever comes by? That’s lonely. Especially knowing you,” you smile.

He smiles back before scratching his ear. “Uh, well.. I’m not entirely alone here. Sometimes my past partners would stay here.”

“Past partners?”

“Yeah.. you know, relationships.”

“Oh,” you say. Of course he hasn’t been single, you mentally note, just look at him. The thought makes you feel strange, though. You’ve missed such a huge chunk of each other’s lives but feel like you’ve known him forever. You finish wrapping the bandage around his shoulder.

“But I'm glad you’re here and not.. them or anyone else,” he manages out. “To be honest,” he laughs, looking down at his hands, the cuts having healed long ago. “I was looking for you in those people, but never quite found you.”

Your heart melts, eyes taking in the way he’s bent forward, avoiding your own. You cup his cheeks, bending over to kiss his forehead. “I was looking for you too all these years.”

He glances up and smiles slowly. “Really?” You nod. “So, we wasted our time?”

Your thumb strokes his cheek, and you watch the way his eyes flutter. “I suppose we did.”

“Well, in that case, we’d better make up for it.” He wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you into his chest so hard you both topple backwards onto the mattress.

Surprised laughter bursts from you, hands trying to push him off as he rolls you to the side and onto the bed. “You’re injured! Stop it!” you say between laughs.

He tries to prop himself on the bed with you underneath him, eyes dancing with amusement. “I'm the kingpin of the greatest mob empire. A little shoulder wound won’t - ow!” his shoulder flinches as he puts pressure on it.

Concern floods your chest. “See, I told you.” You maneuver him to rest flat on the bed against his pillow once again. “You need to rest, oh great kingpin lord of everything.”

Unbelievably, he pouts. So you acquiesce and lean over to kiss him. He hums happily, threading his hands through your hair. When you pull back, his eyes are soft. “Can you stay tonight?” You glance at his shoulder but he tugs at your arm. “Please? I don’t get sleep anyway when you’re not here.”

You swallow, gazing at his pleading eyes. “Of course.” A smile blooms on his face before he makes room for you to lie down next to him. Your body is a mess of nerves and butterflies but once you’ve settled in his soft sheets, he immediately wraps his good arm around your waist and bends forwards to kiss your forehead.

“Goodnight Y/n,” he sighs, snuggling closer. 

“Goodnight,” you echo, feeling more comfortable than you have in a long time. 

...

The next day, you wake up feeling well rested for the first time in your life. Taeyong’s body is plastered to your back, his good arm wrapped around your waist like a vice. The sunlight filters through his window blinds, falling onto his soundly sleeping face like bars of gold, and you think, just here and now, life is perfect. You’re not sure you’ve ever said that before. 

You flip over to see him. Your heart lurches at his peacefully sleeping face. He looks like an angel. You push back his hair from his eyes and lean over to press a slow kiss to his temple.

He stirs, inhaling. “Hmm, what was that for?” he asks sleepily, eyes still closed. 

You chuckle at his sleepy smile.“Nothing. You looked cute.”

He blinks open one eye. You giggle at his messy hair. “Cute, huh? I’m the mob kingpin lord of everything and you call me cute?” he mumbles sleepily.

“Hmm, definitely the cutest king for sure.”

He chuckles, reaches his arms over his head to stretch but flinches in pain, bringing his arm back down. “Ah, still sensitive.”

Worry flashes through you. “Are you sure you wanna come in today?”

“Yeah, it's been over a week and I'm feeling much better. Besides, a mob can't run without its cute boss.” He mumbles sleepily, throwing his good arm around your waist again. You gaze at him longer, your heart fluttering. It’s a slow realization that also happens all at once somehow - you want this everyday, for as long as you imagine. It grows worse the longer you stare at him. He cracks an eye open. “What?” 

It’s impossible to hold it back now no matter how much you try. “I love you.”

He grows still, both eyes flying open as he gazes at you in slight surprise. “What?”

You run your fingers through his soft strands again, pushing them away from his eyes, your heart lurching. “I love you.” Your voice is soft, almost as if you’ll shatter him.

Taeyong stares for a moment before pulling you in to kiss you, morning breath and all, but you can’t give a care in the world. When he finally lets go, he’s grinning from ear to ear. “I love you too. So much.” You laugh in disbelief as he cups your cheek and presses his forehead to yours. “To be honest, I’ve been having trouble holding those words back since the first day you came here.” Love flares in his eyes. “I loved you even before this. I’ve loved you since childhood.”

You’re slightly surprised at the sting of tears in your eyes. “I’ve loved you since then too.” 

Taeyong cups your cheeks and presses short kisses again and again on your lips, saying I love you between each one. You chuckle, blinking back tears as you accept them. Then, he pushes aside the heavy comforter, and rolls you over so that he’s on top, kissing and gently stroking your hair, making your heart lurch over and over again. Soon, his short kisses become longer until your mouths are pushing and pulling like tides. You kiss until your lungs burn. When you pull back, gasping for breath, he presses his forehead to yours. 

“Y/n,” he mumbles reverently. Your fingers skit down his jaw to the nape of his neck. He shivers in response, hot breath fanning your lips. You pull him impossibly closer to you and he meets your lips again. His tongue slips through your lips this time and sends sparks through your stomach. It grazes your own tongue, and you sigh, letting yourself melt into him, his warmth and body heat, the unbelievable feeling of being in his arms, his fringes tickling your forehead, his breath fanning your face. You kiss until you can't take it anymore.

He whines a little as you pull away once again. You laugh breathily, watching him balance on his propped arms over you. “Isn’t your shoulder hurting like that?”

He gives you a boyish, lopsided smile. “Honestly, my shoulder has been hurting the entire time, but I don't care.” In horror, you try to rip away from him but he easily drags you back and pins you to the bed without so much as a retort. His fingers intertwine with yours and hold them against the pillow. 

“For a cute mob boss, you’re pretty strong,” you remark. He only grins and buries his head in your neck, pressing kisses down the skin. More electricity buzzes through your body. His kisses are hot and wet and you arch when he meets a pulse point. Your voice comes out shaky. “Taeyong, if you keep going, I won't be able to-“

“Me neither,” he answers. His voice is a different color than usual, one that you haven't heard before. It’s gravelly and rough. Combined with his body insistently pressing yours into the mattress and his kisses to your neck, your body turns into a mess of tingles and butterflies. 

His teeth nips your pulse point and you gasp, pressing your hips against his slightly. He picks up on this imperceptible movement and rolls his hips against yours with a low groan. You can feel him through his pants, and you arch and moan at the friction. Your hands clutch the cloth of his tank top from his back until it's bunched in your fist. He pulls back a small to observe your reaction, his pupils dilated.

His hand comes up to touch your face reverently. “Y/n, do you want to…”

“Yes, keep going, please.” You should be ashamed at how easily you beg, but you could never feel that way for him, especially with the way his pupils dilate and his breath comes out ragged.

“How far.. do you want to go?”

“Everything, I want everything from you,” you press your head to his, feeling strangely emotional. “I just want you, please.” He seems still for a moment, gorgeous dark eyes boring into yours. The uneven breaths fill the silence, as if he were savoring this moment. Then he reaches down , fingers slipping inside your pants, and pressing your clit through panties. A moan falls from your lips, your hips arching towards his touch. His dark eyes drink in every reaction. Then, he moves to suck your neck again and you’re clutching his tank top harshly as he works your clit, moaning into his ear. You have half a mind to drag his tank top half way up his chest until he gets the idea and pulls away from you. He sits up, slipping it over his head, and tosses it to the side, revealing his bare skin with tattoos littered here and there. When he falls back to you, carefully supporting his injured shoulder, you drag him in for a kiss. “You are so beautiful.”

He moans slightly into your mouth, tongues meeting again before pulling away. “I can say the same for you.” He eyes your shirt. “Can I?”

“Yes,” you manage out.

His lithe hands peel your shirt up and over your head. His eyes roam over your torso with a bated breath as you sit up a little and undo your bra. It’s a few seconds of awed silence once you lie back down before his hot mouth planting on your nipple. You arch and moan loudly, your eyes clenching shut. “Oh god.”

He strips your pants and underwear from you in one movement. His hand returns to your clit though this time, his finger slides into your core, stretching your walls. A moan tumbles from your lips as he comes up to press kisses to your face. “My love,” he calls gently as you moan again, “my Y/n.” Sparks fly behind your eyes in your pleasure. Your head presses back against the pillow and you let out a particularly loud moan. Then, he rips his hand away as well as his mouth and you’re left teetering, then coming back down the way you came, unsatisfied. You let out a whine but he sits up, panting harshly, grabbing a condom from the drawer in his nightstand and settles back between your legs. He gives you another kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Your heart thrums each time you say it. Then he’s slipping inside you, stretching you until your eyes flutter closed. You’re full and you realize this is how you've always belonged, how you were always supposed to be. He thrusts slowly, lips hovering over yours or pressing all over your face, his eyes fluttering when you squeeze around him. You realize this is different from all the other partners you’ve ever been with. It feels like he fills you with life , every second he looks at you or smiles or walks into a room, he fills you with purpose.

You live for his moans, unabashed and light and airy and beautiful. It makes you lose yourself so much faster. His lithe hands clutch the bedsheets beside you, lips grazing your neck, hair tickling your face. You realize you want him all the time, near you all the time, you want this forever. You memorize everything, his touch, his scent, his features screwed up in the pleasure you give him. You’d give him anything. You memorize him until he hits a spot inside you that has your brain coming to a halt. He notices easily, lifts one of your legs to hook over his good arm, and hits it again, much more intense this time, until you're shivering and arching, your mind turning to mush. Sweet praises fall from his lips as he pushes into you. You’re perfect, you’re so beautiful, my love.

My love. 

You contract around him like a vice, burying your head in his neck, muffling the moan bordering on a scream as you come apart. He shivers as your nails dig into his back and halts his movements until your walls grant his cock mercy enough to move again. He finishes the last few thrusts until he's pressing deep inside you with a loud groan, and you vaguely think you wouldn’t mind hearing that sound forever. He collapses on top of you, panting and breathing harshly but you couldn't care less about his weight squeezing you. Your hands tiredly comb through his hair, littering kisses along his forehead while he catches his breath against your chest. Pleasure brims and hums through your body and mind as you relish the feeling of him in your arms. After a few beats, he lifts his head up just enough to kiss you. “I love you.” 

You smile, brushing back his sweaty fringes. “I love you, too.” You’re rewarded with a beautiful smile before he rests his head back on your chest. “Wait, wasn’t your shoulder hurting this entire time?” 

He makes no effort to move. “Yes, but I didn't care.” You groan and he only chuckles against your skin.  

...

You end up going a little late to work that day. Taeyong doesn’t seem to mind, though. He seems content enough to brush his teeth with you, shower, change into office clothes, grab breakfast and drive you to work in his car, even though you have your own parked in the garage. You’re guessing it's the inkling of domestic bliss that’s keeping a smile on his face and making him leisurely savor each mundane moment with you this morning. As for you, it’s something you never knew you needed. It’s easy to imagine a life like this and only this, with none of the complications. Taeyong looks over at you in the passenger seat with a smile, bright eyes, so many times during the drive to the office that you’re laughing. “What is it?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, turning back to the road again. “Nothing.” You let it go, but your heart flutters. Once you step through the lobby, the busy chatting stops and are replaced by jeers of welcome aimed at Taeyong after his week’s absence. Soon after, though, their curious eyes are trained on you. It’s obvious you came in the same car together and therefore probably from the same place since you usually drive yourself. If anyone had any suspicions before about you both, they definitely know for sure now. Once you and Taeyong enter the elevator, he pulls you close and kisses you once again. “I love you,” he smiles.

You laugh, adjusting his tie. “I love you too. Not tired of saying it?”

The way he looks at you, eyes half lidded, an amused smile across his lips as if you’re the most perfect thing in the world, makes you feel foolish for even asking. “No. And I never will be.”

Your heart flutters, biting back your smile. “Me neither.”

He grins this time and kisses your forehead. Then, he deflates a little. “I wont see you much today.” His fingers brush a lock of your hair. “But maybe by the end of the day, you can swing by my office?”

“Deal,” you agree, snaking your arms over his shoulders. “We'll go home together after?”

“Of course,” he smiles, leaning forward to kiss you one more time before the elevator doors ding open at the top floor. He grins again and pulls away. “I love you.”

You laugh. “I love you, too.” You go your separate ways. When you approach Jungwoo’s desk, he’s already smiling, face tilted and propped on his hand. 

“You’re in a good mood.” Jungwoo comments.

Your steps falter. “Ah.. I’ve uh…”

“No need to explain. Everyone saw you two come in together. The boss is practically bouncing with each step,” he smiles knowingly, turning back to his computer. “It’s good that he looks better though. Everyone was worried. Thanks for taking care of him.” He says, glancing up at you. “For all those days.”

Your cheeks burn. “How did you know-“ But Jungwoo gives you a look that makes you feel foolish for even asking. You plop down in the chair next to him, propping your bag against the desk. “Of course you know.”

“Actually, you might see more of him today. He has a client meeting at a high end club and I’m guessing he’ll take you as a date.”

“Really? Why does he need a date?”

He shrugs, crumpling up a piece of paper in his hands. “He doesn’t.” He throws it in the basket. “But he’ll ask you anyway.” He grins.

You watch him clean up his desk of unneeded and old documents. “You’re very perceptive of people aren't you?”

Jungwoo smiles. “It’s my job. I recruited you, remember? I find out things about people.” He says a matter of factly before changing the subject. “So, a newbie whose first mission is with the Boss himself. If no one was sure of your privilege, they’re sure now.”

You exhale, shrugging. “I'm pretty sure everyone is sure of it by now. I just hope I don't get attacked again.”

Jungwoo freezes then, concern flooding his eyes as he turns to face you. “I never asked, how are you feeling after that?”

You shrug. “I'm fine, I guess. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Jungwoo nods slowly. “Taeyong was angrier than I’d ever seen him. He made sure we removed that guy. But please know he was an outlier. People may not be the friendliest here but everyone’s generally happy to have you around.” He cups your hand in comfort, sincerity evident in his eyes. “I hope you always feel safe here.” He pauses to smile. “Even though we're an illegal organization.”

You wordlessly listen to Jungwoo, feeling strangely touched. Yuta never made you feel like this. “Thank you,” you say, and you mean it. 

He gives you a warm smile that makes you feel even softer. “Now come on, we have a lot of work to do today and many things to discuss.”

“Like what?”

“Like, did you sleep over at Taeyong’s last night?” He grins, leaning over in interest. You shove his arm, pulling peals of laughter from his lips. The rest of the day passes with jokes and work, with you secretly counting down the hours until you can visit Taeyong in his office. It seems as if an eternity passes until Taeyong himself is strolling onto the main floor and approaching Jungwoo’s desk. 

“Hey guys,” he greets. Jungwoo glances at him with a hint of surprise. You figure this is an unusual occurrence since Taeyong usually summons people to his office. “I was just wondering if I could borrow Y/n in my office for a second, if I’m not interrupting or anything.” Taeyong seems a bit hesitant.

Jungwoo shakes his head slowly. “You’re never interrupting anything. You're the Boss.”

Taeyong blinks. “R-Right…” he turns to you. “Is it okay with you?”

Jungwoo watches the exchange with growing interest. You try to ignore him and stand up from your seat. “Of course it is.”

“Great,” Taeyong says, before waving at Jungwoo, which you also assume to be unusual given Jungwoo’s perplexed expression “Bye, Jungwoo.”

Jungwoo waves slightly in confusion. “Bye…?” He watches until you two disappear from sight.

Taeyong curses once you’re out of earshot. The laughter you’re holding back spills from your lips. “What was that?”

He slows enough to allow you to fall in line with his walking. “I have no idea. I just.. felt weird beckoning you to my office chamber as if you’re my maid or something.” He shakes his head. “God, Jungwoo’s going to think something is wrong with me.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” you reply, biting back a smile. So, he feels weird about you calling him Boss and also about ordering you around. It’s strangely sweet in its own way, how a man with all the power at his hands refuses to see you as anything but his equal. 

He drags open one massive door to his office and ushers you inside. Once you’re in, he shuts the door, pulls you to his chest and kisses you. “Mmm what are these for?” You ask when his long kiss dissolves into small short sweet ones littered on your lips. 

“I just missed you all day. And missed kissing you all day.” You giggle as he turns to littering kisses over your face. Your hand wraps around his tie and tugs him to you abruptly so that he can kiss you properly on the lips. He makes a soft noise that travels like electricity through your body. The kiss turns deep once again, your hands coming up to comb through his soft hair. When you pull away, your breaths are shallow and his gaze is intense. “Believe it or not, I actually have work for us to do.”

You chuckle. “Jungwoo told me. We’re going to some high end club? 

He takes a moment to gather himself before pulling away from you. “Yes, just to visit a client we’re sorting out a contract with.” 

Your nerves twist in your stomach. You remember the last meeting with a client ended in a gunfight. Your eyes settle on his shoulder, where you can still see the bandage underneath his office shirt. “Are you sure?”

He glances at you and sees the concern in your eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll be safe,” he smiles reassuringly. “To be honest, I still don’t know why I was targeted that day and by whom. I’ve ordered everyone to track them down, but we haven't found any clues.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s probably a rival gang that somehow got our info.”

Your blood turns to ice. You haven’t even told him about what happened that day, about where you’re from and the truth about why you’re here. You can sell out Yuta right now. You can give Taeyong all the information and help him take down your former leader. But the words fail you and you realize that you can’t. You’ve spent a decade working under Yuta, longer than you’ve even known Taeyong. As much as you hate it, your loyalty to Yuta are your chains. You can’t rat him out. And worse, even if you do, what if Taeyong hates you? What if he sends you away and never wants to see you again? What if you have to return to Yuta? Return to a cold, meaningless life full of violence and crime, devoid of sunshine and sleepy smiles and slow mornings.

You swallow back any words and stay silent. You feel awful. You’re a liar. You never want to lie to Taeyong, ever. But you’re a coward and you don’t know what to do. Even if he doesn’t know now, he will find out the truth eventually and hate you then. Taeyong seems to notice your intense conflict and mistakes it for concern. He steps towards you, a soft smile finding his lips that nearly makes the terrible thoughts melt away. “I know you feel bad, but it's not your fault that I was injured,” he takes your hand gently in his. “Besides, I don't think any sniper will be able to find me at a strip club.”

Your whirling thoughts pause momentarily. “We’re going to a strip club?”

“It’s technically a gentleman’s club. It’s just a meeting with an old client. She runs the whole place and makes quite a lot of money from it. She wants us to protect her territory. A lot of members of the criminal underground frequent there and have been stepping out of line and making her workers uncomfortable. The security they have there doesn't intimidate these kinds of men enough. She wants mob protection, so these criminals will feel less inclined to do whatever they want.” 

You nod. “It’s an honorable cause. But if you’ve met her before, why am I coming?”

His eyes slide away from yours in embarrassment. “Because.. I’m uh… they like me over there,” he flushes a light pink, “I’ve gotten.. too much attention when I went alone in the past. I might as well show them that I'm taken.”

The image of women and probably men hanging over Taeyong as he talks business, flirting with him, their fingernails running down his chest, makes your insides twist in jealousy. Yes, you figure, you should be there. “Yes, you are taken.” You grip his tie and watch his eyes flare. You chuckle and mentally note his reaction. “So, this is our first date?”

He snorts. “At a strip club? No way. I'll plan a much better one than that.”

“I thought you said it’s a gentleman’s club.”

He laughs. “Come on, let’s head out. We’ll have to dress up a little.” You both stop by your apartment to pick up some fancy clothes and make up before driving over to his place to get ready. By time you change, style your hair, apply makeup and jewelry, the sun sets and the evening sky’s moonlight glows through the windows. When you walk into the living room and find Taeyong in a tuxedo, silver cuffs, and his hair neatly combed back, your heart nearly stops in your chest. He has a similar reaction when he spots you. “Wow.” He stares breathlessly for a moment before blinking back to reality. “Oh no, maybe I should go alone. This isn't a good idea.”

“What? Why?”

His eyes run over you once again. “Because you’re beautiful. Too beautiful. There's going to be too many sleazy criminals there. They’re already harassing the workers. They’re not going to leave you alone.”

“I’ll be fine. I can handle myself. Besides, do you think I’m the only one who looks good? I’m not letting you go there alone looking like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re too beautiful too,” you echo his words, watching him flush. Then, because you’re feeling playful and curious, you decide to push further. “And because you’re mine.” His eyes flare. You see him swallow imperceptibly. You don't know why it feels good to see him like this, but you want to do it some more. “They’ll keep away if they know what's good for them.”

His breath catches in his throat. He swallows again and seems to blink himself back to reality. “F…fine, then. Just tell anyone who asks that you’re with me and I'll say that I'm with you.”

“Tell them that I'm yours and you’re mine. Understood,” you grin.

“Ah… right,” he mumbles, unable to find a suitable reply. A pretty blush spreads across his cheeks as his eyes slide away from yours. It never fails to satisfy you. He pauses, then gently cups your face and brings you close to kiss you. He pulls away and gives you a warm smile. “Okay, let's go."

...

You know that gentleman’s clubs are just higher end strip clubs, but this one is so far beyond anything you've seen before. As you walk in, you’re hit with the sight of patrons dressed in black tie, waiters carrying flat dishes holding unknown colorful alcoholic drinks, curved leather booths scattered throughout the space, crystal chandeliers hanging overhead. “I can see how this owner can afford us,” you mutter. Your arm is looped through Taeyong’s as he guides you through the area and towards the back rooms. You pass by people chatting, drinking, smoking, and eventually spot the main stage. Some dancers are already there, dressed in sparkly two pieces. 

Some of the girls passing by to get to the stage notice Taeyong and smile brightly at him. Some  touch his shoulders and arms, bat their eyelashes, give cherry lipped smiles, even though you’re quite literally hanging off his arm. You suppose your presence here doesn’t spurn any of them in the slightest. Taeyong guides you into one back room that looks like a luxurious private meeting room of sorts. An older woman adorned in jewels and a shimmering gown is seated upon an expensive looking armchair with a lit cigarette between her painted nails. A few girls stand or are seated around her. They smile and greet Taeyong when he walks in but their friendly gazes turn to questioning glares when they fall on you. It seems as if the air itself stops when you walk through the door. 

“Who is she?” the older woman asks, voice raspy probably from years of cigarette smoke. 

“She’s my date,” Taeyong answers easily.

They all eye you suspiciously. “This is the first girl you’ve brought in as a date. How long has she worked for you?”

“How is that relevant?” Taeyong counters.

The woman ignores him and glares at you. “How long, girl?”

“…A few weeks.”

Murmurs start from the girls. The older lady laughs and takes a drag from her cigarette. “And you let her in this high up already, working by your side? Ever the softie you are,” she notes. Taeyong flushes slightly. “You’re not worried she’s a spy?”

Your heart jumps. Taeyong’s brows furrow. “Of course not. And I’ve known her much longer than a few weeks. We just.. were separated for a long time.”

Her eyes narrow a bit. “That’s even more dangerous.” Her lips blow a puff of smoke. “She’s not allowed in here. That’s final.” 

Taeyong growls. “Listen, Mabel, we have a contract to sign.”

“Yes, with very sensitive content. Which unauthorized people should not be allowed to listen in on.” Her eyes coldly drag down your frame. “No matter how pretty.”

Taeyong looks like he’s about to argue but you stop him with a hand to his shoulder. “It’s fine,” you say, not wanting to complicate things. “I’ll wait outside.”

He glances at you, brows knitted. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes. It’s no big deal.” You give him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and step out the door. You hear a muffled sentence from Mabel of she’s got you bad, huh? through the door before you’re walking into the buzzing scene before you.You decide to sit at the bar because you need to be alone. Mabel’s words have triggered you. You feel awful, guilty, and disgusted. You have to tell him the truth, even if he hates you forever. But what if he doesn't hate you? What if he understands, forgives, and then wants you to help him take down Yuta? You pause. How can you take down Yuta?  You spent a decade under him, working for him, being with him through good and bad times. You can't just turn against him completely. You feel stuck. You seem to always feel stuck these days and it’s making you miserable. 

“Why the long face?” You hear a rich voice behind you. It rips you from your internal monologue. It’s a tall man with dark hair, twinkling eyes and a colorful suit. He sticks out easily among the crowd. You notice he already has a drink in hand.

“Ah.. just a bad day.” You say a bit dismissively, looking back down at your drink, hoping he’ll get the message and disappear. He doesn’t.

He nods in understanding and slides into the stool beside yours. “I’m Johnny. You Yong’s girl? I saw you come in with him.”

“Uh.. Yes.”

He nods, taking a sip from his glass. “He’s never brought anyone with him here before.”

You eye him. “Do you work here?”

“Nope. I’m from my own..um… group.” He smiles. “I come here sometimes as a patron.” Right, you think, Taeyong did mention that members of other criminal groups hung out around here. It’s the reason why the owner needs protection in the first place. Johnny bumps you slightly with his elbow. “So, why are you so sad? Is he not treating you well?” He smiles easily. “You can come to our side, you know, and work as a spy. You have the look. A beautiful woman with eyes like yours, who wouldn’t believe every word that comes from your lips?” Johnny smiles into his glass. “Best part is Taeyong doesn’t have to know.”

He’s joking, but you know it's the way deals are made underground. The thought of taking him up on his makes bile rise in your throat. “No.. I don’t…” you blanch. 

He notices the look on your face. “Too loyal?” he nods in understanding. “It’s not for everyone.” he glances at you. “But you never know.” He raises a hand to touch your chin. Your reflexes get the better of you and you grip his wrist before he can touch you. 

“Y/n,” Taeyong’s voice cuts through the air, catching both you and Johnny in surprise. He’s fuming. Similar to the time when the man jumped you in the office, his expression is hard and unmerciful. “Is he bothering you?” His eyes slide to Johnny who releases a breathy chuckle and turns back to sipping his drink.

“I was actually just leaving.” You slide out from the seat and walk past Taeyong who gives Johnny a lingering hard glare before following you out the door.

Once you’re seated in his car, Taeyong grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. “What the hell was he doing? I knew I never liked him for a reason.”

“He’s from another organization?” You ask.

“It's a smaller one. It operates at the outskirts of the city. They’re one of the… less moral organizations that others need protection from. They’re a thorn in our side but nothing we can’t handle.” He glances over at you, concern replacing his irritation. “Are you okay? You look.. sick.”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing I… just…” you exhale tiredly. “It’s nothing.”

His worried eyes scan your face. “Is it because of what Mabel said? Don’t listen to her. I trust you with everything I have.” You gaze at him, speechless. His words make you feel infinitely worse after the night you’ve had.

When you return to his apartment, you change out of your dress like you can’t wait to get it off. Then, you mindlessly set to packing up the things you’ve left at Taeyong’s place while staying over the past few days. Taeyong watches you wordlessly, still in his suit, looking as if he’s about to say something, then changes his mind. The cycle repeats until he works up the courage. “Did you…want to stay over tonight too?”

You glance at him and try not to chuckle at his puppy face. “I would, but I have to go home and take out the trash and do the dishes and .. get new clothes,” you sigh, walking over to him. “But I’ll come visit later, okay?” Your fingers take to combing through his hair, coaxing a sigh from his lips.

“What if you moved in with me?” He says it so easily, lost in the feeling of your nails against his scalp. Your fingers pause and his words hang in the air. At your silence, his eyes fly open in panic. “Is that too soon? Of course it is. Fuck, forget I said anything.”

He so visibly retracts in on himself that you’re scrambling to reassure him. “No, no, I’m just… surprised is all.” 

He sighs almost helplessly, brows pinching in frustration. “I just see you here and .. when we spend time together, I..I want it… all the time… and nothing else,” he says heavily, grasping your hand and holding it up to his chest. His dark maroon eyes are large and heartfelt. “Sometimes I wish I just had a simple life. No mobs, no criminals, no territories or fighting. Just you and me in a house, living peacefully.”

Your eyes burn, pricking with tears. “Me too,” you whisper, unable to convey just how badly you’ve dreamt of the same dream for so long. “Me too.”

His expression is almost as if he’s witnessed a small miracle. He pulls you into the tightest hug, as if he can’t hold you close enough. You breathe him and relish the weight of his head tucked against yours, the smell of his lingering cologne and the comfort of his arms. “We can talk about it later,” he mumbles into your neck. “Can you stay over tonight, please?”

You forget about packing. “Of course.”

...

The next day when you come into work, you spot Jungwoo sporting a new type of pistol that spikes your curiosity. You ask him to show you the features and end up seated, facing him with the gun in your hands. Jungwoo’s fingers slide against your own as he guides yours to the grip and the trigger. "The safety lock is actually here," Jungwoo points out, turning over the unfamiliar silver pistol in your hands before guiding your finger to the small button. You test the weight of the gun with both of Jungwoo’s hands cupping yours. "It's comfortable, isn't it?" He offers with warm eyes. "Yeah, it is,” you say incredulously. “I haven’t seen-” "Jungwoo." A serious voice cuts through the atmosphere. Both of you stiffen and spot Taeyong, arms crossed with hard eyes, taking in the scene before him. "Don't you have something to turn in for me?” Jungwoo releases your hands as if they were burning hot coals. "Yes, sorry Boss. I was just taking a break and showing Y/n my new gun." "Well, get on it.” His usual soft voice is hard. Jungwoo’s face drops. Taeyong’s eyes slide to you. “Y/n, can I see you in my office?” He doesn’t wait for you as he begins walking back. You and Jungwoo exchange bewildered glances as you stand to follow him. Once you step into his office, you notice that Taeyong doesn’t greet you. He leans over his desk, his hands gripping the wooden edges. “Did you.. need me for something?” You ask, perplexed by his demeanor. 

He straightens up, running his hand through his hair. “No,” he sighs, turning to glance at you. “You… you ah… you and Jungwoo…” he trails off, averting his eyes. He huffs. “You and Jungwoo…spend a lot of time together.”

You try not to laugh. “Yes, you assigned us to work together. On everything. Don’t you remember?” 

He only grumbles, rubbing his forehead. “Right.”

“Are you alright?” You test carefully.

“I’m fine,” he says curtly, turning his back to you once again to walk towards his desk. You wait for him to elaborate but he doesn't. 

“Well… if you are, could you apologize to Jungwoo later? It was kind of rude.” He glances at you and then exhales, plopping into this arm chair. He tries to speak but struggles, then seems to give up and glare at his tie. “Hey,” you say gently, following his path around the desk until you’re standing by his chair. “Tell me what’s wrong.” You touch his chin, then run your fingers through his hair that has his shoulders slumping with stress seeping out.

"I'm sorry,” he sighs, the hardness in his voice gone. “It’s just, the past few days.. with you finally being mine after so many years… but then stupid Johnny at the club was with you and then Jungwoo was holding your hands and… I just got jealous. It's silly, I know. You love me. There's no doubt about that." He mumbles, sighing. “I can’t help it.”

“Oh,” your brain processes his words. “You were jealous?”

"What else was I supposed to be?" He now lifts his face to look up at you directly. "I think of you in every moment, in every breath I take, even in every dream I have at night. And then I see you with Jungwoo.. or someone else.. and I get jealous of them, for being in your presence. Because sometimes, they’re the ones that have your eyes… or hands on them. Not me.”

You chuckle. “Even though I have my eyes on you ninety nine percent the rest of the time?”

“Only ninety nine percent?” he laughs, his smile finally appearing. “I want the full one hundred.” He twists his chair a little to bury his head in your stomach. “I’ll give you anything you want, Y/n. Anything in this world.”

You sigh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I know.” He doesn’t respond and seems deflated so you try to reassure him. “I get jealous too.”

He lifts his head to look at you. "Really? I never noticed." 

“I don’t tell you.”

He suddenly sounds curious. "Jealous of whom?"

Your cheeks burn and you look away. “I don’t know. When the women were all over you at that same club the other day. When I hear you haven't been alone all these years, that you loved someone else. It.. makes me jealous.”

Taeyong’s eyes seem to kindle with light. He stands up slowly until he’s slightly towering over you. "So.. you're jealous of my attention too.” His eyes darken only slightly, but the air shifts. "Would you prefer that I give you one hundred percent as well so that I only ever pay attention to you?”

You feel flustered at your vulnerability but provide your answer without breaking eye contact. “Yes.” 

He falls silent then. The air is still around you, growing heated as you gaze at each other, wordlessly. "What would you do if they were here right now?” His voice is low, raspier than before.

You know he wouldn’t engage; has no interest in anyone else but you, but from every previous interaction with him, you know by now he’s very into you being possessive. So, you decide to indulge him and playfully growl. You lean over and kiss his pulse point. He swallows hard. “I’d wring them away from you.” 

Your words work on him. He shivers in your arms. "What else?” he asks, his voice slightly more gravelly in your ear.

You think. “I’d also push you against the nearest wall and kiss you until you’re panting, making sure they watch.”

He grows still. “Really?” You nod. It looks like it’s the right answer. He abruptly pulls away from you with a determined look on his face. "Good. I need you. Right now. Let's.. let's go to the closest wall we can find."

You laugh out loud, following along as he pulls you away from his desk. “Which wall?" He tugs you towards one end of the room, coaxing another laugh from you.

“There is no one to watch here. Should I just kiss you against a wall?”

"Yes. Yes, that's the idea," His voice turns rough once again. He pulls you to the wall nearest his desk and turns around to face you. "Show me, love." he orders, his eyes dark with his fringes falling into them. Your throat grows tight, all your previous laughter disappearing. He leans close to you again, hand wrapping around your wrist so that you can’t back away. "I want you to show me how jealous you can get. Right now." He growls lowly. You swallow thickly, and force your limbs to move. You raise your hands, his loosening from your wrist, and press against his chest. He doesn’t break eye contact as you push him against the wall. He gasps a little when he hits the surface, eyes darkening again. You press forward to kiss him harshly. He moans as he kisses you back just as aggressively. “Yes,” he breathes shakily between kisses. “You’re so good.”

Your mouths push and pull like tides as you keep up the show. “You like this? Being shown who you belong to?”

He’s gasping between kisses, all your words exciting him further. "Oh.. god yes, I do." he breathes out. "I love it.. I love knowing that I’m yours.” He lets out a small moan. "You'll make sure that no one will steal me away from you, right?"

You kiss down his neck, nipping the skin slightly, causing him to tremble in your arms. “Yes. No one can take you from me. You’re mine.” You say the words you think will affect him most and you’re right. A pretty blush settles on his cheeks and he moans softly at your kisses. 

"Yes... no one will take me away from you because you're mine, and I'm yours,” he breathes, eyes lidded.

“Yes,” you soften, littering kisses down his jaw. “You’re mine and I’m yours.” He shivers when you undo his buttons to litter more kisses along his collarbone. You subconsciously press closer to him and feel his hardness graze your thigh. “You’re this worked up? From just my words?” You ask fondly, nipping his chest. His eyes are closed, cheeks flushed, hair falling into them.

“F-From you. I’m worked up from you,” he mumbles.

It’s endearing. You comb this hair back from his face and kiss him. “Well, it would be unfair to let you go home like this.”

His eyes seem to focus on you in confusion before you press your palm against the bulge in his slacks. He shivers against you. “Y/n-“ You press until he bites his lip. Your nimble fingers unzip his pants and slide in past the hem of his boxers to grip him. He gasps, eyes flying open. “Oh god,” he moans. You keep a tight grip as you stroke him, watching his head fall back against the wall, jaw working open. You lean forward to kiss his neck.

“Good?”

“Good… so good,” he nods. You struggle to work him with the small space you have in his boxers but he moans so beautifully even with what little you do. “Y/n,” his eyes open, half lidded, shallow breaths. You pause to look at him. “I love you.”

You soften, push forward to kiss him gently, chastely, so at odds with your hand still stroking him. “I love you too, so much.” You squeeze him gently and he gasps, breaking away from your kiss and arches against the wall, moaning, and you know you have to hear more. With a final kiss to the hollow of his throat, you drop to your knees. He gazes down at you, eyes going wide, then jaw clenching, arousal seeping into his face. You grip his pants and boxers slide them down a bit along his hips until his length is free for your undivided attention. The sight of it completely hard has arousal surging through you but a brush of his hand to your cheek breaks your focus.

He’s gazing down at you softly, arousal drenched on his face but tended by loving concern. “Are you sure?”

You take his hand by your cheek and kiss it firmly, smiling up at him. “More sure than anything.” Then he hisses as you stroke him, hard in your grip. You budge closer until your lips are right by his length and gaze at him with dark eyes. “I want you to know what I do for you and nobody else.”

All softness drains from his face and his eyes grow ravenous. He gives you a nod and you take him into your mouth. His head hits the wall, body trembling a little as your mouth engulfs him. You drag back and come forward, tongue swirling against him, slowly setting a rhythm that has you humming. His breaths grow harsh and shaky quickly, his hands combing through your hair. You relish the feeling of him, the weight of him in your throat. You want to hear him moan but one glance tells you he seems to be holding back. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, eyes clenched shut in concentration, hand gripping your hair gently. You decide to pick up your pace and he curses, biting his lip hard. Your shallow sucks grow deeper and his length goes in further along your throat. He trembles and a low groan finally loosens from his lips. You yourself nearly moan at the sound and take him even deeper, until he hits the back of your throat. His eyes fly open and he attempts to pull back his hips, tugging you by your hair back a little to get you to slow down. “Y/n… I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

You ignore him, grab his hips and shove him back into your mouth. He harshly gasps out your name and it’s everything you wanted to hear. You gaze up at him, tearing yourself from his length with great self control. “I’m in control right now, aren't I?”

He shivers at your authoritative tone and surrenders. “Yes, ma’am.”

Your stomach burns at the title and you quickly set back to work, taking him deep in your mouth. This time, he moans freely, his hand back in your hair. His soft caresses of your hair become tight, his finger curling around the strands absently as his face screws up in pleasure. Soon, he’s subconsciously guiding your head in your movements as his hips push forward to meet your mouth. It makes his length go even deeper in your throat until you have to focus more not to gag. His free moans are music to your ears, his head is tilted back against the wall, eyes clenched closed. With one particular stroke, you feel him pulse in your mouth. Then, his eyes are flying open and he tugs you off of him roughly by your hair. The sensation sparks pain and pleasure through you, coaxing a noise from your lips, which he seems to notice. He pants harshly, eyes lidded, as you gaze up at him in confusion. “I’m… too close,”. He struggles to find his composure. “I .. don't want to lose myself in your mouth.”

“Where then?” You tease as he helps you stand up. His eyes darken. 

“You’ll see.” Your breath catches as he steps forward, backing you towards his desk. “I think it’s my turn to show you how possessive I get.” His lips crash into yours and it's rough, rougher than he’s ever kissed you. You gasp as his hands grip your cheeks and hair hard, pressing you insistently against him. You feel heat pool quickly in your lower abdomen. He walks you backwards, kissing you hard until your back hits the edge of his desk and he’s towering over you. His dilated umber eyes hold you captive, his hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips parted with shallow breaths. 

“Sit.” He directs you. You obey, lifting yourself on your tiptoes and then seating yourself on the wooden edge. Then, he kneels, and it’s so graceful and how he does so, but your throat goes painfully dry. He takes one of your legs in his hand and kisses your ankle, still strapped in by your formal shoe. He lifts it so it slides over his shoulder and does the same with the other. 

He gazes up at you, brows low, gaze dark and you swear you’ve never been so turned on. He grips the hem of your skirt and slides it up to reveal your thighs. He comes closer to kiss the revealed skin, never breaking eye contact with you, his gaze searing into yours. Your gut is a mess of fire and butterflies, twisting and flipping and grappling for sanity while your mind wonders where did that young shy boy that you knew all this time go? 

“Y/n,” he groans, sliding your skirt up all the way until the front is bunched around your hips. It's when his hands grip the hem of your panties does electricity strike your senses. He gazes at you as if asking for permission and you lift yourself up slightly in response.

He smirks and slides your panties down your legs, past your socks and over your heels before tossing them somewhere neither of you bother to remember. He settles back close between your legs and the image of him gazing up at you on his knees sears itself in your brain. Then, he leans forward and licks a stripe along your core that has you gasping and clutching his shoulder. He smiles and presses his hand against your stomach, hinting at you lie back against his desk. You shiver and obey and it's not even until your head hits the wood does he lick another long, broad stripe that has you arching.

“Shit,” you gasp, clutching the edge of his desk. You feel him grin between your legs before his fingers slide inside you. Your eyes clench shut, mouth falling open as the burning stretch gives away to pleasure. He pumps his fingers leisurely into you, making your toes curl in your shoes. He licks your clit at the same time, causing a long moan and a jerk for your hips. You vaguely wonder when was the last time you’ve been pleasured like this. 

He pushes his fingers deeper and curls them deep inside that has you letting out a long moan of his name. He groans at that and retracts his fingers, leaving you empty. “Look at me,” he says raspily into your skin. “I want you to look at me.” You lift your head up a small ways to see him between your legs, his dark eyes glaring at you, his nimble hands hooking around both of your thighs. Then, he slides his tongue inside his tongue inside, hot and thick. You let out a high pitched moan, hand coming down to tangle in his hair as you arch up. “Oh god,” you clench around his tongue as he goes deeper. He groans in satisfaction and you can feel it reverberate through your body. Sparks of pleasure fly in your vision. His tongue twists and moves and flicks inside you, turning your limbs and mind to jelly. Your head hits the back of his desk as you arch again and suddenly you feel his nails digging painfully into your thighs. You lift your head up to glance back down at him and he gives you a pointed gaze. Right, keep your eyes on him.

He continues his ministrations, leaving you arching and moaning and whimpering all while struggling to keep eye contact. He doesn’t let up once, not even when you accidentally tug his hair too hard, which earns a hiss and then a moan. He continues, tongue sinful sliding deep inside you before moving to wrap his lips around your clit and suck hard. That has you gasping, moaning, hand tightening in his hair as your face screws up in pleasure. He watches every single facial expression carefully while working you all the while. He slides fingers inside while suckling your clit and when he curls them once again deep inside you, you fall apart.

‘Oh god, oh god,” you moan out as you hurdle towards your end. He groans when he feels you coming, and redoubles his efforts so that you have to cover your mouth when you scream. You fall back against the mercilessly hard wood as the  purest bliss washes over you. You arch and moaning and shake around his tongue until he groans into your core, tongue lapping up everything you have to give him. He leaves you then, granting you enough mercy to come back to reality and your body with all the energy sapped out of you. 

He’s suddenly near you, bending over and pressing his body against your weary one to kiss your forehead. Hand comes to comb through your hair gently as you regain your composure.

You open his eyes to see him smiling softly down at you. “Good?” You nod breathlessly. He smiles proudly. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.” 

Your words catch in your throat as he guides you to sit up against the desk once again. He stands before you, towering, his hair even messier now thanks to you, and a slight shine to his lips where he didnt wipe you off completely. He cups your cheeks reverently and bends down to kiss you. It’s loving and passionate and you find yourself melting against him one again. His hand runs through your hair before he tangles it in a few strands in the back of your head and tugs firmly. You gasp harshly, breaking away from the kiss as your head is forced back a little. He examines you briefly before he tugs again experimentally. You moan this time, eyes fluttering and pleasure buzzing through your body. He drinks in your reaction like it's an elixir of gold. “Just as I thought,” he mumbles before gently combing through your hair again. “I can’t believe I do this to you. The effect I have on you,” he says reverently, watching your hair slip from his fingers. 

You catch your breath. “You have every effect on me.”

He gazes at you intently before leaning over and gives you another kiss. Then, he helps you off his desk until you're standing on your slightly unreliable, still shaky legs. He steadies you with his grip on your hips. He presses his lips to your temple and eyes his desk behind you. “You know… I dreamed of having you here.” His eyes are dark again, pupils blown wide, voice raspy. “Some days, it distracts me so much that I can’t do any work sitting here,” his eyes flit across the wood. “I’ve wanted it for so long.”

“For how long?” You ask. 

“Since the day you walked into this building,” he laughs, nudging your nose with his. “You were so beautiful,” he sighs, settling his forehead on yours. “And the first time we drank wine here and I almost kissed you? After that, god, those thoughts would not leave me.”

“What…” you swallow, “what thoughts?”

His eyes darken. “Of you bent over my desk, moaning and whimpering as I fuck you.” Excitement buzzes throughout your body, arousal seeping through you once again, so embarrassingly quickly after your release. Taeyong cups your jaw, his thumb resting on your lip. his stare is dark, unwavering. “What do you say, my love?”  

You swallow hard. “We should make those thoughts reality.”

His eyes darken impossibly more. “You sure?”

“Please.” His eyes darken again, growling as he kisses you hard. Then, he turns you around, pressing your stomach into the edge of the desk and drags his hands down your body. He presses and kneads your clothes breasts, his hard length pressing into your ass as he kisses down your neck. You moan and arch against him. “Bend over,” he instructs. A wave of arousal hits you hard as you do his bidding. Once you’re bent over with your forearms resting against the wood, Taeyong flips over your skirt. You hear him groan, probably at how unbelievably sopping wet you are by now, especially from having come once already. Then his hard length is sliding into you and all thoughts grind to a halt. Both your moans synchronize as he slowly thrusts into you, mumbling praises while you fight to stay sane. You are still so sensitive and the lazy drag of his length against your walls compounds your pleasure. He eventually picks up speed, sending pleasure coursing through you with each stroke. One hand tangles in your hair, and you feel him press down against your back until his lips are by  your ear. “God, I love your hair.” He gives a firm tug so your head is pulled back against his neck, coaxing a shaky moan from your lips. He groans and sinks his teeth into your neck. You gasp at the sharp pain mixed by the pleasure brought from his hips. 

“Oh,” you gasp out as his hips speed up, his hand still in your hair, his teeth by your neck. It all sends your mind spiraling. He moans into your ear, whispering praises on how good you feel, how long he's waited for you, how much he loves you. Then, his other hand comes up to grip your throat and suddenly, you’re whimpering.

“Is this okay?” He whispers lowly in your ear, his hips not faltering in their brisk pace. 

“Yes yes yes,” you manage out, relishing the pressure on your throat. You want to feel him everywhere, in any form, as much as you can while he takes you for himself. 

He chuckles. “Good girl.”  You moan and clench so hard his thrusts stutter and he gasps into your ear. “God, Y/n….You like that dont you?” You moan in response and he chuckles, resuming his thrusts. He kisses down your ear and your neck. “My good girl, my sweet girl.”

You gasp, feeling yourself clench even tighter at his praise, pulling more moans from his lips. You push your hips back to meet his thrusts and he groans.

“Say my name, Y/n,” he orders, hand slightly tightening around your throat. 

You mentally scramble to remember words. “Ah, Taeyong.”

He groans lowly, possessively, his thrusts turning rougher, making you cry out. “Say.. say you love me,” his voice is a bit softer this time but still demanding. 

“Hah.. I love you,” you manage out, fingers scratching the wood for leverage. 

He releases a harsh breath against your ear. “Again.” 

“I love you,” you gasp, eyes clenching shut at his harsh pace. 

He moans, gently kissing the side of your face that he can reach from behind you, so at odds with the rough thrusts that are making you shiver. “Again, love.”

“I love you,” you cry out. He growls as his thrusts grow faster and the grip on your throat grows tighter, pulling whimpers and incoherent mumbles from your lips. His other hand untangles from your hair and reaches down to rub your clit.

“Ah!” your yelp echoes through the office. The hand clutching your throat slides up to clamp around your mouth. 

“Careful, I may have a big office but they can still hear you from outside,” he warns, voice strained in pleasure as his lips brush your cheek. “And I wouldn’t mind all of them hearing you. But I think you’d be very embarrassed walking past them into the office after this.” 

You breathe harshly against his hand, and pressing it against your mouth to signal him to keep it there because you know you’ll definitely not be quiet. He growls, his thrusts growing harsher now that your moans won't reveal you. His fingers resume drawing circles on your clit that has your whimpers coming out muffled against his hand. Your legs are shaking again, mind numb, moaning incoherently into his hand clamped around your mouth. He lets you sink flat onto the desk when you can’t hold yourself up anymore, the coolness of the wood offering some relief to your flushed face. He fucks you until his breaths grow harsher his moans louder before he drapes himself over you. 

“You’re mine,” he growls into your ear. He hits a spot deep, deep inside you that has you careening. Combined with his words and his finger on your clit, you lose yourself into pleasure for the second time. The world washes in white as you come, gasping harshly into his hand and dragging nails down his desk, walls squeezing him mercilessly. “Y/n,” he moans, desperate, thrusting into you until he strains and stills suddenly. With another moan of your name, his warmth spills inside you. He lets out a long groan as he shakes before collapsing on top of you.

Both of you fight to catch your breath. After a few minutes, it seems to take all of Taeyong’s energy to drag himself off of you and collapse into the armchair nearby. You’re still gasping over his desk, not trusting your legs to support you if you stand. “Oh my god.”

He chuckles, hand combing through his hair. “Did I get carried away?” 

Pleasure is still thrumming across your body, through every inch of every nerve. “Please.. get carried away more often.” He laughs out loud. You push yourself off the desk and shakily stand up. 

“Come on, let's get cleaned up,” Taeyong says, tangling his fingers with yours. “I have more things for you in mind at home.” 

Your stomach flips. “Still haven’t gotten it out of your system?”

“Nope.” 

At home, he gives you so many hickeys that you have to wear a high neck shirt and a scarf when you go to work the next day. When you meet Jungwoo, he only quirks a brow.

“What?” You ask. 

“Nothing,” he smiles knowingly. “I’m guessing it's going well with the boss?” You flush under your scarf. “He apologized to me, you know. You wouldn’t happen to have something to do with that, do you?”

“Uh,” your voice comes out high pitched. “Nope no, uh.. he just feels bad.”

He smiles, eyes narrowing. “Does it have anything to do with the scarf you’re wearing in June?“

“Don’t you have work to do?” You snap. He only chuckles and turns back to his computer.

...

Several pass with this routine of work and then staying over at Taeyong’s place some days of the week. The days you do, you wake up from restful slumber with his arms around your waist, his sleepy mumbled protests when you try to leave his arms, even for the bathroom. On the weekends, you spend time making breakfast and sharing kisses and watching funny movies and cleaning his apartment. It’s domestic bliss and you wish it lasted forever.The days when you don’t stay over, you stare at the emptiness of your apartment and wonder if you should just move in with him. You would have said yes already had you not felt so guilty for lying to his face everyday. You can’t even imagine taking that step when he still doesn't know the full truth and how you’ve betrayed him. Judging from his sad expressions any time you pack up and head back to your apartment, you can tell that he wants to ask you to stay for good, to move in, but he hasn’t mentioned the idea after the first time he brought it up.

Apart from this, life is routine for a while. Soon after, however, strange things begin to happen. A few of the lower ranked members get ambushed while running some operations in the city. The following week, a shipment was stolen. A few days later, some high profile clients suddenly decide not to work with the group anymore. And, the worst of all, somebody shoots at Jungwoo on his way to work. Yesterday, Taeyong told you that someone was following his car while heading home. He managed to lose them before they discovered where he lives.

“It’s bewildering,” he said in his office, brows pinched in concern. “No one has ever attacked us like this before. We are the most powerful criminal organization in the city with the highest security. Who could suddenly have access to all our details and carry out attacks like this?”

Today, your stomach churns with dread as you drive home. You remember how shaken everyone was, including Taeyong, and you hope to god it isn’t what you’re thinking. As soon as you step into your apartment, you spot a letter on the floor by the entryway.  Someone must have slid it under the door.  Come back or we kill him. You have one week. -Y.

The note shakes slightly in your hands. You read the words over and over until they’re seared into your memory. Then you push down the overwhelming sensation of dread swelling up inside you. Your suspicions are confirmed - Yuta’s behind everything. And now he’s exploiting your weakness for Taeyong so that you’ll be forced to come back to him. You don't know how he got access to so much classified information to do as much damage as he did. He seems to be everywhere, attacking everyone at once, out of fury. You wonder if it’s because of you. Either way, it’s only a matter of time before they kill Taeyong. 

Still shaking, you crumple up the note and slam it into the trash can. You feel the sting of tears in your eyes and shut the door to your room, collapsing onto your bed. You won’t be able to sleep tonight. You make up your mind about at least one thing, though. Taeyong won’t get hurt again because of you. 

...

The next day, you don’t bother checking in with Jungwoo and drag your feet to Taeyong’s office. He stands at his desk, organizing files and smiles at you brightly when you enter the room. Then, he registers the expression on your face. “What’s wrong?” His brows furrow.

You steel yourself with a shaky breath. “I’m leaving.”

His face falls, hands dropping the files onto the desk. “What?”

And suddenly, you can’t hold back your tears. “I’m leaving. I have to leave.”

He registers your tears, realizes you’re crying for the first time in front of him, and swiftly walks over to you. His arms pull you into a hug, pressing your face into his shoulder. “Why? Why are you crying?” Concern heavily laces his voice. 

“All these attacks that are happening.. you being followed… it’s all because of me,” you manage out against his chest.

His arms tighten around you, his breath stuttering. “Y/n, what are you talking about?”

You sniff and pull back, taking in his concerned face. It’s likely the last time you’ll see it when he still has love for you, before you tell him the truth. “I was sent by another organization as a spy.” It’s like slow motion, the way his face drains of all emotion and grows hard and shaken. His arms retract away from you as if you’re poison. He steps back suddenly, far out of your proximity and your heart shatters. “I know. I’m a traitor,” you say shakily, staring at the ground so you don’t have to look at that heartbreaking face. “You have every right to be angry.” Tears fill your eyes, emotion choking your words. “But I had no chance with you. I knew even before he sent me here that I’d fall in love with you and I told him as much.” 

Taeyong makes no further movements to step close to you. His voice is cold when he speaks. “Who sent you?”

You exhale. “Yuta.” His expression hardens. He knows him. You’re not surprised. Yuta’s mob is second only to Taeyong’s in the city. “He sent me here to gain intel because he knew we were close. He…he knew you would trust me and keep me close despite being a new recruit,” you say wearily. “I told him I didn’t want to but he forced me. It…it was so hard being here, seeing you, lying to you and everyone, you have no idea.” Tears fill your eyes as you chance a glance at him. Taeyong’s face is carefully neutral but his eyes betray him. They are filled with unspeakable hurt. Your heart lurches.

“I gave him some intel about that shipment drop off at the hotel. Then, you got shot. That was because of me.” Taeyong inhales sharply, you can see in his eyes that you’ve shattered his heart further. You feel nauseous. “I didn’t know it would get you hurt. When I saw you injured and bleeding, I called it off. I told Yuta I was never coming back.” Your words stutter and tears slip from your eyes. “So, he took revenge. He’s behind all these recent attacks, all because of me. He sent a note to my apartment yesterday saying either I come back or he’ll kill you.”

Taeyong seems alarmed and then turns thinking, mind working overtime. You continue.

“So many people have already gotten hurt, even Jungwoo, because of me. It’s only a matter of time before you get injured o-or worse and I can't.. I can’t be responsible,” you gasp, wiping your eyes. “So, I have to go back. I have to never see you again.”

Taeyong’s face is unchanging, his voice still cold. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth before? Especially after you called it off with Yuta?”

You exhale. “I should have. I should have told you from the beginning. But I’ve been loyal to Yuta for a decade. After my father escaped, we joined his mob. It’s only because of his protection that the police didn’t catch my father and throw him in jail.” Understanding seeps into Taeyong’s eyes. “I couldn’t betray him. But I couldn’t betray you. I just… I was just stuck,” you bite out, clenching your fists. “And I was afraid if I told you the truth, you’d want me to leave. I was happy here for the first time, with you. I just wanted to disappear into this life, where I didn't have to think about anything else, not even the idea that you’d find out the truth and hate me,” Pain seizes your chest. “I was a coward.”

“But you want to leave now,” he notes, expression still neutral.

You blink at him. “Because you’re in danger. It doesn't matter how I feel anymore.”

He watches you for a second before the slightest hint of emotion shows on his face. “Do you love him?” He swallows, eyes pained. “Yuta?”

“No!” The word falls so quickly from your lips but his pained expression doesn’t shift. “I’m only loyal because he’s like family. Like… like you. I couldn't easily turn against him just like how I couldn’t be against you. But I never loved him,” you say evenly. “And I love you more than anything.”

Taeyong’s expression falters, softens. “If… if I allow you to stay, will you help us bring him down?” He asks carefully.

Words fail you for a moment. You thought Taeyong would yell in anger, throw you out like he did with that man. Instead, he gives you the smallest chance of penance. As of yesterday, you found happiness with Taeyong while Yuta threatens you and uses the love of your life to hurt you. It’s clear he will never see you as anything more than his weapon. And for the first time, everything feels clear. “Yes, I will.” 

Taeyong seems relieved. “Then… then stay. Help us bring him down.”

You blink at him, wide-eyed. “You trust me?”

Taeyong looks away. “I don’t know yet. But I can’t just let you go back to him. Who knows what he’ll do to you as punishment.” His hands curl into fists. “And I may not trust you completely, but I still love you. And I’m not losing you again, not after I found you after all these years.” You inhale. You never imagined that this conversation would end in any way other than with you leaving and never seeing Taeyong again. Something painfully tight in your heart loosens and suddenly, tears spill from your eyes. Taeyong reaches for you, then falters for a moment before deciding. He steps forward and pulls you into his arms. His fingers tangle in your hair and press you close to his chest. You melt against him, relishing the sound of his heartbeat as you cry freely. “Shh, it’s okay.”

“I love you,” you cry.

“I know,” he says gently, stroking your hair. He kisses your forehead. “I’m not losing you again.”

...

Over the next few days, you tell Taeyong everything you possibly know about Yuta and your old mob, including sensitive information. You hold nothing back. You know this is the time for endings. Taeyong uses every scrap of your information and turns them into orders for other members, into strategies and plans that will give an advantage, and generally puts things to work to ruthlessly take Yuta down. You are grateful that he does not tell the entire office of your treachery. It only appears as if Taeyong has received a sudden influx of highly sensitive information related to a hostile rival mob in a stroke of good luck. But as members of a criminal organization, not everyone is so naive, and they pick up on your sudden increase in visits to his office. Their warm looks suddenly turn to suspicious glares and wide kept distances. 

Jungwoo’s reaction hits you particularly hard. You’re not sure if Taeyong told him the truth about you since he’s his right hand, or if, more likely, Jungwoo found it out by himself. Either way, when you try to speak with him the first day after your revelation, he gives you the cold shoulder. You dont blame him, of course. He gave you information in confidence, which you relayed to the enemy and indirectly put him in danger. Still, your stomach sinks at his aloofness and spreads ice through your heart. You make sure to visit Taeyong’s office only from now on and relay only the necessary information, missing your friend’s twinkling eyes and warm smile the whole time.

Over the course of this work, even Taeyong keeps a distance. He doesn’t show you affection as much as he did before. When he does, it’s with a slightly guarded look in his eyes as if you’ll attack at any moment, with his kisses and touches all too fleeting. Sometimes, you feel lucky if he gives you a smile. You try to blame it on the busyness of work in taking down a rival mob, but it makes your heart crumble all the same. You know he needs time to build back trust, so you give him space. You don’t stay at his place these days and leave work before he can ask. It’s better than him telling you no or, worse, feeling pressured to offer. Whatever he feels, you want to be there for him, always, and hope that he’ll eventually make his way back to you. 

With everyone in the entire office regarding you suspiciously, work becomes a cold place. You’re also well aware that the ultimatum’s deadline is approaching, of which Yuta ordered you to come back within a week’s time or he’ll kill Taeyong. You’re sure that it will be more difficult for Yuta to target Taeyong now that the latter has all the dirt on him, has bolstered his defenses and is launching raids and attacks against Yuta, but it still makes you uneasy.

Taeyong seems to remember this too and asks you about it during one of your meetings with him. “Where did you say you found that note from Yuta?”

“My apartment.”

He blinks. “So he knows where you live?” You nod uneasily. He stiffens slightly. “Y/n, you can’t stay there.”

“I know.” You sigh. “I was thinking of secretly moving to a hotel. I’ve been packing and getting ready.”

“No!” He says bewilderedly but cuts himself off with a sigh. “With me. Stay with me.”

You stare at him. “Are you sure?” 

He gives you a level gaze. “Of course.”

You hesitate for a few moments before nodding. “Okay. I’ll bring over my things.” His face melts in relief, churning small butterflies in your stomach. Taeyong seems to want to say something else but decides against it and turns back to work. It’s enough though, for you. 

“I can take the guest room,” you offer, once you’ve unloaded your boxes and suitcases into his apartment.

“Don’t be silly.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Just use my bed, like you’ve done a million times.” You hesitate, uneasiness stirring in your gut. His dark eyes fix on you. “I don’t hate you, Y/n. You don't have to worry about making me uncomfortable.”

You still don't budge. He makes a show of plopping down on his bed and scooching to the far most end, patting the space beside him. You acquiesce with a sigh and climb in, settling into the sheets and lie down, facing away from him. You relish the familiar feeling of his mattress and his scent on the sheets, remembering the last time you were here before everything changed. “Goodnight Y/n,” Taeyong mumbles behind you.

“Goodnight,” you say into the darkness. Of course, the next day, you wake up tangled in each other's arms. You nearly hate yourself for it. He’s still sleeping and you find yourself quietly admiring his features, as you always do, when you wake up beside him. He looks so angelic and peaceful. You chance a small kiss to his forehead that you don't deserve before tearing yourself away. He catches you, though, arm wrapping around your back to press you to him as his eyelids flutter open. It's silent for a moment before he kisses you. You melt embarrassingly fast in his arms before he pulls away with a sigh. It’s silent for a few moments before you speak.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say thickly, your heart aching. 

“I know.”

“I should've told you. I wanted to tell you.”

“I know,” he smiles, his eyes sad. “Your soft spot is your family and the people around you. And you were stuck between two. I know because it's mine too.” You sigh, blinking back the sting of tears in your eyes. He brings your hand up to kiss your palm. “I forgive you. Now, just forgive yourself.”

A few stray tears make their way down your cheeks. He wipes them gently. “Sorry. You probably prefer a girl who’s much less messy than me,” you laugh weakly.

He shushes you. “In all your rawness, ugliness and truth, that's how I want you.” His words seep into you. He gives you a final kiss to your forehead before removing himself from the bed to get ready for work. You manage to do the same.

...

This new way of life continues for several weeks more. Yuta continues his attacks on the mob but not on the same level as before since Taeyong has been counterattacking and sabotaging his operation, thanks to your help. You continue to supply as much information as you can remember, like how many members Yuta has, where they’re active, who are their allies, what documents he kept in his ever-secretive files. It helps greatly and Yuta’s attacks seem to decrease by the next month.

Everyone’s coldness towards you seems to thaw until you are accepted back as their member, all except for Jungwoo. He still doesn’t speak to you as much as before and when he does, it's curt and quipped, with cold, short words, not spending more time in your presence than necessary. It torments you. You make up your mind to have a direct conversation with Jungwoo so that he knows how sorry you are. But you also haven’t been feeling well suddenly the last few days and have not come into the office all together. Yesterday, your stomach churned as soon as you woke up and Taeyong caught you throwing up in the bathroom. He was worried and fussy and you assured him it must have been some bad fish you ate the day before. He didn’t want to leave you alone, and outright refused at first to go to work, but you assured him you’ll take some medicine and will be fine in a few hours. He left only after ten minutes of convincing and a promise that you’d call him if you were not feeling well.

As soon as he left, you finally let the dread swallow you whole. Could you be pregnant? You recounted that night in Taeyong’s office months ago when you definitely didn't use a condom. You facepalmed. If only you two hadn’t been so far gone with each other that day, you would’ve remembered. You tried to relax. Maybe it was something else. You did, in fact, eat fish the day before. One pregnancy test would have solved this question but you decided to do it later. Today, you’re determined to come into work and talk to Jungwoo. Damn your queasy stomach. He’s your only focus. Thankfully, you manage not to throw up this morning and unnecessarily worry Taeyong. Instead, you get ready and drive to work with him. As soon as you get into the office, you make your way to Jungwoo who is busy with some emails on his computer. 

“Jungwoo?” He doesn’t turn to face you, his full attention fixed on his screen. “Can we talk?” He sucks his teeth and doesn’t bother to turn around. “Look, I know I’ve-” An unpleasant nausea rises in your stomach, and suddenly you’re bolting towards the female restroom without another word. When you finally emerge back onto the main floor after emptying your guts, you spot Jungwoo staring at you from his desk, eyes narrowed suspiciously. You approach him, giving him a pathetic attempt at a smile.  “Just some bad tuna.”

“For three days in a row?” He asks. You merely stare at him in question as to how he could possibly know that. “I know you haven’t come into work the past few days,” he answers. You stare at the ground, tapping your shoe against the carpet, feeling foolish. He releases a sigh. “Does Taeyong know?” You shake your head and grumble, rubbing your forehead.

“Why not?” 

You exhale. “I… I'm still processing it myself. I'll tell him soon. I just need my head to clear.” you say wearily.

“Does anyone else know?” He asks. You shake your head. Jungwoo watches you with an unreadable expression. Then, he adjusts the chair beside him, the one that used to be yours. “Sit,” he instructs. You gaze at him with a glimmer of hope and obey. Once you do, he turns to face you, brows pinched in concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Nauseous,” you grimace, pressing your hands to your abdomen. He bites back a laugh. 

“I can guess. I meant your mind.”

You slink in your chair. “I'm scared. A mob at war is no place for a child.”

He nods. “And how do you feel about telling Taeyong?”

“Not much better. I’m sure he’ll be happy. I’m not worried about that. But for many months, I'll be… pregnant… and vulnerable.. With this war, if I fall into danger or if anybody takes me, I think he’ll destroy everything, even himself, trying to get me back.” You gaze at the carpet, deep in thought. “And I’m also afraid he’ll lock me up and never let me do anything out of fear for my safety.”

“Well, for the first one, you don't have to be pregnant for him to destroy everything to get you back,” Jungwoo says, smiling “And the second one, yeah, he would probably do that.”

You chuckle, glancing at him. “I know I have to tell him. I’m just… figuring out how to, I guess.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he reassures you. 

A few moments of silence settles between you. “I missed you,” you finally admit, watching the unguarded flinching emotion in his face before he attempts to shutter it away. You cover his hand with yours. “I’m sorry, I truly am.”

Jungwoo gazes at you then, sincerely, and whatever resistance he’s trying to put up against you fails. “I know. I'm sorry too. I'm here for you, you know?” You nearly tear up in relief. You tug him into a hug, which he reciprocates easily. Warmth spreads through your chest and to your heart that has been aching for months. Then, Jungwoo tugs himself away from you. “Careful, I don't want Boss yelling at me again.”

You laugh. “I won't let him do that. It's the reason why I got pregnant anyway,” you mumble.

He looks at you sharply “What?”

“Nothing!” You stand up suddenly. “I uh.. am late, bye.” You hear him laughing as you scurry off.

...

You join Taeyong in his office to help out on some work. Your stomach seems to settle down the rest of the day, thankfully. Your brain swims while you watch Taeyong work busily, trying to figure out how to break the news to him. Would he be happy? Of course he would. You know he wants this more than anything. You just have to work up the nerve. Maybe you can later, when you return home. The day ends and he drives you back to his place, as he’s been doing for weeks since you’ve moved in with him. “You know, it’s nice having you live with me. It feels almost as if we’re married.”

You snort. “We don’t argue enough to be married.”

He chuckles. “We’re happily married, how’s that?” He offers.

“Oh, so that’s why people specify the phrase ‘happily’ before the word ‘married’.”

“Yes,” he laughs. Once you get into his apartment and settle in, he gives you a look. “I would marry you, you know.”

Your cheeks heat up. He looks sincere. “Really?”

His eyes twinkle. “Yes.”

You gaze at him, speechless with emotion before you remember your news. “I need to tell you something.” His brows quirk as he undoes his wrist watch. Just then, the elevator dings behind you, signaling someone has gotten on from the bottom floor. Both of you freeze and turn to face the metal doors.

“That’s strange. No one has access to the elevator except Jungwoo. Did he tell you he was coming over?” Taeyong asks. You check your phone. No text messages or calls. Chills run down your spine as you stare at him and shake your head slowly. Taeyong’s eyes widen. Then, the doors ding open and you realize it’s most definitely not Jungwoo. “Y/n, get back!” Taeyong shouts.

Four or five men with guns step out of the doors and into the penthouse. It’s a surreal sight but they are all familiar. Yuta’s men. You scramble backwards away from them but one lunges to catch your sleeve and drag you off the chair towards them. You barely register Taeyong grabbing the gun from his dresser and aiming at them with a shout to let you go. The man who has you in his grip whirls you around to face Taeyong and presses a gun to your head. All the color drains from Taeyong’s face, but he doesn’t lower the gun. The man holding you captive growls behind you. “She belongs to us. We’re taking her back.” His arm  bars your neck and presses hard until you wince. “Yes, bring even traitors like you back,” he snarls into your ear.

Taeyong flinches as if to make a move but all guns suddenly train on him and he freezes once more. You merely gaze at Taeyong, trying to apologize with your eyes. His face is hard, his eyes a storm of emotions. His gun is still aimed at your captors, both hands wrapped around the handle, one finger around the trigger but you know he’s outnumbered. The gun against your temple pushes into your skin. “If you make one move, we’ll shoot her right here.”

Taeyong’s eyes flash. “Why don’t you just take me instead? Or kill me? Isn’t that what your boss wanted from the beginning?”

“Because someone would just replace you. Why do you think Yuta didn’t just send her as an assassin? We want to destroy your organization from the inside out. And she,” the gun nudges your head. “Is the key. She knows all your secrets by now. And as long as we have her, we’ll control you.” Another man speaks up. “But that doesn’t mean we won’t kill you and her if you try anything.”

“It's okay. I’ll be okay.” You reassure Taeyong as calmly as you can.

Taeyong’s eyes shine, the gun wavering in his hands before he lowers it. “I’ll get you back, I promise.”With that, the men are stepping back into the elevator, dragging you with them. Your last view is Taeyong’s distressed, anguished face before the metal doors close.

...

After a never ending van ride with your familiar kidnappers calling you a traitor and telling you to wait until Yuta gets his hands on you, you end up back at his base, sitting in a dark, empty room with a single chair and a lightbulb dangling above you. You know this room. It’s one of the rooms they used to question enemies and prisoners, although “question” is an understatement, you think, spotting the faded bloodstains on the ground. Just then, the door opens to reveal a familiar face with long red hair. “Long time no see, Boss” you hum as Yuta steps into the dim light of the room. 

He looks angry. His eyes glint as he slowly circles you. “Yes,” he gives a fake smile. “I recall the last time I saw you, when you were still loyal.” 

“Yes, that was a while ago. Many things have changed since then.” 

He snorts. “Things, huh?” He stops in front of you, peering down. “Why don’t you tell me every single piece of intel you know about that place, just like I ordered you to?”

You match his glare. “Do you need it? You seem to be managing fine against them on your own.”

Yuta grits his teeth. “Not anymore. Your boyfriend put up a good fight against us. You saw to that, I’m sure.”

“How did you manage to do that much damage in the first place?” You ask.

“I wasn’t aware this was my interrogation session.” He growls. “Besides, I don’t answer to traitors. You’re lucky you're even alive to ask questions. I could've had you killed for your treachery instead of being taken.”

You huff out a laugh. “Then you would’ve lost your precious chance to use me to take down Taeyong’s mob.” 

His eyes flare. “Right, Taeyong. The one you threw everything out for.”

“I told you when you gave me this case and I didn’t want to take this one. I told you the risk.”

“I didn't think we’d lose you so easily. After ten years, you throw that loyalty away?”

You glare at him. “Ten years is not enough for me to put my loyalty to you over him.”

He seems to falter. Then, he steels himself, eyes flashing with anger. “How long then? Twenty years?” You don’t reply. ”Fifty? One hundred?” When you still don’t respond, he throws his hands in the air. “I don’t believe this.”

“It's not personal, it's just-”

“Yes, it is personal!” He jabs a finger into your face. “I send you to do a job and you throw out everything we built together over some crush!?”

“You know by now it’s not some crush!” You bite back. The anger on his face crumbles a little into surprise. You sigh frustratedly. “You don’t understand. I didn’t have a choice. I was stuck between you and him. I couldn’t betray either of you. Do you know I didn’t rat you out right away? I didn’t tell Taeyong or anyone until you sent me that fucking note. And when I did tell them, it was because I was going to leave and come back to you. That’s when they saw me as a traitor. I was loyal and a traitor to both sides.”

Yuta falls silent for a few moments before speaking quietly. “But you didn’t come back to me. You stayed and helped him take me down. You made your decision in the end.”

“Yes, I did. But it’s because you were going to kill him. It’s not because you meant nothing to me.” 

He falls quiet again. “Tell me what you know of the Scorpion, Y/n.” You stay silent, staring at the floor. “You know this business. If you don't tell me what you know and prove to me your allegiance, you’re of no use to me.”

“What then? Are you going to torture me? Kill me?” You ask him. “Would you do that to me, Yuta?” 

He doesn’t respond. He only turns and walks out the door, speaking over his shoulder. “You have one day to make up your mind.”

....

Taeyong is losing his mind. Jungwoo has never seen him like this. He called an emergency meeting, had people come back into the office to assemble in the conference room, and proceeded to pace and ramble and stumble over his words as he tried to explain the situation. He runs his hand through his hair until it stuck up on the ends, even stopping to kick a chair over in frustration. Jungwoo still can’t believe you were taken from his apartment. He figures they must have tracked you somehow. “I want everyone to split up and come up with plans to get her back,” Taeyong orders, his voice uneven. “We already know where his base is, thanks to her. We’ll meet back here in ten minutes. Dismissed.”

The room empties out with people already mumbling ideas. Taeyong goes back to pacing, scratching the back of his head nervously before growing taut. Then, he kicks another chair over with a frustrated grunt. It’s only then does he notice Jungwoo is still in the room. “Ah,” he blinks, embarrassed, staring at the chair. “I was just… just frustrated.” 

“I know this is a dumb question, but are you okay?” Jungwoo asks.

Taeyong’s face crumbles into despair. “They just took her… right out from under me, they just came in and pointed a gun at her head and took her.”

“I know,” Jungwoo tries to sound soothing. “I’ll help in any way I can.”

Taeyong doesn’t look reassured. His brows are pinched and his lips have been twisted in a perpetual frown since he walked in here. “We have to come up with a plan.”

Jungwoo nods. “Any ideas so far?”

Taeyong chews his lip. “Maybe we can just raid his base with sheer manpower. She can figure out how to run or hide in the commotion. If she gets her hand on a weapon, she can even help us out before we get her out of there.”

Jungwoo’s stomach churns, remembering how, just today, you couldn’t get through a full conversation with him without vomiting. Worse yet, you’ve been like this for the past three days. The plan doesn’t seem like the best idea given your condition. “I don’t know about having her join the fight. We have to keep her protected at all costs.”

Taeyong looks at him inquisitively. “I mean, she can handle herself. She’s a trained soldier.”

Jungwoo realizes you never got the chance to tell Taeyong the truth. “She didn’t tell you?”

Taeyong blinks. “Tell me what?”

“She’s pregnant.”

Silence blares loudly in the room for a full minute. All emotion drains from Taeyong’s face only to be replaced with shock. “What?”

“She’s pregnant. I caught her throwing up just this morning.”

Taeyong looks dazed. “She’s pregnant..?” Jungwoo nods. Taeyong’s eyes become misty. He suddenly grips his forehead. “She told me it was bad tuna.”

Jungwoo bites back a laugh. “She told me that too.” He watches Taeyong blink back tears and take a breath, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “Boss, listen. We can't let her fight on her own. She’s not well as it is and can barely keep her food down. On top of that, the baby…”

“The baby...” Taeyong breathes. His eyes are a million miles away. “Her and my baby… and,” His eyes grow cold, jaw clenching. “And Yuta took her.”

“Yes, he did.” Jungwoo says. “And he might kill her tonight if she doesn't give him any useful information.”

All panic is gone from Taeyong. Now he’s cold, rigid, familiar, the one that Jungwoo is used to. “We’re not going to show mercy.” Taeyong growls. “And we’ll find a way that doesn't put her.. or.. our baby.. at risk.”

Jungwoo grins. “Yes, Boss.”

...

You’re locked in a cell for the night. Not really a cell, more like one of their spare bedrooms that can be locked from the outside. It’s not too bad; it has a bed and a bucket. The bucket is particularly useful for your nausea bouts that have started up again since they locked you in here. Even if you try to escape, it will be difficult in your condition. Fatigue aches throughout your body. Your head feels light and your stomach is perpetually queasy. Being kidnapped, questioned and thrown into a cell certainly hasn’t helped. At least they gave you some semblance of a dinner, you think, eyeing the slop of food in a bowl on your table.

You can’t sleep, obviously, and opt to keep your mind busy during this insufferable silence. You try to trace how Yuta knew where Taeyong’s penthouse was in order to kidnap you. Then, it hits you. Your old cell phone that you threw out because Yuta was tracking it - you did that after you visited Taeyong’s place for the first time. Yuta must have just figured that any place you were staying at for a long stretch of time that wasn’t the office or your apartment was Taeyong’s.You wonder what Taeyong must be thinking. He was so panicked when you saw him last, understandably. You told him the location of Yuta’s base weeks ago, so he definitely knows where you are. He’s probably on his way here right now, or hopefully before tomorrow. 

You wonder if Yuta would really have you killed tomorrow if you don’t cooperate. He’s always been strict, mean, ruthless, but never entirely heartless. You find it hard to imagine him being able to execute you after spending a decade together. 

Suddenly, the sound of shouting and banging doors erupts from outside. Then, gunfire. You shoot up in bed and catch the sight of people running to and fro through the small window of your door. It looks like Taeyong came early after all. 

...

“We attack from the front main entrance in heavy numbers. Jungwoo, you lead this group. A small group will loop around the side. There should be a back entrance that will likely not be guarded because of the commotion at the front. I’ll slip in there and find her,” Taeyong instructed the team.

They follow it perfectly. As Taeyong slips through the back entrance and descends into the underground base, he hears shouting, gunfire and footsteps bounding down hallways. He quietly navigates the abandoned backrooms. He vaguely remembers you describing the layout of this place once. If he remembers correctly, the place where they hold prisoners should be…He turns the corner and finds a series of doors lining the entire hallway. Behind each one is a bedroom. All of them are empty except for one whose light is filtering through the small window of its door. Anticipation swells inside him as he dashes to the room, muttering a prayer that you be okay. 

The door is locked. He curses and peers through the window. He sees your face, alarmed and caught off guard before you register that it’s him. The sweetest relief floods him at the sight of you unharmed. You mouth something that he can't hear before you motion to the outside wall at the end of the hallway. He follows the line of sight and spots keys dangling on a wall hook. He dashes over to grab them before running back, unlocking the door and shouldering it open. You’re swallowed in a hug so quickly you can barely breathe. Taeyong’s arms are around you, squeezing you to him, tucking you under his chin, before running through your hair and cupping your cheeks. He’s mumbling questions and you realize he's checking to see if you're injured. You can feel him trembling. “Hey, hey, I’m okay,” you reassure him, holding his hands that are cupping your cheeks.

Anxiety bleeds from his face. He checks you one again, then pulls you in for another crushing hug. You can’t help but sigh and melt in his arms, grateful that he’s here. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he murmurs.

“It's not your fault.” You rub his back. Another round of gunfire erupts in the background. “We have to get out of here.”

He pulls away. “No, we’re not running. Yuta will just come after us. We’re going to defeat him here.”

Your stomach flips. “Defeat… Will you kill him?”

Taeyong’s brows furrow. “Yes. He was going to kill you wasn't he?” 

“I know… I just-” More gunfire rings out. You turn to Taeyong. “Give me a gun. I can help. I know their weaknesses and where to hide in this place.”

Emotion envelops his face. He cups your cheek softly. “Not this time.”

“Why not?”

“You… the baby…” he trails off, his eyes shining. 

“Oh,” you swallow. “Jungwoo told you.”

He releases a breath, lips curling into a small smile before he presses his forehead to yours. “Yeah, he did.”

The sounds of gunfire and shouting grow louder. “I can help, Taeyong. It can make a lot of difference out there. What if our guys run into a dead end hallway and get shot down? I can help everyone navigate this place, especially where to retreat to.” 

He pulls away from you. “No.”

Your eyes roam his face. “Please. I'll hide. What if you take more losses because you could have used me?”

“That’s a risk I'll take.”

“Taeyong…”

“Please, just for this one time, please do as I say.”

You fall silent. He’s never given you an order before. His hand slips from your cheek as he turns towards the door and the sound of gunfire. You make a last attempt. “I'll hide, I'll keep safe. I just want to help.” He shakes his head one more time, steps out of the room and closes the door, automatically locking it from the outside. You speechlessly stare at him through the small window. He gives an apologetic look before running off. You stare in disbelief and then rattle the door handle. It doesn't budge. The sound of gunfire rises and you anxiously wonder if it's because Taeyong entered their line of sight. If he gets hurt again when you could've done something about it….

You slam your palms against the door this time, desperation and anger rising inside of you. He locked you in here like another prisoner. “This is not happening,” you mumble. More gunfire rings out. Someone shouts in pain. Tears sting your eyes. There must be some way.

You look through the door window at the ground of the hallway outside and spot the keys on the floor close by. Taeyong must've dropped them as soon as he unlocked the door and ran to hug you. You kneel and find a big enough gap under the door for your palm. You stick your hand out, fingers brushing the edge of the keys. You pinch them with your fingertips and drag it through the door successfully. 

You stand up and exhale in victory, fumbling with the keys. You unlock the door from your side and make your escape. Gunfire echoes from all around you, from every floor and hallway. Most of the people you find along the way are unconscious or too injured to fight, and a few you fear may be dead. Most of them are Yuta’s men. You know almost all of them and it makes your heart ache. Then, you hear Taeyong’s shout and all blood drains to your legs. You sprint into the main hall and spot Taeyong’s familiar pistol on the floor by the door to Yuta’s office, which is open. Your stomach lurches and panic seizes your brain. You fight down the rising nausea in your stomach and run through the door. 

Taeyong is bleeding on the floor in front of you, clutching his leg while Yuta stands by his desk, the same spot where he gave you this mission all those days ago. His gun is aimed directly at Taeyong. Without thinking, you hurl yourself into his path.

“Stop!” You shout. 

“Y/n!?” Yong shouts in disbelief. “What are you doing here!? I told you to stay there!”

You glare at Yuta who’s been frozen since you first stepped in his line of sight. “If you’re going to shoot him, you’ll have to shoot me first.”

Yuta stares at you, gun still aimed. His face is hard but uncertain. “You’d give up your life just for him?” You don’t respond but your expression is all Yuta needs as an answer. Taeyong gives a protesting groan behind you. The sound of gunfire tapers off in the distance. The raid sounds like it's coming to a close. Yuta releases a breath, his gun wavering. “All I wanted to do was take down the Scorpion. You made it so, so difficult. I only retaliated.” Yuta grits his teeth.

“You harassed my people, infiltrated my organization, and tried to assassinate me. Taking her was the final slight,” Taeyong growled. “Don’t act like you are the victim.”

Yuta glowers. “Y/n, I will let you walk out of here right now if you step out of the way.”

“Walk away, huh? So what about that ultimatum you gave me when you brought me back here?” You ask him. “You were never going to kill me if I didn't give you intel because you can’t do it.”

Yuta avoids your eyes and doesn't respond. You were right; he has a soft spot for you too. “So, what’s it going to be? Will you kill us both?” you ask.

Silence fills the room. His gun is still trained on you. Then, you hear Taeyong’s voice from behind you. “She's pregnant.” 

Shock envelops Yuta’s face. His gun wobbles before he lowers it. He seems to search for confirmation in your face and finds it. He groans,  running his hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

You stare at him, perplexed. He turns around and grips the edge of his desk, head falling forward in defeat. When you realize he’s not going to shoot, you immediately kneel by Taeyong’s side and check his injuries. There's a gash below his knee but it doesn't seem terribly serious. “Y/n,” Taeyong whispers. “Grab my gun back there and shoot him while he’s distracted.” 

You freeze. “What? I can’t do that.”

Taeyong’s brows furrow. “Y/n-“

“She won’t kill me if that’s what you're whispering about," Yuta calls, sighing heavily before turning around to face you once more. “She’s too soft. Too attached.” His head falls forward. “What a fucking weakness,” he mumbles, almost to himself.

“And you?” Taeyong glares. “You won't kill me as soon as she's not in your line of sight?”

Yuta only looks on tiredly. “No. I’m not going to take a father away from his kid before it's even born.” Silence fills the room. It looks like Taeyong doesn’t know what to think. You remember how Yuta has always refused to hurt children and, if he could help it, parents. It's why he and his father gave you a chance to join this mob when your family was on the run. Similar to Taeyong, there's a softness behind the ruthlessness that sets their mobs apart from all others in the city. “Everything I built is gone,” Yuta sighs tiredly. “Most of my men are dead or injured, my base is discovered.”

You help Taeyong sit up, and tear a cloth from your shirt to wrap it around his wound. “We both did some bad damage,” Taeyong grunts as you tend to his injury. “We seriously compromised each other. Worse yet, we’re the two biggest mobs in the city and now we’re handicapped. The worse, less moral, more violent ones will try to take over.”

Yuta hisses. “The ones peddling drugs and trafficking humans. They will turn this city into a fucking warzone while vying for power.” 

Taeyong nods in agreement. His bleeding seems to have stopped. He sits up with a wince. Yuta stares glumly at the ground.

“Maybe you both can come to a truce,” You suggest, catching their attention. “I know we’re literally sitting in the aftermath of a bloodbath of a mob war but… if you have a common interest, maybe you can come to an agreement or ceasefire or….” you trail off as both men stare at you as if you’ve grown two heads. You sigh exasperatedly. “Do you want Johnny’s mob taking over? The one that's already terrorizing that club we went to and probably every other establishment in the city?”

Taeyong and Yuta exchange glances. They seem to come to a begrudging, silent understanding. Taeyong turns to you. “Ceasefire for now. We’ll… talk about this later. We have to check on our members.”

You eye Yuta in question. His eyes are narrowed and you know he’s mulling over every angle and opportunity in his head. In the end, he exhales. “Fine. Ceasefire. Go tend to your wounded.”

...

In all, a handful were injured. A few died. You find Jungwoo unharmed and give him the tightest possible hug. Once you leave the base, Taeyong gets checked over at a hospital. They don’t ask any questions, as always, since they have a general idea he’s with the mob that runs the city. You stay with him overnight until he's discharged in the morning. Both of you return to his place after that and try to recover over the next few days. Taeyong orders the office closed for a few weeks. He says that, after everything that’s happened, people need time to process the loss of life, assess the damages and heal mentally and physically. Yuta honors the ceasefire and, for a few weeks, it seems as if there is peace.

A few days after the raid, you finally register the dull anger broiling in your stomach. You find yourself keeping a slight distance from Taeyong whenever he’s nearby and you realize, for the first time, that you are angry with him. He realizes this too and finally speaks on it one evening when both of you are watching television in his bedroom. “Back in Yuta’s base, you know why I had to leave you in there, right?”

“No, I don't.” You sit up from the bed to face him. “You almost died. Maybe it all would’ve been better if I joined and we talked Yuta down sooner.” 

Taeyong frowns. “Or he would’ve hurt you. You trust in his goodness too much. I was only trying to protect you.”

“It didn't feel like protection. It felt like an easy way to guarantee your peace of mind at the cost of my free will.” You stare at him. “You cannot make decisions for me.”

“I can if you’re carrying our child.” He glares back.

You purse your lips. “I’m aware that I need to protect myself and the baby, but I wanted to protect other people too, just like you. That isn’t something you can order me not to do. You’re not the Boss in everything.” You pull away from him and slide off the bed.

“Y/n.” His expression of anger turns to pleading.

“Do you know how helpless I felt? You could have been dying and I would have been stuck behind that door. And if all of you were killed, what then? I’d just be stuck there, with no one to come get me out.” 

“But we weren't killed and you did get out. Somehow,” he says bluntly. His expression looks like a parent’s who is chastising their child for disobeying orders. The look you gave must have been so full of disappointment since he sighs and acquiesces. “I wasn't thinking much at the time. I was just afraid you’d deny my order and run into combat, which you did. I… needed to keep you somewhere safe.”

“Keep me or lock me?” You huff. “It felt so insulting to be physically locked away and not being allowed to do what I thought was best at the time in my mind because fear clouded yours. Why are your wishes more important than mine?” 

Taeyong visibly slumps against the headboard. “No. They are not more important. I was just.. selfish and scared. When they..” He falters before his voice comes out shaky. “When they came here, put a gun to your head and took you from my own place where I should've been able to keep you safe, I thought you were dead. I lost it. Every minute when I didn't know you were okay, I was losing my mind.” He releases a heavy sigh, blinking back tears. “Then when I saw you again unharmed in that cell, I was so relieved. I couldn't bear the thought of you being in danger again and I just acted on my feelings.” He swallows. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart lurches. You climb back into his bed and take him into your arms. “I didn't think of that. I’m sorry too.” He sniffs and presses himself closer. What a mess, you think. Injured twice, put in danger’s path too many times, all with a baby on the way. “This is no life for a child,” you sigh, tickling his hairs under your chin. “I wish we could get away from all this.”

His hand presses against your stomach. “Maybe we can.” You glance at him in question. “I can step down as boss. We can abandon this violent life, raise our child safely and live in peace.”

You blink, gazing down at him. “That sounds like a dream. But you said the mob was compromised and the city will suffer.”

His words come out muffled against your chest. “Maybe Yuta could take over.”

Your brain grinds to a halt. “What?” 

You pull back to look at him. He sighs, propping his head on his arm. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I can’t think straight right now. Too much has happened recently.” He glances at you. “But we originally kept other mobs in check. We kept the city stable and safe to an extent. But now, we’ve destroyed each other. Others will challenge us. If we merge into one organization, we can consolidate power and retain our standing.” He chances a look up at you. “Besides, I’m impressed with how he was so good at finding out our top secret information. He might be a boon to our team.”

You release a breath, sliding down against the headboard. “I never thought I’d hear that from you.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t know the extent of the damage we were doing to each other until we were in his base, surrounded by bodies, from both sides. Not to mention our months of attacks against each other before that.” he sighs. “People have taken it hard here. We are weakened.” He says. “And Yuta didn’t…. he kill me when he could have. I would have killed him in his position. I guess that’s something.”

You gaze at him. “So is this the truce you will offer him? Merging? And you’ll step down and make him boss?”

He winces. “I don’t know about making him boss. He can run his own unit as part of our larger organization if he chooses. But I’ll step down.” He says, smiling. “And we can live far away from the violence and never think about it again.”

“That… sounds almost too good to be true.”

He takes your hand and kisses it. “We deserve it after all these years. I want to be a father rather than a kingpin. I’d much rather be by your side raising our baby and being your h… um,” he averts his eyes and clears his throat. “Being domestic.”

Your heart melts, noticing the pink tint to his cheeks. “You do love domesticity.” You chuckle. “Who will take your place then?”

Taeyong grins. “I think someone deserves a promotion.”

...

Over the next few weeks, Taeyong notifies Yuta of the proposed plan, who begrudgingly accepts. He also tells the office about the news of the merger, earning loud protests of outrage. “We’re supposed to work alongside the people that killed us!?” One member shouts. 

Taeyong gazes around the conference room. “It’s either this or we close down. Given what’s happened, it will be extremely difficult to climb back to where we were,” he explains. “We will be vulnerable to attacks by other mobs and more people will die. If we don’t come to an agreement with Yuta, he might begin attacking us again as well. This will repeat for a while.” Grumbled murmurs echo around the room. “Also, I will be stepping down.”

That gets even louder shouts. Taeyong raises his hands signaling everyone to settle down.

“You said we’re compromised but you’re going to leave us without a leader!?” A woman protests.

“Someone will replace me, of course. Someone who is far better suited to the position than me, someone who is much more intelligent and perceptive will be a force to be reckoned with if anyone dares challenge us from now on.” Taeyong smiles, eyes fixing on one person. “Jungwoo.”

Jungwoo looks stunned. The mumbles of protests pause entirely for a few moments before they turn into cheers and hollers. Someone slaps him on the back a few times in congratulations and he blinks as if in a daze. “Me? As Boss?” 

Taeyong grins. “Do you accept?” Jungwoo blinks furiously before nodding. “Then, congratulations.” The room bursts into applause. Absolutely no one objects to his appointment. Jungwoo has always been the most intelligent and discerning, and will no doubt be a force to be reckoned with against any of the mob’s enemies. Within a few days, Taeyong officially hands over the position, his office, and the reigns to his right hand.

...

In the following weeks, Taeyong exchanges a few calls with Yuta, mostly on how to merge the organizations, and discuss grievances and conditions. They settle on some specific deal you don’t understand, but it must be adequate since Yuta agrees to merge and actually comes over to the office for a few meetings. Within a month, they officially merge and things seem to stabilize and run smoothly. Jungwoo takes to the new role quickly as well. He already knows the inner workers of the mob so he needs very little training. In turn, Taeyong is able to resign fully. Jungwoo insists on throwing a going away party, filled with some teary goodbyes, congratulations and well wishes with the pregnancy. From here, you can begin to believe things will actually get better. 

With all the new free time, Taeyong is able to help take care of you for the rest of your pregnancy. He supports you through all your woes, like making you food, holding your hair back while you’re hurling into the toilet, massaging your aching muscles. Some nights he props his chin onto your stomach, speaking to the baby with a light in his eyes. It’s the deepest peace you’ve ever felt. A month later, your morning sickness evens out and you identify the faintest change in the protrusion of your stomach. A baby bump. When you first show him, Taeyong is over the moon. He can’t keep his hands off your tummy. His eyes shine and lips are curled into a smile that stays for a week. It’s also when you chance a question at Taeyong that you meant as a suggestion, just something to think about, but it changes everything. It’s when you’re lounging in bed, one of those restful days. Sunlight pours in through the blinds and the television is low in the background. “Taeyong?” He hums in question. “Do you want to get married?”

A beat of silence passes. “...What?” You chance a glance at him. He’s absolutely shocked. Heat flares on your cheeks in embarrassment. 

“I don't know… I just thought maybe someday we can. I know we don't have to, but I just thought we’re going to be together… I mean, forever, right?” You blush. “That came out cheesy. I meant neither of us have any intention to leave, so might as well-”

He cuts you off with a kiss and pulls away before you can even process it. “Yes, yes, yes,” he litters butterfly kisses across your face and pulls you into a hug. You melt, laughing into his shoulder. “I thought you wouldn’t want to.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” You giggle. “We’re already having a whole kid together.”

“I don’t know,” he pulls back, a smile curled wide over his lips. It’s wonderful to see him happy. “I want to. I definitely want to.”

Your heart soars. “Then let’s get married.”

....

It’s short work to plan your wedding. Neither if you want it too large, but much of the office is invited to reception afterwards. It arrives in another month, your belly swelling a little bit more by then, but not noticeable under your wedding dress. The ceremony is emotional and filled with reverence. You’ll never forget the sight of your groom in his tux, shining eyes and smile, calling you his wife and him your husband, the words like magic on your tongue. The reception afterwards is a jubilant contrast, full of dancing and drinking. A few colleagues, including Jungwoo, pat you on the back in congratulations. You pass the night in a tizzy of dancing and laughing until a familiar figure enters the hall. You think it’s a stranger before you realize it’s Yuta. He spots you, eyes running over your wedding dress before giving you a smile. “Yuta?” You ask in disbelief. “I can’t believe…”

“That I'm here at your wedding? Neither can I.” He laughs a little, surveying the venue hall before focusing on you again. “Taeyong invited me.” You stare at him in surprise. He shrugs. “We are business partners and all.” He grabs a glass of champagne off of a passing waiter’s dish. “Surprisingly, it seems that your husband and I work well together.”

You bite your tongue but can’t seem to hold the words back. “How can we know that you’re not going to split and attack us again when you’ve recovered enough power?”

He blinks. “What, and repeat the same cycle that ended me up here? Don’t worry. I’m not that stupid, sweetheart.” He says, and suddenly, you’re the one who feels stupid. “You look beautiful by the way. Your father would have been proud.” Emotion grips you without warning. Yuta gives you a final smile and turns away, sipping his champagne as he disappears in the mesh of guests and dancing.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of chatter, smiles, drinks, dancing and food. When the night ends, you and Taeyong climb into his car to the whoops and hollers of the crowd, and drive back to his place. You both would have been tipsy out of your mind and gone straight to bed, but since you can’t drink, Taeyong refuses to as well, claiming emotional support. That leaves time for other things.

“Alright, how do you want this to go down?” You ask, undoing your jewelry in front of his vanity.

Taeyong laughs, unzipping your dress when you offer your back to him. “You mean for our wedding night?” You nod as you slip off the gown and sigh at the freedom of not being weighed down by a thousand pounds of fabric. He eyes you as you undo the rest of your jewelry, your hair and underclothes. “I can think of one thing.” 

“And what’s that?” You ask, catching sight of him through the mirror. He’s leaning against the bedpost with his arms crossed, still dressed in his tux but without the jacket, looking as handsome as ever. 

"I think I'd like to be your plaything for a while.” Your brain grinds to a halt. You turn to blankly stare at him. He smirks. "What's the matter?” He reaches out to place his hands on your hips. "I promise I won't resist whatever you want to do to me.”

You swallow thickly. “You’re teasing me.”

"Oh, I'm not teasing you at all, love,” He smiles softly, his hands tightening slightly around your hips. "I'm giving myself up to you.” You blink hard. A former kingpin at the complete mercy of his wife. Just the thought of it has heat blazing through your body. His voice breaks you out of your thoughts. "Play with me, tease me, do this however you want. I’m yours,” his lips brush your jaw. “I’ll be your good boy.”

You inhale deeply as his arms wrap around your waist and press you to him. “You’ll do anything?” He hums in acknowledgement, kissing down your neck. “Alright,” you test, “kneel for me.”

He smirks, and steps away from you. He then kneels down, lowering himself until his knees hit the ground and he’s peering up at you. “You… you actually did it.” you breathe.

His eyes dance with amusement. "What, did you expect me to disobey you?” He chuckles softly, and his eyes going dark. "Or is it just seeing me on my knees that's making you lose your train of thought?”

“Uh… yes.. it's the knees.”

He grins, reaching out to caress your calf. “Now what should I do?”

“I don't know. I didn't think I'd get this far.”

He laughs. Then, he takes your hand and begins kissing your palm. “Use me, love.”

Heat flares in your stomach. You cup his cheek gently. “Would anyone have suspected the mob king lord of everything was so submissive? And obedient at that?”

He nuzzles into your hand. “I think they all know me pretty well. Besides, I’m only like this for you.”

“Hmm,” you move your hand to cup his chin and rest your thumb on his bottom lip. You do it out of curiosity, but his lips close around your thumb without hesitation. His dark eyes burn into yours as his tongue circles your thumb. You are struck with a flashback to that evening in the office, how he held you down against his desk with his gaze burning into yours and ate you within an inch of your life. Heat burns and pools through your body. You pull your hand away, tug him up to stand again and kiss him hard. He groans into your lips, arms wrapping tightly around your waist and mouth parting immediately to grant you entrance. He lets you completely dominate the kiss, your tongue sliding past his lips. His demeanor is so different from that time in his office. He’s much more vocal now, whiney even. His lips are soft and pliant, his brows knitted in slight desperation, his hands roaming over your body. You break for air and plant kisses under his jaw.

“My good boy,” you mumble. His eyes flutter closed and he releases a loud groan. You pull away to take him in. His lips are stained from your lipstick, his hair that was neatly combed before now slightly messy, his dress shirt rumpled, eyes lidded and mouth panting. “Get on the bed.” He obeys quickly. You watch as he settles against the headboard before waiting for your next order, his eyes expectant and eager to please. “Take off your vest and shirt.” He listens without complaint. He tilts his head back to undo the tie at his collar before throwing it to the floor, then unbuttons his vest and dress shirt underneath. He works with urgency, nimble fingers determinedly undoing every part of his ensemble all because you asked. 

Now free from your garments except your slip underdress, you comfortably climb onto the bed to rest beside him. His dark eyes fixate on you as the final button is undone. He tears off his dress shirt and throws it off to the side, revealing his familiar bare torso that encourages your eyes to run across his tattoos.“You’re beautiful,” you mumble before leaning over and kissing him deep. He melts immediately, hands cupping your cheeks to pull you closer. You pull away abruptly to leave hot, open mouthed kisses down his jaw and neck until he’s groaning lowly and melting into the mattress. You nip his skin with the slightest nick of your teeth as you travel down to his collarbone. It has a profound effect on him, pulling shallow breaths and moans from his lips. Your lips travel over his heart and down his chestline. His breathing turns harsh, and moans grow louder. You opt then to lick down his abdomen, leaving him shivering. 

You glance up at him. You figure your gaze must have been dark and full of lust because he looks completely wrecked and held immobile. His cheeks are flushed, lips stained red, pupils dilated. You maintain eye contact as you kiss and lick and nip down the rest of his abdomen, urging his muscles to quiver and flex the lower you go. Once you get to his pantline, he’s already straining against his slacks. You press a final kiss to the spot below his navel, earning a jump of his muscle and a low groan from him, before undoing his belt and tugging the garment completely off his legs, along with his boxers. You don't wait to press kisses to his thighs. His hard cock is so easily within reach but you choose to litter kisses along his hips, thighs, and navel instead. You tease until he’s whimpering and pressing his hips up from the mattress and towards your mouth. When you kiss the juncture of his thigh and pelvis, he gasps, tangles his fingers in your hair and moans. “Please, Y/n.” 

“Please what?”

His hazy eyes manage to focus on you. “Please stop teasing.” 

You hum, moving to suck the juncture of his pelvis while your hand not-so-accidentally grazes his balls. “You mean like this?”

He gasps harshly, fingers tightening in your hair, head tilting against his pillow. “Y-Yes, yes like that.”

“But I don’t want to stop. Not until you’re completely gone, and begging and teary for me.” You see him swallow, eyes darkening a few shades. He barely has time to find a response before you’re back to kissing, sucking, and biting his thighs until he’s panting and whining once more. After a few more minutes, you can tell that his mental cohesion is slipping. His brows are knitted, bottom lip bitten and red, eyes helpless with the slightest hint of desperate tears.

“Please, please, please Y/n,” he babbles, gasping at your tongue on his hip bone. His hands are still in your hair and you allow them to stay there so long as he isn't forcing your head towards where he needs you the most.

“Just a little longer. You said you wanted to be my plaything, didn’t you?”

He shivers at that, eyes clenching shut. His cheeks are flush much more now. “I can’t take it anymore.”

You hum as you mouth along his pelvis. “Tell me what you want.”

“You mouth,” he moans brokenly.

“You already have my mouth,” you say, pointedly ignoring the straining, leaking cock within reach.

His eyes fly open when you mouth his balls, suckling the skin. He shivers hard, eyes rolling back. He pants harshly, fighting to remember words. He trembles under you, hands shaky in your hair. “On my cock, please, please.”

“As you wish.” When your lips close around his cock finally,  his face twists into a pained grimace. You slowly stroke him with your lips, tongue swirling around his length, pulling harsher breaths and shivers from him. His eyelids flutter and are so deeply lidded they are almost closed. He seems to fight to keep them open if only to take in the sight of you between his legs. You take him up till his base, enveloping him entirely with his mouth until his cock hits the back of your throat. He arches and releases a deep groan. He twitches in your mouth, and you realize he’s already close. You take the liberty to speed up, your lips meeting the hilt each time, tongue swirling around his length. He gasps harshly for breath, back arching, hips trembling and bucking up to meet you before you hold them down with your hands. You suck him faster, making his moans grow higher in pitch until he’s suddenly seizing up, tight and still, his head pressing back into the pillows and back arched beautifully. His warmth fills your mouth and you groan, relishing it as you swallow. He’s shaking everywhere as collapses on the bed with another breathless moan. 

You continue licking him clean while he pants to catch his breath. He’s still hard in your mouth, you realize, and you can’t help continue sucking him until he’s flinching and tugging you off of him by your hair. “Ah, too much.” You relent, thinking you’re tormented him enough for one night, and press a final kiss to his hip. He pulls you up to kiss him, hands reverently cupping your cheeks, mouth and tongue moving leisurely against you. When he pulls away, he has stars in his eyes. “You’re amazing.”

You laugh. “It was that good, huh?”

He presses another kiss. “I think I almost blacked out.”

You laugh. He guides your leg over his hip to straddle him comfortably. You kiss his palm. “Y/n,” his eyes shine, cheeks still flushed. “Tell me I’m perfect.” You blink at him and he explains. “The first day you came to us, when we talked in my office, I told you I looked like a toad and you said I was perfect.” He flushes “I couldn't tell you at the time how it made me feel, but now I can.” He kisses your hand. “Tell me I’m perfect. Tell me everything.”

Your heart melts at his pleading, vulnerable eyes. You hope he knows you’ll give him everything he asks for. You give him a soft kiss. “You’re perfect,” you say, watching his eyes glow with your praise. You litter kisses across his cheeks and forehead. “You’ve always been perfect. You’re sweet and strong and kind and you’re mine. Absolutely perfect.”

He shivers and groans, hands pulling you roughly against his lips to kiss you. You melt into him, hands running through his hair, breathing in the lingering scent of his cologne. You slip off your underdress and the rest of your garments, watching his eyes darken. When you straddle him again, you’re already so wet from having him in your mouth from before. You slide him in easily up til the hilt, pleasure bursting across your eyelids while he grips your hips like a vice, lips parted and head tilted back against the pillows. This time, it’s slow and passionate, just like your first. You bend low to kiss him and barely allow a few inches of distance the entire time you ride him. You relish his groans, his fluttering eyes. Praises fall from your lips in abundance, without pause or restraint, and you watch the flush of his cheeks grow darker after each one until he's vulnerable and moaning and tucking his head into your neck, coming inside you a second time with a broken whimper. It hurls you towards your own edge, gripping and contracting around his length as you hold onto him for dear life.

When the moments passed, the vice grips on each other loosen, and both of you catch your breath. He doesn’t let you roll off him onto the mattress. Instead he holds you close, pressing one hand to your stomach, which still looks barely different than before, but his eyes shine as if the baby is already here. 

...

The rest of the pregnancy is blissful. It consists of buying baby items, picking out names, cleaning out Taeyong’s guest room and setting it up for the baby, though both of you know it will probably end up sleeping in your room with the guest room used for nothing other than storage. As the date approaches, Taeyong gets increasingly more anxious. You try to calm him and redirect his focus to baby proofing the entire penthouse, which works well. He’s adorable, nervous and tittering, worried if he’ll be a good enough father. You remind him again and again that he will be.

When the day finally comes and contractions erupt and you’re whisked away to the hospital, Taeyong is a mess. Jungwoo even visits to calm him down, which works. By the end of a long day, a baby girl is born. He’s absolutely enamored, and has her in his arms all night, rocking her gently, cooing and speaking soft words that have her falling quiet to listen. Sometimes, he remembers to tear his eyes away to give you a teary, beaming smile. It’s enough to make you the happiest person alive. Upon coming home, it takes many sleepless nights for you two to get the hang of it - the feeding, the crying, the burping. Within a few weeks, though, it’s a natural order, a timetable, a cycle. Tonight is one of those rare ones when you’ve miraculously gotten the baby to sleep a few hours longer. Taeyong and you relish the few moments of quiet and try to get some sleep.

“You’re a good mother, you know,” he mumbles sleepily in bed, arm thrown around your waist. “I’m glad she looks like you.”

His words envelop you in warmth. “I think she looks more like you, actually. Don’t you see her giant brown eyes that take up half her face?”

He chuckles and makes your heart flutter even after all this time. “My eyes are not that big.” 

You cup his cheek. “They are and they’re wonderful and I’m glad she has them.”

He cheeks warm under your palm. He pulls you close and kisses you. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

A high pitched, piercing cry rings out, startling you both before you’re groaning. “She gets that voice from you, though,” he says.

“She does not!” You complain. He gives you a pointed look at your near screech of protest. “Fine, maybe a little.”

He chuckles, stopping you from slipping out of bed. “I’ll get her, don’t worry. Get some sleep.” You sigh in thanks.He presses a kiss to your forehead before he’s slipping out the door. The piercing crying suddenly quiets down once his coos interrupt the noise and soon, the house is silent with no sound other than a baby’s whimpers and your husband’s soft words. 

In that moment you’re grateful for all the choices you’ve been able to make. 

[buckysgrace]

Five

Illicit Affair Masterlist Professor!Steve Harrington x fem!OC

CW: Drinking, intoxicated dry humping, some spitting

Steve can't seem to get away from Daphne.

“Did you look over my paper then?” Daphne asked as she furrowed her dark eyebrows together, making him wince as the dreaded topic came forward. He liked to meet with each of his students at each point in the semester, but it was always harder to meet with the ones that were struggling. He wasn’t sure how to be reassuring. 

“I did,” He agreed as he stared down at his folder, unsure of how to go forward, “Did you read through the instructions?” He pulled his glasses out, putting them on as he looked at where he had printed off her paper and marked it up. 

“Yeah,” She replied gloomily as she lingered a little too close to him, “I guess it didn’t make sense then.” She crossed her legs before she began to bounce them up and down, the tip of her shoe hitting against his chair.

He thought it was odd that despite it being so cold outside, she still wore dresses and skirts. Not even long ones. Short ones that were just a little too revealing in his opinion. He wasn’t sure how her legs didn’t break off from the freezing temperatures. 

“It did for the most part,” He started, not wanting her to doubt herself, “But I think you’re mixing up the names. Or most of the people.” He told her softly, not mentioning that many of the names she had mixed up had been the names of locations as well. 

“The textbook is really confusing,” She admitted, making him nod his head in agreement, “I think it just all gets jumbled.” She pressed her fingers up to her thick lips, furrowing her eyebrows as she continued to stare at his notes in worry. 

“It happens,” He told her quickly, thinking of his own issues through grade school, “Maybe if you tried to organize the names by people and places to start with it would be a little less confusing.” He suggested, trying to recall where he had put his highlighters. He really did think that would make it just a little easier for her. 

He glanced back towards her a second later when the room grew silent, slightly tense. Her blue eyes were glazed over with tears, the hue a brighter blue than usual. Her bottom lip trembled as she blinked rapidly, taking a deep exhale. 

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He said quickly, feeling like an ass suddenly as he faced her. He felt like his environment in this classroom was a lot less strict than how it had been when he taught high schoolers. He wasn’t sure how he had managed to leave her in tears. 

“It’s not your fault,” She sniffled as she stared up at the ceiling, laughing to herself, “I’m just having like a midlife crisis.” She began as she threw her hands up a second later, fat tears rolling down her flushed cheeks as she shook her head. 

“I think you’re too young for that,” He offered kindly, “Why are you taking this class anyways?” He asked curiously, tilting his head down to try and get a better look at her. He couldn’t remember her mentioning what her degree was. But it didn’t seem to be in ancient histories or anything relevant to that. 

“For the credits,” She admitted as she pushed her hair out of her face, “I don’t need this class. It was just something random that I thought would be easy.” She explained with a shrug of her shoulders. He smiled softly, knowing that many people probably thought his class was a breeze.

“To help your degree?” He searched for clarity, wanting her to elaborate on what she was wanting to achieve. He thought it would be easier for her to find classes that were more directed towards her degree. 

“No,” She shook her head, “I was going to be a nurse but that fell through and now I don’t know what to do. And then my long term boyfriend cheated on me with my twin brother and they’re getting married, which is like great. And now I’m crying in front of you and yeah.” She cried again, holding her face in her hands as he blinked slowly as he processed everything at once. He had also been cheated on in the past, but she hadn’t left him for his twin. That sounded painful. 

“Sounds like it’s been an eventful year,” He spoke up softly, unsure of what he was really supposed to say to comfort her, “You know you can drop this class if it’s too hard or stressful.” He rested a hand along her back, rubbing her shoulder blades softly. 

“I can’t,” She sniffled as she rubbed at her eyes, “I need something to distract me so I don’t end up falling apart. Or breaking down. Which I guess is happening right now.” She laughed once again, dropping her hands as she looked up at him in defeat.

“I felt like crying when I turned thirty,” He chuckled as he faced her, “If that makes you feel any better. Life can be rough.” He dropped his hand, feeling like his palm was burning from where he had touched her. 

“I’m sorry for crying in front of you.” She took a deep breath, calming herself down as he thought about reaching out to reassure her once again. 

“Don’t apologize,” He told her seriously as he gave her knee a little squeeze, “It’s okay. I’m sorry about everything that happened to you, your brother seems like a dick.” He added seriously, staring at the way her skin looked underneath his. 

“He used to be my best friend,” She sighed deeply as she lazily stretched her legs out, “This is embarrassing. I’m going to change the subject now. Um, how can I make my grade better?” He thought about adding something else but then decided against it, wanting to honor her wishes of moving past what she had just said.

“Maybe some tutoring would help?” He suggested, “No offense but your papers are atrocious too.” He chuckled softly, sure that there was no other way to break it to her. 

“I wanted to be a nurse,” She said with a laugh, “I’m good at math and science. Writing is not my strong point.” She pointed out as she stared at the paper, looking as if it might bite her. 

“It wasn’t mine either,” He admitted as he scanned her paper again, “What days are you available?” He asked her, watching as she blinked the rest of her tears from her eyes. 

“Tuesdays and Thursdays after two.” She replied as she straightened out her shoulders, inhaling deeply as she pressed a smile to her lips once again. He liked the way she smiled. 

“How about you come by my office at three then,” He started as he wrote down the building and room number, “You can just text me when you are on your way.” He added a second later, watching the way her smile grew. 

“You’re giving me your number?” She faced him quickly, eyebrows raised as he chuckled at her question. If only it was that easy. 

“It’s in the syllabus,” He pointed out with a smug grin, “You and your peers are pretty terrible at writing out emails. And someone usually finds my number anyway.” He added, although he hadn’t had much of an issue with it since he’d tried at the university. High school had been worse. Kids were weird. 

“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t say any of that,” She grinned as she tapped her bare knee against his clothed one, “And just go with that you gave me your number.” She giggled as she stood, leaving his eyebrows raised as he took in her forwardness. He invited it, however. It was nice. 

“This is professional.” He reminded her, trying to keep as stern as he could. But he couldn’t. He was smiling right along with her. Fuck. She drove him crazy. 

“Of course,” She nodded her head along, grinning playfully, “But I can still be your favorite student. The vibes are still there.” She added a second later, making him furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

“The what?” He tilted his head, laughing softly at the odd words she spoke with sometimes. She dropped her shoulders, looking at him dramatically before she shook her head. 

“Never mind,” She shook her head as she picked up her bag from the floor, still smiling, “I will definitely only text you for educational purposes of course.” She added teasingly, pointing her phone at him in a playful manner. 

“Don’t text after ten,” He added as she headed towards the door, “I’m in bed at that time.” He replied as he lazily twisted back and forth in his chair. Although, he wouldn’t mind if he woke up to a few late night texts from her. He couldn’t say that about many people. 

“Not all of the time,” She reminded him gleefully, “See you soon. And thank you for the help!” She added as she left from the door, his eyes lingering at the way the back of her dress rose over her thighs. He leaned back in his chair, groaning at the impending doom that settled over him. This was gonna be harder than he thought. 

“Next time I’m picking where we go.” Robin spoke up, looking disgruntled as they passed a plate of fries back and forth. She was sipping on a mojito as she sat close to him, somehow managing to convince him to go out for the second time that week on the condition that he picked the location. Another bar. He needed another drink.

“What’s wrong with this place?” He asked seriously as he brought his third beer up to his lips. He wasn’t meaning to go out and drink this much, but it was the weekend. He could worry about grading papers another day. 

“You only pick bars,” She whined as she dramatically kicked her feet out, “And not any of the fun ones.” She grumbled before she shoved another handful of fries into her mouth. 

“The last time you picked out the bar I only got hit on by men.” He reminded her, shaking his head as he scanned the bar. It was busy, but he didn’t really see anyone that he’d want to approach. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy yourself.” She replied, making him snort as he recalled the memory. He looked at her curiously, noting the judgemental expression that formed on her features as she looked behind him. 

“Hi,” Daphne grinned as she approached, stumbling forward with flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, “S’nice to see you again, professor.” She replied as she fake saluted him before she began to laugh again. He looked at her surprised, sure that it was just his luck to run into her when he was searching for anyone else. His hole suddenly seemed a lot deeper. 

“Nice to see you too,” He grinned as he turned towards her curiously, “You look like you’ve been having fun.” He replied, unsure of how she wasn’t freezing in the outfit she wore. It was a sparkly, pink two piece set. Her crop top just barely covered her chest and left her midriff completely exposed. Her skirt rested snuggly on her hips, but had a slit on the left side of her leg that raced nearly up to her hip. 

“I had like so many shots,” She said dramatically as she blew her bangs out of her eyes, resting lazily against the bar as she tapped her index finger across her other fingers, “And two apple-tinis, uh a mai tai. I might get another. Or a long island iced tea.” She pressed her lips together, the mauve color slightly smeared as she thought about it. 

“Maybe some water,” He suggested as he took another bite from his fry, noting the sluggish way she kept sliding back and forth. Her smile was painted on her face, like everything was amusing, “This is Daphne, by the way.” He said as he turned towards Robin. 

“You’re funny,” She grinned as she leaned forward to boop his nose, “I like the shape.” She said with a nod of her head, looking too fascinated as she traced her finger across his nose. Electricity traveled across his face, his heart hammering a little roughly against the side of his neck. 

He was silent for a second, shivers racing up his spine at the way she traced her fingers along his face. He wished he had the strength to brush her off, but he didn’t want to. He liked the way her fingers felt on his skin, how her eyes twinkled even in the dim room. 

“Are you the one that sent the boobs?” Robin asked suddenly, breaking him from his trance as he looked back to her in horror. Daphne’s hand dropped rather roughly against the side of the bar. 

“You talked about my boobs?” She laughed as she brought her hand up to her chest, looking rather flattered as he thought about melting into the floor. He kicked at Robin’s stool. 

“No, no,” He said quickly as he sent Robin a quick glare, “She’s just full of it.” He added underneath his breath, watching the way she innocently held up her hands and laughed. He turned towards Daphne, gulping at how close she had moved to him. 

“You didn’t like them?” She pouted, features dropping as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He took another chug from his beer, inviting the buzzing sensation that rushed through him. 

“I never saw them,” Robin shot back quickly, “So I can’t have an opinion on them.” She added quickly, looking worried as if she had done something bad. He rolled his eyes, fairly certain that she had looked at the picture the last time she went through his phone. 

“What about now?” Daphne asked seriously, acting before either of them could react as she flipped her pink sparkly top over her small tits. They bounced from the rough action, her nipples hard and puffy as he suddenly couldn’t find any words to say. Like his brain had just disconnected from his tongue. She laughed as she stumbled back shirt remaining tucked over her boobs as she held onto the bar for support. 

“Steve!” Robin snapped, trying to reach forward as he was finally snapped out of his stupor. He roughly swallowed the fry that he had been chewing on, wincing before he reached forward and tugged the tight cropped shirt back in place. He ignored the feeling of her skin on his, fearing that he might recall a previous memory if he didn’t shut it down. 

“I’m pretty sure your top is supposed to stay over your boobs.” He replied as he glanced up at her, wondering if she realized what she had done. He glanced around, trying to see if anyone else had. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna remember doing that in the morning.” She giggled as she held onto him, looking a little too gleeful. Alcohol must make her frisky. 

“I don’t think you are either,” He laughed as his fingertips brushed against her bare midriff, “Did you come with your friends?” He asked as he glanced behind her, but didn’t get very far in his search. He didn’t know what they looked like. 

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” She giggled as she leaned forward again, cocking her eyebrows lazily as he forced his arms to drop to his sides.

“Never,” He teased, trying to ignore the warmth that spread through him as she leaned up against him and began to run her fingers through his hair, “Professional.” He mumbled softly, very aware of Robin’s eyes lingering on them. And he could feel his own walls cracking. 

“This is totally professional, don’t you think?” Daphne turned towards Robin, her lips pulled into a  cheesy grin as she continued to tangle her fingers through his hair. 

“Oh absolutely.” Robin nodded her head in agreement, an incredulous expression on her features. She was clearly baffled, probably surprised as to whom he’d gotten himself involved with this time. 

“Let me get you and your friend a drink,” She said as she stood a little straighter, “Please.” She pouted out her lips, looking too sweet for him to deny. There was nothing wrong with her ordering him a drink. It was fine, just friendly.

“How long have you been here?” Robin asked in amusement as Daphne struggled to crawl on top of the stool. He had a feeling it had to do with the large heels she had on. 

“I don’t know,” She answered after she tried to think about it, “We went to a few different places before this.” She replied as she passed the shots down the table, grinning proudly before she passed down the beers they’d ordered.

“Are you celebrating something?” Robin asked curiously, making a face before she took her shot. Steve pressed his up to his lips, grinning before he downed it quickly. He liked tequila.

“Uh no,” She giggled, “More like forgetting something. Not me crying in your classroom earlier. Well, maybe a little bit of that too.” She added as she held up her index finger, laughing as she crossed her ankles lazily. 

“You made her cry?” Robin asked horrified, smacking at his arm before he swatted her away. 

“I didn’t make her cry,” He clarified quickly, “She’s going through a rough time.” He replied instead, not really sure if he should air out Daphne’s dirty laundry. It really wasn’t his business. 

“My ex boyfriend of like three years cheated on me,” She began to explain again, “With my twin brother.” She gestured back to herself, speaking about it more freely this time. Probably thanks to the alcohol. 

“Oh.” Robin said softly. 

“And now they’re getting married.”

“Oh.” She added deeper, eyes wide as she glanced towards Steve in horror. He shrugged his shoulders, still unsure of how to comfort her. He didn’t have any siblings that he’d be able to relate that betrayal to. 

“But what can you do, you know?” Daphne asked as she shook her head, gesturing her hands about as she spoke, “It’s just like life, I guess. Very shitty but I do love my brother so it’s just hard.”

“What about your ex?” Robin asked, “Did you love him?” She asked softly as the music changed in the background, turning more slower as Daphne scooted a little closer to them. He shifted a bit, inviting her knees up against the side of his leg. 

“No,” She answered quickly, eyes a little wide, “I thought we were going to split up regardless but he could have, like not cheated.” She explained, rambling a little bit like she was unsure about her answer as well. 

“Men just think with their dicks,” Robin added as she shoved at Steve’s stool, “Which is why women are better.” She said with a knowing look. He thought about bringing Jessie up but then decided against it. He’d still need a few more rounds before he brought up cheating exes. 

“You’d like my sister,” She answered, “Big lesbian. Hates men. She’s kinda mean though.” She nodded her head along, laughing as she thought about it. 

“Hm,” Steve turned back to Robin, grinning in amusement, “Sounds like your type.” He referenced the type of women she’d been chasing around recently. 

“Very funny,” Robin shook her head as she chugged down the remainder of her drink, “What do we think about that one?” She asked, gently motioning towards a dark haired woman across the bar. Steve observed her for a moment.

“I don’t think so,” He said with a shake of his head, “She just came from a group of guys.” He pointed out, taking another gulp from his drink as Daphne leaned closer.

“What are we talking about?” She stammered out, narrowing her eyes as Robin shifted uncomfortably in her spot. 

“Trying to figure out if she’s into women or not,” He explained, trying to ignore the way her fingers latched against his skin, “Robin is shy.” He said a moment later as she nodded her head along.

“I’ll be right back.” Daphne answered, standing and almost tripping as she waddled off. He pressed a palm over his mouth, laughing to himself as Robin gasped in horror.

“We need more drinks,” She ordered quickly, eyes wide as she held her hand out and waited. She took a shot, watching from the corner of her eye, “What are you doing with her?” She asked as she stuck her tongue out, eyes squinted in disgust as he pulled his shot up to his lips. 

“Nothing,” He told her quickly as he glanced towards Daphne, crossing his arms over his chest, “There’s no relationship at all.” He felt the smile forming on his lips despite his defensive stance as a familiar buzz spread through him. 

“Does she realize that?” She asked as she shoved at his arm again, making him scoff. Of course Daphne knew that. She was just a little too drunk. He was getting there too. 

“Yeah, she does,” He defended the both of them, “She’s just a bit, uh, eccentric.” He replied as he nodded his head, unable to help the grin as Daphne wobbled back over with a napkin in her hands. 

“She gave you her number,” Daphne announced proudly, a little too loudly, “But I uh couldn’t remember your name. I’m Daphne by the way.” She continued to talk over the beat of the music, swaying to it. 

“It was nice to meet you, Daphne,” Robin said as she gave her hand another little shake, “My name is Robin by the way.” She pointed out, making Daphne’s eyes widen in understanding as she happily took the paper. 

“Like the bird, I like it,” She giggled as she waved at her, “It was nice to meet you!” She shouted happily as she waddled back over to Steve.

“Uh uh,” He laughed as he pulled his drink away from her, finishing his beer before she could steal it from him, “I think you’ve had enough.” He told her seriously, eyes slanting a bit as the room warmed to him too. He liked how close she was.

“Do you want to step outside with me?” She asked him, speaking into his ear, “I gotta walk back soon.” She explained to him, making him shake his head softly.

“You can’t walk back.” He told her, his hand moving on its own as he reached out to hold onto her hips. She was really petite. He felt a lot larger than she did.

“My phone is dead and I can’t call an Uber,” She explained as she looked around, “And I may or may not have run off without my friends.” She giggled softly, smiling as she messed with the buttons on his shirt.

“I’ll order one for you,” He told her as he reached for his phone in his pocket, shifting away so she couldn’t grab it, “Are you alright for a few minutes?”

“Oh yeah,” Robin snorted as she looked at him, “I’m ordering more fries though.” She replied, grinning from ear to ear as Daphne repeated her address to him several times. 

He ensured that the ride was confirmed before he walked out with her, his balance a little off as he slammed his shoulder into the door. He winced, laughing as she roughly kicked the door open in support of him. 

“You sure you’re not cold?” He asked as she turned towards him, sauntering as another cold breeze smacked against him. He wasn’t sure how she seemed unaffected. 

“Walking in the freezing cold half-dressed will sober me up so quickly, just watch.” She gestured her hands out widely, grinning as she began to walk away. He wasn’t sure where she was going, but he followed behind regardless. 

“You’re a character.” He told her seriously. She wasn’t at all what he thought she would be. But he liked that too. 

“I’ve been told,” She admitted as she linked their fingers together, “And spoiled. I’m the youngest child.” She told him as they approached a little 24 hour stall. He wondered if there were any coats inside of there. He thought that she needed one. 

“Explains why you can’t take no for an answer.” He teased her, ignoring how his fingers burned against hers. It was probably due to the cold. He stopped her, not wanting her to go too far. 

“You haven’t outright said no,” She giggled softly, “I’d back off if that was the case. Do you want me to?” She replied seriously, looking a little horrified as she came to a complete stop. He shook his head, not feeling forced at all. 

“Not really,” He leaned against the side of the building as he looked down at her, counting the stars that were shining in her eyes, ““You know what’s always good when you’re drunk?” He asked her, watching the way her eyes flashed in curiosity. 

“A cigarette,” She answered at the same time he pulled his carton out, “You know these taste awful any other time. I had a different ex that used to vape.” She brought up a second later, squinting her eyes as she thought about the memory. 

“Yeah?” He asked, glancing down as he flicked the lighter a few times until he got it lit, “Did you prefer that?” He asked curiously, putting his lighter away before he took a deep inhale. 

“I guess I didn’t really care,” She shrugged her shoulders as she took the cigarette from his mouth, “What about you?” She asked him this time, pressing it in between her lips as she raised her eyebrows at him. 

“Never tried,” He watched as she took a long drag, holding the smoke in her lungs before she exhaled deeply, “I don’t even like smoking that much.” He admitted, wrinkling his nose softly at the way she blew the smoke towards his face.

“Then why are you smoking?” She teased him, passing the cigarette back towards him. He chuckled as he took a long drag from it this time, blowing it back playfully towards her face.

“Because of you,” He told her seriously, watching the way her eyebrows raised on her forehead, “You’re kinda stressing me out.” He admitted slyly, taking another drag as she measured him up.

“In a good way?” She questioned him, red hair twisting in front of her face as another breeze hit her. He crushed the cigarette out against the side of the building, moving his hands so he could move her hair from her face. She giggled, her eyes not as hazy as they had been earlier.

His hands fell to her hips, brushing over the odd sequins on her skirt as he pulled her flush against him. He blamed it on the beers he’d had, on the shot that she’d given him. His nose brushed against hers, his lips parting as he thought about how nice her mouth had felt against his many months ago. 

She moved her palms across his chest, rubbing across his shirt as she stood on her tippy toes as they shared the same deep inhale. He could feel his heart thumping roughly against his ribs, vibrating through his body as he swallowed the guilty feeling. One kiss couldn’t hurt. 

He captured her mouth with his lips, kissing her deeply as he felt himself melting against her warm skin. His lips dragged against her soft ones slowly, savoring the taste and feel of her as his hands drifted lower on her hips. He cupped her ass, squeezing softly and earning a little squeak from her before she continued to trail her lips against his. 

“Daphne,” He sighed as he pulled away, keeping his eyes shut as she continued to kiss along his chin and jaw, “We can’t.” He tilted his head to the side, chewing on his bottom lip as her tongue traced out against his skin again. 

“Why?” She hummed against his skin, licking at his neck as she slunk her hands into the back of his jean pockets, “We’re not at school. You’re not teaching right now.” She pointed out, dragging her lips back up towards his chin. 

“Doesn’t change our relationship.” He sighed softly as he looked down at her, wondering if there was a way to convince her to drop this class. His mind was too buzzed at the moment to really care if he was being honest.

“So,” She whispered softly, “You’re attracted to me and I’m attracted to you, so what’s the problem?” She questioned as she stepped closer to him, demanding an answer.

“I could lose my job,” He said with a laugh, although he wasn’t too worried about it at the moment. He would be fucked if anyone saw him this close to her anyways, “Are you always this forward?”

“Sometimes,” She giggled softly, “Why? Do you like it?” She took a few steps back, stepping into the darker alley as he raised his eyebrows. He felt his heart hammering, his veins burning as she raised her top up over her chest once again.

He watched silently, all of his blood racing to his cock as she removed her top completely. Her smirk grew in confidence as she reached for the side of her skirt, unzipping it until it fell to the ground. 

“What?” She grinned as she stood in front of him, wearing only the thin thong she had on underneath her skirt, “Not like you haven’t seen any of it before.” She added playfully as she turned her body back and forth, showing off her curves. 

“Mhm,” He hummed in response, eyes tracing over her slender body as he crossed his ankles out in front of him, “Do you usually walk around naked?” He asked as he bounced back from staring at her round ass, meeting her eyes once again. 

“Not usually,” She grinned as she swayed her hips, walking towards him, “Just felt right I guess.” She replied as she tilted her head up towards him, making his lips curl into a little smirk. 

“You remember what I said about keeping it professional?” He asked her curiously, knowing that line had become so muddled that he could no longer see it. The alcohol was coursing through his system, erasing any feelings of guilt or worry. 

“Mhm.” She confirmed with a smug smile. He drifted his eyes over her soft skin, taking in how tiny she looked in comparison to him. She had been just a little shorter than Robin, nothing too severe. But she was petite, small shoulders and narrow hips that looked even tinier against his large hand. 

“You’re making it really hard.” He told her softly, seriously as he knew that he’d be damned if anyone else knew about this. Or about them kissing earlier. It was too risky, yet he felt himself drawn towards her even more. Part of him wondered if it was worth the risk. 

“Am I?” She grinned at him mischievously as she slowly pressed herself against his bulge, “Because I’m like really horny right now.” She whispered before she began to laugh, like it was a secret. He was already well aware of how she felt. 

“I can tell.” He chuckled as he moved his hands to her hips, giving her a soft squeeze before he moved his palms further up. She was right. They weren’t at school right now. No one else had to know. 

“It was all the shots.” She whined dramatically as his hands fell to her boobs, cupping them softly as she leaned into his touch. He felt his cock stirring underneath her soft flesh, his heart pounding in his chest as her nipples dragged against his palms. 

“Makes you frisky.” He hummed, his bottom lip gently brushing against hers. He sighed deeply, mouth slowly parting as he invited her into a deep kiss.

He savored the taste of cigarette smoke and the sweet alcohol on her tongue, his hands slowly moving to her hips once again as her palms fell to his chest. He flicked his tongue inside of her mouth, swirling it softly against her own as she began to drag her hips down against his aching bulge.

He sighed against her mouth, slowly rocking his hips upwards as he craved the feeling of her warmth against his cock. He could feel her wetness seeping through her thong, dragging along the way his cock was throbbing underneath her. 

“Daph,” He groaned as his lips fell open against hers, his mind fuzzy as the pleasure raced up his spine. He dug his fingers into her hips, clinging to her as he dragged his cock against the drenched material of her panties, “Jesus.”

“Yeah?” She giggled softly, moaning breathlessly against his mouth as she continued to grind her soft cunt along his long cock, “Wish I could feel you inside me.” She whimpered softly as he pressed her up against the building, hooking a leg over his waist.

He groaned against her mouth, picturing how warm and wet her cunt would feel around his girth at the moment. Much better than his hand, but he recognized that it couldn’t happen. This shouldn’t be happening either, but he felt like he was in too far.

She trailed her mouth across his chin again, licking softly as he continued to rut his hips up against her wet panties. He closed his eyes, desperately wanting to feel her bare skin against his. The urge to strip his pants down was growing.

She gripped his chin, dragging him further down to her mouth as the hazy look spread through her eyes. He groaned as he kneaded at her ass this time, sighing against her mouth as she puckered her lips together.

She spit, drooling into his mouth as a deep whimper left his chest. It was unexpected, so dirty and filthy that his heart hammered roughly inside of his chest. His cock ached, twitching before he came roughly inside of his boxers.

“Fuck!” He hissed, whining softly as he pressed against her cunt roughly. He fell flat against her, squishing her between him and the building as his high washed over him. He hadn’t come inside of his pants since high school. Jesus.

He stared at her with a mixture of shock and disbelief, the gears in his mind twisting as he drifted his hands down her sides. It was then that he noticed the goosebumps on her skin, her ice cold flesh.

“Jesus,” He pulled away, mind slowly clearing and legs quivering as he reached for her clothes. He huffed underneath his breath, feeling like he had been under a spell as he quickly began to redress her, “You’re freezing.” He pointed out, struggling with her zipper and she whined.

“No fair,” She huffed as he stuck her shirt on over her head, “You got to finish.” She protested, making him feel that much worse as he felt the mess in his boxers. He had been all over her in public, where anyone could see. 

He stayed quiet as the sound of honking drew him further out of his stupor. He checked his phone, confirming her Uber had arrived before he tugged her forward. He did a quick confirmation that it was the right one before he dropped his coat from his shoulders and put it over her.

“Smells like you,” She giggled, eyes still hazy as he held the door open for her, “You sure you don’t want to join me?” She teased, wiggling her eyebrows as he felt an uncomfortable feeling settling over him. Why did she have to be so desirable?

“Have a good night.” He smiled at her, ensuring that she was buckled and safe before he shut the door. He winced as the car drove off, sighing as the cold stuck to his bones. He was royall fucked.

Not only did he let her strip down in public, he’d also humped her like a dog and let her spit in his mouth. And came in his pants in only a few minutes. Jesus. There was something wrong with him. 

“You took forever.” Robin commented once he joined her again, making him squirm as he tried to play it off. He could pretend everything was fine, even though the buzz was beginning to wear off. 

“I was waiting for her Uber with her,” He scoffed as he fixed his hair, “She could’ve gotten hurt on her own.” He explained, shaking his head as he stared at the table. He couldn’t look at her. She would know. 

“Uh huh,” She nodded along, “I don’t want your excuses, you’re nasty.” She shoved at him, leaving him gasping as he shook her accusation away. She was all knowing smirks, making him that much more frantic.

“I didn’t do anything.” He said as he shook his head, running his hands through his hair as he tried to get his heart to stop pounding. Damn it. 

“Did your pants get that memo?” She asked as she glanced down slowly to his jeans, making him stall before he followed suit. He stared at the obvious wet spot, making his face flush all over again.

“Fuck.” 

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hey! I need some advice on how to organize my notes and story better. I know that we're at a point in time where we have computers, apps and everything else, just to help organize everything, but my brain goes into static silence mode while I'm trying to type something up on my computer for some reason. I always do better with pen and paper.

So what's the best way to organize your notes? What processes are recommended? How do we keep notes from looking like chaos on paper? Is a folder recommended too? Or a notebook? Thank you in advanced.

Organizing Paper Notes

I'm a big fan of the good old-fashioned three-ring binder with tabbed dividers. You can create whatever sections you want, but generally you'll probably do something like plot, characters, world, back story, and inspiration.

You can grab yourself a ream of lined notebook paper to put your notes on, or you can use dot grid, graph paper, or punch some colored paper. You could even color code if you wanted to.

You might also consider adding some binder pockets to each section that you can use to store any loose notes you might end up with. And, if you do happen to type and print anything or print out an inspiration photo or map or something, you can just punch it and stick it in its proper place in the binder.

As far as organizing the notes on paper, this is where color coding comes in especially handy. You might consider assigning a highlighter or marker color to each section, then when you get a bunch of random notes on a page (that belong in different sections), you can highlight them accordingly then write them all on new sheets of paper according to their proper section. That way everything gets filed away right where it should be.

I hope that helps!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[maevethewerepuppy]

Puppy HRT - Part 1 Pre-Transition

A story about a trans woman named Hailey starting the HRT process - only without realizing that she signed up for the Government's new Pet and Work Animal Renewal Project, where the hormones she will be taking will not just feminize her, but also turn her into an obedient pup for her roommate Kara.

Content Warning: • Normalized Petplay • Brainwashing • Unrealistic/Unsafe Hypnosis • Mistress/Pet Relationship • Darker Themes • Dubious Consent

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I nervously sat in the waiting room of the doctor’s office, my leg bouncing up and down slowly. My loose black hoodie hung over my body despite the heat of the day, nearly 30’c outside. Next to me was all the signed paperwork, all done up in a nice folder. All the pre-treatment testing, the psychologist’s sealed assessment, early blood hormone level testing…

“Miss Hailey?” The voice of the nice receptionist called, snapping me out of my own thoughts and back to reality. The reality that I was finally going to be able to start taking the medication I needed to make my body feel right. “Here.” I replied, my voice way too deep and masculine sounding, but I couldn’t afford a vocal coach so online videos were all I had to work with. It didn’t help that I was tone deaf on top of it. I got up as the receptionist came around the desk, gesturing for me to follow. She had this warm smile on her face, as if I wasn’t the disgusting person I constantly saw in the mirror. I followed her back through the hallway to the doctor’s office, simply passing a small smile back at her.

Guiding me into the office, she gestured for me to sit down on the standard, uncomfortable exam table. I muttered a quiet thanks as I did so, setting my paperwork on the doctor’s desk in the room. Informed that the doctor would be there in a few minutes, I simply waited in silence.

Soon the doctor, a smart looking man with short brown hair and a pair of circle framed glasses stepped into the room. He was dressed in his lab coat and sat at the desk I has put my documents onto, glancing over them briefly before turning to me. “So, Miss… Hailey, is it?” He asks, as I give him a brief nod before he continues speaking, “Seems like we finally have everything we need to start on the medications. Thank you for being so prepared, not many clients are this organized about starting the process. Why don’t we start discussing the changes we expect to see physically and mentally, then I’ll write your prescription?”

I nod again, and he begins to talk. Speaking about what the expected timeline is and what effects and side effects we could see, but… I was not listening. My ears were ringing as I numbly nodded along to his words, my heart pounding in my head. Everything was finally happening; it was going to be real! I was going to finally start the hormone replacement treatment and become a girl, physically! I’d been waiting literally for years for this point and to get here was just liberating.

“So, I think that explains everything. Do you understand what I’ve explained to you?” He asked me, a soft smile on his face as he finished up, catching me off guard for a moment as I caught up to reality and out of my fantasies.

“Yeah, I do. I have been waiting for this for so long, Doctor. Please…” I replied, my voice breathy as I tried to keep from shouting at him to just write me the note and let me get the medication already.

“Alright then. Let’s get you started then.” He turned to his computer and started typing out the prescription for me. Soon it was printed off and in my hands as I headed down the elevator to the pharmacy. The doctor had also given me some extra sheets of paper and pamphlets, one with a happy woman on the front of it, but I was far too excited and overly eager to get the medication that I failed to notice the fact she was naked and wearing a collar. It simply remained forgotten.

I handed over my prescription and only a half-hour later I was walking out with the two different medications in hand. The names were far too long for me to worry about memorizing, but at least they had the instructions right on the bottle. I was told to take one of each after dinner each night, so it wasn’t a hard process to remember. We’d be upping them slowly over time, but to get me started and adjusted this was the right dose.

Regardless, I was extremely excited and relieved to get home and start taking them. The small apartment I shared with my roommate Kara wasn’t the best place, but for the most part she was nice enough the little we interacted, and we both paid our bills on time. She sometimes got a bit loud doing gaming streams in her room but those were during the daytime, so I put up with it.

As I got home, she was up making grilled cheese in the kitchen area just across from the front door. She turned her head to me, giving a small smile as I stepped in and hung up my keys. Moving into the small living room I dropped my paperwork on the coffee table with the mail, keeping the meds close. “How was your appointment?” She asked as she turned her attention back to the food.

“It went well… Finally got the approval process finished and I’m starting the medications today.”

“Congrats! It’s good to hear things going well for you finally with all this stuff, it’s been practically forever since you started trying to get it!”

I gave her a small nod, muttering out a thanks as I headed towards my room. It was not hard to notice her expression fall as I moved on without much conversation, but I didn’t have the energy after dealing with the doctor and public earlier. I just needed to get into the quiet isolation of my room.

Out in the living-room, Kara picked up the flyers that I’d abandoned in my haste to get away from a conversation. Picking it up and starting to read it over, an idea began to form in her head as she saw the title.

‘Puppy Hormones and You – A guide to changes and training you’ll need on Puppy Hormones!’

[loptrcoptr]

Today was our first day back at work after the holidays and I got word that there were 7 boxes of an old scholar’s files in the library that everyone had previously forgotten about and the facilities team told the librarian to ask me what to do with them

so! I was like “great, I’ll look through them” because a) that is my job, to keep as much old crap onhand as possible and b) this guy was one of the OGs at my work and I know for a fact he took fantastic notes/minutes/kept good records (unlike… a lot of other OGs did lol

So!! I go into the library to start digging through the boxes- dragged in some folders, new boxes, etc. to start organizing- and what do I find when I open these puppies up? Water damage! Recent water damage! Why? Because the library has consistent issues with leaks, which is why the librarian wants all our archival materials that are in there to be removed which is why I, the archivist, was asked to figure out if these boxes were of any use.

SO!!! “loptrcoptr”, you might ask, “if people know about the leaks, why he doesn’t anyone do anything about it?” The answer to which is I don’t fucking know and Im mad about it. They patch the roof up, I guess. Never works very well though, leaks keep happening in various different places. Luckily, only one of the boxes really got wet, and a second one got damp, and nothing appears to have been destroyed or damaged beyond legibility. Also luckily, I was able to go to facilities, get a fan, and set up an anti-mold-nope airstrip station in an office that’s going to be empty for the week. Not luckily, I told facilities why they needed the fan and the head of the group guilt tripped me?? “Why didn’t you mention this before? You guys have to tell us these things as soon as they happen” we’ll I don’t fucking know when it happened, do I, because we were all gone for a week and a half! And also! I didn’t even know those boxes were there until this morning and ALSO I AM NOT THE LIBRARIAN IT IS NOT NY JOB TO CHECK THE LIBRARY FOR ANYTHING EVER ACTUALLY

Anyway l spent the afternoon quarantining damp files and pulling out damp books because the librarian had already left and like. I understand how truly suited I am for where I work because the joint is an absolute yarnball of inscrutable chaos. It’s like an office sitcom mated with a science department and birthed this place, and I love it, but sometimes the chaos just gets to be too much even for me. Like, I’ve given up trying to get all my coworkers to understand the value of archiving everything, too much shit had been thrown away without my consultation prior to this so honestly I was surprised anyone even thought to mention these boxes to me. But also like… this is an academic institution why don’t you people give a fuck about the books in your library getting ruined?? Giles that only I care about are one thing but books? That y’all use?? Some of which are out of print?? Hello????

So guess who has two thumbs and is tired and is asking her boss for her own personal storage locker tomorrow morning 8)

[wild-chaser]

So, a little follow-up on my recent creative breakdown:

I have come to the conclusion that I need to treat the outlining of my novel as a project in its own right, rather than just a side quest to get to the actual task. I have realized I put aside too little time for the huge undertaking that is the planning in itself. Especially since, again, I am very much a planner, not a pantser. I cannot just get by when I don't know the direction of the plot very well.

An additional problem that I have faced is that I have been on this project for so long - I have been coming back and forth, spinning this plot in my head, trying to make sense of it and spending random chunks of time working on it haphazardly - that now I've got so much legacy outline (think analogue to "legacy code" in programming) that it's just adding another layer of complexity.

I have come up with a lot of world building already, thought through the rules of magic and worked on many character arcs but... not in an organized manner. Once the inspiration to work hit, I just took a random item/plot point/character arc/etc. and worked on it, usually not finishing the thing within that one session, and then never really coming back to it the next one. Usually because those writing sessions were so distant from each other in time that by the time the next session came up, I have forgotten what I have been up to last.

As a result, I have plenty of notes, scattered across Scrivener folders and subfolders (and sub-sub folders), some printed sheets of paper, some notes in some notebooks, but it's just such a huge mess that I've got no clue what is really where, what is still to do and outline, what was done but needs an update, and what was done and is good enough so can remain as-is.

Now I want to attempt and actually tackle this Planning the Novel Quest in an organized way. That will include:

determining what needs to be planned or outlined -> so that I know when I can officially 'tick off' a task instead of coming back to it over and over again

making a physical (printed out or handwritten) plan of the Outlining Quest -> so I can keep track of the progress in a visible way

setting up some inner outlining rules, which include:

PRINT OUT the effect of the outlining once the task is done -> to have a physical 'world bible' and 'story bible' at the end of the process* *even if, obviously, once the story progresses, the outline and world can still be changed; but the changes should also end up being a physical mark (like crossing out and handwriting new ideas)

don't come back to redo the finished tasks until the entire process is finished (again, minor corrections in the previous tasks are allowed within reason)

The reason why I will try and make everything printed out or handwritten is that I when I outline in Scrivener or Notion or in any other digital way, in the long run I end up forgetting what I even have there. I come back to review the notes and find myself surprised on what I find. I am not sure why it is so, but I believe that the difference comes from the way one is always sort-of leafing through the entire notebook every time it gets opened and that briefly refreshes the overview of what's generally in there; whereas with notes scattered across Scrivener folders, I always need to intentionally look for something to find it. And I just frequently forget that some things even exist.

The next question for me is: how to outline the novel? What tasks are even there?

Every time I googled for answers, the number of options and ideas left me just apathetically rocking in the corner. Then it hit me: instead of finding new ideas, how about I just try to implement the old ones, but all the way through?

I have attempted The Snowflake Method of outlining many many times already. Even with this project. I was tempted to just say 'it didn't work for me', but then it occurred to me that I have never actually finished the process. I just repeated steps 1, 2 and maybe 3 several times over and over again, each time with a year or two in between the attempts. So how about I try to do it exactly as it is recommended to do, how about I follow the guidelines to the t.

But there is a minor issue with this method. It is not complete. When one tries to outline any story that needs the world building, there aren't any steps for that in this method. And I especially need those steps spelled out because I hate and suck at the world building.

Then it hit me - I dug out that book that I have had for years that have always slightly intimidated me - " Writing Fantasy & Science Fiction" by Orson Scott Card, Philip Athans and Jay Lake. While they do talk about story in general, they tend to focus and give a lot of tips when it comes to world building.

So my current plan is: I do The Snowflake Method + follow the world building advice from the book. The book divides the advice into: rules of magic, history, language, scenery - and those will turn into separate 'tasks' for me to complete, on top of just following the Snowflake Method.

Now, in today's writing session, my plan is to... plan. Analyze the steps in the Snowflake Method, make a huge and detailed to-do list for outlining, then print it out and keep it at the beginning of my Novel Outline Binder. Because I am Amy at heart.

[groupdelwar]

Taking Care of Your Furry Friends with the Herd Health Manager

Hey there, fellow animal lovers! Have you ever wondered how farmers and pet owners keep their animals happy and healthy? Well, let us introduce you to a magical tool called the Herd Health Manager! It might sound a bit fancy, but don't worry – we're here to break it down in simple terms.

What's the Herd Health Manager?

Imagine you have a bunch of animal pals – cows, sheep, horses, or even dogs and cats. Just like humans, these cute creatures can sometimes get sick or feel a bit under the weather. That's where the Herd Health Manager comes in. It's like a superhero for your pets and farm animals, helping to keep them fit as a fiddle!

How Does It Work?

Think of the Herd Health Manager as a watchful guardian. It keeps track of your animal buddies' health records, like their check-ups, vaccinations, and any medicines they might need. Just like how your parents might have a folder with all your important papers, the manager keeps everything organized and in one place.

Why Is It Important?

Good question! Animals can't really talk to us like humans can. They can't say, "Hey, I don't feel so good today." So, the Herd Health Manager acts as their voice. It helps farmers and pet owners know when their animals need some extra love and care. When an animal's health record is updated in the manager, it's like sending an alert that says, "Hey, something's up – let's take action!"

Keeping Track of Stuff

Imagine if you had to remember all the times your pets went to the doctor, got shots, or took medicine. That would be tough, right? The Herd Health Manager keeps an eye on all of that. It's like having a super organized diary that never forgets.

Preventing Problems

Remember the saying, "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure"? Well, the Herd Health Manager is like a master at prevention. It helps spot any little signs that your animals might not be feeling their best. By catching these signs early, farmers and pet owners can help prevent bigger problems down the road.

FAQs about the Herd Health Manager:

Is the Herd Health Manager only for farms?

Nope! It's for all animal lovers – whether you have one pet or a whole farm.

Can it tell me when my pet needs a check-up?

Absolutely! It keeps track of those important dates.

How does it let me know if something's wrong?

It sends alerts or messages to remind you to check on your animals.

Can I use it for my pet hamster too?

Of course! Any animal, big or small.

Is it easy to use? I'm not great with technology.

Don't worry! It's designed to be super user-friendly.

What if I forget to update the manager?

Life happens! But the more you update, the better it works.

Does it work offline?

Some versions might, but online is more efficient.

Can multiple people in my farm or family use it?

Yes, many versions allow sharing among authorized users.

Is my data safe?

The good ones have security measures, just like online banking.

Does it cost a lot?

It varies, but think of it as an investment in your animals' health.

Can it help with training schedules too?

Absolutely! It can store training plans and remind you when it's time.

Can I see all my animals' health info at once?

That's the beauty of it – yes!

Does it work with smartphones?

Most do! It's like having a pet health app.

Can it remind me when to buy pet food?

If you set it up, yes!

Does it work for exotic animals, like snakes?

In many cases, yes.

Can it remind me to clean my pets' living areas?

If you program it to, sure thing!

What if I have an emergency? Can it help?

It's not a replacement for a vet, but it can help you stay organized.

Is it only for physical health, or does it track behavior too?

Some versions track behavior changes too.

Can I print my animals' health records from it?

In many cases, yes.

Do I need Wi-Fi all the time for it to work?

It depends on the version, but not always.

Can I set up reminders for other pet-related tasks?

Definitely! It's like your personal pet assistant.

Is it like a social media for pets too?

While some versions have sharing features, it's mostly about health.

Can it remind me when to give my pets treats?

If you want it to, sure!

Does it only work for mammals, or does it cover birds and fish too?

Many versions cover all kinds of animals.

Can it tell me if my animals are getting along with each other?

It's not a mind reader, but if you track behaviors, you might get some hints.

Remember, the Herd Health Manager isn't just a tool – it's a friend that helps you take the best care of your animal buddies. So, whether you're a farmer with a field full of animals or a pet owner with a cozy home, this magical manager has your back – or should we say, your furry friend's back!

[jreynoldsward]

The accountability posts march right along. Since this is the last Sunday of the month, it's the day to sit down and look at how well I did for the month.

The results were--surprising. The graphic above doesn't go into a lot of details, but the main point? The process of planning, reviewing, and contemplating the goals I had set for myself, and taking a hard look at what has kept me from accomplishing some of those goals seems to be paying off. In the January summary meeting, I could only identify four things that really got done that month. February, though a shorter month, had eight things that got completed.

Now, granted, the to-do list is shorter as well in January. However, the February list also benefited from further clarity in some areas; most specifically getting a workable, organized promotion process set up by creating a number of spreadsheets (well, all right, THREE spreadsheets) to help me keep track of various aspects of promotion and marketing. One tracks online interviews and reviews; another events (both sales and appearances), and a third is...oh, I don't know, I'd have to look it up but it's there (correction: I do know and it's sitting on my side desk. It's the monthly promotion plan, broken down by week, and it's printed out and tucked into my planner so that I can look at it, create graphics as needed, and check off to-dos).

One thing that has thrown me for a small loop is the whole AI kerfuffle. I have eleven short stories that I've had out on submission. At the moment, possible markets are either closed or else limiting submissions to once every three weeks after a rejection or acceptance. This somewhat causes problems with sending stories out to the top markets first, which is supposed to be best practice for submission protocols. It slows everything down, and...at this point, I'm having to change my regular submission day from once a week to once, maybe twice a month. And that is still problematic because rejections somewhat trickle in, bit-by-bit, and they don't necessarily fit MY schedule. One of the challenges in managing ADHD is being able to set things up in an organized fashion so that I am not extremely dependent upon a faulty executive functioning process (I had an entire tracking protocol set up for case management when I worked in special education) to remember when stuff is supposed to happen. So--push submissions days out to every two months? Only once a month? Set up yet ANOTHER spreadsheet (or connected sheet) to track WHEN I can send a story out to the next market? ARRRGH.

I haven't figured it out yet. I'm still struggling with how to make that work. Meanwhile, I'm just letting rejections flow back in. I created a folder in my email program which is labeled "Unprocessed Rejections" and am leaving it at that, until I figure out what to do next. Do I want to keep sending stories out, against a rising tide of AI competition? Wait and see what happens as magazines develop protocols to manage this new twist, just like they did when electronic submissions became dominant? While I'm becoming known (hopefully in a positive manner), I'm not sufficiently well-known that my name alone will get my foot in the door. Which means--still in the slush pile.

One possibility is that I use those short stories as Patreon rewards. Between those short stories and my previously printed stories, I probably have enough to last me for a while. Would I have enough subscribers to make a Patreon worthwhile? I don't know. I'm not encouraged by my Substack subscriptions, and those are freebies. At the moment, I'm still sticking to the goal of writing one short story a month. Right now, they're going to be reader magnets and worldbuilding tie-ins for my Goddess's Vision series. Which is still in development (sigh).

Why do I have this mental image of moving huge piles of laundry when I think about this? Because that's what a lot of what I am doing right now feels like. I have a lot of one-time organizing tasks to get done that, once I get them set up, will hopefully sustain themselves. But oh dear God, it's processing to get to that sustaining mode that is such the heavy load.

Nonetheless, things are working. I'm making regular book sales. Nothing huge, but enough to be encouraging. I'm making my way through a backlog of things that got shoved off when the cataract started acting up a year ago.

I have decided that I'm going to work on adding a 100% Human Produced branding to my work. I'll write more about this later, but my suspicion is that 100% human produced creative writing is going to become like handmade craft work. Perhaps I'll add in my handmade craft work as well--and oh do I want to get back to having time to sew and design craft work as well as write. It's just finding the damn time!

I'm using the new MacBookAir more. Right now, it's where I'm doing the formatting for reissued work in Vellum. I can sit in my recliner in the evenings and get some done.

Plus--this is only the second month that I've been doing this. I know from my teaching days that oh yes, I am so capable of putting together an organized plan. I have created scope and sequence lesson plans for entire years. But...sustaining that organizational work frequently fell by the wayside (well, I was training a horse, working special ed, managing some home stuff, and writing...lots of stuff on the plate and lots more chaos than my current life).

Will I be able to keep this up?

I hope to do so. But we shall see.

[thatdisasterauthor]

Okay, I wanna talk about the giant work project I just did because I’m proud of it, even if it was a bit of a nightmare. Can’t give specifics because of an NDA, but I can talk general stuff.

About three months ago we got offered a REALLY big deal. Ridiculously big. Possibly our biggest ever, at least in recent memory. But to make this deal we had to provide a lot of documentation. Like a lot a lot.

Wanna guess what my company does NOT have? Documentation. Are we a museum? Yes! Do we have scientifically significant specimens everywhere? Yes! Is any of it accurately or effectively documented? No. Hell, we couldn’t even GET to half our stuff without going up on a catwalk and ducking under the air vents until a few months ago when the vents got redone. And don’t even get me started on our servers. The top level organization is...decentish, but the second you start opening folders it is all just. A nightmare. Tons of duplicates, so many IMG______s, folders within folders within folders within folders. Terrible.

So I get brought onto this project after all the initial negotiating is pretty much done. On the face of it, my job in this project was SUPPOSED to just be taking the documentation and making it look pretty. The owner of the company and our head curator were supposed to be the ones getting all that documentation.

Wanna guess what they, by and large, did NOT do? Get me documentation. We had three months to do this and it only got done at the literal last minute because I went into work (despite being mostly remote) and sat down with both of them and just went through each form with them one by one. And when I say literal last minute, I mean literal last minute. The project was due at noon yesterday and I finished at 11:59.

At the end of it, here’s everything I did for the project:

Chased down so much documentation. Either by digging through the server, or just repeatedly e-mailing people until they finally handed stuff over.

Photographed a ton of specimens. We had some photos of some of them, but a lot of the older stuff was from really crappy old cameras so the photos needed redone.

Deciphered a lot of hand-signed/hand-amended contracts that needed included, so I could figure out who the hell signed what because cursive and crappy scans are not good bedfellows. I also had to figure out what contracts went with what specimens which was quite the puzzle.

Deciphered the forms we had to fill out. They’re from a non-English speaking country and there were some translations that got a little wonky.

Edited the introduction for each section of the project, because the owner of the company is very fond of idioms and run-on sentences. Had to put everything in plainer English so it could be more easily translated.

Edited all the photo captions for the same reason.

Dealt with the fact that no one at this job calls any animal what they are, they just give them a nickname which is not helpful. I don’t know what “Doug” is, guys. I can tell Doug was a turtle, but what kind of turtle? Who knows! Not me, because YOU DON’T FUCKING LABEL ANYTHING. The bus factor at this company is terrible. If somebody dies tomorrow we’re all screwed.

Fixed a bunch of little issues in the contracts to prevent us giving away some very important rights that we should not have been giving away.

Reworked the prices on some things to be more understandable and offer different options.

Researched the locations of specimens and provided detailed maps of the locations in relation to the U.S. as a whole and the specific areas. Didn’t want to do the thing where we just said “yeah, we found it in Kansas” assuming everyone outside the U.S. would actually know where the hell Kansas is.

Formatted it all into nicely laid out PDFS with good formatting. This involved 22 separate documents, then one version that brought all those together into one big document that was formatted for double-sided printing.

And, despite having 3 months to do it, 50% was done in the last two days, and another 40% done in the 8ish days before that. I worked 55 hours this week and 53 last week. Instead of just being a designer I ended up being a photographer, an archivist, a researcher, a contracts person, an editor, AND a designer.

Ended up with a 400 page document that looks fantastic (and more professional than anything the company has ever put out). I’m damn proud of it, and I’m really excited to know how effective it ends up being, which I should hopefully know in the next couple weeks.

And I still don’t know hardly anything about paleontology beyond surface knowledge, lol. Fake it ‘til you make it.

[museum-spaces]

tales from storage

So for the past two weeks my employee and I have been tackling the storage area of our museum. when we started we had 4 rooms; two complete messes, one semi organized newspaper archive, and one empty old boiler room - boiler has been decommissioned for years. Now we have two organized rooms, one slightly less organized newspaper archive, and an old boiler room with a few of our 'oversized' objects - bed frames etc.

i still have my employee for a week before I loose her 'til spring and we still have a chunk of stuff to put back into the rooms but here's what we did;

day 1; took everything out of room A, found the objects that I cannot talk about, set up a second shelf unit bringing the rooms shelves up to 7 from 4.

Day 2; set up a small table and went through box-by-box what was in the room. I took extensive notes and wrote numbers for all of them - we don't have archival pens yet so I haven't put those numbers on the actual objects, just in my book and on the box itself. We managed to get almost every thing from the original 3 shelves onto one of the new shelves.

day 3; call cops, have them stop by for the Things, continue reorganizing room A. This continues for day 4 as well.

Day 5; empty out storage room b, find a whole cash of semi-organized photos and what might be journals from the 1800s - discover on day 10 that they are actually journals from the 1960s, be disappointed.

Canadian Thanksgiving falls on day 6, so don't work that day.

Day 7; set up last shelf unit in room B bringing shelves up from 2 to 6, organize framed art storage - assign numbers and condition check all art as it is placed. Have loads of room left over for additional pieces as we redisplay the upstairs galleries. Move desk.

Day 8; day spent like day 4, but with added exploration of archives. spend a stupid long few hours sorting through old emails that previous management printed off and kept in folders to figure out which ones were from her ordering uniforms - which we don't use - and which ones dealt with research and museum matters.

Day 9; spend most of the day doing computer-y things with a bit more sorting thrown in for good measure. be very sick that day and go to the hospital at about 10pm.

Day 10; feeling much much better after only 12 hours, get back into sorting. Move desk again. also move filing cabinet. at one point in the afternoon decide to go through box found on day 5 with journals. discover the hard way that this box is FULL of mould. clean box out, have coughing fit, send employee - allergic to mould - out of the room. keep cleaning. accept mask from employee. sort through all the books in the box etc - 46 items including the box itself - carefully note and wrap each item from the box to help protect it from mould. realize we spent about 1.5 hours on the 46 items.

and that's the end of that.

It is a heck of a lot of fun to do this... but my employee, gods all bless her, doesn't really 'get' what I'm doing and that she can't just grab the next thing out of the box, rattle something off at me, hand it to me, then grab the next. We are working in a cramped space and I need to be able to sort through the things, put them in the relevant piles, and write detailed notes to myself for the catalogue. which is hard enough when you're writing on your lap let alone when someone keeps handing you things that NEED 2 handed support.

I can't wait for 6 working days from now when she'll be off for the winter and I can move at my own pace. No denying I need her right now - couldn't move half of this heavy stuff on my own - but I do look forward to the quiet.

[cherrykindness]

wild tweets |

pairing: Harry Styles x Actress!Reader

summary: as newlyweds, you and harry read thirsty comments for buzzfeed.

warning: it's thirsty tweets, so below there is adult humor 😳

"It's a bright, sunny morning in Los Angeles, and there's nothing I want more than to be on BuzzFeed and read wild tweets alongside my husband."

"Thirsty tweets, babe." Harry corrected, laughing out loud with the producers behind the cameras.

"Thirsty Tweets." You said quickly, putting your hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle. "I'm terrible at that, I'm sorry. Can we start over?"

"Let's take a break for one to two minutes. You've given us a great introduction, Y/N."

You shook your head, smiling shyly before turning to Harry, who was already watching you with that easy smile at the corner of his lips. You liked how his hand remained firmly on yours, making those circular movements with the thumb that always served as a natural medice for your anxiety.

"You look so fucking beautiful."

The pleated dress with flounce sleeves fit you like a glove. You had made peace with the various shades of white since the wedding and knew that Harry liked to see you in that color too.

"Thank you, you're not too bad either, Styles."

You intimately suspected that Harry would always seem far beyond that "not bad" that came out as a euphemism from your mouth. He wore nothing but a pair of bell-bottom pants in a strong shade of blue and a soft vest printed with fluffy little sheep on a striped American collared shirt - in your opinion, no one could look better in farm animal clothing than Harry Styles and Princess Diana with her red "Black Sheep" sweater in the 1980s. In contrast, you knew your husband well enough to know that he was arrogant and knew exactly how hot he looked - you also made your thoughts clear enough when you kept him backstage beyond ten minutes in a rather heated kissing session.

"Are you anxious?" you asked curiously, remaining with downcast eyes fixed on the strokes that remained assiduous on your warm skin. "To read about how the whole internet dreams of fucking my wife?! Of course." Harry joked, leaning over to leave a small one on your cheek. "We agree on that, don't we? Although I'm a little nervous, I'm really interested to know all the crazy things they say about you. Everyone knows you're mine at the end of the day, that's enough."

At the end of the break, you and Harry made a silent agreement that you should be the first to pick up one of the scattered papers in the red pot. There were quite a significant amount of tweets, and as much as you were used to reading rather sordid things about your husband on the Internet, the excitement was there as if you were wading into uncharted territory.

"I would be a good girl all year round if Santa guaranteed me a threesome with Harry and Y/N Styles on Christmas Eve." You laughed, Harry staring at the camera with an expression close to the meme of the surprised Pikachu. "You guys are incredibly nasty, I love it."

"If that was the first one, I'm really worried about the next ones." Harry commented with a little corner smile, picking the next tweet out of the bucket. "I have an entire folder on Pinterest dedicated to Harry Styles' hands, and let me tell you why: those hands are art, and art needs to be recognized."

"What- Guys, you promised you wouldn't post my anonymous tweets here." You quipped with false reproach, laughing at your own stupid joke while everyone else in the studio did the same. "But I can't blame her, honestly." Shaking your shoulders, you opened another piece of paper. "Harry Styles finally confessed that he wrote Watermelon Sugar for Y/N!!!! Are you guys imagining the same thing as me?!!!!!! 🥵🍆💦"

"Exhausted emoji, eggplant emoji, and water emoji?" Harry frowned, staring at the tweet you held up. "I imagine you're in need of a vacation somewhere refreshing and you're craving a fruit that everyone eats like it's really a vegetable."

"That reminded me of that story-" You laughed, hiding your face on the table as Harry continued to offer a poker face to the camera, struggling not to keep up with you laughter. "I'm sorry, lovie, I have to share this with the rest of the world." You stated, wiping a few tears from the corner of your eyes. "Harry always wears those fancy suits to concerts, right?! Right! Turns out he looks really hot in some, like his ass molds perfectly into those tight pants and everything. I was home that night because I wasn't feeling well enough to face the big crowds, but I was still following everything on twitter. It was a concert in London, not so far from where we lived at the time, so it was obvious that he would come home after it was over. I follow some portals that do really fast updates of pictures, videos, etc; everything that happened at Harry's concert was on my timeline in a matter of seconds. When one of these profiles uploaded a picture of him with his back to the camera in a heavily accentuated black and white suit, I quickly sent him the image along with a peach emoji and then wrote "looks good tonight". He didn't reply to me until a few hours later, of course, but I obviously didn't expect a "ready for a Fifth Avenue peach salad for dinner?" and numerous cutlery emojis."

Harry rolled his eyes comically, indulging in laughter as did everyone else who occupied the backstage area.

"I'm against the eroticization of emojis." He said between uncompensated breaths, shaking his head negatively. "Let's go to the next ones, please, I'm already feeling exposed enough here."

"I like your old-fashioned spirit, baby." You assured him with a smile, laying on the sturdy shoulder hidden under the fluffy fabric.

Harry chuckled low, leaving a little kiss on the top of your head before selecting the next paper. The fans would die when that video aired, everyone was sure. You two easily forgot the cameras when you were side by side, and the public display of affection had never been a problem.

"My life mission is to look at someone the way Harry looks at Y/N and be reciprocated the way Y/N looks at Harry, then I could die happy." Harry read. "That was very good and healthy, thank you!" He smiled. "But don't settle for death in that case, please. Just make sure to keep that person around forever."

"Awn, we got so sweet now." You made a pout. "Thank you for sending us something so cute! I really hope you find the right person soon." Sending a kiss to the camera, you moved on to the next tweet. "I wouldn't want to get a golden ticket to visit Willy Wonka's factory, I would like to get a golden ticket to actively participate in Y/N and Harry Styles' Honeymoon.

"That was creative, so I will disregard the fact that you removed my last name from my wife's name." Harry joked.

"I will always be an Y/L/N." You flashed the tongue. "We had a great Honeymoon, but I know you guys already know all about it because there are pictures all over the internet of outings that I don't even remember existed."

"Even though we chose a rather reserved city, many paparazzi still managed to photograph some of our nights there." Harry agreed. "There was one particular day when we opted to have dinner at a restaurant near the beach. Y/N had found it even before the trip, it was pretty laid back and we could spend the evening at karaoke. I don't really remember what happened, but we woke up the next day with a terrible hangover, still wearing the clothes from the dinner and with several headlines saying that I was cheating on my wife in the middle of our Honeymoon with a blue-haired italian girl."

"That wig made me sexy, man." You blinked, laughing as you remembered the situation. "It's a shame the paparazzi only got low quality images, but I swear I looked really amazing that night. Italy, I miss you."

"We're coming to the end and I haven't had to ask production for a glass of water yet, thank you to whoever selected these tweets." Harry raised his thumb to the camera, smiling before turning his gaze back to the small paper he had chosen. "Y/N could literally punch me in the face and I would just bow down and thank them for it." He laughed. "She has heavy hands, so I would rethink that choice."

"It takes strong hands to be a superheroine." You blinked gracefully, referring to your works as a Marvel actress. "I move around a lot during the night, so I'll take this lovely opportunity to say that twitter can dismiss all the malicious theories about Harry always show up with a new bruise all over his body."

"Please stop making indecent assumptions while Y/N is aggressive with me at night only unconsciously, her father has access to social media."

You laughed, clearing your throat before reading the next obscenity aloud.

"I would sell all my possessions to have Y/N sitting on my lap for ten seconds."

"Oh my God." Harry laughed out loud, throwing his head back. "I should have said that in our wedding vows."

You shook your head, laughing low as you set the tweet aside.

"That was pretty funny and cheeky, I approve."

"Okay, looks like we finally got to the last one." Harry announced, waving the paper in the air dramatically before opening it. "Harry could literally crush me with those boots while fuc- I need that glass of water." He said dumbfounded, hiding his face between his hands after throwing the tweet over his shoulder. You laughed out loud next to the organizers, and meanwhile Harry leaned his head on your bust, staring at you still with wide eyes. "Please promise that we will be careful with our future children on the internet."

[doggirlswag]

social media hcs for dol’s love interests :D

alex

doesn’t have time for that. farm work is hard work!

while they do have a laptop, they don’t really use it outside of business. sometimes they’ll play peggle.

if they’re not on a call, they might play a youtube video in the background. something light, funny, and undemanding to take the pressure off

i think alex likes old people memes. the shit your grandparents post on facebook would make them chuckle

keeps up with family through calls, but they’ll log into their facebook from like... 2012 to set up reunions. their profile picture hasn’t changed since they made it.

avery

linkedin. maybe facebook. if they have a twitter they’re verified but have only made like one or two posts.

unless it’s for networking, it’s kind of a waste of time, and they value their time very highly

does occasionally use reddit though. has definitely given financial advice and capped their post off with “this is not financial advice” as though that means fucking anything

actually now that i think about it they definitely have an instagram just to show off. if somebody shows up to a meeting with a new watch they post a picture with a nicer model the next day.

eden

haha.

if they had electricity, wi-fi, and a phone, maybe they would listen to podcasts?

if they really need to know something and they don’t have a book on it, they’ll go to the library. even then they’d flip through like every encyclopedia before asking a librarian how to get on the computers.

kylar

4chumblr lovechild that 2013 dreamed of.

has about 10 burner emails at any given time

an active member on a bunch of niche forums. like ‘the one guy who photoshopped his dick green on a futurama forum’ level niche.

they used to be a VERY active roleplayer. i think they have a bunch of warrior cats ocs.

has a very strong opinion on reddit. whether it’s positive or negative is up to you :)

kylar misses the early internet and they refuse to install windows 10.

they’ve made themself & the pc in every game possible. their sims folder is massive and their screenshot folder is even bigger.

they are on so many blocklists.

robin

uses instagram like people did in 2012. heavy editing, food + animal pictures, a few too many hashtags.

has a twitch regardless of confidence level. would start streaming with encouragement from the pc, probably.

they wouldn’t get that popular, but they’d like a smaller community more anyways.

the first time they got fan art they were a blubbering mess. everything someone’s drawn for them has been printed out and taped to their walls.

sydney

syd has pinterest and a studyblr.

their blog updates inconsistently but is INCREDIBLY organized.

i think they’ve made like five of those masterposts that everybody saved but never ever used.

post-corruption sydney is a menace. still painstakingly organized but a bit less active on their main accounts. they’ve moved to twitter.

might have accidentally cyberbullied kylar. they made a callout post about it but sydney couldn’t see it because kylar immediately blocked them.

whitney

everybody who follows whitney either has post notifications on or has them muted.

on one hand it’s really funny to see the dumb shit they get up to. on the other hand there is so much dumb shit.

uses a lot of emojis and hashtags ‘‘ironically’’. definitely the most up-to-date on what’s based and cringe, anyways.

they don’t use tumblr (not since the porn ban), but if they did they would have sent hate to everyone else on this list.

the great hawk and black wolf don’t have opposable thumbs.

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts) 

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

*

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

*

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

*

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

*

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.